"Rieesan, I really don't know that I can stand dealing with that idiot on my own." Kaeta neatly tore another strip off the printout lying on her desk, adding it to the pile of confetti she'd stacked in front of the com unit in the course of the conversation with her fellow member of the troika.

Since neither of them were giving a centimeter in the argument, it had become a considerable pile of debris.

"Since you find her difficult and you're healthy, it shouldn't surprise you that I don't want to meet with her when I'm sick." The other woman managed to get the whole sentence out, but it was a near thing. On the last word, she fell into a paroxysm of coughing, giving the com unit a splendid view of the top of her head as she bent over, the brown hair more liberally sprinkled with gray these days.

Not that Kaeta needed convincing that her friend was genuinely ill. In all their years working together Rieesan Kelcona had never faked an illness to escape unpleasant responsibility. She wasn't the type. But in this case, it took more than a virus to convince Kaeta to let the matter rest.

She barely waited for the last cough before trying further persuasion. "If you're thinking clearly enough to bandy words with me, you can still think rings around Sheleg."

To be honest, she probably didn't even need Rieesan to speak. Rieesan tended to be sparse with her words in any case, at least outside the private troika meetings, but when she did speak it was to the point. Even the most obstreperous family head was reluctant to make stupid statements in front of Rieesan for fear of it being pointed out that it was... well, stupid.

Sick or not, Kaeta felt Rieesan's presence could drastically shorten the meeting with Sheleg. If the Franfon matriarch didn't say anything stupid, that would leave her with hardly anything to say and they could all be out of there within minutes. "Listen, if you can't come in person, maybe you could sit in via com link. That way, you don't even have to worry about passing around the germs."

"I--" Whatever the reply would have been, it was overcome by a fresh fit of coughing, this time capped by a series of dry heaves.

"I'll take that as a no," Kaeta said dryly. "But what I don't understand is why you won't see a doctor. I'd think you'd know practically every one on the planet." Kelcona specialized in medical technology, making sure Fargone was at least at a level with Federation research and occasionally somewhat ahead. Doctors from all over Fargone were in and out of the main Kelcona complex constantly. Rieesan probably came pretty close to tripping over them every time she ventured outside her bedchamber.

"I see doctors every day of my working life," Rieesan said acerbically. "When I feel this dreadful I'm entitled to take a break from them. Besides, half the family has already had this virus, and the experience has been that it takes about a week to get over it whether it's treated or not. So I might as well take to my bed in peace"

Kaeta glowered unhappily at the com screen, accepting the inevitable. With Sharah, the third member of the troika, off planet for a sales meeting, Kaeta was on her own trying to get Sheleg Franfon to see reason, and as one of her direct competitors in the wheat business, she was even less likely to listen to reason from the Rowan matriarch than the other members of the troika. "All right, but if you were there, at least I might be spared all those not-so-veiled suggestions that the whole wheat blight is a Rowan plot to corner the market."

Rieesan sank further back against the bank of pillows that propped her up into camera range. "Show her your fields. The Rowans are suffering as much as anyone else."

"I have." Kaeta morosely tore off another bit of printout to add to the pile. "But as Sheleg never fails to remind me, the Rowans can survive one bad season and many of the small families can't say the same."

"Ah, and Sheleg has appointed herself the spokeswoman of these oppressed small families, is that it?"

"You've got it."

Rieesan reached out of com range for a handkerchief. "She's saying she's one of the families that can't survive this blight, and so needs to go to this startup company for fungicide. Do you suppose it's true that Franfon finances are that precarious?"

Kaeta shrugged. "I can't prove that they're not." Franfon finances had been a sore point with her for some time. Family income determined whether they were considered major or minor families and who sat in the upper legislature. To be a major family was, of course, prestigious, but it also resulted in higher assessments, and it wasn't unknown for families on the edge to under report in order to pay lower taxes.

Or, in the case of the Franfon, so the family head could pose as a representative of the minor families. This wasn't the first time Sheleg had come to Kaeta as the supposed spokesperson of smaller families and defender of the oppressed. The oppressors being, of course, the major families and most particularly the present troika.

Kaeta had to admit that Sheleg was a reasonably competent matriarch, at least when her ego didn't get in the way, but she had a tendency to consider herself smarter and more capable than anyone with whom she happened to be dealing. This annoying, if common, attitude was made more annoying by the fact that she considered this superiority to be self-evident to everyone on Fargone. And if she didn't get as much deference and power as she expected, well, then there must be a conspiracy against her. Headed by the Rowans or whatever of the rulers most annoyed her at the present time.

Right now, the Rowans were at the top of her list. As if Kaeta didn't have enough trouble.

"The trouble is, of course," Kaeta tore off the next piece of printout almost savagely, "that Sheleg has a point. The smaller families do need to be helped. We can't just say `don't deal with the off-worlders' and let their family finances go to hell. But I'll be damned if I'll hand a pot of money to the Franfons and let them pose as the saviors of the minor families."

"It needs to be done on an individual basis, at any rate," suggested Rieesan.

"Right. That's why the First Fruits Festival is so important this year. We can take the wheat-producing families aside, one by one, in a party atmosphere where everyone is feeling comfortable. Then we can make individual deals to tide them over if we don't find a fungicide."

"It could get expensive." Rieesan's comment wasn't a criticism.

"But it's probably the only way to keep the small families from panicking. And if they panic, sooner or later someone's going to want a deal with the off-worlders. That's what Sheleg's pushing for right now." Kaeta stared moodily at the mess on her desk. "You will be up and around for the First Fruits, won't you?"

For that, she got a Look.

"Yeah, yeah. Stupid question. You will if you can." From the front of the house, Kaeta could hear a vehicle draw up to the entrance, and someone at the door. "Great, there's Sheleg now. Wish me luck."

"While I'm at it, I'll wish us all several loads of fungicide."

Kaeta stood up and started tidying her desk. "Oh, a miracle. Yes, that would be good, but I'd settle for getting through First Fruits without any new troubles popping up."

She did, of course, have the option of letting Avon kill them.

Shooting Val and Brun was the wisest course, Soolin thought. It had the advantage of keeping them from reporting the sighting of the Scorpio crew to the Federation. And of pleasing Avon.

It also had the disadvantage of pleasing Avon.

Soolin moved over next to the window, motioning Avon to join her. "Are we moving across town, or off-world?" she asked quietly.

Avon left his station beside Tarrant, who had fallen into an exhausted sleep, huddled to one side of the rickety bed. "Off-world, tomorrow morning." Tarrant moaned and turned over, drawing Avon's gaze away from Soolin. "Killing Val and Brun before we leave would be safer." He raised his voice for the last words, sweeping the captives with a dismissive gaze before returning his attention to the figure on the bed.

A choked sound drew Soolin's gaze to Val. "Please." She could manage only the single word, then wrapped her arms around herself as if to stop the shaking. Tears leaked from her wide open eyes, as if only now she realized how serious the situation had become. Brun didn't move; he seemed to have gone numb.

Soolin had seen both reactions before. She'd also seen colleagues of hers who enjoyed provoking them, eating them up as if fear of death were some sort of tasty banquet. None of her crewmates, even Avon, fell into that category, thankfully.

"Safer," Vila repeated softly. No doubt how he felt about the issue, even more strongly than he'd felt about the deaths of the personnel on the Federation ship. Whether this was some natural empathy with small-time criminals or simply a wish to cross Avon, she wasn't entirely sure.

Soolin found she herself didn't want to please Avon in this particular way, either. It hadn't escaped her notice that the crew looked to her as much as Avon for orders these days, and it wouldn't hurt to establish that Avon would refrain from killing on her say-so. And there was also Vila, quietly watching to see which way she would jump--whether she'd kill two terrified petty felons for the sake of tidiness or....

Or.

"Tie them up," she told Dayna quietly. "If you rip up one of the top sheets and twist it, I think it should be strong enough to hold them until management comes to collect the next installment of rent in a day or two."

Avon looked unconcerned, Vila satisfied, Dayna worried. "Are you sure we shouldn't kill them?" she said to Soolin in an undertone. "Chances are they'll report us to the Federation as soon as they get free." Just the same, she pulled the sheet off the bed she and Soolin had shared and started to tear it into ragged strips with her knife, while Avon held his gun on the two.

It wouldn't be too bright for them to try to get away at this point, of course, but neither of them would hit the top of any intelligence exam and desperate, dumb people could well take that sort of chance. Better to keep a very close eye on them. At least she could trust Avon to do that.

"Have you ever been in on a manhunt?" Soolin had, on both sides of the equation, assisting the hunters and the hunted, depending on who had employed her on the particular occasion. While Dayna had certainly stalked Sarrans, no one had put up wanted posters for them or offered bounty, so far as Soolin knew. And since she'd joined Liberator and Scorpio, Avon had mostly taken care of keeping them several steps ahead of the Federation's hunt. "It's not as meticulous as one might think."

Dayna raised an inquiring eyebrow, but kept on making the makeshift bonds for their captives.

"Even if our guests work up the nerve to send in an anonymous tip, it's unlikely the Federation will swoop down in force immediately. They've probably had a lot of sightings of us over a number of solar systems by now... some people mistakenly thinking they've seen us, some people just trying to make trouble for whatever reason." She remembered one major manhunt she'd been involved with that had as many as thirty sightings a day. Just sorting through which of them were probable had been the job for a whole team of trained investigators, never mind the number of people who'd been sent out to physically check out the most likely tips.

"You don't think the Federation will run all the tips on us down," Dayna said uncertainly.

"Oh, yes, I think they most certainly will. But they won't have an unlimited staff to track down five terrorists, and an anonymous, `they used to be here, but they're not now' isn't going come at the top of the queue. We ought to be long gone by the time the Federation hits this hotel."

Avon broke into the quiet conversation. "We'll be longer gone if you hurry. I'll get Tarrant dressed while you two truss up our benefactors. Vila--" He hesitated, as if wondering whether to give orders to the other man ... a valid question if Vila's attitude toward Avon recently was anything to go by. Soolin had been frankly relieved when both men had returned from their expedition unscathed by one another as well as by the authorities.

She stepped smoothly into the gap. "Vila, you gather the rest of our belongings or whatever you think we want to take with us." To wherever. Avon wasn't going to say in front of their captives, caution that Soolin thoroughly agreed with, but she was more than curious to know where Avon thought it was safe to take them.

Never mind. They'd find out soon enough.

Soolin took over covering the prisoners while Dayna efficiently tied the two back-to-back in the shredded remains of the sheets. They'd hardly be able to move, never mind escape, until the management eventually arrived to release them. It'd be amusing, she thought, to witness the conversation when the manager demanded the rent from the two thoroughly cleaned-out criminals. She didn't feel particularly sympathetic with either party in the transaction.

Both women had turned their back to Tarrant and used their bodies to screen him from Val and Brun, trying to give him some measure of privacy while Avon got him dressed, but Soolin could hear an occasional grunt of pain as a piece of clothing was pulled on or off. When he eventually came into her range of sight, though, she thought he looked a little better for the sleep he'd gotten, slight though the amount had been. He walked more easily and he no longer moaned involuntarily with almost every movement.

"Are we ready?" Avon asked. He glanced at Val and Brun without much interest, seemingly resigned to Soolin's determination to leave the two alive.

"All packed up," Vila affirmed. Though their belongings were bundled into the sort of duffels that usually held clothing, most of the contents was actually mechanical--Orac and the remains of Slave and Plaxton's stardrive. The few worn pieces of clothing Vila had managed to steal or buy from street vendors for them were packed around the bits of machinery to disguise the shape.

Soolin hefted the duffel with the crucial bits of the stardrive--heavy but she could handle it--leaving Vila to distribute the remaining bags to everyone but Tarrant, who could barely carry himself. Val watched them closely, looking like she wanted to beg to be let go, but at the same time not daring to call attention to herself.

"Cheer up," Avon stopped beside her, the bag containing Orac under one arm. "You told us you could provide us with a lot of money, and that's just what you've done. You should be pleased by your achievement. I'll admit it now appears you'll live long enough to miss your pension, but someone with your entrepreneurial abilities should be able to recoup in no time, isn't that right? " He gave her one of his patented non-smiles before leading the way out the door.

Soolin took the rear, sweeping the room with one last glance to make certain they'd left nothing but Val and Brun behind, then hurrying to join the rest of the crew waiting for her down in the street. None of them seemed sorry to leave the hotel behind them.

"Where to now?" She didn't want to linger in this vicinity long, lest someone decide that mugging their group for the contents of their bags seemed like a good idea. Not that they'd succeed, of course--Soolin felt the comforting weight of her gun in her side pocket--but it would draw unwanted

Avon gestured to a battered-looking vehicle parked in front of their hotel. "Val kindly put the code to her groundcar on her university card. I suggest we take it for a short ride." He went to the driver's side door and tapped a series of numbers into the keys set above the handle. All four doors obediently sprung open.

