Part I
In retrospect, it had been a really, really stupid idea. Harper leaned his head against the corrugated metal and tried once again to extricate his wrists from the binders. No luck, naturally.
Seamus knew Earth Habitat Myona was a magnet for outlaws, con men, and psychopaths. He never should have embarked on this insane adventure. Still steaming from Dylan's reprimand, however, he'd ignored every ounce of common sense beaten into him over the years. He'd walked away from the Andromeda on Shelby Station Nora, grabbed the first ship out and landed here, in Pitsville.
He sure as hell should have noticed being followed. Once upon a time, no one would have gotten the drop on Seamus Harper. Living on the Andromeda had made him soft. He'd turned down that alley like a fucking rube and this what he got -- shanghaied.
His prison appeared to be a small hold, which meant he'd been moved from the Habitat to a ship. The realization added to the despair that sat cold and heavy in his stomach. Furthermore, as his head cleared, he had that unmistakable, subliminal shiver along his nerves that told him, wherever he was, they were in slipstream.
Across the metal floor, the door to the hold slid open. A tall figure filled it. Harper's stomach rolled at the sight of forearm spikes. Tall, blond, muscular, handsome -- and Nietzschean. Oh, god.
"So -- you're the Eureka Maru's hotshot engineer. I can't say I'm all that impressed."
"Impressed enough to kidnap me," retorted Harper, hands going to fists at his back.
These morons didn't know he'd been with the Andromeda. Well, that wasn't so weird. The Commonwealth warship had only recently entered this part of space and Moyna was pretty far off the beaten track. Harper bit back on the urge to tell them the truth. If these desperados had heard of the Andromeda, if they knew what she was, they might get to thinking Dylan was looking for him. He might suddenly become a liability.
The Nietzschean sauntered over to his side and dropped to a crouch beside him. A long, strong hand ruffled through Harper's hair.
"I needed an assistant. Heard you were in the area."
"Who's we, kimo sabe?"
"Ever hear of Ripper Glee?"
Harper's heart stumbled. Dry-mouthed, he said, "Nope."
The blow was completely unexpected, leaving him tasting copper and his head spinning.
"You're a liar and not a particularly good one. Well, boy, I'm Benaki, Chief Engineer aboard the Ripper's Edge. You're mine now. Do what you're told and you may even live longer than your predecessor."
The young engineer tried to swallow, but his throat was too tight. He recognized the look in his captor's eye.
"What happened to him?"
"She killed herself. I guess she just couldn't cope with all the affection. Glee says you used to be a Vashon slave. We're all betting you can handle it."
"Leave me alone," Harper whispered then, knowing full well what lay ahead.
The Nietzschean hit him again. Harper stared back, miserable
and defiant. This is what he got for being an asshole -- a one-way ticket
to hell on the Ripper's Edge.
"Ripper Glee?" Dylan looked from one appalled face to the next, bewildered. "He sounds like a third-rate actor."
Rev snorted and Trance whispered something under her breath.
"He's a third-rate human," Beka spat, "and one sick bastard. He lives by raiding, is unbelievably brutal. If it's true -- if Glee's still around and he has Harper then, then..."
"...then the Earther is dead," finished Tyr. "Glee's Chief Engineer is Nietzschean, an outcast of the Snow Leopard tribe - Arn Benaki."
"Both are sadistic and depraved, utterly without remorse or morality of any sort," Rev Bem added gravely. "It was said the Elois drove the Ripper's Edge into the Void ten months ago. Nothing has been heard from him in that time certainly, so perhaps it was true. At any rate, out of nowhere he appears."
"Rev is right," Beka said. "Only this time, piracy isn't his game. He claims he knows the way to paradise, that he found the Spectral Net. He's been recruiting members to his weird cult since he got back."
"I've requested information from Moyna's docking authority..." Dylan began.
Tyr snorted. "They'll tell you nothing, or worse, give you the wrong direction. No one out in this part of space will be fool enough to risk the Ripper's wrath. Even if we did learn which direction the Edge has gone, there are hundreds of star systems out here, most of them only sparsely populated, if at all. This is the Fringe, quite literally, Dylan. Fringe in distance, fringe in the kind and quality of its few inhabitants. Pursuit is a waste of time."
"Oh, I think if the Andromeda suddenly appeared on their sensors, requesting docking and information, there'd be enough panic to make the stationers cooperate," Beka retorted.
"We're not leaving Harper," said Dylan flatly. "It's been almost a week since he left and I don't want the trail growing cold."
"He left of his own will. No one forced him."
"He left angry and hurt!" Beka flashed, furious with the Nietzschean. "That's hardly a 'right mind' condition, is it?"
"We know from Trance's monitoring of station communication exchanges that he came off the Willowby where he was listed as a temp." Dylan's calm voice cooled the sudden heat between them. "We know Moyna was the end of his assignment and we know he hasn't signed on any other ship. Trance recorded a report of an abduction made to Station Admin and the victim matched Harper's description. They may have already started an investigation."
Beka laughed hollowly. "Those get dead-filed immediately, Dylan. No one's looking for Seamus but us."
"And there's still nothing but speculation that it was Glee who abducted him -- if he was the one abducted."
"The hypothesis fits the data," Dylan retorted. "You're going to Moyna. I want you to go to the docking authorities and, um, convince them to give you the information. I'm willing to bet that the reputation of Tyr Anasazi is not insignificant out here either."
