OMEGA 2: The Swearing

by Becca Abbott

Fandom: Andromeda

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: Andromeda is property of Tribune/Fireworks Entertainment. No copyright infringement intended.

The story contains graphic sexual scenes and violence, m/m, m/f, BD/SM.

(Omega had not been beta-ed. I apologize in advance for boo-boos.)

Omega 2: The Swearing
By Becca Abbott

Forty-eight hours. Enough time for wounds to heal, for sanity to return. Enough time for the fear and pain to recede, but not to banish the memory of other sensations. By their very novelty, those refused to move into the background of his thoughts.

Tyr Anasazi stared balefully through the window of his quarters. The cold, clear voice inside that cared nothing for his pride reminded him that the torture he'd endured was hardly worthy of the name. He had submitted after only a few hours -- glaring weakness on his part.

The young Nietzschean moved restlessly around his cabin. If he refused to become Hunt's omega, he would be thrust back into exile again. The alternative was to submit to an indefinite period of bondage for which there was little reward.

Except for pleasure the likes of which he'd never before experienced.

The thought crept in, unbidden and he repudiated it at once. Shameful pleasure, he told himself fiercely, and hardly obtainable *only* from the tall, handsome, human male.

Pausing in front of his mirror, he stared at his reflection. He had deliberately chosen to wear his quomid leather vest. It was black, held closed by a careful lacing of two leather strips, one black, one silver -- unique to Kodiak pride. Small, square plates of rayamin stitched decoratively along the front and back turned the vest into armor, of sorts. It was a garment a young Kodiak male wore when making a dominance challenge. He hadn't used it as such for years.

Falling back on the edge of his bed, dropping his head into his hands, Tyr wondered tiredly why there was even a question in his mind. This was not a Nietzschean fighter! Hunt was not a Nietzschean captain. What Hunt demanded was not to Tyr's advantage.

Was it?

No. Of course it was not! What *was* to his advantage was to kill the kludge and take the ship as he'd always meant to do. All that had really changed was the timetable.

Swearing softly, the Nietzschean rose. "Ship, where is Hunt?"

"In his quarters," came the AI's voice. "Do you wish to speak to him?"

"I do. In person, ship."

"I'll let him know you're coming."

Tyr smiled grimly. You do that, he thought. His first act as Commander would be to disable the damn interface.

The cabin door slid open smoothly to let him out. He arrived at the captain's quarters without seeing anyone else, but was not so foolish as to believe that his arrival had gone unnoticed. Tyr could feel the ship's eyes on him everywhere he went. Not that it mattered.

Hunt was sprawled on a long couch underneath one of the enormous windows that distinguished his quarters. Tyr liked those windows. In fact, the suite was very much to his taste.

The blond human looked around, sitting up as Tyr approached.

"We need to talk," the Nietzschean said shortly.

He received a crooked smile. "Yes, we do. Are you here to swear to me?"

Tyr said tightly. "No."

Hunt leaned back and Tyr found himself averting his eyes from that loose, easy grace.

"I'm sorry to hear that." There was no change in the calm voice. "Where would you like to be let off?"

"If I swear to obey orders ..."

"Then you'll *know* I'm stupid. No, Tyr. If I can't count on your loyalty, I don't want you here."

Hunt's bluntness stung for some reason. Nietzschean nodded tightly. His hand blurred behind him for the small blaster he had stuck in the waistband of his breeches. Even as he did so, however, Hunt was on the move.

Dylan avoided the first blast, coming up with his own concealed weapon. Caught by surprise, Tyr managed to duck his fire, shooting back without thinking. Unfortunately for Dylan, his human reflexes, although much better than Tyr had reckoned, were not quite good enough. Tyr's second blast caught Hunt in the shoulder, sending him crashing into the wall, slamming his head hard against the window.

Without stopping to see the damage, Tyr kept firing, controlled bursts taking out the holoprojector, what visual and audio security sensors he'd previously identified, and jamming the door. Smiling grimly, Tyr kicked a chair out of his way, striding across the room to the unconscious human. Shoving the small blaster into the back of his breeches, Tyr looked down at Hunt.

"And now, commander," he said softly, "We'll see who swears to whom."

****

"We've changed direction."

Seamus Harper, half asleep, a print-out of one of Andromeda's technical manuals over his face, jerked awake. Trance was perched on the foot of his bed, staring at him. He made an incoherent noise and lunged for his sheet while the enigmatic female eyed his underwear in some disgust.

