[Pixiedust]

Well, at least they finally know...but what will they do now???

[Mary Rose]

I want to know that, too.

[ilexx]

Ahh, Beka and the people from her past... Always a thrilling ride down memory lane - and how very fitting and in-keeping with the show's vein that it should spell that massive a trouble for both her and Dylan.

I trust now that she knows she'll come down heavy on Angel?

[TravelerOfTheWays]

Pixiedust - Oh, I'm sure everything will go smoothly from here on out as they track her down! Or not...

Mary Rose - ...you know, no angst or illicit interludes or subterfuge or anything. I once again promise that this fic really really is Beka/Dylan. Um, no reason I say that or anything.

ilexx - Thank you very much! It's always fun exploring the checkered past of these people. And yes, I think that coming down hard on that woman is exactly what Beka has in mind.

Chapter Seven

They had to deliver the news to Tyr, but nobody knew where he was. A thorough search of recent assault reports, trawled through by a loudly-protesting Seamus Harper, revealed where he had been, but the seemingly random smattering of drifts where he had probably been revealed nothing about his intentions. Trance would have contributed her inexplicable insight and lucky guesses, and Harper practically bounced on his toes and volunteered to go. Rommie insisted she that she would go, and Beka argued with them all just desperately enough to lead them to think that they had convinced her to stay.

She didn't dare think about her plan too much, lest Trance or Rev pick up something when they stopped by to check on her a little too often to be happenstance run-ins. Rommie might have noticed something too, attuned as she was to the physio-emotional state of the sentients on board. So Beka drifted through the rest of the day and the next, debating who would go after Tyr, keeping in the very back of her mind the certainty that she would be the one to go.

After her shift ended, her footsteps led her to the Maru, as they often did. She checked her supplies idly, brushing her fingerse over controls that currently lay dark. Harper had left a a flexi to himself, describing the latest upgrades he'd made the ship and noting the status of ongoing projects. Everything looked to be in order, ready for departure at a moment's notice.

All she had to do was distract Andromeda long enough to lift off. It would take a hell of a distraction of a suspiciously-timed diagnostic to convince Andromeda to open the hangar... unless, she thought suddenly, Andromeda had a reason to open the doors. No distractions necessary. She picked up harper's flexi again, reading more closely this time to see whether any of his work could theretically cause the Maru to vent something unpleasant, something Andromeda would want to expel.

Weapons, security, artificial gravity... a smile crept over her face. Life support, specifically, an emergency coolant that did not require power to work, to be activated if they were stranded someplace hot or developed an overheated enginge. When properly used, the cooland work as a slow time release mechanism, but the container was a delicate piece of machinery. A tiny spark could set off a noxious explosion of corruptive gas that Beka would need to immediately vent.

And on the Maru, certain innocuous activities were bound to produce sparks. Harper would not have thought to protect the container because she Maru was sitting quietly in Andromeda's hangars, unused by anybody except Beka on occasion. Now, if Beka were not aware of this addition to her ship and decided to, say, take a shower while running to coffeemaker and blasting her records...

With her plan in mind, Beka did not let herself stop for a moment. She picked her favorite fightin' music, an old earth rock group who sang in a language nobody spoke anywhere but whose incoherent shoutihg and manic energy always got Beka's pulse pounding. She bobbed her head in time with the first track and flipped on the coffeemaker after mixing the requisite grounds and pouring the water. Hey, who wouldn't like a hot cup of something after a long shower? Finally, she stripped off her clothes, wrapped herself in a towel, and with her heart in her throat, turned the knob that started the hot water flowing through the showerhead.

The results were not immediate. She stepped under th spray and sighed almost happily when the hot water hit her scalp. Halfway through washing her hair, the alarm she'd been waiting for began wailing, and Beka leapt out of the shower, still with foam in her hair. Leaving wet footprints behind her, she raced to the cockpit and jabbed the console.

“Beka, what's going on in there?” Andromeda demanded by way of greeting.

Beka brought up the Maru's internal sensor readings and relayed them to the warship. “I don't know,” she replied breathily, allowing the fear she felt to seep into her foice. It was was a monumentally risky plan, a stupid one, but Dylan had recruited dozens of worlds to the Commonwealth using risky and sometimes stupid plans that managed to work out. He would understand.

Onscreen, the avatar furrowed her brow. “Beka you're overloading the Maru's electrical capacity. You have to turn off all non-essential machinery.”

Beka frowned and dashed away to flick off the coffeemaker, the music, the shower, and the lights everywhere but in the cockpit. Two minutes later, she was back at the console, now shivering as the water dried on her skin. “It's not helping,” she reported. “This has never happened before. Sometimes the power went out when the crew went crazy with the appliances, but It never set off the alarm.” Her voice grew sharp with unfeigned worry and growing irritation at the sound of alarm.

A moment later, she smacked the console triumphantly. “I got it! Something Harper was working on, it's leaking corrosive fumes into the engine room.”

Andromeda received the information from the Maru's sensor a heartbeat later. “You have to seal off the cockpit and vent the ship.”

Beka nodded. “Copy that. I can... wait a minute.” She raised her eyes to the screen and gave Andromeda her best puzzled look. “If I vent in the hangar, won't you have to vent it all a moment later?”

“That's correct,” Andromeda replied. She wrinkled her nose and shivered as if her virtual skin were crawling. “It's a nasty compound. This hangar won't be clean for days. Beka, would you mind venting the gas directly into vacuum? I calculate that your enginges can tolerate another five minutes of the gas before they suffer damage.”

Beka glanced down to hide the gleam in her eye. That had worked out even better than she had dared dream, getting Andromeda to suggest it for her. “No problem,” she answered. “I'll be in and out in thirty seconds.”

When she looked up again, the hangar yawned to reveal the diamond-studded blackness of space. Beka felt a familiar tug at the sight, so laced with possibilities, and her heart lept in her chest despite everything. She piloted her ship into that infinite void and vented the toxic gas. A delicate lavender spume issued from the Maru like smoke curling from a candle. She steeled herself and set a course away from the Andromeda.

The ship's avatar had disappeared from her screen during the venting process, but now she reappeared. A questioning expression passed over her lovely face. “Maru, you're clear for re-entry. You're clean.”

Beka leaned back in her seat, still holding her towel against her chest, and smiled ruefully. “Good to know. Now that I'm out here, I figure I might as well have a look around, see if I can't find our wayward Nietzschean and maybe run into any childhood friends with vendettas against me and mine.” She prayed that Andromeda would relent and let her go without turning this into something ugly, but looking into her fathomless brown eyes, Beka knew that was impossible.

“Beka, we agreed that the best way to help Dylan was for you to remain here while one of the others finds Tyr.”

Beka shook her head. “That's not how I remember it. I remember all of you making decisions for me, like I was an invalid, apparently forgetting who Dylan designated as his First Officer. Acting Captain Valentine,” she continued mockingly, “I hereby order you, as the only person who actually knows that crazy bitch holding your boyfriend captive, to hunt her down and get him back. Yes ma'am, Acting Captain Valentine.” She finished the rant with a little derisive salute.

