Chapter 1: Rescue Mission
“Captain,” The Andromeda Ascendant’s image appears on the middle of three large forward screens on the starship’s command deck. “I’m picking up a distress call.”
Dylan Hunt turns to look from where he stands at his command station, “Where is it coming from?”
“A planet in the Valerus Cluster.” Andromeda’s image is the epitome of the old Commonwealth High Guard. Her red leather jacket with black trim is impeccable. Every sable hair is in place as per regulations. Her blood red lipstick is flawlessly applied and perfectly matches the color of her jacket. “The Sixth planet from their sun…Valerus Prime.”
“On screen.” Hunt orders.
“Accessing…” Andromeda’s brown eyes fix on a point above and to the right, almost as if she were thinking.
A middle-aged man appears on screen. His thick, black hair is touched with gray. Bushy brows top the navy frames of glasses perching in front of dark brown eyes. He has a wide mouth that looks as if it is accustomed to smiling often but is now compressed into a flat line.
“Thank the Divine!” he exclaims. “I am Wallace St.Clair, Headman of the Colony on Valerus Prime. We have a dire emergency and are requesting immediate assistance.”
“I’m Dylan Hunt, Captain of the High Guard starship Andromeda Ascendant. What is the nature of your emergency?”
St.Clair’s eyes widen at the mention of the name of the ship. “Andromeda Ascendant, you say?”
“Yes.” Dylan’s blue eyes glint with curiosity at St. Clair’s reaction. “The nature of your emergency, please.”
St. Clair adjusts his glasses. “Yes, of course. We are the only human settlement on this planet. There are two Nietzschean Prides in the sector and they are converging on our location. We fear that they mean to take us as slave labor. We have no way to defend ourselves and are requesting evacuation until the danger passes.”
“Which prides?” Tyr Anasazi demands from his console.
St.Clair’s brown eyes widen. He frowns as he stares hard at Tyr’s face. His frown deepens as his gaze slides over the long black braids, chain mail vest and black leathers.
Dylan notes the look. “This is Tyr Anasazi, Fire Control Officer for this ship.”
“Tyr…Anasazi? Yes…yes, of course. I see.”
“Which prides?” Tyr snaps.
“Er…um…the Creek-Shalom and the Neteryu.” St. Clair continues to stare at Tyr.
Tyr glances at Dylan. “Two minor prides, Dylan. However the humans may be in danger if they remain on the surface.”
“I see. Headman St. Clair; how many people are in your colony?”
“About one hundred and seventy.” St. Clair’s gaze keeps straying to Tyr.
“Good. I’m dispatching two of my crew to pick up your people. We’ll keep you here on the Andromeda and see if we can discuss terms for a truce of some sort with the Nietzscheans.”
“Thank you Captain. Colony out.”
“Rommie, do we have anything in the database on Valerus Prime?”
“Accessing All Systems University Database.” Andromeda’s android avatar turns to face Dylan. She tilts her head at a thoughtful angle. Sable brown hair slides across her elegant cheekbones. “Dylan there is a small bit of information on the planet. Approximately three thousand years ago it was the home of the Valerians.”
“I remember reading about them at the academy. There was not much known about the species other than they were humanoid.”
“That’s true. Nothing has ever been found about their society. No writings or recordings. They disappeared about two thousand years ago. The planet has remained uninhabited. It has not been visited in nearly 100 years.”
“Well, someone inhabits it now, Rommie.” Dylan remarks thoughtfully. “Keep digging. I want to know who these people are and what we’re up against with these Nietzscheans.”
“Aye.” Her hands begin to fly over the console in front of her.
***
Tyr walks in silence down the corridor. He looks at the rows of lights embedded in the gray walls. He eyes the gray and white deck plates under foot. He looks everywhere but at the human walking beside him. He is going to have to say something soon. It will not be long before they reach the docking bay.