"The laundry facilities on this ship are perfectly adequate," she pointed out.

"Right," he muttered pulling the sheet up to his chin. "We've changed direction. So what?"

"Weren't we going to Mika i'tl?"

Harper shrugged. "Dylan changed his mind."

"He wanted very badly to go to Mika i'tl. It is an excellent opportunity to broker peace between the tShca and Robissi."

Harper regarded her thoughtfully. "Something came up?"

Trance's worried frown vanished. "You're right," she agreed. "That must be it."

She got off the end of the bed and skipped across the room, stopping at the door. Her tail twitched. "If you really want women to have sex with you, Seamus, you should probably wear clean underwear or -- better yet -- none at all."

Trance bounced from the room, leaving Harper slack-jawed and mortified in her wake. It was some time before he could again concentrate on his manual.

****

Dylan swam out of darkness and into a haze of pain and confusion. He was flat on his back, naked and spread-eagled on his bed, binders cutting into his wrists and ankles. The air was cool on his skin. Alertness returned in a hurry, but he lifted his head too fast and reality splintered into fractals.

"Give me control of the Andromeda and I'll let you live," came Tyr's voice.

Dylan laughed harshly, breathlessly, shaking his head to banish lingering cobwebs. The room came into focus, especially the towering figure standing beside the bed. Great. So much for being prepared. He sighed, flexing his hands experimentally.

"Not a chance, Tyr."

The blow was not unexpected. When he could think again, Tyr was leaning in over him, large hands planted on either side of his head. The spines on those powerful forearms were raised. On the back of Dylan's neck, his hair rose in response.

"Did you honestly believe there is anything you could offer me to make me swear the Oath to you?"

There was contempt in the quiet, intense voice. With an effort, Dylan damped down on his own anger and dread.

Yes," he replied steadily. "Too bad you didn't bother to ask first."

"What I want is this ship -- nothing else."

"You haven't heard my -- no!"

Another blow. Dylan tasted blood. Then, to his dazed surprise, Tyr's mouth came down on his. When next he was released, he was dizzy, dragging in breath after long breath.

"Since you're so knowledgeable about Nietzschean traditions," purred Tyr, "then you'll know that we keep humans for sexual entertainment -- creatures to serve our lusts when we are parted from our mates."

Dylan tried again. "Tyr -- It would be to your advantage to hear me out."

"And I think not!" Tyr's hand came down hard over Dylan's nose and mouth. "Unless you're ready to give me the Andromeda's security codes, you'll be *silent*!"

Fine, thought Dylan bitterly, and was silent. Unfortunately, it appeared that this didn't please Tyr either. The Nietzschean swore savagely, and the next blow sent Dylan spinning back into the dark.

*****

Beka Valentine stepped off the lift, yawning. It was her shift, but Dylan wasn't anywhere to be seen. She frowned. He was always here, waiting to be relieved, glowering because she'd overslept.

Maybe he was loosening up. Maybe he'd actually just gone on to bed, knowing she'd be along. Sometimes his not-so-subtle attempts to turn his new crew into High Guard robots could be damned annoying.

"Lights up," she said.

The command deck brightened and there was a squeak from the navigation board.

"Trance? What are you doing here?"

"We're not going to Mika i'tl," Trance replied, worried.

"You must be mistaken." Beka joined her at the board and frowned. The girl was right. They were in slipstream and, sure enough, their coordinates had changed. It wasn't like Dylan to change the mission without informing anyone.

And it wasn't like Dylan to leave the bridge before being formally relieved.

"Romy? Get Dylan for me, OK?"

The holograph flickered into substance at Beka's elbow in its usual, unnerving way.

"I've tried. I can't get through."

Beka frowned. "Where the hell are we going?"

"I don't know. Dylan entered new coordinates, then left in the middle of his command and never came back." Romy looked decidedly unhappy. "And I've lost visual access to his quarters. He's in there with Tyr. Doors are shut and the locks disabled."

Chilled, Beka asked, "There's still audio?"

"Only if he initiates it by vocal command." Romy hesitated. "I'm looking around in the archives. Maybe I can match the coordinates of this new route with somewhere known."

"Sounds like a plan." Beka got herself a cup of hot coffee from the dispenser. "Maybe we should just go to sublight until we know what the hell is going on."

"We can't. I'm locked out. No changes. We're on this route until the captain or his program says we're not."