Andromeda was, predictably, not amused. “You're just going to go rushing out there, with no support or back-up, most likely to get yourself captured and tortured right alongside Captain Hunt.” She narrowed her eyes as her tone changed from disbelieving to acid. “I thought you were a professional, Acting Captain. So did Dylan. You're acting like a child.”

Beka's hands curled into fists. “Professional enough to escape the bubble you were trying to keep me in,” she snapped.

“You damaged your own ship,” Andromeda stated flatly. “I never thought you'd stoop so low.” Beka cold see that her sabotage and hurt Andromeda personally, but she could not relent now.

“For Dylan, I'd do worse,” she said softly. “Maru out.”

Andromead did not attempt to contact her again, and before Beka could change her mind, she threw herself into slipstream. She thought back to Tyr's report, the bits and pieces that had been comprehensible. Angel. What would he do, she wondered, with that information? Religious institutions, brothels, pleasure resorts... She knew that he did not have enough information to find the woman herself, but how close would he get?

Dared she go after the woman by herself? She did hope to intercept Tyr and gain his assistance, but there was simply too much space to search and not enough time. No, she needed him, she decided. Beka Valentine was good, but Tyr had made a living getting into places he wasn't wanted, among other things. Either she could look for him for weeks and months, or she could get him to come to her. Just as they had tracked assault reports to locate places he had been, so would he be watching his channels to keep an eye out for his crewmates.

All she had to do was be seen. Well hell, she could do that. He would be checking his tracks, noting anybody who might be following him. All she had to do was hang around each of the drift where she knew he'd been; news would reach him soon enough. She wished she could have let off a little steam engaging in some violence of her own, but she wanted to stay under that woman's radar.

The next day was grindingly dull as she sat in cafes and tried to look like she was trying to look casual. Dammit, Tyr was the performance artist, not her. And Dylan, come to think of it. Not that Beka couldn't pull a con herself, but she was not in the mood. Her chest tightened, and her eyes burned as the last image she'd seen of him flashed through her head. She had forced herself to focus on what she was doing, on staying strong and carrying out her escape. But now that she was just killing time, she found that she could not stop herself from thinking about him.

A flood of memories washed over her. Dylan blushing when he caught a glimpse of her fresh out of the shower, running his hands nervously through his hair in a touchingly childlike gesture. She had enjoyed the effect she had on him, though not daring to hope that anything further would ever happen. Later he had confided to her that had barely restrained himself from pushing her against the wall and kissing her senseless, and she had laughingly asked him what had stopped him. Since then, he'd more than made up for it, finding corners on the Andromeda she had never known about to steal a kiss and sometimes more.

If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel the warmth of his touch on the back of her neck, his breath—always minty, somehow—on her cheek. Her lips parted slightly as she remembered his kisses, sometimes soft and sometimes searing. A footstep close behind her woke her suddenly from her reverie, and she looked up with a guilty flush to see Tyr standing beside her, eyebrow raised.

“Don't. Start,” she said between gritted teeth. A less keenly observant person, a mere human for instance, might have thought her eyes had drooped shut after a weary day, but she was sure that he knew exactly what she had been thinking about. Even worse, his proximity and the amused curve of his lips reminded her of their own encounter, not nearly long enough ago. She glared daggers at him as he took a seat beside her.

“I wouldn't dream of commenting on the lady's sorrow,” he rumbled.”But I am very curious to know why you're here and however you persuaded our own fearsome warship to let you leave.”

“I know who's holding Dylan,” she answered quickly. Half-answered, really. “I'm hoping you can help me find her. You might even know of her, considering your colorful social circle.” She made her voice light and bantering, like they were exchanging quips during gym training.

“No more colorful than yours, if you truly know who has orchestrated Captain Hunt's kidnapping. I must say, that was very deftly done.” He drummed his fingers on the cafe table, scrutinizing her.

“Yes, and she may have very deftly killed him already,” Beka replied acidly. She described the latest recording they had received. “And now she expects me to just sight around and wait!” she exclaimed.

Tyr nodded slowly. “If she knows you at all, she'll know how unlikely that is.” He paused. “How are you acquainted with this person?”

Beka sighed. “Our fathers were in the same business, salvage and transport. When your ship is your home, the whole family tags along for the odd party. We didn't have much chance. Her name was Clothilde back then, but she's going by something else now.” She laughed weakly. “She was always so smug about her perfect little family—mother, father, baby brother, all ridiculously pretty. She used to say that they were descended from kings of ancient Earth. They might've been, for all I know.” She fell silent, remembering.

“What makes you think this childhood friend desires such melodramatic revenge?” Tyr prodded.

Beka's eyes became very distant, like she was watching something occur a long ways away. “Her perfect family didn't stay that way forever. My father...” She swallowed. “He had a thing with her mother. Everyone knew it except the husband. And then one night, at one of the monthly drinking fests, they got careless. He tried to kill my father, but he was too drunk to land a punch.” Her chest felt constricted, and she felt the old guilt bubbling up again.

“The next day, they found his body next to hers. Nobody knows exactly what happened. The only reason Clothilde is alive is that she was staying the night on the Maru, with me. I... I told her that nothing was going on, that the rumors were just gossip, just stupid lies.”

“And so she blames you for complicity in your father's misdeeds?”

Beka nodded. “I think so. I never saw her or heard from her after that, but I heard that she got pretty bad afterward. Deluded, you know? All her kings and... I dunno.” She shrugged.

“Clothilde. Do you recall a family name of some sort?”

Beka shook her head.

“It's an unusual enough name that I should be able to track her from that.”

“Try Merovingian,” Beka suggested. “That was the dynasty she liked to talk about. She...” Her voice trailed off when she saw Tyr's eyes widen slightly at the name. “Do you recognize the name?”

“The Merovege,” Tyr murmured. He chuckled, and Beka stared uncomprehendingly. What could he have found funny about that? “Naturally you would, through little fault of your own, become embroiled in a blood vendetta with the founder of one of the most... thorough criminal enterprises in three galaxies.”

Beka's eyebrows rose. “Thorough?”

“We should leave,” Tyr said suddenly. “I wager that her agents are at most a day behind me, more likely a quarter of that. We'll take the Maru, if for no other reason than to leave it someplace less public.”

Beka glared, but Tyr looked unimpressed at her anger. As she slammed a credit chip on the table, he leaned in close. “I don't want to hear an impassioned defense of your ship's capabilities. The Merovege will track it; we will make the best of this poor circumstance by using the Maru to throw her off our trail.”

Beka quickly steered them into an empty side corridor where they could keep an eye out for onlookers and avoid eavesdroppers. “I will not leave my ship to that woman's sadistic mercies,” she hissed. “She knows how much it means to me; I'd be better off selling it for scrap.”