It goes against all his training to openly express his genuine emotions. It is dangerous. True emotions offer the clever warrior the opportunity to manipulate others toward his own desired ends. He has often used his enemies’ emotions and desires against them. It is part of what he is. If a warrior wasn’t cunning enough to conceal his real needs, then he deserves to have them twisted against him.
Seamus Harper is human, Tyr reminds himself. Harper needs to hear words of caring from his shieldbrother. More importantly, Harper needs to hear things spelled out in a way that a Nietzschean shieldbrother would not. Tyr glances at Harper’s stiff shoulders. Harper will not like being advised. The set of those shoulders tell him that Harper knows that advice is to be forthcoming and does not like it. Harper will see the advice as patronizing interference but the human needs it whether he knows it or not. Harper is exceptionally clever but he is not trained to assess things as a warrior would. He is not always as alert to nuance or opportunity as he should be. His choices of action could be…careless and impulsive at times. Tyr gave himself a mental shake. This was of no consequence. Harper is his shieldbrother and, as such, deserves these words…these…emotions
Tyr reaches out and grips the human’s shoulder as they walk down the corridor. His hand lingers, sliding down to trace the shape of Harper’s shoulder blade beneath the soft, gray shirt. Tyr nods approvingly. At least, Harper is wearing something likely to blend in rather than the bold, ‘just-shoot-me-now’ colors that he typically favors.
“Take care, little professor.” Tyr’s deep, resonant voice rumbles softly. “This is no routine run. Be…wary…of these humans.”
Harper glances up at him, a mocking glint in his blue eyes. “They’re just humans. What could happen?”
“I won’t dignify that with a response.”
“I know. I know. ‘Danger lurks everywhere’.” Harper rolls his eyes. “’No one is trustworthy’. I’m gonna be okay, Tyr. Besides, I’ve got backup. Trance is going to watch my every move.”
Tyr pauses at the entrance to the docking bay. He does not find the idea of Trance Gemini as backup terribly reassuring. She is rather frivolous and can be as impulsive as Harper. What trouble one of them does not find, the other one will. He folds his arms over his chain mail. His bone blades, a prominent reminder of his difference, his Nietzscheaness, nestle in the black leather armguards.
“I know. But you are going into a potentially lethal
situation. I don’t like it when you are placed in danger.” Tyr looks
past Harper to
where the Eureka Maru is berthed.
“Big guy.” Harper sighs softly. Tyr meets his eyes and they hold the look for a moment. “I’ll be careful.” Harper moves closer. After a moment, he reaches out and hesitantly settles a hand on Tyr’s forearm, his fingers moving in a subtle caress that brings a softer, more sensual curve to Tyr’s lips.
Good. Harper is feeling confident enough to offer a touch that just crosses the border of friendship and barely eases over into the sensual, Tyr thinks. That deserves encouragement even though the human is still careful not to go near his bone blades. One day, Harper will be willing to caress the super-sensitive skin at their base.
He will leave Harper in no doubt that his own touch offers more than friendship. Tyr slides the back of his hand down the side of Harper’s face. His fingers ease around to grip Harper’s nape briefly before lightly tracing a circle on the sensitive skin around the dataport. Harper shivers and his clever blue eyes take on a lambent glow as he leans into the caress.
Tyr presses his forehead to Harper’s. He speaks so softly that Harper has to strain to hear. Oh yes. Don’t want the ship picking up every aspect of the conversation. “Remember how dear you are to me.”
“I’ll be home soon.” Harper promises in an equally soft voice. He blinks the dazed look out of his eyes and turns toward the entrance of the docking bay.
“Don’t make me come for you, boy!” Tyr growls playfully. His long braids slide across his shoulders as he shakes his head when Harper just chuckles and walks through the portal to the waiting Maru.
***
“The Eureka Maru is exiting the planet’s atmosphere.” Andromeda announces from the forward screen. “ETA thirteen minutes, twenty-three point two seconds.”