"Madness," muttered Tyr with a fierce scowl. Dylan lifted a brow. The Nietzschean set his jaw, nodded, and stalked from the room.
"I sure wish I knew how you managed to turn Tyr into a trained attack dog," Beka sighed when he was gone. "I've never seen anything like it."
"We reached an agreement."
"Yes, so you've said." Beka shook her head. "We can see things are different between you two. Harper sure does. You know how he feels about Nietzscheans. Suddenly, Tyr's your shadow. Then, when you chewed him out..."
Dylan frowned. "Are you saying Seamus left because of that? Beka, releasing some of Rommie's test spores from Uberworld into the air-exchange system of Tyr's cabin was not a particularly funny joke -- especially not on top of Harper's running stream of public insults. I expect everyone on my crew to treat each other with civility and respect. If you have a problem with someone else you can't work out, you come to me. Mediation is one of my jobs."
"Tyr can defend himself," she retorted. "Can't he?"
Beka held his eyes for a long moment, then: "I realize that there's no reason why you should trust me very much," she said quietly, "but I really do like you, Dylan, and respect what you want to do. If the Commonwealth were still around there wouldn't be monsters like Ripper Glee. The longer I stand on this deck, the more clearly I see it. You can trust me, you know."
He opened his mouth, but she turned and walked quickly
from the deck, leaving him alone to think about it.
Part II
They put an obedience jack in his neural port. Someone brought an injector and got a tracer chip into him -- just to make sure. Harper stood through it all with chattering teeth, wishing this was a nightmare from which he'd wake, safe and sound in his cabin on the Andromeda.
With Benaki watching, powerful arms folded on powerful chest, two black-uniformed raiders pushed the young man to the icy metal deck. They held him still while the Nietzschean opened his trousers and exposed his fully erect penis. Remembering what he'd heard about Glee's right hand man, Harper did what he had done in the squalor of the Vashon brothel -- shut off his thoughts, slipped into automatic. He opened his mouth when Benaki told him and let the Nietzschean do what he would.
Afterwards, Benaki dragged him back to his feet by the scruff of his neck. His brutality left Harper nauseous, his throat raw and bleeding. Putting lips against the young man's ear, the Nietzschean said, "Now you know who is master."
They led him through bare, gray corridors to the engine room. Once, the sight of a York Dragon's engine would have impressed Harper, even sick with terror as he was. After the Andromeda, however, he found nothing to admire in the much more primitive bulk and design of the facility facing him.
"Keep it running," advised Benaki.
"Just me?"
"You see anyone else?"
"You're the fuckin' engineer!" Harper retorted before thinking.
It took several minutes to recover from Benaki's left hook.
On the Andromeda, it had actually been possible, with the occasional help of the others, to maintain the warship's sophisticated, yet simple systems. This place required a crew of at least four to do complete cycle observation and maintenance. No wonder his predecessor had killed herself.
"There's a com terminal by your bed and loudspeakers. You know what that thing in your head will do. Keep that in mind at all times."
Harper lifted his chin and met the Nietzschean's cold stare with one of his own. Another mistake. Benaki moved with unbelievable speed. Flying backwards, Harper slammed against the wall, then slid bonelessly to the deck. His head rang. He tasted blood and his thoughts skittered this way and that. When Benaki seized him by the arm and pulled him close, Harper could do little more than moan into the mouth that came down on his with savage force, yielding to it at once. Then he was released, flung forward onto the cold metal.
"Remember," Benaki's voice came down to him. "You're a slave. If you're not stupid, you'll keep that in mind."
Harper didn't say a word. He stayed where he was until Benaki was gone. Licking bruised lips, he got to his feet. It was cold and he wrapped arms around himself, staring down the length of the engine room. He heard the hum of the transformers, the high, almost subliminal whine of power feeding out from the conduits and channels.
Slowly, he walked the length of the room, noting the dirt and banged up appearance of many components. Glee didn't waste much money in here. He saw repairs that could only have been jerry-rigged, debris heaped under the transformer banks. One of the latter smoked slightly.
In the middle of the room, on the starboard side, was a tiny office with a cot and an array of monitors. There were windows all around -- no privacy at all. Behind the office were a toilet, sink, and detergent shower. His new home. The contrast between this dingy little hole and his cabin on the Andromeda made him close his eyes briefly. Sore and scared, he felt tears burning beneath his eyelids. Furious, he blinked them back.
So, he'd been abducted. Now he had a new life and if wasn't what he wanted, it was still a life. He'd escaped Vashon, damn it! Somehow, he'd get out of here.
Somehow.
The docking patrol supervisor of Myona had been in his position for almost thirty years. Jean Raphael was a big man with a good idea of the power he held. Requests reached his desk with a few credits attached to sharpen his attention. He greeted the latest request with an irritated frown.
"I don't see anyone without an appointment," he snapped into the com.
"Sir?" His secretary replied, voice wavering. "Sir, I really think you should...urk!"
Frowning, Raphael lumbered to his feet, reaching for his gun. No sooner had his fingers brushed the metal than the door came crashing inward and he found himself staring down the long barrel of a disintegrator. He stared at the leather-clad giant, the long braids, the black skin -- the Nietzschean spurs.
"Anasazi." His heart thumped into his boots. "I -- uh -- didn't know you were around. Sorry. The fool secretary of mine should have told me who wanted the appointment."