No prize for guessing which vehicle was Val's; it was the only one in the vicinity that looked like it could move for more than a block. She was only surprised it hadn't been taken apart while they were gone, but perhaps its security system was more efficient than one would think from outward appearances. She stuck out her hand for the card. "I'll drive." At least if she was operating the groundcar, Avon would have to tell her where they were going.

"All right." Avon took the passenger seat without argument while the other three stuffed the duffels in the boot, and themselves in the none-too-spacious back seat.

Soolin thrust the card into the slot beside the ignition while Avon again tapped the numbers into keys set beside the slot. Val had, she admitted to herself, taken some precautions. She wasn't a totally stupid criminal, just someone who'd run into people more experienced without the sense to figure that out in time. Well, at least in this case, she'd live and, hopefully, learn.

The groundcar came to life with a series of coughs, finally settling down to a rather unhappy sounding purr. It didn't run wonderfully, but at least it ran. "Where to?"

"Follow the signs to the mass-transit terminal. We'll dump the car there."

Soolin waited for a moment for further enlightenment, then realized this was all she was going to get for the moment. "Mass-transit terminal, " she murmured, "right." She put the groundcar into gear and pulled away, wondering whether frustrating her with a lack of information was Avon's way of paying her back for not letting him kill Val and Brun. Or possibly he was so wrapped up in his scheme he really didn't realize she didn't appreciate being kept in the dark.

Deliberately or not, he was doing a fine job of driving her insane.

*

"There's a liquor store on the next block." Dayna started at the sound of Vila's voice beside her. It was first time he'd spoken since they'd left the vicinity of the hotel. "Pull over for a minute, Soolin."

"This is no time to stop for a drink, Vila." Dayna felt obscurely disappointed in Vila, and then irritated with herself. Why should it surprise her that Vila wanted a drink? He always wanted a drink. Only recently it had seemed to her that maybe he was... different? When had she started with the wishful thinking, she wondered.

"Not for me," he replied, without rancor. "Well, not for right now, anyway. I wouldn't turn down a drink when we get there, mind. No, this is for Tarrant."

Dayna drew breath to object again, but then decided to give Vila a chance to explain. She'd been wrong with her last guess, after all.

"Someone who looks like Tarrant does right now could be sick, and no one wants possible infections in a hotel. But a drunk, especially if he has his friends there to put him to bed and make sure he doesn't cause trouble? Nothing could be more usual, especially if we're going to a place anywhere near the port."

It was true, Dayna reflected. They knew Tarrant's injuries were from torture, but the truth was, even though he seemed better than a few days back, he still looked awful--bloodshot eyes, painful movements, and, if he had to speak when they checked in, the desk clerk might well wonder why he was so hoarse. Only they knew it was the aftermath from screaming and it wasn't something they particularly wanted to explain to outsiders.

Of course, they might be able to sneak him by the front desk. But if they couldn't...

"Good idea." It was Avon's first words since they'd left the hotel, but Vila didn't seem to appreciate the compliment, merely hunching one shoulder in the other man's direction and keeping his attention on Dayna.

Soolin didn't comment, but pulled the groundcar into the drive-through of the liquor store that had attracted Vila's attention and gave the bored attendant an order for what Dayna recognized as Vila's favored brand of soma. Her own way of complimenting Vila, perhaps--he could have the remains after they'd administered to Tarrant.

"Better give us a pint of Wargstrangler's Delight, as well, my man," Vila ordered his perch beside her.

The attendant nodded and disappeared into the bowels of the store.

"You sure you want that, Vila?" Dayna couldn't see Soolin's face from her seat beside Vila, but she could hear the grimace in her voice. "That's the stuff you have to drink fast or it'll eat the enamel off your teeth."

"Yeah," agreed Vila complacently, "and it also stinks to high heaven. Mind you, when Tarrant sloshes it around in his mouth, he'll have to do it fast and spit it out. We don't want anything spoiling those pearly whites of his."

"As long as I don't have to actually drink it." Despite the lingering hoarseness, Dayna thought the light tone sounded a bit more like Tarrant's usual self, but that could be wishful thinking. And even though his actual movements were still obviously painful, he was sitting fairly straight in the seat on the other side of Vila, not constantly shifting in pain as he had before. That might be a hopeful sign, but on the other hand, he could just be controlling himself, trying to avoid being given any more pain killers. She couldn't blame him there.

The attendant returned with two plastic jugs on a tray. Soolin traded it for a credit chit. Dayna held her breath while he ran it through, but he returned it without comment. Perhaps, she thought, whimsically, he didn't want to mess with anyone tough enough to actually drink Wargstrangler's Delight, but more likely Avon's job of laundering their money was good enough to pass most scrutiny.

Soolin passed the jugs to Avon, who promptly handed them back to Vila.

Vila cradled them on his lap. "Don't worry. I'm not going to open it now. The smell of it in a closed vehicle would be enough to make us all drunk just breathing the stuff. We'll wait until we get to the transit station, do it when we ditch the groundcar."

It took them about ten more minutes to get to the transit station, fortunately situated in a better part of town. Slightly better. The multi-leveled lot beside it was full of vehicles of all sorts. The morning rush of commuters had hit its height and Soolin had to go up several stories to find an empty spot to leave Val's groundcar.

"There's too many people around," Dayna said worriedly. "Someone's going to notice if Tarrant gets out and starts sprinkling himself with booze."

Vila reached across Tarrant, who looked equally doubtful, and opened the door. "The trick is, don't be furtive. Just get out with the bottle, throw back your head and take a big mouthful, then spit it out. If you get some on yourself, so much the better."

"All right. You're the expert." Tarrant unfolded himself from the back seat, wincing a bit as he did so, then took the jug from Vila, who got out after him. Several people did look at him, but then looked away, shaking their heads. Obviously, Vila was right about the kind of attention they'd be attracting. They were looking at Tarrant as if he were a vagrant rather than a fugitive.

He raised the bottle to his lips, tilted his head back, and then all she saw was the level of the liquid in the bottle going down. She expected him to spit it out, but instead he choked and the liquid came out of his mouth in a flood, partly over the groundcar, partly over the pavement, and the rest over him. He abruptly dropped the jug, which leaked the rest of the contents over his shoes.

Now passersby weren't merely averting their eyes, they were crossing over to the next aisle, getting as far away from the scene as possible.

"You couldn't have done better if you'd asked them for money," Vila said complacently. "It's a good thing you're wearing several layers of clothes though, or it'd burn your cuts something fierce. Now just lean on me."

Avon went over to Tarrant's other side, completing the picture of a drunken young man being supported by his friends after a night on the town. Just as well they had this story for more than one reason, Dayna reflected. Tarrant could walk unaided, but not for any distance with any ease. He'd be conspicuous and that was the last thing they needed.

"Is there a lift here?" Dayna looked around, wanting to save Tarrant some steps, but apparently the management had provided only a moving stairway, which made supporting Tarrant a bit of a juggling act. However, they made it down to the monorail level without incident. For a moment, she wondered if they'd allow Tarrant on the monorail in his condition, but then reflected it was more in the public interest to allow that than let him drive.

The traffic toward the port was fortunately light, the bulk of the commuter traffic going the other way, toward the business center of the city. With Tarrant smelling as he did, that meant they got an entire car to themselves, the few other passengers taking one sniff of their compartment and then quickly taking themselves elsewhere.

"I hope the hotel you got at least has a bath," Tarrant said when the monorail got underway. "I don't want to smell this way for long."

"Baths. Showers. Room service," Avon said. "They didn't have five singles, so I settled for two suites and a single room. I trust no one will mind if I take the single."

"Fine with me. So long as Soolin takes care of the credit chits." Vila's jibe came with the edge to his voice that he customarily used with Avon these days. Tarrant looked ... well, he looked almost stricken, though Dayna couldn't see a reason for that. Perhaps he wanted the privacy, but he had to realize he was a bit too sick to get that yet. If these were ordinary circumstances, that might be possible, but Tarrant couldn't defend himself if the Federation--or even just more local criminals--came through the door.

Soolin turned her head and gave Avon a strange, almost suspicious, look, but nodded her head in acceptance. Everyone was acting oddly, Dayna thought, but perhaps the reason for that wasn't too far to seek--everyone needed rest and decent food and time for relaxation. And some clean clothes wouldn't hurt, either.

"Everyone should turn in early and get as much sleep as possible. Our transit off-planet leaves at 6 a.m." Avon tilted his head back and half-closed his eyes as if getting a head start on his own advice. But his hand stayed close to the pocket where he'd stashed his gun, and Dayna had little doubt he was staying alert despite the deserted compartment.

"And what then?" Soolin prompted.

"Then we'll go to the shipyards at Maynard and take delivery on a ship."

"Orac?" said Soolin questioningly.

"Orac."

"Val didn't have that much money, did she?" Dayna said disbelievingly. "If she had, I might have gone into prostitution, at that."

"Hardly. The owners of the ship have received a message from the shipyard saying delivery will be delayed. The shipyard has received a message from the owners saying they'll take delivery the day after tomorrow and giving a confirmation code. The owners have to show up with a deposit, with which Val has kindly provided us."

"Very neat." It was a rare compliment from Vila, these days. But then he added hastily, "If it works, that is."

The monorail stopped, at a fortunate juncture from Dayna's point of view. They'd always had petty squabbling, but this seemed to be going beyond the ordinary. What they needed, and fortunately were about to get, was a good night's sleep. In fact, they'd be starting it in the middle of the afternoon.

For herself, she could skip the room service and the clean clothes. All she wanted was a door that shut, so she wouldn't have to worry about her crewmates, strangers trying to force her into prostitution, or anything else. No life-or-death decisions, just hours and hours of sleep.

It sounded wonderful.

The hotel catered not so much to pleasure-seekers as to spaceship crews and lower-budget business travelers, so it was serviceable rather than luxurious. But it was clean, everything worked, and Soolin had the distinct impression that the management would've thrown Tarrant out if he'd come on his own, without sober crewmates to be responsible for him.

Their former hotel might have thrown him out, but they would have robbed him first.

Soolin turned on the shower and stepped in, luxuriating in the blast of hot water, the first she'd enjoyed since leaving Xenon Base. Being in a spaceport hotel like this was the next best thing to actually being in space, the sort of place where breakfast was served around the clock and so was dinner, since the clientele came from ships that were on a variety of time schedules. There'd be a small shop where they could buy overpriced toiletries and even a few items of clothing, as well as a few machines to clean the clothes they already had. She'd stayed at such places before and found being here now curiously comforting.

The crew had dispersed on arrival, Tarrant and Vila to the other suite, Dayna to the other room of the suite she shared with Soolin, and Avon to his prized solitary room. She wondered, not for the first time, whether this was really all the hotel had or whether Avon had seized on a single room for reasons of his own.

She squeezed a generous amount of shampoo onto her hair, pondering the question. At this point, whatever Vila might think about the matter, she felt fairly certain Avon wouldn't sell them out. But there were other possibilities almost as worrisome. He wasn't in the fog that had enveloped him when they were aboard the Federation ship, but he wasn't the man she'd become accustomed to in the past year, either. Not that she wasn't glad he'd gone along with her about Val and Brun, but the accommodation hadn't precisely been in character.

He hadn't lost his nerve, no. But Kerr Avon had lost something, and she wasn't sure exactly what it was or what would happen when he found it again.

Rinsing her hair thoroughly, she stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her before going out into the main room of the suite. It was clean and comfortable, room service was just a com call away, and there was a firm-looking bed in the next room. Avon had even placed a small pieced-together alarm on each door, so they could all sleep at the same time, providing they each had a gun under their pillows. She didn't want to, she didn't have to deal with anything but food and sleep, but ...

But.

Whether she wanted to be leader or not, Avon seemed to have abdicated in her favor. No, he'd gone beyond that--he was actually encouraging her to take over. Why? What did he want? She didn't think she would get a good night's sleep until she figured out more of that puzzle.

Putting on one of the hotel robes, she walked over to the couch to sit down and think out the possibilities. He could have a plan he hadn't told her about. He could be using her as a front for that plan. He'd used Dayna and Vila for decoys in the past and she very much didn't like the thought that he could be doing the same with her now. The trouble was, she didn't see how any such plan would work, not with the information she had on hand, at any rate.

So what was Avon up to? He'd handed her the leadership on a platter, but he hadn't made an obvious place for himself in a crew with her as leader. When she'd overruled him on the matter of Val and Brun, it seemed like it just hadn't mattered that much to him. Why hadn't enforcing his opinion mattered? It was atypical, to say the least.

I'm going to go paranoid if I keep thinking in circles like this. She stood up and went for her clothes, grimacing a little at their still-grimy condition as she pulled them on. Avon wouldn't like her intrusion, of course. But, fine, she wasn't too fond of his lack of communication recently, either, so perhaps they'd be even.

A few minutes later she knocked lightly at his door, being careful not to touch the outer latch and set off the alarm. If he were asleep, she'd postpone this chat and get some sleep herself. The thought wasn't unpleasant, and she was about to turn away and head for her bed when the door slid open.