“Thank you, Andromeda.” Hunt looks over to where the Avatar stands. “Any luck on that research, Rommie.”
The android shakes her head and gives one last tap to her console. “No. It is odd that there is virtually nothing current on the planet. It is not located in a particularly remote area of space. There should be more information available.”
“We won’t worry about that now. We’ll find out more when the colonists arrive. I’m sure they’ll be happy to help us in exchange for our aid.”
Tyr grunts dismissively from his station and shakes his head in amazement. “Captain Hunt, you actually think you’re going to get the truth from these people. Your continued naiveté astounds me.”
“Unlike you, Tyr.” Hunt smirks. “I have faith in human nature.”
“Then you are a fool.”
“The Maru is docking now.” Beka tells Dylan from command. “Docking bay eight.”
Dylan looks over at Tyr and nods toward the corridor. “Tyr, walk with me.”
Tyr shrugs and swaggers over to the door. “Yes?”
“Can you tell me anything about Valerus Prime? Why would the Nietzscheans want it? Is it the colonists? Are they in danger of enslavement?”
“There are a number of reasons, Dylan. The simplest, most logical one is that they want the humans removed to they can expand their boundaries.” Tyr glances sidelong at Dylan. Is the Captain listening to what is not said as well as what is? Will Dylan accept the simplest reason as being the most likely one or will Dylan push for more? Simple, easily understood reasons are often useful for hiding more complex motivations, as any Nietzschean knows.
Tyr paces along aside Dylan in silence, waiting to see if the Captain will ask for additional reasons. He is not Dylan’s shieldbrother to advise and guide him but his own well-being and Harper’s are tied to that of the Andromeda and her crew for now.
Another sidelong look shows only Dylan’s impenetrable blandness. Dylan is either not going to ask or has not caught the implications. Still it is dangerous to underestimate Dylan merely because the Captain has less sense of self-preservation than a Nietzschean youngling. Dylan has a certain amount of cunning and intelligence. Perhaps a huge, thumping, clanking hint will be in order. Tyr stops and turns to face Dylan. “Be wary of these colonists, Dylan.”
“Why? Something I should know?” Dylan asks. His pale eyes are only mildly curious.
That is warning enough, hint enough, Tyr decides. Dylan can be quite obstinate about responding if you object too much to his decisions. Some days, he really wants to strangle Dylan with his precious little High Guard uniform. “Just keep on your guard.”
Dylan laughs but there is glint in his eye that tells Tyr that he has heard the warning finally. “Tyr these are humans, not Nietzscheans!”
Tyr takes a deep breath. If he did not have himself and Harper to consider, he would just sit back and sell tickets as Dylan reaped the results of his heedlessness. You would not catch a proper Nietzschean being so careless. “I’m well aware of that, however it would be prudent to watch them closely before we welcome them completely with open arms.”
“I’ll take your suggestion under advisement.” Dylan’s tone is dismissive.
“As is your prerogative.” Tyr refuses to give him a reaction. One day, he would dearly love to watch Dylan slide right into the gaping jaws that fate kept for such fools. He might even give the man a push in that direction if Dylan insisted on being so tiresome. Once Dylan was no longer useful, of course.
“Will you see to the settlement of the refugees in one of the cargo bays? Make sure they are under constant surveillance?” Dylan seems preoccupied with straightening his tight jacket.
Tyr eyes him narrowly. Finally the man is showing some intelligence. Why do they always have to have this discussion every time something happens? Does Dylan find it amusing? Is he truly as heedless as he acts at times? Occasionally, Dylan exhibits almost Nietzschean levels of intuition. “Certainly.”
They walk in silence the rest of the way to the docking bay. Tyr is pleased to see the Maru safely berthed, exactly where it should be. Perhaps, Harper had taken his advice to heart this time.
Or maybe not, Tyr thinks as he watches Harper and Trance
emerge from the hatch. They possess a decidedly nervous air.
