Omega 4: The Spectral Net

by Becca Abbott

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Spectral Net is a continuation of the Omega story. It's longer and more plot-driven. In it, Dylan and Tyr continue to feel their way through uncharted territory (so to speak ), Harper has a *very bad* coupla weeks, evil villains are encountered and the crew of the Andromeda meets some new friends.

WARNINGS: Readers are strongly cautioned for h/c and nonconsensual sex.

Andromeda doesn't belong to me, no copyright infringement intended, so there! See 0/18 for other details.

URL http://becca.slashcity.net/

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 Neitzschean. Oh, god.

"So -- you're the Eureka Maru's hot shot 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 first officer 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 agreed.

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's 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 Neitzschean 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 nodded.

"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 awake, 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 Neitzschean said, "Now you know who is master."

They led him through bare, grey 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 -- 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 was 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 weapon. No sooner had his fingers brushed the metal then the door came crashing inward and he found himself staring down the long barrel of a gun. He looked up 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. The observation deck was otherwise empty.

Dylan's fingers clenched briefly, 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 the usual, forthright Nietzschean reasoning.

"It goes against my honor," Dylan tried again, "to force myself sexually on those who would prefer otherwise."

"And if I wished to 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 Nietzschean's huge cock, the Omega ring that kept his balls nestled against it, and the entire package front and center.

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 Neitzschean warships of the past, where multiple Alphas had been required to work together in the 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 any time, 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 breath 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 sheathe. 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 a useless chase," 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 clan 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 not a penny 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 crewman; 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 Glee 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 Neitzschean 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 was Dylan! Harper had seen first hand the result of Neitzschean 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 was a sudden image 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. From here on, for a very long way, known portals were few and far between. Beka knew of three. The one they'd just used let out above a blasted world that had, in Dylan's day, been a thriving research facility. Another was nearby Sirka. The third, she thought, was at the Rim somewhere. Regardless, traveling around these Rim systems was mostly done at sublight.

"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 at the conn, looking over her other shoulder.

"Tyr the Evil Mercenary again?" Beka 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 then, 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. Benaka 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 shudder 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.

v "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 his first officer 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 furthest 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 bastard. 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 Neitzschean 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 pink 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.

"Mr. 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 it. 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 gene pool of the weak-minded and irrational would be nothing but an improvement in the long term."

"Oh, Tyr," sighed Trance.

Part VII

Time passed. Harper had no way of telling day from night. He slept when he could, but there was no particular routine to it. Most of his time was spent moving from repair to repair. No sooner had he fixed one problem, another would crop up. At least they hadn't gone into slipstream. He really didn't like the looks of the transformer bank.

When he could, he retreated to the cot and prayed the crew wasn't in the mood for a little slave ass. At least the novelty had worn off and he wasn't forced to spread them quite as often as he had the first few days.

In those infrequent movements of idleness, when sleep eluded him, Harper would lie on his cot, eyes open and burning, no tears left. On the Andromeda, everyone would be going about their business, Dylan on the command deck, Beka navigating the slipstream. In the hydroponics section, Trance would be fluttering over her growing things and the Rev would be in meditation. If he'd still been there, Harper thought, he'd be in his cabin, watching entertainment disks, maybe even talking Rommie into more experiments.

But he wasn't. He was on the Ripper's Edge, a slave. There would be no entertainment disks, no good food, no comradeship. There was only death ahead, sooner rather than later, and the road to it stretched before him like the path to hell.

The com buzzed. Harper closed his eyes and wished he could ignore it. He couldn't, of course, not without painful repercussions. So he got up and went to the board. It was Benaki and his heart almost stopped.

"Captain wants ya."

There were men waiting for him at the door. He was beginning to recognize them now, putting names to faces. Marcus was a total bastard. The other man, Jim, was decent enough. Harper walked with them, acutely aware of his nakedness, through the Edge to the officer's cabins and Ripper Glee.

It was just Glee waiting for him, elegant as always. The two crewmen left the youth standing before him. Harper kept his eyes on his bare feet, mouth dry, remembering the last time he'd been in this room.

"Come here," said Glee softly.

When he was inches from Glee, the pirate captain motioned him to his knees.

"I got a message from a friend of mine recently out of Sirka," said Glee. "Guess who's on his way?"

The young Earther held his breath, wild hope coming out of nowhere.

"According to my friend, Valentine is dead and an old friend of Benaki's has the Maru -- Tyr Anasazi."

Harper said nothing, waiting, heart banging so hard he though he would faint.

"Anasazi. Funny how you never mentioned that he had the Maru now."

Knowing he was seconds from death, Harper shook his head. "News to me. Last time I checked, Beka owned it."

He waited, expecting absolutely anything, most of it bad.

"Any speculation?" Glee continued.

Harper risked lifting his head. He ran his tongue over dry lips. "We had a job," he said finally. "Dangerous salvage for Gerentex. Anasazi was hired on, too. Anyway, it didn't work out and the nightsider decided Beka owed him a pile of money. Maybe he finally succeeded in impounding the Maru and gave it to the Nietzschean. I sure as hell wouldn't want to be carrying a outstanding balance with *him*."

"Got that right," agreed Glee thoughtfully. "Anasazi is one mean motherfucker. I'd love to have him on my team. Anyway, I know Gerentex. The ratface suspects himself of trying to cheat himself, that's what a nightsider he is. He was looking for the mythical Andromeda Ascendant, last I heard."

"Yeah, who hasn't at one time or another," agreed Harper, thinking he should just shut the fuck up. If by some crazed, incomprehensible chance the others were coming for him, he didn't want this nutbar doing the math.

"Sometimes legends come true," Glee replied, eyes going distant and filled with triumph.

"Like the Net?"

"What do you know about the Spectral Net?"

Harper shrugged and winced, the fresh lattice of welts on his back objecting mightily to the movement. "Just what everyone does -- that it's a legend. I've been on the ship a while now. I hear the talk. They say you've been there, that you went through one of the ghostholes and came back."

"That's more or less it, although the year seemed like just a day or two." There was a faint, secretive smile. "A while ago, I was being chased by Elios law agents. They followed me to Sirka, blew a big-ass hole in the station." Glee smiled fondly at the memory. "I took three of 'em out on the Rim, but two more were on my butt -- they left a string of fuckin' mines along the Rim and there was nothin' to do but bolt into the Void. I 'bout shit my pants."

Harper kept silent, pretty horrified by the thought himself. The Void was -- the Void -- the huge, impossible-to-comprehend-sized stretch of emptiness that lay between one galaxy and the next. They were a navigator's nightmare, no stable gravity wells to speak of, only isolated bodies of any size or composition hurling through it on their rush to find a galactic home. You could slipstream between the six galaxies; there were known navigational points in all of them, but if you went out into the nothingness, got too far from sensor range of the Rim, you were screwed.

"...found it after a month of aimlessly slipstreaming around. We were dying. Engines were failing, food was gone, air was bad -- forget water." He laughed and there was little sanity in the sound. "In the end me and Benaki killed whoever was still alive and ate 'em. That bother you?"

"Hell, yeah!" Harper said before thinking.

Glee laughed again and kicked him, but it was almost affectionate.

"Yeah." he echoed. "No shit, boy. Nothing worse than stringy spacer. Anyway, there we were, limping along and by Critiy, there they were, ghostholes strung like jewels across the sky. Like the eyes o'god, you know? My brain was fuckin' dancin'! So me and Benaki -- we sent the Edge straight into one of them, figuring what the hell, right? We were dead, right? So we let it just go and we went and fucked on the bridge while the big ole hole came rushing up to meet us. Get up. Pour me a drink, boy."

Harper did so. The captain took it and tossed it off in a single gulp. He pointed to the floor and Harper sank back to his knees.

"Do you know what? Them ghostholes don't go anywhere."

The man grinned down at him. Even while Harper's stomach knotted at that febrile glitter, he was riveted by Glee's tale, pile of shit that it was. Glee shut his eyes, leaned back and smiled dreamily.

"They go anywhen, boy -- anywhen."

****

"Damn it! Nothing works! The cheap son of a bitch!" Mara put down the cauterizer in disgust.

Her patient lifted his head. "Let me have a look."

It was Harper again, of course. The usual -- bleeding -- and something new, something much worse. She'd finally had a look at that blood sample she'd taken the last time he'd been in. It looked like Benaki was right. The kid had definitely been on Vashon.

Harper wiped dirty hair out of his eyes and, leaning against the exam table, asked for one of her smallest forceps. She had only a few, all of them large and bulky. He made do, fiddling a bit before putting it back. Then he flicked it on. The red tip appeared.

"Good thing," she retorted, motioning for him to get back up on the table. "Otherwise, I would have had to go in and tie off the leakers manually."

"It's not like there wouldn't be enough room," he retorted, wincing as she inserted the camera and cauterizer.

She grinned and almost gave his butt a swat, stopping at the last second. The last thing the poor kid needed was someone else hitting him, even gently and in jest.

"How long have you been working for the cheap son of a bitch?"

That startled a laugh out of her.

"I signed on four months ago, on Desh Raven. The Elois had been braying all over the damned galaxy that they'd spaced the terrible Ripper Glee. Suddenly he shows up, right out of the blue. He and Benaki started putting around that they'd found the Net and were looking for crew to go back. I was fool enough to find the idea interesting. Since then, he's been attracting these stupid kids by promising them their own worlds, sucking money out of them in the meantime."

And, she added to herself with tired bitterness, there had been no where else to run.

"Well, he didn't spend any of that money on engine repair or maintenance," Harper noted sourly.

Mara nodded. "Crew and weapons."

"Weapons?"

"Good ones, latest models -- small and heavy arms. I've heard the C-hold has a plasma cannon, but I've never been down there. It's probably bullshit, but a lot of the crew are heavy hitters from the mercenary ranks, dangerous as hell. All of it -- men and weapons -- are expensive." She shook her head.

"But maybe it's true. Maybe he did find a paradise."

She snorted. "Maybe they found a world on the other side of a ghosthole that's ripe for the picking, especially by a heavily armed group of thugs. There. I've done my best. I've got more food cubes in the drawer. Take them."

He slid off the table and did as she asked, wolfing them down with his usual starving urchin air. Maternal feelings were the last thing Mara had ever expected, and especially for such a pathetic scrap. It was a sign of how desperately bored she was.

"And in the drawer next to it are some chocolates. You can have *one*."

The smile she got could have powered the ship.

It was such a shame.

Part VIII

The ship seemed oddly empty with three of his new crew gone. Dylan stood alone on the command deck, watching the monitor display the long-range scan information. He knew which blip was the Maru and which the Ripper's Edge. The latter was nearly off the scan at the moment, but the Andromeda was gaining. Scattered around the Maru were a small cloud of other ships.

"Seventy-five," Rommie reported. "I detect considerable armaments in several of them, but most have no guns. The Edge, on the hand, may have plasma cannons. The radiation reading is slight, but it's no artifact."

Great, Dylan thought, but it was the collection of little ships and the potential loss of innocent lives that really worried him.

"Anything else on the scan?"

"Nothing, sir."