Beka took her seat at the helm and contacted Harper at once. It took a while. Asleep, she thought, and kept trying. His eventual mumbled, "goddammit," confirmed her hypothesis.

"Get up here. We've got trouble."

"I don't want to hear it."

"That thing between Dylan and Tyr? I don't think it's over yet."

There was appalled silence, then, "Shit! I'll be right there."

*****

Dylan lay sprawled beneath Tyr, unconscious. The Nietzschean's last blow had broken his jaw. Now, Tyr ran the tissue-knitter over the swelling and watched the puffiness and discoloration fade.

It was not his intention to kill or permanently damage Hunt. In fact, inexplicably, seeing the handsome commander like this only aroused the Nietzschean. He put away the medical device and ran a hand along Dylan's lean, muscular body.

Dylan stirred and opened his eyes. His gaze, wary and bright with anger, met Tyr's. He opened his bruised mouth to speak, then, wisely, reconsidered.

"Give me the command codes," Tyr ordered.

Hunt shook his head and tensed for more punishment. v "According to my calculations," Tyr continued, "we'll reach the Mika i'tl in a little under three hours. Your time is growing short."

"We're not going to Mika i'tl."

Startled, Tyr regarded his prisoner. Then he slid from the bed and strode into the study. "Com engage. Ship?"

There was a pause then, hopefully, "Dylan?"

"No. Are we still en route to Mika i'tl?"

"We are not."

"Where are we going?"

"Unknown at this time. The route is marked captain's discretion and inaccessible without the password. Is he with you?"

"Com off!" Tyr barked.

His heart was pounding. What the hell was the human up to?

Legends of the High Guard persisted throughout the galaxy. They were the rare, but spectacular results of random gene combination -- almost Nietzschean in their strength, agility and mental brilliance. He could torture Hunt until the stress of it finally killed the human, but legends claimed that a High Guard had the will to suicide rather than betray his people.

Damn.

Things were moving out of control. Hunt might be naked and tied to his bed, but he was still commanding the Andromeda. For a moment, Tyr was tempted to release the commander, to acknowledge failure and accept the resumption of his exile.

After all, he thought, he was accustomed to being alone.

Yet in the end, Tyr was reluctant to take his own pragmatic advice. Persistence was needed, he told himself, nothing more. Dylan was only human. If Tyr failed to force the codes from him -- well, even then the man was unlikely to kill him. It seemed an acceptable risk. Smiling grimly, Tyr returned to the bedroom.

Hunt lay perfectly still, staring up into the ceiling as Tyr approached. Kicking off his boots, the Nietzschean crawled onto the bed. He looked the human over boldly, gaze traveling up and down the naked body at his knees. Deliberately, he fondled his captive, taking his time, paying particular attention to the man's hardening sex.

Shame, anger and unwanted response crossed the handsome face.

"Stopping fighting me," Tyr urged. " You can't win."

He took his hand away. "With this ship under *my* command, we can still unite the galaxies ..."

"No. I've had a chance to see what misery Nietzschean dominance brings," retorted Hunt. "No way, Tyr."

Again, those well defined muscles bunched in anticipation of pain, but Tyr merely smiled and kissed him.

To his surprise, the human's mouth opened to his, unresisting. Pale flesh, human-fragile and soft as silk, yielded seductively to his touch.

When he'd had his fill of Hunt's lips, Tyr sat back, breathless. The other man's gaze shifted away. Color stained those high cheekbones.

Tyr turned his attention to Hunt's growing erection, stroking it. The human's hips twitched. He tried to close his legs, a futile, reflexive attempt before giving up and laying still, staring once again at the ceiling.

Without a word, the Nietzschean reached up to one of the cords that tied his vest together. Carefully, he worked it out of its weaving. It was a black strip, the length of his forearm. Holding it in one hand, Tyr reached down to scoop up the human's testicles.

"Tyr..."

A squeeze reminded the human of his predicament and Hunt lapsed back into angry, apprehensive silence. Taking the strap, Tyr treated the human's testicles as his own had been treated two days ago. He bent and began caressing them with his tongue.

"Interesting sensations, don't you think?" he whispered. "This, too, is Nietzschean tradition. Do you know which one?"

Hunt jerked convulsively with each stroke. When he was sweating, muscles strung like wire through the long body, Tyr looked up. The human's broad chest rose and fell swiftly, skin gleaming in the room's half light.

"Where are we going?"