"No doubt," replied the Nietzschean, unmoved. "Sit down."
Raphael collapsed into his chair, hands clammy. "How -- how can I help you, Anasazi?"
"The Ripper's Edge."
Queasily, Raphael peered up at this deadliest of mercenaries. "Uh -- I don't know...ACK!"
The gun was suddenly in his mouth and for one horrifying second, Raphael almost lost control of his bodily functions.
"I want to know where he is and where's he going. If I can't get the information from you, I'll kill you and have that pretty little secretary of yours jack into your computers and get it."
"The Rim!" choked Raphael when the barrel was removed. "That's where he's going! He cleared outta here two days ago!"
"I know that, fool! I want his last tracked trajectory."
"Break into my fuckin' computers! No! Wait! I'll break into the fuckin' thing!"
Anasazi smiled and waited.
With shaking hands, Raphael accessed the docking logs. "There! See for yourself. The whole bloody herd of 'em took off outta here two days ago. They left a trail a mile wide. Nearly thirty ships, most of 'em personal craft. Buncha rich kids with more money then sense."
The Nietzschean glanced at the array of numbers and nodded,
lowering the disintegrator. "Thank you," he said, and was gone, leaving
Jean Raphael shaking and in need of a drink.
Part III
"Dylan?"
Andromeda Ascendant's captain looked up from a contemplation of space. His Omega appeared beside him, hands clasped at his back, braids in a heavy mass across his broad shoulders.
Dylan's fingers clenched briefly as he was hit full on by Tyr's astonishing sexual attraction. Once, he would never have considered any man in such a way, but since the Swearing, he found himself thinking of the Nietzschean constantly, his body, his mouth, the feel of his tongue on ...
"Hullo, Tyr. What can I do for you?"
"It is what I can do for you. You haven't touched me since Uberworld."
Dylan started. "No," he agreed, motioning for Tyr to sit. The big man sank onto the bench at his side. "The Ritual is over."
"Last week," Tyr said, "when I was aroused by the spores -- why didn't you have me then? Why ..." he hesitated and for just an instant, Dylan saw bewilderment. "Why did you make me masturbate?"
"The state you were in?" Dylan half-laughed. "I didn't really want to end up tied to my bed again, wondering if I'd still have genitals after you were done with me."
"What happened between us then was a mistake on my part, Dylan." Tyr looked directly, earnestly into his eyes. "Is that why you don't use me?"
"You have many duties on the Andromeda, Tyr, but being a sex slave isn't one of them."
"That's part of my function," the Nietzschean pointed out with his usual, forthright reasoning.
"It goes against my honor," Dylan tried again, "to force myself sexually on those who would prefer otherwise."
"And if I wished to be so used?"
Dylan's heart stumbled to a halt, then started again, much faster than before. Tyr looked down at him, expression thoughtful.
"You are captain of the most powerful warship in the galaxies."
"I -- probably."
"You have lost everyone you know and love."
"Accurate so far."
"There is a great deal of stress in this role you have assumed."
Dylan could see where they were going. When Tyr set a hand on his knee, he managed not to flinch away.
"And you do want me."
"Have Nietzscheans added telepathy to their list of superpowers?"
To Dylan's surprise, a smile lit that normally dour countenance. The impact was powerful indeed.
"Telepathy isn't needed," purred his Omega. That large hand slid up Dylan's thigh. From the warmth and pressure in his groin, the human was forced to acknowledge it was probably true.
"Come with me," said Tyr.
Dylan found himself on his feet. He followed Tyr from the observation deck and around to the officer's quarters. With each step, his initial reluctance was replaced with anticipation. The sight of that round, tight ass, the muscles bunched in those strong legs -- Dylan swallowed hard.
In Tyr's room, he stood just inside the door. Mute, he watched his Omega turn and, in the room's half-light, pull off his leather vest. Steel rings glinted against the broad chest. For a moment, the two men's eyes locked. Tyr lowered his first and calmly removed the rest of his clothes. Dylan took a deep breath at the sight of the Omega Ring. The Ring bound Tyr's balls against his huge cock and held the entire package front and center for his lord's enjoyment.
The purpose of the Ring, as well as the nipple "adornments", as Tyr called them, was to remind the Omega always that he was subordinate to his lord. Such things had been necessary on the Nietzschean warships of the past, where multiple Alphas had been required to work together in confined spaces.
Tyr stood quietly, legs apart, arms clasped behind him. It was an invitation that, by Nietzschean custom, Dylan did not need. He could take this man anytime, anywhere, whether Tyr be willing or not. A sudden wash of memories from the Ritual left him wondering if Tyr had turned up the ambient temperature in this room.
"Undress me," he said hoarsely and saw triumph leap into his Omega's brown eyes.
The big warrior's hands were gentle as a woman's. He stood close, fingers warm on Dylan's skin as garments were removed and discarded. Naked, the commander watched his Omega sink to his knees.
"Command me, my lord."
Dylan looked down at that bent back, felt the whisper of the Nietzschean's lips on his foot. It was hard to breathe. His desire burned.
"Why?" he asked. "Why do I have to command you?"
Tyr rose. They were of a height, he and the Nietzschean, but Tyr was twice as broad. Power radiated from him.
"If you wish, I will command you, my lord."
"Is even sex a power struggle with you?"
