Archive of Our Own

Background

Cally has survived the explosion on Terminal and the crew have escaped in Servalan's wreck of a ship. While in a coma, Cally dreams the events of the fourth season, including Blake's death. Traumatized by her injury, she has lost her telepathy. When the crew, augmented by Hugh Tiver, a doctor kidnaped by Avon to take care of Cally, steal a prototype Federation mindship constructed around a living human brain and capable of bonding with a human in a mental linkage, their adventures are just beginning. Afraid of finding Blake for fear Avon will kill him, Cally bonds with the ship, naming it Jabberwocky. After rescuing Soolin from the Scorpio, they go to Gauda Prime, where the encounter backfires. Blake is wounded but is rescued and joins the crew of Jabberwocky. Cally's telepathy returns and she turns linkage of the ship over to Blake.

Blake is back, and in linkage with Jabberwocky, and Servalan wants to steal Jabberwocky and link with it in order to take back the presidency. She had meant it to be hers from the beginning. She uses Witt, a telepath who had worked his way into Avalon's rebel army on Ryalon base, to wrest control of Jabberwocky from Blake, leaving the rebel trapped inside his mind. A mental linkage is the only way to bring him back, and Avon the only one who can do it. With Cally's help, and using nearly atrophied telepathic skills he had long pretended he didn't have, Avon is able to draw Blake back from the prison within his mind. Jabberwocky defeats the rogue telepath.

Healer

His cabin was too hot. Vila awoke to twisted bed sheets and a stifling atmosphere and opened his eyes to total darkness. That wasn't right. He liked a bit of light when he slept even if it was just the faint glow of the lighting control panel beside the door. Now even that was gone and Vila sat up cautiously, frightened. Was there a malfunction? Had they been attacked while he slept? What was wrong?

      "Jabberwocky?" he ventured nervously, peering into the darkness.

      "Yes, Vila?" the ship responded promptly in an ordinary voice as if there was nothing wrong. "You seem agitated. Did you have a nightmare?

      "No, I didn't have a nightmare, you worthless piece of junk. It's hard to dream when you're being roasted alive."

      "Oh. Sorry. Your cabin's too hot. Give me a moment and I'll fix it."

      "You do that, Jabberwocky." The room promptly began to cool off as Jabberwocky set about correcting the fault. "See that you keep it that way," Vila insisted. "I shouldn't have to be doing your work for you." Wide awake now, he scrambled out of bed and padded over to palm the light panel, then went to the basin and splashed water on his face and chest to cool himself off.

      "There, that's better," he said as he towelled off. "What happened, Jabberwocky? You've never had any problems like that before."

      "A momentary fault in the temperature regulation control," Jabberwocky explained. "It has been noted, and the auto repairs have taken care of it. You should have no more problems."

      "What about the lights?" asked Vila suspiciously, feeling that there was more wrong than Jabberwocky was telling him.

      "That's a part of the environmental controls. Don't worry, Vila. Auto repairs should handle that too."

      "Auto repairs are supposed to be automatic," protested Vila. "Auto repairs, get it? It shouldn't need me being suffocated before it works."

      "That's true. But it's a little slower than human reactions. I'm not your Liberator, remember?"

      "That would be small consolation if you'd cut my air off."

      "Relax, Vila. If your air had cut off, I would have picked it up in time to save your life. You take things much too seriously."

      "Seriously! I take being broiled alive very seriously." He began to dress. Now that he was wide awake, he might as well go along to the flight deck and pester whoever was on duty. "See that you don't let it happen again," he said over his shoulder as he left the cabin.

Avon and Dayna were on the flight deck when Vila arrived: Avon engaged in fine tuning his improved detector shielding and Dayna playing a game of 'Ship and Asteroids' on the secondary screen. She was vocal about her triumphs and disappointments and the game in itself was noisy, but Avon seemed completely unaware of it. How he could work through all that racket Vila wasn't sure, but he did until Dayna muttered a curse under her breath. "Blast. I always get stuck at the same place. I don't believe anyone could win this game."

      "No?" Avon set aside his tools and rose. "It simply takes a proper understanding of the game, strategy, and a modicum of manual dexterity."

      "I suppose you think you can do it?" she said with amusement lurking in her eyes. Spotting Vila in the doorway, she threw him a smile but didn't speak to him. "Tarrant says you invented the game. I find that hard to believe."

      Vila found it impossible, then he remembered Avon coming down to Freedom City with him and breaking the bank at the Big Wheel. Maybe underneath that stuffy exterior, a man who enjoyed games of chance and skill was struggling to get out. Anyway, Avon was a computer expert. Maybe he really had invented the game.

      "That is neither here nor there," Avon replied, replacing Dayna at the controls. "Any reasonably intelligent person should be able to win with practice."

      He punched a few buttons and the game started. Avon began to play, very rationally, very calmly, with exquisite control of the screen pieces, weaving them in and out in an intricate pattern. Dayna hung over his shoulder, watching his hands, while Vila's eyes remained firmly fixed on the screen. The game became more and more difficult as the ship wove its way through the complexity of the asteroid field, ducking its pursuers at the same time.

      "There," exclaimed Dayna. "That's the place where I always get stuck."

      But Avon kept on going and Vila snuck a look at his face, then he bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud as he realised that Avon had become involved in the game and was playing it with as much enthusiasm as Dayna had, his face intent with concentration, even smiling a little as he worked his way past the spot where Dayna had become stuck. Vila even though he detected the slightest trace of an enthusiastic bounce in Avon's posture as he worked the controls.

      Then as the ship slid safely out of the asteroid field and the screen flashed the rare congratulations on a job well done - Vila had seen Tarrant come this far only once in all the times he'd tried - Avon caught himself and the big smile on his face faded away, replaced by his habitual demeanour. He turned to Dayna and said calmly, "That is how it is done," and walked away to retrieve his tools.

      Only then did he notice Vila standing there in the doorway watching him.

      Vila grinned.

      Wonder of wonders, Avon's eyes twinkled with a momentary agreement before he said in pretended annoyance, "What are you doing here, Vila? It's your sleep period. Surely you are not volunteering for extra duty."

      "No, I came along because Jabberwocky tried to bake me alive in my cabin."

      "He what!"

      "The heat went way up and Jabberwocky didn't fix it until I woke up and complained about it."

      Avon's eyes narrowed and any lingering pleasure over his triumph at 'Ship and Asteroids' vanished. "That is not supposed to happen. Jabberwocky, explain yourself."

      "Yes, Avon, I know, and I'm sorry. It was a momentary fault in the environmental controls, and I have corrected it. It's true I should have noticed it before Vila did. Maybe I was concentrating too hard on Dayna's attempts to beat your game."

      "Indeed? That is no excuse. Suppose we had suddenly been attacked by a flotilla of pursuit ships? Would that have been your excuse if you had overlooked them too?"

      "I have been monitoring and examining my entire system, Avon, and I see that I did discover the fault in Vila's cabin just as he did. I'm sorry he was made uncomfortable and it won't happen again, I promise you."

      "You had better," Avon snarled.

      "Avon, I didn't know you cared," Vila said with a big grin.

      "Did I claim to? This could be symptomatic of a major problem, Vila, possibly even a design flaw. Jabberwocky, I'll have your schematics now. Run them on the main screen. We'll go through life support and environmental control first, since the problem seems to be there."

      He then became lost in diagrams and blueprints while Vila and Dayna exchanged uneasy glances. Jabberwocky ran highlights and flashing lights on the screen to detail where the various circuits ran and Avon followed them carefully, his face intent. Finally, he said carefully, "I can see the fault."

      "Yes. It would have temporarily blinded me to the problem," replied Jabberwocky unhappily. "That's not good, is it, Avon?"

      "No, but it could be worse. I can design some safeguards into the system, and until they are completed, you must simply recheck anything that could be involved with the safety of this ship and the crew."

      "Yes, father," Jabberwocky agreed.

      "And don't call me that. You can be reprogrammed, you know, and I am more than capable of doing so should it become necessary."

      "Since you did a lot of work on me in the first place, I know you can," Jabberwocky answered. "All right, be a spoilsport. I shan't call you father again. I shall call you Kerr."

      Avon's mouth tightened. "I think that altering your programming is long overdue. Your function here is to provide for the comfort and safety of the crew. It is not to interact frivolously with them. Our lives are dependent upon your ability to maintain the ship properly. Unless you can do so, I shall be forced to make some major changes."

      "He was only teasing you, Avon," said Vila in dismay, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut about the whole thing.

      "It is not part of the ship's function to tease the crew."

      "Yes it is," Jabberwocky defended himself. "It's my job to see that the crew operates at optimum function, not only in the performance of their duties but in their emotional well being as well. I detected that you were stressed, Avon, and endeavoured to relieve the situation."

      "Naturally I am stressed," Avon replied stiffly. "When confronted with a major problem in your design, I must react to it as potential threat. Teasing at such a moment is not only frivolous but a sign of very bad judgment."

      "I hate to admit it, Jabberwocky," Dayna put in, sitting at the couch and calling up a cup of coffee on the drinks dispenser, "but Avon's right. This is hardly the time to be frivolous."

      "What harm did it do?" Jabberwocky demanded.

      "None," Avon replied. "But it could have done."

      "I suppose you'll have to tell Blake about this?"

      "He doesn't already know?"

      "He's asleep," explained Jabberwocky.

      Avon frowned as he went over and inserted Orac's key. "Orac, prepare to receive data."

      "I am busy," Orac replied predictably.

      "Orac, you will immediately run a thorough check on all of Jabberwocky's systems. You will report any anomalies to me immediately, and you will detect any flaws or weaknesses in any area of the ship. This is a priority one directive and you will clear all circuits to perform this function."

      Orac must have detected the seriousness of Avon's voice. "Oh, very well. I shall report back to you when the testing has been completed."

      "Avon, I've got an idea," Vila put in hesitantly. "In fact, I've got two ideas."

      Avon turned and stared at him in astonishment. "For you to have one idea is remarkable, but two? I am astounded."

      "All right, Vila," Dayna said, setting aside her coffee cup and grinning at Vila. "What are they?"

      He strolled over to the couch opposite Avon and sat down, stretching his feet out in front of him. "Well, there's Witt," he remarked, "Maybe when he stole Jabberwocky from Blake he damaged something."

      "Could that happen, Orac?" Avon asked.

      "Of course not," snapped the computer. "Ship's functions were never influenced by Witt. His only influence was over Jabberwocky himself, causing discomfort rather than actual damage, and of course over Blake."

      "Orac's right, Avon," Jabberwocky agreed. "I didn't like Witt, but he couldn't have damaged me that way. He might have hurt me if he'd tried to make me kill any of you, but he didn't, and I got rid of him."

      "That takes care of your first idea, Vila," Avon told the thief. "May we now hear the second?"

      "All right. We've just spent a week getting the new photonic drive installed at Avalon's base. Maybe something happened when it was put in, a systems overload, even though you tested for the possibility, or else sabotage."

      "That is three ideas, Vila. This is indeed a first." Vila could tell from Avon's expression that he had already considered the possibilities and implications of Vila's suggestions. "I did ask Orac to monitor work done on the photonic drive at all times and to keep me informed of anything that might constitute sabotage. I do not think Orac would have missed anything, and since Dr. Plaxton and I did the bulk of the work, I was able to watch him as well. Plaxton may be a genius, but I do not believe he could fool Orac, or me, especially when we were alerted to the possibility."

      "Then what about an overload," Vila persisted. "Jabberwocky wasn't designed for this, and we've already given him a teleport and you've upgraded a lot of systems. Maybe there isn't enough power to make them all work."

      "That has all been taken into consideration," Avon replied. "However, a breakdown is always possible, some structural or design weakness that was overlooked, a flaw in a piece of mechanism."

      "I've found and corrected it already," Jabberwocky reminded him pointedly. "I think you're overreacting."

      "Oh, you think I am overreacting, do you?"

      "Well, we all know what a suspicious nature you've got.'

      "He's got you there, Avon," Vila commented cheerfully. "You do have a suspicious nature."

      "If you are not suspicious, then you are certainly a fool, Vila," Avon informed him impatiently. "You are the one who was put at risk. You are too tolerant. Suppose you had been trapped in your cabin while the heat continued to rise. An unpleasant way to die."

      Vila could imagine it; he had a very good imagination concerning the nasty things that could happen to him. People had convulsions with heat stroke, or when their body temperatures rose above a certain point. Baked Vila didn't sound like his idea of a tasty dish. "But it's fixed, Avon," he persisted.

      "Yes, until next time."

      "Next time?" Vila echoed unhappily,

      "Oh, come on, Avon," Dayna protested. "Orac's checking on it, and Jabberwocky's alerted to the possibility; We've got enough safeguards to take care of it, and if you don't think we do, design a few more safeguards into the system. Orac's too valuable to destroy, and so is Jabberwocky. Let Orac monitor Jabberwocky to make sure he stays within certain parameters."

      "Short of abandoning this ship, there is no other choice," Avon replied. "Jabberwocky, you will need to be very careful."

      "I don't like threats, Avon," Jabberwocky sounded angry. "I've told you I'll monitor myself. You've even got Orac doing it. Watch me yourself if you want to, but don't threaten me. I've done all right so far. Besides, you helped design me. Think of that before you go finding fault."

      Vila gave a crow of delighted laughter. "That's it, Jabberwocky. You tell him."

      Avon made an impatient sound. "Orac, when you have finished with your investigations, you are to report to me, and only to me."

      "And not to Blake?" asked Orac.

      "No. Blake is linked to Jabberwocky."

      "You don't think Blake is affected?" asked Dayna in surprise.

      Vila saw new speculation flash in Avon's eyes, and he realized what it was. Blake had been traumatized by what had happened to him when Witt stole the ship from him. Maybe there were some lingering after-effects. They stared at each other in startled dismay, then Vila shook his head. "No, he's all right, Avon. We were in link-mode just this afternoon practising. He never learned how to shield. If there were anything wrong with him, we would have noticed. At least Cally would have noticed, and she didn't say anything about it. She didn't say anything to you, did she?"

      "No."

      "That's all right then," Vila grinned.

      "Is it?"

      "Of course it is," Dayna retorted. "I would have noticed if Blake was different in the link. And he's not. He's just the same. He's fine, Avon."

      Avon nodded. "Jabberwocky?" he questioned. "How is Blake?"

      "Very well, Avon. He had a few nightmares after you and Cally rescued him, but they've stopped now and he's doing very well. I'm glad. I like Blake."

      "Blake's all right," Vila agreed. "I'm going back to bed. It ought to be cool enough to sleep now." He headed for the door.

      Maybe he shouldn't have said anything to Avon, he thought as he returned to his cabin. If there was anything that seemed remotely suspicious, Avon would be suspicious about it. Most of the time that was good, like when they were dealing with nasty people like Witt. But sometimes that wasn't good at all, like when Avon was dealing with Vila. Oh well, thought Vila cheerfully as he let himself into his cabin and noted that it was back to normal, it had been worth it to see Avon playing 'Ship and Asteroids'. He'd love to tell the others, but they would never believe it.

      If anyone had asked him, Hugh Tiver would have said that he was an easygoing man who dealt with life as it came along; he made the best of bad situations and enjoyed the good, and if that involved standing up to Avon or risking danger with Blake, then so be it. During the time spent on Avalon's base while they had worked with Dr Plaxton to install the photonic drive, Hugh had called the whole crew in for tests, and every one of them had passed with flying colours. Emotionally, too, the crew were in the best state they had been in since Hugh had known them. Since Blake had been brought back after the incident with Witt, Avon and Cally were on better terms and Avon had become easier to deal with. He still loudly proclaimed the others' stupidity when they did something that his cool, reasoned intellect disagreed with, but it didn't always seem as though he meant it these days.

      Tarrant was changing too, and Hugh liked the change. It was true that Tarrant was impulsive and sometimes given to acting without thinking, but Hugh liked Tarrant's loyalty, and he was beginning to enjoy his sense of humour. It was fun to watch Tarrant pretending to be enamoured of both Dayna and Soolin and to see the way the two of them reacted to him and played it against him sometimes. Tarrant wasn't ready to be serious about anyone yet, and the only one who didn't know that was Tarrant, but it was still an amusing game that everyone enjoyed, even Avon.

      Vila had mellowed too; he could still play the coward and the fool, but rarely was it anything but a game any more. Mostly, Vila used it to defuse tensions, to give Avon an outlet, an acceptable way to blow off steam, but when the chips were down, Hugh would trust Vila to watch his back, and he was just beginning to realize that Avon did too. Avon gave Orac into Vila's keeping to carry about the ship, and while Vila complained long and hard about being a slave, he had to know that Avon wasn't prepared to trust Orac to just anybody.

      Cally looked happier than she ever had. Hugh didn't know if that was because of the fragile understanding she and Avon shared or if it was because Jabberwocky could boost everyone on board to create a facsimile of telepathy which enabled her to receive telepathically from the others on occasion. Losing her people and the interaction with other Auron telepaths had been a terrible blow to her, but Cally was strong, and she was beginning to come to terms with her life again.

      Blake was in his element. Working with Avalon to help unite existing rebel groups, happy to be reunited with most of his original Liberator crew, enjoying his linkage with Jabberwocky, Blake seemed a contented man. Though Hugh could feel the driving force of his determination to defeat the Federation, Blake was willing to moderate his drive to meet the needs of those around him. On better terms with Avon than he had ever been, Blake was blatantly happy.

      Then why was Hugh uneasy? He wasn't the type to look for trouble that wasn't there, but in the past few days, a niggling unease had begun to chip away at his contentment. He knew it wasn't only the thought that they would soon be going into danger again. That was something he was accustomed to, he didn't like it, but he could handle it, and he was here to put the crew back together again if any of them were hurt. They were on their way to Eridani Major now; Avalon and Blake had determined that would be an ideal starting point. Blake would meet with the local rebels and try to work out an agreement between them and Avalon's organisation. They'd been forced to delay their plans when Witt had tried to take over the ship and turn it over to Servalan there, but that had been weeks ago, and even if Servalan had left people there to watch for them, she might also believe that they wouldn't take the chance so soon. It would be dangerous to go there, but it was a reasonable danger, one Hugh could live with.

      Maybe the problem involved the man they were to pick up on Eridani Major. Del Grant was a mercenary who supported the rebel cause and who had helped various rebel groups to overthrow the Federation on their home worlds. He was good at his job and Jabberwocky was going to take him to yet another world to continue his work. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that he was the brother of Anna Grant, the woman Avon had loved and been forced to kill.

      Avon was not looking forward to meeting Grant again, but that wasn't surprising. Part of it was due to Avon's nature, part because of his memories of Anna, and part a normal human reluctance to avoid something that could turn out to be very messy. Hugh concluded he had taken Avon's reaction into account while he was trying to decide what was disturbing him and had allowed for it. So what else was wrong? He went over everything he could think of, and nothing came to his mind.

      Soolin came strolling into the room then and went over to the food processor, without speaking, where she punched a few buttons. When the computer/processor had given her a plate of stew and a cup of coffee, she brought them over to Hugh's table and sat down with him, giving him a brief smile. "You're up early," she remarked.

      "I didn't sleep very well," he explained.

      "You should take a dose of your own medicine."

      "Not you too!" he complained. "Why does everyone seem to find it so hilarious when they think a doctor is sick?" He heaved a sigh. "But I'm not sick, Soolin. I don't know what's bothering me. I've been sitting here trying to decide if something is wrong."

      "Nothing's wrong," she insisted hastily, too hastily perhaps. He looked at her curiously and wondered if the problem was here before him. Soolin counted herself one of the crew, but she still detached herself from them even as she played games with Tarrant and Dayna and demonstrated her loyalty in times of trouble. But then, if Soolin had always held herself aloof, nothing had changed there, and that should not be the problem. Or should it? Had he accepted her as one of them only to have her decide she no longer wanted to be? He shook his head. No. Even if Soolin did decide to leave, it would not cause the feeling that was prodding at his subconscious. He would be sorry to see her go of course, for he liked Soolin, but her leaving would not be a disaster.

      He considered her hasty words. "Is something bothering you too?" he asked.

      "Too?"

      She was stalling. He studied her face intently, and she shrugged, dropping her eyes. "I don't know. Something is wrong. I hadn't really thought about it until you mentioned it, but you're right. I've been uneasy this past day or two, and I don't know why."

      "Do you think any of the others have noticed it?"

      She frowned, then she shook her head. "I don't think so. They all have their involvements. We're the outsiders, Hugh, at least I am. You're accepted."

      "You could be accepted too, Soolin."

      "Perhaps I choose not to be. Besides, that isn't what I meant. The others have known each other a lot longer. Blake might not know Tarrant and Dayna that well yet, but he knows Avon and Cally and Vila. I'm used to being an outsider, it's the way I've always been and I wouldn't know how to behave if it were different. I prefer it that way. It's different with you, though. Sometimes I envy you, Hugh."

      "Envy me?" he echoed in surprise. "Good god, why?"

      "Because you can belong. You can take the risk."

      "Taking risks isn't easy for any of us though, Soolin," Hugh pointed out sympathetically. "Look at Avon."

      "True, but look at Blake and Cally and Vila and you and Dayna, even Tarrant sometimes. The lot of you will bend over backwards to help each other, especially to help Avon. Sometimes I'm even more envious of Avon than I am of you. There's just something about him. I think I'd probably defend him too. And I don't know why. He's unpleasant, though he's not quite as bad as he was."

      "We'd defend you too," Hugh insisted.

      "I know," she said, "and I appreciate it, but it's not the same and you know it." She applied herself to her stew and wouldn't be drawn into further conversation, and Hugh looked at her a little sadly and wondered if she meant to leave the ship.

      "Tarrant," Blake mused as he and Tarrant shared the main watch a few hours later. The two of them were at their regular stations, and the only others on the flight deck were Dayna and Soolin, who were seated on the couch near the drinks dispenser with Soolin's clipgun in pieces around them and Orac on the table in front of them as they considered the possibility of designing more of the weapons for the rest of the crew. Dayna had praised the clipgun and its efficiency with great enthusiasm, and since she had spent many of her formative years designing weapons systems, it was possible that she might be able to work it out with the help of Orac and Soolin, who was familiar with the weapon and knew how to get the most from it.