“You ignored our vaunted ship's advice to come here, Beka, but you cannot afford to ignore mine, not now. If I thought I had any chance of persuading you, I would strongly advise you to destroy the Maru and be done with it. She would find it a much greater challenge locating us.”

Beka froze in her steps and stared at him, aghast. He rolled his eyes. “But I'm not advising it,” he continued dryly. “As a rule, Nietzscheans do not have death wishes.”

She frowned and slapped him across his bicep. “Promise me that she won't touch it, and... we can talk about hiding the Maru, temporarily, while we hunt her down.”

A thoughtful look crossed his face, and a long, silent moment passed as he regarded her with a deep, assessing look she knew well. She hated that look, like was cataloging and weighing every thought she'd ever had.

“I can safely promise that she will not lay a hand on your vessel, but I cannot say the same for her people. And before you object, consider what you're asking of me right now, if you can.” His voice grew hard. “The Merovege is ruthless, but her true, crucial strength is her unerring and complete attention to detail. She is supremely methodical, and it is only because she is much more occupied with the affairs of her organization—and perhaps because I am able to call on especially eclectic persons for information—that she has not snatched us as we stand here and chat.

“She does not know me, Beka. She possesses the same intelligence as hundreds of others, much of which I personally fabricated. But you...” Tyr shook his head. “Frankly, Beka, you're an enormous liability.”

Without thinking, she grabbed a handful of his shirt and yanked him down to eye level with her. “Frankly, Tyr, you and the rest of the crew were spinning your wheels until I figured out who we're after. And fine, we can find someplace to stash the Maru, and hey, I'll take your word on the finer points of stalking and breaking and entering. But you will not stand in my way when I'm face to face with that sick, murdering bitch.”

Though she had pitched her voice to a soft whisper, Tyr reacted more strongly than she'd ever seen him respond to any shouting match. She could not have explained what curious expression ghosted over his eyes, but for an instant, despite the vast differences between them, she could have sworn that she was looking into a mirror. A lifetime of striving, of surviving, of outliving and most of all, of never forgetting—of never forgetting—the monsters welled up from behind his eyes like smoke behind dark amber.

And suddenly, her shoulders were slamming into the wall and her fingernails were digging into the flesh of his wide, muscled arms. His breath came hot and fast as she gasped against his lips. His hands slid under her shirt and dug into her waist. Heat and lust and every primal survival instinct flooded them as their mouths opened together. Her heart thudded like a caged bird in her chest. Her fingers trailed up his neck and tangled in his long locks, pulling him even closer. Her hips arched up to meet him, and he growled deep in his throat. He tore his lips from hers to descend on her throat, licking and nipping his way to her collarbone. She shivered. An especially hard nip stole the breath from her lungs. Her eyes flew open, and the reality of the scene in progress crashed down on her.

She pulled her hands to her chest and shoved him stumbling away. His lips curled in a snarl, and an icy wave of fear washed over her. He wouldn't...

He didn't. “We can't,” Beka breathed. “You're not... he's...” She shook her head. “Even if he is... if he isn't... we can't, Tyr.” She paused to steady her breath. “Dammit. You know we wouldn't be good together, Tyr.”

“On the contrary,” he growled. “We would be magnificent.”

She stalked away as a hundred different emotions raged within her. She could not decide whether she was more furious with herself or with him, and she was sure that she would never forgive herself. If Dylan were alive, there was no way he would forgive her either. If he weren't... But it didn't matter. She would pray that he was alive, that she would be able to see the horror in his eyes when she told him about this kiss. Now she had to work with Tyr, work alone with him, to ensure that she found Dylan in whatever state he was in and that she inflicted all the pain on that woman that she had inflicted on Beka.

Tears leaked down her cheeks as her fingernails bit tiny red crescents into her palm. She didn't notice either as she floated inside a scarlet cloud of pure fury, intent on reaching the Maru and the next stage of her quest.

This post has been edited by TravelerOfTheWays: 22 September 2009 - 12:37 AM

[Pixiedust]

Oh no Beka! How could you? Well, OK, so he is Tyr, but still! Maybe it's better if she doesn't tell Dylan about this...

[ilexx]

Hehe, nice chapter with the memories of good times with Dylan and the scene at the end nicely contrasting the two guys - and what each has to offer...

Quote

She would pray that he was alive, that she would be able to see the horror in his eyes when she told him about this kiss.

Occasionally, she's entertaining strange ideas of things to pray for.

[Mary Rose]

Great update. I wonder what the group was she was listening to. I do hope that Clothilde goes the way of the Merovingians. She deserves to.

This post has been edited by Mary Rose: 25 September 2009 - 03:44 PM
Reason for edit: Spelling errors.

[TravelerOfTheWays]

I am a terrible, terrible update-tress. That is all I can say besides offering my most abject apologies.

Pixiedust - People do crazy things when they're under a lot of stress! And I think she has some more pressing concerns to worry about first...

ilexx - Thank you very much! It's no secret that I'm a Tyr/Beka shipper at heart, but I'm starting to see what Beka/Dylan folks are on about.

Mary Rose - Thanks! And our villain is only going to get worse before she goes away!

************

Chapter Eight

Her lips were set in a hard, white line as she stared at the unmoving figure beside her. Machinery beeped slowly, reassuringly, but the news from her medics did not fill her with confidence. The man who had put Captain Hunt in this unfortunate position was languishing in solitary confinement and would continue to do so until she had crafted an appropriate punishment for his incompetence. Meanwhile, she brought in the finest and most discreet physicians money could buy and ordered them to repair this Commonwealth relic.

As far as tormenting Beka went, the death of her lover would delight the Merovege to no end, and it would be especially fitting in light of Ignatius Valentine's disgusting crime and his daughter complicity. From time to time, the Merovege indulged herself in imagining the agony Beka would suffer, the guilt that would well up like a geyser within her, corrosive and unstoppable. But she did not cherish that beautiful vision very long, for she knew that she would be inviting the wrath of fledgling Systems Commonwealth upon her head. Most of those pathetic worlds she could bribe, ignore, or threaten into peace, but the fury of the flagship, as well as the captain's pet Nietzschean, seriously concerned her. A little ransom and torture was one thing, hardly novel for political figures, but murder, particular one caught on a recording...

If she observed him very closely, the Merovege could just barely discern the minute rise and fall of his chest. An ugly, livid bruise inflamed his neck, contrasting sharply with his ashen pallor. If he lived, he would make a lovely gift for Beka, just before the Merovege snatched her, the intended prize. And then... she allowed herself a moment to daydream. When she was finished with Beka, not even the chivalrous Dylan Hunt would want her back. As a young girl, the Merovege had suffered the sudden, tragic loss of everyone she loved, but she had an even harsher fate in mind for Beka Valentine. She would know the same loss but also the agony of knowing that her lover was alive and well... and wanted nothing to do with her. No one would, ever again.