Behind him, across the deck, he heard footsteps and swivelled around in the conn. Reverend Bem approached, eyes on the screen. It showed a vast blackness.

The Void was a place of dark legends, monster tales, and yarns of treasure. It had been part of spacer folklore forever. Even the slipstream, which opened up one galaxy to another, could not quite banish the superstitious fear that touched a spacer's soul at the sight of it.

"A place of great mystery," said the Magog, joining him at the helm. "Some people believe it is hell."

"And you?"

"I would hope there is no such place." Rev Bem sighed. "How sad to see so many following Glee's false promises."

"Everyone's looking for paradise."

"And you?"

The High Guard commander returned a rueful smile. "I guess you could say I'm looking for home."

"Perhaps that is the same thing"

They were quiet a moment. There was little movement on the scanner. The stars were sparser, the Void larger and more menacing. Dylan thought about his people out in the gaping maw of nothing and tried not to panic. He'd grown very fond of his motley collection of bright misfits.

"How will you handle the animosity between Tyr and Harper when everyone is safely back."

Dylan laughed shortly. "I appreciate your confidence in me, Rev. Getting Harper back is going to be tricky."

"Despicable to use innocents as shields," agreed the Magog, eyes on the monitor and the little ships. "And you have not answered my question."

"I'll sit them down at the table together and let them talk."

"Can you mediate fairly, considering you're having sex with Tyr?"

Dylan almost fell off the conn. "What?"

The Magog smiled tranquilly. "We have a very highly developed olfactory system, Dylan. What will you do?"

The commander stared at this enigmatic creature, former enemy of his kind. "The best I can," he said.

*****

The Eureka Maru joined Glee's chaotic trail of followers, sweeping out of Sirka and toward the distant spread of nothing. Tyr reckoned it wouldn't take long for news of his presence to make its way up the line to Glee. He was right. A day into the trek Trance excitedly, and a bit nervously, announced:

"The Ripper's Edge is hailing."

"Put them on."

Tyr sprawled in his seat, a careless pose signaling his lack of fear. The viewscreen flickered and he saw Benaki.

"Anasazi! This is a surprise."

Tyr returned a tiny smile. "Why?"

Benaki shrugged. "I thought you were working the other side of the galaxy."

"It was no longer advantageous.."

"The captain extends an invitation to join us at dinner."

"Very well."

Benaki nodded shortly. "I'll see a way is cleared."

With Trance hanging over his chair in an annoying way, he watched as the realspace coordinates for the Edge came over. A few moments later, the scattering of ships before them parted, opening a broad aisle.

The Maru was a fast little thing, and Tyr sped down the open way, the Void looming larger before them. Even so, it was five or six hours before they reached the Ripper's Edge.

"What a heap!" exclaimed Trance at their first sight of the outlaw ship.

Tyr couldn't but agree. It bore the unmistakable signs of combat -- cannon holes patched, the peculiar swirls in the metal that were the signature of energy weapons penetrating a defense shield.

"You're staying," Tyr said shortly, rising from the chair and heading toward the lander.

"What? No! I should come with you!"

Tyr laughed shortly. "They'd eat you alive. You stay -- and transmit nothing more to the Andromeda."

"But...."

"Dylan's orders. Once we're within monitoring range of the Edge's sensors, we go quiet. I want you maintain battle readiness. If I tell you to return to the Andromeda immediately, do so."

Trance opened her mouth, then closed it. She nodded.

They reached the Edge at last. Tyr maneuvered the Maru into reach of the umbilical, then he headed off to the airlock. Benaki met him on the other ship, several men at his back. The Nietzscheans nodded slightly at each other. Tyr handed over his weapon without protest, having expected to do so.

"Glee's waiting to meet you," Benaki said. "Come."

The Ripper's interior was as battered as the exterior. Increasingly mystified, Tyr walked with his escort down grimy corridors where, more often then not, the ceiling had been ripped out, exposing the energy conduits which, in turn, were often open. Cables dangled dangerously near his head. He saw no sign of Harper.

They came to the captain's cabin. Two burly crewmen stood guard at the door. They bowed as Benaki approached, moving apart to let the Nietzscheans through. Startled, he looked around.

A table had been set for three. Already seated was a handsome man, older than Dylan, but not by much.

"Welcome, Anasazi. I'm Ripper Glee."

Tyr inclined his head briefly.

"Sit down. Have some dinner and let's talk."

"About what?"

"About your joining us."

"I thought I did." He jerked his head in the general direction of the Glee's followers.

The outlaw laughed shortly. "Raw meat," he said. "I have a better position in mind for you and I suspect you knew I would. Why hang back so far? Why not identify yourself at once?"

"I have my doubts about your enterprise."

Benaki laughed shortly. "Didn't I say as much?"

Glee smiled. "You did, indeed, my friend."

Tyr lifted his brows and waited.

"I hear you're just about the best tactical and weapons man around. I need someone like that. Where we're going there may be some -- opposition to our plans."

"Weapons in paradise? Already inhabited, is it?"

"Unfortunately, but not by anyone who can't be neutralized by a small, but elite fighting force. When we first went through the ghost hole, we encountered a ship. It was not large and had the Edge not been close to complete systems failure, we would easily have dispatched it. As it was, the battle was close. Now I have a force of ten mercenary ships with combined troops size of about two hundred. All ships are well armed. This should cover the contingency that we will face more such opposition."

"And when we finish vanquishing this doomed fleet?"

"Then we, the warriors, divide the spoils, and in this case, it's a star-system filled with class-M worlds. On our visit, we charted no less than three such worlds with other nearby systems likewise endowed."

"And your faithful followers." Tyr's lip curled slightly.

Glee, misunderstanding the sneer, laughed. "Slaves."

Tyr pretended to think about it. "Very well, I'm in. How soon before we reach the Void?"

"Twenty-four hours. Shall we drink to it?"

Tyr would have preferred otherwise, but he accepted a glass of inferior wine and saluted their venture. Then, he rose.

"Thank you for dinner," he said.

His hosts exchanged looks. "I think," Glee said smoothly, "that it would best if you remained here. I assume your crew is competent to handle the Eureka Maru until we get to the portal?"

The hair rose on the back of Tyr's neck.

"It's not necessary..."

"I'm afraid it is, Anasazi. It's not that I don't trust my hired officers, it's just that -- I don't trust my hired officers. You'll return to your ship when I say. Don't worry -- we'll see that you're comfortable and you are welcome to maintain communication with your crew."

"As you wish," Tyr said, bleeding boredom into his voice. He resumed his seat. "Is there more wine?"

Part IX

Trance was not at all happy to hear about Glee's plan.

"Irrelevant," Tyr replied, cutting off a stream of anxious objections. He walked along behind one of Glee's crewmen, acutely aware that everything that passed between them was probably monitored. "Remember your orders and keep awake."

The crewman led him to the officers' quarters and a small, dirty cabin. Alone at last, Tyr looked around in disgust. The cabin's previous owner had left all his belongings. Tyr kicked discarded clothing, a couple disposable readers -- pornography -- and a variety of other items into the disposal chute. Then, declining to get between sheets so dirty they were grey, he stretched out on the bed, arms under his head. Sluggish from the wine, his eyelids drifted closed.

The door buzzer woke him. He sat up, wishing he hadn't been forced to relinquish his sidearm. "Come."

It slid aside. Benaki filled it and, arm gripped firmly in the Nietzschean's big hand, was Harper.

Tyr's brows rose.

"I believe this was yours?" Benaki smirked, and gave the human a push. Harper stumbled into the cabin, going to hands and knees. Benaki threw something at Tyr, who caught it reflexively.

The human was naked. His body was covered with bruises and lacerations. In a fashion uncharacteristic of the obnoxious young man, Harper remained where he was, head down.

"It was," Tyr agreed, looking at the object in his hand. A controller unit. "Or, rather, it was Valentine's. Where did you find him?"

"We needed an engineer for the trip. He walked right into our arms. Enjoy."

The door closed. Tyr stared at the controller. It was not the standard model. Curious, he turned it over in his hand. Glancing up, he caught Harper staring at the thing, white as milk, hands pressed flat on his thighs.

"You're a surprise," the young human whispered finally. "Tyr, get me the hell out of here."

Tyr opened his mouth to reassure the noisesome brat that this was his intention, then thought better of it. This was a York Dragon. It had the option of security cameras in all crew quarters -- an option Glee would most assuredly take.

"Shower's in there," he replied instead. "Use it."

"Tyr..."

"NOW!"

Harper swore at him, then vanished into the sanitation closet. The door closed. A moment later, Tyr heard the rattle of the detergent pipes.

Clearly Harper had been presented for Tyr's amusement. Perhaps even now Glee watched, looking for some weakness in his newest employee, something to use as leverage against betrayal or even mutiny. He did, after all, have a Nietzschean first officer.

Taking a seat on the edge of the bunk, Tyr examined the room for surveillance devices, keeping his glances casual. He found two straightaway. A third -- a crudely wired audio receiver -- was under the bed. Tyr ripped it out. Benaki would certainly expect him to do so. The others he left - - for the moment, reckoning they could be as useful to him as to Glee.

The shower stopped. There were several more minutes, then the door opened. Harper, with a frightened look at Tyr returned to his place by the door and hunkered down, anxious eyes on the Nietzschean. Clean now, the marks of abuse on that gaunt form were even starker.

"Come here." Tyr carefully did not look at the camera.

"Tyr, please..."

Tyr fixed his dark eyes on Harper and, after a moment, saying something bitter and anguished under his breath, the human rose and came to him

In the weeks since leaving Uberworld, Tyr had suffered varying degrees of annoyance and embarrassment, thanks to Harper. Dylan had absolutely refused to let him correct Harper's behavior.

"And reinforce his hatred of Neitzscheans?" the commander had asked. "That's where this is coming from, Tyr -- a life spent under your peoples' tyranny. Show him that he's wrong."

"A challenge is not tyranny," he'd objected. "Harper needs to understand his status here."

"His status," Dylan had replied shortly, "is chief engineer. This is *not* a Nietzschean warship. I'll talk to him."

Now Tyr looked at the source of his irritation and the object of this entire, dangerous rescue.

He had every intention of returning Harper to the Andromeda, but in the meantime, Dylan wanted information about Glee's intentions. That meant maintaining his cover until they reached the slipstream portal. And maybe, in doing so, taking a little revenge.

Tyr stood and Harper, startled by the sudden movement, shrank back. Looking up at him, the boy swallowed hard and made a pathetic attempt at bravado.

"So what happened, Tyr? Dylan kick you......"

Tyr, who had been expecting something of the sort, shut him up by dragging him to his feet and kissing him.

Harper's startled exclamation was lost in Tyr's mouth. The boy struggled, but Tyr simply seized his wrists and held them together with one large hand. After a moment, Harper quit fighting.

Tyr let his mouth travel up the slim jaw, tongue teasing Harper's ear.

"I'm here to get you out, you little fool," he whispered, "with a minimum of risk to myself. Watch what you say. We're being observed."

Wide eyes held his, darted quickly around the room and back. It was clear Harper wasn't sure whether or not to believe him.