      Neither of them so much as glanced in his direction when he said Tarrant's name, but Tarrant moved behind him, and Blake swivelled his chair around to face him. "Del Tarrant...," he said thoughtfully, struggling after the memory that that name sometimes invoked.

      "Yes, Blake?" Tarrant wore the look of lazy contentment that he often did when sitting at the pilot's position, even without link-mode. Sometimes Blake wondered if Tarrant could link up, at least a little, on his own. Well, if the others could come in without his prompting, why not Tarrant too? But the niggling memory had prodded him until it rose to the surface and now it was finally dear.

      "Did you ever know a man named Dev Tarrant?" Blake asked. "Blond man, not as tall as you?"

      One of the women made an involuntary movement behind him, but he didn't turn to see which of them it was, never taking his eyes from Tarrant's face. The pilot's eyes had narrowed, and his jaw clenched for a moment before he finally spoke. "Why do you ask, Blake?"

      "I met him once, on Earth."

      "Not happily," said Tarrant with certainty, his eyes wary and defensive. "What did he do, turn you in?"

      "Just that. Bran Foster introduced him, said he was a member of the resistance. When we were all gunned down, he wasn't. He was very much alive at my trial."

      "He would have been." Tarrant flashed a too brilliant smile. "It's how he makes his living, you see. Central Security. Maybe he even knew Avon's Anna. He infiltrates rebel movements and betrays them to the Administration." Tarrant's voice was dead level as he related this, but his eyes were cold chips of blue ice.

      "You do know him, then?" Blake asked.

      "Leave it Blake." That was Dayna, coming to stand beside him. "Just drop it," she insisted.

      "It's rather hard to do that, Dayna. That man killed all those people, without hesitation, without remorse."

      "Oh, no, Blake," Tarrant objected. "He had remorse all right. Not very much and not very appropriate, I'll grant you, but he had remorse. Sometimes he'd get drunk and ramble on about it. Deeta couldn't stand the idea and he left. It took me longer, but then I was younger and more of a fool. I always meant to go to the FSA, and even he couldn't change that. But it was no better than he was, not deep down. Most things are like that, aren't they?"

      "Are they? You sound like Avon."

      "Do I?" Tarrant gave a bitter laugh. "He wouldn't appreciate the comparison. I'll answer your question, Blake. Yes, I knew Dev Tarrant. I wish I didn't. He's my father."

      "Is he now?" Blake looked at Tarrant without surprise; Tarrant had as much as admitted it. "You don't sound very happy about it."

      "Would you be?" Tarrant frowned. "Of course I was nicely indoctrinated all my life, the way everyone is. The Federation was everything wonderful, the next thing to god, better actually. I never questioned that, even when my father would get drunk and pity the poor fools who were destroyed because they'd been stupid enough to trust him. He held them all in contempt, and he hated them, but sometimes he was sorry, and I never could understand why, not until after Deeta decided to leave. They'd never got on, Deeta and Father. It took me a long time to understand that. Maybe I'm just naturally slow."

      "In some ways, maybe," Dayna put in, "but not about that. What else were you to think, Tarrant? Most people who go through the academy never see the light."

      "She's right, Tarrant," Soolin agreed, coming forward too. She cast a suspicious glance at Blake as if he'd suddenly sprouted horns and cloven hooves. "You wouldn't be planning to hold this against Tarrant, would you, Blake?"

      Blake looked at her and then back at Tarrant, who was watching him without speaking, his face unreadable. "Maybe he sold us both, Tarrant, in our different ways."

      "Oh, absolutely." Tarrant's eyes held bitterness. "He was still my father, though. Maybe that makes it harder. I don't know."

      "I do," Dayna said. She went to Tarrant and touched his arm sympathetically. "I think I know something of how you must feel."

      "You? Your father was everything you wanted him to be."

      "Yes, and Servalan said he'd run out on the other rebels and was considered a coward for it."

      "If he did that, it was to save you," Tarrant reminded her.

      Blake watched them, surprised, as he always was and never should be, at their demonstration of loyalty to each other. He was so accustomed to the crew bickering at each other that he sometimes forgot how much the crew of the Liberator had been through together after he left. Perhaps they had seemed colder and more sarcastic on the surface, but underneath, they had been there for each other. Blake missed the old days, but he knew that that was something akin to jealousy, seeing how well the others had got on without him. He wondered suddenly how Avon would have reacted to this conversation.

      "I don't know, Tarrant," he said thoughtfully. "l know you don't share his views or his activities, but he arranged to have those people shot down in cold blood. They were determined to offer no resistance."

      "He wasn't Tarrant," Soolin insisted.

      "I know that. I can tell Tarrant isn't much happier about him than I am. No, Tarrant, I can't hold what someone else did against you."

      "l wish you sounded a little more convincing, Blake," Tarrant muttered.

      "I'll have to work on that. I know it wouldn't be fair to you to hold it against you, any more than I could hold Dorian's plans against Soolin." He heaved a vast sigh. "How would you feel if you were me, Del?"

      "I'd probably hate my guts." He managed a strained smile. "But knowing you, you'll be noble about it and try to work it out. Did no one ever tell you that you were allowed to be human, Blake?"

      "Avon insists I am - constantly."

      That won a genuine smile from Tarrant. "Then you rate higher than the rest of us. He tells us that we're fools."

      "Oh, he tells me that too." Blake relaxed a bit. He couldn't hold Tarrant's father against him, not when Tarrant had had so little joy of the relationship. But it wouldn't be easy. He remembered the glimpse of Dev Tarrant he'd had at the end of his trial, right before he was rendered unconscious. He had known then exactly how he had been sold, and if his memories of what had gone before hadn't begun to come back, he would still have believed Bran Foster's words and turned against the Federation on the strength of that realisation. That the Federation could take his memories and give him a false existence in their place still ate at him, and though he'd broken free, he knew that there were still pieces of his past that would never come back. Besides, there were a lot of other people in exactly the same position he'd been in, some of them for less reason. It wasn't Tarrant's father he hated so much as what he represented, and he tried to explain that to Tarrant.

      "Most of us need something more concrete to hate," Tarrant replied.

      "The Federation will do nicely, Tarrant. Very nicely."

      "And Servalan," Dayna reminded them.

      "Maybe that's a little too personal, Dayna."

      "She killed my father, Blake. I can't forgive her for that. It wasn't even hard for her to gun down a blind man. Don't ask me to give up my hatred. I don't think I can, and I don't want to."

      "I know you can't forgive her," Blake answered, "but if you go after her so single-mindedly, you bring yourself down to her level."

      "I'll settle for any level I can get, if it means stopping Servalan."

      "If Blake were on that level," Tarrant said suddenly, "he'd get a gun and come after me."

      "Would he? I don't want Servalan's family, if she has any. I just want her."

      "At least we stopped her this last time," Blake pointed out. "After what Witt did to me - to us - I don't like Servalan very much either, not that I ever did. You aren't the only one with a grievance, Dayna."

      "I wonder where she is now," Soolin said, returning to the scattered pieces of her gun as she realised that the tension between Blake and Tarrant had diffused. "She did fail with us after all. If she was working with Supreme Commander Arpel, he would have been less than happy with her. You know Arpel, Tarrant. What would he do with her?"

      "He wouldn't kill her out of hand, as long as she could be useful to him," Tarrant mused. "I never met the man; I only know him by reputation. He's shrewd and he's got some honour, though Hugh says not a lot. I think he's devious and I wouldn't trust him, but I'd trust him more than I would Servalan. I think he'd turn her loose with the understanding she was to find us."

      "You don't believe she'd just tamely play along?" Dayna asked sceptically. "Not Servalan."

      "She might do it for a while," Blake told her. "She's wanted, after all. Besides, if I know her, she'd be using Arpel even as he used her."

      "She'd do that," Dayna agreed. "I wonder where she is."

      "Looking for us," said Tarrant with certainty. "Where else would she be? She's looking for us."

      "Does it bother you, Blake?" Jabberwocky asked as Blake went to his quarters at the end of the watch.

      "What? Tarrant's father?" He tossed himself down on his bunk and massaged his temples; he'd had one hell of a headache for the past hour, something that had been bothering him off and on for the past two weeks. He'd have to ask Hugh about it if it didn't go away soon.

      //Exactly,// replied Jabberwocky through the link, //it must be hard, knowing what Tarrant's father did to you and the others. Can you forgive him for that?//

      Blake was genuinely startled. //Forgive him. Jabberwocky? He wasn't the one who did it. He sounds like he's had his share of problems with his father too.// He grinned suddenly. //Would you like to be blamed for something Avon did? You call him your father, after all, but you're two different people.//

      //Avon's right, Blake.// Jabberwocky retorted. // Some-times you're too noble for your own good.//

      "I thought you liked Tarrant," Blake objected aloud. The link-mode seemed to add to his headache.

      "I do like him. He's the best pilot I've ever seen - of course I haven't seen a lot of them yet, but I've seen a few." He was silent a moment. "He's even better than I was," he conceded.

      "I thought you couldn't remember that," Blake exclaimed in surprise.

      "I can't, but I do know how to fly a ship; it's instinctive for me, if you like. If I know how to do it, then I can tell how good I was, can't l? I was a damned good pilot, Roj. But Tarrant's better. If I weren't linked to you, I might like being linked with him."

      "Or Cally?"

      "That goes without saying. Cally's special." He returned to the original subject. "But I'm linked with you now, and what you want is what I want. If you don't like Tarrant..."

      "I didn't say I didn't like Tarrant," Blake denied hastily. "I do like him, at least most of the time. He can be irritating, but he's loyal, and I like that. It must have been hard for him to come to terms with what his father is. He doesn't seem like the type of person who can change his loyalties that easily."

      "He quit the Federation...," Jabberwocky pointed out.

      "Meaning?" Blake asked sharply.

      "He turned his coat once. Why not again?"

      "You might as well say I've turned mine then," Blake retorted, uneasy at the way this conversation was progressing. "Or the Federation did it for me. Look at what the Federation did to you, my friend. The Federation doesn't give people choices. Why else do we fight?"

      Jabberwocky made a sound like a sigh. "I don't know, Blake. I'm only a poor computer; I can't understand all of this."

      "Poor computer," scoffed Blake, propping himself up on his elbows to stare at Jabberwocky's display. "You sound depressed. Is it still bothering you, what you had to do to Witt?"

      "I destroyed him, Blake. As thoroughly as the Federation destroyed me. It's hard to forget that. I gave him every chance to give up, but he wouldn't listen. It was hard being inside his head. Maybe I'm taking that out on Tarrant. What do you think?"

      "I think you've got the right to be upset. I still remember what it felt like in the void. If it weren't for Avon, I might still be trapped there, or even worse off than Witt is now. At least he's alive and relatively whole, and Avalon thinks that he might come out of this a better person. Sometimes though, when I wake up in the night, I still think for a minute that I'm in the void."

      "I know," agreed his link-mate. "Maybe that's why you're having those headaches," he suggested. "l think you ought to tell Hugh about them."

      "It's just tension," Blake assured him. "Hugh just ran physicals on us, and I'm all right. He would have picked up on it if they were caused by something organic."

      "He doesn't really understand how the link works. You all got headaches when we first started link-mode. Maybe you're having these because of Witt or just because you have to do more in the link than the others do."

      "Maybe I will talk to him," Blake conceded, rubbing wearily at his temples, then closing his eyes and massaging the bridge of his nose. "Maybe he can give me a painkiller."

      "Then what shall I do about Tarrant?"

      "Nothing at all," Blake replied, startled that Jabberwocky would even ask. "Tarrant's all right. I wish I hadn't brought it up. Interesting, though, to see Dayna and Soolin leap to his defence."

      "I think Dayna's in love with him."

      "You don't think anything of the sort. You're always trying to pair people up, and I wish you wouldn't."

      "Can I help it if I'm a matchmaker at heart?"

      Blake chuckled as he got up. "At least you give us something to laugh about."

      "Why not?" said Jabberwocky. "It's fun." He laughed as Blake let himself out of the room.

      That afternoon, Blake called everyone together for yet another practice session in link-mode. As time passed, the crew had become more accustomed to performing in that state, each of them learning to handle their controls expertly, and becoming more comfortable with alternate positions too. Sometimes Tarrant couldn't believe how lucky he was to have this chance. While it was true that anyone with a reasonable understanding could pilot in link-mode, only someone with the instincts of a real pilot could get the best out of Jabberwocky without forcing the computer to compensate. Hugh was good at it, and Avon was good at it - Tarrant wondered if it was because he did everything so intently, determined to succeed, or if he simply had the gift, though undeveloped. He'd shown some flying skills back in the early Liberator days as well, or so Tarrant had heard. Today, Avon was in the pilot's position, and Tarrant was linked as observer to monitor him and see how well he did.

      Tarrant was still thinking dark thoughts about Blake and about his father. It wasn't the first time something Dev had done had come back to haunt him, and it probably wouldn't be the last, but you'd think he'd stop reacting to it so strongly. It hurt. Now he was getting paranoid about it, interpreting things wrongly that Blake said to him, responding defensively, and that was bad. Annoyed with himself, he called his mind back to the test and concentrated on it instead.

      Almost immediately, he realized that something was wrong.

      It wasn't too noticeable at first, but the more he watched, the more Tarrant could tell that things were not going smoothly for Avon. The manoeuvres were erratic and Avon was out of alignment with all the others - or they were out of alignment with him. As far as Tarrant could see, it should have worked, but it didn't, and when they came out of linkage, Avon instantly bent over the controls and studied them as if he didn't believe what had happened, his face resentful.

      "That wasn't one of your better efforts, Avon," Blake told him. "What went wrong?"

      "You tell me, Blake." Avon sounded genuinely perplexed and not a little angry. "I did nothing different this time. It should have worked. I've asked Orac to monitor Jabberwocky's functioning. Vila had a problem with the heat controls in his cabin last night, and if there's one problem, there could be more."

      "There's no problem," Jabberwocky informed him coolly. "I followed your instructions to the letter. I was a little surprised at what you wanted, but who am I to argue?"

      "Those were not my instructions," snapped Avon, glaring at the display panel in outrage. "Orac?" he asked, "Have you been monitoring as instructed?"

      "Yes, I have been monitoring," Orac replied. "I detected nothing wrong, Avon."

      "Maybe you need to keep your mind on your work, Avon," Blake said nastily, "instead of on Cally."

      An embarrassed little silence fell and Avon went rigid, turning to Blake in offended disbelief. Whatever he felt about Blake's accusation, he didn't let it show in his face after that first startled reaction. Without speaking, he rose and left the flight deck, pausing only long enough to pick up Orac and take it with him.

      Cally stalked over to confront Blake. "You must apologize to Avon for that," she told him angrily. "And to me, Blake. I was in the linkage as well, and Avon was concentrating very hard. Whatever is between Avon and me has never interfered with our duty and it never would."

      She followed Avon without looking back.

      "Blake, I think that was uncalled for," Hugh objected mildly. "You know Avon still isn't completely comfortable in the link. I don't think a personal observation was a very good idea."

      Blake stared back at Hugh, his eyes upset. "You're right. I don't know where that came from. Maybe from this blasted headache I told you about. I wasn't thinking anything like that. I'm glad Avon and Cally are happy together. I wouldn't want to do anything to interfere with their relationship."

      "You just did," Vila told him. "It's not like you, Blake. In case you missed it, I wasn't having too much luck with weaponry either. If you're in a bad mood or have a headache, maybe it would rub off on Jabberwocky." He called up a huge glass of adrenalin and soma from the drinks dispenser and proceeded to down almost half of it in one swallow. "I don't want to play any more," he added. "I think I'll get drunk now."

      "That ought to help," Tarrant snapped at him, though he could sympathize in a way, and he found the idea of going off with Vila and getting drunk curiously attractive. Instead he strolled over to stand face to face with Blake in a consciously challenging posture. "Blake, when you first came on board, we had a talk about expectations. Up until today, you've lived up to your end of it. But you were wrong this time. I think you ought to apologize to Avon."

      "I've heard you say worse to him," Blake snapped back. "You're a fine one to talk."

      "Because I'm Dev Tarrant's son?" Tarrant shot back at him, then he shook his head, realizing that was neither fair nor smart. "You haven't heard me say anything like that to Avon. I admit I don't always like him and I don't pull my punches with him, but there are limits. After what Avon went through to get you back after Witt attacked you, I should think you'd be more concerned about him. Maybe you don't realize that he manipulated Avon and Cally to bring them together in the first place, just to get them out of his way, and it was hard for them to stay together when they learned that."

      Blake raised a mocking eyebrow. "What is this, 'Dear Del's Advice to the Lovelorn'?"

      "What's wrong with you, Blake?" Dayna demanded. "Is it what Witt did to you? An after-effect? Or is it because of Tarrant's father? You've always been fair before."

      Blake stared at the black girl, resenting her questions, then his eyes widened as if in surprise and he said, "I'm sorry. I don't understand why I'm doing this."

      "Perhaps it is an after-effect," Soolin said calmly. "I don't think we should continue this now; It's only making things worse. Hugh, why don't you take Blake down to the medical unit and check him over. He said he had a headache. Maybe something we don't understand is causing it. Dayna and I will share the watch, and Tarrant can keep Vila sober."

      Tarrant shot a suspicious look at Soolin, then he shrugged. It was technically Soolin's watch anyway, and Tarrant would just as soon get away from the others, particularly Blake, and from Dayna and Soolin, who might conceivably try to sympathise. He didn't want that. So he caught Vila by the arm. "Come along, Vila."

      "Where to?" asked the thief suspiciously.

      "Somewhere else."

      Vila brightened and rose. "That's a good idea, Tarrant." He followed him without protest along to the hanger deck where the old ship Servalan had left them on Terminal was still stored, to Jabberwocky's frequently voiced disgust, and Tarrant ushered Vila inside. "You've got a bottle hidden here, haven't you?" he asked.

      "I've got them hidden every where," Vila confessed, but he showed no signs of going after it. "Something's wrong, Tarrant," he said. "I'm not trying to pry, but what's this about your father?"

      "Nothing," said Tarrant bitterly, "he's only the one who sold Blake to the Federation the last time."

      "You mean when they faked the phoney child molesting charges and everything?" Vila looked at Tarrant unhappily, but before he could have time to get defensive, Vila asked, "And Blake blamed you for it?"

      "He said he didn't," Tarrant replied, "but I'm not sure. Even if he did, it shouldn't cause Jabberwocky to take it out on Avon in the test, or for Blake to take it out on Avon afterwards. I don't think Avon was wrong in the test any way. I was linked and it looked as though he was doing it properly. It just didn't work."

      "You're good at linking," Vila said surprisingly.

      Vila praising him? Remarkable.

      "And Avon's good at almost everything he does," Vila continued. "Don't tell him I said that. He shouldn't have done such a bad job. I'm worried, Tarrant. I'm afraid that something's wrong with Blake and it's affecting Jabberwocky. I've heard Blake getting at Avon a lot more often than you have, but I never heard anything quite like that. And it wouldn't be like him to blame you for something your father did. You don't think that Blake..."

      "That Blake what?"

      "Well, that he still has some problems because of what happened with Witt?"

      "Now that's an interesting idea." Tarrant looked at the thief with some respect. Vila didn't often volunteer a good idea, but this might just be one of the few times he had. It hadn't occurred to him, even this morning when Blake was questioning him about his father, but it was certainly possible.

      "Here's another one then," Vila suggested reluctantly. "If Blake was still going on about finding out about your father, you'd think he might have influenced Jabberwocky to have a go at you - and he hasn't. It was Avon. Now Blake cares about Avon - I can't imagine why," he tagged on quickly. "He wouldn't deliberately do anything to Avon, would he, especially after Avon's been trying so hard. He's like a new person sometimes. You should have seen him playing Ship and Asteroids in the middle watch."

      "Avon did?" Tarrant asked in surprise, momentarily distracted. "How far did he get?"

      "All the way through, Tarrant. You should have seen him. Well, they say he designed it, after all. Maybe it's true. I wonder if he'd design something nice with locks in it." He smiled enthusiastically at the idea, then he reverted to the subject. "Never mind. That was nasty just now. I didn't like it. You don't suppose Blake has a thing for... for Cally, do you?"

      "If he does, it's the best kept secret I ever saw," Tarrant said. "He likes her, but not that way." Something else occurred to him then. "Maybe he, well, uh, has a thing for - Avon?"

      Vila shook his head positively. "No. Not like that anyway. Avon's special to him - more fool him - but I don't think he'd be jealous of Cally. Anyway, if Blake doesn't know how Avon feels about him, especially after Witt, he's stone blind."

      Tarrant nodded in agreement. Those two did have a special relationship that hadn't even been seriously threatened when Avon had shot Blake on Gauda Prime. He suspected that they had been half adversaries, half friends for a long time, and now that Blake was back, the friendship side was winning out. Time and circumstances had changed both men, and while Avon had challenged Blake's leadership often enough in the past and still made a show of it now, it wasn't the same and everyone knew it. It wasn't that Avon had mellowed, though he might be starting to. Maybe Terminal had helped him sort out his priorities, or Gauda Prime had. This latest incident might do some damage though. After this morning's bout with Blake and now the link-mode problem, Tarrant was inclined to take Avon's side of it.

      "That's how Avon felt before," he said. "Avon's not very forgiving. What's this about the heat in your cabin?"

      "It got too hot, almost baked me alive. I didn't like it one bit. I had to wake up and tell Jabberwocky before he got round to fixing it too. What if it had been the air? I could have suffocated. Maybe we should check the whole system before we get to Eridani Major. Homicidal computers scare me, Tarrant."

      "Everything does," Tarrant said automatically but without malice. "Maybe we should have Jabberwocky link with someone else."

      "You, I suppose. That's all we need. Homicidal computers and hot-shot pilots. You'd ram us into a sun first thing."

      Ignoring Vila's complaint, Tarrant said cheerfully, "It's not a bad idea. I haven't had any problems in link-mode, unlike some people I could name."

      Vila sipped at his adrenalin and soma. "Can Jabberwocky read us in here, Tarrant?" he asked uneasily, glancing over his shoulder at the sealed hatch.

      "I doubt it. It's probably the only place on board where he can't."