"Untie me," whispered Dylan, "and I'll tell you."

Sitting up, Tyr carefully extricated the vest's silver string. The human's blue eyes fixed on it, the cord glinting in the low light of the bedroom. Then Tyr began to bind Hunt's cock, wrapping the metallic cord tightly around it until only the head was exposed. Hunt's eyes were closed. He was no longer breathing fast. Indeed, it seemed he was not breathing at all. Gratified by the response, Tyr bent and drew his tongue teasingly around the captive glans.

The human made a sound deep in his throat, body arching helplessly into Tyr's touch. The Nietzschean let his hands roam familiarly, possessively over straining muscles. His fingers slid beneath the bound genitals to the perineum, kneading gently and sending a whole new set of tremors through his captive. When his forefinger touch the human's clenched anus, there was a sound of protest, bitten back at the last minute.

"In my pride, we bind our human males this way, to remind them always that they are slaves. I've tied both cords very lightly. They can be much tighter."

No answer, only a hardening of that beautiful, battered mouth.

Tyr remembered the feeling of Hunt's sex buried deep inside him, the electric jolts of pleasure elicited by each powerful stroke across his prostate. Darwin! Inside his tight, leather pants, Tyr's cock throbbed unmercifully.

Sitting up, Tyr turned back. Reaching into the pocket of his vest, he brought out the omega nipple rings. Letting them clink as they slid down his middle finger, he held them in front of Hunt's wide eyes.

"Our usual slave-rings are smaller than this," said the Nietzschean, matter-of-fact, "but there aren't any on the ship, so I'm afraid we'll just have to make do with these."

****

As Tyr suspected, the human wasn't able to keep silent through the piercing. Even so, Hunt refused to tell him anything. The man's endurance was beginning to irritate the Nietzschean.

Tyr bent over the human and pulled one of the rings into his mouth, tasting the blood, remembering how it had felt when Hunt had done this to him. He sucked at the ring, pulling it this way and that, his tongue flicking over the raw flesh until Hunt whimpered. Then Tyr went on to the other nipple. When the human was breathing hard, tears spangling those dark lashes, Tyr leaned forward, his braids sweeping across the man's heaving chest.

"Where are we going?" he whispered, mouth against Hunt's ear.

*Still* no answer.

Cursing softly, the Nietzschean left the bed. He shrugged out of his vest and unfastened his breeches, setting the blaster well out of reach -- just in case. Hunt watched his every move, those long fingers clenched around the cords that held him defenseless on the bed.

Pulling down his trousers, tossing them to the floor, Tyr took a deep breath of relief at being out of the restrictive garment. He stood a moment, fondling his own sex, looking down at his prisoner. Then, leaning over, he untied Dylan's right ankle. Walking around the foot of the bed, he untied the other. Then he climbed back onto the mattress, pulling Hunt's legs open when the human struggled to put them together.

Hands set firmly on Dylan's thighs, he pushed the human's hips up and back.

Hunt closed his eyes, shivering. Bending over, Tyr ran his tongue up the crack between Hunt's buttocks, thrust it through the small ring of tight muscle. There was a hiss from the man under him.

Forcing Hunt's capitulation in the matter of the Andromeda seemed suddenly less important than it had earlier. A part of Tyr recognized that his Nietzschean sexuality was gaining the upper hand. The heat in his own veins made retreat to more practical tactics ... unlikely.

Straightening, Tyr reached over and thrust his fingers into Dylan's mouth. After an initial start, the human got the message, caressing them, slipping his tongue between and around each digit. The warm, wet stroking made the Nietzschean shiver and lifted his spines again.

Pulling his hand away, Tyr slowly inserted the wet fingers into Hunt's anus, found the human's prostrate and gently pressed. Hunt cried out, eyes rolling back.

The skin under Tyr's other hand was slippery with sweat. He ignored the tremors that shook the human, continuing to prod and stretch until he estimated Dylan was loose enough to admit him.

Drawing back, spitting on his hands, Tyr wet his cock as best he could, conscious of Hunt's eyes on him.

"This is going to hurt," promised Tyr softly. "You can make it stop by turning over control of this ship to me. You will eventually, you know."

"No," Hunt replied, voice a thread. "You will not -- have the Andromeda -- not -- ever..."