-o-

'Tense' did not begin to describe it. Beka had experienced disagreements with crewmates before, even got into shouting matches with them, but this was new to her. Tyr was being careful with her, and to her amazement, she found herself being careful back. Their voices never rose above a polite murmur, and they constantly maintained an arms-length distance between each other. In the long term, Beka was sure it would drive her crazy, but she had so many other things on her mind that she accepted the situation and did her best to keep relations civil.

After a few days of inquiry, of research, and of secret rendez-vous with a startling range of characters, the tense politeness started to wear on her, a minor yet persistent stress added to her life. She couldn't think how to break it, though. Not even hiding the Maru had managed to dent the icy coat of civility that enshrouded their conversations. Beka felt bereft when they left the cold moon in a slightly less battered courier ship, but one look at Tyr's inscrutable dark eyes banished any ideas she might have had about sharing her distress. As far as he was concerned, this was just another mission. He had buried his emotions so far down that Beka wondered if their friendship would ever be the same.

“She has been hiring half a dozen very expensive, very discreet physicians since approximately the date you received the most recent transmission,” he informed her after one of his secretive expeditions.

Beka paled and suddenly felt cold. “Then she really is worried.” In spite of the reserve that had built up between them, and much to her embarrassment, tears began sliding silently down her cheeks. “We can't wait any longer. We've both seen Trance work medical miracles, and Andromeda must have better medical facilities than some criminal.” She fought to keep her voice level and her arguments rational, even as her vision blurred and her throat closed up.

“Criminal elements often possess medical facilities to rival the best hospitals because they cannot allow themselves the exposure of leaving their strongholds.” A spark of compassion flared briefly behind that stoic mask he wore, and he sighed. “But on the whole, I concur. She will be preparing for the scheduled exchange, and if we are to entertain any possibility of rescuing Dylan, it must be on our terms.”

Beka's eyes widened in incredulous relief. “You do?” She hastily wiped her face with her sleeve. “Then what are you waiting for? What's the plan?”

A trace of the old familiar grin ghosted across Tyr's face. “You are going to break into a fortress more heavily defended that the Vedran Empress's bedroom, drag out your critically wounded lover, and flee to a ship which I suspect will strongly desire to shoot you on sight.”

“Me? What are you going to be doing, the crossword puzzle in Soldier of Fortune?”*

An amber flame glinted behind Tyr's eyes. “I shall provide the distraction.”

-o-

An emergency message from Security raised a cacophony of flashing lights in the VR matrix where the Merovege was laying the groundwork for a profitable little excursion into an ancient Than treasury. Her head rang at the eye-searing alarm, and it was with a pounding headache that she strode to the intel wing, where her people had already secured a private channel with the one of her operatives.

Maintaining her girlish exterior took most of the Merovege's self-control, slipping in the fact of her throbbing migraine. When the ashen woman onscreen announced that they had just not tracked Tyr Anasazi, after they had assured her that he'd returned to the Andromeda, she slammed her hands on the console with a string of curses and startled the entire room into silence. That only fanned her anger, but instead of undermining her image any further, she gritted her teeth and let the operative continue.

“He's getting too close,” the woman panted. “He's been making inquiries that I predict will lead him here three to four days from now.”

“The day before the rendez-vous,” the Merovege hissed. “So he means to grace us with his presence a day early.” Her breath slowed as she considered the news. “Are you certain this time? Shall I receive another dispatch tomorrow that he is on my doorstep?”

The transmission flickered and cut abruptly to black. Instead of the familiar face of her operative, a darkly handsome visage of somebody she'd never met yet instantly recognized appeared, grinning.

“Rest assured, Madame, you will receive no such dispatch.”

Then he too disappeared, leaving the Merovege to turn, snarling, on the nearest intel agent. “Trace. That. Signal,” she spat. “Find out where Nalia is.”

He nodded wordlessly as he bent over his console, pale as a ghost. And well he should be petrified; if anything concerning the captive exchange went awry, she would have this entire division discharged with extreme prejudice.

“Merovege,” he whispered a moment later, “I have another message for you. From IS.” Internal security. This could not be good news. She grabbed his arm, digging her manicured nails into his flesh as she leaned over to see the monitor more clearly.

“At the most recent shift change, over a dozen of our guards failed to report in. We just found them moments ago, bound and strapped with explosives. Whoever did this underestimated us,” he said with the tiniest hint of pride amid his fear. “We still have seven minutes before the bombs explode. We... we should have them deactivated by then, but as a safety precaution, I strong advise you to wait in my office until I contact you again. I've grounded all courier and delivery ships until we find out who's behind this attack,” Her head of internal security vanished from the screen, but this time only because the pre-recorded message had ended.

She released the agent next to her wit ha glare and took off swiftly for IS headquarters. It was probably the safest room in the whole complex, even moreso than the lower basement cells. As she hurried from wing to wing, she turned the situation over and over in her head; something was not right.

IS had spoken of the shift change as if all the guards changed places at the same time, but she knew better and had long ago implemented staggered shifts. While she supposed that somebody as resourceful and dogged as Tyr Anasazi could have divined the schedule, she could not believe that he had arrived on-planet and remained undetected for as long as it would have taken him to capture and rig explosives on over a dozen highly-trained guards. And another thing – she had never heard of Tyr Anasazi or any of his cohorts underestimating any enemy so severely.

Her heels clicked rapidly across tiled floors as her thoughts raced. Might Tyr or his operators be planetside now, perhaps in one of the grounded ships? IS would know to hold them until all could be searched, but that seven minutes – now four – would give an experienced saboteur sufficient time to smuggle away somewhere safe.

She slipped into IS headquarters with two minutes to spare. Agitated, she paced across the spacious office and waited, by turns frightened and wrathful. Anasazi was handling this very skillfully, she had to admit. She and IS would be too busy trying not to panic about the bombs that he would have as near to free rein as he could hope for, to do whatever he wished. There was something more to this than a half-hearted bomb threat, she was sure, but until she received the all-clear from IS, she could do nothing to investigate or counter the attack.

The clock on the computer display flicked to the next minute. Nothing happened. The Merovege let out a deep breath and tried to calm her frantically beating heart and chaotic, frenzied thoughts. By the time IS contacted her, she was almost back to her normal cool and controlled self, dispassionately considering what Anasazi's real scheme might be.

“I'm so glad to hear it,” she replied to the news of a technician's success in defusing the bombs. “Now I want you to send a handful of your stealthiest agents to the med wing where Captain Hunt is resting.”

As soon as they signed off, the Merovege slipped off her heeled shoes, after assuring herself that nobody could see her, and pelted toward the medical area. She had figured it out as the head of IS had spoken to her, relating the nature of the bomb and the circumstances under which the guards were found. They had assured her that this was a warning shot, fired across their proverbial bow before Anasazi's anticipated arrival, and the Merovege knew enough about the Nietzschean's reputation to know that he would never be so easily outguessed. So far, he had made a laughingstock of her intel and security people. She would not allow him to make her ridiculous as well.