"How?" the human breathed, terrible hope in the single word.

Tyr's teeth sank gently into an earlobe and Harper twitched, catching his breath. "Tomorrow, when Glee sends the mercenary captains back to their ships, but in the meantime..." Tyr stood back, looking down at Harper. The boy closed his eyes briefly, then nodded his understanding, an almost imperceptible movement.

"On the bed," ordered the Nietzschean.

Harper stared bleakly at him, then, pressing his lips tightly together, went to the bed and lay down on it, curling on his side. His eyelashes glistened in the cabin's poor light, dark as smoke against his pale cheeks.

Tyr sat back down on the edge of the bed. Harper looked at him, then away. Was it an act? Tyr could not tell, but suspected not.

Reaching down, Tyr let his hand move along Harper's huddled body. The youth, lower lip caught in his teeth, closed his eyes and began to shake. Frowning slightly at the fever he felt in the hot, dry skin, Tyr ran his fingers through the damp, spiky hair, traced a circle around the neural port. He recognized the Nietzschean slave implant locked into it and finally realized the purpose of the customized control unit.

"Please, Tyr," he heard, words so soft he had lean down to catch them. "Don't hurt me too much, okay?"

Tyr's answer came swiftly. Mindful of the cameras, the Nietzschean pushed Harper over onto his back and, when the boy tried to cover himself, knocked those slim hands away. Harper stayed still then, staring up at the ceiling.

The Nietzschean lay claim to that trembling mouth, swallowing Harper's soft moan, sliding his tongue deep. The boy had a different taste than Dylan, but pleasurable nonetheless. He let his tongue caress Harper's, exploring. When he drew away, Harper blinked rapidly and ran his own tongue over his lips. The human's eyes were filled with confusion.

When the young man had caught his breath, Tyr kissed him again, this time letting one hand stroke down Harper's heaving chest and over the taut belly. Fine skin roughened under Tyr's touch. When his hand closed over Harper's genitals, the human's gasp sounded more like a sob. Nonetheless, mindful of the cameras, willing to do whatever Tyr ordered to win his freedom, Harper bent his knees and spread his legs.

Eyes narrowing, Tyr saw more evidence of abuse and for the first time wondered how much damage he couldn't see. Still, it would not do to show signs of sympathy. He continued to fondle Harper until the human was erect. Then he drew his hand away leaving the boy breathing hard, fingers tight on the bedclothes.

Tyr was not foolish enough to interpret Harper's arousal as anything approaching true sexual desire. Indeed, he had no intention of carrying through with act. The last thing he wanted to reveal to either his new "employer" or Harper was the Omega ring.

"Over," he said.

Harper rolled onto his belly and buried his face in the crook of an elbow Tyr left him there and went to the sanitation closet. Inside was some eska jelly, fortunately with the seal still intact.

He returned to the bed and, at a word, Harper lifted his hips, sliding his knees apart. Trying not to see the welts that covered the human's thighs and buttocks, Tyr slid his finger into Harper's hole. The boy caught his breath and, when Tyr found his prostrate and began to gently massage it, the human whimpered.

But they were not whimpers of pleasure, but of pain. Frowning, Tyr removed his fingers. They were covered with blood.

Shaken, he rose and, spurs lifting, took out the security cameras. Turning back he saw Harper, still in exactly the same position, looking at him as if he were death incarnate.

"Get up," said Tyr harshly.

Harper, bewildered and apprehensive, got awkwardly off the bed and stood, swaying.

"Not -- not to your taste, eh, Tyr?" he managed.

"You're more badly injured than I thought."

That triggered a laugh edged with hysteria. "Yeah," Harper agreed. "What do you care?"

"It requires a immediate change of plans."

Tyr slid his hand into his pants and Harper blinked when he brought out the tiny communicator he'd brought from the Andromeda. Dylan had been sure no one used its particular frequency. Tyr sincerely hoped he was right. "This will not be easy. Trance?"

"Trance? She's came, too?"

Tyr was taken aback by the expression of shock, lowering the comlink. "Yes," he said shortly.

"The...the Andromeda?"

"Nearby but out of sight. Escape will require you to stay on your feet and move fast. Can you do it?"

It was nonsense. There was no way the shaking, half-delirious human would have the wits or the coordination to get to the escape pod. No matter. He'd carry Harper if that's what it took.

"We can't go yet."

Tyr made a small sound of disbelief. Now what? By the Progenitor! The brat was more trouble than he was worth!

"I have an unfinished project back in the engine room. I need more time..."

The Nietzschean, ready to ride roughshod over Harper's objections, shut his mouth with a snap.

"Take me to the doc. She'll patch me up -- been doing it for a couple weeks. Tyr! Damn it! They have a plasma cannon!"

Tyr's brows came together sharply.

"Just -- give me 'til tomorrow, okay?"

"In less than twenty-four hours we'll be at the Rim portal," Tyr replied. "Once into it, the risks exceed the probabilities of success."

Harper nodded. "I'll be done by then." He took a deep breath. "Ask for me again tomorrow afternoon, loverboy. Believe me, I'm not missing out on the chance to get the hell away from here, even if I have to thank you for it!"

A curious feeling stole over Tyr then, looking at Harper, the human trembling with fever and pain, knowing full well what they risked. There was a kind of desperate courage there -- a dogged determination that life's cruelties would *not* defeat him. Tyr knew that feeling very well. He knew the utter loneliness of it, the unwavering conviction that there was no true haven, no real safety anywhere. Home and hearth were for others. You accepted that, but that didn't keep you from wanting them.

"All right," he said shortly. "Where is this doctor?"

******

Mara came awake at the determined buzzing at her elbow. Scowling, yawning, she lifted her head from the pillow and stared across her room. Someone was in sick bay.

"What the hell is it?"

"You have a patient," came an unfamiliar voice, deep and mellifluous.

Swearing, she got up, pulled on her shirt and smock and, palming the door control with more force than necessary, left her room.

It was, of course, Seamus. This time, he hung in the grip of a strange Nietzschean. Mara's eyes narrowed. Tyr Anasazi. She'd heard the talk running through the Edge like an electrical fire.

"I was offered the hospitality of the ship," said the Nietzschean, thrusting Harper forward.

The kid went to his knees. Bleeding again. How many goddamned times did they think she could repair their depredations? "But it appears that, like everything else on this wreck, the slaves are broken, too."

"Maybe you should find some other amusement?" she suggested, keeping her voice even with an effort.

"Maybe you should do your job," came the sharp retort. Turning on his heel, the mercenary was gone.

She looked with raised eyebrows to Harper who gave her a faintly sheepish smile.

"It's my magnetic personality," he apologized. "They're just falling all over each other to get into my pants."

"What pants?" she asked. "On the table, young man."

He obeyed, settling his head in his arms with a little sigh. Mara shook her head. It was a waste of time and effort to do this. There would come a time soon when there would be nothing inside him except scar tissue and even the cauterizer would be useless. If he was lucky, it would be the hemorrhaging that killed him, otherwise...

Ah, what the hell. They were all doomed on this ship anyway. It was, after all, why she was here.

"Like him, do you?" she asked tartly.

"He's nicer than Benaki."

"That's saying soooo much."

There was a ghost of laugh. She frowned thoughtfully. The boy seemed almost lighthearted.

"Do you know him?"

"Hmmm?"

"Anasazi?"

The kid's mouth twisted. "Yeah."

"He the one you ran from?"

"Yeah." Softer. "Sorta."

"Hmph. Well. It's your body -- what's left of it."

"No," he said. "It's not. Not yet, but I'm hopin'."

******

"You damaged my ship, Tyr." Glee sounded aggrieved, regarding the Nietzschean peevishly. "The cameras cost me quite a bit!"

"Interrupted your evening's entertainment?" Tyr smiled without warmth at the madman. He'd not slept well after leaving Harper with the doctor. "I don't appreciate voyeurs."

Benaki was grinning.

"Nothing of the sort," sniffed Glee. "We were simply interested in witnessing the tender reunion and it was looking so promising."

"Unfortunately, the human wasn't in any condition to please me -- more's the pity."

"My apologies. I understand you took him to Dr. Ely. She'll have him fixed right up in no time. Very kind of you, Tyr."

"It was, wasn't it?"

Tyr wanted off this asylum as soon as possible. He'd spent most of the morning wandering about, finding the escape pods, how may ways to get to the shuttle bay, in which hold the plasma cannon was kept... Idle questions with other mercenaries suggested everyone was expecting significant resistance. Then, just as he began to wonder what Glee was waiting for, the call came over the intercom -- all mercenary captains were to meet in Glee's quarters. At last! Things were moving.

Now Glee was staring at him with that unnerving, mad stare. Then the man smiled maliciously. "Well, you needn't feel too disappointed. I'll send him to you later -- after we've conducted our business. Gentlemen!"

Silence fell in the crowded cabin. Tyr looked around. All the other mercenary captains were present and there was an air of expectation in the faces they turned toward Glee.

"In a very short time we will be at the Rim portal. You will disperse to your ships at that time and await slipstream coordinates. My flock will go through first. The rest of you will follow. We'll bring up the rear. If there's any resistance you can't handle -- the cannon should take care of it."

Across the cabin, the door slid open. Tyr bit back an exclamation. Harper stood in the doorway, a tray in hand, two large bottles of whiskey and a stack of disposable cups on it. His eyes met Tyr's, then fell, color touching the high cheekbones. Tyr held his temper with an effort, watching the others grope the human as he made his way through the crowd to the table. There, he poured out the glasses. Benaki stepped forward, pushing Harper aside to take the first cup. Tyr moved quickly up behind the boy. Harper turned and nearly ran into him.

Before Harper could say a word, Tyr pulled him close, covering the parted lips with his own. Harper whimpered, struggling, but not that hard. Then, as Tyr pulled away amid ribald laughter, he heard a quiet, "Ready to leave when you are, big guy."

The intercom squealed, bringing sudden silence.

"Portal ahead, sir!"

Glee's eyes blazed with an unholy light. "This is a propitious moment in history. We have reached the Rim. In a few hours, we will go through the Spectral Net and lay claim to wealth and power. A toast, gentlemen, to our success."

Glasses were raised and contents drained. Even so, Tyr saw uneasiness in several of the faces. Glee laughed aloud, throwing down his cup. "To your ships, captains! Harper -- get back to the engine room! The game has begun!"

*****

Pandemonium reigned. Benaki's voice came over the intercom, barking orders to the Ripper's crew as they rushed to battle stations. Tyr strode with the other captains toward the docking hatches as, outside, their ships gathered around the Glee. He kept an eye out for Harper, but there was no sign of the boy. He caught sight of the doctor. She was hurrying toward the lift, probably on her way to sick bay in preparation for combat wounded.

The others paid no attention as Tyr left them behind, striding down the long corridor after her. She was heading toward the lift. He jumped into it right after her, hitting the control before anyone else could get in.

"What the hell?" she demanded, irate and uneasy.

"Where's Harper?"

She opened her mouth, then shut it. "Why? Glee's sending his followers through now. You're going to miss getting on your ship."

"WHERE IS HE?"