      "Then maybe we'd better get Avon down here with Orac. If Jabberwocky can't read us here, then neither can Blake."

      "Do you think Blake's the problem, Vila?"

      "Don't you? Orac couldn't find anything wrong with Jabberwocky."

      "Hugh didn't find anything wrong with Blake when he ran his tests last week."

      "That doesn't mean something isn't wrong," the thief insisted. "Maybe some nasty alien entity got into the system and is trying to kill us."

      "And maybe Blake and Jabberwocky are just having some lingering problems from what Witt did to them. It's only been a few weeks, Vila, and we came awfully close to losing Blake. Just because he's been acting normally doesn't mean he is normal. After going through Federation programming he might be more suggestible than he thinks he is."

      "Well, Hugh will test him again. Maybe he can find something if he knows there's a problem."

      "Then we'll wait to see what he has to say," Tarrant replied, discovering that it did not seem strange to be discussing this seriously with Vila. The thief had come on a lot in recent weeks and besides, he had known Avon, Blake and Cally longer than Tarrant had. "Then we'll decide what to do about it. We'll reach Eridani Major the day after tomorrow. We'll just need to stay on our toes until then." He snatched away Vila's glass. "That means no more of this."

      Vila made an unhappy face, but he nodded. "All right, Tarrant. I'm with you."

      "We'll bring Hugh in next," Tarrant decided. He knew the doctor would put everybody's welfare first and if one of them had a problem, Hugh was the person they'd likely go to, even Blake. Even Avon, if it came to that, though he might go to Cally first. "We'll give him time to finish examining Blake, then you can bring him back here. I'll wait for you here. This old tub could use some maintenance. We might even need it as back-up if things get out of hand."

      "Right," Vila agreed and scampered off. But the usual bounce was gone from his movements, and his shoulders were sagging. Tarrant watched him go, feeling suddenly depressed, and wondered how things had managed to go so wrong so very quickly.

      Cally halted outside Avon's quarters and stood there a moment collecting herself before she pressed the buzzer for admittance. In the past few weeks, she had been granted permission to enter as she would, but this time was different and she did not want to intrude upon Avon or presume too much.

      Blake's accusation would disturb him, partly because of what had been said, but mostly because it was Blake who had said it. What Avon might ignore from someone else, or retaliate to with cheerful vengeance, came differently from Blake, especially since Avon had been more secure in his relationship with Blake of late. Avon did not take kindly to betrayal, and while he could handle normal criticism from Blake as well as he could handle it from anyone else, that is to say grudgingly if at all, this was a different situation. Though Cally did not really expect Avon to take it out on her, he might not be in the proper frame of mind to deal with anyone right now.

      After a moment, he called, "Who is it?" and his voice was far from welcoming.

      "Cally."

      "Come in, Cally."

      His voice did not sound particularly enthusiastic, but she went in anyway, and found him standing with his back to the door, bent over Orac, one hand resting on the wall behind the table, the other massaging the bridge of his nose. He looked curiously forlorn like a child who has been deserted by his friends, and while Cally knew he would resent the simile, she could not repress the thought. Quietly she slipped forward and put her arms around him from behind, and to her relief, he turned in the circle of her arms and pulled her close.

      "Don't take this wrong, Cally," he said a little stiffly, "but you were nowhere in my thoughts during the test."

      "There would have been no reason for you to think of me then," she agreed calmly. "I told Blake he must apologise to you, Avon."

      "What Blake does or says is of no concern to me." His voice was cold. Releasing her, he motioned for her to sit down, and she chose a plastex moulded chair beside the table. "There is a problem with the ship," he said. "Orac, however, has been unable to find any trace of it."

      "Yes, there is a problem," she agreed, surprised to realise that she had known it already, though she had not consciously considered it until now. "I monitor everything automatically in the tests, and I don't believe you were at fault. Tarrant was quite surprised and broadcasting it all over the place. It was his job to monitor you and all I could read from him was perplexity. He knew you were doing it properly. You didn't make a mistake, Avon. We know that."

      "It seems that Blake doubts it."

      "Blake is still recovering from the trauma Witt inflicted on him." She tilted up her head to look at him. "He is as capable of mistakes and misjudgments as anyone else. It is true he had no right to say that to you, but you must remember how it was on the Liberator. Though Blake did not say so in so many words, I believe he might have objected to anyone pairing up there."

      "There would have been nothing he could have done about it," Avon snapped. "I sometimes wondered if he and Jenna-" He did not complete the thought, but added coolly, "The Federation takes away a person's freedom of choice. Had Blake tried to interfere between us - then or now - he would have been no better than the Federation. Perhaps he is not. Dictators come in many guises."

      "Blake is no dictator," she objected. "He is a man who has taken on a bigger task than most men ever attempt. He is not always right. I think it was the fact that it was Blake who said it, rather than what he said, that bothers you. Would you have minded so much if it had been Tarrant?"

      He looked startled and she realised how accurate her guess had been. "He would never have dared," he said at last, a faintly predatory smile curling the corners of his mouth.

      "I hope I have not come between you and Blake, Avon," she said softly. "That is the one thing I never intended."

      "It seems that there is nothing for you to come between." Once, at such a statement, he might have drawn back from her, at best changing the subject, at worst terminating the conversation altogether, but now he held out his hand to her, and she took it and pressed it briefly against her cheek before he let go. "However," he went on, "I do believe that there is a problem on this ship, and it possible that Blake's actions today may be symptomatic."

      She wondered if he was insisting on a problem because it could discount the deliberate cruelty of Blake's remark. Only between Avon and Blake could such a comment have had such weight. Vila could have said as much and gotten away with nothing worse than a scornful look and a sarcastic rejoinder. But then Vila often said things he didn't mean, and in some ways, Avon was more comfortable with Vila than he was with any of the others, even, she suspected, herself. Vila never expected Avon to prove anything; he was content with whatever Avon was willing to give him. Avon knew he was safe with Vila, but he had no such guarantees with Blake. It might be simply that he wanted to believe that the problem was external and not something that could damage his relationship with Blake. It did not seem in character, but then no one was in character all the time, and Avon had been changing since Terminal; all of them had.

      "Orac," he asked, "Do you agree that there is a problem on this ship?"

      "There is obviously a problem," Orac agreed, "but it is a problem I am as yet unable to define. It was a simple matter to locate the fault that caused Vila's room to overheat last night. It was a fault in the environmental controls that has since been repaired. Perhaps it is invalid for you or the other members of the crew to expect Jabberwocky's auto repair systems to function as efficiently as the Liberator's did since they were not designed that way. While it is true that the Jabberwocky computer should have discovered the fault sooner, no actual harm was done except for minor discomfort."

      "Vila would disagree with you."

      "Vila has a tendency to exaggerate."

      Avon smiled at that. "Correct, Orac. Now answer this. Is what happened in Vila's cabin last night and what happened to me during the test part of the same problem? If your answer is yes, could Vila or I have been inadvertently at fault?"

      Cally realised that Avon had turned the whole thing into a technical problem to make it easier for him to deal with, and that he was now truly interested in solving the mystery. Avon liked to know how things worked and why, and he did not like them to be unsettled or confused, especially in areas involving computers. He had told them once that he did not like an unsolved mystery. If he could turn this into a simple mystery, and one that did not involve his feelings, then so much the better. Avon could keep everything finely in control as long as his feelings were not involved. Then it became much more difficult.

      Perhaps Orac could read Avon better than Avon wanted to believe, for the computer said, "You neglected to include Blake's outburst on the flight deck as a portion of the problem. It was not in character for Roj Blake, certainly without far greater provocation. Yes, all problems are related. The fault lies somewhere within the Jabberwocky system, which, at this point, includes Roj Blake as well. Neither you nor Vila could have caused both problems. During the crisis in Vila's cabin you were involved in detector shield testing. During today's test, Vila was attempting to manage weaponry. He was only marginally more successful than you were, but his difficulties would have been less evident and partially a result of your own. Hitting a target would be impossible when the ship was going in the wrong direction." Orac made a humpfing sound. "Though I am not a telepath, I am linked in a different fashion during testing, through Jabberwocky's tarial cells. I was able to monitor you, and I did so when things began to go wrong. Most interesting. Jabberwocky insists his responses were correct. Your directions were also correct, but the end result was incorrect. Fascinating."

      "You may find it fascinating," Avon observed coolly. "Orac, could Blake be causing the problems?"

      "Unlikely," replied Orac, "though it is not impossible. The human brain is a puny thing in comparison to the elaborate systems on this ship. While inferior to myself, of course, the Jabberwocky computer is a complex mechanism. For Jabberwocky to influence Blake is possible, even likely. For Blake to influence Jabberwocky without Jabberwocky realising it is a different situation."

      "Then could Jabberwocky be influencing Blake?" Cally asked, leaning forward, interested in the problem herself.

      "Jabberwocky denies it. When I monitor his responses, he does not appear to be lying, though against him, I would not be completely infallible as a lie detector."

      "Then I put it to you like this, Orac," said Avon. "If Blake is somehow influencing Jabberwocky, it would be in small things. Do you concur?"

      "Certainly."

      "Then your opinion? Could Blake be at the back of these problems?"

      "I do not deal in opinion and speculation," Orac said huffily. "I deal in facts. I will agree that it is possible for Blake to influence Jabberwocky in minor matters. At present, Hugh Tiver is testing Blake for traces of mental disturbance. There is, however, the possibility that Blake's outburst today was simply the result of bad temper, frustration at the test's failure, or poor judgment and that it is not symptomatic of the other crises on board this ship."

      "Your recommendations then?" Avon asked in what Cally considered a too controlled voice. Although he often complained of Blake, in some ways Avon could put him on a pedestal. He did not tolerate clay feet upon his idols and he had little patience with those who failed to live up to his expectations. Cally hoped that what had happened today was something that Hugh could document and cure.

      "I recommend continued monitoring of all aspects of ship functioning. I will perform said monitoring. I further recommend that until the situation is resolved that link-mode be avoided in piloting this ship or in further testing. The crew is capable of maintaining the ship safely in manual override without it. To attempt linkage would be an intolerable risk until such time as the situation has been successfully resolved."

      "What of Blake's ongoing link with Jabberwocky?" Cally asked.

      "That is a difficult question. If Witt's actions traumatised Blake, and they did, demonstrably, then asking him to relinquish his linkage would possibly affect him as well, and would certainly put him on the defensive. Still, it could be necessary, especially if further evidence indicates that the linkage is the basis of the problem. I would further suggest that Cally monitor the linkage as much as possible."

      "He would know that I was there," she pointed out.

      "And if either one of them is - mad," Avon said, his mouth curling in distaste at the word, "then you would be jeopardised, Cally. I will not permit that."

      Something inside her warmed at this casual assumption of concern for her safety, but she smiled at him and said, "Avon, I have been a telepath all my life. I can shield myself."

      "Then you would need to be very cautious," he agreed, and she found his acknowledgment of her right to take the chance even more comforting than his desire to protect her.

      "Then I will contact Hugh," she agreed. "But Blake will know everything we discuss, Avon."

      "Could Jabberwocky read you when you project to a specific person?" He sounded somewhat taken aback, as if he had just realised that it might have been possible for Jabberwocky to monitor them when they were together, not only here, but during lovemaking as well.

      "l had not thought it a problem before now," she assured him. "Jabberwocky is programmed to respect the crew's privacy and he has not eavesdropped before. But yes, it is possible for him do so."

      "Then we must not give him the opportunity." He looked round sharply at Jabberwocky's display as if expecting it to be lit, but it was blank. Avon went to study it, looking as if he would like to disconnect it on the spot, but he did nothing. Cally knew that Jabberwocky did not routinely monitor crew quarters unless he had reason to suspect a problem. The fact that he was not monitoring now was one of the more reassuring factors of the entire incident, but Cally could not help wondering how paranoid everyone would become by the time this was resolved.

      "I don't understand it, Blake," Hugh said as he completed his tests. "There's not a thing wrong with you beyond what I'd expect after what you went through when Witt was here."

      "Nothing except that I behaved like a fool and may have cost myself my friendship with Avon," retorted Blake bitterly as he climbed off the table and reached for his shirt.

      "Not permanently, surely?" Hugh objected.

      "If that's what you think, you don't know him very well. How often does Avon give anyone a second chance?" Blake fastened his shirt, his thoughts dark. This had not been one of his better days, first the conversation with Tarrant about his father, then the problem with Avon. "I don't have any idea why I said what I did, Hugh. I certainly don't want to alienate Avon. Don't tell him I said this, but I think his relationship with Cally is rather charming, and it's good for both of them. I don't like to believe I'm selfish enough to be jealous of them. It might not have been such a good idea back on Liberator, but either I've mellowed or the situation's different. We're not quite such a small crew for one thing, and it's certainly caused no dissension so far. Avon's getting along much better with people; I think he's finally begun to realise he could trust us - and then I have to show him that maybe he wasn't wrong to be suspicious." He heaved a sigh. "What do you think, Hugh? Do you have any ideas?"

      "No. I agree with you that Avon's been better since he and Cally have been together. It looks like Witt engineered it to keep them out of the way while he managed his takeover, but if he hadn't done it, they would never have learned that Cally could link with Avon without Jabberwocky, and he couldn't have come in after you - and I don't think you would have come out for anyone but Avon."

      "Perhaps you're right," Blake agreed even more bitterly. "Avon all but admitted he loved me. And then I turned on him. I have a knack for letting him down. I didn't think I would ever do that, but I can't seem to stop. Now you tell me nothing's wrong with me. I thought if I could go to Avon and tell him you said it was the result of what happened with Witt he just might accept it."

      "I didn't say it wasn't," Hugh told him as he shut down his equipment. "All I've told you is that you're not mad, that there's nothing seriously wrong with you that my equipment can monitor. Periods of irritability can affect everybody. All that means is that you're not Saint Roj. You're fallible."

      "Oh, I know," Blake replied, chagrined but not surprised. "How I know. I was hoping for a quick and easy answer. If I said what I did out of pique, I don't like myself very much."

      "You're not a god, Blake. If you never do anything worse than this, you'd be one hell of a remarkable man. I think it probably is an after-effect of what happened before. Did it never occur to you that Jabberwocky might be suffering too? It might be just as unmeasurable for him as for you. Both of you got traumatised. Both of you were affected. You could be feeding each other."

      "Is that possible?" Blake asked, startled, staring at Hugh, then turning to Jabberwocky's display. "Jabberwocky?"

      "It's possible," conceded Jabberwocky reluctantly, "but I don't think it's very likely. I'm designed to monitor myself. But I don't know if there's any way to measure my emotions. It isn't a problem that the Federation envisioned when they developed me, and I don't think Avon's early work allowed for the ship being emotional."

      "Well, that's not surprising." Hugh grinned.

      "You mean Jabberwocky might be having an emotional problem?" Blake exclaimed, gaping at Hugh in astonishment.

      "Why not? He's got a human brain, hasn't he? He's a complete person in everything but a physical body. When Jabberwocky was reactivated as the Mark 60, they didn't have to teach him to speak again or fly a ship, and he has some slight memories from before. He's whole, even if he isn't the same person he was to begin with. I'd be surprised if he didn't have emotional problems. There's been so much going on since we got him that maybe it simply didn't have time to hit him before."

      Blake was uneasy. He was so accustomed to Jabberwocky now and so used to his having the answers to their problems that it had never occurred to him that Jabberwocky might have some problems without answers. "You mean that if Jabberwocky is depressed or confused it could affect ship functions?"

      "It's possible." Hugh frowned and raked a hand through his curls, turning as if he had missed some instrumentation which could detect and define the problem. "But I'd think that Jabberwocky would know if he was having a problem or not."

      "Would he? I should think a disturbed person might be the last one to know. Don't madmen frequently believe they're sane? Isn't that why you tested me?"

      "You don't have seventeen backup systems, Blake."

      "True, but those are mainly to keep Jabberwocky's brain alive and functioning, not to measure his sanity. What do you think, Jabberwocky? Are we reading too much into all this? Is it just you and me feeding our stress back and forth? Or do you think it could be more?"

      "I wish I knew," Jabberwocky replied. "If it's true, I'm not aware of it, and I'm fairly sure I would be. After all, I'm basically a lot more sane than normal people, aren't I, Hugh?"

      "More or less," agreed Hugh with a grin. "You like to think so anyway. I'm not sure Avon would agree."

      "I want to know how we could be sure," Blake persisted. "Do you think it would be a good idea for me to drop out of the linkage until we find out?"

      "You mean you want to give me up, Roj?" Jabberwocky sounded hurt.

      "No more than Cally did when she gave you to me. But neither do I want anybody getting hurt. So far, nothing serious has happened, at least physically. But I don't like what happened with Avon, even if I did it. At least if we were to separate, I could find out if it was just me or if it was both of us."

      "I think it sounds as though you don't trust me any more," Jabberwocky pouted. "And I don't like it one bit. But if everybody thinks it's for the best, I suppose I'll have to go along."

      "We aren't sure it's necessary yet," Hugh put in quickly. "If a forced separation traumatized the pair of you, I'm not sure a voluntary separation is going to make things right again. Let me study everything I've learned so far." He patted Blake on the shoulder sympathetically. "On the other hand, if you're both having problems, it might be easier to treat them separately."

      "Then I'll go apologize to Avon," declared Blake as he headed for the door. "I can't leave it any longer than this, and it may already be too late."

      "If he's that intolerant, maybe he isn't worth it," said Jabberwocky slyly.

      Blake stiffened, alarmed at that response. "He's worth it, Jabberwocky," he insisted. "I've always known that."

      He paused in the doorway. "If Avon thinks it's necessary, I might agree to separate for the duration. We've got the situation on Eridani Major to cope with and it might be easier if the only mistakes I make there are my own. I'll let you know when I make the decision. Because it will have to be my decision and no one else's - except for Jabberwocky's."

      He went out, feeling Hugh's eyes on his back.

      Blake hesitated outside Avon's cabin, dismayed to find that a part of his mind was prodding him to turn and walk away and to hell with Avon. He quested after Jabberwocky in the link and found the feeling originating there. Jabberwocky apologized quickly and promised to try to keep his feelings under control. Blake wondered why Jabberwocky suddenly resented Avon and whether it could have anything to do with Cally - Jabberwocky had linked with her first and now she had another sort of link with Avon. Jabberwocky had certainly singled out Avon to fail blatantly in the test. Blake would have expected it to be Tarrant since Jabberwocky had been militant on Blake's behalf when he learned about Tarrant's father. But so far, nothing had happened to Tarrant, and it was Avon and Vila, whom Blake had known the longest, who had been the targets. In a way, that was interesting, but Blake couldn't let it continue. Maybe it was time to withdraw from the link. Though it was important to him, Avon was more important. He hoped Jabberwocky would not take that wrong. //I'll think it over first,// he reassured Jabberwocky. //As soon as I've talked to Avon.//

      If he thought ruefully, Avon would consent to talk to him at all.

      He pushed the buzzer and waited. There was silence, then Avon's voice, cool and wary. "Who is it?"

      "It's Blake. I must talk to you, Avon."

      "Must you?" There was no welcome in that tone, and the door did not open, but after a minute, Blake activated it and it slid open silently. At least Avon had not locked him out.

      Avon was seated at the table studying some plastex sheets, and when the door opened he neither looked up nor spoke, though he must have heard Blake come in. Blake stepped into the room and shut the door behind him, and only then did Avon raise his head. He looked at Blake and his face revealed nothing at all. Just when Blake could bear the scrutiny no longer and was about to speak, Avon said, "You've seen Hugh?"

      "Yes, Avon. He assures me that I'm not mad."

      Avon considered that, then he returned to his study. After a moment, Blake asked, "What are you doing?"

      "That is not your concern."

      "I think it is very much my concern," Blake retorted. "I came here to apologize to you."

      "That makes it all worthwhile."

      "And to inform you that there may be a problem in the linkage," Blake persisted, ignoring Avon's sarcasm.

      "I am aware of that, Blake."

      "Then you know it might not have been entirely my fault on the flight deck."

      "Do I? Am I to assume, therefore, that Jabberwocky is putting words into your mouth?"

      "He could do it," Blake assured him. "I don't believe he will now that I am alerted to the problem and guarded against it, however."

      "Yes, I am quite certain that you are right. You will pit your less than glowing mental abilities against this ship, which possesses one of the best computer systems I have ever seen, not to mention a telepathic human brain that is imprinted to your specific brain pattern. Naturally you can protect yourself. Don't be a fool, Blake. You do not even know how to shield in the link."

      "What do you suggest I do?" Blake asked, smarting under the scorn in Avon's voice.

      "That should be obvious even to you, Blake. Unlink."

      "And allow you to replace me, Avon?" Blake demanded suspiciously.

      "And here I thought you had always trusted me, from the very beginning."

      It was so like Avon to throw his words back at him, thought Blake, annoyed, then he collected himself. Avon delighted in pointing out people's mistakes, especially if he had warned them in the first place that such mistakes were possible, but right now Avon's suspicious nature triggered Blake's defensiveness, and they were even more at cross purposes than usual. Blake forced back his resentment. "I do trust you, Avon. After you saved me from Witt, I knew how much I could trust you. What I'm saying now isn't always just me. I think that Jabberwocky resents my feelings for you, just as he resents your feelings for Cally."

      "A jealous computer?" Avon asked, intrigued by the concept. "Now that is something I have yet to encounter."

      "Jabberwocky isn't entirely a computer," Blake reminded him. "Part of him is human as well."

      "That was always the greatest flaw in my original design."

      "That's not fair, Avon," Blake burst out. "Jabberwocky is one of us and he has as much right to be considered as you or I do. He is just as capable of having problems as we are, and he has feelings as well."

      "The difference is that none of the rest of us can tamper with the ship's systems so effectively with the potential for such disastrous results, Blake."

      The cabin display came on then. "Avon, I don't want to hurt the ship," Jabberwocky burst out. "That would be hurting myself as much as the rest of you."

      "But you do admit that you have the potential for doing so?" Avon pressed.

      "Yes. Just because I made a few mistakes-"

      "Oh, so now you admit that you made mistakes?" Avon got up and went over to confront the display. "Very interesting. You denied it earlier. Are you confessing now simply because we have found you out or have you discovered the nature of the fault?"