Suddenly furious, tired of the man's incomprehensible obstinance, Tyr thrust roughly into Hunt, impaling the human, driving the entire length of himself into the impossibly tight sheath. For a moment, he trembled on the brink of orgasm. The effect on his prisoner was more extreme. Dylan cried out, body bowing until Tyr thought distantly that the human's spine might break.

Effortlessly holding Dylan in place, Tyr took his pleasure, well aware of the damage he was doing. He remembered being under Dylan's whip, how the pain had become something else quite unexpected. Now he saw that same reaction in his captive, Dylan's head tossing from side to side, breath coming in sobs, body rocked helplessly by the force of Tyr's lust.

The sudden memory of himself kneeling at Hunt's feet sharpened Tyr's desire. He rode the human harder, his own consciousness beginning to fray. Distantly, he was aware of Hunt pleading, whether for mercy or release Tyr neither knew nor cared. The muscles around his cock suddenly clenched, a spasm that pushed the Nietzschean past his point of control.

Tyr came with a roar that shook the room. He spent himself, shuddering at each exquisite contraction. Then, slowly, he withdrew. Dylan lay, shaking, half-conscious, blood soaking through rumpled sheets. Tyr collapsed onto him and felt the other man's frantic heartbeat.

"Where are we going?" Tyr hissed, body sluggish and satiated.

Hunt tried to speak but no sound came out. Tyr put his ear against those bitten lips.

"Where are we going?" he demanded once more. Hunt's breath was warm, tickling him.

"Uberworld."

*******

"The Nietzscheans have always been looked upon with suspicion and dislike."

Romy turned toward the front of the command deck and its wall of screens. A world appeared there, a holographic image sparkling as blue and green as Old Earth. Beka leaned absently against the helm, eyes wide. They were all on the command deck now, all worried.

"When they first became restive within the Commonwealth, there was a deal of sorts struck with them, to keep them quiet and docile. If the Commonwealth could build them a world according to their specifications, then the Nietzscheans would agree to leave the worlds of weaker species alone."

"Oh, right," snorted Harper. "Like that was going to happen."

"Besides," added Beka. "Terraforming doesn't work."

"According to the legend, it did in this instance."

"I have heard this legend," announced Rev Bem suddenly. "It is a tale of treachery all the way around."

"Indeed," sighed Romy. "Anyway, Uberworld was born. It was designed by a Nietzschean and built by humans, but before it could be turned over to them, the Nietzscheans broke their own word, attacking Lomir 819. Immediately thereafter, everyone who worked on the project were killed when the transport they were in suffered a "malfunction" and blew up.

"The Nietzscheans accused the Commonwealth of murder. There were counter charges from the humans, and in the end, the Neitzscheans did not get their world. All information about it vanished. It was never found. Eventually, after hundreds of years, Uberworld faded to myth, the perfect world, lost forever."

"And we're going there?" Trance seemed delighted. "It sounds beautiful."

"It's a *legend*, Trance," Beka replied, shaking her head. "The question is -- why is Dylan taking us there? Romy, are you sure the new commands weren't input by Tyr?"

"Very sure," replied the ship confidently.

"It sounds," Beka said finally, "as if Dylan has a plan."

"Some plan, locked up with a Nietzschean who probably wants this ship!" Harper wasn't impressed. "I say we take a few force lances and bust down his door! It's only a matter of time, believe me..."

"And I say we wait," the Magog said unexpectedly. "Do not judge Dylan's limitations by your own."

Harper's mouth sagged. Beka bit her lip, staring at the screens and the chaos of slipstream through which the Andromeda hurtled.

"Seal off the corridor outside his bedroom," she said finally. "Just in case."

*****

/Nothing worth doing is easy. /

Dylan felt the warmth of the knitter as it passed under his buttocks. The terrible pain there faded, but did not go away. Probably healed just enough to stop hemorrhaging, he thought dimly. The ache of his genitals remained, insistent, ever-present. His nipples throbbed. He ran his tongue over his cracked lips in a vain attempt to wet them.

"Why bother," he rasped, throat aching, "if you're going to kill me anyway?"

The mattress shifted. Tyr set aside the knitter. Dylan noticed with a sinking heart that the Nietzschean kept it within arm's reach. Not done yet, then.

Looking down the length of himself, Dylan saw his cock and balls, still tightly confined in the strips from Tyr's vest. The latter were purple and the head of his penis a dark, angry crimson.

"It's not your death I want," replied the Nietzschean. "In fact, I think that when the Andromeda is mine, I shall keep you as my slave."

"Never happen," whispered Dylan.