"What?" He didn't sound hostile. It was more like Avon's mind was elsewhere, even though he stood in front of her at the door. His damp hair and sketchy attire--he wore a robe identical to the one she'd just shed--he'd showered recently, but at least the untouched bed in the corner suggested she hadn't woken him up.

She stepped past him into the room, noticing that Orac was sitting on the table, its key in place. "What are you working on?" Not waiting for an invitation she probably wasn't going to get, she sat on one of the hard chairs grouped around the table. She noticed a small box on the table beside Orac, and glanced at the label: caffeine tablets, the kind sold in hotel shops to help people adjust their body clocks to the planet. A few empty wrappers lay around the box, an indication that the box had been broached.

"I was going to get some sleep." He spoke with his customary hauteur, but with the evidence at hand, Soolin wasn't about to accept the invitation to take her leave.

She held up the box. "Really?"

Avon sat down, not making excuses, not saying anything at all. If they were to have a conversation, obviously it was up to her.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" was the first query that came to her mind, but she decided to try for a more courteous conversational gambit. "This is a good hotel. You made a fine choice."

It sounded inane as soon as it came out of her mouth and Avon replied with nothing but a sneer. All right, so it wasn't the best lead-in to an inquisition, but this sort of conversation had never been part of her job description in the past and she felt as tired as anyone else in the crew. "All right. What I want to know is what you're working on."

He picked up the box of caffeine, turned it on one end, slid it through his fingers, then turned it on end again. Not the first time she'd noticed him fiddling with small objects when nervous. She wondered if he knew how telling his gestures could be. "I was giving Orac some directions about the shipyards."

She nodded. No point in pushing him. It was probably the truth... or part of the truth, at any rate. The part of the truth Avon didn't want to tell was probably the more important part, however. Unfortunately. "I know you're not selling us out, but I don't know what you are doing. That puts me at a disadvantage."

"You're doing fine." Not a muscle on his face moved, but the caffeine box took another turn between his fingers.

"You seem to want me to be the leader." The words had never been said aloud before and she hoped to take him aback, if only slightly.

Not even the box in his fingers moved. "You seem to have a talent for it."

Perhaps. But that was somewhat beside the point. "What about you?"

This time, something seemed to move behind his face, but she couldn't tell exactly what the expression meant. "Ask Vila."

Well, she knew what she'd get from Vila, but not why. "More information that I don't have. That's not only frustrating, it could be dangerous."

His expression smoothed out, but his fingers clenched the top of box, indenting the thin plasteen. "Perhaps things will get less dangerous soon."

"Perhaps Servalan will get religion, too, but I don't think that's very likely, do you?"

She got a reluctant smile from him for that. "Perhaps not. Look, why don't you just wait until tomorrow and see if your questions aren't answered then." He dropped the caffeine box and rose smoothly from his chair, obviously meaning to escort her from the room.

Not likely. Soolin took a few steps in the direction of the door, as if following Avon's lead, then said swiftly, "Orac, what directions has Avon been giving you?"

"Avon is giving me a message to play for you tomorrow, after he's gone."

The man in question looked like he didn't know whether to smash Orac or mete out similar treatment to Soolin. She moved in front of Orac, just in case.

Avon seemed to deflate. "Why couldn't you have waited?" He sounded tired and sad rather than angry.

"You said it. I have a talent for leadership." She sat back down at the table with the air of someone prepared to stay for the long haul. "Why don't you sit down and tell me what you're planning. If it were really a good idea, you would have done that in the first place."

"Drunk with power already, I see." He hesitated a moment, as if undecided about his next move, then went to the other seat at the small table. Flinging himself down in a mockery of relaxation, he directed his gaze pointedly away from her.

"Talk." Soolin eyed Avon's box of caffeine tablets. Maybe she should take one or two herself. It looked like it might be a long night, and one without the rest she had promised herself.

With the stimulants coursing through his system, he apparently didn't have the patience to wait her out. "Very well," he spoke calm and reasonably, as if finding the subject tedious, but with no other sign of emotion. "Everything I told you about Orac and the ship is perfectly correct. All I neglected to mention is that I'm leaving on another ship in two hours. In a few days my body will be found on a planet well away from Maynard. That will cool the manhunt from the Federation and end the manhunt from the rebellion. You didn't kill Blake, so they'll have no quarrel with you." He transferred his gaze from the ceiling to her face. "Now why don't you go back to your own room, while I straighten out a few details and make sure my body is readily identifiable by the Federation."

"All you neglected to mention," Soolin repeated sarcastically. She wondered a little why she wasn't surprised, that Avon, the ultimate survivor, was arranging his own death. But, then, there'd always been that streak of self-destructiveness, riding right alongside his determination to survive. No, it came as no great surprise to her. "Just as a matter of curiosity, why should the Federation have any trouble identifying you? They've had your fingerprints and DNA on file for years."

"Someone will have told you about the time I infiltrated Central Security."

Oh, yes. She had that story. When she'd joined the Scorpio crew, she'd taken some time to encourage Dayna and Vila to tell her tales of their time on the Liberator, partially to pass the time and partially because of what they told her about both the story subjects and the story tellers. This particular tale, she realized now, had contributed to her awareness of Avon's ongoing flirtation with death. But now he seemed to want to go all the way to consummation. "What about it?"

"I needed to be unidentifiable, so I had Orac go in and change the records of both the fingerprints and the DNA. There is still a file with my name on it, but the identifying information has nothing to do with me. It was convenient because it brought me Shrinker, but now restoring it has proven to be complicated--they've upgraded the system since I've made the change."

He wasn't generally so talkative about his plans or his past, Soolin thought. So why was he making an exception now? Very likely he wanted her to accept the practical details and ignore that in doing so, she was accepting the major premise, that the Scorpio crew would allow Avon to go off and die. She didn't feel inclined to go along with his plans, and she doubted that the others, even Vila, would be enthusiastic, either.

Of course, he wouldn't care about her opinion, but there was an another opinion he might be persuaded to listen to . "Orac, how stupid do you think this plan is?"

"Stupidity cannot be quantified, but this plan is unquestionably unreasonable. Even for a human."

"Now you see why I didn't put it to a vote."

"So you knew no one else would agree. By the way, what were you going to do with Orac in two hours? I assume you intended us to have it. Or were you going to take it along and destroy it, as well?"

He looked taken aback. "Of course not. Orac is useful. I would have broken into your suite and left it for you to find in the morning. Now, of course, you can just take it along with you, once I've straightened out the problem of the fingerprints."

"Avon," she said astringently, "I've slept with a gun under my pillow since I was twelve years old. I have no doubt you could have bypassed your alarm, but I would have heard you nonetheless and no doubt have killed you before I had a chance to identify you. I doubt if that was the kind of suicide you had in mind."

Avon rubbed at the lines that gathered on his forehead. "I realize the plan had some flaws, but we're working under time constraints. It's the best idea I could come up with."

"No, the best idea you had is me as leader. When I want you dead, you'll be the first to know."

Soolin waited for a reply that didn't come. They were all under pressure, especially after GP, but perhaps she had underestimated how the pressure was affecting him. As de facto leader, it was up to her to find a way to release some of that pressure, but she was damned if she knew how. Sleep would help, of course, but he'd just taken enough stimulants to keep him awake at least until morning. "How about if we order some food now, and see if between us, we can't come up with some better idea than suicide?"

"But we only have two hours until the ship leaves." Avon protested.

The "we" was a good sign, she thought. At least he was thinking in terms of being connected with the group again. "There's always time for suicide," she said briskly. "You can leave with us and we'll dump you later."

She wasn't sure what it said about either of them that he looked relieved at her words.

Leaning over, she pulled the menu out of the drawer of the table. "There's not much of a selection, but it's better than we've been getting for the last few days."

"I'm not hungry," Avon said tightly.

"The food will stop the twitching, at least. That's a plus from my point of view."

Avon abruptly dropped the caffeine box that he'd begun playing with again.

Soolin thought of telling Avon that he was too old to be staying up all night to work on projects. But, then, since he was determined not to get any older, perhaps that wasn't the best comment to make right now. Instead, she scanned the menu, punched a few numbers into the com console built into the table top, and ordered for both of them.

"At least the Federation won't be able to trace you from the fingerprints in our hotel room, whatever Val and Brun might tell them," she said conversationally. "Although they might pick on Vila's or Tarrant's."

"No," Avon said absently. He had picked up the caffeine box again, but thankfully showed no sign of wishing to take any more of the contents. "While I was wiping my own records, I took care of Vila and Tarrant, as well." He shrugged. "I had time on my hands."

In other words, he'd been sitting up all night again. The insomnia wasn't any recent ailment, it seemed. Well, it could be useful. "Since we're changing our plans, you'll need to arrange another ticket to Maynard with us."

"I arranged for six tickets to Maynard. There's a special rate for groups of six and over and it includes a private compartment."

"Very nice. You're as useful as Orac."

"Thank you," he tilted his head ironically.

At that moment, the door call sounded. Avon jumped at the sound, and then glared at her as if daring her to comment on his show of nerves. She smiled slightly, then rose to go to the door, looking through the one-way viewport to see a young man in hotel uniform holding a tray. He looked harmless enough, but Soolin kept one hand on her hidden weapon while ushering him in to put the tray on the table.

The youngster ran a card with the charges through the com console and waited patiently while Avon added a tip and confirmed the debit. She noticed the server didn't seem to find anything unusual--he seemed to assume they were crewmates ordering an early lunch together, rather than a couple engaged in anything illicit or romantic.

As she let him out, she automatically scanned the hall. There was a man in uniform carrying a small bag walking to a room several doors away and, a little way further on, a woman waiting for the lift. When she turned in the other direction, she found a familiar figure leaning against the wall.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything." Vila managed to put a leer into the otherwise innocuous comment.

"Lunch. And you'll have to order your own." Soolin put a bit of snap into her voice. This situation with Avon was complex enough, without introducing Vila's mixed emotions toward his crewmate into the scene. She didn't know what Vila had against Avon, and this wasn't the time to explore the subject, from her point of view.

"That's okay," he brushed by her into the room. "I just wanted to borrow Orac for awhile. I found an antibiotic cream down in the hotel shop, and I want to see if it's the same stuff we used on Xenon Base. I think Tarrant would let me use it on him if I can guarantee he won't have one of those weird reactions."

Avon opened his mouth as if to protest, then seemed to sink back into himself.

Hmm, not a bad idea. If she could get Orac out of there, then Avon couldn't carry out his plan. She wondered if Vila had come on the same errand, if not for the same reason--he certainly didn't trust Avon recently and seemed to think Avon might take off with Orac, the credit chits, or any other useful things he might have on his own. The question about the antibiotic cream, she thought, was an excuse, and a fairly thin one at that.

Never mind, though, they both wanted the same thing, if for different reasons.

"How is Tarrant doing?" she asked politely. Avon didn't seem like he was going to make any sort of conversation.

"Pretty good. He's cleaned up, and if he can get some rest, I think I can get him to eat a bit, later on. The cream might help with the pain, too, if it's the kind I think it is. He won't take any painkillers."

"After that last time, I can't really blame him." Soolin casually picked Orac up from the table, handing it to Vila. "Go ahead and take Orac back with you. Keep it until morning, if you like. I don't think we'll need it until then."

Soolin could almost hear Avon's teeth grind. Checkmate, she thought.

As the door slid closed behind Vila, Avon asked, "Did you set that up, or was it just an amazing happenstance?"

"No, I just had good luck, for a change." She took the cover off the tray of food. "I hope you like what I ordered. I think I remember you eating this once back on Xenon." She placed a dish of pasta and meat in front of him.

He looked at the food as if it were a plate of rocks, not touching the fork she'd placed beside it. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"Well, it helps that I finally know what you're doing." She cheerfully dug into the steak she'd ordered. She found that having Orac out of the way had improved her appetite greatly. "Getting back to your plan. Let's just imagine what would have happened if you'd actually put it into effect and managed not to get shot by me. We'd get up, find you gone, have a debate on whether to go after you or leave for Maynard. What do you think we would have done?"

"You're not that stupid." It sounded more like a plea than an assertion.

"Look, there were two options. One, that you had gone off to sacrifice yourself nobly. The other is that you had sold us out and we were going off to certain doom. In either case, going after you makes more sense than going to Maynard. Try to eat something--it may clear your head a bit."

Avon glared at her, picked up his fork and stabbed the pasta, as if the food were a substitute for a knife in her flesh. "I'll admit there were some practical difficulties with my original plan, but now that you know what I'm about, you must see that the best solution is dumping me and joining the rebellion."

Soolin chewed a piece of meat with enjoyment, taking her time about answering. "First, without Blake we don't know there is an organized rebellion. Even if there is, they might well consider us bad luck if not actually traitors. And dumping a crewmate is not exactly a good advertisement for our loyalty. Your original plan would have gotten you out of trouble, but not really done much for the rest of us. Think again."

Morosely, he poured himself a glass of wine from the bottle that came on the tray. "Well, now, I thought my best idea was making you the leader. Where do you intend to lead us?"