      "The fault is not mechanical," explained Jabberwocky. "It is not a hardware problem. Should a human receive a physical injury, diagnosis and treatment are easy to determine. Should the problem be emotional, psychiatric if you will, the odds are that it would be harder to diagnose, and that the person might, for a time, try to deny that it existed, attempting to function normally as long as possible."

      "Wonderful," Avon muttered, turning away and returning to his chair at the table. "A psychotic computer." He picked up his work again but did not immediately do anything with it.

      "It wouldn't all be Jabberwocky," Blake confessed quickly. "Hugh thinks that both of us are suffering the traumatic after-effects of Witt's disruption of our link."

      "That, of course, is terribly reassuring." Avon lay the plastex sheets down again and stared at Blake, and while he still looked stiff and distant, some of his resentment was gone. "Cally and I had speculated on much the same thing. The solution is obvious. You and Jabberwocky must unlink. Just as the linkage was not a permanent solution for Cally's isolation, neither can it be a cure for traumatic stress. Until such time as the problem is resolved, no one should be linked. If you mean to complete the mission to Eridani Major this time, Jabberwocky could be a handicap that we do not need."

      "Oh, I concede you're right, Avon," Blake said. "I don't like it, but I do agree. I don't suppose I'm the best person for such a linkage; I've no psi gifts at all. Cally gave Jabberwocky to me to unite the crew. I'd like to think we are united, but the longer these problems continue the less united we will become. I'm not sure who would be the best person in the link. Probably Cally, but I wouldn't want it to come between you and Cally."

      "That isn't what you said on the flight deck," snapped Avon.

      Blake was glad he'd given him a chance for that outburst. "I know, and I was a fool. Or else Jabberwocky and I were feeding off each other and ready to take our problems out on the first handy victim. I'm sorry it was you. You know I wouldn't have deliberately hurt you."

      "Do I?" Avon stared at him, uncomfortable with the apology. "Do you resent my relationship with Cally, Blake?"

      "No, I approve of it."

      "I did not ask for your approval."

      "I didn't mean it that way. Must you always be so prickly, Avon?"

      That won the first faint smile from Avon. "I think that I must."

      "And I wouldn't have it any other way. You might say that I like the challenge." Blake returned Avon's smile. "All right, Avon. I don't like it and Jabberwocky hates it, but I think you're right. I agree to unlink, but I'd like to have you there."

      "Why?" Avon asked suspiciously.

      "For moral support," Blake said as if it should be obvious. "Besides, I don't think you want Jabberwocky yourself right now.

      "I have long accepted the fact that I am not yet ready for Jabberwocky," Avon conceded, resigned. "Now I am forced to accept that perhaps none of us are."

      "Then come with me to the medical unit," Blake asked. "Hugh will probably want to monitor me to make sure I'm all right."

      Avon nodded. "Very well Blake." He led the way to the door.

      "What is this, a mutiny?" Hugh asked. Dragged off by Vila the moment Blake had left the medical unit, he was now face to face with Tarrant in the old ship with the door sealed up. "Do you think Jabberwocky will be monitoring us, is that why we're here?"

      "It's as good a reason as any," Tarrant agreed. "We think something is wrong with Jabberwocky, or with Jabberwocky and Blake. We want to make sure things don't get out of hand."

      "He means any further out of hand," Vila put in.

      "I don't know that sneaking around on the hangar deck is the answer," Hugh replied. "Besides, Blake and Jabberwocky agree with you. We don't know what's causing it yet, unless it's what Witt did to them. It could be some some design flaw that no one could have guessed at. They may have to unlink. Blake wanted to talk to Avon about it first."

      "Feeling suicidal, is Blake?" Vila asked uneasily.

      Hugh grinned. "I don't imagine Avon will make it easy for him," he agreed, "but it has to be attempted. If Avon won't forgive him, I'll have a go at talking him round."

      "That won't resolve the problem with the ship," objected Tarrant. He took a seat at one of the control stations and propped his feet up. "If the problem is Jabberwocky, unlinking won't be the total answer. It might just mean that Jabberwocky can do what he wants to, free of Blake's restraining influence."

      "I've thought of that," Hugh admitted. "But I don't know what else to suggest. We can't shut Jabberwocky down, at least while we're in space. I might try to talk it out with him once Blake is out of the link. I'm no expert, but I've got some background and maybe I can help."

      "Does he remember anything of his past?" Vila asked.

      "Jabberwocky? Hardly anything, I should think."

      "Maybe that's your problem then," Vila said thoughtfully. "He's trying to cope with amnesia."

      "Maybe the problem is just the opposite," speculated Tarrant, frowning. "Maybe he's suddenly got his memory back."

      "Why would that be a problem?" Vila turned to stare at him. "You'd think he'd be glad to remember."

      "Would you, Vila?" asked Tarrant with sudden understanding. "I don't think so. To remember he had a family? To remember his friends? To know he could never see them again? I don't think remembering would do Jabberwocky any good at all. What do you think, Hugh?"

      "I hadn't considered that, but if Jabberwocky has remembered his past, then he'll know what he has lost and it could cause all kinds of problems. Have you seen anything to make you think he's remembered anything?"

      "No," conceded Tarrant, "nothing." And Vila shook his head, eyes wide and worried.

      Hugh sighed and ran his hands through his hair impatiently. "Then all we've got is speculation. I don't like this. Everything was finally going well too."

      "That's always a sure sign that it's about to change," Vila said mournfully. "Good things never last. It's the bad things that never stop happening."

      "You're a cynic, Vila," Hugh observed. "You sound as pessimistic as Avon."

      "Avon's not always wrong," Vila pointed out. He wandered over to the main position, lifted the cushion, and retrieved a bottle of something faintly blue. "Drinks, anyone?"

      "Vila, you promised," Tarrant protested, snatching the bottle away from him.

      "Now, is that fair, Tarrant? I didn't say I was going to have any, did l?"

      "I think you'll stand a better chance of keeping that promise if I hold onto this."

      "Will l?" Vila sat down in the command position and began to push buttons. Since the system was shut down, nothing happened, but his face was glum and unhappy, and he shot a disgusted look at Tarrant.

      Hugh could sense the crew beginning to come apart around him. He hated the thought and it made him feel helpless. He had never been trained for this. It might take Avon's help, since Avon had done the preliminary work on the ship and was best equipped to deal with computers, but Avon wasn't likely to be very cooperative. Hugh hoped that Avon would be willing to come to terms with Blake and work with him, but he didn't have a lot of faith in that happening. Avon was not a tolerant man. Hugh hoped this wouldn't undo all the good that had been accomplished since they'd got Jabberwocky.

      Vila and Tarrant tried to help him, offering various suggestions, most of them outlandish. Some of Tarrant's involved him replacing Blake in the link. "I'm a pilot, after all. The link was designed for a pilot, Hugh. Maybe that's part of what's wrong. It was designed to fly the ship not for all this other fancy stuff. Maybe if I linked in pilot-mode we could stop all the other problems."

      "And maybe you'd go mad too."

      "I'd risk it."

      "Then you're a fool, Tarrant," Vila muttered. He looked like he still resented Tarrant's appropriation of the bottle. "But then I knew that anyway."

      "And you're a coward," Tarrant snapped back. "Go ahead. Drink yourself into a stupor. You'd be as much help that way as you are now."

      "Stop it, you two," Hugh intervened wearily, grabbing at the bottle that Tarrant offered Vila.

      //Hugh!// Cally's voice came suddenly into his head. //Where are you?// She sounded upset. //Jabberwocky can't find you, and we need you in the medical unit.//

      Hugh jumped to his feet and the bottle crashed to the floor as he missed it. "Cally wants me in the medical unit," he reported. "Jabberwocky says he can't find us."

      "He should have seen us come in here," Tarrant replied, ignoring the spilled liquor as he followed Hugh. "This sounds like another fault in the system to me."

      Vila left the bottle where it lay and came along too.

      All of them were worried about what was wrong now.

      Cally had summoned everyone to the medical unit except for Soolin, who was on watch, and as they came in, she told them what was to happen. Blake and Jabberwocky were to unlink, and Jabberwocky had agreed not to link with anyone else until the situation was under control. At that time, she added, they would decide as a group who would be the best choice to go into the link.

      "If anyone," Avon put in, his face disdainful. "Will this do permanent harm to Blake?" he asked Hugh.

      "I don't believe so," Hugh assured him, though Avon's tone had not seemed to be seeking assurances. "It didn't hurt Cally to separate voluntarily, and of all of us, Cally is the one who would most prefer a continuing link."

      Cally smiled a little. That was true; she still missed the linkage, though the semi-telepathic bond she was forming with Avon was in its own way as satisfying, especially since she could still receive telepathically from Jabberwocky. She feared that if Blake were to withdraw from the link, she would lose the boosted sendings she occasionally received from the other members of the crew, but she had long been among humans and was resigned to the periods of silence inside her head. If it weren't for the fact that Avon had some rudimentary telepathic abilities, she would have felt very alone. As if suspecting her feelings, Avon turned and gave her an unexpected and reassuring smile. She was always charmed when he lowered his guard to her that way.

      "What am I to do?" Blake asked.

      "I think I'll have you lie down," Hugh told him, and Blake climbed obediently onto the med table and stretched out, looking wary, while Hugh applied sensor equipment and turned on his scanner. "I don't think all this will be necessary, Roj," he reassured him, "But I'd rather not take chances. Avon, I want you to stand here," he added over his shoulder, pointing out a spot beside the table.

      "Why?" Avon asked suspiciously as he approached and positioned himself there.

      "Because you're the one who brought Blake out last time, and I think he'd feel safer with you here - it might make it easier for him to unlink. Cally, you too. If necessary, I want you to link with Avon - can you do that without Jabberwocky the way you did before?"

      "Yes, I can do it," she said. She and Avon had practised it a time or two, just to see what they could do, but she hadn't pressed him for a lot of practice time because, even with her, he was still reluctant to try anything telepathic. She understood his reasons and had not pushed too hard, knowing that what little he had experimented with had been for her, and she was grateful for it. Now she was glad they had tried even as much as that.

      "Avon?" Hugh asked.

      "If necessary."

      Dayna stood beside Tarrant near the door, looking concerned and sceptical and Tarrant reached out and put his hand on her arm. Cally noticed the gesture and wondered at it.

      Vila crept closer. "What should I do, Hugh?" he asked. "Cally?"

      Cally smiled at him. Vila looked sad and worried and she wanted to give him a task, though she did not believe any of this would be necessary unless Jabberwocky chose at the last moment to balk and make it so. "Stand beside me, Vila," she said. "Blake has known you a long time, and it will help him to have you here."

      "Will it?" Avon asked. "More fool him."

      "That shows what you know," Vila snapped back.

      "Be silent," she told them, irritated, "arguments are not needed here."

      Hugh had finished fiddling with his instruments and now he said, "All right. Jabberwocky, are you ready to unlink?"

      "I'm ready, Hugh, but I still think this is a terrible idea."

      "Does that mean you will refuse to cooperate?" Avon asked in the tones of one who is prepared to enforce his decision with violence if necessary.

      "No, Avon, I'll do it. I just don't like it. I've had enough of being alone and it was never very much fun."

      Tarrant sucked in his breath at that, as if it meant something special to him, and Cally resolved to question him after this was finished. Maybe Tarrant had picked up something in the link-mode that would help them all. Tarrant was good at it, after all. Maybe he would be the best choice for it when all this was settled. And how Avon would hate that.

      "I'm ready," Jabberwocky said. "Blake, I'm going to let go now. You must be ready to release when I say so. Don't forget, I can still talk to you telepathically if you need me."

      "If I need you..." Blake muttered shakily. He looked frightened, and perhaps that would once have won contempt from Avon, but now he stepped fractionally closer to the table. He did not offer a hand or reach out to Blake, but the slight movement arrested Blake's attention and he turned to look at Avon and held out his hand toward him. Avon stared at it a moment as if it held a weapon, his lip curled cynically - and then he took it.

      Blake gripped it so hard his knuckles whitened and Avon grimaced. "Now I'm ready," Blake told Jabberwocky.

      There was a moment of silence and Cally, who was deliberately avoiding anything that might intrude upon the linkage, could only watch, feeling a useless spectator. She saw Blake's face tense up, pale a little, and then flatten out a moment as if he had been snatched out of himself and into Jabberwocky, leaving only a shell behind. He looked as he had when Witt had forced him from the linkage. Cally had only a moment to consider this horrifying speculation before Avon's arm came around her shoulders. Had she broadcast her concern to him inadvertently or had he guessed? Or perhaps the gesture was meant to comfort both of them.

      He peered down at Blake, whatever he was feeling concealed from the world by a blank mask as empty as Blake's face, then he drew back a little as Blake shifted and squeezed his hand tighter. Avon winced. Then Blake's eyes flew open and his other hand came up and clutched at Avon too. He said in a hollow voice, "He's gone. Jabberwocky's gone."

      "Yes," Avon agreed in carefully matter of fact tones. "You are strong enough to endure that."

      "Oh, I know," Blake agreed. "But..." He seemed to realise then that he was half crushing Avon's hand and his grip eased, causing Cally to sigh with relief because with Avon's arm around her, she had been able to feel the pain he was inadvertently transmitting to her. Surreptitiously she rubbed her hand.

      "Jabberwocky?" Hugh asked. "Are you still with us?"

      There was only silence, and Blake sat up, looking around urgently for Jabberwocky's display as if he had misplaced it. It was blank, realised Cally, and she tried to reach the ship telepathically. //Jabberwocky?//

      The screen flickered feebly, then it came to life, steadying slowly to its normal patter. "I'm here." Jabberwocky's voice lacked spirit and its usual warmth, but it was steady for all that. "I'd forgotten how boring it was without a link-mate. I don't like this one bit."

      Oddly enough, that was reassuring because he did sound like himself again. Blake groaned and stood up, finally freeing Avon's hand. Avon flexed his fingers a few times, perhaps to make sure they still worked, and looked at Blake sharply, not as if he meant to complain, but to try to determine if Blake was well or not.

      "How do you feel?" Cally asked Blake.

      "I was a little light-headed at first, but it's clearing up now. My headache's gone."

      "Maybe it was in the link after all," Hugh said. "Sit down again, Blake and let me run a proper scan on you."

      Blake complied, but by the time Hugh had finished and given him a clean bill of health, he looked fine, and his colour had come back. If Cally, who had been a telepath, could endure the separation, it might be easier for Blake. Cally noticed that Avon hovered about, watching Blake carefully, though he didn't comment when Hugh told Blake he was all right.

      "What about aftereffects, Blake?" That was Tarrant.

      "I don't know, Del," Blake replied. "Right now I feel a little empty as if I'd lost something important, but I can function. I'll survive this. But I don't know that I should be the one to link again when we get the problem cleared up."

      "Roj!" Jabberwocky exclaimed.

      "No, really," Blake told the computer. "Maybe we just didn't match right. A lot of the others are better at linking than I am. It isn't that I don't want you back because I do. I just don't think it's wise."

      "Oh well, I suppose you're right," Jabberwocky agreed petulantly, "but I don't like this. I'll run a thorough check on all my systems. What do you think I should do, Hugh? Do you want to test me too?"

      "I'd like to give you some psych tests, if you don't mind."

      "I don't mind. I think it would be a good idea."

      "What about me, Hugh?" Blake asked. "Do you want me to go through those tests again now that I'm unlinked?"

      "Yes, but I think we'll leave it until tomorrow. We'd get a more valid picture then. It's getting late. Why don't you have dinner and take it easy the rest of the evening. Get a good night's sleep, and if you need something to help you, I'll give it to you this time. But tomorrow, come back and we'll see what we can make out. All right?"

      "Fine." Blake stood up again and headed for the door. Avon made a move to follow him, but stopped when Blake made no request for his company, so he waited. All of them watched him leave. Then Cally sighed. "It's hit him harder than he thought it would," she said, "but Blake is strong. I think we should leave him alone for a bit. It's not quite dinner time. When it is, we can go along and ask him to eat with us."

      Vila nodded. "Do you want me to keep an eye on him, Cally?" he offered, nodding after Blake.

      "That might be a good idea," Cally agreed. "Can you be unobtrusive?"

      "Assuming that is a word in his vocabulary," Avon muttered under his breath.

      Vila ignored him. "Can I be unobtrusive? Cally, please! I'm a thief. You think I'd be any good at what I did if I let people notice me? I'll go along and pester Blake without letting him know I'm pestering him." He grinned at her, glared at Avon, and went out.

      "Sadistic of you," Avon retorted.

      "Oh, hush. You needn't always pretend to be so scornful of Vila."

      "Needn't I?"

      "Vila loves you," said Cally, more to shut him up than anything else. She was weary and she could feel Jabberwocky's loneliness drifting to her in waves, and she didn't have as much patience as usual.

      Avon threw her an affronted look, then he turned. "l shall go to instruct Orac to monitor Jabberwocky's functions and arrange for an alarm should anything go amiss," he explained to no one in particular and stalked out of the medical unit.

      Dayna chuckled. "That wasn't very nice of you, Cally."

      "Perhaps not. Hugh? Do you think it will be all right?"

      "l think Blake will. In spite of being somewhat bereft at the separation, I could see a positive difference in him. I think the fault is really with Jabberwocky. I'm going to stay here and set up some initial tests now. The rest of you get lost."

      Cally smiled, then remembered something. "Tarrant, something Jabberwocky said reminded you of something. What was it?"

      "Nothing very much. It only made me wonder if he was getting his memory back. That could cause some problems. "

      Cally stared at him in dismay. She could foresee a great many problems if Jabberwocky was fact remembering things from before. She turned to his display. "Jabberwocky? Could that be true?"

      "Of course not," snapped Jabberwocky. He sounded almost as peevish as Orac.

      Cally decided to leave it to Hugh, who was better equipped to deal with it. She heaved a quiet sigh and ushered Tarrant and Dayna from the room.

      At first, she had been furious, bitterly sad and angry, but as the days passed, the sadness eased into tight control; she had always been good at control. The fury toned itself down into anger, controllable but there. She had been too late to prevent it, and now there was only one thing left to her. Revenge. She was very good, she thought, at revenge.

      Jenna Stannis had not had a good year. At first she had expected the Liberator to come for her, she'd managed to send her location to Zen. But before the Liberator could arrive, the Federation had. Or what was left of it. A flotilla of pursuit ships, with troopers disgorging from the ships, determined to have a good time, roaming about the planet like a swarm of space debris, covering everything and making waiting dangerous. Jenna had decided to cut her losses and when she encountered an old friend from her smuggling days, she had signed on as crew at least to the next planetfall. She should have known it wouldn't be that easy.

      Once they had left Morphenniel, she learned that Sethan had changed since the old days. Once he would have done anything to protect her; now he knew how much a member of Liberator's crew would be worth. If she hadn't been sleeping badly that first night, she would not have got up and overheard him speaking over the com-system to someone about bringing in the outlaw Stannis. She had crept away again and bided her time, letting him think he'd fooled her, but the next night, she had sneaked up on him and overpowered him with her Liberator gun. His navigator had jumped her and there had been a fight. She had won, but when it was over, the navigator was dead and Sethan was dead, and she had possession of one run-down ship and a broken teleport bracelet.

      After that, searching for the Liberator had been a hit and miss affair at best, and she spent almost a year hunting for clues of the ship, trailing behind, hearing a word here, another there, sometimes missing them by as little as a day or two. Blake didn't seem to be with them any longer, and at first, she could pick up no trace of him at all. She wondered sadly if Blake had died of his wound, or if Avon had simply abandoned him. Those two had been long overdue for a showdown, and if it weren't for the fact that they seemed to care about each other even as they juggled for position, they would have gone their separate ways a long time ago. Frankly, Jenna had always resented Avon. She had been drawn to Blake from the beginning and had made as much impression on him as Vila had. He had valued her for her skills and he liked her, but there was a part of Roj Blake that was sealed away behind a wall she could not penetrate. Well, fine, if that was the way it was. It might even have had to do with the games the Federation had played with his mind. Maybe he didn't want to let anyone close to him again for fear of losing them to a Federation programmer's memory erase. She could have lived with that, even overcome it one day, if she had enough patience. Blake's idealism and his vision pulled at her though she had never shared them, even though she had wanted to. She wouldn't have said she loved Blake, but she felt something for him, and she respected the fact that he was willing to take a stand against the Federation. Even if they had really accomplished very little, they had tried, and Jenna wanted to trust him, to care about him, to back him.

      And she wanted him to care about her. She would have accepted his failure to do so if it weren't for the fact that he had let Avon, of all people, past his protective walls, Avon who criticized him and mocked him and threatened to take his ship away from him, who might betray him in an instant if it was to his benefit. Blake had chosen Avon over her. Jenna resented Avon for that, resented him all the more because she saw herself in him, saw her own avarice, her self-serving nature, her unwillingness to give of her inner self. Avon was all the things she disliked most in herself, and while she understood him and knew how to cope with him, she didn't like him. Perhaps it would have been easier if Blake had loved Cally, though she would have resented the alien woman for it. But Cally cared more for Blake's cause than she did for Blake, and though the two of them seemed to like each other and understand each other, Blake did not share Cally's bed. He didn't share Avon's either, but Jenna thought that would have been against the nature of both men. Still, it wasn't Cally who kept Blake away from Jenna. It was Avon.

      Finally, finding no trace of the Liberator, and hearing an unconfirmed report that the alien spacecraft had been destroyed by Servalan, she picked up a lead that suggested Blake was on the planet Gauda Prime. So she went to Gauda Prime, just in time to hear the Federation viscasts gleefully proclaiming that Supreme Commander Arpel had wiped out Blake's band of rebels once and for all. Blake was dead, the reports insisted, but a sly commentator implied he lived after all, for the Federation had never displayed his body. Uncertain of whether that was the truth, or an attempt by a sympathetic local press to turn Blake into a legend, Jenna made the rounds of the local taverns, seeking information. As a known smuggler who had been linked with Blake, she had to be very careful, but there were still some people here sympathetic to Blake. One of them had a very interesting story to tell.