"You'll get used to the idea," Tyr laughed. "Uberworld! Ha!"

"Wait and see."

The Nietzschean, grinning fiercely, leaned over him and once more Dylan was forced to accept that plundering tongue. It was not so easy to lie, passive, when Tyr began once again to toy with the nipple rings. This time, the flow of pain to desire was smoother, quicker. Dylan moaned into the mouth covering his.

Tyr stroked his chest and belly, fingers teasing the pulsing head of Dylan's cock.

"Please," Dylan whispered when Tyr released him. "Oh, God -- Anasazi!"

"If you want release," Tyr whispered, "then give me the keys to the Andromeda's systems."

The codes trembled on Dylan's tongue as the Nietzschean began caressing his balls. Somehow he kept silent, even when Tyr bent and began to lick them. In his groin, Dylan felt the pressure building again. By superhuman effort he kept himself still.

Now Tyr's wicked tongue moved to the head of his cock. The feel of that soft, wet stroking over him made Dylan cry out, body arching, mindlessly pushing his sex toward his tormenter. Tyr swallowed it and every nerve in the human's body reacted. He wanted to come, *needed* to come, but the cords were wrapped so tightly he was kept eternally on the brink. When Tyr moved away, he couldn't help a small, pleading whimper.

It took a moment to realize that the Nietzschean was no longer on the mattress beside him. Dylan turned his head and watched Tyr stride from the bedroom. Dylan could see the corner of the window in the study. They were out of slipstream.

Taking a deep breath, the Commonwealth officer forced himself to lay still, to ignore the heat nestled in his groin, the ache of his abused nipples. Please, he thought, let me be right about this.

Tyr reappeared in the doorway, staring across the room at him.

"Are -- are we there?" Dylan rasped.

"It would seem so."

Tyr's voice was strained. Even through his own misery, Dylan heard the uncertainty. He allowed himself hope.

Tyr returned to the room and, after hesitating, untied Dylan. Dragging the human from the bed, Tyr threw him to the floor. Dylan tried to resist when Tyr seized his wrists, but his strength was almost gone. Tyr locked them together, ignoring his weak struggles. Then the Nietzschean dragged him through the door and flung him, face down on the carpet in the study. Reality dimmed.

"Is this some kind of joke?" he heard Tyr shout. "Damn you, Hunt!"

The Nietzschean's kick broke apart reality. For a moment, nothing was certain. When Dylan's head finally cleared, it was quiet. He pushed himself to his knees, fighting nausea as the pain rolled over him and looked for his tormenter.

Tyr sat in a nearby chair. He was still naked, his entire body unmoving, muscles rigid, jaw clenched. Dylan followed his fixed stare.

A blue and green jewel revolved slowly in front of them, warmed by a large, yellow sun. Surrounding it was a glittering net of golden spheres and beams of light.

Uberworld. Paradise.

And untouchable.

Slowly, Tyr turned his head. The dark eyes that rested on the chained human were ablaze. Dylan managed a grin.

"Well?" he croaked. "Ready to swear to me now?"

****

"An irinium shield!"

Beka Valentine stared, aghast. "Romy! Keep clear!"

"Absolutely!" agreed the ship, equally appalled. "I don't believe it! Irinium mines were declared illegal over six hundred years ago!"

Harper, draped against the helm next to Beka, started to laugh. The first officer thought irrelevantly that he seemed cleaner than usual.

"Oh, shit," he chortled. "Talk about putting it to the Nietzscheans!"

"Indeed." Rev Bem's eyes rested, thoughtful, on the deadly web. "Unless you know the security codes for them, they can trigger an explosion that would tear even the Andromeda to pieces. If you *fire* on one, it sets off a chain reaction that will destroy not only the shooter, but the entire world. They are evil things. I cannot believe that the Commonwealth had anything to do with this."

"Why not?" Beka asked. "If Romy is right -- if this was built for Nietzscheans, then taken away -- what else could you use to keep their hands off it?"

"What about Dylan?" Trance piped up, reminding them all of their original problem.

"Romy?"

"Still nothing from his quarters since Tyr's query," the ship replied unhappily.

"Wonderful." Beka sighed. Getting up, she walked across the command desk to the dispenser. "Coffee," she ordered, "with a shot of whiskey."