She took the wine bottle from his hand, poured herself a glass, then winced a bit at the taste. Not the best vintage she'd ever had; but then she'd gotten used to Dorian's taste in wine and this class of hotel wouldn't live up to that. "One step at a time. First we get the ship, just as you planned. Then we find out what's happening with the rebellion, if there still is one, and decide what to do next on the basis of reason, not emotion."

He glared at her over the rim of his glass. "You think I was reacting emotionally?"

"Yes," she polished off the last bite of steak. "Which is all right, as long as you know that's what you're doing."

"No, it's not all ri-" He broke off, as if listening to himself for the first time, and realizing he didn't sound at all reasonable. Putting down the wine glass, he rubbed his hand over his eyes, as if trying to clear the cobwebs from his brain.

Soolin rose and circled the table. Avon needed sleep, but with all the caffeine in his system, it was doubtful he could achieve that state. She put her hands on his shoulders, "If you can't sleep, you can at least lie down and get some rest."

He rose, but instead of going toward the bed, he slid his arms around her and kissed her. It was not so much a desire for sex, Soolin thought to herself, as much as avoiding the image of a little boy being put to bed. The kiss put him in control, at least in his own mind.

Fine, let him keep his dignity. He wasn't trying to control her, so much as demonstrate his control over himself. And, come to think of it, sex might be the only way to allow him to relax, at least until the caffeine got out of his system. And it was an ideal way for her to stay awake and keep an eye on him.

She placed her arms around his neck, giving him her silent assent. The back of his neck felt warm, almost feverish, against hers. Though whether that was a result of lust or sleepless nights conferring with Orac over suicide schemes she didn't know. She slid one hand down the length of his back, noting from the condition of the robe that he had not been long out of the shower--the combination of heat and dampness gave the impression that he'd just stepped out of a sauna.

Opening her mouth under his lips, she tasted the wine he'd had with dinner and the slightly bitter residue of the caffeine tablets. Well, this might be interesting, at any rate. More than once, she and Dayna had speculated on the lovemaking capabilities of their crewmates, in rather crude detail on one occasion when they'd dug deep into Dorian's wine. Next time the subject came up, at least she'd be in a position of knowledge when it came to one of the three.

With difficulty, she kept down a giggle. She could imagine Avon's attitude at being a topic of entertainment for the women of the crew. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt, though.

He kissed very well, at any rate, putting all his attention into the occupation. She imagined if she opened her eyes she might find his expression the same as when he worked on some difficult problem on Scorpio's computer systems. No objection there--she liked a man to concentrate when she had him in bed.

Speaking of which...

She disengaged her lips long enough to nod toward the bed in the corner, its corner primly turned back to show thankfully clean white sheets. "Shall we make ourselves comfortable?"

"Why not?" He stretched one arm out toward the bed with a courtly gesture that should have been at odds with his state of undress, but wasn't quite.

She preceded him to the bed, beginning to strip off her tunic as she went. She had left excess modesty behind when--well, never mind when. A long time back.

"Allow me." Apparently, Avon was still taking the lead, and she didn't mind him taking over the small ritual of stripping her. Not many men bothered in the circles she was used to, although she had to admit Dorian had had a courtly streak at times. He finished slipping off her tunic, letting his hands brush over her breasts as he did so, and turned to put it over the back of a chair, just as if it weren't filthy enough to be flung on the floor.

Very nice. She had to give him points for behavior.

Since he seemed to desire it, she waited for him to unfasten her boots, set them aside, and then slip her trousers and briefs down in one smooth gesture. He sat back on his heels beside the bed, slowly surveying the territory that had been bared. "Very nice."

"Thank you." Soolin had no false modesty. She knew she was attractive and she kept in good enough shape that she needn't be ashamed of how she either looked or felt naked. And, though she expected the same was true of Avon, she didn't mind finding out for herself. "If you'll allow me to return the favor-"

Avon stood up and held out his arms to allow her free access. It was much less of a labor to undress him--all she needed to do was unknot the belt of the robe and push it off of his shoulders. Hmm, yes. Very nice.

She hadn't expected a Greek god of a figure and he didn't have one. But he had a neat, compact shape with broad shoulders that she wouldn't mind putting her arms around again. He wasn't overly muscled, but like her, he kept himself in shape and what muscles were there were nicely firm.

Turning back after flipping back the covers, she surprised Avon looking down with a slight frown, an expression he quickly ironed out to bland pleasantness as she turned around. What in the...? Oh.

Men had one thing in common when it came to sex and she wagered even Avon had that particular worry. She could've named dozens of situations in the past year that should have embarrassed him more than an inability to perform and had not, yet a .. well, men were difficult and different. No point in addressing the problem directly--that would just make it much worse.

Gently she pressed him down onto the mattress. "Why don't you let me take over? I don't need you to plan or to think or really, do anything at all but lie back and let me have my wicked way with you." And that, she hoped--thought--he'd understand would make his performance, or lack of it, her responsibility rather than his.

Rather a good idea, if she did say so herself.

His lips turned upward into the hint of a smile. "Well, since I'm entrusting you with the rest of the crew, it would make sense to turn this over to you, as well."

"Exactly." They were sitting side-by-side on the bed; she turned slightly and leaned forward to press him backward until he was lying down. A bit of wriggling around and she got their legs on the bed, as well, so that they were both horizontal, with her on top. "Now just relax and remember I'm taking care of everything."

She found she was lying with one cheek against the pillows, her lips only inches away from Avon's ear. Perfect. She thrust out her tongue and traced it around the shell of the ear and then, feeling his quick intake of breath, made her tongue into a point and thrust it into the center of his ear, a quick in-and-out, as if imitating intercourse.

A small sound escaped Avon that definitely was not a yawn.

"You like that? I suppose you're not going to tell me your weaknesses, so I'll have to figure them out all on my own."

That was odd. Avon stiffened, almost as though struck.

She raised her head to look at him, but nothing in his face gave a hint of his odd reaction. True, he hated to admit to weaknesses, but that seemed a bit much.

"Oh, I should think you'd want to figure it out for yourself. You always seemed the type to like a challenge." His lips curved slightly in what might be a smile, but didn't seem to ring quite right, somehow.

Never mind. He was right. She did like a challenge, and she never thought Avon, of any of the crew, would be in any way easy, sexually or otherwise. "True," she answered easily, and returned her attention to the ear. With one hand she caressed the opposite ear, exploring the edges and whorls in exact time to what her tongue was doing to her original target.

With what almost seemed to be an effort, he relaxed into her caress, and she felt him begin to stiffen into her pelvis. She raised herself slightly on one elbow so she just touched his cock with her pubic hair and began to rub back and forth, as lightly as possible, as if caressing him with a silk scarf.

It was a nice technique that her second--no, third--lover had taught her, and it worked nicely on Avon, too, despite his fatigue. He let out a sharp moan and thrust up, as if to make a more firm contact. No, not yet. She moved her pelvis just to the edge of range again, then moved her free hand down from his ear, down the nice, firm column of his neck, through a detour over the collarbone, to his nipple. Time to look for further weaknesses, whether she vocalized the wish or not.

She scratched her nail rhythmically over the surface of his nipple, enjoying the beads of sweat that broke out over his half-averted face. He hadn't moaned again, but he was breathing faster and she could feel his cock lifting more insistently against her pubic hair.

Time to give him a bit more, perhaps.

She lowered her pelvis slightly to press more firmly against his cock, rubbing back and forth until she judged he was fully erect. One of his hands reached out to her hip, as if to position her so he could enter her, but she gave him one final caress and moved her pelvis out of range onto the bed. "I'm in charge here, remember?"

One edge of his lips curled up. "I thought the idea was that I'm to remain alive."

Soolin laughed. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"You might as well. I don't give out that many."

"I'd noticed." She slid down until her head was level with the fingers that were still caressing his nipple, then leaned over and attacked the other with her lips. She heard a scrabbling noise... his fingers among the bedcovers looking for something to clutch besides her hips.

A non-verbal compliment. She'd take those, too.

He twitched as she touched the nipple, so she decided she'd struck gold. She took it between her thumb and ring finger, scratching lightly over the tip with her nail. This time he tried to hide his reaction, but without much success--the long, ragged breath gave him away. She supposed it was cruel to be teasing him. But, on the other hand, he needed to get all those self-administered stimulants out of his system. She didn't want just the usual tension-releasing orgasm, but one that would put him in a state of exhausted sleep afterward.

She needed to put all her not-inconsiderable skill--learned in a variety of venues--into the problem.

Biting the nipple gently, she smiled to herself. This was different than any sex she'd had before, not so much because of Avon, but because of the mixture of the situation and the man. She'd played games, even power games, in bed often enough, but not because she wanted to take care of the other person as she now wanted to take care of Avon. She slept with friends and colleagues, but not the kind of friend or colleague that Avon was and not for the same reasons.

She not only wanted Avon to trust her in bed, she wanted to show him he was right to trust her.

In and out of bed.

Strangely enough, that made the sex more fun than she'd expected. She'd expected an attractive and skillful man, but she hadn't expected this playful care, and she found it was fun, pushing him to his limits, not as a game of one-upmanship but as a way of erasing the lines from the face a friend and crewmate, as a way of relaxing him more than he had, she guessed, in a very long time.

Raising her head, she took a glance up at his face. His eyes were closed, the dense lashes casting shadows just above his cheekbones. The light from the lamp beside the bed picked out the beads of sweat on his forehead and alongside the prominent nose. He looked at once both tense and at rest, a desirable mixture from the point of view of what she was attempting.

She ruffled a hand through his hair; it was damp, too, not so much from exertion as from as from holding himself back from exertion. Soon, she promised him. And herself--she was damp in more intimate places, and it was becoming difficult to hold him and herself back.

Dipping her head back down again, she drew her own sweat-dampened hair down over the broad shoulders, over his sensitized nipples, down to his belly and then beyond, her reward a small choking noise from above her head. At last, she stopped at his cock, taking time to tease it with her hair--first brushing it over the taut, velvet shaft, then taking a long, thick strand and curling it around him, drawing it up and down.

"Soolin!"

A whole word. Now there was something to brag about, if only to herself.

Enough teasing. Well, almost enough. For just a moment or so, she substituted her mouth for her hair, enjoying the slightly bitter taste of the moisture at the tip of his shaft. She flicked her tongue around the head like a small whip: once, twice, three times. Now, it was time.

Reluctantly, she pulled herself up. There was no problem about Avon's being able to perform now. His cock stood up stiffly, ready for her to mount and his whole body seemed to push upward with it, like the stretched string of a bow. She straddled him, one knee beside each well-carved hip, and used one hand to guide his cock into her.

Ahhhh.

Neither of them spoke, but she could feel the relief in both of their bodies--she'd teased them almost too much, especially considering that at least she'd been celibate for a very long time. And Avon? Judging from his response, she suspected he'd gone without for many months, as well. For the first time, he let go of his grasp of the sheets to grip her hips, holding him fully sheathed in her for a long moment.

It felt exquisite. Soolin threw her head back, savoring the sensation. Even though Avon hadn't participated in the foreplay, her determination to wring him out to the fullest had acted as an aphrodisiac, making her more than ready for intercourse. She wriggled a bit against his restraining hands, enjoying the feeling of fullness inside her.

It had, indeed, been a long time.

She placed her hands gently over his now, saying, "Let go a bit," and his grip instantly loosened. Once she had mounted him, she had gone to an almost sitting position to swallow him--now she rose to her knees again until the head of his cock almost escaped her body's grip.

"Soolin." Now his voice was commanding.

"Leave it to me." At the last moment, she plunged down again, until she was sitting on him and full of his shaft, then up again. One distant part of her mind noted almost humorously that this was better exercise than her usual daily program and that her thighs might feel it tomorrow. But the majority of her consciousness was concentrated on where their bodies were joined and the exquisite sensations her exercise was creating.

One of Avon's hands left her hips and went to the nipple of one of her full breasts. Soolin bared her teeth at the multiplying sensations that threatened to overwhelm her. She had to make sure he came first, or she might not be able to move once her own orgasm overtook her.

Making sure she could balance on her knees and one hand, she curled the fingers of her other hand at the root of Avon's cock, just at the point where their bodies joined.

Avon gasped.

"Yes." As she moved her body up, she moved her hand as well, caressing him with her hand when his shaft wasn't in her body. His breathing quickened and the hand that had been on her breast wandered up and down her body, as if not sure where to rest.

Good, she was back in control.

Well, barely. His hand seemed to find direction again, gliding over her stomach down to her clitoris. "I thought you were going to leave this to me." Her voice was not very steady.

But neither was his. "Are you complaining?"

"I'll let you know in a minute." She plunged up and down in a quickening pace, letting her hand slip back to caress his testicles, then squeeze them gently.

She heard a strangled sound from the body below her. "Are you complaining?" she managed to ask.

"I'll let you know - "

Now. He let her know by his body moving upward one final time, now with both hands on her hips to hold her in place as he came. And just in time. She let her grip on herself ease and found herself convulsing just moments after Avon's orgasm had finished.