"Especially sex," replied Tyr hoarsely, coming closer, taking Dylan's head in his hands. He held the human still for his kiss. Dylan pulled away sharply and the two men stared at each other, breathing hard.
"I can try," Tyr whispered at last.
Dylan stroked the broad chest, felt the sensual swell of muscles. "Do so," he said.
They kissed again. Tyr was tentative now, uncertain of how to proceed. In the Ritual, his path was clear. Dylan finally set hands on his shoulders and kissed him.
After that, their bodies moved together without conscious thought. Tyr covered Dylan's mouth and throat with kisses, pulled him close and held him tight, their hips pressed together, erections rubbing. Dylan groaned, head falling back, held securely in the young giant's grip. Eagerly, Tyr nuzzled and sucked the soft flesh of that exposed throat, then Dylan's shoulders and chest. The human caught his breath as those full lips circled a nipple, tongue darting over it.
Tyr pushed him gently back onto the bed, straddling him, sucking and biting the rigid nubs. Then he slid down to put his mouth against Dylan's needy cock. Shocks of pleasure shook the human. The pressure of Tyr's tongue on him, its inexorable stroking up the length of his sex, its tantalizing caress of the weeping head made Dylan groan aloud. He stood up, pushing Tyr gently to the floor. Standing with legs braced wide, he hissed in approval as Tyr, on his knees, opened his mouth and took him in.
The considerate High Guard commander slipped away and in his place was the dominant male of Dylan's long, bloody heritage. With Tyr held motionless, Dylan used him, thrusting deep, moving faster and with increasing strength. The feel of throat muscles contracting around his cock, the struggles of Tyr to breathe only added immeasurably to Dylan's pleasure.
Some dim bit of conscience stirred him. He pushed Tyr away, gasping. The Nietzschean drew a sobbing breath. There were tears on his face, but he made no attempt to escape, only leaned forward again.
"No!" Dylan rasped. "Back on the bed."
His Omega obeyed at once, laying himself face down beside Dylan and offering his ass. But Dylan didn't want that -- not yet. He turned Tyr onto his back and straddled him. Tyr's mouth opened for Dylan's and he moaned softly.
After several long, dizzying moments, he released the Nietzschean. Dylan sank back and ran a finger under Tyr's Omega Ring, feeling the pressure of the warm, swollen flesh. "Tighten," he said.
Tyr groaned, back arching.
"Stop."
Breathing hard, the Nietzschean lay very still. God! How astonishingly beautiful he was! Dylan returned to kissing him.
Beneath the commander, Tyr began to move again, hips twisting, pushing his cock against Dylan's groin. Dylan felt the hard edge of the Ring press into his skin. He drew away, raising himself on his hands and knees. Tyr stared up at him, full lips parted, and reached to stroke Dylan's chest with one hand. The other went instinctively to the sweet discomfort between his legs.
Dylan caught that hand and brought it to his lips. Then, releasing him, the human slid from the bed. He took the lube and slicked up his cock.
At a word, Tyr opened his legs, lifting them. Dylan slipped two greased fingers into the Nietzschean's hole and began to massage and stretch him. With his other hand, he fondled Tyr's balls, stroked up the length of the other man's twitching cock. It was more than the stoic Nietzschean could bear.
"Please, Dylan -- please!"
Dylan kept Tyr helpless, fingering him until the younger man sobbed. Only then, when sweat glittered like diamonds on that perfect body did the human guide his cock to that waiting portal. Tyr cried out when Dylan pushed past the clenched muscles and into the exquisitely tight sheath. Head tossing from side to side, gripping his knees tightly, the Nietzschean gasped at each strong thrust.
Hands on the other's thighs, Dylan gave himself over to the waves of pleasure surging up from his groin. Each helpless twist of Tyr's hips, each shudder running through the Nietzschean's body, brought Dylan closer and closer to the brink. Tyr was right. He so needed this!
Orgasm shook him to the soul. He may have screamed. His thoughts finally cleared and Dylan found himself still buried in Tyr, shaking.
Tyr, however, was in much worse shape, still unfulfilled, the Omega Ring merciless. When Dylan could breath normally again, he slid out. Dropping to his knees beside the bed, he carefully drew one purple ball into his mouth, then the other. Each touch sent spasms through Tyr. His fingers clawed the bedclothes. His body gleamed.
Dylan pulled Tyr up until the Nietzschean was seated on the edge of the bed, legs spread wide. He bent forward, braids brushing Dylan's head. The commander put his mouth around Tyr's glans, tongue whispering around and around the corona. The other man fell backwards, bracing himself on his elbows, and groaned.
Ruthlessly, Dylan toyed with the desperate Nietzschean, teasing the head of his glistening cock, tongue massaging up and down the throbbing vein on its underside. Tyr was begging now, a steady whisper of pleas.
"Loosen," whispered Dylan.
The Ring obeyed and Tyr collapsed backwards to the mattress with a hoarse cry.
Dylan seized Tyr's cock again, sucking hard. Tyr's hips bucked wildly and he made a soft, keening sound, every muscle hard as stone. Abruptly, warm salty fluid filled Dylan's mouth and the Nietzschean went limp.
Dylan sat back, succumbing to a contented lassitude.
"Good job at Moyna," he said finally, still slightly breathless and not knowing what else to say.
Tyr sat up, stretching like a cat, then reclined along the edge of the bed, propped up on his elbow. He looked down at Dylan, eyes heavy-lidded.