The woman stared at him for a long time. Abruptly, she nodded. "Come with me."

Dr. Ely touched another control and the lift spend on down. At the bottom, she hurried out into the corridor. Two men ran past, rounding a corner and out of sight. She headed in the opposite direction.

Ahead was a door, security touchpad beside it. The doctor punched in a series of numbers. The door opened. The rumble of the engine reached them, and the smell of ozone. Harper appeared from between two converter banks, pale and frightened.

"It's about time!" The boy's voice shook with relief. "I thought you were gonna stand me up. Let's get out of here!"

Tyr looked around, but saw nothing untoward beyond the absymal condition of everything in the hold. He nodded shortly.

"The mercenaries should be following the small ships through," he said. "Can you run?"

Harper nodded, turning his gaze to the doctor. "C'mon, Doc. You're not gonna want to be here in a few hours, believe me!"

Over the loudspeaker, a voice suddenly commanded, "Prepare for slipstream!"

"Get out of here, brat," she said gruffly.

"Mara!"

It was time to leave. Tyr growled, "Harper. We have to go. Now."

The deck shuddered.

"Mara, c'mon. Please!"

The woman looked around and a faint smile touched her lined face. "Y'know, kid, there comes a time when you just get too tired to keep running. I think that time's come for me."

"What are you talking about, doc -- Mara?"

"You go --get your skinny little ass out of here." She put her arms around the boy and gave him a quick hug. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"But..." Anguished, Harper didn't move.

"Get him out of here," the woman snapped at Tyr.

The Nietzschean nodded shortly, grabbed Harper and they ran.

Chapter XI

Running behind Tyr was like being in the wake of the Andromeda at full speed. Harper, a stitch in his side from running, tears blurring his vision, was content to let the Nietzschean push his way through the shouting crewman. His carefully hoarded strength was deserting him too fast as it was. He tripped over something. A hand in his hair hauled him back to his feet. Another two steps and he felt his insides ripping open again.

They reached a door. For the first time, someone noticed them and there was a shout of warning. Tyr, without breaking stride, lifted a gun and fired.

Where the hell had he got the weapon? v Mara's drugs were wearing off. Biting down hard on the pain, Harper tumbled through the door after him and into another corridor. Things were becoming surreal. Dizziness overwhelmed him. His vision greyed.

"No!" he whispered to himself breathlessly, "Not yet. Just a little further!"

Then his world tilted wildly. Pain nearly broke him apart, and when it cleared, he was bent over the Nietzschean's broad shoulder.

How humiliating, he thought resentfully, and passed out.

****

Tyr lowered his gun and dropped Harper unceremoniously to the bloody floor. He looked around the curving room. York Dragons carried four one-man escape pods. Two appeared to be out of order, one was missing. Stepping over the bodies of the two crewmen stupid enough to challenge him, he palmed open the hatch of the remaining pod. Reaching in, he immediately disabled the remote link.

"Anasazi!"

Spinning around, Tyr saw Benaki, bolt gun in hand, aimed at his head.

"Going somewhere?"

"Just retrieving what's mine," replied Tyr coldly, his own weapon trained on the other Nietzschean.

"I don't think so. The boy's still needed. Get away from him and get to your ship -- unless, of course, this piece of garbage is really what you came for." The barrel of the gun lowered to Harper's unconscious form.

Benaki was the devil himself with hand weapons. Tyr reckoned the odds on them coming out alive if he fired and didn't much like them. He shrugged, glancing down at Harper, and dropped his weapon, stepping back.

"They wear out so quickly, don't they?" purred Benaki, stepping over the human, keeping his weapon trained on Tyr. "Tell you what, Anasazi. When we get to the other side, you can have him back."

"How generous."

"Not really. If all goes according to plan, we won't be needing this wreck anymore --or your little friend. Now -- go ahead, get into the pod and get over to your ship."

"Not without the boy."

"He'll be perfectly safe on the Edge as long as you do your job."

Tyr raged silently. He had no idea what Harper had done in the engine room, but this was the same person who had come up with a way to kill a hundred thousand of his own kind. The longer they stayed here, the more uneasy he became.

Taking a deep breath, he turned as if to go into the waiting pod, then, abruptly spun around. Ducking the force bolt, he lunged for his gun. It went spinning away and he hissed, drawing back scorched fingers.

"Tsk, tsk," Benaki purred. "I beginning to think you're a liability, Anasazi....ack!"

Eyes going round and wide, Tyr watched the blond Nietzschean, a stunned look on his handsome face, fold forward and fall heavily to the floor. Behind him, Harper struggled to sit up, a gun in his shaking hands. He met Tyr's stunned gaze and managed a reasonable facsimile of his cocky grin.

"All these weapons lying around," he croaked, waving it at the corpses on the floor beside him. "Very careless."

Tyr shook his head and hoisted the engineer to his feet. Harper pushed away from him, but then had to brace against the wall to stay upright. He stared down at Benaki's body.

"Man, that felt good," he whispered, voice a failing thread. Then he lifted his eyes to the pod, noting its cramped interior. "Cozy."

"Indeed." Tyr reached over, knocking the gun from that unsteady hand and stepped into the pod. Pulling a startled Harper onto his lap, he reached out and shot home the hatch, then set the coordinates for -- hopefully -- the Maru. Wrapping his arms firmly around his charge, holding him close, Tyr set the acceleration on full. There was a violent shudder as the shuttle pod out of the bay and away from the Edge.

****

Things didn't make a whole lot of sense to Seamus Harper. Once, when he was very little, there had been a man in camp who showed old, old movies. The home-made reader had frequently broken down, slowing to show the movies a scene at a time. That was how things were with him now -- disjointed images and sensations.

He knew, for instance, that he was held tight against a wall of muscle and bone in a way that made him feel astonishingly safe. Then he felt the spurs.

No -- not safe -- not with a Nietzschean. Not safe....

"Harper." The deep voice came out of a dark that sparkled. "It's all right. We're almost to the Maru. Harper, quit struggling!"

Where was he? It was very close, this place. Oh, god! Was he in the Hole again? What had he done this time?

"Harper!"

Nietzschean...spurs...oh, no...

"Let me go! I'll be good. I'll do whatever you say...."

If he pleased the Nietzschean, if he was obedient and skilled, perhaps he wouldn't be beaten this time. But they were always so hard to please.

"HARPER! They're firing at us, damn it! HOLD STILL!"

Strong fingers locked around his wrists, holding his hands tight against his chest. There was a moment when things resolved themselves and he saw the flashing lights of a control board. He blinked again and it was his tiny room in Vashon, windowless, squalid, smelling of sex and pain.

"Stay still, child. No one is going to hurt you now."

A kind one. If this one liked him, perhaps he'd come back. Return customers always made Ogo happy -- and generous. Harper reached through the dark, felt arms rock-solid with muscle, spurs quiescent.

"I can please you," he whispered.

"BE STILL!"

So, shivering, Harper was still. A large hand came up, gently pressing him back. He surrendered, head falling onto the broad shoulder. The arms tightened briefly. He felt a shudder, heard Tyr's soft deep voice cursing. After that, everything went dark.

*****

Dylan stood on the command deck, Beka at the slipstream controls. They were still hanging back, just beyond reach of the Edge's sensors.

"Slipstream portal opening," came Rommie's disembodied voice.

Grimly, he watched as the swarm of small ships began to pour into it, one bright point after another vanishing into the Void.

"Dylan..."

They couldn't wait. He'd hoped against all odds that he'd see the Maru breaking away and heading back in their direction, but so far, nothing.

"What the hell is Tyr doing?" Beka snapped.

"I don't know."

The admission was not what Captain Valentine wanted to hear, but Dylan, stomach in knots, added, "Let's go."

"But I thought you said to stay out of sight..."

"Unacceptable risk," replied the Commander sharply. "Get to fire control. Rev?"

"Ready." The Magog settled in at the helm.

"Dylan! We may be jeopardizing their lives! What the hell are you doing?"

Alarmed, she watched him stride to the slipstream controls. Sliding into the chair, he buckled in and wrapped long fingers around the grips.

"Fire control, Captain Valentine!"

He used a tone of voice Beka had never before heard. It snapped like a whip and before she even realized what she was doing, she was taking up her post.

"Rommie?"

On the monitors, the cloud of blips was down to a few dozen.

Rev growled and settled in. Now those blips were down to eleven, moving into a formation that had no resemblance to the chaotic herd of Glee's disciples. All these ships were armed, among them the Maru. One by one, they began to disappear into the portal. Suddenly, the monitors lit up.

"Captain!" cried Rommie. "The Glee is firing on a small craft, possibly an escape shuttle."

Tyr!

"And the Maru?" he was off the slipstream chair, eyes on the anterior screen.

"Moving toward it, sir!"

Dylan's heart leapt.

"Dylan!" Beka cried. "The Edge has stopped firing. It's breaking away -- heading into the portal."

"Let's go get the others," said Dylan, more relieved than he cared to admit, even to himself.

"Aye, aye, captain," she replied and gave him the closest thing yet to a salute.

Part XII

Harper was very ill. The hot, dry body in Tyr's arms twitched, pale lips moving ceaselessly. He had stopped fighting in the shuttle and now lay still.

Trance was waiting at the airlock and cried out softly at the sight of him. Tyr pushed past her. "Get us out of here," he said.

"But Harper..."

"I'll take care of him. Where are the other ships?"

"T...the Edge just broke off the attack and went into the portal. OH! What happened to him?"

"TRANCE!"

She looked like she might linger, but he growled and took a menacing step toward her. She squeaked and was gone.

With luck, the Andromeda was within range and on her way. He strode through the Maru's cramped corridors to the crew quarters. Turning into the nearest, he lay Harper on the bed. The human whimpered, turning onto his side, curling tightly into a fetal ball.

"They're coming!" Trance sang over the intercom.

Relieved, Tyr found a blanket, covering Harper. Chills shook the boy. Hypovolemic shock. They needed the Andromeda's medical equipment, and soon.

"Tyr?"

About to leave the cabin, the Nietzschean turned around. Harper's eyes were open. Lucidity gleamed briefly in fever-bright eyes. Bloodless lips moved. Tyr came closer, stooping.

"Sorry -- 'bout -- sorry 'bout pheromones.. really...."

"Don't talk, Harper. Save your strength."

"No strength. Just . . . just a kludge..."

Gently, Tyr took a corner of the bed sheet and wiped the tears from Harper's pale cheeks. Slender fingers suddenly wrapped around his wrist, brought his hand to trembling lips.

"...will please you...don't hurt me...please don't tell Ogo..."

He was back in his nightmares. Disengaging that desperate grip, Tyr brushed sweat-damp hair from Harper's eyes. The gentleness had an unexpected effect. The young man moaned and uncurled, opening his legs under the blanket. Shock was followed by a deep, cold anger. Tyr pushed them gently back together. Harper subsided then, eyes drifting closed.

"Trance?"

"Yes, Tyr?"

"Are they on sensors yet?"

"I see them! They're almost here! Is -- is Seamus all right?"

"No," he said bluntly. "Tell them to set up the med facility. Have Rommie manufacture blood. We'll need it at once."