A moment later, she rolled off of him, every muscle and bone in a state of relaxation, wondering if she should go back to her own room. If she had worn out Avon enough, he'd just go to sleep and not notice where she was, and she was certainly in no mood to move.

"Avon?" She touched his shoulder tentatively. If it looked like he was about to wake up, she'd leave.

Avon's head turned on the pillow, and the slightest of smiles touched his lips. "Tarrant," he said. His eyelashes fluttered, as if he were undecided as to whether fall into unconsciousness or awaken to talk to his partner.

Or who his subconscious thought was his partner.

Tarrant?

"Shhhh," Soolin ran her hand lightly over his sweat-dampened hair. She was suddenly wide awake, but felt strongly it was better if Avon were not. It would be much better if he didn't realize what he had just said. Odd, that she wasn't insulted... she had done the work and it seemed he didn't even remember who his bed partner had been.

On the other hand, it seemed that on some level or another he had given her a measure of trust, something harder to come by with Avon than a mere sexual compliment.

She'd take that.

On yet a third hand, she could be mistaken in what Avon had meant. It hadn't sounded like he'd said Tarrant's name in his flight deck voice, but she could be mistaken.

As she kept stroking his hair, Avon seemed to fall into a deep sleep, which was good, because he'd certainly just given her a lot to think about. She settled down against the pillow, not ceasing her soothing movements, while her mind tried to make some sense of what she'd just heard.

One thing she knew: if she had wanted to take care of Avon, it seemed like the job had just got a lot more complicated than she had originally planned on.

This is odd. I'm not in pain. Though there does seem to be pain around here somewhere. Tarrant stared down at the glass in his hand. He had a feeling the lack of pain had to do with the soma Vila had kept pouring in his glass while they ate dinner.

Dinner was over, though. Tarrant had a vague memory of Vila clearing away the plates and putting them outside the door, then coming back to pour him yet another glass of soma. He had nothing to look at on the table now besides his glass and Orac, which was providing a display of pretty lights. More lights than he remembered Orac having, come to think of it.

I wonder if I'm drunk. He hadn't been drunk very often in his young life--a pilot's reflexes wouldn't stand for too many infusions of alcohol. But since he'd once again refused the painkillers Vila had offered, it seemed to him that the only candidate left that would make him feel like this was the soma. Can't make a habit of this, he thought muzzily, but while it lasts, the feeling of euphoria is rather nice. No wonder Vila favors the stuff.

Vila. It hurt just a little, somewhere off in the distance, that it was Vila who was taking care of him, and not Avon. Never mind, though. He and Avon had lost one another a long time ago and he shouldn't be poking at that old wound now. Once he was well, probably it wouldn't hurt him at all.

Probably.

It occurred to him for the first time that he was thinking "when" he was well, not "if." He sensed that he'd turned a corner, that he was healing. He reflected, with more than a bit of surprise, that it hadn't hurt much when Vila had cleaned him up. A first for that since the torturers had gotten through with him.

Or maybe his pain threshold had just gotten high enough that he hadn't noticed.

Either way, he would soon be able to function. And when they got a ship, he'd be able to pilot it. His fingers moved reflexively, as if on the controls of a ship. Now he could be a help--to Avon, a small voice whispered--instead of an encumbrance. To the whole crew, he insisted to himself. He had to stop thinking in terms of a relationship to Avon that didn't exist.

Think of something else, he thought to himself. Look at the pretty lights.

Vila came into his line of sight. He picked up the bottle and looked at the level, then at Tarrant's glass. "That should be enough to kill any amount of pain. Time to put you to bed... you don't want to be stale drunk when we take delivery of our new ship."

Tarrant stumbled a bit as he got to his feet, grabbing the back of his chair for balance. A new ship. Something for him to look forward to, at last.

If he couldn't be Avon's lover, he could at least be Avon's pilot.

Avon's pilot again.

Vila tucked the covers around Tarrant's shoulders, and wandered back into the main room of the suite. If he remembered correctly, Tarrant had left quite a bit of soma in the bottle. Shame how young men couldn't hold their liquor these days, but on the other hand, he wouldn't mind putting up his feet and polishing off the remains.

He'd just curled his fingers around the bottle when the com dinged. If this is Avon wanting Orac back, he can just go to... "Yes?"

Dayna's voice came over the com, sounding a bit concerned. "Vila, have you seen Soolin? I just woke up and found she isn't anywhere in our suite."

If Soolin wanted her to know about seeing Avon, she would have told her. On the other hand, if she didn't bother to make an excuse, why should I? Not that the scene he'd walked in on looked terribly romantic. "She was paying Avon a visit earlier tonight. Probably she's still there."

Dayna sounded a bit puzzled. "Oh, that's all right, then."

Vila found himself pleased by her attitude. At least, she wasn't jealous of Avon or Soolin. Not that it meant he could get anywhere with her... he'd tried that before without any notable success.

"How's Tarrant doing?" He couldn't tell whether she was covering embarrassment over worrying about Soolin or whether she wanted to talk.

"Tarrant's fine. We'll have to keep him away from the soma, though. Do you know he snores when he's drunk?"

"I don't think I've ever seen him drunk," she sounded surprised and even a little impressed. "That was a good idea, since he won't take the painkillers."

He felt absurdly pleased by her praise. She seemed reluctant to cut the connection, and he certainly didn't mind spinning out the conversation. It was a bit lonely, with just an unconscious pilot for company. Oh, and Orac, but he'd have to be desperate to chat with that electronic pain in the rear. "How are you doing?"

"Fine. I just woke up, and didn't feel like I could really relax without knowing where everyone was. It feels strange, not to know, after all of us being squeezed together in that other hotel." She sounded puzzled and a bit embarrassed by the admission.

"Enjoy it while you can. We'll probably be squeezed together on the ship. I doubt that Avon managed to get us a luxury yacht." He wouldn't mind being at close quarters with Dayna, but having the others there would rather cramp his style.

"Listen, I've been meaning to ask you something for awhile, but I didn't want to with the others around..." Her voice was low and hesitant, giving the impression of intimacy, even though they were separated by several walls and a length of hallway.

"Ask away." He poured a small amount of soma into the empty glass on the counter. From her voice, it didn't sound like he'd enjoy the question, but what the hell, his life was pretty much an open book. He couldn't think of any secrets he needed to keep from Dayna.

"What happened between you and Avon?"

Damn. This was a secret he wanted to keep from Dayna. From all his crewmates, come to that. "Between me and Avon?" he echoed. Maybe he could dodge around the query by playing dumb.

"You know what I mean. You always sniped at him, but you never were actually angry at him before." She paused, and he could hear the slight crackle of the com around the silence between the two rooms. "He's not angry with you, that I can tell, but he knows why you're angry with him. Can you tell me?"

"Would you trust me if I told you that you're better off not knowing?"

"I'd say you sounded like my father." He heard a faint clink of glass in the background, as if she were putting down a tumbler like his own. In an odd sort of way, they were having a drink together.

I don't think of you as my daughter. Far from it. No, that wasn't something he could say aloud at this point. "You said it, yourself, when you talked about us being a small group that have been squeezed together. If I told you my side of the story, you'd feel like you'd have to find out Avon's side, and then tell us both what you think. You might feel like you'd have to take sides, and that wouldn't be good for the group."

"But what if it's something I need to know?"

If there was one person he wanted to tell, it would be Dayna. But Avon was at least occasionally protective of Dayna, and he didn't want to change that. "You know that Avon is ruthless and thinks of himself first. That's all you need to know; the rest is just feelings."

A moment of silence passed. There was a clinking of glass on both sides of the connection. "Your feelings matter to me, too."

"I'm glad," he said quietly. He was actually glad they were talking over a com. If they were together, he'd have felt compelled to make a pass at her, and that wasn't what he wanted right now. He wasn't quite sure what he wanted from Dayna, but sex was only part of it.

"You'd better go back to sleep now, Dayna," he said gently, "we have an early start tomorrow."

"You go to sleep, too." Dayna closed the connection.

Vila stared at the com and then at the glass in his hand. He could stay up, drinking and brooding, but on the other hand, Dayna had told him to go to sleep and it was rather a novel instruction for him to get. People usually told him to get up.

He put down the half full glass, and headed for his bedroom. Maybe I will get some sleep. Maybe I'll go to sleep and not dream of Malodaar at all.

That would be an even more novel experience.

The group checked out of the hotel better rested, better fed, and somewhat better clothed than they were when they'd checked in the day before. The hotel shop had furnished a small and overpriced array of casual clothes that Avon had declared suitable for the false identities they'd use when picking up their new ship. Their old clothes were packed away in the duffels after a trip through the hotel automatic cleaners. Even de-grimed and sweet smelling, no one could bear the thought of wearing them again. Not for awhile, at least.

The clothes made Avon feel out of place. But then, he was out of place, just by virtue of being alive and with his crewmates. He was now living on false pretenses. Blake had once quoted some other idiot who said that revolutionaries were dead men on furlough.

Soolin had extended his furlough, but that was all.

A mechanical voice called pre-boarding for those with private compartments, and Avon allowed Soolin to lead the small group onto the transport. He brought up the rear, thinking briefly about ducking out so he could carry out his original plan.

No. As tempting as that alternative was, he'd made a deal with Soolin. Besides, she wasn't stupid. She would see, sooner or later, that he was a liability, and he thought he could trust her to deal with liabilities to the group. He didn't think that sleeping with her would have affected her judgment, especially if he'd said what he vaguely remembered calling out...

Tarrant.

But she hadn't commented on it, so he'd assume he hadn't said anything intelligible.

As if drawn by just thinking his name, Avon's gaze went to Tarrant. He looked good, at least compared to what he'd looked like a few days before. But not compared to how he'd looked on Fargone. No, he needn't think back to that, it would only muddle his thinking. That was an emotional reaction he didn't need to deal with; there'd be an end to that soon enough.

They took seats on a semi-circular bench in the small private compartment. As usual, Vila sat as far from Avon as possible, Dayna by his side. Soolin took a place beside Dayna, leaving Tarrant to squeeze in beside Avon. Too close.

He held himself as still as possible, trying not to brush against the other man. This was no time to dig up old memories, though perhaps his night with Soolin made it inevitable.

Tarrant smiled at him, not seeming to notice Avon's efforts to avoid contact. "So, tell us about this ship."

"It's nothing special." Avon kept his eyes on the center of the compartment, not looking at Tarrant. "Just a small freighter. The big cartels buy them by the fleet, but they're also popular with independent operators in the outer planets. You probably haven't flown this exact model, but the operation shouldn't be too unlike the Scorpio. Since they're so common, it shouldn't be difficult to get spare parts when we do modifications." He looked at the duffel at Vila's feet that held parts of Plaxton's stardrive.

"Where do we go after we get the ship?" It was the question no one wanted to ask. Dayna was the only one young and naive enough to suppose that someone else might actually have the answer.

Avon leaned back against the padded seat, presenting Soolin with a look full of polite expectancy. Only she would know how much venom he put into it. So, you vetoed my plan. Let's see how you cope.

Soolin crossed her legs, giving him a cool glance in return. "Obviously, we need a bolthole in order to install the stardrive, but that doesn't mean we can't start installing the teleport in space. That might make looking for a base easier."

"Then back to the same old routine, is that it?" Vila sounded more resigned than sarcastic.

Not quite the same old, not if Soolin has the sense to figure she can do without me. That would be something for Vila to look forward to, if only he knew. Avon picked up a thin data sheet from the table, leafing negligently through it as if the conversation held no interest for him. Which was fairly near the truth.

"I've been thinking about Pylene 50," Soolin seemed to be answering Vila's question, but addressed the group as a whole. "After we get ourselves a new base, I think we should try to find a way to disseminate the formula for the vaccine as widely as possible."

Dayna leaned forward in her seat. "But weren't we doing that before?"

"Not hardly," Vila muttered. "Just to a selected audience. Selected by Avon."

Avon found himself drawn into the conversation despite himself. "It's a sophisticated formula, not something a home chemist could turn out."

Vila looked distinctly unimpressed. "You've never seen a prison distillery. Marvelous what motivated people can substitute for sophisticated equipment. And you've got to admit that people faced with Pylene 50 are going to be mighty motivated to avoid the stuff."

Avon raised an eyebrow. As a matter of fact, he had seen a few prison distilleries, before being shipped for Cygnus Alpha, and he didn't think a vaccine that caused blindness, as one of the distilleries had, would be considered preferable to pacification. "Fusel oil," he muttered to Vila.

Soolin stopped what promised to be a debate on the virtues of home-made alcohol. "Never mind that. We're just going to be distributing the formula, not worrying about passing out the actual vaccine. First we need the ship and, preferably, a base outside of Federation territory."

Avon found himself impressed despite himself. Perhaps it wasn't the best possible plan, but Soolin had come up with a goal that would keep the group together and in motion. "Such bases will become harder to get," he pointed to an article in the data sheet spread out on his lap. "The Federation has taken over three more systems in the last two weeks."