Harper’s wild blond hair looks wilder than usual. Trance’s tail is
lashing back and forth. This does not bode well. The pair of them
wore the look of younglings who have done what they should not and know
it.
Chapter 2: A Surprise for Tyr
A/N: All text in brackets {} is telepathic communication.
“Dylan, we’ve got something we really need to tell you about…” Harper’s voice trails off as he notices Tyr. “Oh, hey Tyr. We came across…”
Tyr’s amber eyes narrow as Harper’s voice trails off again. Harper’s hair looks very much as if Harper has been running his hands through it and tugging on it which he some times does when agitated. He can hear the excited hammering of Harper’s heart and smell the adrenaline pouring off him. What is stressing Harper?
“Tyr? Hey.” Trance stares at him as if she has never seen him before. Her eyes seem wider and darker than usual.
Tyr looks them both over. What now? They are avoiding direct eye contact. Another bad sign. He frowns. You didn’t have to be a Nietzschean to see that something was going on. “What is the matter with you two?”
“Well, ya see, big guy, we found something, or rather some ones on the planet that we…” Harper begins. He darts a quick glance over his shoulder.
We thought you’d like to know about before it’s unwrapped.” Trance finishes. Her tail curls and uncurls in the air.
“Before what?” Tyr snaps. He has had enough of this uninformative nonsense. Will either of them get to the point before the end of the century? Trance acting like this does not surprise him. He expects a certain amount of nonsense from her but he expects better things of Harper.
“Ahhh well, ya see…” Harper begins but before he can formulate a response, two dark-skinned Nietzschean males stomp impatiently through the hatch.
Tyr immediately turns an evaluating look on the twin males. Dreadlocked hair frames features that match his own except that one of the younglings had a small scar crossing his right brow. They are properly tall at 6-feet plus. Tunics of gold velvet stretch across their broad shoulders and narrow waists. The high collars are embroidered with black silk that echoed the color of their leather pants. The boys look and behave like proper Nietzschean offspring. They are clearly his but where is the mother? Who is the mother?
Dylan looks over at Tyr and back at the twins as the boys swagger toward them. Amusement with a hint of malice sparkles in his crystal blue gaze. “Forget something?”
“Would it be your business if I did?” Tyr rumbles softly.
Harper steps between the two young men and addresses Dylan but his eyes are watchful on Tyr’s face. “Boss, allow me to present…”
“We are Bellerophon and Chimaera Anasazi of Kodiak Pride out of Mariyam by Tyr.” The two young men intone together in deep voices.
“Yeah, right…Anasazi of Kodiak Pride.” Harper adds unnecessarily, his eyes never leaving Tyr’s face. “How odd is that, huh boss?”
“Kodiak Pride?” Dylan turns to Tyr and lowers his voice. His tone is shocked but the amusement in his gaze deepens. “Tyr?? Care to add anything here? I thought there were no other surviving members of Kodiak Pride. What is going on?”
“I am sure I don’t know.” He speaks in an aside, too quietly for the boys to hear but his face is ashen. Mariyam? He has thought her safely dead for all these years. His muscles tighten at the idea of being trapped on the same ship as Mariyam. She saw too much and knew too much for him to ever be comfortable with her.
But, wait, maybe she had only survived long enough to
bear his children. It does not mean she is here now. If she
isn’t here, then he will claim the boys and train them…assuming they did
not inherit their mother’s…peculiarities. The situation is startling
but not without
possibility.
“Well, you’ve got to know something, Tyr Anasazi.” Dylan raises his voice so the twins can hear him. His teeth flash in a wide grin. “They look just like you.”
Chimaera takes a wary step closer to Tyr. His dark brown, deep-set eyes are wide with shock and amazement. “Tyr? You are called Tyr?”