*****

Tyr sat, hands rigid on the arms of his chair until the wild anger in him was banked. Nearby, Dylan knelt, bound hands loose on his thighs. The human held his body carefully against the pain of his wounds, head bowed. Tyr stared at the broad shoulders, the blond hair dark with sweat, tendrils of it clinging to the bent neck. Then he looked again at Uberworld, inviolate behind its deadly shield.

"You know the codes to de-activate the shield, don't you?" he said finally. It was not really a question.

"I do." Dylan lifted his head. Blue eyes, dull with pain, met Tyr's, defiant even now. "And you'll have no better luck getting it out of me than you will the codes to my ship, Nietzschean. If you want Uberworld, you swear to me. You'll get it no other way."

Tyr stared again at that glittering prize.

"You would simply *give* it to me? After -- after this?"

"No. You'll earn it if you serve me well -- if you keep to the laws of the Omega."

Tyr shook his head, heart in his mouth. "By what authority can you do this?"

Dylan did not answer at first. There were white lines around his mouth. He took a deep breath.

"The world -- was given into the custody of the High Guard Command four -- four hundred years ago. The passwords that de-activate the irinium shield were passed orally from one Command to the next. When the war began, I was one of six High Guard officers given it. Five of those commanders are now dead -- according to what records I can find, they were killed at Witchhead."

Desire of a different sort flooded Tyr's veins. To have a planet and not just *any* planet! What female would reject the lord of the legendary Uberworld! Indeed -- the Alpha of Uberworld need not settle for a single female!

Tyr looked again at Dylan. The human's tenuously hoarded strength had failed. He was slumped forward, hair brushing the carpet.

Hunt was a fool to give up such a prize, and yet -- knowing the man as Tyr did -- this all made a perverted kind of sense. What did Dylan need with a world? His goals were not to find a wife and reproduce. He could care less if he passed his genes along.

Dylan's life was dedicated to commanding a weapon of fearsome power that, paradoxically, he refused to wield. They both knew full well that doing so could force the reestablishment of his precious Commonwealth in a few short years, but Dylan clung to absurd High Guard principals and probably would do so until he died.

Tyr leaned forward in his chair, elbows on knees and closed his eyes. To submit to a human, to swear to him -- it was unheard of! And yet -- Uberworld. It was a prize worth any humiliation and any torment.

Heart thumping, making up his mind, Tyr stood and walked over to Dylan. He watched muscles tense beneath the smooth, pale skin. Carefully, the Nietzschean lifted the human to his feet and with considerably more gentleness, half-carried him back to the bed. Misunderstanding, Hunt made a small sound of despair, trying to curl up on the mattress in a forlorn attempt to protect himself.

"No," Tyr said, pushing him onto his back. Dylan was still, eyes closed, barely breathing. Tears leaked from beneath the dark lashes.

Carefully, Tyr took a nipple ring, opening it.

"Tyr, please -- think about --- AH!"

The ring was out. The Nietzschean bent and covered the swollen nub with his mouth, gently licking away the blood that oozed from the wound. Dylan's breath came in quick, shallow gasps. His skin roughened.

Picking up the knitter, Tyr turned it on full, making several passes over the raw flesh. Hunt was very still. Tyr removed the other ring. This time, he waited for the knitter to do its work before he suckled on it.

There was a slight relaxation in the human's strained muscles. The shudder that ran through him now was not, Tyr reckoned, solely a reaction to pain.

"Tyr?"

Tyr did not reply. Instead, he pressed his lips against Dylan's breastbone, tasting the sweat, letting his hands move slowly down the man's side, over the sharp ridge of his pelvis.

"Open your legs."

"Tyr..." But Dylan obeyed, swallowing hard, perhaps not believing yet that he'd won.

Tyr rocked back on his heels. Dylan held his shackled wrists against his chest and stared, wide-eyed, into the ceiling. He groaned when Tyr's fingers brushed over his swollen testicles. Carefully, the Nietzschean extricated the end of the black cord and freed them.

He heard the long hiss of breath as Dylan reacted to the sudden release and the swift, painful return of circulation. Anticipating what came next, Tyr placed a hand flat on Dylan's groin, holding him down. Carefully, the Nietzschean massaged the crimson balls with his tongue.

"Ohgodohgodohgod..." Dylan's body twisted; he reached over his head to seize the rumpled bedclothes, holding on for dear life.

When the tremors racking him ceased, Tyr unwound the silver cord. Dylan sobbed aloud then, trying again to sit up, reaching for the blaze between his legs. Tyr pushed him back. The marks of the cord were deep in the tender flesh.