"True," Soolin said coolly. "But if we get the formula for Pylene-50 out there, the expansion should stop or at least slow considerably. And there's still plenty of planets that were either deserted after the Andromedan War or that were never part of the Federation, like Xenon. We'll just have to look around, once we have the ship and the stardrive attached to it, so we can go further than freighters usually can."

Better yet if we can tap into a pre-existing network of resistance fighters. And without me you could do that right now. He looked at Soolin, and she shook her head slightly, as if the silent message had been received and rejected.

Tarrant entered the debate for the first time. "Before we find a distant base, we'll need to find something a little closer to civilization to do the stardrive installation. Probably the freighter won't come with anything but a few tools and if we go beyond Federation space, we might not find what we need. I suggest we find a repair facility on the edge of Federated territory, the sort of place that will rent you a space and tools to do the job."

He sounded more himself than he had since GP. Maybe that's what he'd needed all along: the prospect of a ship to fly seemed to do more for him than any amount of painkillers.

Avon was almost tempted to stay alive long enough to see how it worked out once they got that ship. But, no, this was the ideal time to make an exit. Tarrant wouldn't need him, once he got the ship.

None of them needed him now.

"If I'm still contagious, it will serve you bloody well right," Rieesan grabbed a handkerchief off the bedside table and coughed into it, managing a weak glare over the square of cloth. She hadn't calculated this particular downside of not meeting with Kaeta; it made her a stationary target. And she felt too wretched to try to exaggerate her symptoms; she didn't want to cough any more than necessary.

Lieesb Rowan made himself at home in the most comfortable chair in Rieesan's bedroom, appearing to settle in for a lengthy chat. "Doesn't matter. You're not a wheat producer, and thus not likely to accuse me of being a monopolist or incompetent."

"I'm sure I can think of something to accuse you of." Lieesb's visit wasn't entirely unexpected. For years, Kaeta and Lieesb had used Rieesan as an informal arbiter and go-between of their not-infrequent quarrels. This one was a bit more serious than the usual, however.

"I suppose Kaeta's talked to you already," he said, a bit morosely.

"That's a reasonable supposition." Rieesan was fond of Lieesb, but she couldn't imagine being married to him. The frequent fireworks between Kaeta and Lieesb might amuse them, but they didn't suit her constitution. She supposed there was no way to hurry him to the point, so she might as well make herself comfortable for a long conversation.

"She doesn't trust me anymore."

He'd used Rieesan for a sounding-board often before, but the complaint had never been quite this stark. Annoyed as she was, she had to give him credit: he'd come often enough looking for support and sympathy, and sometimes as a conduit when a direct argument with Kaeta hadn't proven fruitful, but never had he been anything but loyal to Kaeta. Another man might be dropping hints that Rowan needed a new matriarch rather than a new CEO, an irritating habit that she'd heard Grav Enderor had fallen into recently, but Lieesb wasn't interested in playing family power broker. He was genuinely distressed.

Another coughing spell sent her back to the pile of handkerchiefs. She wished he'd waited until she felt better to dump this on her lap; she was sure she'd feel more sympathetic if she could just draw three successive breaths in peace. However...

"She trusts you as much as you've just proved you trust her. And since you two have gotten along on that basis since she hit twenty-five, I expect you'll be able to muddle along until retirement on the same basis." She presented him with another measured glare. "Whether the onlookers will last that long is another question."

"She's talking about retiring me right now." Lieesb ran one hand through his cropped platinum hair. "And maybe she's right. Maybe I'm losing my touch."

Time to introduce some practicalities into the situation. Lieesb was an intelligent and capable man, but where Kaeta was concerned ... "Do you see a prospective replacement on the horizon or are you just having a crisis of confidence?"

"Not that I know of. But maybe I wouldn't know. I messed up with Lewitt, didn't know what he was doing to his ward."

"Uh-hah. And you've been fretting about it ever since, even though Lewitt was damaged fairly irreparably before either of you were out of wardship. And he's not part of your family and thus not your responsibility."

Lieesb clenched his fists together. "But he needed help and I could have done something if I had only known. I should have guessed. I thought if he could stay together with the boy, he could straighten himself out."

"You had it backwards. If he could have straightened himself out, he could have stayed with the boy. " They had hashed through all this before, but Rieesan could see why Lieesb had a hard time letting it go. Lieesb had the sense of responsibility that went with good warders and good CEOs. Although he and Lewitt were close to the same age, Lewitt in certain respects had been allowed to never grow up, and Lieesb had felt some of the responsibility for him that a warder might.

"But I made things worse ." He seemed determined to hang on to his share of the blame.

"Well, yes." She shrugged. Hopefully, he hadn't sunk so deep into self-blame that he couldn't take the truth. As she knew from a lifetime of medical research, sometimes one did one's best and the patient got worse. Not all drugs or human help worked as advertised. Sometimes bad luck trumped good intentions.

"You knew what was going to happen. If you'd only told me..."

It was nice to see him rejecting guilt, but that didn't mean she had to accept it. "I didn't know anything you didn't know. If I'd told you what I guessed would happen, and as I recall you didn't ask, you would have nodded and looked serious and gone ahead with what you planned in the first place. And it might have worked if not for the off-worlders, which is something neither one of us could have predicted." Because she liked Lieesb, she decided not to tell him what she thought the odds were the relationship would have worked out even if the off-worlders had stayed off-world.

Lieesb shook his head, sinking back into his original state of guilt. "Lewitt tried to kill himself, do you know that? And he very nearly succeeded."

Everyone on Fargone had heard some version of the story. Gossip traveled fast with a fairly small population, and efforts to hush up scandals rarely did more than increase the diversity of rumors.

"Yes, he was serious: using vertical rather than horizontal cuts isn't intuitive. He did his homework." She knew what had shaken Lieesb the most wasn't finding Lewitt in a pool of blood or even hearing the other man curse him for interfering. It was finding that Lewitt's family was equally annoyed at his intervention. A change in subject might be in order. "As you know, I'm not a wheat producer, so you'll have to explain how this particular tragedy is connected to your current problems. Did Lewitt's attempted suicide cause the wheat to go bad?"

Lieesb's fair skin tended to color when he got angry, and she could see the red go halfway up his face before he figured out she was trying to distract him. "It's connected in that I'm the CEO of Rowan. It's connected to my competence."

Maybe now that he'd vented some guilt, he could listen to reason. If he listened quickly enough, she could still get a nap in this afternoon. "Would Raeton do a better job at handling the wheat crisis?"

"No," he said, almost automatically. "He doesn't have enough hands-on experience in agriculture. All he has is the academic end, so far. And he's happier doing research papers than arguing with suppliers."

"How about Trantona?"

"She's a biologist. A first-rate plant geneticist, but she's never negotiated a contract."

"Shelbe?"

He hesitated on that name, mulling it over. "Doesn't think far enough ahead yet. She's good enough to plan next year's harvest, but not the next year and the year after that. I'm training her to read simulations and I think she'll be better than me once she learns to look at the long range picture."

Rieesan settled back against the pillows. "Which do you think is more likely, that you find some sort of solution for the wheat problem or that Kaeta has hidden somewhere a CEO with all your abilities and none of your weaknesses?"

Lieesb pulled himself out of the depths of his chair. "Why is it that a vote of confidence from you always feels like I've been beaten with a rubber hose?"

"When I get good enough at it, you'll stop coming back." She turned over her pillow, trying for a cool spot. "Did you leave the privacy sign on my door when you ignored it and came in?"

He swung open the door, took a graphite stick, and wrote "She really means it," on the sign. And then walked out.

Unless Sharah called in with a trip report, maybe she could finally get some sleep.

Dayna stepped through the airlock of their new ship, resisting the impulse to look over her shoulder. Avon had done a superb job of convincing the authorities that they were the party who had ordered the ship, and the bored clerk who had turned over the papers had shown no sign of thinking he was handing over the transportation to a group of wanted criminals. Still, the back of her neck crawled, as if she were being watched.

Nerves. They were so close to getting clean away.

Thankfully, she put down the duffel--the bits and pieces of the stardrive it held were heavy--on the first available surface she came across. "So, Tarrant, is it up to your standards?"

Tarrant was already running his fingers over the instruments, his face lit up with the first signs of pleasure she'd seen in him since--well, before Xenon Base had been destroyed. "It's a pretty basic model. It's the kind of ship people buy and then modify when they get the funds. The stardrive should be easy to install. Plaxton intended it for a variety of ships, since she was doing it for the Space Rats. The teleport might be a little trickier. But we can worry about that when we get out into space."

"That's fine with me." Was it just yesterday she'd walked into the convenience store to get ice for Tarrant, thinking they'd have no future except further suffering and death? How quickly everything had changed. In the last year, they'd had little reason for optimism, but a small bud of that emotion had appeared. If they'd escaped from the Federation and then the awfulness that'd been Rusthoven, surely there was reason to believe that the downhill slide had reversed itself.

She caught Vila's eye from across the flight deck, and they shared a grin. He'd been the tidiest of them all on Rusthoven, since he'd been the one responsible for alternately purchasing and stealing their supplies and medicine, but even he looked different. Well, maybe that was it--he'd been responsible on Rusthoven and that hadn't rested well on Vila's shoulders. Now he looked like he'd had a load taken off them. She was glad. Vila's bitter pessimism hadn't seemed right. He'd always been resilient, always been the one with the joke or a magic trick in the worst of times, and she hadn't realized until it was gone how much she had depended on that optimism.

The crew had dispersed itself on the flight deck in a way that reminded Dayna of the Scorpio, Avon in the station beside Tarrant, and Soolin and Vila in the stations in front of them. The flight deck was not unlike Scorpio's, she noticed, though it lacked the handy spot for the teleport that Dorian had built into that ship.

Vila wasn't the only one who looked better. Tarrant's bruises seemed to have faded, or perhaps it was only the effect of his expression of relief to be at his proper station again. The crease that Soolin had acquired between her brows in recent days had smoothed out and even Avon seemed more relaxed, less--well, spooky--than he had been. The night's rest had done them all good.

"Don't forget we still have enemies after us." Avon addressed the remark to Soolin, as if it should have a special meaning to her. It didn't seem to be an order to Tarrant to hurry up, but more of a private reminder of some sort. Not for the first time, Dayna wondered what she and Avon had been up to the night before. She had had a few moments alone with Soolin, but the echo of Vila's voice telling her there were things she shouldn't know had stopped her from asking.

Anyway, if it had just been sex, surely Soolin would have told her.

Tarrant reacted as if Avon had spoken to him, but seemed amused rather than insulted. Of course, Dayna thought, nothing could have destroyed Tarrant's good mood today obviously, anything and everything was being filtered through his pleasure at flying again. "I'm familiarizing myself with the ship as quickly as I can. And we're still waiting for clearance--I thought it would be an amusing experience to actually take off with legal clearance from traffic control, instead of people chasing us out of the atmosphere."

Avon looked a bit startled, then a moment later seemed to realize how Tarrant must have taken his remark. "Yes, it would be a nice change to leave without incident."

Vila twisted around in his chair to face Tarrant. "Are you sure Tarrant knows how to leave a place without causing an incident?"

"Well, I think I might remember how."

That wasn't Dayna's experience, though, so she watched superstitiously as each light in the preflight check turned green. Just three to go and we'll be out of here. Tarrant leaned over and adjusted a dial on Avon's station. As long as there was no one after them, they were probably okay. If there was one thing Tarrant knew how to do it was fly a ship and from their experiences, almost any ship he could put his hands on the controls of.

A voice crackled over the intercom system. "Ship 67890712X is cleared for takeoff."

Dayna let go a breath she didn't know she was holding. "When are we going to change the name? It doesn't exactly trip off the tongue." She was proud to note that her voice wasn't in the least shaky.

"What's wrong with the name?" Avon was as straightfaced as he ever was, but Dayna noted with a slight shock that he was actually joking.

"Maybe that's what Avon's mother called him," Vila suggested. Dayna raised an eyebrow; it was the first time Vila had made a joke in Avon's direction for... well, since before GP, at the very least.

"Let's debate the subject when we get into space." Tarrant touched the intercom switch. "Acknowledged. We're lifting in thirty seconds." The engine noise, a slight purr in the background until then, changed key to a higher, more purposeful note. Dayna saw Tarrant's lips move silently, counting out the seconds until takeoff.

Dayna double checked her safety straps, and saw the others do the same. None of them could quite believe they were getting away with this, but it appeared they were. "One," Tarrant said aloud, and Dayna felt herself pushed back against her seat as the ship left the docking bay. They all sat silent for a few moments, watching the planet dwindle before them on the screen, waiting for signs of pursuit. Nothing. All was blessedly silent.

"It appears," Tarrant said, with more than a trace of his old cockiness, "that I have gotten the ship out without incident. Pity I didn't put a bet down on it."