“I am.” Tyr calls on his training and empties his face and voice of all expression as he waits for the boys’ reaction. I will have to teach them to hide their emotions better, he thinks. Open emotions are like handing your enemy a spear. Dylan has seen his own shock and is now hot on the scent of a juicy secret. If Mariyam was dead, much could still be concealed from Dylan. If she is alive…well, she always did talk too much and too freely for his comfort.
“You can not be….” Chimaera looks at Bellerophon. His brother is equally shocked but there is a hint of hope in his eyes. It is a hope that he feels echoing in himself. They have always longed for and needed the Nietzschean training. The data discs that they have been able to study were not enough. They felt incomplete, something they only admitted to each other. Now, to have someone who could be their father and a Nietzschean to teach them…but what of their mother? She had said that their father was dead. Had she lied? A slow burn of anger snakes through him. Was this man lying? “He can not be…Tyr Anasazi.”
“I am Tyr Anasazi out of Vic…” Tyr begins only to be cut short by Chimaera who finishes the lineage in a dazed voice.
“…Out of Victoria by Barbarossa. You are our…”
“Father…”Bellerophon adds softly. He moves closer.
“We thought you…” Chimaera begins as he quietly studies Tyr. He looks him over from head to toe. He and his twin start to circle the Andromeda weapons officer from opposite directions carefully cataloging every aspect of his appearance.
“…were dead.” Bellerophon finishes as they come back to stand in front of Tyr. “Brother, look at his nose, his eyes…”
Harper steps back from the three big men. Trance and Dylan stare first at the two young men and then at Tyr, clearly comparing features.
“…his hands…”Chimaera murmurs. “He looks like us.”
“What are they talkin’ about, big guy?” Harper asks roughly. He has an icy feeling that he knows. He has to know if what he believes is true. He watches Tyr with disapproval and suspicion. He always knew that Tyr was a man of secrets but he thought that Tyr trusted him. He had named him shieldbrother after their experiences on the Magog Worldship. Did that count for nothing?
“I’m not sure.” Tyr’s deep voice is noticeably cool. Harper had known something was up and chosen to surprise him with it instead of warning him…why? Harper must have wanted to see his reaction to the twins and was willing to risk his anger for this.
“He even sounds like us.” Bellerophon adds. He steps forward, arm raised, bone blades relaxed in the traditional Nietzschean greeting.
Tyr steps back without returning the greeting. Until he knows whether they inherited any of their mother’s abilities, if indeed Mariyam was their mother, he has no intention of touching them. Touch only strengthened Mariyam’s abilities. How many of his secrets had she learned that way?
“Will you not acknowledge us?” Bellerophon a flush of anger rises along his high cheekbones.
“As fellow Nietzscheans if nothing else?” Chimaera asks, with a hint of anger in his tone as he glances quickly at the hurt on his brother’s face. He can feel his bone blades quivering ready to snap out in reaction to his anger.
“Are these young men your progeny, Anasazi?” Dylan asks.
“Yeah,” Trance giggles. She nervously pushes her blonde hair behind her ear. “Everybody knows you don’t have any children. I mean except for Tamerlaine and we know what happened to him.” Tyr turns angry eyes on her. Trance mumbles a quiet “…sorry.”
Harper looks from the towering twins to Tyr. “Say something…anything.”
Tyr is staring toward the people exiting the Maru. His muscles bunch and tighten as he steps back again. His jaw sets and his eyes narrow. Harper frowns and turns to see what merits this reaction.
A petite human woman emerges from the crowd exiting the Maru and walks toward them. Her skin is the luscious color of milk chocolate. A sheer green veil covers her hair, enhancing rather than concealing. Her black hair falls in long, twisted strands to her waist like coils of silk. A vivid green sari embroidered heavily with gold thread flowed over her full breasts and down to wrap around lush hips before falling to her ankles.
Was she a former lover? Harper’s frown deepens, his eyes darkening with jealousy. He prizes the time that Tyr spends with him and does not want to lose any of it. He does not like the idea of Tyr spending time with this woman. She looks like a slippery customer to him. Rather like Satrina.