Because she was closer that anyone else to the medical wing – and unencumbered by the arms her security forces bore – she slid ungracefully into the soothing white-tiled area ahead of her people and startled Captain Hunt's unauthorized visitor. Beka was injecting him with a hypospray and, in an amazing feat of strength, he was already coming awake and unsteadily pushing himself to his feet. She had a gun trained on the Merovege as soon as she rounded the corner, shoes still in hand.

“Move and I'll shoot,” Beka warned in a flat monotone.

The Merovege let her shoes clatter to the floor as she raised her hands above her head in the age-old sign of surrender. She smiled. “That's such a cliché, Beka. Can't you do any better than that? 'Move and I'll shoot'?”

“I wasn't planning on killing you, but I can't say it wouldn't give be a lot of fun,” Beka snarled. She spared a glance for Dylan, and the Merovege delighted in the agonized expression on her face. “Dylan, can you make? I think I can get us out of here, but only if you can walk on your own.”

Pale with exertion and pain he failed to mask completely, he leaned against the wall as Beka advanced toward the Merovege, jaw clenched hard in fury. She could guess what was coming next, and the joy it gave her made her smile beautiful, even angelic. “I'll give you no trouble, Captain Valentine, I swear. Your lover will escape safely on your ship.”

“Shut up,” Beka hissed. She rammed the barrel of her gun into the Merovege's throat and wrapped her free arm around her shoulders. Just then, the soldiers appeared around the same corridor, heavy arms trained on Beka and Dylan.

The Merovege laughed breathily, voice tinkling like a wind chime. “Hold your fire. I am quite definitely taken, so we shall escort our guests to their ship. No, shhh, don't argue with me. We're just exchanging one prize for another. A better one.” The gun pressed harder into her windpipe, nearly choking off her air supply, but she had never felt more confident.

“Beka, you can't do this,” Dylan rasped from his place on the wall. “You'll be giving her exactly what she wants.”

The Merovege ignored him. “You can do this,” she whispered. “It's exactly what you want.” She wished she could look into the other woman's eyes, but she had no doubt that Beka would kill her if she made any unexpected moves. She felt the rapid heaving of Beka's lungs and a moment later, felt a minute relaxation in her muscles.

“Okay,” she muttered. “We'll make the exchange.”

-o-

*Yes, Soldier of Fortune does exist in the post-Fall era. Fun Fact: it is the only 20th century Earth publication to not only survive but also expand its circulation to several billion readers with thousands of new readers per year. Take that, Cosmo.

[Pixiedust]

Exchange? Hang on, they've won right? I'm curious what it is she wants to do to Beka so that Dylan wouldn't want her...

[ilexx]

It might just be that the lady is underestimating both Dylan and Beka. After all, she's just underestimated Tyr. Big mistake.

[Mary Rose]

She's totally insane. And not in a good way, like myself. Oh, well. It'll be interesting to see what happens now. You just don't mess with the Andromeda crew. It never goes well.

[Pixiedust]

Hang on...

Quote

Beka/Dylan, angst, and drugs ahoy!

Oh now I know what she wants to do so Dylan wouldn't want her... (I don't think it's going to work though...)

[Kiriath]

I gots some ideas about the next chapter! Tyr and mind alteration, mmmm.

Slightly strange that the Merovege got positioned at Beka's gunpoint, but I wonder if there's a reason.

[TravelerOfTheWays]

Don't even ask me how I'm writing this AND NaNo AND Hands Clean AND law school homework. If I think about it, it'll all fall apart, I'm sure. Perhaps needless to say, updates of my two fanfics may be even spottier during NaNo (though not as spotty as two years between updates, ha).

Pixiedust - Dangit, you are a clever lady! Whether it works or not, though, I'm not telling just yet...

Mary Rose - Hee! Indeed, not a in a good way at all.

Kiriath - Oh, the Merovege was happy to be put at gunpoint. It's all part of her scheme! And you're partly right about the next chapter - mind alteration incoming! There's a little Tyr, but not much.

Chapter Nine

The world tilted and spun underfoot as a wave of horror washed over him. Terror and his own physical fragility nearly brought him to his knees as he fought to remain conscious. This lone human woman would not defeat him, not where hordes of Magog and Nietzscheans had history itself had failed to destroy him. Beka... he would fight as passionately, as single-mindedly for her as he'd ever fought for the Systems Commonwealth, and with that thought, he pulled himself back to standing.

“I won't leave without you,” he rasped. Beka's blue eyes locked onto his, and he saw that she was just as determined to save him as he was to save her. Just as Sara had been.... when he he ever done so much good to deserve the incredibly powerful love of two such amazing women? No, he could not let his mind wander right now.

Her voice was ragged but strong when she replied. “Go. You need to get to Andromeda to get better. Then you can come back for me.” She attempted a smile, but her jaw was clenched tight.

He shook his head. “No, Beka, I can't. I-” His voice faltered as his head whirled. He recognized the symptoms of extreme physical distress, and a tiny part of him knew that she was right. He was no good to her in this state. In fact, that insidious voice continued, he could only hinder her, liability that he was. If he were just a little bit stronger, he could have thought of something, but as it was... His legs wobbled and buckled, but he forced himself to remain upright.

“Get in the ship,” she hissed. Her eyes pleaded with him, so like yet so unlike the other woman's. The look of bliss on her sickeningly angelic face sharpened his fury. “Her people will think of something soon, and then we'll both be stuck here. Please, Dylan, don't make this all for nothing. Andromeda needs her captain, and I need you better.”

Need. His heart ached at her words; she knew him so well. She knew exactly what to say, and for the briefest moment, he resented her for manipulating him, just a little. But she was right, and the knowledge tore at him worse than any of the many pains that racked his body. Finally, reluctantly, he nodded.

“I'll come back for you, Beka, I swear.”

She gave him a shaky grin. “Damn straight you will.”

With one last glance at her through blurred eyes, he climbed into the courier ship she had indicated. She watched him go, keeping her arm tight around the Merovege and the gun close at her throat. Quicker than he would have thought, her people cleared him to leave, and a moment later, a message appeared on the viewscreen. He squinted, though there was no mistaking his weapons officer.

“Congratulations,” he rumbled. “If you're hearing this, I assume that all went according to plan and this is our victorious Captain, risen from the dead, whom I am addressing. You've made it out of weapons range At the end of this message are coordinates that will lead you to my location. I fear that Beka had to remain behind, as she insisted.” He bared his teeth in what Dylan assumed he meant to be a grin. It made him shiver. “When you and I meet again, sir, we shall discuss the downfall of this doomed Merovingian empire.”

-o-

“There, you see? He is safe.” The cool confidence of the Merovege's voice grated on Beka's nerves. How could anyone be so calm with a gun at her throat? She knows she's won, she thought. That was how.

“I have no way of knowing that this display isn't rigged,” Beka muttered, but she realized that there was nothing she could do about it now.