      "I was there," he told her, a little weasel of a man who cringed every time she moved. He made Vila look courageous by comparison, Jenna thought scornfully as she poured him a drink. "I was one of Blake's people," he went on, watching his glass fill with greedy eyes. "I worked on his base here. We'd got a report that someone was looking for Blake. It might have been Avon - he used to be with Blake on the Liberator, but you'd know that."

      Jenna nodded impatiently. "Was it Avon?" she asked.

      "Well, Blake said so, didn't he? I was with him and Deva, but I didn't trust the reports so I hid in a side passage and waited. Four men came in and one of them was Avon. I've seen his picture. Vila too, I think, and the third was Del Tarrant He's been with Avon on the Liberator, they say."

      Jenna had heard of Tarrant, the Liberator's new pilot, and thought of him with less than enthusiasm, resenting him for taking her place. It was not as if Avon and Orac had tried very hard to find her, after all.

      "I don't know who the fourth man was," her informant went on, downing nearly half his glass in one swallow. "He had curly hair but it wasn't as dark as Blake's or Tarrant's. He was about Blake's height but thinner and younger. Anyway, Blake called Avon by name. Avon stopped Tarrant from shooting Blake - Tarrant must not have recognized Blake. Then they talked and Blake recognized Vila. We were dressed as Federation in case it was a trap, and Avon was suspicious. Then everything went wrong. The real Federation came in; maybe they followed Avon, maybe Avon was working with them - only he shot at them, so it must have been just bad luck. But that's when Avon shot Blake."

      "Avon did what?" She caught herself at once and lowered her voice. "Avon shot Blake?" she demanded. "Surely not. You're lying to me." She had never quite expected that, in spite of her suspicion of Avon.

      "Blake was trying to save him from a Federation trooper," the little man went on. "But Avon shot him down. There was a big gun battle then: Avon, Vila and Tarrant against the Federation, while the fourth man took care of Blake."

      "Took care of him? Was he a doctor?"

      "I don't know. Then when things were getting bad, he started hollering for somebody to help them, somebody called Jabbery or something like that. I couldn't quite make it out. Then next thing I know, I was stunned, and when I woke up, the Federation people were all out too and just beginning to wake up. I hightailed it out of there fast, you can believe me."

      "What about Blake and the others?" Jenna demanded.

      "They weren't there any more. I thought I heard a ship taking off, but it was before I was really awake. I managed to get into a hidden passage that I knew about and out into the forest, and I got clean away." He looked at her proudly as if he expected accolades for his cleverness.

      But Jenna had no time for that. "Was Blake killed?" she asked

      "I don't know that, do I? I wasn't close enough to see. I don't think he could've been killed outright though, or the doctor wouldn't have been bandaging him up like he was."

      "Why did Avon shoot him?"

      "You know that as well as I do," the man said, shaking his head in perplexity. "I've no idea unless he thought Blake had gone over to the Federation. It must've looked funny; we were in uniform, then more troopers came in."

      "Or maybe he just thought he could get away with it then." She shrugged. "So it looks like Avon stole Blake's body?"

      "Or else took him to his ship for treatment. Liberator's supposed to have a fancy medical unit, isn't it?"

      "I heard Liberator was destroyed."

      "Maybe it was only a rumour." He plopped down his empty glass and looked at it mournfully.

      She wondered if it would be worth her while to fill it up for him again; it seemed that he had nothing further to tell her that would help her. Avon had shot Blake and taken him away, and Blake was probably dead. She was a little unclear about the way everyone had been stunned, but then so was her informant and more liquor wasn't going to clear his brain enough to pry it out of him. In the end she offered him another drink to keep him quiet and went out to seek further information.

      But on Gauda Prime, she was unable to learn anything more about Blake or about Avon and the others.

      In the past weeks, she had gained little in the way of useful information. The Federation was in a state of flux, the new Supreme Commander, Arpel, was making raids on several rebel installations, and cracking down on smugglers, forcing Jenna to be very wary. He should have been resting on his laurels after breaking up Blake's establishment on Gauda Prime, but he wasn't, and the latest word was that he had been to several places trying to find a valuable prototype ship that had been stolen. He was obviously not the sort of supreme commander who waited at Space Command Headquarters for other people to do his dirty work. Jenna decided it would be to her advantage to learn what she could about him, and in doing so, her trail crossed that of a Lt. Sleer, who had been involved in the theft of the missing ship. Jenna followed the trail to Eridani Major and there got a good look at Sleer. Fortunately it was from a distance. The woman had short curly hair and wore an ordinary uniform, but Jenna knew her at once. Servalan.

      Anything to do with Servalan had the possibility of involving Avon and Blake, so Jenna stayed on Eridani Major, waiting to see what would happen next. But nothing did. Arpel arrived, it was rumoured, and the next thing Jenna heard, Sleer had taken off on a ship with a crew of mutoids and Arpel had returned to Space Command Headquarters.

      All her leads had fizzled around her, and Jenna was stuck here with no place else to go. Tired and frustrated and only now beginning to come to terms with her fury over Blake's death, she decided to stay here for the time being and rest up for what was to come. There was, she supposed, a slight chance that Blake still lived, but she didn't know how good a chance it was - Avon's enemies usually met remarkably permanent ends, and there was no reason why Blake should be the exception.

      But it was on Eridani Major that her best lead came after all. One day, on her way to investigate a possible cargo, she ran into Del Grant.

      No one was further from her mind, and she would have walked right past him if he hadn't caught her arm and exclaimed delightedly, "Jenna!"

      Her hand went for her gun - not her Liberator weapon because even with the power pack it had stopped working a few months ago - only to have him stop her arm. "Don't shoot, Jenna. Don't you remember me? Del Grant?"

      "Of course I remember you," she said, pleased. Grant was an acquaintance from her Liberator days and he brought back memories. Albian and the mission to locate Provine, and Avon disarming a bomb. Things had been simpler then somehow. It was good to see Grant again.

      He had aged in the past two years, losing some hair, and there was a lot of grey in with the blond these days. His eyes were bitter and there was a whole map of new lines around them, but he was smiling at her enthusiastically. Maybe she was a memory of a better time for him as well, though she didn't see how she could be. She had been with Avon, and Avon had been the instrument of Grant's sister's death. Jenna didn't know the whole story because no one had been very forthcoming about it afterwards, but she had picked up a few crumbs. Here was the one person who would best appreciate her feelings for Avon. When he suggested they go and have a drink together, she went willingly. Too long alone, she was happy to think that fate had given her the perfect ally.

      "Have you heard anything of Avon lately?" she asked when they were installed in a local bar.

      "He's due here in a day or so," Grant replied. "Avalon's sending him and the others to meet with the local resistance. Things are starting to shape up at last; we're making up for lost time. You're not with Blake now?"

      "No. We were separated after the battle with the aliens and I haven't seen him or any of the others since then." She didn't really want to talk about Blake. It still hurt too much.

      "So Avon's working with the resistance?" she asked, her mouth curling sourly. "I shouldn't have thought it of him."

      "Nor I," Grant replied, his eyes startled as he recognised her bitterness. "You don't like Avon, Jenna?"

      "l hate him," she said frankly. "He owes me."

      "You might have to stand in line," he replied, accepting his glass from the table dispenser and programming in her request, passing it to her when it popped out a moment later. "He owes me for my sister's death."

      "I thought you'd settled all that," Jenna said in surprise. Avon and Grant had parted, if not friends, at least with some acceptance of each other when Grant had teleported back to Albian.

      "I thought we had too. It was only later that I learned the truth. Anna had managed to escape the Federation. Avon and I both thought they'd killed her, but we were wrong."

      "Then he didn't cause her death after all?"

      "No? He met her on Earth last year and he shot her in cold blood."

      "What?" Jenna was startled. That was the last thing she would have expected, but then if Avon would kill Blake, why not the woman he had loved? Why not Vila and the others as well? Why did Vila stay with him, if it came to that? Was he so downtrodden that he went along with Avon no matter what he did?

      "It's even worse than that," Grant went on, twisting his glass around in his hands. Jenna was glad it was made of plastex rather than glass and was therefore unbreakable without a lot more pressure, for it would have shattered otherwise. "Anna was working with a rebel movement, and they were attempting to overthrow Servalan. They had succeeded in imprisoning Servalan, I'm told. I got this from someone who heard it from Servalan herself; she witnessed my sister's death. Avon shot her down. I don't know what he was doing there; perhaps he had come after Servalan, though she survived the encounter."

      "Maybe she killed Anna and blamed the others," Jenna replied, though she had no wish to defend Avon.

      "No. I talked to some others of Anna's people and they reported that one of them had seen one of Avon's people on the grounds, Dayna Mellanby. Del Tarrant was there too. If they were there, Avon was there too. I don't know why he killed Anna, but I mean to find out. Then I mean to kill him."

      "I mean to kill him too," Jenna said.

      "He'd be just as dead no matter who kills him," Grant pointed out. "But I want the satisfaction of it."

      "And you think I don't? He killed Blake, Grant."

      Grant stared at her in disbelief. "What? When?"

      "A month or so ago on Gauda Prime."

      "I think you may have that wrong, Jenna. I've heard that Blake is with the others on Jabberwocky."

      "He can't be. I have an eyewitness who saw Avon gun Blake down."

      "My report is that he's alive."

      "Have you spoken with him?" she asked eagerly. Though it would be difficult to accept Avon if he had indeed shot Blake, she could still hope that it had not been a fatal wound. It wouldn't make her any better disposed toward Avon, but it was a chance, something she had not permitted herself to believe until now.

      "No, I got the word by messenger, third hand at that. They were supposed to come here a few weeks ago, but something prevented it and they were forced to delay."

      "Maybe they learned you were here and knew it would be too risky," she said. "They might want to cover up the fact that Blake is dead."

      "That's possible," he agreed. "The message I got about the delay did come from Avon. I know Blake had been in touch with Avalon, though, and I'm working with her too. I should think she would know if there was something wrong."

      "How could she know if Avon and the others concocted a story that they all agreed on. They could arrange to cover it up."

      "You may be right." It was obvious that at this point Grant was ready to believe any villainy of Avon.

      "What did you plan to do when he came down?" she asked.

      "Get the truth out of him about Anna and then kill him."

      "I want in," she insisted. "Grant, I want in. We have to find out about Blake first though. I can't let myself believe that he's alive, but I think this galaxy has harboured Avon long enough."

      "I agree with you," he said.

      "Then it's all set. We've got to stop Avon."

      Unaware of the reception committee waiting for them on Eridani Major, the crew of the Jabberwocky went about their daily routine in a state of wary expectancy. If there was to be trouble, it would be on board ship and not down on the planet. If anything, they considered that a safe haven. For now, they wanted to learn what was wrong with Jabberwocky, and possibly Blake, and to make sure that whatever it was, it did not endanger them.

      Blake came through the tests flawlessly, with no trace of any problems, and he confessed that the resentment he'd begun to feel toward various members of the crew had faded away to nothing since the separation. Hugh studied the test results and came to the conclusion that it had indeed been Jabberwocky who was causing the problem.

      Hugh put Jabberwocky through the entire battery of tests at his disposal. Though he was a research specialist who had experience in surgery and general medicine, he had enough background to do some basic psych tests, and he ran them all. Jabberwocky cooperated up to a point. Hugh found it frustrating to try such tests because a lot of psych work depended upon incidents in the patient's past, his history of other episodes, and his interpersonal relationships. Jabberwocky's interaction with the crew had been blameless until now. There was no way to get past records, for all trace of his original identity had been erased from Federation files, and not even Orac who was helping run the tests, could locate that information in any Federation computer.

      Jabberwocky didn't want to talk about it. "I don't remember who I was, Hugh. I remember some minor things, of course; how to fly a ship - I remember that I wasn't quite as good a pilot as Tarrant is. I don't know my name or who I was, though."

      "Does that bother you?" Hugh asked softly. "Does it make you mad?"

      "They stole my past as much as they did Blake's," Jabberwocky shot back quickly. "They gave him tranquillised dreams. They gave me computer linkages. At least he had something that felt real."

      "You're real to us, Jabberwocky. You're one of us."

      "I really believe that," Jabberwocky retorted sceptically. "Everyone's so worried about Blake. Get him out of the link right away, make sure he's safe. What about me? You didn't stop to think that I might need him in the link, did you?"

      "Yes, I considered it," Hugh replied. "but if you were feeding on each other's problems, it seemed the only answer. Did you think we arbitrarily chose to save Blake at your expense?"

      "That's what it felt like," Jabberwocky replied. "That's what it's always been, just use me: that's what I'm here for, to be used. The Federation did that too."

      "They didn't injure you originally," Hugh pointed out. "I'm not defending them, but even if their motives weren't pure, they did save you in the only way possible. Hasn't it been fun, learning how to control the ship, going into link-mode with all of us? I've enjoyed it a lot, and look what it's done for the others. It's done wonders for Avon."

      "Avon might be my father," Jabberwocky retorted, "but at least he's got two arms to put around Cally. What have I got?"

      "Is that it, Jabberwocky? Are you jealous of Avon's relationship with Cally?"

      "Maybe a little. Cally's special. But it isn't that, not really. At least I don't think it is. That's part of it, maybe. I love Cally, but I don't think I'm in love with her. It's just that I can't ever have that kind of relationship again. I might be a disembodied brain, but I was a man once."

      "It must be very difficult."

      "What do you think? You ought to try it sometimes. Come into link-mode and I'll show you."

      "l don't think linking is a good idea, Jabberwocky, at least right now."

      "But it's lonely in here. It's bad enough not to have a body any more. Everything I know and see is through sensors and scanners and computer links. I can't even touch somebody's hand."

      Hugh felt for the ship, but he didn't know how to repair the problem. Coming to terms with something of this magnitude might be impossible. "You've done well so far," he said. "Is it finally striking home?"

      "Maybe. I lost my temper, Hugh. Blake found out that Tarrant's father had sold him to the Federation; he'd set it up for Blake to be captured and the resistance he was meeting with to be killed. I asked Blake what I should do to Tarrant. And in some ways I'm closer to Del than anybody on this ship. If Blake had told me to hurt him, I would have done."

      "Do you think you could have followed through?"

      "I don't know," Jabberwocky muttered. "Maybe. Look what I did to Avon in the test link, Vila too, though not as badly."

      "The rest of the test went well though. Why did you choose those two? Avon because of Cally?"

      "I don't know. Avon's my father."

      "He isn't, you know. He didn't even do most of the work. It was only his original ideas that led to the project."

      "That's close enough for me. I don't have a family, Hugh. Do you have a family?"

      "I have a sister," Hugh replied, though he suspected that Jabberwocky was merely trying to turn the conversation to something he found more comfortable. "but that's not the issue here. Why pick on Avon and Vila? You let Vila's quarters get too hot too."

      "I don't think I meant to hurt Vila," replied Jabberwocky. "I didn't want to. I like Vila. I think that was just a mistake. I was concentrating on something else. I'm supposed to be able to do more than one thing at a time, but my mind was far away."

      "Where?" Hugh prodded gently.

      "On Earth," Jabberwocky said surprisingly. "I was... remembering something."

      "I thought you couldn't remember very much." Had Tarrant been right then?

      "Sometimes, something comes through. Not much, just flashes."

      "And that's why you didn't notice Vila's cabin was too hot, because you were remembering something?"

      "Yes."

      "So you let him do poorly in the test because you were piqued that he'd called attention to your mistake?"

      "Maybe. I don't know."

      "Then why Avon? I think it's more than Cally. I know you care enough for her to want her to be happy, and Avon makes her happy. I think you're unselfish enough to be glad of that."

      "I am glad of that."

      "Then why Avon?" Hugh persisted, feeling like he might be getting a little closer to the problem.

      "Because he's my father!" Jabberwocky spat out. "If he hadn't dreamed me up, they would have let me die, and I wouldn't have had to go through all this. I remembered my son when Vila was getting cooked. He'd be twenty-five now. Do you think I'd want him to know that his father is... is what I am?"

      "Oh God," said Hugh involuntarily. "I didn't know. We all just took you for granted, Jabberwocky, even if we knew you'd been someone else before. A family - I'd be upset too. I'd want to break things and have a tantrum and go off my nut too. What do you remember about him?"

      "I remember when he was born," Jabberwocky admitted. "Marna and I had hoped for a boy. We wanted him to follow me into Space Command one day. I took him flying when he was little and he loved it. He had a real knack. He was pre-enrolled at the FSA; he might even have known Tarrant. It's all just flashes, a moment here, a moment there. I can see his face at five years old. I can remember how he'd come to me when he was sad and sit in my lap." Jabberwocky muttered a few choice curses that had to have come from his previous life. "No more of that," he said. "Even if he came on board this ship, I wouldn't tell him who I was. At least he wouldn't recognise my voice; it's synthesised, nothing like my real voice was."

      Bitterness filled his filtered voice; although it wasn't real, it could convey emotions. Hugh shared some of that bitterness. Patients who must undergo massive reconstruction or loss of body parts were usually given supportive therapy, but no one had considered that Jabberwocky would need it. When Hugh had thought about it at all, he had believed that Jabberwocky would be content with this existence; he expected that programming would have done the job that counselling was meant to do in fully human patients. But the Federation would not have bothered with something like that, believing that their programming would have robbed Jabberwocky of any troublesome memories.

      This needed to be brought out in the open and dealt with. It wasn't going to be easy either. He turned to Orac. "Well, Orac?"

      "Well?" Orac replied.

      "I think we've defined the problem. Jabberwocky hasn't been allowed to come to terms with what happened to him, and the more he remembers, the harder it will be."

      "True," agreed Orac. "I believe he needs to remember everything. As long as his memory is blocked, something could surface at inappropriate times and create problems, and until he knows his background, Jabberwocky will be unable to resolve his emotional situation."

      "Just like that?" Jabberwocky asked sceptically. "Poof, instant memories?"

      "Yes," Orac replied. "With Hugh's assistance, I can initiate a form of hypnosis which will draw as many memories as possible from your mind. It will no doubt be painful, and I would suggest such a step be made while the ship is down on Eridani Major or the surface of some other appropriate planet and other systems are inessential."

      "I've studied hypnotic techniques," Hugh replied, "but I've not had a lot of experience. Would it endanger the project to ask if Cally be present? Her Auron abilities might be useful."

      "She has never studied Auron healing techniques," Orac reminded Hugh. "When she and Avon went into Blake's mind, it was Avon who did the actual work."

      "Avon might have natural healing talent," suggested Jabberwocky. "In my link with Cally, I learned that there are certain people born with such gifts; they can use their mental abilities to help in healing. Avon was born a telepath, though he has repressed his gifts and in effect burned some of them out. But he and Cally together might be able to perform the duties of one complete Auron healer. I would be willing to try that under hypnosis or in link-mode."

      Whether Avon would agree or not was another story. He had risked his life and sanity to save Blake, but then Blake was very important to him. He might successfully manage something of the sort for one of the others, but whether he could do it for Jabberwocky was another story.

      "We'd have to ask him then," Hugh decided. "Shall I do it for you, Jabberwocky?"

      "Yes, please, Hugh. If he'll listen to anyone, he'd listen to you."

      "Can you hold out until we reach Eridani Major?" Hugh asked.

      "I can hold out. Orac will monitor me. I don't think I'll make any mistakes, but Orac can alert you if I lapse again."

      "Agreed," Orac replied.

      "Then I'll go and talk to Avon."

      "You want me to do what?" Avon demanded incredulously. "Are you mad?"

      Hugh looked around the flight deck. Everyone was there, and they all wore identical expressions of disbelief. He realised that what he was suggesting must seem implausible, even ludicrous, considering whom he was asking. "I know it's a lot to expect of you, Avon, since you're not a trained telepath, but Orac and Jabberwocky feel that you might have the best chance of success. Jabberwocky considers you his father, and at the moment, he's rather inclined to resent you for putting him in this position. I think it was Witt's interference in the link that triggered the resurgence of his memories, but now he's started remembering, things will keep coming back to him. He's been unconsciously influencing Blake - we know that now. The trauma he is going through is much worse than that of a person who has lost his sight or the use of his body. He's lost himself. Knowing that we like him and value him isn't enough to make it worthwhile, and the best way to deal with it is to go to the heart of the problem; in linkage. Not a permanent link," he added quickly as Avon opened his mouth to object, "but something of the nature of what you did to help Blake."

      "That was different," Avon said quickly.

      "Was it, Avon?" Blake asked him. "The techniques might be the same. The only difference might be your degree of involvement."

      Avon turned and shot him a suspicious glance, but Blake went on calmly, "It seemed to me that you had a good grasp of the proper technique; at least it worked very well. Did Cally brief you ahead of time?"

      "Not really," Avon replied. "she only instructed me to talk to you."

      "Then the choice of what to say was up to you. Maybe you do have the ability," Blake replied. "If you could pick up on other people's pain, you might have learned at an early age to shut it out."

      "I certainly had no desire to experience it," Avon replied. "Nor do I now. As for psychic abilities, I possess none and I never will."

      "Nobody's saying you're psychic, Avon," Cally interrupted. "Just that you might have some undeveloped skills which could help Jabberwocky."

      "It gives us a choice," Tarrant agreed. "If we want to keep using this ship, and I think we do, after all the effort we've put in on it..."

      "We?" Avon pounced.

      "All right. You," conceded Tarrant reluctantly. "It's your teleport and your detector shielding and your improved computer functioning and the ship was your idea in the first place. The rest of us are clearly superfluous. I'd say that makes you the best choice to put things right."

      "Oh, you would say that, would you?"

      "I do too," Vila piped up. "Avon, I like Jabberwocky. If you can fix him, then you should. It's just a different computer technique from what you usually use, isn't it?"

      "A somewhat more risky one," Avon answered, but Hugh thought that Vila had managed to find exactly the right words to appeal to Avon. Vila had a knack that way sometimes. Vila was a great deal smarter that he wanted people to think he was.

      "Is it Vila?" Avon went on. "It would be like trying to open a lock with a hacksaw."

      "We rate your skills rather higher than that, Avon," Blake commented cheerfully. He looked a lot better than he had the previous day. Now that he'd had time to adjust to being out of the link, he had bounced back with amazing resiliency. He was in control again; those hours when he hadn't been had alarmed him. Maybe he wouldn't go back to the link now even if everything could be made right again. He might not be willing to trust Jabberwocky - or himself - enough to risk it. Hugh wondered what he would eventually choose to do.