Dayna glanced back at the top row of lights at her station, which echoed the master systems indicators at Tarrant's place. They were flickering quickly and rhythmically, as they should be at this point in the journey. It did indeed look like they were getting away without incident. She glanced around to look at Vila. He should have had a comeback to Tarrant's comment by now, perhaps about his own knowledge of what to bet on or not.

But Vila wasn't speaking at all. He was looking at Tarrant's station with a stricken look on his face, and she followed his gaze just in time to see Tarrant sway off his chair and hit the deck.

"What the hell--?" She was on her feet and headed for Tarrant, but not as fast as Avon, who was kneeling at the pilot's side by the time she got there. Tarrant's limbs were flailing around uncontrollably, and she saw the Avon had grasped his head, to keep him from hitting it against the deck.

"He's having some sort of seizure," Vila had reached the perimeter of the little group, and grasped at his legs, pinning them to the deck so he wouldn't bruise himself against the pilot's station.

"It is like the drug reaction he had under interrogation," Avon said tersely. "But he hasn't been drugged."

At this point, Tarrant's body went limp. Dayna was grateful he'd stopped flailing around, but this stillness was almost as bad as what had come before. She tried desperately to remember anything she had heard about seizures, but almost the only thing she could remember were horror stories of bones breaking under the pressure of muscle contracting. As far as she could tell, though, this hadn't happened in this case.

Soolin had taken over Tarrant's station, but now looked over her shoulder at the little group on the floor. "I've heard that flashing lights can touch off seizures."

"Yes," Avon agreed. "If you're susceptible. He never was before."

"He hasn't been exposed to displays of flashing lights since they drugged him," Vila pointed out.

"You're talking about permanent neurological damage," Avon said flatly.

"I'm not a doctor, but I think we need one." Vila wasn't sniping, for once. There was a serious look on his face she'd seldom seen there before.

Soolin spoke up matter-of-factly. "If it was the lights, that means he can't fly anymore. He can't be left near the computers."

Dayna absently smoothed down the fabric of Tarrant's tunic. "Do you know of a doctor that wouldn't turn us in to the Federation?" she asked Soolin.

"A few, but none I'd trust someone's brain to. They're the type that can dress blaster burns, minor things like that. Avon?"

He looked around, almost as if wishing someone else would come up with an answer for him. Tarrant seemed to be coming back into consciousness, and Avon's hands moved in his hair, almost in a soothing motion. He seemed to be resigning himself to something, but Dayna didn't have a clue to what. "Yes," he said after a very long pause, "I know of someone."

*

Kaeta sat in front of the mirror, dragging a comb through her hair, trying to feel in the least festive. In just a few hours, she'd be the only one of the troika to be at the First Fruits Festival. Rieesan was still sick and Sharah still off-planet. It did not promise to be an enjoyable occasion. All she had to do was appear calm, cool, in control, on good terms with everyone, ready and eager to assist everyone with their trouble, and not like she wanted to run through the mansion, brandishing a club, screaming "go home and leave me in peace."

Usually, Lieesb calmed her down before these social occasions, never her favorite part of the job. Failing him--and this time, his presence definitely wouldn't be a calming one--Aurora took over his duty. So where was she? She had promised to help her pick out the dress for the party, but it was perilously close to show-time and there was no Aurora in sight.

Someone knocked on the door. Well, that meant it wasn't Aurora, who usually entered unheralded, like a small whirlwind. "Who is it?" she called impatiently.

"Aurora."

Correction, she entered like a whirlwind, unless there was bad news. In which case, she usually sent Lieesb. Unless Lieesb dug in his heels, which meant it was unusually bad news. "Come in."

Aurora didn't look ready for the party. In fact, she looked like she'd been interrupted precisely halfway through the dressing process. Her dress was pulled on, but her hair was still a tangled mass of curls, and the making up hadn't even started.

"Okay, how bad is it?" Sounding encouraging was more than she could manage at the moment, but she did try to sound at least civil.

"Lieesb just got a transmission from off-world," Aurora said carefully.

"He still can't get the fungicide, is that it?" Well, that wasn't too awful. They knew it would be a problem and she didn't expect that it would be solved so soon.

"No, that's not it. We got a message from Kerr Avon."

Well, it was interesting that he was still alive, and perhaps not so bad. At some point, she might be willing to set up another meeting, but that would have to wait until the current crisis was dealt with.

"He's two hours out and wants clearance to land." Aurora rushed the sentence, so it came out almost like a single word.

It took a moment for Kaeta to tangle the sense of what Aurora had said.

What? "Tell him he can't have it," Kaeta said between clenched teeth, and felt proud of herself for not adding and shoot him out of the sky. Even though they didn't have armaments to actually carry forth the order.

"Lieesb tried to tell him that." Aurora came over and perched on the edge of the bed. "But he said it's a medical emergency and he's willing to pay."

"Pay what?" She doubted that Avon had a load of fungicide on his ship, which would be the only temptation she'd fall prey to at the moment.

"Um, he said everything he has is on the table."

Kaeta and Aurora exchanged a long look. She had told Aurora most of the tale of Avon's last visit, and so they both appreciated that Avon must be fairly desperate to make an offer of that sort. And she had to admit, what he had might make a fairly interesting offer, depending on how desperate he truly was. Teleport and a super computer might be nice for them, but it was life and death for Avon. If he's willing to even talk about giving them up, it must be one hell of a medical emergency.

On one hand, a medical emergency that bad might be a good thing to stay away from... his idea of that might be that a lot of people were chasing him with the idea of doing bodily harm. On the other hand, what was one more problem compared to the pile she had already? "If it's a medical problem, I think I'd better call Rieesan first, don't you?"

"She's sick," Aurora reminded her.

"Oh, people have been telling her that for years, including me." She put through the call on the nearby com.

After a long pause, Rieesan picked up. The picture on the com pickup didn't look good. "How many days would I have to be dead to convince people that I'm unavailable?"

"All I want you to do is take a call," Kaeta said soothingly. "From Avon." The last two words somewhat destroyed the effect she'd been going for, of course.

"Did I say days. I meant weeks. Give me the code."

Kaeta hung up, satisfied that for once she'd been able to pass one of her problems to someone else. She looked Aurora over critically. "Okay. Now you can help me pick out a dress, comb your hair, and we'll go look serene at people. Tell Lieesb I said I want him to act confident or I'll rip his heart out with my bare hands."

Aurora went over to the closet and looked at the assortment critically. "Maybe the red would be appropriate..."

Life wasn't fair. Tarrant had been accustomed to that truism for a great many years, but never had the truism seemed quite this true.

He couldn't fly. Correction, he couldn't fly unless he was under the influence of drugs. Avon had told him the only reason Orac's lights hadn't touched him off, back at the hotel on Rusthoven, was because he'd been on soma at the time. Irony, for a pilot. That he couldn't even go onto the flight deck unless he was in some way impaired. Couldn't even glance at the station that he was trained to sit in.

Hell, for him.

No, true hell would be going to Fargone, where they'd poke and prod him, give him drugs he didn't want, and all the time he'd be on the planet where he and Avon had...

No. And the price was unacceptable. Leaning back against the bunk in his tiny quarters--away from the flight deck, away from everything that mattered--he thought about that price again.

"Everything's on the table?" Soolin had protested. "It's reality," Avon said wearily. "We don't have much leverage."

She'd tilted her head for a moment, then nodded, accepting Avon's statement. Accepting that they might have to give up Orac, the teleport, the stardrive, everything they'd been able to save from the GP debacle. Perhaps it should have made him feel good, that they were willing to give up so much for him, Instead, it just made him feel ill. Like the idea of going to Fargone.

Besides, chances were the Fargoneans wouldn't be able to fix him. Not the way he needed to be fixed. They were civilians, aggressively so, with no idea of the kind of reflexes that made for an elite Federation pilot. Probably they could make him normal, but a person with merely normal reflexes didn't belong in the pilot's station, not when it counted. And he doubted they'd understand that, any more than they understood why he and Avon couldn't stay together.

Abruptly, he pushed himself up off the bunk, unable to lie still. The cabin felt stifling, like the vision of his future. What could he be if he wasn't a pilot? He found himself bumping up against a bulkhead, and he pressed his forehead against the cold metal, trying to block out the feeling of despair.

They must be wrong, they must be mistaken. Orac had confirmed the diagnosis, but even supercomputers could make mistakes. It was a fluke. Just a few blinking lights couldn't end his days at a pilot, couldn't send him back to the last place in the galaxy he wanted to be. That couldn't be right.

That's it, it was a mistake. And he could prove them wrong, so they could change their course. Go anywhere else, anywhere in the universe but Fargone. Places there would be no useless civilians doing medical procedures on him and no drugs and no memories of a relationship destined to failure from the start. Tarrant shrugged out of his robe, and started to reach for the neat jumpsuit that Vila had purchased for him at the hotel.

No. He put the robe back on. Better to test this in the privacy of his cabin. Then if he had a problem, no one need know.

Since ship 67890712X wasn't a passenger vessel, there were small stations with readouts in each of the tiny cabins. Avon had covered over the screen after his seizure on the flight deck, but it would be a simple matter to strip it down, switch it on, and... see what happened. Now that he knew what to look for, the chances were he could overcome the tendency to convulse. After all, he'd trained in conditions the human body wasn't really designed for, like those early experiences in extreme acceleration. It hadn't been precisely enjoyable, but he'd learned to keep control of his body under unpleasant conditions.

Surely, this couldn't be much different.

He sat down carefully in front of the screen, drawing off the cover, then slowly bringing the readouts to life. This would work. He'd been trained for this since the day he'd gone into the Academy. All he had to do was be careful and keep in control.

Except that the all-too-familiar lights--lights that were usually friendly and welcoming to a pilot--seemed to stab through his forehead and twist something in his brain. His hands couldn't quite reach the controls and he seemed to be falling, falling. Something hard hit his side and arm and legs--the deck, he was lying on the deck and all his limbs seemed to be twisting, and then...

I failed, he thought. And: At least the others shouldn't find out. But, just before he lost total control: I'm being terribly loud. Then everything went black.

By the time Vila had gotten through the latch to Tarrant's cabin--not long, but seemingly an eternity when accompanied by the thrashing sounds inside--the boy had finished trying to kill himself, and lay in a pallid pile on the floor, long limbs outstretched, face rather frighteningly still.

But still in relatively good shape, no thanks to his stupid experiments.

Before helping to pick him off the deck, Vila looked for re-opened injuries or, worse, a broken rib that could've punctured a lung. From the looks of things, he'd flung himself enough to come up with one or both. The only sign he found was a spot of blood on the floor that seemed to come from the younger man's mouth. For a moment, Vila's breath caught, bringing up visions of blood bubbling up from some internal injury, before finding the cut on his lip that appeared to be Tarrant's only wound.

Soolin had remained on the flight deck at the pilot's station, but Vila and Dayna managed to haul Tarrant onto his bunk--if rather untidily, one leg dragging on the deck--while Avon painstakingly not only turned off the blinking lights on the control panel, but took the panel apart, making sure nothing but the viewscreen would work without some pretty extensive work, not to mention the parts that Avon put into his pocket for safekeeping.

Vila would've pointed out that they'd soon be on Fargone, so that Tarrant would be off the ship, beyond making further dangerous tests, but something about Avon's pale face stopped him. Not that he really believed Avon cared about his fellow man, but still... well, if his conscience was bothering him, it was about time, that was all Vila could say.

Or maybe his conscience only operated on fellow Alphas.

"Could one of you stay with Tarrant?" Avon didn't look up from the last touches he was putting on the dismantled control panel. "I'm told someone from Fargone--perhaps someone from a family specializing in medicine--is going to get in contact with us and I need to be on the flight deck to take the call."

"I'll stay." Vila spoke before Dayna could even open her mouth. The less time he spent in company with Avon, the better he would like it, even if the time were spent with a suicidal idiot. Dayna looked at him curiously, obviously catching a hint of his feelings, but obediently filed out after Avon, though he caught her giving him another long look before the door slid closed behind her.

She was going to ask him about it again soon, he could see that. And he didn't know if he could avoid the question again. Somehow, they'd become closer since GP, and the temptation of an understanding ear, especially hers, might become too much.

A groan from the bunk distracted him from his meditations. He filled a basin at the cabin's tiny sink, and brought it and a cloth over to where his crewmate was unhappily opening his eyes to what, from the look on his face, appeared to be whole new vistas of pain. Vila soaked the cloth in the basin, wrung it briefly and slopped the result on Tarrant's forehead, feeling a bit less than sympathetic. "What did you have to go and do that for?" he asked brusquely.

From the look on Tarrant's face, the sound of Vila's voice was like someone shouting at the victim of a hangover. Well, good. Maybe he wouldn't try a stunt like that again.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time." Tarrant put a hand to his head, as though to keep it in place.

"It wasn't" Vila replied shortly. "Every time you have a seizure, it makes it that much easier to kindle the next one." Vila turned away to pick up a glass from the table. "And each one is probably going to be a bit worse, in case you haven't noticed. You want some painkillers now?"