“That's true,” the Merovege cooed, “but you'll just have to hope to escape and find out for yourself.” She turned slightly and snapped her fingers at her nervously waiting guards. “Do it.”

Beka whipped around, but it was too late. As if they'd just been humoring her until now, the security guards disarmed and restrained her in a few whirlwind seconds. “So now you've got me. What next, we drink herbal tea and gossip about boys?”

One of the guards advanced toward her with an all-too-familiar dropper and bottle. She struggled against the arms holding her, but they were too many and too strong. A gut-wrenching sense of deja-vu swept over her as tears sprang to her eyes and she finally understood Clothilde's plan for revenge.

“No!” she screamed, “Don't do this! I won't let you do this to me!”

The Merovege giggled. “That's okay. I don't need your permission.”

The dropper loomed larger and larger, and try as she might, she could not ear her eyes away from the milky white liquid that sloshed in the bottle. A squeeze, a drop, and the world exploded.

-o-

Underneath the smile that she wore plastered to her face, the Merovege felt a twinge of worry. Beka's crewmates would be plotting a rescue mission as soon as Captain Hunt was recovered enough to make himself difficult, and she could not trust a Flash-crazed maniac in anything less secure than the dungeon cells. She would have to immediately begin preparations to fortify the compound against any sort of attack or subterfuge the Andromeda's crew might scheme up.

At least things were progressing nicely on the most important front. Just one look at Beka, strapped into a chair and thrashing violently, was enough to banish her concerns. Her long had she dreamed of this moment, slapping Beka Valentine in chains and tormenting her with her deepest fears? Decades, now. Every terrified, manic glint of her blue eyes was everything that the Merovege could have imagined, and picturing the state she would eventually leave Beka in made her smile.

She walked closer and cocked her head, curious to see up close the effects of the drug cocktail on Beka. In their search for the perfect interrogation drug for another Valentine, the Merovege's chemists had tried over a dozen drug combinations and meticulously recorded their effects. This particular cocktail consisted of Flash, which was the carrier substance, synthesized Nietzschean hormones, and a hallucinogenic derived from a common fungus that plagued grain harvests across the Known Worlds. The Nietzschean hormones were close enough to human physiology that they affected humans predictably and near-universally by amping up levels of aggression and fight-or-flight response to a state of almost – but not quite, because the hormones could be very specifically calibrated – unbearable physical stimulation, and the hallucinogenic compound gave the drugged individual a surreal view of the world that ensured that their brains could not function properly to create and effectuate an escape attempt.

When this cocktail had proven useless for interrogating Rafael Valentine, they had then sought to tranquilize him with one of the simplest and most freely available sedatives in the Known Worlds – alcohol. It had worked surprisingly quickly to calm him and restore him to a calmer, if not especially rational, state. Of course, he was then drunk and still useless for questioning, but the Merovege had realized then that this potent combination would be perfect for her plan. Beka Valentine would be addicted to the rush of the uppers as well as the calming effect of the downer, and the hallucinogens would destroy her mind in the process.

When Beka's wild eyes landed on the Merovege, she shrieked. The sound made the Merovege's hair stand on end, but she smiled despite the goosebumps that raised on her flesh. Beka's flesh was flushed an unhealthy brick red as her blood raced through her veins and arteries, and drops of red appeared on her palms and her lips where her fingernails and teeth, respectively, had torn into her flesh for want of something, anything, to do. Her blond hair lay ragged on her shoulders, plastered to her skull with sweat, and she wheezed as she fought her restraints like a wild thing.

“Beka,” the Merovege called sweetly, “how are you feeling?”

“Sh*t!” she cried in response. “Sh*t! What have you done- sh*t!” Her cursing soon devolved again into wordless screams which would have been absolutely terrifying if she were not anchored down with enough reinforced titanium to restrain a small starship.

“I have something that might help you feel better,” the Merovege said as she lifted a bottle of very hard, very rough liquor from the floor. She had ordered her people to find the worst alcohol they could, and for once, they had not disappointed. With a graceful twist, she spun the lid from the bottle and sniffed it. It made her eyes water.

Beka's eyes stilled for a moment as she focused on the bottle. “Sh*t,” she whimpered. “No, I won't... sh*t. No.” The Merovege knew better than to come a step closer, so she drew the bottle back and then tossed some of the burning liquid into Beka's flushed, sweaty face. She closed her eyes in time to avoid the worst of it, but a good ounce or two made it into her mouth, and so thirsty was she that she swallowed by instinct. Her eyes popped open again when she tasted it, and that shriek echoed again throughout the concrete chamber.

“I hope you like your medicine. If you want more, all you have to do is ask.”

More cursing and shouting met her suggestion, but the Merovege settled back into a more comfortable chair to watch and smile. Beka would not take her medicine now, but long before Captain Hunt arrived with his crew, she'd be begging for it.

------
Author's note: Woah, auto-edit! I did not know that was there!

This post has been edited by TravelerOfTheWays: 05 November 2009 - 12:59 AM

[Pixiedust]

Oh dear...Beka's in trouble. Dylan had better hurry up!

[Mary Rose]

Yikes!!!! This is bad for Beka. But it's very good for me. How evil am I?

[TravelerOfTheWays]

Pixiedust: She certainly is! Dylan really needs to get a move-on before something terrible happens!

Mary Rose: Hee! Oh, you're very evil.

Chapter Ten

It was not the battle of wills that the Merovege found so pleasurable about her time with Beka. She doubted that any human being could have withstood this chemical assault; certainly she herself could not. She never for a moment feared that Beka would successfully resist her for long, and the fun of it was not the prospect of beating Beka in such an unfair fight. While she enjoyed wondering what it must feel like for Beka, it was not even the physical pain she was inducing that thrilled the Merovege every time she went to visit her guest.

No, it was those shining moments of clarity that delighted her, that lit up her soul like a burst of sunshine through roiling storm clouds. The Merovege had programmed the security in her cell to tighten every time her heart and respiration rates hovered within a certain range – between manic and tranquilized – because it was then that she was coming back to herself. The restraints automatically pulled closer, another shielded door slid down at the single entrance, and the slightest unusual motion from Beka would set off a top-priority alarm. Her physicians could not attend Beka at these times; only the Merovege could bypass the security via a complicated process. It was not practical to implement the measures round the clock, but she only worried about Beka slipping out of her grasp during these moments of clarity. And for most of those times, the Merovege watched Beka in blissful, but armed, contemplation.

Just three days after Beka's capture – neither the Merovege nor the Andromeda had even pretended to try to make the scheduled rendez-vous – the Merovege walked into Beka's cell to find her shrieking. The sound of Beka's screams raised a primal adrenaline rush for the Merovege, but she ignored the slightly queasy feeling in her stomach and the horrible hoarseness of Beka's voice that itched at her own throat. She was screaming about her current hallucination, something involving a glowing white man and a cage, but as the Merovege watched, the quality of her screams changed.