      "That's all very well for you to say," Avon protested, but Hugh suspected that even though he was reluctant to make the attempt, he was flattered by everyone's ready acknowledgment of his ability to do it successfully. It would depend on how much he'd learned to trust them all; if he could lower his guard enough to take the risk. "But it would be Jabberwocky's decision, and Cally's as well. I cannot make a commitment for either of them."

      "I am willing, Avon," Cally replied immediately. She was sitting beside him on the couch, and now she took his hand and squeezed it. He hesitated a moment then he squeezed it in return.

      "And I'm willing too," Jabberwocky told him, speaking for the first time. "Avon, you thought all this up. I have to say that now I'm starting to remember, I wish you hadn't, but you know so much - maybe you can help me work it out. Will you try, please?"

      Avon looked like a man who has been backed into a corner and discovered that the only way out was a perilous passage he would prefer to avoid at all costs. Then suddenly he smiled, a little too brightly perhaps, and looked round at everyone with the air of a small boy who has suddenly found himself the centre of attention and has just discovered that he rather likes it. "Very well," he agreed. "as soon as we are down on Eridani Major. Grant will have to wait." The smile broadened, suddenly a hungry crocodile smile. "We will use the detector shielding to set down in a remote location while I psychoanalyse Jabberwocky. I will need Hugh and Cally to assist. You do realise that trusting Jabberwocky's sanity to me is remarkably foolish. After all, in Cally's dream, I became less than sane."

      "There's no chance of that," Hugh said quickly.

      Vila muttered something under his breath about it being a pity Avon hadn't become less nasty, a remark which Avon couldn't have helped overhearing but which he chose to overlook. He gave Vila a cheerful smile and said, "Since I'll need to be properly rested, I'll allow you to take my watch tonight."

      Vila's face fell.

 "Are you certain about this, Avon?" Hugh asked the next morning. They had reached Eridani Major shortly before main watch and Avon's 'gadget' had allowed them to land undetected at a deserted mining complex on the opposite side of the planet from the city where Del Grant was waiting for them. They had six hours until the scheduled rendezvous, but if that proved impractical, Orac could send a message to arrange for a delay.

      Avon had met with Hugh and Cally in the medical unit, that being the best place to monitor Avon's condition while he and Cally helped Jabberwocky. All of them knew that one session would not in itself, complete the cure, but once it was begun, Jabberwocky was strong enough to do most of the work himself and there could be as many follow up sessions as necessary with Hugh, Orac or Avon.

      Avon was wearing a light blue tunic and dark blue trousers - Cally realised with surprise that Avon had not been wearing as much black lately as he had done before Terminal and he looked younger than he had then too. He needed a haircut, she thought fondly, noticing the way the hair curled over the back of his collar and remembering how it felt to run her fingers through it. Smiling a little, she went forward to help the two men shove the med tables together.

      "We'll monitor you both," Hugh was saying as he motioned them to take reclining positions, with the heads of the tables propped up. Attaching electrodes to their temples, he bent over his equipment. "This is to tie Orac into the link," he explained. It will monitor both of you more efficiently than my equipment will, and since Orac will be putting Jabberwocky into a trance state, there is a chance that my readings would be suspect. Jabberwocky's basic maintenance should keep everything running smoothly, the way the human involuntary systems work, but just in case, we've access to planetary air and we can break out of the link at a moment's notice. Since Jabberwocky will only be hypnotised and not deliberately blocked the way Blake was when you rescued him, we won't need the others standing by to boost you. But if you should require them, you have only to ask. Orac can pick it up and send for someone. I wouldn't advise using Blake, though!"

      "Agreed," Avon replied. He reached out for Cally's hand - he still needed a physical link to go into the proper state - and she took it, closing her eyes.

      "We're ready, Hugh," she said and drew Avon in. As usual when she was linked alone with Avon, there was more warmth from him than he was willing to show to everyone, and though he still presented a hard and cutting presence like diamonds, she knew how to bypass that to reach the man within. This time, she let him take the lead, determining how much he wanted her to see. As soon as they were thoroughly bound together, she said aloud "All right, Orac, we're ready."

      "Then kindly wait," Orac replied. There was a moment of silence, then she felt rather than saw a joining between Jabberwocky and Orac. The computer interface would work in this instance as a link. Orac flashed communication at Jabberwocky too quickly for an organic to read and Jabberwocky responded as rapidly. Orac responded then said aloud, "You may begin. Jabberwocky is in a state which would, in a human, be analogous to hypnosis."

      "Jabberwocky," said Hugh. "Can you hear me?"

      "I hear you," Jabberwocky replied in a soft monotone.

      "Do you know who I am?"

      "You are Hugh Tiver."

      "Do you know who and what you are?"

      "I am Jabberwocky, a semi-organic computer."

      "Yet you were once a human. Do you remember that?"

      "No," denied Jabberwocky quickly.

      "I think you do remember it." Hugh's voice was soothing. "In this linkage there is no pain. There is only awareness. It will not hurt you now to remember who you were. You are not alone and Avon will help you. Do you understand?"

      "Yes. But I don't want to remember."

      "I know that, and I understand. I know how hard it's been for you. But if you don't face it, it will only get worse. Avon is here and he's going to help you."

      "If it weren't for him, I'd be dead," Jabberwocky muttered.

      "Dead just means it's too late to change things," Hugh replied. "Being Jabberwocky has been fun for you, hasn't it?"

      "Sometimes. Do you think that's enough?"

      "No. Sometimes nothing is enough. But you're useful and we need you. You're our friend and we don't want to lose you. I don't suppose that's enough either, but you saved Cally's sanity and I couldn't have saved Blake without you. You got rid of Witt for us. Being needed helps, doesn't it?"

      "Maybe."

      "Then tell me who you were?"

      "My name was Thorm Suliman. There, are you satisfied?"

      "Tell me about yourself, Thorm."

      "What's to tell? I was just an ordinary man. I had the rank of Space Captain and I was a pilot, a damned good one. I was in Space Command; it was better then. It's become corrupt now." A sigh. "I suppose it was that way even then, but I didn't know it. I had a wife, Marna, and a son, Dorn. Marna died when Dorn was eight. He was to go to the academy; I'd signed him up and arranged it before that last mission. He was fifteen when I left. I know ten years have gone by so he'd be twenty-five now. I wonder if Tarrant knows him."

      "We'll ask him if you like," Hugh assured him. "Do you want to tell us about what happened to you?"

      "No. "

      "Just tell it quickly. We don't want all the details. We only want you to remember so that Avon can help you."

      "All right. It was a mission; space pirates in the ninth sector. They attacked in a group of ten ships; we had only half a dozen pursuit ships. We won anyway." If he'd had a mouth, he would have smiled at that part of the memory. "It was glorious. But then we were hit, one of the last salvos. Corrosives leaked into the controls and they exploded. Took most of me with them. I remember thinking I was about to die, then the next thing I remember they were reactivating me in the Mark 60 mainframe. I didn't remember anything about what had happened to me before, not until after Witt came along and stirred everything up. I hate him."

      "I don't think any of us liked him very much," Hugh agreed. "All right, Jabberwocky - Thorm, rather. I'm going to bow out for now and let Avon and Cally take over. I'm not familiar with this field, but then I'm just a regular medical doctor not a mental healer. I'll be here, but I won't link unless you need me to. Cally?"

      "Yes, Hugh?"

      "Does that give you enough to go on?"

      "It will do. Details can be worked on if we need them. Avon?"

      "I'm ready. Take me in."

      So she led the way into Jabberwocky's essence. It wasn't a bare and featureless nothing like that in which Blake had been imprisoned, but a dark and twisty series of passageways, like a maze in which they must find their way. She knew that these images defining their location were only that, images, something to label a location that would not properly be labelled by ordinary language, something to give them a frame of reference. She wondered how Avon viewed it.

      //A maze will do,// he projected at her. //Which way?//

      //Here, I think.// The passageway was slightly wider and there was a faint hint of brightness at the far end of it, more a distant glow than a real light, but the further they progressed along the tunnel, the clearer it became as more light was able to get through to them. Cally was not sure when Avon assumed control and plunged ahead of her, but she smiled to herself as she noticed it. There was more to Avon than she had realised, and she had expected a lot from him. If he could have been a healer, it was wicked that his gifts had been repressed, and it took every ounce of her willpower to hold back the feelings of resentment and anger toward the father who had feared his small son's gifts and had driven them into hiding with harsh words and blows. Remembering that now would only stall them and prevent the necessary healing.

      Then Avon led the way around the last bend in the tunnel and they found themselves looking down into a small, hidden valley where a fire blazed brightly, erratically, half out of control. As they emerged from the tunnel, Cally looked around the battered landscape, made stark and eerie by blasted trees and scorched hedgerows, all dark and gloomy under an ominous sky. It was like being on a deserted battlefield. Cally half expected to see corpses strewn about, but it was too desolate and abandoned for that.

      Avon seemed undismayed by the landscape that surrounded Jabberwocky's 'center'. Cally wondered with sudden pity, that she ruthlessly buried, if Avon's own center would look anything like this, twisted by his love/hate for Anna, his guilt over shooting Blake, his deprivation of his natural gifts. She forced the thought away and watched as he strode forward to the fire and stretched out his hands as if to warm them. Coming up behind him, she put out her own hands then drew them back at the realization that the fire was cold. It gave no warmth, it burned and burned but it produced no heat. Was that what it was like for Jabberwocky to be deprived of being human? No hand to touch, no arms to hold him? She wondered if Avon would see from this how truly blessed he was, would realize that making himself cold and hard to avoid hurt could only result in a prison no less confining and empty than this one. How could he ever hope to make this right? He didn't know how to warm his own empty places.

      At first Avon didn't even try. He took his hands back quickly as if he feared a cold fire could burn as fiercely as a hot one, then he sat crosslegged before the flames and began to feed it bits of kindling. Cally wondered how he knew to do that or if it was just a shot in the dark. But then he turned and motioned for her to join him, and obediently she went and brought more wood and passed it to Avon, who continued to feed it to the fire. The flames consumed it but grew no hotter.

      After a while, when Avon realized that his gifts were being accepted, he began to do what he had done at first with Blake. He projected warmth and comfort at the fire, seeming to know unerringly how to do it. If he was so good at it, why then was he so unable to do it out of this kind of a link, Cally wondered. He could do it with her when they were alone together or when they were in bed, and he was gradually lowering his guard a little to the others, or at least some of the others. Blake for a certainty. Vila as well; Vila had always mattered to Avon. Dayna too; there was a kind of protectiveness there, both giving and taking, that might have been forged on Sarran, rarely demonstrated but no less real for all that. Hugh, whom Avon had come to trust, who stood up to him and sometimes bullied him into being all that he could be. Even Tarrant in a way. Maybe Avon saw some of himself in the arrogant and stubborn young pilot who wouldn't yield an inch unless there was no other option. Soolin? Maybe. Avon might recognize and understand her determined isolation, but Cally did not know if he felt anything for her or not.

      It seemed that Avon projected his reassurances at the fire that was Jabberwocky's center for a long time without results. He didn't speak, only offered wordless comfort. Gradually Cally realized that the projection held various images, the others on the ship, their strengths and weaknesses, described with remarkable accuracy and without sentiment, but with more tolerance and understanding than she had hoped for. It showed her how much Avon had changed since they had come aboard this ship and found Blake again.

      Eventually she noticed that Jabberwocky was listening. The fire seemed brighter and more compact. It wasn't emitting heat yet, but there was time and there was a plentiful supply of firewood.

      Suddenly images came back at Avon, images of what Jabberwocky had lost: his wife, his child, his world, the thrill of flying a ship in space, the touch of wind on his face, the sight of the stars not only in space but in the night of a planet far from Earth. Easy camaraderie between space pilots, the taste of drinks in a bar, music and dancing, lying warm and snug in his wife's arms, the scent of her perfume. Hands clasping, the passion of her kiss. A hundred things that made humans human, the physical experiences that he remembered and mourned and could never have again.

      Cally thought that Avon might show him the darker side of life to remind him that for everything he had lost there was a pain to be avoided: the desolation Avon had felt when he had killed Anna, the loss of a loved one, the feeling of suffering and illness, the gradual wearing out of the body, inevitable death. But Avon did none of those things; he surprised her. Instead he showed some of his own warmest memories, and in revealing them to Jabberwocky, revealed them to Cally as well. The thrill of his own gifts with computers, the intellectual triumph of solving a particularly difficult problem, the stimulation he found in spirited exchanges with Blake, the danger and challenge of coming to a planet that no one had ever seen before. It took a few moments for Cally to realize that these things were all things Jabberwocky could experience as well as a human being could. He was being shown that there was gratification in life beyond the physical, and gradually he was realizing it.

      Avon also projected understanding. He would not lie to Jabberwocky and deny that he had not lost something important, even vital, but he was pointing out the other side of the coin. This was the future, the only choice this side of suicide that was left for Jabberwocky.

      The fire began to produce a little faint heat, and Cally leaned forward to it eagerly, suddenly aware of how cold she had been here. She felt Avon's smile rather than saw it for he was still communicating with Jabberwocky. It was with shock that she realized that in some ways Avon envied Jabberwocky; he would not voluntarily turn himself into the next mindship, but he could appreciate the thrill of such control of a multitude of systems that Jabberwocky possessed. Jabberwocky responded to that, but the flames were still only lukewarm, and Cally could not quite manage to warm herself at it.

      //Stay with me, Cally,// Avon projected at her suddenly. //The worst is still to come.//

      //The worst?// she asked apprehensively. //What should I do?//

      //Feed the fire,// he instructed. //Don't be shocked at what I do next. Just keep on feeding the fire.//

      //What do you mean to do?// There was more at stake here than she understood, more to the healing than she knew. She had seen Auron healers at work, and while Avon was neither Auron nor a trained healer, he seemed to have some idea of the basics instinctively. What might he have been with further training? Had his father been willing to take the risks, he could have been sent to Auron and learned at an early age how to shield without blocking, how to give and receive, and he might not have been so repressed all his life. But if he had missed his chance there, he had it now, and perhaps she could offer some training, if he would permit it. It would be only common sense to offer, especially if he planned to keep interacting with a sentient ship that would eventually link with them again.

      Avon walked into the fire.

      //AVON!// She was certain her mental shriek would have blasted anyone within range of it, but nothing happened; she was not pulled from the link, and Orac did not intervene. Avon reached the heart of the fire and stood there while the flames danced around him like living things, and he was not burned. He stood at the center of the roaring fire and spoke softly to Jabberwocky, acknowledging his loss, his right to grieve. The flames grew and shrank around him, and because Jabberwocky could not cry for himself, Avon cried for him. Cally wondered if his physical body was weeping as well, but she was too deep within the linkage to pull back and look. That would certainly disconcert Hugh, she thought ruefully, as she fed her kindling to the fire.

      Jabberwocky's grief swirled around them like a hurricane, whipping the flames here and there tugging at Avon's hair and tangling it about his face. His eyes were dark and hollow and she could see the dancing flames reflected there as Jabberwocky raged at what had happened to him. She didn't know how long she sat there, but when Avon suddenly withdrew from the fire and half collapsed at her side, her pile of sticks was all but gone and the fire was so hot she drew back from it, tugging at Avon's arm to make him come with her. He moved slowly and she pulled him into her arms, his head lolling against her shoulder.

      He turned back to the fire, which was now burning steadily and hotly even though she had stopped adding wood. He projected a wordless question at the flames and they danced in response.

      //Jabberwocky?// Cally asked. //Thorm?//

      //Jabberwocky will do,// came the answer. //Cally? How long have you been here?//

      //From the beginning, but I don't understand what happened.//

      //Avon saved me,// Jabberwocky replied. //I think you should take him home now, Cally.//

      She looked down at Avon, who was half asleep at her side, then raising her head, she saw that the blasted landscape was barren no longer; blue had come back to the sky and the clouds hung in tatters that ripped apart like rotten fabric and fled away to vanish without a trace. The trees were still dead; that part of Jabberwocky's past was dead as well. But there was new grass growing up around the base of the hedgerows.

      Cally opened her eyes and stared uncomprehendingly at the ceiling of the medical unit. Hugh was bending over her. "Cally?"

      "I'm here. Is Avon?" She felt his hand still clasping hers and she turned to him, to find him watching her.

      "Did we do it, Avon?" she asked, knowing the answer but wanting him to be the one to announce it.

      His face was weary but free of traces of tears; so that had all been within. "Well now," he said considering, "I would say that we did. Orac?"

      "An excellent beginning, Avon," Orac responded.

      "Beginning?" Avon drew back, affronted.

      "I'm here," Jabberwocky burst out, sounding more himself. "Thank you. You did it. Orac's right that I'll need some follow up, but I'm all right now. This is wonderful. I'm whole again, you're amazing."

      Cally hid a smile at Avon's combination of smug pride and embarrassed pleasure. "Yes," he said, "I know that."

      "Someday I'm going to have to find a way to bring that ego of yours down to size," Jabberwocky told him. "Now I can tell you're tired. Take a nap, Avon. You're going to have a busy day."

      "I thought I had just had one."

      Vila couldn't help smiling a little when Soolin stopped by the flight deck to tell them that Blake had a cold. Apparently he had a stuffed head, was sneezing and snuffling, and was thoroughly miserable. Funny how medical science could do such remarkable things: repair the body, even take a disembodied brain and put it at the heart of a starship, but it still couldn't really cure the common cold. Oh, they could do a lot more to ease the symptoms than they could have done a hundred years ago and could cut down on the time needed for the virus to run its course, but for someone on a starship, symptoms were never completely suppressed. Something to do with the controlled environment, maybe?

      He glanced over at Avon, who had appeared on the flight deck just before Soolin had come by and who was tinkering with something at Tarrant's position, just as if he had not used some esoteric and incomprehensible technique to help Jabberwocky a few hours earlier. Avon. Vila had spent years baiting Avon and teasing him to bring him down from the rarefied position in which he liked to imagine he belonged only to find that Avon had some weird powers that entitled him to be there. It was a little uncanny, and it made Vila nervous. Yet the smile which Avon had greeted Soolin's announcement had been remarkably human, the sort of smile that finds pleasure in other people's slight misfortunes such as sprains and stubbed toes and black eyes. Vila was not quite sure how to take Avon right now, so he sat at Blake's control position and called up schematics on the secondary screen and thought confused thoughts.

      After a bit, he became aware of Avon's scrutiny, and he glanced up to find Avon staring at him across Tarrant's controls almost as if he had never seen him before.

      "What are you looking at then?" he demanded. "Have I got a smut on my nose or something?"

      "I thought that perhaps I did," Avon replied stiffly. "You keep sneaking looks at me, and I resent being made the subject of a study."

      "Oh. you resent it, do you?" Vila discovered he was uncomfortable with Avon, something he wasn't usually, even when Avon was trying to annihilate him with words. This would never do. Just because Avon had those strange powers, whatever they were, didn't mean he wasn't still Avon. But Vila's eyes dropped.

      "Vila?"

      Avon sounded strange and Vila glanced up again. "Vila," Avon went on, "I'm no different than I was yesterday."

      Avon concerned about his reaction to him? Unlikely, but that's what it sounded like. "That's too bad." Vila was trying hard, but he knew he didn't sound quite right.

      "Oh, come on, Vila. You can do better than that."

      "That's right, I can," Vila snapped. "What d'you want me to do then, show you up with my wit and cleverness?"

      "If I had to wait for that, I should wait for years."

      "That's what you think."

      Yet Avon obviously expected something from him right now. Vila looked at him again. Maybe he only wanted the old status quo. Both of them had enjoyed it, after all. Even as they'd insulted each other and squabbled almost like children, Vila had known he would back Avon and Avon would back him - at least most of the time. Malodar had only been a dream, and Vila had never held that part of the dream against him, though he sometimes pretended he did. But Avon with mystical powers?

      Avon waited a moment more then he dropped his eyes back to the instrumentation. "Never mind, Vila," he said wearily. "Perhaps I expect too much of you."

      That was the outside of enough. Vila glared at him resentfully. "What d'you mean, you expect too much of me? You don't expect anything at all, except that I'll fall on my face or do something stupid or drink myself into a stupor or run away at the first sign of trouble. And then you turn around and expect me to face the Federation or hordes of hairy aliens or open impossible doors for you."

      "And I thought there was no door you couldn't open - if you were scared enough."

      "There isn't."

      "Vila," said Avon softly. "I am no different than I ever was. I wish you could believe it."

      Vila wanted to. "I just don't understand," he confessed helplessly.

      "And you think I do?"

      That surprised Vila, and he looked at Avon in surprise. "You mean you don't? I thought maybe Cally had been teaching you how-"

      "Cally is not a healer. She has taught me nothing - nothing about telepathy, that is," Avon conceded. "She insists I could have been a telepath. I would vastly prefer to have nothing do with it. I would, however, prefer to have something to do with Cally."

      "So you let her bully you into it?" Vila asked, interested.

      "Me? Let someone bully me into something?"

      "Well, you do it all the time," Vila pointed out. "Especially with Blake."

      "That's different. I would rather endure Blake's wild schemes than his pouting on the flight deck."

      Vila grinned. "I know what you mean." Then he asked hesitantly, "What does it feel like?"

      "Like riding on a meteor," Avon confessed surprisingly. "I don't know what I am doing or why I am doing it, but it does work." He appeared almost frightened of it, and Vila suddenly realised that something like that would definitely not be to Avon's liking.

      "I'm glad it isn't me," he admitted, adding seriously, "I wouldn't want the responsibility. "

      "Do you ever," Avon asked.

      "Why should I when you do it so well?" Vila shrugged. "I - you won't ever use it on me, will you, Avon?"

      "I should think that would be impossible, Vila. One would need a brain to work with."

      "I've got a very good brain," Vila insisted, flicking off the schematics and heading for the drinks dispenser. "I just don't go around reminding everybody about it all the time. Modest and unassuming, that's me."

      "The galaxy's greatest self-proclaimed thief and you are unassuming, are you?"

      "I can't help it if I've got a knack for stealing things and opening locks," Vila retorted. "It's better than being the second-greatest computer expert in the Federated Worlds."

      "The greatest computer expert," Avon corrected. "Ensor is dead."