"Hang on! They're almost here!"

Good, thought Tyr.

"Don't go..."

Harper was reaching for him again, showing signs of becoming agitated. Tyr sighed and sat down on the floor. Without a word, he took Harper's groping hand, let the human's fingers twine in his. The touch seemed to reassure Harper and he sighed, becoming still.

For the first time, Tyr realized he was bone-tired. The sudden shudder of the Maru told him they were docking. He should get over to the bridge and help Trance, but it seemed suddenly just too hard to move.

I'll just rest a bit, he thought, leaning his head against the bed and closing his eyes. Just a few minutes...

*****

"Harper's hurt!" Trance greeted Dylan, hopping up and down. "Hurry!"

Dylan followed her into the crews quarters. He touched the door control. It moved aside to reveal a startling tableau.

His Omega was on the floor beside the bed, one arm cradling his own braided head, the other hand in Harper's. For a moment, relief made Dylan weak and he sagged against the doorframe.

"Help Bem get the gurney in here," he said to Trance without turning around. He heard her running off.

"Tyr."

The dark head lifted at once and the Nietzscean stared blankly at him. Then he grinned tiredly.

"Good to see you," he rumbled. "We're going after Glee?"

"Absolutely," Dylan replied. "But first things first."

Tyr nodded and started to rise, but Harper, little more than a lump beneath blankets, made a small sound of distress, fingers tightening convulsively around Tyr's.

"Easy, little one," the Nietzschean said. "We're home."

"Don't go..."

"I'll be right here."

Tyr's eyes lifted to Dylan's and held.

"I'm very pleased," Dylan said softly. "You've served me well, Omega."

Tyr's smile was weary. He got up, ignoring Harper's whimper. Wrapping Harper in the blanket, the big Nietzschean gently scooped the man into his arms. Harper sighed then and relaxed. Dylan stepped aside to let him pass and followed them both from the Maru.

******

Harper opened his eyes. Bright light filled them and the quiet hum told him where he was. The Andromeda? Was it possible?

He was so weak. His head seemed filled with fluff.

"Tyr?" he asked before thinking.

A familiar figure appeared beside his bed. Beautiful eyes smiled down at him.

"Rommie," he whispered. "Am I dreaming?"

"Not according to the monitors."

"Mmmm," he smiled, closing his eyes. "Home. I'm thirsty."

Cool glass touched his lips. A strong hand lifted him gently. He braced for pain, but there was none. Greedily he drank until, with a "tsk", Rommie took it away. For the first time, Harper realized he was hooked up to all manner of wires and tubes.

"What happened?" Everything seemed so fuzzy. When he tried to remember, his thoughts skittered away in a most irritating way.

"Never mind that now," Rommie replied. "Rest, Seamus. You were badly hurt."

He remembered something suddenly, lifting a shaking hand to his neural port. It was empty!

"We got the tracer chip, too," Rommie reassured him gently.

A memory came suddenly, bright and sharp as a knife. Benaki! He made a sound and Rommie's eyes narrowed. Left breathless, he nodded.

"Rest," he agreed in a whisper. "Sounds like a plan."

Then, with suspicious suddenness, the fear receded and he was back in a cocoon of warm and comfort. His eyelids were so heavy...so heavy...

Part XIII

"We don't have to do this," Beka said anxiously. "We've got Harper."

"Aren't you even curious?" Trance asked.

"No."

"According to Tyr, Glee expects to meet some sort of opposition wherever he is and he's planning to send his followers through to act as a buffer against any attack. We're going to do what we can to stop him." Dylan's fingers tightened around the slipstream controls. "We've got the coordinates. Let's go!"

Beka scowling, shrugged. Tyr moved quickly to the fire control station. A nod from Dylan and they fell through the portal and into slipstream.

It was a rough ride, the stream bucking and twisting in ways Beka had never seen before. Heart in her mouth, she watched Dylan, the handsome face tight with concentration as he steered them through the mess. Then they popped out and Beka swore.

They hung in a starless dark. Ahead two great balls of white light burned balefully against the Void. Between them, strung like jewels across the emptiness, were nine pale stars that faded in and out erratically. There was no sign of ships.

"Rommie?"

"Ion trail leads into the third ghosthole on the left," came Rommie's voice.

A silence fell over the command deck. Beka realized that her heart was racing.

"Well?" their captain asked mildly.

She could not believe he was so calm.

"I say we go," Bem said finally. "We cannot let harm befall those innocents."

"Idiots, you mean," Beka snarled.

"I agree," Trance piped up. "About saving the innocents, I mean!"

"As do I," Tyr added -- not that Beka had expected *him* to go against Dylan.

"Oh, all right," she muttered, settling back into the helm. "But if this turns out to be a disaster, Dylan, I'm resigning!"

*****

When Harper awakened again, his head was clearer. He really was home.

The sick bay was empty. Bits and pieces of the recent past returned, bringing with them a sudden, unreasoning rush of terror. He fought it, pushing it back. After Vashon, he'd had panic attacks for years.

//Get used to it, buddy. This too shall pass.//

"Rommie?"

No answer. Then the silence was broken by the shrill claxon that signaled combat.

"ROMMIE!"

Damn. They were going after Glee! He was *not* lying here like a lump of inert matter.

Harper found he could sit up with only a minimal amount of dizziness. Impatiently, he yanked tubing from his arm, ignoring the anxious bleeping of the machine to which he'd been attached. Someone had put pajama bottoms on him. For a moment, he was overcome by the wonderful sensation of being clothed again.

Bare feet hit the floor and more dizziness sent him to his knees, hard. He remained there, the alarm echoing in his head.

"Seamus Harper, get back into bed!" An irate, holographic Rommie appeared in front of him.

"I'm fine," he croaked.

"Harper...." It was Madame Aila, dominatrix pirate queen.

Surprised, he laughed. Struggling back to his feet, holding tight to the bed for support, he shook his head.

"Later," he promised cheekily.

Rommie's lifted an eyebrow in a startlingly Dylan-like manner. "Seamus?"

"Please, Rommie?" Then an awful thought rendered him momentarily speechless. "Unless," he said finally, "unless Dylan doesn't -- doesn't want me."

Rommie shook her head. "The captain wants you to remain here. In case you hadn't noticed, Seamus, you were very badly injured."

"Nothing that won't heal, right?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she commented, "This wasn't the first time you've been abused like that, is it, Seamus?"

A hot flush of shame stole over him. He lifted his head, shrugged and said airily, "There have been a few bad patches in my life. So what?"

"Get into bed, Seamus Harper," Rommie replied. "And that's an order."

*****

Afterwards, Dylan would never be quite sure what happened when the Andromeda shot into the ghosthole. One minute they were racing into the Spectral Net, the next they were in the midst of a pitched battle.

Two small ships of unfamiliar design were desperately fighting off Glee and his mercenaries. Several of the cult ships had already taken damage. One was completely destroyed, little more than debris floating in space; others were fleeing in all directions. In the background, a bright jewel of a world revolved around a yellow sun. Another was further away, but still looked suspiciously like a Class M. Two in the same system?

"Target the mercenaries," Dylan ordered Tyr, who smiled happily and did just that. Four of the merc ships vaporized in rapid succession. Glee's ship, however, had full shields and took Andromeda's blasts without visible harm.

"The Edge is coming around," sang Trance.

"I'm getting signs of a buildup of considerable power," Rommie said.

"Plasma cannon," muttered Dylan. "Shields on full! Beka! Evasive maneuvers!"

"Shit," was Beka's comment. "Rommie, can you handle it?"

"One blast, maybe," the ship agreed. "After that...."

Dylan said. "They'll have to lower their shields to fire. Tyr!"

"Plasma buildup complete," Rommie announced. Dylan's hands tightened on the conn.

"Brace for impact!" he said and looked to the Nietzschean.

Tyr was utterly focused on his instruments and the screen, waiting...

But instead of rocking beneath a powerful blast, their instruments red-lined and, on the viewscreen in front of them, the Edge became an incandescent ball..

"What the hell happened?" Beka gasped. "I thought we were toast."

At the fire controls, Tyr chuckled.

"What's so damn funny?"

"Harper," the Nietzschean replied, "is beginning to intrigue me."

"Dylan?" Trance's eyes were very big. "One of the two ships they were attacking is hailing us."

Part XIV

Excitement ran high on the Andromeda, but Harper was on the outside looking in. Dylan was adamant about his remaining in bed until he was healed enough to move around. It was true that things weren't going as well in that department as Harper had hoped, but still -- surely he could help out somehow?

At least his trick with the Edge's surge regulator had worked. Even so, he had the same hollow feeling he'f had at the Witchhead Nebula. He thought about Dr. Mara and his throat tightened. If only they would let him *do* something -- *anything* -- to take his mind off the bad memories that crowded so thick around him

"No," had been the captain's hurried reply to his request. "Just stay put, Harper. The trick of your was inspired, but now getting you healthy is the most important thing."

It was one of the more polite ways of saying 'fuck off' that Harper had encountered recently. Even Beka had only stopped by long enough to give him a kiss on the cheek and a welcome back before rushing off to the action.

Tyr, on the other hand, had dropped by no less than three times, although only to growl at him to stay in bed. Rommie, at least, kept him updated.

"In spite of what Glee thought, this isn't our future, but an alternate universe," she told him. "Everyone of those ghostholes leads to a different one. The planets out there correspond exactly to the Sirka system."

"Can't be," he objected. "That system's only got the one Class M and that's Grammery."

"Terraformed," she replied. "All the planets."

"Wow. You're kidding?"

"No, Seamus. The people here are extremely advanced. Like our own universe, this a very remote part of their space. When Glee came through the first time, he encountered a local police ship. It forced him back through the ghosthole, but not without taking enough damage to convince Glee that with enough firepower, he could prevail a second time. The time stream here moves more slowly, as well. Ten months have passed in our universe, two days in this one -- enough time for the police's reinforcements to arrive."

"And -- and there no survivors on the Edge?"

She shook her head.

Of course not. Once again, Seamus Harper had demonstrated how to kill efficiently and creatively. He felt like shit.

*****

Dylan stood in front of his mirror, pulling his shirt over his head and shaking out his hair. Excitement and apprehension warred for dominance. An alternate universe, different, but the same. It had been a theoretical construct for millennia, but never empirically proved. To say that this was a momentous event was to understate things significantly. If this had still been the Commonwealth there would be ships arriving from all six galaxies, excitement of the highest level, scholars brought from everywhere to study it...

His door alarm chimed.

"Come."

It was Tyr. Dylan met his eyes in the mirror and even now, with all that was going on, could not ignore the powerful attraction that tugged at him.

"I should come with you," the Nietzschean said.

He picked up Dylan's jacket and held it for the commander. When Dylan would button it up, Tyr calmly turned him around and did it for him. Their eyes locked, then Tyr leaned forward, his lips brushing Dylan's.

"Someone has to stay on board -- just in case," Dylan managed.

Another kiss, a little more demanding. Dylan leaned into it before he realized what he was doing.

"Are you trying to seduce your way onto the planet with me?"