"No," Tarrant said, almost absently. "Just some water. And how do you know that?"

"Dr. Orac." He poured water in the glass, then slipped his arm around Tarrant's shoulders to hold him up enough to drink it. "You could have waited until we got to Fargone. We're not far out now."

He should've kept his mouth shut. Now he'd hear how Fargonean medicine would not be up to curing him and keeping his pilot's reflexes and other such idiocy. He'd argued at what Vila considered tedious length when Avon had revealed their destination. It wasn't as if they had a choice. If Tarrant kept having seizures every time he saw some blinking lights...

"Maybe you're right." Tarrant's voice was quiet, discouraged. "Even though I'm useless as I am, I still want to live. Isn't that odd? I didn't think I would."

Vila almost laughed. That was an Alpha for you, thinking you had a choice. Of course, being an Alpha, mostly he did. A useless Delta wouldn't have to worry about killing himself; someone else would do it for him. In fact, he didn't need to be useless, just inconvenient.

As inconvenient as he'd been over Malodaar.

He swallowed a bitter retort. In ways, the boy was still naive, despite everything he been through. No reason to expect him to understand. "Nah, it's not odd, wanting to keep living. What's crazy is to pull suicidal stunts like you just did."

Tarrant actually flushed, another proof of his youth if one was needed. "If the others don't know about this..."

Vila set the glass back on the bedside table. "What makes you think that? You made enough noise to get the entire flight deck into here, trying to make sure you didn't hurt yourself. They just left me doing nurse duty while they wait for the call from Fargone."

As if cued, the com chimed and Soolin's voice came through. "We've just been given permission to land---where?--oh, at the Rowan plantation. They're having some sort of local celebration, but Avon's to talk to one of the planetary leaders once that's over. Is everything all right back there?"

Tarrant made a slight strangled sound, which Vila ignored.

"He's awake and his head is as on tight as it ever was." As the com channel chimed closed, Vila got up and walked over to the control panel. "Avon's made sure you can't kill yourself with the pretty blinking lights again, but we can watch the landing." Without waiting for a reply, he flipped the switch, and a green and blue planet filled the viewscreen, steadily growing closer. "Pretty much as you remember?"

He waited through several moments of silence before looking around to find Tarrant just staring at the screen. The smile he came up with seemed oddly forced. "Well, we crash landed the last time, so I didn't have the chance to do any sightseeing as we went down."

"Right. I'd almost forgotten that. Your last visit was pretty disastrous, then."

Tarrant lay back against the pillows, closing his eyes. Odd, Tarrant usually liked to watch a landing, even when he wasn't actually performing it. "Yes. Disastrous is one word for it."

Dayna couldn't stay still.

She'd been ushered into a bedchamber/sitting room almost the size of the flight deck of their new spaceship, furnished in a style popular before the death of her mother, if her comparison of the memory of her father's old photos to the fittings of this room were correct. It had been dark by the time they'd landed, so she got only a vague impression of a quantity of monotonous flat fields of wheat and some sort of other vegetable--soy?--as they went from the ship to the house. Peering out the window gave the same sort of view, coupled with a cluster of lights presumably meant to light party goers to their destination.

The inside of the room enlightened her no further. Though the furnishings were out-of-date, they were luxurious enough to indicate that the room was usually occupied by honored guests; a good omen, perhaps. Dayna bounced a little on the bed, approving of its firmness, and cautiously regarded a selection of candies and pastries on a side table, set together with a decanter of what appeared to be wine. She saw no reason the Fargoneans should want to poison them, but decided, nonetheless, to put off tasting their food and drink until later.

Ten minutes completed her tour of the rest of the room: a parlor-like area with an inviting group of chairs, padded to make for comfortable conversations, a dumbwaiter presumably connecting to the mansion's kitchen (though Dayna thought an attack could also be launched through it and longed for a way to fasten it), and a neat attached bath with both large tub and shower. Five more minutes gave her another long look through the window at nothing but lights and crops, and a second tour among the furniture, and she began to feel she'd exhausted the possibilities of the room.

During her second tour she found a computer monitor that appeared to double as a viscast receiver. A quick tour of the available channels yielded several news programs which she supposed would be of interest to people with information she didn't have. No news of wars, crimes, plagues, and nothing she could identify immediately as propaganda. She also found several serial dramas of the type she'd seen on other planets, the sort full of complicated relationships that didn't need to be explained because most viewers had been watching for years. One drama involved a younger man and an older man having an intense but elliptical conversation, but she switched it off in frustration, since she couldn't figure out what they're being elliptical about. If I want that kind of conversation, I can ask Vila why he's angry with Avon.

Dayna heard a soft tap on the door. She froze for a moment, then thought to herself if the Fargoneans meant any harm they wouldn't bother to knock. Still... She went to the door, opening it quickly and standing to the side, poised to... Well, poised to knock Vila over the head, but she managed not to do so.

"Well, what do you think?" He came and closed the door behind him, as if he didn't realize he'd been in danger or, at any rate, didn't think it worth mentioning.

Dayna relaxed, feeling a trifle embarrassed. "So far, boring."

Vila nodded in agreement. "Nothing's going to happen until tomorrow. Everyone's too caught up with their party tonight, and Avon doesn't want to let Tarrant out of his sight until he talks to one of the muckity-mucks." He found his way to one of the more padded chairs and made himself at home.

Dayna sat opposite him. "They certainly don't seem to have much in the way of security. Have you noticed anything? I haven't seen so much as a guard."

"No guards. No hint of anything they might be guarding."

"Doesn't that seem strange to you? They should at least have bodyguards for the troika Avon told us about, shouldn't they?" Dayna had seen at least a dozen ways a moderately determined assassin could penetrate the room she was in, and the rest of the house that she'd passed through on the way to their room didn't look any more secure.

Vila shrugged. "That depends. It's a small planet, off the beaten path, and possibly assassination isn't a tradition here."

Dayna sneered, giving her best imitation of Avon. "I don't believe in paradise."

"Well, there's more to paradise than no assassins, I hope." Vila gave her a shadow of his familiar leer, something Dayna found she'd missed, oddly enough. "Since the government's family-based, killing one person just means someone else inherits. Which in a way would be a motive for murder, but if the families are fairly united they might not make a habit of it. Might settle most things by squabbling; that's the way my family did it."

Dayna looked up, slightly startled. She'd never heard him mention his family before. He could be right, but she hadn't had enough experience of family life to say. One needed more than one adult and two kids to make for a family squabble. "Maybe they just bore each other to death." She rose, and paced over to the windows and back again, feeling absurdly caged. She wasn't locked in, and the room was bigger than most spaceship cabins she'd ever had, but still... "Let's look around," she said abruptly.

"What are we looking for?" He showed very little disposition to get up from his comfortable seat.

She almost said, All information is useful. Then thought, no, Avon imitations are probably a bad idea right now. Instead she said.: "Aren't you curious? This is a huge house and we've only seen a very small portion of it."

"We've seen a nice bit." He got up to wander over to the refreshments table, and predictably poured himself a glass of wine. "Why do you want to go looking for trouble?"

"I want to find it before it comes looking for us." She gave the glass in his hand a look, but didn't--as she was tempted to--take it out of his hand. "But you don't have to come along."

Vila gave a martyred sigh, draining the glass and putting it aside with obvious regret. "I don't trust you not to blow something up if you get bored enough. Our hosts might not like it."

They slipped quietly out into the hall. It was empty enough, but in the distance Dayna could hear the muted chatter of a massed group of people that probably came from the party. If they could get close enough to eavesdrop, perhaps they could find out something useful. She motioned for Vila to follow and she went in the direction of the noise.

"That's probably the party over there. In case you've forgotten, we weren't invited." Vila took one of her arms, as if to nudge her in the other direction.

"I don't want to crash it, Vila. I just want to listen." She shook off his arm.

"Marvelous. You want to listen to other people eat and drink, when we could be back in our comfortable room, eating and drinking, ourselves. That wine was very good, you know." But he followed her as she went quietly down the hall toward the source of the bustle.

As she turned the corner to the main hall, a group of people came into the far end, laughing and chatting. Dayna immediately flattened herself against the wall, hoping not to be seen.

Vila spoke sharply: "Don't do that; they'll notice you if you go and act furtive. It's all right if they see you. You just don't want them to notice you."

She joined him in the middle of the hall, trying to look as casual as he did, but feeling horrible and conspicuous. But she could see that Vila was right. There was enough range of complexion and clothing style that they wouldn't stand out, though she could see that the dress was somewhat fancier than what the Scorpio crew had bought at the hotel. Still, they didn't seem to be looking in their direction, so it seemed to her that Vila's advice was good, at least in this case. Nonetheless, she looked around for a likely room to duck into and eavesdrop from; going through the crowd wasn't their best option.

Dayna heard a loud, banging crash, and she instinctively pulled Vila with her through the nearest door. She found herself in a large, brightly-lit room, populated by a number of people, all of whom had their attention elsewhere. She looked in their direction. The crowd was looking at something on the floor, and she tried to imagine what kind of bomb would do this damage. The liquid spreading on the floor was the wrong color for blood, though everyone looked horrified enough for that to be the case.

Vila leaned over and whispered in her ear: "We're in a kitchen. Someone's just dropped a tray. A big one, by the look of it." He looked perfectly composed, a state she felt far from herself.

But now that Vila had brought it to her attention, she could see though the conversation around whatever-it-was was animated and emotional, what actually was being said did not have to do with medics but rather with the palatability of the casualty. "We can just wash it off, put on some more sauce, and put it under the burner for a few minutes."

"That's disgusting. You can't feed it to the guests."

"I'm not going to feed it to the dogs."

At that moment, someone in the group noticed Vila and Dayna, and looked... well, guilty, as if they were some sort of food inspectors, she supposed. Or--come to think of it--guests.

Vila smiled ingratiatingly. "Can we help?"

The person who'd spoken last hesitated, obviously thinking of the questions he ought to be asking--Who are you? What are you doing here?--instead asked the questions that seemed more urgent to him. "Can you carve a 480 Genfowl?"

Dayna had no idea what the man was going on about, but Vila immediately said, "Like chicken, right?"

Relief and gratitude appeared all over the man's face. "Just like a chicken!" he agreed, taking Vila by the arm and leading them both over to a rack of what indeed looked to Dayna just like chickens, only rather bigger. "Just carve them up and put the pieces on that tray over there, and someone will take them to the buffet. We've got to get some meat out there while we decide what to do with the roast." He left them to go deal with the slab of meat, which at least seemed to be off the floor and onto one of the large counters that ran the length of the kitchen. "The guests are like a plague of locusts this year," they heard him mutter as he walked away.

"Just what is a 480 Genfowl and how did you hear of it?" It wasn't exactly the main question she wanted answered, but it was a start.

"I didn't. What else what would it be except a chicken? And, if it wasn't, he would have said so."

She didn't know how Vila did it. He walked into someplace he wasn't supposed to be and they gave him cutting implements. She hefted the knife. Serious cutting instruments. She also had to admire the ability he had in carving the birds up without burning his fingers, which she wasn't managing to do. Not for the first time, she wondered at all the ins and outs of Vila's past.

However... "We were supposed to find out what's happening at the party," she said in a low voice.

"And we will. There's no better way of getting gossip than through the domestic staff. "

Dayna looked about her. She wouldn't be surprised if Vila was right, but at the moment everyone seemed to be concentrating on their appointed tasks, with no more disasters like that of the downed roast. Vegetables and various kinds of fruits seemed to be flowing out to the main buffet room with a fair amount of efficiency. Empty trays came back just as quickly, making Dayna think the man was correct in saying the diners were like a plague of locusts. There were some pretty serious eaters beyond the swinging doors.

It wasn't until after they'd gone through a dozen chickens when someone asked, rather apologetically, "Excuse me, I don't think I know you. Who are you?"

Dayna had a death-grip on her knife as she tried to come up with a cover story that their hosts might actually buy. She was coming up blank. She was fairly certain they wouldn't buy the idea of her and Vila being itinerant butchers or maybe poultry fanciers.

Vila didn't miss a beat. "Off-world spaceship crew. We brought someone in for a business meeting with Rowan. I'm Vila, she's Dayna."

He seemed a little puzzled, but willing to accept their story. "I'm Cadrik Rowan, kitchen manager. Let me know if you need anything. I owe you for the help."

Someone across the kitchen called out, "Cadrik, the roast is burning!" He stalked off, muttering to himself, "I could've had a career in organic waste recycling, but no, I had to be the kitchen manager."

Dayna watched, fascinated, as he stared as the smoldering hunk of meat. "What we have here," he declared, "is Denebian Blackened Pork. Start slicing."

Someone attempted to run a knife through it. "It's shredding."

"That," Cadrik continued, "is the nature of Denebian Blackened Pork."

No one argued the point.

Vila piped up: "If you have any pepper slices, or maybe some pineapple or citrus, stir it into the shreds."

Cadrik turned around and Dayna thought, he's gone too far this time. "Hot peppers or sweet?"