      "What about the man who caught you back on Earth?"

      "He was tipped off."

      "Oh, well then," Vila conceded and passed Avon a glass. "Try this, Avon. You'll like it."

      "What is it?" Avon asked suspiciously.

      "Brandy. It's very good."

      Avon sipped it cautiously as if he expected it to taste like raw frogs, then his eyes brightened. "Remarkable, Vila. I had no idea you had a palate."

      "I know a lot more than you'd guess about liquor. You might say I'm an expert at that too. Drink that down. It's good for you. Avon?"

      Avon lowered his glass and looked at Vila suspiciously. He must have realised that Vila was unbending and coming to accept him as he was, for his suspicions were normal ones. "What is it, Vila?"

      "Will you teach me to play Ships and Asteroids properly, so I can beat Tarrant and Dayna?"

      "You should be able to manage it well, Vila. If nothing else you have the manual dexterity required."

      "But you must know all sorts of secrets. Did you really invent it? Tarrant says you did."

      "Yes," Avon confessed. "A student project. Actually I would imagine I should still be able to collect royalties on it, but it would be rather difficult to collect."

      "For a computer expert? Oh, come on, Avon. You could arrange a transfer of funds. Set up a dummy account. All the Alphas have things like that, secret accounts under false names and such. I used to find out about them and get their secret codes and transfer them to an account I'd set up when I was working back on Earth."

      "I shouldn't have thought you knew enough about computers for that."

      "I didn't really, but I knew how to find things people wanted kept secret. Once I find a code, I can do a transfer. Maybe we should have tried that on Servalan. Get me into the right place and it isn't hard to find things people want kept secret. You'd be surprised how many people are fool enough to write down their passwords and secret codes and leave them where any dedicated thief could find them."

      "I know only too well," Avon agreed. "That's one of the reasons why the bank swindle would have worked so easily. We could still do it now, especially with Orac, but unfortunately Blake would never permit it."

      "Well, we wouldn't have to tell him, would we? Maybe we could even frame a few people, like the president and Supreme Commander Arpel."

      "You tempt me, Vila."

      "I do? Oh, good. Avon, d'you think we could-"

      He was interrupted by the entrance of Tarrant, who strolled over and ousted Avon from his position. "Time to go," he said. "I've just come from Blake. He doesn't want to get any further behind schedule, so we're to head for the rendezvous."

      "I thought Blake had a cold," Avon replied, tensing up. Vila knew that he couldn't want to encounter Del Grant any more than Grant would want to encounter him.

      "He does," Tarrant replied, smiling. "Hugh says it's not very serious, though, and with any luck the rest of us won't catch it from him. But he'll need to stay on board this time. You and I will go."

      "Will we indeed?" Avon asked coldly.

      '"Shall I take Vila in your place?" Tarrant shot back. If he knew why Avon had snapped at him, he gave no sign of it.

      "I could do it," Vila insisted, wondering if it would be better to actually volunteer to go in Avon's place or if Avon would resent it.

      "No, Vila." Avon shook his head. "It is my place to go. I owe Grant that much. Better to get it over with."

      "Then I'll come too," Vila offered. "Somebody needs to look after you."

      "Are you suggesting that you would be the person to do so?" Avon asked sceptically.

      "Brave of you, all of a sudden, Vila." Tarrant turned from his instruments and regarded the thief in considering surprise. "To what do we owe this sudden display of courage - that glass in your hand?"

      "Always after me, you are, Tarrant. I haven't touched a drop. Just ask Avon; he'll tell you."

      "To my great surprise, Vila is correct," Avon replied. "He hasn't drunk any. You came along before he could do so."

      "Then don't let me stop you," Tarrant told Vila as he worked the controls and started the launch. "We won't be there for an hour or so. That should give you plenty of time." He turned to Avon. "Detector shields on?" he asked.

      "Functioning properly," Avon replied.

      Vila ignored Tarrant deliberately, but he also set the glass on the table untouched. Tarrant could never understand that Vila enjoyed the challenge of sneaking a drink more than the actual drinking. In any case, if he had to go with Avon to meet Del Grant, he'd better be sober. It would be hard enough for Avon to meet Anna's brother without all the extra complications that life had thrown at him lately. Vila didn't delude himself that he was all that brave, but he was going to be there and do what he could. Maybe Avon could do strange things that Vila didn't understand, but he was still Avon, and for now that was good enough for Vila.

      Vila glanced around uneasily, a worried look on his face. He thought this whole plan was a bad idea, and he had gone to the medical unit to tell Blake so. Blake had sneezed and agreed, but even if Grant had homicidal tendencies toward Avon, Tarrant and Vila would be there to back him, and Grant was fairly pragmatic; as a mercenary, he could afford nothing less. It might be awkward for Avon to meet him, but on the other hand, it would be better to get it over with as soon as possible. Blake wanted to go himself, but he was in a bad stage of his cold, his nose red, his eyes watery, and Vila had teleported enough times with a cold to know that it could be a thoroughly disorientating experience. No, Blake was well enough to handle things on the ship, but going down to a wintry city on Eridani Major by teleport just wasn't on.

      Cally operated the teleport, with Dayna backing her up, ready to join them on the planet at the first hint of trouble. Orac reported that Federation activity there was normal with no evidence of special precautions, and Avon's detector shielding was functioning perfectly. Jabberwocky seemed back to normal, confident that he could manage shipboard activity while they were down on the planet. But even so, Vila felt a strange reluctance to teleport down. "None of your dream happened here, did it, Cally?" he had asked uneasily.

      "No, Vila. We seem to have diverged from it completely, though that does not mean we should not be wary."

      "I am always wary," Avon had pointed out. "If you are finished delaying us, Vila, let us go down and get this over with."

      "I'm not delaying," Vila had shot back at him, but he clipped on his bracelet and scurried over to the teleport chamber, drawing his gun.

      "Do you have the location pinpointed, Cally?" Tarrant asked as he drew his own weapon. They were to meet Grant in an alley near rebel headquarters and he would lead them there if he was satisfied that their arrival had not been detected and he had convinced himself that they were who they claimed to be.

      "I have it," she agreed and reached for the controls. "Are you ready?"

      "Put us down, Cally."

      They materialised in a deserted back street between two rows of windowless, featureless buildings. Eridani Major was not a world of domed cities, and they were exposed to the elements. There were a few sealed doors set along the walls, and a stack of crates beside one of them could conceal an enemy, but nothing happened immediately. It was early winter, and there were patches of old snow from an early storm banked against the edges of the buildings and along the shady side of the street. Orac had informed them that the main thoroughfares were heated to melt away the snow, but here in this poorer suburb, no one had ever bothered to install the heating ducts. Vila shivered in his not-quite-warm-enough coat, thinking longingly of the thermal suits from Liberator and the controlled atmosphere of the domes. At least one didn't get cold and wet there.

      Avon went to investigate the crates, his gun at the ready. Vila noticed in surprise that Avon was carrying Soolin's clipgun, though he and Tarrant had Jabberwocky's guns. When the crates proved innocent, Avon returned, his nervousness obvious in his posture though his face gave nothing away. He would have no way of knowing if Grant was aware of Anna's death or not or whether the man would blame him if he did, but knowing Avon, he would probably tell him of it. Avon might feel he owed Grant that much, even though he had had no choice but to kill Anna, none except to die himself. Vila knew that they were lucky Avon hadn't chosen to do just that. Avon's reactions to Anna were different from his normal ones. Usually, self-preservation was one of Avon's prime motivation factors, but when it involved Anna Grant, that seemed to fly out the window. Vila was scared that if it came to trouble this time, Avon would do something stupid, maybe even get himself killed. That's why Vila had come, to prevent that. He wasn't all that courageous, but some things were more important than safety, and Avon was one of them. He was glad he was away from the ship where no one could read that thought from his mind unless - horrible thought - Avon could. But Avon gave no sign of noticing Vila's train of thought and the thief relaxed slightly.

      That was when the man came around the corner of the furthest building toward them. He was armed, but then the report was that everyone on Eridani Major was, and since he was only holding the gun, not aiming it at them, Vila looked away from it to his face. It was Del Grant, and at first he seemed to be alone. A moment later, Vila noticed another armed figure waiting at the corner of the alley, apparently Grant's back-up. The other man didn't approach, and Vila got only a hasty impression of a figure in a hooded parka.

      By then, Grant had come face to face with them. He stopped dead, his eyes boring into Avon's. Though he didn't speak, his entire posture was resentful.

      "Hello, Del." Avon's voice gave nothing away.

      "It is you," Grant replied in a voice that was rich with satisfaction. "I'm glad of that. We have something between us, Avon."

      "Yes, we do," Avon agreed. "but this is hardly the place to settle it." He reached into his pocket, a gesture Grant could hardly interpret as an attempt to produce a weapon, since Avon already had a gun in his hand and withdrew a spare teleport bracelet. "I didn't bring one for your back-up," he continued, "as I we thought we could talk on our ship. Blake..."

      His voice ran down as he realised that he was looking down the barrel of Grant's gun.

      Tarrant made an involuntary movement beside him, but Vila shot out a hand and caught Tarrant's arm. "Wait and see," he urged. "Keep an eye on our friend there." He pointed to the figure at the end of the alley, who was approaching slowly, then turned back to watch Avon and Grant, ready to intervene if necessary.

      "You killed Anna," Grant accused him bitterly. "I know all about it."

      "Then you must have had it from Servalan," Avon countered, "for she was the only other person there besides Cally, Tarrant-" a quick gesture at Tarrant, "-and myself."

      Grant's gun didn't waver. "It doesn't matter how I heard it. But it is true, isn't it, Avon? She was a rebel like you, and you shot her. I always swore I'd kill you one day. I could have lived with what you told me on Albian. I even believed it, more fool me. But I can't live with this." He raised the gun a little higher.

      Vila hung back, indecisive. He didn't think Grant was going to shoot, though he didn't trust him or the man in the blue parka, but he was afraid that if he tried anything, it would precipitate the very event he was trying to avoid.

      Avon looked at Grant, his face arrogant, and made no attempt to defend himself. Vila wondered with a sudden chill if Avon had actually hoped for this very solution. He didn't want to believe it; the Avon he had talked to on the flight deck only hours before had seemed anything but suicidal. But he'd taken off his teleport bracelet down there in Servalan's palace, leaving himself stranded with Servalan, who had no reason to want to keep him alive. That might have been a suicide attempt perhaps, and Vila had almost helped him to succeed by messing up the teleport coordinates. He shivered, hoping for a way to diffuse this situation. Tarrant had actually been there. Tarrant had seen the whole thing, and he could tell Grant exactly what had happened.

      "I'm going to kill you, Avon," Grant said, "and I'll enjoy doing it." He waved the gun around a little, and Vila realised that he wasn't going to do it that very moment, he wanted to know why it had happened first, and he seemed to be waiting for the approach of his ally. Grant was a practical man; he wouldn't shoot Avon down in cold blood without a damned good reason, especially when Vila and Tarrant were there to back him up. He wanted details first, especially since he wanted Blake's alliance. Blake had threatened Grant once if anything happened to Avon, and knowing Blake, he would probably still mean it. So Grant would hear Avon out first. Vila was sure he would.

      But Tarrant wasn't so certain. As Grant levelled the gun, Tarrant cried, "NO!" and charged forward, diving between Avon and Grant and grabbing at Grant's wrist. When Tarrant moved, Avon stood frozen, and Vila's cry, "Tarrant, no!" and Grant's ally's shout of, "Wait!" went unheeded as the weapon discharged.

      There was a frozen moment when time seemed to hang forever trapped, then, like a tape speeding up from slow motion, Tarrant began to collapse, slowly at first, then with dreadful finality. He rolled over onto his back and lay there, unfocussed eyes staring up at Grant for a moment before they slid shut. The wound was in his side, and at that close range it was severe one. It wasn't bleeding because it had been automatically cauterised, but if they tried to move him, it would bleed all over the place.

      Avon plucked the gun from Grant's hand and shoved it into the mercenary's face, his own face full of fury, ignoring the surprisingly familiar voice just beside him that said, "Leave it, Avon."

      "You leave it, Jenna," Vila snapped automatically, then gasped as he realised what he had said, and what he had subconsciously realised without even thinking about it. The 'man' in the blue parka was none other than Jenna Stannis, and right now, she had her gun pointed at Avon as if she wanted to finish Grant's work for him. "Jenna," Vila burst out. "What're you doing? It wasn't Avon's fault."

      "He shot Blake, didn't he?"

      "Well, yes, but it was a mistake, and-"

      "A mistake? Fine, I'll just ignore it, then." Her voice was heavy with sarcasm. "Avon, drop your gun."

      She sounded completely unyielding, and Vila stared at her helplessly for a second before he knelt beside Tarrant and looked at his wound in dismay. "Worry about that later, Jenna," he said. "If Blake can forgive him for it, you can too. Right now I need you to help me with Tarrant."

      At the mention of Tarrant's name, Avon glanced down at the still form at his feet and snapped, "He always was a fool. Vila, call Hugh."

      Vila had already raised his bracelet to his lips. "Jabberwocky, Cally, somebody, help! We need Hugh, NOW! "

      "Are you going to kill me, Avon?" Grant asked.

      Jenna cut across his question with one of her own. "Do you mean Blake's alive?"

      "I should kill you, Del," Avon told the mercenary, ignoring Jenna as inconsequential for the moment. "And I will if Tarrant dies."

      "He's alive," Vila reported, bending over Tarrant and looking reluctantly at the ugly wound, grateful for Jenna's sudden assistance, her fingers carefully exploring the injury. "Blake's alive and well," he muttered quickly in an undertone. "Leave it, Jenna, and I'll tell you about it later. This is more urgent."

      She must have seen the worry in his eyes for she nodded once, setting her jaw and putting aside her thoughts of revenge against Avon. "Teleport?" she asked, pointing at Vila's bracelet. "I heard the Liberator was destroyed."

      "Coming down now," Hugh's filtered voice came over the bracelet. "What do you need standing by, Vila?"

      "A portable med table in the teleport section and the medical unit prepped for emergency surgery. It's urgent."

      "Right," Hugh agreed.

      Avon turned and stared at Vila. "Well?"

      "It's bad, Avon. Why'd he try it? I didn't think Grant was going to shoot."

      "Tarrant always acts first and thinks afterwards," Avon reminded him coldly. "It's one of his more predictable features."

      "I wasn't going to shoot," Grant confessed. "Not yet. I want you dead, Avon, but I want to know why first." He looked shaken at the outcome of his actions.

      "Because she tried to shoot him in the back, you bloody fool," Vila snapped furiously, driven to it. "Because she'd been Federation Central Security - and he found out. Avon loved her; he'd never have hurt her unless she betrayed him, and she did. She was Federation all the time; she was never a rebel. She wanted to oust Servalan and take power for herself, just an ordinary coup, nothing special. She had no rebel sympathies. Now if you've got any sense at all - which I doubt very much - you'll help us with Tarrant. If he dies, I wouldn't give half a credit for your chances."

      Hugh materialised before them then, armed with his medical kit, and at the sight of Tarrant, he froze for a moment, then, ignoring Avon, Jenna, Grant, and the gun, he knelt beside Vila. "How bad is it?"

      "I think he's going to die," Vila replied in a small voice, shocked to discovered how much he would mind.

      "If he could stand the teleport stress, an advance medical unit might save him," Jenna observed, lifting her hands to give Hugh access. "The Liberator could do it, but then you haven't got the Liberator any more, have you, Avon?"

      Hugh ran a hasty scan, then looked up frowning, a perplexed expression on his face at the sight of Jenna; she was a random element he had not expected. "You're right about the teleport stress," he agreed, "but if we have to hunt around the town for someplace to treat him, he'll die anyway. Jabberwocky's equipment is topnotch, and we've got Orac." He gave Tarrant an injection, though Vila could detect no visible improvement afterwards. Hugh's face darkened. "Avon, the only chance he has is to get him up to the medical unit now."

      Avon nodded. "Vila, give your bracelet to Jenna," he ordered, "and I'll send another back with Dayna."

      "Jenna?" Hugh echoed in surprise, but no one enlightened him. Jenna accepted the bracelet from Vila, who didn't even bother to protest. He stood up and backed against the wall. The others vanished as soon as Avon called in.

      "Hurry up, Dayna," Vila muttered uneasily. It seemed an eon before she materialised before himself and Grant, holding out replacement bracelets.

      Blake realised something was wrong when Soolin came dashing into the medical unit carrying Orac, which she deposited on a table before she gabbed the portable med table. "Can't stop, Blake, and I don't know who's hurt," she told him. "I'm sorry." She was gone before Blake could question her further.

      He got up, cursing his stuffed sinuses and the way his head spun at the hasty movement and inserted Orac's key. "Orac, do you know what has happened?"

      "Someone has been wounded," Orac replied "I am as yet unaware of who it is."

      "Not Avon?" Blake asked in alarm, remembering suddenly that Del Grant had once told Avon he had wanted to kill him. Surely that had been resolved; unless Grant had somehow learned how Anna had really died. Blake cursed the stupid cold that had prevented him from going down with them to meet Grant.

      To make things ready, he instructed Orac to set up Hugh's equipment and to select replacement blood for whoever had been wounded. Avon and Tarrant had the same blood type, he remembered Hugh saying once.

      It seemed to take forever before anything happened, then it all happened at once. Hugh came in with Cally beside him, pushing the portable med table with Tarrant's body stretched out on it. There seemed to be a great deal of blood over everything, and Blake couldn't tell if the young pilot were alive or not. "Del!" he cried out in dismay. "What happened, Cally? Are Avon and Vila all right?"

      "Avon and Vila are with Grant," Cally replied as she stepped forward to help Hugh transfer Tarrant to the main table.

      "He jumped Del Grant," a new voice came from the doorway, and he looked up to see the totally unexpected, Jenna Stannis, shedding a blue coat and looking at him as if she could hardly believe her eyes.

      "Jenna!" he exclaimed.

      "So you are alive, Blake." She tossed the coat aside and came into the room.

      "You'd heard differently?"

      "I talked to a character called Rhys Malin. He was there and saw what happened."

      "Malin? I'm surprised he had the courage to stick around when the Federation arrived," Blake replied bitterly. "I wondered if he was in league with them or just cowardly. But I'm fine. It's wonderful to see you." Reluctantly he turned away from her and went over to the table where Hugh had already initiated the sterile field and life support. "How bad is it, Hugh?"

      "It's likely fatal," Hugh said unhappily. "I'll do my best, but I'm not very good at bringing the dead back to life."

      "He's dead then?" Blake asked sadly.

      "Not yet, but..." His voice trailed off and Blake realised that Hugh had no expectation of saving him. "I could use a steady pair of hands," he said. "Cally, you're nominated. Not you, Roj. The sterile field should take care of your cold germs, but I don't want to take the risk." He looked past Blake. "You. Jenna. You had experience with the Liberator's medical unit. You're here now, so come over here and help."

      She looked resentful at the order, but she moved forward willingly enough. "It was a mistake," she explained as she joined Cally at Tarrant's side. "Grant was threatening to shoot Avon, but he wasn't quite prepared to do it yet. Tarrant misinterpreted it and jumped in the way. Does he enjoy playing the dashing hero?"

      Cally shot her a reproachful look. "Tarrant is our shipmate and our companion, Jenna. He will probably die. Perhaps he acted rashly, but he meant well."

      "I'm sorry," said Jenna. "No one wanted Tarrant hurt. It was Avon..."

      "What about Avon?" Blake asked suspiciously. He had longed to find Jenna again, but he should have known better than to expect it to happen without a hitch.

      "Avon killed Grant's sister, and I thought he had killed you."

      "You were mistaken," Blake replied. "I fight my own battles, Jenna, and I won't tolerate any action against Avon."

      "I should have known as much," Jenna retorted hotly.

      "Pay attention, Jenna," Hugh told her sharply. "Blake, I know you feel rotten, but get out of here. Once the shield goes down, you'll be a source of infection and he won't have anywhere near the strength to cope with it. Go deal with Grant if you must. Just let me do my job."

      When Hugh used that voice, even Avon jumped - though not very high. Blake nodded abruptly, realising that he might do better as a peacemaker. "Right," he agreed.

      "Send Soolin back if you see her," Hugh added. His hands were deep inside the wound, and Blake's stomach rebelled at the sight. He nodded tersely and fled.

      Grant was seated in the main rest room with Avon and Vila in attendance. Dayna standing, arms folded across her chest, eyes wary, watched every move he made. Blake noticed she wore her weapon at her hip in defiance of shipboard custom.

      Avon was working on some type of device made of perspex sheeting that looked like a baby Orac, and Vila, shooting the occasional resentful glance at Grant, was passing him his tools. Grant wore the air of a condemned man waiting for execution, but his eyes still held hostility whenever they landed on Avon.

      When Blake entered sneezing, Avon, Vila and Dayna spun round to confront him. Avon didn't speak, but Vila said hastily, "Blake, is-" across Dayna's hasty, "Is he all right?"

      Blake put a comforting hand on Dayna's shoulder. "He's alive, Dayna, but Hugh doesn't hold out a lot of hope. I wish I had better news for you. I'm sorry."

      Vila spun on Grant. "This is all your fault," he accused him.

      "Is it? I didn't mean for the boy to be hurt, Blake."

      "I told you once that if anything happened to Avon, I would come looking for you."

      "As you can see, Avon is still alive and well," Grant pointed out sarcastically. "A pity."

      "I've told you and told you," Vila reminded him wearily. "Avon had no choice."

      "Grant." Avon's voice was quiet, lacking the resentment that Vila was full of. "If there was any way I could have prevented Anna's death, I would have done it. Short of letting her shoot me in the back, there was no option. I regret that no less than you do, even though she was the one who turned me in originally." He laughed, but there was nothing in the sound of it to suggest humour. "She told me that she had let me go, but it wasn't true. She never let me go, not all those years, not until now. Ironic, isn't it? Now that I finally believe myself free of her, you appear and prove that I was only deceiving myself."

      "I acknowledge that if everything I've heard is true, you had no recourse," Grant said grudgingly. "What I do not concede is acceptance of your actions. She was still my sister."