He and Tyr have been spending a lot of time together and he has begun to think that he knows Tyr pretty well by now. One of things that he thought he knew was that Tyr always favored blonds…or so he thought. He scowls intensely at the woman. She better not plan on starting any trouble for Tyr or he will finish it for her.
Mariyam sees Tyr and gasps. Her hand comes up to cover her mouth. Gold bracelets chime and slide down her arm. Even though she was expecting to see him, it is a shock to be in the same room with the man who fathered two of her children and betrayed her to her death…or so he had hoped. She sways and the boy and girl beside her turn to support her. She leans on their strong shoulders for a moment.
“Mother? Are you alright?” The boy asks.
“Mother?” The girl repeats, her eyes anxious.
Mariyam straightens. She is strong, she tells herself. She survived the attack on her people. She survived Tyr’s betrayal. She can and will survive this. There are other important issues at work here. She must not lose focus. The children and Wallace are her priorities at this moment. She pats the teenage boy’s arm. “I’m fine Freyr.”
“There is no need for concern, Freya.” She smiles at the girl whose features mirror those of Freyr. She pauses to adjust the girl’s sea blue sari. “It’s nothing. I was surprised to see someone I used to know. That’s all.”
Mariyam casts a horrified gaze over her shoulder to her husband, Wallace St. Clair. He stares back. She can see the jealousy that has lain behind his gaze ever since he saw Tyr earlier. Tyr is an impressive man physically and she knew that Wallace had been silently comparing himself unfavorably to Tyr. How will she convince Wallace that he is as mighty in spirit as Tyr is in body and that spirit is what matters most to her? She knew she could count on Wallace to support her, no matter what while Tyr had already betrayed her once.
{Oh, Divine!} Mariyam sends her thought to Wallace as she continues to walk slowly toward the Captain and Tyr.
{Yes, I told you. It is he, is it not?} Wallace moves to her side and offers her his arm. Freyr and Freya fall in close behind them.
{By the divine, Wallace. It is.} She can sense that Wallace was half-hoping that she would say no; that there was some mistake; that it was a completely different Nietzschean that she had foolishly fallen in love with so long ago.
{We must tread carefully.}
{Perhaps he doesn’t remember. It was a long time ago…sixteen years. Do you think he will suspect anything?} Mariyam flavors the thought with hope.
{Woman! How can he not remember you? You are as beautiful as ever. You also bore him twin sons... He can’t deny them. They bear the stamp of his genes.}
Mariyam smiles. Wallace’s conviction of her complete inability to be forgotten is so sweet and typical of him. He is a man who values her and her children. She has no desire to bring danger to any of them. Perhaps they could fool Tyr. She is willing to try. {But…what do we say? Maybe we can pretend it’s a coincidence.}
{Unlikely.} Wallace’s thought is as dry as burnt toast.
{Ahhh, yes. What have we done?}
“Mother! Who is this man?” Bellerophon demands as they stop in front of the group. His dark eyes are hurt and angry. His body is stiff with barely suppressed aggression. His bone blades quiver.
Mariyam sighs. She knows all the signs. He is about to have a first class temper tantrum if he is not headed off. Chimera will then follow suit. Raising half-Nietzscheans has been no easy thing. Their natures are so different from her other children. Teenage boys are bad enough but Nietzschean teenagers…she sighs. They are in for it now and she is not certain that she has the mental resources to deal with her eldest children and Tyr. She hoped for a grace period before the boys discovered Tyr.
{Divine help us!} Wallace’s jaw set.
{We should have expected this confusion and rage.} Mariyam forces patience into her thought. The fault lay equally with her and Wallace. Neither of them had wanted to open the topic with their oldest sons. Wallace had enough problems without stacking the twins’ quick-tempered touchiness on top. She had feared to say anything, in case it was not Tyr. What a mess that would have made added to the other problems. The boys would have been all hot to race off and find Tyr if she had revealed that he might be alive.