"Would I do such a thing?"

More pressure, the whisper of his tongue over Dylan's mouth. The commander shivered, the slacks of his dress uniform suddenly too tight. He picked up the gloves from the dressing table.

"Won't work," he managed in a reasonably steady voice.

"You have some time before you leave," came that throaty purr. "Plenty of time to be persuaded."

"Tyr --- oh, damn it."

An aroused Nietzschean was a powerful force. Even as Dylan told himself it was only one kiss, he knew he was lost. His tongue went deep and he reveled in the now familiar taste and feel of his Omega. White gloves fell, unheeded, to the floor. One arm pulled Tyr close against him, the other wrapped in the dense, heavy hair. Tyr's tongue met his eagerly, caressing, tantalizing. Heat shot through Dyan's veins. His groin ached.

"No time..." he gasped when they parted, but Tyr simply dropped to his knees, hands going to Dylan's belt.

Opening the white trousers, careful not to wrinkle the fabric, the man put his mouth against Dylan's erection. Through the thin fabric of Dylan's briefs, his breath warmed already overheated skin.

Dylan gritted his teeth and fell back against the mirror. Tyr's long fingers clamped around his hips, holding him helplessly still.

"Damn it, Tyr..."

Easing the trousers over his hips, the magnificent creature teased him, making Dylan squirm against the glass. He tried to find words to stop the torment, but the sensation of Tyr's hands on him, his underwear sliding down around his thighs ...

"Tyr -- god damn it -- stop -- don't -- *oh, yes!*"

Clasping Dylan's balls loosely in one large hand, Tyr seized his penis with the other. Dylan arched helplessly into that grip. He groaned as his Omega engulfed the head, tongue massaging that exquisitely sensitive flesh.

Dylan trembled, fingers tangling loosely in Tyr's braids, breath coming hard and fast. Now Tyr had all of him, tongue wrapping around his staff, tormenting the leaking slit. In Tyr's graceful fingers, his balls began to tighten. The pressure in his groin made him thrust his hips forward, grip tightening in the Nietzschean's dark hair. Release came abruptly, scattering his thoughts, ripping an exultant cry from him. Tyr's throat worked, suckling until Dylan whimpered and shook. Tyr released him abruptly, breathing hard, eyes aflame.

His own arousal evident, the Nietzschean nevertheless rose and held his captain upright against the mirror. Then, when Dylan had some command over his limbs again, Tyr cleaned him off and restored his clothing, smoothing away the errant wrinkle or two. Neither man spoke. Retrieving his gloves for him, Tyr went to the door. Dylan ran shaking fingers through his hair and stood another minute or two until his heartbeat slowed toward normal. Then, the High Guard officer in control once more, walked out. With Tyr a silent shadow at his back, he headed for the shuttle.

*****

Harper set down the cutter and leaned against the table. It seemed he was always tired lately. The breaker board was taking twice as long to put together as it should. He returned to his bed and curled up on his side. He was cold.

He heard the door open and sat up. It was Rommie's avatar, his medication in hand. He tilted his head so she could place the instrument against the vein in his neck. The cold sting lasted only a second, but it made him feel better.

"What's going on?"

"Dylan and Beka have gone down to the planet. How are you feeling, Seamus?" Rommie set the injector aside. She looked concerned. They all did nowadays, although they tried not to show it.

"Wenz-Leiber virus," Rommie had told him. It meant nothing to him, but she was clearly worried. If *Rommie* was worried...

"You can cure it, right?" Harper couldn't believe there was any problem for which the Andromeda's medical database couldn't produce a solution.

"We don't actually know very much about it. There's practically no information available except for those I've acquired since escaping the black hole and what I do have is very sketchy. The virus is connected to a place called Vashon. Have you heard of it?"

Harper's stomach had done a queer little flutter. "Nah."

Rommie had accepted the lie without question. "Too bad. Anyway, at the moment, I'm keeping the virus from reproducing, but I've no idea whether it can be eliminated. In meantime, everything depends on your immune system. If you rest and eat well and take your antivirals, you'll probably be fine!"

Harper said now, "Didn't the people on the planet say a warship is coming? Shouldn't we be getting along home? What if it attacks? I'll be we're not real popular with these folks."

"The people on the planet know that we were *not* Glee's allies and communication so far has been cordial. Now, do you need anything? We've got a dozen or so of Glee's surviving followers on board. It's a little busy."

"No. No, I'm okay. Thanks."

She was gone and the room was quiet again.

I'm in the way, thought Harper dismally. His throat ached. He clenched his jaw and sat up. The least he could do was finish the board, show them he wasn't *completely* useless. Even so, he found the delicate circuitry blurring as he tried to work and finally had to turn away. He wiped his sleeve over his eyes angrily, sat a moment, then went back to work.

Part XV

The Andromeda's shuttle landed on a circle of pale stone in the middle of lush, close-cropped grass. Buildings surrounded them, set well away from the landing pad and fronted by towering trees. They were reminiscent of ancient Earth architecture, several stories high with tall windows deeply inset in the stone walls, towers and gables. Beka almost expected to see men in velvet doublets and wide-brimmed hats ride up to the shuttle on horseback. Instead, a young woman in a simple white dress stood at the edge of the stone circle. On either side of her was a man, one older and bearded, the other the same age as Beka.

She came forward when Dylan and Beka stepped down from the shuttle.

"Emer Lee?" Dylan asked, moving to meet her. He took the hand she held out and smiled. "Captain Dylan Hunt of the Andromeda Ascendant, and this is my first officer, Beka Valentine."

"Indeed, Captain Hunt, Commander Valentine. Welcome to Sirka. These are my advisors, Andrew Ffolkes and Sing Chan. This is quite an occasion for us, as you can well imagine."

"And us, as well. I'm only sorry your first impression had to be so unpleasant."

She smiled. "The encounter cost the invaders more than it cost us, Captain. Come. Our Elders are eager to meet representatives from another reality."

They started across the lawn toward one of the buildings, the grandest of them all. It stretched away to the right and left, several stories high, with a massive, pillared entranceway and twin towers on each end. Beka kept close to Dylan. All the open space gave her the willies. She was relieved when they passed through tall doors and into a soaring foyer.

"We are literary scholars and philosophers here on Sirka," the woman was saying. "Had this been a scientific academy, we'd likely have the instruments to detect the anomaly. I'm afraid it simply never occurred to us that we might have anything to fear out here."

"You know of ghostholes?" Dylan asked.

She nodded. "Yes, indeed. In fact, ironic as it seems, there is a Captain Dylan Hunt in this universe. His ship, the Confucius IV, discovered the first such gate -- in the Richenbach galaxy. You should speak to Andy about it. We pay him to teach ethics, but his hobby is astrophysics."

"I have a counterpart in this universe?" Dylan didn't sound particularly happy about it and Beka didn't blame him. It meant that somewhere among these stars was another her.

"Why do you call it a gate?" Beka asked.

"Because that's what it is. There is considerable evidence that they are not naturally occurring."

"Someone *made* them?"

"So our scientists believe."

Lee led them along a vaulted corridor, arched windows running the length of right wall. On the left was wood paneling the color of rich caramel, hung with paintings in heavy, ornate old frames . The Sirkian woman -- Beka was having trouble associating her with the denizens of that world in their own universe -- turned to the left before a set of beautiful carved double doors. They opened silently inward at her approach.

Beka faltered. A large room lined with books was on the other side. In the center of it was an oval table, wood polished to a mirror shine. Small image monitors were inset around the edge, one for each of the twelve high-backed chairs. At one end were six men and women, all in white. They rose as Dylan and Beka came in.

"Welcome to Sirka," said the man in the center. He was old, gray hair tied at the nape of his neck, and a kindly smile. "I am Louis Villareal, president of the Trudeau Institute. Please sit down. Our group is almost complete. Esa? Please bring our guests some tea...unless you prefer coffee?"

"Tea's fine."

"Coffee. Please." Beka settled, wide-eyed, into one of the chairs. Like the door -- indeed, like everything she'd seen so far -- it was a work of art. The arms were carved into dragons' heads, smooth and warm under her tentative fingers. A cup of coffee appeared at her elbow, a smiling boy in black setting cream and sugar beside it. Everything looked and smelled real.

"I have question," Dylan said. "After Glee came through the first time, why didn't you take steps to guard the gate? Surely you knew those two small cruisers wouldn't be enough to protect your world from Glee?"

"There wasn't enough time," replied Villareal. "We immediately summoned help from the military, but in our university it has only been a few days since the first invasion. We are quite remote, as Dr. Lee has no doubt told you. Even the fastest starship takes time to reach us."

Dylan accepted his tea with a smile and thanks, but as he set it down, his communicator beeped.

"Excuse me."

Villareal nodded.

"Yes, Tyr?"

"Dylan, an extremely large and heavily armed ship has come out of slipstream... about a hundred kilometers away." Tyr's voice was flat, its very blandness signaling extreme disquiet. The High Guard commander's brows drew together.

"They're hailing," continued the Nietzschean.

"Ah," smiled Villareal. "That would be our the rest of our group."

"Dylan..." Beka elbowed the commander, who straightened abruptly. The university's president rose, turning as, to his left, the air shimmered. Two figures materialized, a man and a woman. Both were uniformed.

Dylan got to his feet, Beka scrambling up after. Villareal embraced the man and woman, both of whom appeared to know him quite well.

"Captain Hunt, Commander Valentine, may I introduce our Starfleet representatives and my dear friends, Captain Jean Luc Picard and Counselor Deanna Troi? Now -- since we are all here, let us sit down and discuss what we're going to do with that pesky anomaly out there."

*****

Tyr moved through empty, silent corridors heading toward the engine room.

"Harper left sick bay," the ship had warned. "He said something about getting his tools."

He was going to tie that boy to the bed, damn it.

Tyr was tired and still edgy with that behemoth standing off Andromeda's port side. He'd never seen a ship like it, nor the way it simply popped out of nowhere. It hadn't used the slipstreams, but utilized something called warp drive.

There had been no worry in Dylan's voice when he'd informed Tyr of his intention to visit the new arrival. Even so, Tyr fretted at the thought of the captain going without him. The Enterprise was every bit as big as Andromeda and some of its armaments completely unfamiliar to the Nietzschean.

He reached the engine room. At first glance, the place was empty, but as his senses flared, he saw a bare foot peeping around the edge of the work bench.

"Harper!"

The human was sprawled face down on the floor. Idiot. Tyr lifted him and was promptly alarmed at the heat in the body he held. At his urgent shout, Trance abandoned the command deck to the Magog and met him in sick bay. Harper murmured and stirred. Fever-bright eyes opened.

"Shit," he heard. "This virus thing sucks."

"Yes," replied Tyr shortly. "You've overdone it again, Harper. *Stay in bed.*"

"Or what?"

"Or you'll die!"

"So?"

Tyr stared. Trance, on the other side of the room, pretended fascination in the computer screen in front of her. After a moment, angry, frightened eyes dropped.

"Sorry, Tyr," he muttered. "It's just -- I feel so left out. Here we are in an alternate universe, in the presence of technology superior to the old Commonwealth's, and I can't be part of it! They've got working, efficient teleportation, damn it!"