"You know this is useless," he said. "Why waste time on this, Dylan? It is not to our advantage to chase around the most dangerous part of the galaxy looking for one insignificant technician. A technician who voluntarily walked away, I might add."
"Harper is not even remotely insignificant," retorted Dylan. Their eyes locked. Tyr looked away first.
"What is the Spectral Net?"
"A myth."
"Tell me about it."
"If you come up here."
Dylan grinned and climbed onto the bed. Tyr rolled around so they could lie together, heads on pillows.
"Rumor says there is a part of the Void, just beyond the galactic rim, where two white dwarves are being slowly and irresistibly drawn together. Someday they'll collide with what I suspect will be spectacular results. That's about a million years from now, but in the meantime, strung between them are nine ghost-holes. The Spectral Net."
"There's no such thing."
Tyr shrugged. A half smile on his face, he reached to brush damp hair from Dylan's forehead. "There is theoretical support for it."
"Very theoretical," Dylan said. He stared up at the ceiling. "Have you ever met Glee?"
"No, but I've met Benaki." Tyr rolled over, propping his chin on his arms. "We were hired to work together once. He's insane. His pride cast him out for the torture and murder of two young Nietzschean males. He had done the same to an unknown number of human boys, as well. He is a crafty man, ambitious and even more -- more Nietzschean than myself."
There was wicked humor in the sudden gleam of dark eyes. Dylan grinned, letting his hand run down Tyr's muscled flank. Even so, what Tyr said about Benaki was troubling.
"Well," he said, "we'll see where those numbers you got take us. If we come up dry, we can always fall back on Trance."
"Trance?"
"She finds things, remember?"
There was something irresistible about Tyr when he was
confused. Dylan reached for his Omega and pulled him close. Tyr melted
against him, putting his arms around him, submitting to Dylan's deep, passionate
kiss with enthusiasm.
Part IV
"Damn!" Harper slammed the plate back into place and sucked on his burned fingers. "What a rat-trap!"
His voice was alone in the hum of the engine hold. In fact, he'd seen no one since Benaki'd dumped him here. The bastard might call himself Chief Engineer, but Harper had yet to see him actually lift a tool or correct a program.
The young human was hungry, tired, and close to despair. The engine was a wreck, overworked and nothing spent on maintenance or parts. There were boards that looked like a ten-year-old had put them together. One of the converters leaked and he was scared to be near it for any length of time. He'd sent his reports to Benaki, but there had been no response. Some Chief Engineer.
Wearily, Harper walked the length of the room to the office and his cot. He lay down, curling up on his side, wishing he had a blanket. The captain was not generous with the heat. After a while, exhaustion won and he fell asleep.
The peace didn't last. He woke again to find two figures standing at his cot.
"What the...?"
They must have been crewmen; he didn't recognize them. One of them reached down. Panicked, Harper struck away his hand, jumping from the cot and hurling himself against the man -- useless bravado. Cursing, the man seized his arms, pushing him back. A blow to the jaw rendered Harper senseless long enough for the pirates to drag off his pants. Knowing what was coming, Harper lost what common sense remained and struggled frantically to get free.
This didn't go over well with his two paramours and the blows rained down until he was curled up, arms over his head, begging them to stop.
"Get up," one snarled.
He crawled from the cot and stood, shaking and sick, head spinning from the blows. The bigger of the men sent him stumbling to the desk, pushed him over it, and kicked his ankles apart. One hand settled hard on the small of his back, pinning him in place. He stopped struggling then and waited, remembering how it had been in the brothel.
Penetration came with a tearing pain, the unbearable pressure of a heavy penis filling him to the hilt. Harper screamed and clung helplessly to the desk, praying that they didn't do any actual damage. He sincerely doubted that slaves on the Ripper's Edge got much in the way of medical care.
It was over quickly, mercifully, and the men left him, the hollow clatter of their footsteps receding. After a very long time, Harper recovered the strength and will to push away from the desk. He found his trousers and put them back on. Then, holding himself upright against the windows and wall, returned to his cot. He lay for awhile on his side, trying to separate his mind from the pain.
Would his friends look for him? Well -- former friends -- and they probably wouldn't. He hadn't exactly been Mr. Nice Guy for the past couple of weeks. Dylan was probably happy to be rid of him. It wasn't like the former High Guard commander couldn't find another engineer to take his place. Who wouldn't kill to be in charge of that equipment?
It was all Tyr's fault, he thought then. Somehow, the bastard Nietzschean had wormed his way into Dylan' confidence by pretending to be cooperative. And there was the little matter of those nipple rings. What a naive idiot Dylan was! Harper had seen firsthand the result of Nietzschean lies and deceit. Tyr was planning something and it wasn't good. Harper had tried for two weeks to taunt him into making a slip, but the only result had been Dylan's increasing irritation. Then there had been that last, disastrous practical joke. At the time, it had seemed so funny. Now remembering it only made him cringe.
"What's wrong, Harper?" the commander had roared afterwards. "What the hell is your problem?"
"I don't like Nietzscheans," he'd snarled before thinking. "They're lying, sneaky bastards and you're an idiot to trust him."
That had been a little blunt, even for him. He remembered seeing Beka's face. Embarrassed -- she'd been embarrassed by his shitty behavior. Somehow that had been the last straw. He'd walked out of the Andromeda with no intention of going back. He would find employment on another ship and let them wonder what happened to him. Not that they'd care, of course.