“You can stop this!” she shrieked. “You did this! That man, that cage... you put them there!” Tears started rolling down her cheeks, and her screams became sobs. “You did this to me, you hateful bitch. I can't escape them, I can't escape any of it. You're killing me. I can feel it, you're killing me. You're tearing me apart. Everything I see, all the pain, all the... everything, you're behind it!” Her face was turning purple as she thrashed. “Get me out of here! Get me out of here! You BITCH, get me out of here!”

When her words trailed off for a moment and she gave into her sobs, the Merovege spoke up. “I can help you feel better,” she said quietly.

Beka's head shot up to regard her. Her eyes were wide with hope for a fraction of a second before she jerked her head from side to side. “No, no, no, not that. I can't ever... you're turning me into a monster, but I won't help you. I have to fight it. I have to fight you! I won't let you!”

That fraction of a second made the Merovege's day. “Oh Beka, can't you see that I've already won? You're addicted to my little cocktail, you know. Tell me, does it hurt more when you're high or more when you're coming down?”

Beka's eyes, which had gazed at her so fiercely a moment before, dropped, and the Merovege allowed herself a wide smile. “There,” she cooed. “You see? It can't get any worse. Whether you ask for the bottle or I force it down your throat with a funnel, we both know it's the only time you'll be free of the pain and the hallucinations. Am I wrong, Beka? Can you tell me I'm wrong?”

The battle of the wills was pleasurable, but far sweeter was the agonized look in Beka's blue eyes when she dragged them reluctantly to meet the Merovege's gaze. “No,” she wheezed. “I mean... I don't know. I don't know what you've done to me. But I have to fight it. As long as I fight it, there's hope.”

A genuine burst of laughter bubbled from the Merovege's lips. “Hope, Beka?” She considered. “We might as well be honest with one another. Yes, Beka, today there is hope. Perhaps if your knight in shining armor were to swoop in at this very moment, recovery from your addiction would not kill you or destroy what few functioning neurons you have left. But what about tomorrow? Next week? Oh, I have no doubt that Captain Hunt will return for you, but how long do you think he will require to formulate a plan to infiltrate my defenses? Will there be hope then?”

She lowered her voice and leaned forward. “It's your turn to be honest, Captain Valentine. Do you truly think he'll want you when he finds you? You've been down this road before, and it nearly destroyed his ship. Could he ever trust a Flash addict again? Put yourself in his shoes. Could you trust you again?”

This time, Beka held her gaze. “He's not like that,” she finally whispered. “He's better than me. He... he wouldn't have hurt you like I did.”

The Merovege hissed as if she had touched a hot engine. “No, perhaps not,” she snapped. “Tell me, do you truly believe that a man like that will keep giving chances to space trash like you? He may be a knight, Beka, but he's not a saint.” She sensed that she was losing the thread of the discussion and so leaned back in her chair to watch Beka.

“He'll come for me,” she murmured, still shivering uncontrollably. “He still loves me.” She glanced up at the Merovege, perhaps for argument, but the Merovege just sat smiling at her. If conversation failed, she thought, she would try silence instead. People generally hated being watched in their most vulnerable moments, and being strapped to a chair while coming down from the effects of a hallucinogenic narcotic cocktail while raving about a rescue that might never come would qualify for most people as a very vulnerable moment.

Beka dropped her eyes again and started muttering to herself things that the Merovege could not hear. Most of the interesting part had come and gone, and now the Merovege had to dose Beka once more. She rose from her chair to collect the little vial and to press the controls that tilted Beka's seat backward and secured her head facing forward. Beka shook herself from her murmurs long enough to issue one more shrill cry before the Merovege pulled back her eyelids and dropped in the cocktail in a few swift movements.

This was her other favorite part. For half a second before the drug hit, Beka knew exactly what was coming. This close, the Merovege could read the emotions that flitted across her haggard, shadowed face – the horror, the rage, and the tiniest flicker of happiness that the high was coming back. She bared her teeth at the Merovege, but a moment later, the drug touched off the first of many chemical reactions in her brain, and she was lost to the world again.

-o-

The Flash traveled through her veins quicker than the other chemicals, and for an entire sweet, ecstatic, and horrifying minute, Beka reveled in the sharpness of her mind, the awareness of every nerve of her body, and the strength and speed of her limbs as she thrashed in her bindings. During this minute, she assessed her situation with a blinding clarity, and she was sure that with just five consecutive minutes of that feeling, she could have plotted an escape. She could feel the weaker points of the restraints and throw her desperate muscles against them, and she recalled every detail of her capture and the security that held her here as if seeing it played on a larger than life video screen.

It has to be now, she thought. When they think I'm insane. This minute. But it took too long for her to remember where she was, too many precious seconds while she let the joy of her moment of sanity wash over her, and by the time she was alert and planning, she had less than half her moment left. Thirty seconds, a clock in her head warned her.

No guards outside. Clothilde doesn't trust human security, not after Tyr. Twenty-five seconds. She thinks the computer can handle security better than any of her people. Restraints adjust to my vitals, tighten when I'm coming down, loosen when I'm very high and very low. They think I'm crazy that whole time, but I have my minute. My minute. Fifteen seconds. Need to disrupt the computer. Need what, need codes? Need tools? Need something, anything. From physicians, from Clothilde? She trusts herself to be secure, nobody else. Checks physicians. Checks herself? Three seconds. Damn. Saw some of her automated security when I broke in. Think, what do I –

And nothing. The hallucinogenic hit, and a moment later, the Nietzschean hormones caught up. The glowing man smirked at her from a corner of the room hung with shimmering white shadows. She screamed as he crossed the weirdly tilting room in great, eye-blurring strides. He was coming for her. He had come for her father, for the pilots she had known growing up, and now he was coming for her with his white cage.

His burning hand squeezed around her wrist. His white cage laughed at her with teeth that dripped her father's blood. The glowing man told her terrible things about her mother and her father, about Clothilde, about her, and about Dylan. The room melted like candle wax, and nightmarish visions danced in the corners of her eyes, but still the glowing man remained. The white cage laughed and gnashed her ankles.

Her world was pain. Her world was terror. Eternity, dripping with her father's heartsblood, stretched out before her as the laughing cage closed its jaws around her with agonizing slowness. She tried to run, but always the glowing man blocked her escape. He whispered. She screamed. Her heart burst out of her chest, but still her chest pounded and her throat seared. She was drowning in the blood that dripped from the cage.

Every drop raked like coals across her flesh.

His horrible, glowing eyes.

The cage laughed as she screamed.

Growing larger and larger were his eyes, his glowing, his...

Blue?

The glowing man slipped off to one side, grinning at her and wagging his finger. The room stabilized as two pinpoints of blue broke the cages of the bar, following by a golden cloud and...