"Dylan is bringing a party over from the Enterprise in a few hours. Their chief engineer is coming, too. If you get some sleep, let the medication work, I'll recommend you be present at the engine room tour."

"You'd do that?"

"Yes. *If* you do what you're told."

"Yes, sir." The irrepressible grin was back. Tyr resisted the impulse to ruffle the human's pale hair and returned to the command deck.

*****

"I still can't get over it," Picard said, stepping into the turbolift. "You look *exactly* like our Dylan Hunt"

"What's he like? Do you know him well?"

"He's a bit of a hot-head," grinned the other captain. "And one of the best officers in the Fleet. Hunt found the first gate, you know."

"What's through that one?"

"Nothing, so far, just empty worlds."

"I still can't get used to the idea." Dylan shook his head. "What would happen if we met?"

"Nothing," Commander Data said. "And we aren't sure why, either. Ordinarily, we would expect one or the other counterpart to lose temporal stability after a short period, but experiments suggest that something occurs when you got through the gate that changes you somehow and make you compatible with whatever universe you're in at the time."

The lift stopped. Its doors slid open. Dylan's mouth dropped.

"Engine room," said Picard. Dylan heard the pride and had to agree.

The Enterprise was a ship to take a man's breath away. A neat, industrious crew bustled back and forth, making way for their captain, watching the visitors, curious and not in the least afraid. It was the Commonwealth in different clothes and a few hundred years into the future. For a moment, the contrast was almost more than he could bear.

The warp drive was a wonder. He stood, rapt, listening to Lieutenant LeForge wax eloquent on what was surely his first love -- his engines. There was so much to dazzle Dylan -- transporter, replicators. Most astonishing of all was the android, Commander Data.

Both the Command and his captain were likewise astonished by Rommie.

"I suspect our universes have much to learn from each other," Picard said when LeForge's lecture finally ceased. "I look forward to seeing the Andromeda and the rest of your crew."

"And we're looking forward to entertaining you." Dylan held out a hand.

Picard, shaking his head slightly, shook it. "This will take some getting used to, Captain Hunt."

Dylan smiled at Beka who managed a wobbly smile back. She was clearly intimidated, keeping close to him, her normally caustic humor, devil-may-care attitude completely subdued. The sight of all the spit and polish, that unconscious confidence that comes from a clear sense of purpose -- she was finally seeing what he missed so badly.

"Worf -- prepare to transport Captains Hunt and Valentine back to the Andromeda."

"See you in a few hours," Dylan said.

"We're looking forward to it, " agreed Picard.

Dylan felt the strange tingling that immediately preceded dematerialization. He tried not to panic. There was a moment of vertigo and a sense that somewhere, the cosmos blinked. Then he was standing on the command deck of the Andromeda facing a very worried Tyr.

Part XVI

"He's dying, Dylan."

In the captain's antechamber just off the command, Rommie's holographic image managed to convey distress. Dylan, shocked to silence, just stared.

"Seamus' immune system was compromised a long time ago, I just didn't know how much. I didn't expect to eliminate the virus, but I had hoped we could halt its proliferation -- manage the disease..."

"What is this Wenz-Leiber virus?"

"It was completely unknown in our time. Harper's earlier physical showed only fragments of it -- as if the virus had already been neutralized by his immune system. Unfortunately, his experience on the Edge so debilitated him it became active again." Rommie hesitated, then, "It looks like it might be synthetic."

"Harper was on Vashon," Tyr said.

"Vashon?" Dylan was blank.

"A habitat," said Tyr, "ruled by the Hirobi yakuza. It was said that you could get anything you wanted there, anything at all. Slavers made regular calls."

Dylan opened and shut his mouth. "And Harper was there?"

"He had to have been," replied Tyr. "You could get more than just pleasure on Vashon. You could get research subjects -- if you were biotech corporation wanting to cut R&D expenses. That was what destroyed Vashon in the end. There were four brothels and two gladiator stables that were infected. The Wenz-Leiber viruse was one of the more notorious. None of the diseases proved contagious, however. That made the experiments unsuccessful in the eyes of the company that designed them."

"What was object of it?" Dylan asked, appalled.

"To depopulate planets -- very slowly -- of their for takeover without making it look like an obvious attack."

"What happened to the company?"

"It's still around," Tyr replied. "Although people in charge of the project were arrested."

"And the other victims?"

"Ramses Technologies eliminated the subjects by simply destroying Vashon."

Rommie pointed out. "Harper escaped."

"Yes," agreed Tyr. "He does seem to have a talent for getting out of trouble. Too bad he isn't equally adept at staying out of it."

He hesitated, then added soberly, "The Commonwealth would have stopped Ramses, punished them, dissolved them. Our universe needs what this one already has, Dylan."

Dylan caught his breath, wondering if he'd been that obvious. He said evenly, "If we can't help Harper, maybe the Enterprise can."

"I agree," the Nietzschean said. "Every minute that passes gives the virus more time to replicate. Will you contact them, captain, or shall I?"

****

According to his alarm clock, it was late. Harper couldn't sleep. Fever burned at the edges of his awareness and his thoughts took odd turns in the dark.

There was someone at the door.

"Harper?"

For a single, jolting moment Harper was terrified. Then the lights came on. Dylan. It was only Dylan. Harper took several long, deep breaths.

"Hey, boss. What's up?"

Harper hadn't seen much of the High Guard commander since he'd been back.

"Feel like taking a little trip?" the tall man asked. Trance and Beka appeared in the doorway behind him.

"I -- where?"

"To the Enterprise."

"Really?" He sat up, but the room tilted and his ears filled with a wild rushing sound. When it cleared, he was flat on his back, staring up into their worried faces. "I -- maybe later."

"Maybe now," said Dylan and motioned to someone behind him. An attractive middle-aged woman in a white coat came into his line of vision.

"This is Dr. Crusher. We're going to move you to the Enterprise sick bay."

There was a gurney. It floated. Trance appeared, hovering over him anxiously when they lifted him from his bed onto it. There was a long, bewildering period, then he was in another ship, this one filled with people.

Dylan strode along one side of him, the doctor on the other. She was quietly asking questions. Harper thought he answered, but wasn't sure. Then he was being lifted again Something covered him, some kind of machine. He looked anxiously for Dylan and found the captain standing nearby with a older, bald man.

"Seamus?"

It was the doctor. Crushing? Crusher? He made an effort to focus.

"I'm going to be administering some drugs that will make you very sleepy."

"Mmm. Already very sleepy."

She smiled and the world blinked out.

******

"I don't know what it is," Beverly Crusher said, staring at the object floating on the screen. "I've been through the entire Federation virus database and there's nothing."

"We think it might have been synthesized."

The Enterprises' extremely attractive doctor frowned at the magnified virus.

"I don't know what else we can do. I'm sure we could devise some sort of life support equipment, even something quite mobile, but he would be confined to it for the rest of his life. I'm sorry I can't be more help."

Dylan's heart sank.

"Dr. Crusher?"

Dylan watched her eyes move at once to Tyr. The Nietzschean was hanging back, away from the others, watching the Enterprise crew -- Dylan's self-appointed bodyguard and completely indifferent to his lord's opinions on the matter.

As with most women confronted with Tyr, there was a subtle shift in Dr. Crusher's posture, a softening, a sudden, pronounced sensuality. Dylan, hardly immune to Tyr himself, kept the corners of his mouth still.

"Is it possible to find a specific person in your Federation?"

"In most cases, probably."

"Could you find out if there is someone called Wenz-Leiber?"

The computer was prompt.

"Dr. Mara Sydney Wenz-Lieber, fifty-eight years old, virologist, employed by the Candis Foundation..."

A picture flashed onscreen of a small woman with short brown hair and a serious expression. Dylan heard a sharp intake of breath from Tyr.

"Dr Ely," the Nietzschean murmured. "Can you send this woman a picture of the virus?"

"I certainly can," agreed Dr. Crusher, eyes lighting. "The Candis Foundation is not far from here. It's a Federation think-tank. Very top secret."

The response was almost instantaneous. As the Federation logo appeared on the blue screen, the doors to sick bay hissed open, admitting the captain.

Onscreen, the logo vanished and the woman herself appeared. She did not look happy.

"I'm Dr. Wenz-Lieber. Dr. Crusher?"

"Thank you for replying so quickly."

"Where did you get that image?" The woman's lips were pressed tightly together. Her eyes were flinty.

"We took it ourselves," replied the doctor, "from the bloodwork of a young man in the next room who is dying of it. How do I treat this?"

The woman whitened. "Someone is infected? That's impossible! The only samples are here, under the strictest of security. They aren't even active."

"The man is a member of my crew," Dylan said shortly.

She turned. There was someone in the office with her. For a moment, the sound went dead. Then, "How advanced is the disease?"

Dylan looked to Tyr, who said, "Vashon was cleared out six years ago."

"Six years? That's impossible! Captain Picard? What is going on here?"

"It's a long story," Picard said. "I've finished talking to Admiral Barrymore. He's issued clearance."

"I'll need to check that."

The logo appeared again, but it wasn't long before she was back and clearly excited.

"An extremely interesting report. Gate people, eh? Well, as it happens, doctor, I think we can help you. You understand, of course, that this is strictly an experimental treatment. No one here has ever been infected before. It works in the models, but it's never one hundred percent"

"We understand, doctor."

"Very well. I will, of course, need to see the patient as soon as possible. Transmitting treatment data now."

Part XVII

"You know they're going to ask him."

The crew of the Eureka Maru gathered around Harper's bed in the Enterprise's quiet sick bay. Beka swallowed hard.

"And he'll ask us to stay, too," she said, "but I can't do it. This is all -- everyone's too..."

"Arrogant?" Harper supplied helpfully. "Boring?"

Beka shrugged a bit defiantly. It was true. She felt rough and ungainly around all this discipline, all this power. Everywhere were trim uniforms, glowing health, purposefulness. She and her crew, on the other hand, looked like refugees from some Federation slum planet -- if there was even such a thing. This was what Dylan had known. This was *his* kind of world.

"Anyway -- if anyone wants to stay, that's okay. I'll understand."

"I'll go back with you," Trance said promptly. "I think everyone here has been very nice, actually, but this isn't my universe. We don't belong here."

"I, too, believe my path lies on the other side," Rev Bem agreed.

"Harper?"

"Hell, yeah. Do you see how these people *dress*?"

Beka's heart lightened.

"What about Tyr?" asked Trance.

"He'll do whatever Dylan tells him," snorted Beka.

"You're gonna tell Dylan, right?" Harper asked a little anxiously. "I mean -- he did drop everything to hunt me down and haul me back home -- to the Andromeda."

"Oops," whispered Trance. "Here he comes."

They melted back, leaving Beka to nervously confront him. He smiled at her and looked at Harper.

"So," he said. "Dr. Crusher says you're cured and in spite of Dr. Wenz-Lieber's opposition, has discharged you. How do you feel?"