{I must put a stop to this outburst.} Wallace scowls. His face flushes with anger and embarrassment at the way the boys are acting in public. A number of the colonists stop to view the action with disapproval. They know better than to address their mother with such disrespect. There is no excuse for it in his opinion.
{Wallace…}
{We must put a stop to this behavior, Mariyam.} He sometimes felt that she made too many allowances for their Nietzschean nature and that the boys used it as an excuse for bad behavior. All Nietzscheans were barbarians at heart but they could behave in a civil manner when it suited them.
{I know…it’s becoming most annoying.}
“NO! Don’t look at each other! Look at me!” Bellerophon snaps. His bone blades flaring out as he loses control in his agitation. “Answer me! Who is this man? Is he Tyr Anasazi? Is he our father?”
Wallace steps between Bellerophon and Mariyam and stares up into his eyes. The staring match ends when the teen averts his eyes and steps back. Chimaera moves toward Wallace his bones blades flaring. Wallace move in front of Mariyam and glowers at the teen and his twin. He has to get a handle on this situation quickly. It is imperative that the boys are brought back into line and equally important that he appear strong before his people and the crew of this ship.
“First of all,” Wallace begins his voice resonant and commanding. “You will not take that tone with your mother, ever! Am I understood?”
Neither of the twins makes a sound. Their eyes are sullen but the aggressiveness is slowly easing from their muscles. The bone blades quiver and ease back down as the boys regain some control of their emotions.
Wallace moves closer. “AM…I…UNDER…STOOD!?”
“Yes….sir.” Bellerophon growls.
Wallace turns to Chimaera and lifts an eyebrow in question. Chimaera nods. “Yes, sir.”
Wallace then turns back to Mariyam, and offers her his arm. He can feel her dainty hand gripping his arm tensely.
“To answer your question…this is Tyr Anasazi, out of Victoria by Barbarossa…your biological father.” Wallace gives Tyr a resentful look. As much trouble as the boys can be at times, they are his sons, not this over-sized barbarian’s. He will make sure that the muscle-bound lout understands that.
“What? Is this some sort of trick? Our father is dead. He died sixteen years ago.” Chimaera snaps. “You and our mother told us so...sir.”
“Died?” Harper locks eyes with Tyr who meets his look with a blank glare.
“Fairly active for a dead man, Tyr.” Dylan remarks. His eyes are bright with curiosity.
“We thought he was dead, my son.” Mariyam answers wryly. “Yet, here he is.”
Bellerophon and Chimaera look at Tyr then at each other. Their eyes flick over the familiar features hungrily. They reach out to Tyr who tenses but does not move. They lower their hands slowly without touching him.
“Are you really our father?” Tyr makes no response. He stares at Mariyam.
Freya moves from her mother’s side. At 6’1” she is tall and strong for her age. Her head is bare and her black hair is woven into a long, thick braid that falls below her waist. Her blue silk sari twitches with irritation as she stalks over to her elder brothers.
“No! I don’t believe it. It’s a mistake! It has to be. Tyr Anasazi has been dead for almost 16 years. This…man…can not possibly be your father. Why the very idea is laughable. Wallace St. Clair, out of Gretel by William, is your father as well as ours!” She whirls and points a finger at Tyr. “NOT this man! Tyr Anasazi is dead! And I say GOOD! Look at him, won’t you? He doesn’t know you or want you. He cringes at the thought of either of you touching him. You are mongrels…bastards as far as he’s concerned! Isn’t that right?” She glares at Tyr and steps close to him. “Isn’t that right, Nietzschean!?”
Tyr stares coolly back at her. Really, Mariyam has raised some mouthy and foolish children. Nietzschean children knew when to listen and learn and when to fight. Children did not introduce themselves into their elders’ quarrels for their own protection if nothing else. Inserting oneself into an adult quarrel was to make the silent claim that one no longer was to be shielded from adult quarrels or intrigue. A wise youngling used the shield of youth as a game piece and stratagem until he was physically able to hold his own with an adult warrior. Miscalculation could result in death at worse, diminished status at best.