Harper had a sudden vision of the Andromeda moving majestically off into space without him, going on to great adventures, maybe even doing what Dylan dreamed, restoring the Commonwealth. And he would not be there. Instead, he'd traded a relatively civilized Nietzschean for one who had no such constraints.
After awhile the pain dulled enough to let him sleep.
They were deep in outlaw space, an hour out of slipstream. Beka knew of only two settlements in this part of the Rim.
"Sirka or Grammery?"
"Either one would make sense." Tyr stretched, leaving the slipstream controls to stand beside her. As always, his physical proximity had every hormone in her body on overtime. She, however, was a human female and, according to him, beneath his notice -- sexually speaking. Beka devoutly wished him elsewhere.
"Dylan?"
"What is it, Beka?" came the commander's voice. He sounded breathless. On his way back from the gym?
"I think Grammery's our best bet. My dad went there once and ordered me never, ever to set foot on it."
"Sounds like a good start," came Dylan's genial response. "What is it?"
"Planet. Class M."
"Class M? An outlaw world?"
"Too far from anything, like law enforcement, for instance. And before you start talking about how we are the law enforcement, let me remind you that there are a lot of really bad people out here who would disagree."
There was no response. Beka glanced over her shoulder at the Nietzschean. He looked down at her. One eyebrow lifted. Then Dylan arrived.
Gym, all right, towel still draped over his -- ahem -- non-uniformed shoulder. Beka smiled.
"What if we do what we did at Moyna -- stay out of range of their sensors and send the Maru in?" Rev Bem joined Tyr beside Beka and looked over her other shoulder.
"Tyr the Evil Mercenary again?" Beck quipped. "A role he was born to play."
The other Nietzschean eyebrow went up. Dylan grinned. "Not this time. This time, we're going for something a little subtler. Trance? Trance?"
"Yes, Dylan?" The girl's cheery chirp filled the bridge.
"Dylan!" Beka objected.
"Could I see you on the command deck, please?"
"Be right there!"
"Dylan, damn it! These Rim places are rough!"
"It isn't an order, Beka. She can turn down the mission." Beka's "lucky charm" appeared, tail twitching, eyes alight with excitement.
"You don't have to do it, Trance," Beka said before Dylan could open his mouth.
And, of course, Trance accepted right away.
Part V
It took Harper two days to figure out how to break through the firewalls to get access the main control circuits, reroute a few, and get the hold door open. Early on, he'd managed to plunder the accessible files -- among them, shift changes and duty rosters. It would have been much easier just to jack into the system, but the obedience plug wasn't coming out without the proper code. Still, the day Seamus Harper actually required an electronic link to figure things out was the day he hung up his socket wrenches.
As soon as the Edge came out of slipstream, he made his move. Harper got all the way to the escape pod before they caught him.
They beat him into unconsciousness, and when he returned from that state, it was to find himself in a luxurious cabin, his wrists tied together and pulled over his head. The shackles were attached to a hook in the ceiling. He was stark naked, toes barely touching the carpet.
Utterly terrified, he saw Benaki. The Nietzschean stood at the shoulder of another man, a human, who sat on a high-backed armchair, a wine glass in hand. The human was handsome, distinguished. Perhaps in his early fifties, silver at his temples, he looked fit and capable. It was only the glitter in those ice-blue eyes that told Harper how much trouble he was in.
"So -- our little genius attempts to escape."
"I was bored," Harper said. "I thought I'd have a look around."
"I'm Captain Glee," the man continued as if he'd not said a word. "And when a slave comes to my attention, his usual reward is death."
Harper found he couldn't speak. All the horror stories he'd ever heard about this man came back in a rush.
Setting aside his glass, Glee rose and came to his prisoner. He had long, fine hands, but when they began to stroke over Harper's body, their clamminess made the young man shrink away. Glee's fingers tightened around his cock. Harper made a small sound of dread.
"I don't take kindly to slaves who cause trouble," Glee went on softly. "Where we're going requires a little more devotion to duty than under that whore, Beka Valentine."
The hand around his sex tightened violently and he cried out. Benaki moved forward suddenly, opening his trousers, revealing a huge erection. Spitting on his hands, the Nietzschean wet his cock and, walking behind Harper, kicked his feet apart and took the prisoner on the spot.
It was like getting rammed with a torpedo. Harper felt tissue rip, the pain so fierce he could not even breathe.
"Regrets?"
Harper barely heard him through the pounding of his pulse, unable to focus on more than the agony between his legs. He shook with the force of Benaki's thrusts, sobbing, begging them to stop. When Benaki suddenly hissed, gripping Harper's narrow hips and holding him fast for one final, agonizing push, it was too much. Harper screamed, body bowing in Benaki's hands, and for a moment, nothing made sense.
When Benaki pulled away, Harper felt something warm and wet run down his legs. Tears blurred his vision. A hand in his hair tilted up his face. Glee's handsome countenance was inches from his.
"Please," the youth whispered. "I won't run again, I swear! Please -- no more."
"Oh, too bad," sighed Glee, stroking Harper's tear-soaked face. "We're only just getting started."