Beka moaned. Clothilde had returned once again to gloat at Beka's pain, to flaunt her own free movement, to lure Beka deeper into the chemical darkness. She had been pushed this far, and she knew that if she took a step of her own free will, she would fall over the precipice. But every time Clothilde came to offer that shining bottle, that beckoning tranquility with a smell like rotting grain and gasoline, the drugs had eaten away a little more of her sanity. Sometimes she fancied that she could see glittering plumes of her sanity drift around her head, dissipating into a vent she felt but could not see. It reminded her of a sight that always made her stomach clench, even in holonovels – the telltale leak of oxygen from a spacebound vehicle.

The words were not penetrating just yet, but the gist of it was clear enough. Those blue eyes, so like and so unlike her mother's, danced as that unlabeled bottle wiggled at the edge of her vision. She shook her head, but she noticed that as her heart slowed and approached something like its normal resting rate, the glowing man grew smaller and smaller. The blood had disappeared from his white cage. That was the worst part; she guessed that if she did take the bottle, the glowing man and his laughing cage would disappear altogether. Maybe the hallucinogenic was impeded by the depressing effect of the alcohol. She would have given almost anything to know for sure.

“Oh, I promise you I know.”

Beka's head jerked up of its own accord. She had not realized that she had spoken aloud. “You can't,” she mumbled. Her tongue felt like a velvet-dipped brick. “Can't know. This is new, you told me.”

Her girlish laugh hurt Beka's head. “Captain Valentine, you wound me. I would never deceive you! Yes, this cocktail is new, and you'll be interested to know that it was tailored to a Valentine... just not you.”

Her brain rushed and puttered like a broken watch, but a memory surfaced just then. Rafe. Clothilde had tortured and drugged Rafe. With this? Yes... no, the rest of the memory eluded her. It seemed likely. “Rafe. You put him through this. That's why he...” She shook her head. “Did he even know what he was doing?”

Clothilde shrugged. “You know, I cannot decide if it would please me more if he did know and despised himself for it or if he was lost in a nightmarish world of my creation.” She tapped her lips, then smiled. “I'll leave it up to you. I will tell you this, Beka: your brother did not last long. Perhaps he did not cherish your aversion to chemical psycho-alteration, but his alacrity in choosing the bottle amazed even me. Another hour, another day, another week – what do you think it matters to me? I can wait, Beka. I have waited a very long time.”

The hallucinogenic lingered in the corners of her mind enough to sketch her a timeline, hovering just above Clothilde's head, that showed Beka just how long she had waited. Her stomach heaved and she lurched so hard that the delicate skin of her wrists and ankles tore against the restraints. Yes, Clothilde could wait. She could re-shape her entire persona, her life's goals, even her identity but cherish this deadly vendetta in the darkest depths of her heart.

So it came down to this. Clothilde's hovering timeline versus Dylan and his glorious warship. “No,” she rasped, “I have to wait for him. I'll be here when he comes. Me, not... that.”

Clothilde cocked her head and watched Beka for a silent moment. Then she picked up the bottle of clear liquid and unscrewed the lid. That rotting grain gasoline smell flooded the room and made Beka's eyes water. The glowing man shrunk into a dot in the corner of her vision, and the laughing cage vanished in the blink of her eye. It was working. Just the smell of the stuff had banished the glowing man. She let out a sigh of relief, and a moment later wished fervently that she had not.

“I know it's childish of me,” Clothilde cooed, “but I told you so. Answer me this, Beka. If Captain Hunt comes for you, do you want your visions haunting you? Would you recognize him if he did come, or would you bite his hand when he tried to touch you?” She waved the bottle under Beka's nose, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “You could live with a dependency. Could you live if you hurt him like that?”

Tears leaked from Beka's eyes. Damn her. Damn the bitch to the fieriest, or the iciest, or whatever agony and horrors awaited monsters like her. She was right. The mockery, the temptation she could handle because she had fought against these things all her life, but the plain and simple truth... that was what had brought her to Dylan in the first place, the truth of his vision. Now Clothilde was presenting another vision, and Beka could not deny what she said. A life with an addiction, or two, or three, or a life blasted by betrayal? She knew what Dylan would say, that she needed to hold onto herself, but for the first time, she did not know what that meant.

She thought about Tyr, about their kiss, and her battered heart made her decision. “Yes,” she breathed. She had betrayed Dylan once already, and no matter what hell she might put her own body through, she could not do that again. Clothilde was right; when he rescued her, it would probably be during one of her paranoid hallucinations, and it tore at her soul to think that that of what she might do to him if she were freed of her bonds. “Yes.”

-o-

The battle of the wills had been highly enjoyable, the Merovege decided. Yes, that would be a pleasure to remember time and again, to savor in the palace of her memory. Those shining tears tracking down that dirty, smudged face. That slump to her shoulders that the Merovege had never seen, not even during Beka's uneasy slumber. That spark of coherence in her eyes, followed by a profound dimness. Yes, it had been sweet, but what followed was even sweeter.

True, the alcohol did give Beka some temporary relief from the pains of her hallucinations and the hypersensitivity of her nerves induced by the Nietzschean hormones and the Flash. But the eager tilt of her head, the shame and terrible knowledge in her eyes when the Merovege came into her cell now, clinking the bottle with her fingernails, thrilled her like nothing she had ever experienced. For as long as she lived, Beka would remember the ringing sound of her fingernail on glass, and her blood would quicken at the thought of the relief that would soon follow. And when she had drunk herself into queasy tranquility, the sickness that racked her body upon awakening could only be cleared by another kind of cocktail. It was a surprisingly useful effect of the Nietzschean hormone; it fought back the tide of the worst hangover even as it cleared the way for the hallucinogenic.

Beka's words remained as venomous as ever, but the Merovege saw the joyful anticipation, smothered ruthlessly in half a second, that animated Beka's bound limbs when the door admitted her. They both knew that Beka was ruined, that a single word had sent her flying into a downward spiraling chasm from which she could never emerge. The Merovege was fairly sure that Captain Hunt would arrive with his great ship before long, but her task was complete. Now all she had to do was to relish the fruits of her labor, to cement her enemy's addictions, and to dream of the happiness that Beka would never know again. That terrible clarity in Beka's eyes would diminish but never die, no matter how desperately she would search in a vial of hormone and a bottle of alcohol. And search she would.

-o-

PS - I've officially named this story "Need." Is there anyway to get the title changed? Not the subtitle, I like that still.

This post has been edited by TravelerOfTheWays: 03 January 2010 - 01:21 AM

[Kiriath]

Love it. Especially Beka's manic bit of sanity, assessing the potential escapes. It seemed really real. And the surreal drug occurences. Dang. The laughing cage and the eyes piercing it.

This post has been edited by Kiriath: 03 January 2010 - 03:00 AM

[Pixiedust]

Wow, this is really good...poor Beka, she's never going to get over this even when Dylan does come and get her.

[Mary Rose]

Poor Beka. This is really awful. I hope she's saved but that probably wouldn't be the end anyway.

Oh, I can change the title for you. I'll get right on it. It's a great title.

This post has been edited by Mary Rose: 09 January 2010 - 03:19 PM