The Nietzschean ran his tongue along the underside of Dylan's half-hard shaft, coaxing the vein back to life. Then he took the cock in his mouth, caressing it, sucking gently. There was a whimper that had very little to do with pain. Dylan's hips ground against the mattress. Tyr placed his hands firmly on those sinewy thighs, holding the human helpless while he continued his relentless attentions. Under his tongue, he could feel the blood refilling the human's penis, engorging it.

Climax came swiftly. Dylan cried out, hips bucking against Tyr's strength. The Nietzschean's mouth filled with hot, salty fluid. He held the cock until he felt it soften, then he released it and straightened.

The human lay, completely undone, long body limp, eyes closed. The deep flush of orgasm colored his damp skin. Tyr straddled him. There was a visible flinch and blue eyes flew open, but Tyr only pulled his arms forward and unlocked the binders. Kissing each bruised wrist, Tyr released him. Slipping from the bed, the Nietzschean knelt.

It took a moment for Hunt to sit up, to swing his legs over the side of the mattress. It looked like he had to hold on to the edge to keep upright.

"I swear to you, lord," said Tyr, hoping wretchedly that it was not too late, that Dylan *would* keep his word in spite of everything. He touched his forehead against Dylan's bare feet in brief obeisance. "I will be your slave and your protector, your right arm and your deadliest weapon. There will be no will over yours. I swear this on the bones of the Progenitor."

He waited, afraid to look up, knowing Dylan would be perfectly justified in killing him on the spot. His pounding heart leapt when he felt those long, fine fingers on his head.

"I accept your Oath," came the ritual, if somewhat thready response. "Rise, omega."

Almost sick with relief, Tyr did so, standing before the dazed and exhausted human, legs apart, hands clasped at the small of his back. Dylan's gaze traveled up the length of him. Then, wordlessly, he held up a hand. Tyr took it and pulled the human to his feet.

There was a dangerous moment when it looked as if Dylan would fall back onto the bed. Tyr caught him, holding him close until the human's trembling ceased. Without quite realizing what he did, Tyr kissed the other man's damp hair. Dylan's arms came around him and, for a long time, they stood together, heartbeat to heartbeat.

Finally, Dylan pushed away and tottered into the study. Tyr followed. Uberworld turned slowly, majestically, in Andromeda's sights. The human collapsed onto the chair recently occupied by Tyr -- and winced. The Nietzschean, in turn, took up a post beside him. Henceforth, unless ordered otherwise, this would be his place.

After a moment, eyes still fixed on the screen, Dylan's hand came up, caressing Tyr's thigh.

"Don't think this afternoon will go unpunished," he promised softly.

Tyr's heart thudded, but he only bent his head. "I am yours, my lord. Do with me what you will."

Dylan nodded wearily. "That's what I like to hear. Now -- find my clothes and your own. Let's get dressed."

Tyr looked at Uberworld, imagined himself there, surrounded by strong, lovely women and a small herd of children.

"You -- you will keep your word?" he whispered, assailed by sudden doubt.

"Of course."

Tyr's pulse quickened as his new lord's hand moved casually, possessively over him. Then the commander leaned away, leaving the omega to do as he was told.

Tyr put on his clothes -- although not the vest -- then helped Dylan dress, standing before the human, fastening the buttons on the uniform jacket. When he looked up, Dylan's eyes were on his face, filled with an odd light, some anger, yes, but other, less easily identified emotions lurking there, as well. Mutely, the commander leaned forward and kissed him. Then, before the startled Nietzschean could respond, said, "And Tyr?"

"My lord?"

"Tonight you will give to me that which is mine -- a demonstration of your absolute loyalty and obedience. You shall give it to me in any form I command."

"Yes, lord." Tyr hesitated. "I will take you to medical now."

"Right," sighed Dylan, collapsing back in his chair. "Although first, see what you can do about fixing my door."

Tyr nodded numbly, opened his mouth, then shut it again. Dylan's mouth quirked. "Well? What is it?"

"I don't understand. A Nietzschean captain would have me tortured and killed for what I've just done..."

"Then you're damned lucky I'm not Nietzschean, aren't you?"

"Yes, " agreed Tyr, soberly. "Very lucky."

Their eyes met. Once again, Tyr found himself baffled by what looked back at him. After a long moment, he turned and went to do as his lord commanded.

*****

Next, the conclusion
Uberworld