"Great," replied Harper. "Say -- I, um, really appreciate you're coming to get me and everything. Really." The young man swallowed hard and made a valiant attempt a nonchalance. "I even forgive you for sending Tyr."

"I'm relieved," Dylan snorted. "Now, if you're done laying around on your ass, we'd better be going."

"Going where?"

Dylan looked at Beka, startled. "Home. To our own universe. Unless..." He faltered and, for just a moment, she saw dismay. "You can stay here if you want. Picard says it's all right with the Federation. Most of Glee's followers have elected to do so."

"You're not? We were sure you would. This is all so -- so Commonwealth." Harper waved vaguely at their surroundings.

"It's tempting," admitted the commander wistfully, "but the Andromeda's not needed here. Back home, we can make a real difference."

It was as if a great weight lifted off Beka's heart. "Good," she said, all brisk business. "Now that we've got that settled, do you think Picard would give us one of those replicators?"

******

Harper took his dust-rag and ran it along the top of Rommie's main router box. Standing back, he admired the shine. That damn Enterprise had nothing on the Andromeda -- nothing.

Crap, was that a spot?

"Harper?"

"Yeah, Dylan?"

"My office, please."

The other shoe had just dropped. Heart sinking, Harper nevertheless announced cheerfully that he was on his way.

This was it, the big smackeroo. Dylan hadn't said a word about his going AWOL since Harper had returned, not so much as, "don't ever do that again, asshole." This was *not* normal human behavior, especially not for an authority figure. Harper was almost relieved to hear the sharp note in Dylan's voice.

He hurried toward the captain's quarters, scrambling up the ladder and along the corridor into the next deck. A familiar figure appeared around a corner. Tyr! Now Harper knew he was in for it -- finally. His stomach churned.

Don't be stupid, he told himself, you're going to get yelled at and nothing more. Words won't hurt you.

"Hey," he greeted the Nietzschean. "Am I getting' court-martialed, or something?"

"Or something," agreed Tyr.

They walked together in silence, but Harper was acutely aware of the Nietzschean. He remembered the little cabin on the Edge, Tyr's tongue in his mouth. Harper swallowed hard and did his best not to look at the other man.

Suddenly the Nietzschean stopped and Harper, apprehensive, followed suit.

"Tell me," Tyr said, brown eyes thoughtful on the human's face. "If we hadn't come -- would you have destroyed the Edge anyway? Would you have suicided?"

Harper smiled tightly. "Maybe."

Tyr nodded and continued down the corridor. The captain's quarters appeared on the right. Chin pugnaciously lifted, heart thumping, Harper braced himself and followed Tyr in.

"SURPRI-I-I-I-ISE!"

Harper stopped dead in the doorway, jaw dropping. Across Dylan's spacious living room hung a large banner with uneven handwritten letters printed upon it -- "WELCOME BACK!" Balloons were everywhere and brightly colored streamers. A long table had been set with food. An ice- filled bucket held dozens of Sparky Colas. There were doritos and pim-chips, a cake gaudy with thick white icing -- in short, everything that could possibly be construed as non-nutritious. His favorites.

The entire gang was here, too, all of them grinning and talking at once. He watched Tyr make a beeline for the captain who was not looking at all pissed off. Harper's spirits lightened.

"Quiet!"

Tyr's voice thundered through the room and there was instant silence.

"Thanks." Dylan nodded to the Nietzschean, who stepped back.

"Seamus Harper?"

"Um, yeah?"

"Welcome back," said Dylan with an affectionate grin, adding, " And don't ever do that again, you hear?"

"Don't worry. I'm not insane anymore," replied Harper, then sobered. "Thanks, guys. I -- I wasn't sure you'd come."

The admission slipped out before he could stop it, but the sudden, noisy denial warmed him to his toes. Cola was brought out and a toast was made. There were even presents, as Trance finally announced, too excited to keep quiet about it any longer.

No one had ever thrown a party just for Harper before, let alone one with gifts. He wasn't quite sure what to do when the brightly wrapped boxes were set in front of him.

Shit. He didn't deserve this. What had he done? Run off and abandoned his friends, that's what. Made them risk everything to come get him. He should be sitting in the fucking brig, getting the silent treatment, not a party.

"Aren't you going to open them?"

He found a smile and did so. There was a beautiful Bonsai tree from Trance, a meditation medallion from Rev with a luscious little nude on it. Beka gave him a very snazzy new shirt and Rommie, bless her, had unearthed several new Lady Aila adventures.

"You guys," he said, looking around, "this is really great, but..."

"Harper, we're all getting used to it," Dylan interrupted quietly. "We all make mistakes. The Andromeda needs you. We need you. You're one of us. That's how it was in the Commonwealth and that's how it is here."

Looking from one of his friends to another, Harper was overwhelmed by an unfamiliar sense of warmth and safety. Then he noticed Tyr was gone. For some reason, that disappointed him.

"This is great!" Trance enthused, looking them all over happily. "Now everything is back to normal!"

"Where are we going next?" asked Harper.

"Lourdes Minor."

"Really?" He looked up, excited. "What part?"

"Chimera."

"Oh, man! That's right on the coast! They've got waves there as good as Hawaii!"

"So I understand," Dylan said smoothly. "So, as my gift, you get three days of shore leave to play in the ocean."

"Yes!" Harper jumped up.

"And here," came a familiar bass purr, "is something to kill yourself on."

Tyr was back and in his arms was something that made Harper sit right back down. It was a surfboard, but not just *any* surfboard. Tyr leaned it against the table next to him and, after a second, Harper recovered enough to reach reverent fingers to brush the glassy finish.

"It's a *Ventura*!" he whispered, awed, "Wow! Is it real dakka-wood?"

"I suppose." Tyr was watching him with that rather unnerving intensity. "It was replicated from a design in the Enterprise's database."

That took his breath away.

"T--thanks," he said finally. "And thanks for everything else."

Tyr inclined his head briefly. Harper looked at him and the captain standing shoulder to shoulder and thought that whatever was between them just might be a real good thing.

"And now," Dylan announced, "since the food seems to be gone, I suggest those of you on duty get back to your posts. Lourdes Minor is waiting for us."

Part XVIII

Dylan sat on a bench alone on the observation deck, staring out into the sky. The ghostholes were once again a legend. Of the hundred or so of Edge's disciples, five small ships and three dozen people had come back.

"What if one of those people tries to return?" Trance had asked as they saw the last of their passengers off on the Perseid Station 016.

"Lieutenant Data and his team made sure the slipstream coordinates for the ghostholes were deleted from every surviving vessel," he'd replied, "and anyway, Star Fleet knows about the gate now. Somehow I think they'll be up to repelling anymore uninvited visitors."

"And if they come here?" Tyr had never quite relinquished his suspicions.

"The Federation has something called a Prime Directive. It forbids them from interfering in developing cultures. From their perspective, apparently, that's exactly what we are."

Dylan sighed. The stars looked back at him, coldly beautiful. Familiar stars -- with worlds around them that had changed almost beyond recognition.

Beka and her crew were full of heart and energy and courage. But he was as much a stranger in this universe as in Picard's and, in the end, their final loyalties were to each other. As for Tyr... Dylan's mouth twisted and he lowered his head into his hands.

//Sara...oh god, Sara, I miss you so much.//

He took a deep breath, then another.

"Captain?"

Harper. Dylan pulled himself together and looked over his shoulder. The man stood by the door and Dylan wondered how long he'd been there.

"Sir..."

"Sir?" Dylan chuckled. "Harper, please."

"Hey. Just tryin' to professional, ya know?" Harper's levity was as forced his own. They stared at each across the large room. Then Dylan waved him over.

Harper took a seat on the bench. His hands, tense, rested on his thighs. Dylan knew something of what the engineer had endured on the Ripper's Edge and it made his skin crawl almost as much as Tyr's subsequent information about Vashon. Suddenly he felt ashamed that he could sit here whole and free, in command of the most powerful warship in the galaxies, and still feel sorry for himself.

"I, um, wanted to apologize for being an asshole." Harper wouldn't look at him, but stared out the great observation window. "It's none of my damned business what goes on between you and Tyr and -- and I know you wouldn't play favorites."

"Harper, I'm only human. Sometimes I need a wake-up call. What exists between Tyr and me..." Dylan groped desperately for words that wouldn't violate Tyr's confidence. "...it's a..."

"...Nietzschean thing?"

Dylan smiled wryly at the floor. "Yeah, and I think I'm out of depth."

He looked around. Harper was still looking out into space, jaw tight, as if seeing something he dreaded.

"How -- who knows about me being on Vashon?"

"Rommie. Tyr. Me."

"That's it? No one else?"

Dylan shook his head.

"Could it stay like that?"

"Of course."

"Good. Thanks." The young man's voice trembled and he hastily covered it with a cough. "It might interfere with my busy lovelife, ya know?"

"Right."

"Thanks for the party, by the way. No one's ever done that for me."

"Not at all. We could use a few parties here and there, don't you think?"

"I'm personally in favor of many parties," agreed Harper. "Let's have another one tonight."

"Don't push your luck, Seamus."

Another silence fell between them, this one a little easier. It was almost with regret that Dylan heard the door open again. His unruly heart leapt, recognizing the confident footsteps. Harper stood up, hands in his pockets, looking at the approaching Nietzschean. Suddenly, his wicked grin appeared. He bent down, mouth against Dylan's ear.

"We should talk again soon," he said, eyes flashing to Tyr and back. "I'll let you in on a few tricks I learned on Vashon. They're guaranteed to turn the meanest, most dominant Alpha Nietzschean into a whimpering, pleading love-slut. Swear to God." Straightening, he said cheerfully, "Hey, Tyr. How's it hangin'?"

Tyr watched the chortling Harper lope off and looked down at Dylan. "I already regret retrieving him."

Dylan, not fooled for a minute, refused to rise to the bait. He turned back to his contemplation of the stars. He was due on the command deck in an hour to relieve Beka. "Something up?"

"An Omega is aware at all times of his lord's whereabouts, health and emotional state. What was Harper whispering?"

Dylan shook his head. "He's glad to be back."

"He damned well better be."

"The business about him and Vashon goes no further."

"Understood."

The Nietzschean's hands settled on his shoulders. Dylan thought about Harper's claim and wondered if it were true. Tyr's kneading began to loosen tense muscles. Dylan felt his eyes drifting closed under the Nietzschean's skilled touch.

"Feel like a little exercise before your shift, captain?"

Strong fingers gently pressed vertebrae into line. Dylan shivered. His head fell back and those hands left his neck to sift through his hair. The tip of a velvet tongue brushed his lips. Braids tumbled around him, making a curtain to shut out the rest of the world.

"An excellent suggestion," he breathed, catching Tyr's full lower lip in brief, gentle nip.

Tyr leaned away. Dylan stood and regarded his Omega thoughtfully.

He asked, "Can you imagine yourself as a whimpering, pleading love slut?"

"That's very funny, Dylan."

Dylan chuckled. "Neither can I," he admitted, "but there stranger things in the universe, I suppose."

"What does that mean?" His Omega regarded him with some apprehension.

"Nothing," replied Dylan with a cherubic smile. "Your place or mine?"

The End.