Freyr moves to stand next to his sister. He draws her protectively against his navy velvet jacket. He can feel fine shivers move through Freya as she tries to control her reactions to all the emotions floating around them. She is getting better but her control is still uncertain. His tall sister looks frighteningly delicate next to the big stranger.
This is just like his half-brothers, Freyr thinks as he pats his sister’s shoulder. Bellerophon and Chimera were always in an uproar about something and drawing him and his sister into trouble. Freya was fiercely protective of her family and hypersensitive to threats to it. She has been that way ever since she first realized that her older brothers were different and largely disapproved of by the rest of the colonists.
Not that he would stand by while any of his siblings were abused either. He had gotten into his share of fights over them as well but Freya’s empathetic abilities made her uniquely unsuited for fighting. She hurt herself as much as her opponent since she could not control the amount of input she received while fighting. Bellerophon and Chimera encouraged her to learn to fight and to solve problems with violence but Freyr didn’t think that they understood the price she paid for their approval. How could they though since Bellerophon and Chimera were psychically blind. He must not blame them for their limitations.
“Why didn’t you stay dead?” Freyr demands. “Why won’t you say something…anything? Or are you too perfect a Nietzschean to speak to kludge spawn…to mongrels! Of course you are. How else could you have abandoned our mother?” Freyr lifts his hand palm outward.
Tyr transfers his cool stare to the Freyr, refusing to answer the boy’s demands as he refused the sister. These other two are none of his. The two older boys are the only ones that he need concern himself with. He owes no explanation to the others. His eyes widen as he feels the brush of…something.
Freya grabs her brother’s hand and shakes her head. “No, brother. He is not worth it.” She pulls Freyr away and they move to stand in front of Wallace and Mariyam with their backs to the others.
“Wallace St. Clair, we love you, respect you, and have always been thankful that you are our father.” Freyr states. “Bell and Chi don’t need him, or want him.” He adds with a disdainful jerk of his head in Tyr’s direction. “You love us all and have cared for us these years. That man is not, has never been, father to our brothers…”
“You are.” Freya finishes softly.
Bellerophon and Chimaera only have eyes for Tyr. Chimera reaches out to Tyr. “Tyr…Father…our mother and Wallace have told us of what you did to save her and the colony.”
Tyr looks quizzically at Mariyam. What wild tale was this? Humans! A Nietzschean woman would have not told easy, dangerous lies instead of the truth if she had kept his offspring. A Nietzschean child would need to know exactly where he stood and what his relations and status with the Pride was. It was too easy to make a fatal mistake if given misinformation.
“We know,” Bellerophon continues. “Everyone in our colony knows how you lured the enemy away from our camp so our mother would not be captured. You risked your life so that your wife and your clan would stay free. They told us of your bravery and your sacrifice.” He looks at Chimaera who comes to stand next to him. “Fate has brought you to us.”
Harper, Trance, and Dylan stand in shocked silence looking at Tyr. Dylan asks that Mariyam and her family meet with him and Tyr in his office. Mariyam requests that only she and Wallace meet with them. Dylan agrees.
Tyr turns to leave as the family passes him. Harper runs to catch up with him.
“So?”
“So.” Tyr responds flatly.
“We need to talk.”
“Not now.” Tyr snaps and starts to strides away.
Harper grabs his arm. His pale hand was stronger than it looked. “Yes. Now.”
“No Harper.” Tyr pushes aside his anger at Harper’s springing this whole mess on him without warning. Harper did have some cause for his actions but he should have trusted in his shieldbrother.
“Tyr?” Harpers blue eyes hold pain and worry.
“Soon, little one…just not right now.” Tyr promises in
a low whisper.