Harper fell into despair. He surrendered to the mouth that covered his, felt Benaki press against his back. Sandwiched between the two men, the youth was helpless as they covered him and each other with kisses. At some point, they unfastened his shackles from the hook and hooked up a cable to his obedience jack. When they took it away, things got even stranger. Every sense seemed magnified, every pleasure an ecstasy, every pain purest torment.
They tied him on his back on Glee's bed, put clamps on
his nipples and watched as he writhed and wept. His balls were stretched
and bound. A heavy steel ring was clamped around the base of his cock and
tightened unbearably. His torturers alternated pleasure and pain until
Harper began to lose track of the line that separated one from the other.
It was much later -- he would never know exactly when -- that his overloaded
senses folded in on themselves and, mercifully, he fainted.
They brought Izzy's replacement into sick bay very late. Mara Ely was asleep, roused by the com in her ear. Dressing hastily, she made her way to the lower deck and her domain. Benaki was there. Sprawled like so much trash on the examination table was a young man who had clearly been entertaining the captain and his chief engineer.
"Fix him," said Benaki and left him with her.
The slave, Harper something, was covered with cuts and bruises, many of them concentrated around his mouth, his breast, his groin and his backside. There was considerable rectal tearing and the back of his throat didn't look that great either. Each touch elicited a flinch but little else. His eyes were open, but empty. He heard and understood her commands, obeyed them, but offered nothing. He had a neural port, as well. She saw the controller locked into it and felt slightly sick.
"Benaki says you were on Vashon?" she said, wondering if the kid was slipping into catatonia.
Harper simply stared at her.
"When?"
He closed his eyes and began to shake. Alarmed, she went for the cortisol. It brought him back.
"It hurts," he whispered.
"That's the point," she agreed drily. "Do what you're told and maybe you'll avoid this kind of thing in the future."
He nodded and closed his eyes, catching his breath as she began to apply salve to the dense pattern of welts adorning his thighs and buttocks.
It took her nearly an hour to get torn tissue mended, broken veins and capillaries cauterized. Through it all, the boy simply lay there, the only clue to his feelings in the clenching of those fine, slender hands or the sudden intake of breath when she came to an especially sensitive part.
Finally she had done what she could and helped him get off the table. He swayed, clinging to the edge of it to keep from falling.
"My -- my clothes?"
She shook her head. "You'll have to ask Benaki about that, but I doubt he'll allow it now."
He bit his lip, but nodded, resigned.
"Have you eaten?"
A slow shake of the blond head. Mara felt a sudden twist of rage. How the hell did the captain or Benaki expect their assistant engineer to perform when he was starving? They had treated Izzy the same way, doling out the protein cubes as if they were gold. Mara had given Isabel extra food whenever she could, but in the end, even that had not been enough to keep the woman alive.
She went to her desk and pulled open the drawer. There were a handful on the bottom -- she'd collected them for Izzy. Gathering them up, Mara handed them to the boy.
"Eat them here," she advised.
So he stood, leaning against the table, too sore to sit, and peeled off the foil wrappers. They weren't fresh, of course, probably tasted like chalk by now, but you wouldn't know it from the way the youth wolfed them down. He looked up when the last disappeared. "Thanks, doc."
She knew that look, the light of hope that said he thought she might be someone kind, someone he could turn to for help. It was a look she didn't want to see. Izzy had been another story, female and lovely. There had been a time, near the end, when Mara had actually considered leaving the Edge , stealing Izzy and taking them both to the farthest part of the galaxy from Glee. This boy stirred nothing in her but pity.
"Just stay out of trouble. My job is keeping the crew healthy. Glee doesn't give a damn about the slaves. In his world, you're as disposable as his drink cup. Get the picture?"
"Yes, ma'am." He straightened, eyes bleak.
There was no help for him here, no friend to keep the worst of their abuses at bay. She'd see him again soon, she knew it. Mara went to the door and looked out. Marcus was lounging against the corridor wall. Another deliberate choice on Benaki's part. Marcus was a vicious old fag. For a second, Mara regretted wasting so much time putting the slave together.
"He's ready," she said. "Just make sure he's not back here right away, okay?"
"Sure thing," drawled the man. There was a wolfish, snaggle-toothed grin.
Sighing, she motioned the boy to leave. Harper gave her one last, anguished look and then, as a man going to his own execution, he limped past her out the door. She watched them disappear down the corridor, Marcus' hands already sliding over Harper's raw buttocks.
Poor kid.
Part VI
"It's nice to see you and Dylan getting along really well," Trance said casually.
Tyr gave her a sideways glance. The pretty young woman smiled cheerfully.
"We didn't think it was possible. In fact, Harper was taking bets on when there'd be a full-fledged dominance challenge. Nice to see you rise above it, Tyr."
The Nietzschean kept his smile out of sight. None of the crew were particularly subtle. Harper's heavy-handed tactics were not the only sign of their curiosity. Dylan hadn't told anyone what had happened between them, although it was certainly his right. Tyr had dreaded the moment the others found out. That his lord had seen fit to spare him the humiliation so far was a source of some surprise.
Letting Trance stew, he checked the Maru's instruments. Like the others, Tyr had never been out this far. Why should he? This part of space had nothing he'd ever wanted. It was home to the dregs of the galaxy's various races, dirty, dangerous, and a pesthole of human and nonhuman diseases.
"We're getting close to Sirka," he announced.
Trance had been adamant about Sirka, dismissing Grammery without even considering it as far as Tyr could see. To his further surprise, Dylan had immediately ordered them to Sirka. That alone was enough to give the Nietzschean serious pause, to study the little purple female with renewed interest.
Through the viewscreen he suddenly saw another ship. It was small, a short-range hauler that looked as if it had been crudely customized. The engine on the thing was way too big for it.
Another ship appeared, and another. They were strung along the Maru's trajectory, a chain of disparate beads. There was a Delian yacht, rather banged up and the worse for wear. He saw a modified jumpcab, several standard personal recreation vehicles of various size and design, a small freighter, and a reconditioned Armorac fighter.
"What are they all doing here?" wondered Trance.
"Supposedly, Glee has a cult following. Perhaps these are his followers."
"Poor things."
The closer they got to Sirka, the thicker became this odd traffic. No one made contact with the Maru and the silence was eerie as Tyr made his way carefully through them. Now he could see Sirka ahead, a cylinder of a station rotating slowly around an orange, arid planet.
The com sputtered to life, a voice demanding identification. Tyr gave it.
"Business?" came the Docking Admin's demand.
"Looking for Glee," said Tyr.
"Captain Glee has departed."
"Where?"
"All docking and destination coordinates are confidential."
Tyr smiled and looked over at his blaster.
"Why don't we just go to the station and ask around?" Trance suggested. "I mean -- you could always shoot or threaten people later if we don't find out from one of Glee's followers."
He considered. If Dylan was here, he thought, this was what the commander would approve.
"All right," he said, "but we are not going to waste much time in that pursuit. If our first informants are not helpful, then I'll shoot and threaten Station Admin."
Sirka Docking Admin kept the Maru waiting far too long for a berth. Bored, Tyr slumped at the helm, listening with half an ear to Trance's excited prattle, mind cycling around endlessly to Dylan Hunt.
If he wanted to be brutally honest with himself, he would have to admit that he enjoyed the captain's attentions far more than was seemly. His duty was to the human commander; naturally, he would fulfill it. Tyr suspected that eager anticipation was not required. Nevertheless, whenever he thought about Dylan he could feel his blood heat. Thoughts of the handsome human male so preoccupied him that when the message finally came directing them to an empty docking bay he almost didn't hear it.
Sirka Station was a relic. In the old days of the Commonwealth, this part of space had represented the outermost limits of its territories. The station had probably been state of the art then. Now, hundreds of years and a devastating intergalactic war later, it was a battered, filthy place. Crudely painted signs on the docking deck warned inhabitants that decompression could occur at any time and to keep their suits on as a precaution.
There was a mousy Delian manning the customs checkpoint who took one look at Tyr and hastily waved them through. The station was packed. The Nietzschean, naturally, drew attention immediately, stalking through the crowd with Trance in tow, towering over the lot of them. He saw no sign of Harper, to his utter lack of surprise.
"Let's go there," Trance said suddenly, tugging on his arm and pointed to a door with a sign over it proclaiming a bar that served food.
Tyr gave her a disbelieving look, then shrugged. It was as good a place as any other to begin this fruitless exercise.
The bar was packed and noisy. Most of its patrons appeared to be young people. He saw many species, but the majority were human or variations on that theme.
All the tables were filled.
"There's a seat." Trance pointed to a couple of chairs pushed against the wall. Tyr's lip curled. He fixed his attention on a table, wound through the packed room to stand beside it, glaring down at its occupants, letting his forearm spurs lift. There was a hasty evacuation.
"Tyr!" Trance's tone was outraged, but her lips twitched and she sat down on the nearest vacated chair at once. He took the other. A barmaid appeared, frazzled and bad-tempered. Tyr's presence kept her polite. The woman took their order and was gone. Trance looked around thoughtfully.
"That group over there looks like they might be followers of Glee. I'll see what I can find out."
Tyr nodded. "Stay in sight."
He watched her skip through the crowd to the table. The four young humans there turned distrustful scowls on her, but she said something that changed the scowls to bright smiles. One of them found a chair for her. Tyr shook his head and sat back, content for the moment to watch for trouble and see what Trance turned up.
The waitress returned with their orders a half hour later. He caught Trance's eye and signaled. She came back, all smiles.
"You don't need to do your rabid dog act!" She pulled over her plate and examined her tomato sandwich with deep suspicion. "Everyone in their group is in the process of leaving, following Glee to paradise. We can just go with them!"
"Paradise!" snorted Tyr, wondering -- not for the first time -- why kludges didn't become extinct. It was one of the great conundrums of the universe, he decided, that such a flawed species could be so biologically successful.
"Well, that's what they think," Trance shrugged, separating her sandwich filling from the bread. She poked without enthusiasm at a watery red blob that was, presumably, a tomato. "He's told them there's dozens of unpopulated Class-M worlds out there just waiting for them. Everyone can have their own -- be the kings and queen of a new Commonwealth."
"What?"
She nodded, eyes wide. "That's right! Glee is claiming he's going to resurrect the Commonwealth, only in this brave new galaxy."
"Idiots." Tyr decided and bit deep into his own sandwich. It wasn't bad.
"They're seeking. It's sad. They have no other direction, nothing to engage their passions or emotions. They're all really nice and I'm afraid that they will lose their lives before they gain a kingdom."
"On the other hand, culling the weak-minded and irrational from the gene pool would be nothing but an improvement in the long term."
"Oh, Tyr," sighed Trance.