      "She was a Federation agent." Blake strode across the room and bent over Grant, intimidating the man by sheer physical presence though the effect was partially negated by a coughing spell. Grant eyed him uneasily all the same. "You and I are on the same side. That's the saddest part of rebellion, that it can put families and allies against each other. I don't have a family; the Federation killed my sister and brother a long time ago. I've got my crew though, and I'm prepared to defend them."

      "Then we have an impasse."

      "It's no good talking to him, Blake," Vila told him. "I've been through it all. He doesn't listen. He's even more boneheaded than Tarr-" His voice chopped off abruptly as if he had just realised what he was saying, and Dayna uttered a distressed sound and ran from the room. "Wonderful," Vila mourned. "For my next trick, I'll..."

      "Oh, shut up, Vila," Avon snapped at him.

      "What are you going to do with me?" Grant asked Blake."

      "Well, you obviously didn't mean to shoot Tarrant," Blake began. "I suppose I'll leave you on Eridani Major and try to meet with the rebel leaders after all this is..."

      "When Tarrant's dead, you mean?" Vila asked, his eyes accusing.

      "What do you suggest I do, Vila?" Blake shot back at him. "Copy Grant and try to kill him too? Revenge is never very smart. Do you think I should try it?"

      "No, I suppose-"

      "We could get Jabberwocky to boost a link, and I could show him how it happened."

      Blake and Vila turned to stare at Avon with identical expressions of disbelief. "What?" Vila asked stupidly as if Avon had offered to jump out the airlock and do a tap dance on the hull."

      "I can't spend the rest of my life dodging plasma bolts from someone who is theoretically on our side," Avon pointed out. "Since I was fool enough to become involved with Anna in the first place, I have some responsibility to resolve this. Blake, you'll need to work with this man."

      "I don't know what you're suggesting, Avon," Grant told him defiantly, "but I don't like the sound of it. Who is Jabberwocky? I thought that was your ship."

      "I'm Jabberwocky," the ship announced, causing Grant to jump and look around uneasily.

      When he realised that the voice was synthesised and coming from a speaker, he curled his lip. "Your computer."

      "Jabberwocky is much more than just a computer," Blake explained, "But we'd let him tell you what you need to know. How much do you want Grant to know about what you've suggested, Avon?"

      "Suit yourself," Avon gave him permission, a sardonic light in his eyes.

      "All right. Grant, how much do you know about Auron?"

      "I know Cally's from there," Grant replied, "and I know that Aurons are telepathic. That's got nothing to do with Avon, though. He's not Auron."

      "No," Vila said. "But he's sneaky, is Avon."

      "I know that."

      Blake intervened hastily before Avon could make a sarcastic rejoinder. "Some Auronar have healing gifts," Blake explained. "Avon's neither Auron nor a trained healer - if he were, perhaps he could help Tarrant. But there's potential. So far, he's used it to save me - I'll have to tell Jenna about that; she's rather homicidal today. And he's helped Jabberwocky."

      "Healed a computer. Oh, come, Blake."

      "Have you heard of the Mark 60 mindship?" asked Avon.

      "Avalon said something about it, that you'd stolen it. This ship is the Mark 60? The mindship?"

      "That I am," Jabberwocky interjected. "Amazing, aren't l? Wait until you get to know me better, then you'll really appreciate me. I don't appreciate you at all, though. Tarrant was my friend, and you shot him. I don't particularly care if you like me or not, because I don't like you."

      Ignoring the hostility in Jabberwocky's voice, Grant asked in amazement, "That's a computer?"

      "Not entirely," Jabberwocky conceded. "So you're Del Grant. I'm glad you're here, actually. Avon's got a good idea, but then he always does. He's my father, you know."

      Grant stared at Avon and then back at the ship's display in helpless curiosity, shaking his head. "I won't be distracted, Avon," he threatened.

      "I thought you might not." Avon turned to Jabberwocky. "Well, Jabberwocky. I don't believe you're quite ready for a permanent link-mate yet, nor am I ready to become one, but in the absence of Cally, I might be able to work with you."

      "Do you really think that's a good idea?" Blake asked.

      As he should have realised, his objection only made Avon more determined to continue. "It's the only thing that might work." He grimaced. "Frankly, Blake, I don't care for the idea, but I can see no other option. I don't expect Grant to like me, and I resent the fact that his desire for revenge put him in a position to injure Tarrant."

      And perhaps, Blake realised, resented the fact that he had allowed Tarrant to matter. But Avon was right that this might be the only way to ease Grant's antagonism enough for the two men to tolerate each other. They could never be friends; they would always remind each other of too many unhappy memories. Blake wasn't sure it would work: with Jabberwocky in a fragile condition and Avon resenting Grant, the deck was stacked against them.

      Avon seated himself at Blake's control position on the flight deck and looked around uneasily. Blake and Vila had insisted upon coming along to back him, and since Blake had been in the link before, he might conceivably be useful. While Avon was not certain if Vila could ever be useful, at least the thief could hold a gun. He might shoot his foot if he tried to fire it, but Grant didn't know that. He'd seen Vila at his best. Then Avon shook his head. Vila wasn't usually incompetent now, if indeed he ever had been, and there were times when Avon had actually found him useful, not that he was ever going to tell Vila.

      The truth was, that having made the suggestion, his pride would not let him withdraw it, though he knew it was a stupid and foolish risk to take for so little result. But he had committed himself, and if nothing else, dealing with Anna's memory might exorcise a few of his own ghosts. If he did not owe that to Grant, he possibly owed it to Cally. Heaving a sigh, he turned to Grant, who was seated before him on one of the couches. "Do you think you can accept this?" he asked.

      "Frankly, I doubt it," Grant replied. "and I doubt you can succeed. But if someone like you can take this kind of chance, especially after what happened with Tarrant, then I won't back down. You did save my life on Albian when you didn't have to. I'll let you try."

      That was more than Avon had expected. "Jabberwocky?" he asked. "It hasn't been that long since I worked with you. Are you up to this? We can wait."

      "No, Avon, I'm ready for you," Jabberwocky replied. "I'm looking forward to a link again even if it's only for a short time. Besides, you helped me. Maybe I can help you."

      Avon frowned. "Blake, you stay out of the link," he ordered. "Even if Jabberwocky is ready, I am quite sure you are not. I don't know if I can do this without Cally, but I'll try." He closed his eyes and put his hand on the green panel Cally had used to make her initial linkage with the ship. At once he felt a slight suction and let himself be drawn into the inner place he had found on his two previous forays into the healing link-mode. Jabberwocky welcomed him with joy, and Avon accepted it. In a link with Jabberwocky alone, he felt more comfortable than he did in the link with all the others, and after their earlier linkage, there were few secrets between them if any. For the first time, he understood what Jenna had said a long time ago on Liberator about the freedom of being totally known. If Jabberwocky could see him so thoroughly, then he did not have to worry about shielding, and there was a safety in that that he had not felt for a long time, if ever, except with Cally.

      Reassured by Jabberwocky's support, even though a part of him was still scornful of it, he looked for Grant and found him, walled up behind a fortress-like defence that was, in its own way, even stronger than Avon's. But Avon was not intimidated by it because he suddenly realised what had caused it. Grant was half-afraid the things Avon and Vila had insisted about Anna were true, and he didn't want to believe them. He preferred to keep his ideals, even if he knew, in a part of his mind that he refused to acknowledge, that they were only dreams, no longer tied to the truth.

      //I know,// Avon thought in bitter amusement. //I went through it too.// And for the first time, he made himself recall the events in the cellar of Servalan's palace, step by step, in full colour and complete detail. Grant fought him every step of the way, perhaps no more strongly than Avon fought himself, but there was a portion of him that listened, and when Avon came to the part about taking off his teleport bracelet and staying with Anna's body, Grant's surprise started chipping away at his walls.

      //You did that? Why?//

      //What else was left?// Avon asked him. //Even when I believed Anna had been tortured to death for my sake, I could console myself with the knowledge that she knew I would have rescued her if I could. What had I left to console myself with? //

      //The fact that she had let you go.//

      //Do you believe that?//

      //It's the only way I can believe the rest.//

      Avon did not know if that was a futile hope or a sentimental bit of illogic but perhaps Grant had to bear it in his own way. Sometimes, Avon tried to accept that consolation as well, and he had failed, but he would not deny Grant the right to believe it. So he continued the story, bringing himself back to the Liberator and ending with his words to Tarrant who had surprised him by recognising the quote. 'Well, slightly exaggerated anyway.'

      //I'm sorry.//

      Avon had not expected that but perhaps it was the best that he could hope for, and he felt Jabberwocky tugging at the fringes of his mind reminding him it was time to come out. //So am I,// he sent before he did so, wincing at the headache it had given him; he was out of practice at link-mode and he had no experience of controlling it without Cally or the others present.

      Looking a little dazed, Grant stared at Avon, his eyes hollow and shaded. "Did any of that really happen?" he asked.

      "The link doesn't lie," Blake told him.

      "No, you misunderstand, Blake." Grant looked tired and old, but he persisted stubbornly. "It's the link itself I was asking about. It wasn't some kind of hypnosis?"

      "I resent that," Jabberwocky cut in. "Hypnosis indeed. I deal in facts. I was programmed that way, and besides, I would know if anyone lied in link-mode."

      "It really happened," Avon said. "Both the experience and the events on Earth. I would not have had it that way, but that's the way it was." He headed for the drinks dispenser. "At this point the novice requires adrenalin and soma. Would you like some for your headache?"

      Grant looked startled, but then he nodded. "Please."

      Avon offered him a glass then, taking one for himself, he turned back to Blake. "He did not intend to injure Tarrant," he said. "A pity intentions and reality so seldom match." On that note, he downed his glass and walked out of the room without looking back.

      Hugh closed, setting clamps and synth flesh, and pulled back, leaving the sterile field intact. "I think he'll need the protection," he told Cally.

      She could find no hope in his face, only surprise that Tarrant had lived so long. Depressed and weary, she took a few steps backward and leaned against the other med table, massaging the back of her neck with her hand. "Does he have any chance at all?"

      "I don't think so. I can't believe he's lasted until now." He came over to stand beside her, reaching out to touch her shoulder for a minute, then he leaned a hand on the med table and rubbed his eyes. She wondered for a startled moment if he were going to cry. She would never understand how doctors could endure the loss of their patients; perhaps telepathy would make it harder. She turned a little and put her arm around Hugh's shoulders for a moment, leaning against him and projecting what reassurance she could. "Would you like me to watch him?" she asked.

      "No, I must do that myself. Soolin, would you stay with me?" He had asked far less of her in the course of the operation, and she was younger and fresher than Cally. "Cally, you take Jenna and get something to eat and some rest."

      Cally looked at Jenna, who had done everything necessary, responding instantly and efficiently to Hugh's orders though she could have no feeling for Tarrant. It was good to see Jenna again, even under such unhappy circumstances. "Come, Jenna," she said. "I'll give you a quick tour of the ship. Are you fixed with Grant, or do you want to come back to us? We set Orac to search for you, but had no luck until now."

      "I could do with some answers," Jenna replied as she allowed Cally to lead her from the medical unit. "Are you too tired? Do you want to sleep?"

      It must have been well past midnight, ship's time, and the last few days had been exhausting, but Cally knew she was far too keyed up to sleep. "I am very tired," she admitted, "but I could not sleep yet."

      "I'm sorry about Tarrant," Jenna told her as they walked. "I'd got in the way of resenting him because he'd taken my place on the Liberator, and by all accounts, he was an excellent pilot, but I wouldn't have wished this. Perhaps Grant and I should never have met. We let our resentment get out of hand."

      "I can understand Grant's resentment, though I do not approve of it," Cally responded, "but I do not understand yours. You believed Blake dead?"

      "I had been told that Avon killed him," Jenna replied. "What I knew of Avon and Blake did not make that impossible." She sighed impatiently. "I'd like to hear that story."

      "Blake will appreciate your loyalty, even though it was unnecessary," Cally assured her. "But he and Avon have resolved their differences, Jenna. Avon has saved Blake's sanity if not his life. I will explain everything. I think when you hear it all, you will understand. Avon is the one who blamed himself the most for injuring Blake, and he had the most trouble forgiving himself."

      "Forgive me, Cally, but that doesn't sound like Avon."

      "Avon has changed," Cally told her. "We have all changed. I must tell you of my dream first." She paused. "This is our main rest room. Come and I will eat with you. Are you hungry?"

      "Not really, I-" She broke off and laughed. "I think I'm starving."

      Cally programmed meals for them and brought them to the table. While they ate, she told Jenna what had been happening since they had parted after the battle with the Andromedans, including her dream, the events on Gauda Prime, the background on Jabberwocky, even a little about Avon's potential as a telepath and a healer.

      Jenna's eyes widened when she heard that, then she looked sceptical. "Avon seemed no different," she objected.

      "Would you expect him to be any different when confronted with threat, especially Del Grant?"

      "Oh well, perhaps not." Jenna sipped her coffee. "You've told me an incredible story, Cally. And it's all true, that Avon saved Blake from what that telepath did to him?"

      "He did it. Only he could have done it. You have always resented Avon, Jenna, have you not?"

      "Yes," said Jenna frankly. "You have a problem with that, don't you?"

      "Perhaps. But you have seen a different side of Avon than I have." Cally's smile was fond. "I know you think I am defending him only because we are lovers, but-"

      "You and Avon?" Jenna asked sharply, and Cally realised that was one thing she had not come out and said, though she had implied as much. To her surprise, Jenna smiled; Cally would not have thought Jenna would have had much patience with other people's romances, then she realised Jenna might feel more comfortable with that relationship than with Avon's friendship with Blake. This did not seem to be the time to point out the closeness that now existed between Avon and Blake. Jenna would have to observe that for herself.

      Cally nodded. "Do you think you can accept Avon now, Jenna? The rest of us have found more closeness than we ever permitted ourselves on Liberator. We would welcome you, but we would also defend each other."

      "I'm not sure if I can accept Avon," Jenna admitted frankly, finishing her coffee, "or your bossy doctor either, but then I wouldn't be in his position for anything." Perhaps she was remembering the look on Hugh's face when he finished the operation. "All his work won't save Tarrant, will it?"

      "Tarrant is young and strong and fit," Cally replied, curling her hands around her cup of rast. "Sometimes that is not enough. Hugh does not give up until there is no chance at all, and sometimes not even then, but I think it will not work this time."

      Jenna said abruptly, "You look tired, Cally. Go to bed. Someone on this ship should be rested tomorrow."

      "I will show you where you may sleep," Cally agreed. The rast had made her drowsy as it sometimes did if she drank it when she was very exhausted, and she did not know how much longer she could keep her eyes open.

      So she took Jenna to a spare cabin, then she went not to her own cabin but to Avon's.

      He was still awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, his shoes off and his shirt unfastened as if he had got that far before he lost the impetus. At the sound of her entrance, he lifted his head just enough to see who she was and his eyes warmed fractionally. She went across the room to him and sat beside him, taking him into her arms.

      "Tarrant?" he asked, his voice rusty with fatigue.

      "Still alive, but Hugh does not believe he will make it. I am sorry."

      "He should have known better than to jump in front of a gun," Avon muttered, too weary for proper sarcasm.

      "You must not blame yourself."

      "I don't," he said shortly, but she was not certain if he meant it or not.

      "You must sleep," she told him. "I am tired too, but I would like to stay here with you."

      He nodded and lay back upon the bed, pulling her down with him. She kicked off her shoes and reached for the blanket and drawing it over them then, still holding him, she closed her eyes. "We must sleep now."

      "Could I... heal Tarrant?" he asked her, already half asleep.

      "I do not think so. Something like that would take a great deal of training, and you have had none. You are too exhausted to even consider it. Go to sleep."

      It was a sign of how great his fatigue was that he obeyed her. He had not slept since before helping Jabberwocky and that seemed another lifetime ago. This had been one of the longest days Cally could ever remember. Avon's breathing evened out. She kissed him lightly on the cheek and then she slept too.

Blake poked his head into the medical unit and found Soolin sitting in a chair and Hugh bent over the instruments. They showed a reading, so Tarrant was still holding on, but they were so low that even Blake, who had little experience of reading them, could tell there was no change, no improvement.

      Hugh's eyes looked like twin black holes as he forced his head up. "Oh, hello, Blake. Is it morning?"

      "Something like that," Blake replied. "Any change?"

      "None. I didn't think he could lose ground and still live but he has. I've got him on complete life support."

      "You should sleep," Blake suggested.

      "I can't," Hugh said. "I'm taking stimulants to stay awake. If there's any change, it will be soon now, and none of the rest of you are qualified."

      "Then let's get someone up from the planet."

      "There's nothing more they could do."

      "They could watch him if you pass out from lack of sleep," Blake pointed out.

      Soolin roused and rubbed her eyes with her fists like a sleepy child. Seeing Blake, she came over to him and led him toward the door. "Maybe we can ask Grant if he knows a reliable doctor," she offered. "I'll come with you, Blake, and take care of it. I'll send somebody back to help keep you awake until then, Hugh."

      "He's going to collapse," Blake said, as Soolin steered him toward the nearest rest room and quantities of black coffee.

      "Not until he has help or the crisis is resolved," she insisted.

      "How are you bearing up?" Blake asked sympathetically. She shot him a questioning look and he added gently, "I mean Tarrant. I wondered if you and he-"

      "No," said Soolin. "Dayna, possibly. I don't get involved."

      "You sat up with him all night."

      "It was necessary. Don't expect emotional declarations from me, Blake. I've stayed on Jabberwocky because it was the best offer I had at the time. I'd like to get a better one; this life is not for me."

      "You don't mean you'd leave?"

      "I don't know. Frankly, I like all of you, but that can't be enough."

      "You sound like Avon," Blake said involuntarily.

      That won a faint smile from her. "I can appreciate Avon," she confessed. "He doesn't often let sentiment interfere with reality."

      "Often? I should have said not at all," Blake suggested, though he did not really believe that.

      "He wouldn't call it sentiment," she replied. "He plays with words sometimes. He honestly believes that sentiment can be fatal, that caring for people is a mistake. But he still does it. He has to lie about it to himself and make up excuses and he winds up suffering more than he would have done in the first place. I don't want to be like that. I'm safer this way. Insulated."

      "But not quite alive," Blake insisted. He had programmed up a citrus drink to combat his cold, though it was already improving under the onslaught of medications that Hugh had given him yesterday, and now he sipped it slowly.

      "At least I don't die over and over." Soolin refused to meet his eyes. "When Tarrant dies the rest of you will tear yourselves up inside even though you already know it's going to happen."

      "While you remain coolly detached and feel nothing. I don't believe you, Soolin."

      She sighed and shook her head. "That's why I have to leave," she insisted. "If you keep taking away my protection, what will I have left?"

      "Friends who care what happens to you," Blake offered, not quite sure it would be enough. "Someone to watch your back. Someone to laugh and cry with."

      "And suffer with?" she asked bitterly.

      "We're alive, Soolin. That means we're involved, whether we want to be or not. If you take away the pain, you take away the joy too."

      "You've got your lines down pat," she retorted. "Practice from talking to Avon?" And before he could reply, she went over to the wall communicator. "Dayna?"

      In a moment, Dayna's filtered voice came back to her. "Dayna here. What is it?" She sounded reluctant to speak as if she feared bad news.

      "Hugh needs someone to sit with him and Tarrant so he can stay awake."

      "I'm on my way."

      Soolin pushed another button. "Grant, please report."

      There was a delay, then, "Grant here."

      "Soolin. We need a back-up doctor. Do you know anyone on Eridani Major?"

      "The rebels have a doctor. Shall I teleport down and fetch him up?"

      "Take Vila with you," Blake ordered, leaning over Soolin's shoulder to reach the speaker.

      "Right." Grant signed off, and Soolin looked at Blake in surprise. "You trust him to go down after what he did to Tarrant?"

      "Avon sorted him out last night; the same technique he used with Jabberwocky, and with me. He didn't mean to hurt Tarrant, you know, and he's the type who gives value for money. I don't believe he'd run out on us." He took her by the arm and led her back to the table. "I'm going to send you off to bed in a minute, Soolin, but I'd like to settle this first; I'd hate to lose you. Don't make any hasty decisions, that's all I ask."

      "Because you'd be shorthanded if Tarrant dies? Or will you take Jenna as a replacement pilot? Convenient, her showing up now."

      "If she can come to terms with Avon, I'd like Jenna to stay with us, but even if she does it wouldn't jeopardise your place, or Tarrant's if he lives."

      She shook her head. "Blake, you expect far too much of people."

      "Maybe I do," Blake replied. "but isn't it odd how seldom I'm disappointed?"

      "Avon's right that your great big bleeding heart will be the death of you one day."

      "The best have tried to kill me," Blake replied. "At least I won't regret the way I lived."

      "We all bear survival in our own ways," she replied. "Don't try to change me, Blake. This is the way I can cope."

      "People can always change. If Avon can learn to be a healer, then you can learn to give a little too. I won't expect it of you, but neither will I permit you to run away from it. I don't think you're a coward."

      "You fight dirty," she accused him, but she smiled a little. "Very well. I'll accept your challenge. I won't change but I won't run away either. Are you satisfied?"

      "For the moment."

      "Then I'm going to bed." She stood up and yawned. "I may fall asleep standing up if I don't go now. Please, Blake, no more sales pitch."

      He laughed. "Agreed."

      Soolin went out, almost weaving on her feet and he wondered if he should have walked her to her cabin, but before he could go after her, Jenna came in. "Jenna. Good morning."

      "I've been listening in the corridor, Blake," she told him. "I'm glad you'd like me to stay, and after hearing about your adventures, I don't intend to kill Avon. But I'm not going to decide about staying immediately. I've looked for you for over a year. Did you ever look for me?"

      "Everywhere I went, and I had Avalon looking for you as well. You must have just teamed up with Grant, or we would have heard about it."

      "It was... two days ago. It seems longer. How is Tarrant this morning?"

      "Worse."

      "I'm sorry."

      "So am I. He's a good man. A little rash, but he's young. He's as good a pilot as you are; you'd like him."

      "Would I?" she asked tartly. "Even if he lives, he won't want to share this ship with me."

      "There are enough of us to divide up the watches, and Jabberwocky does his share. You haven't met him yet."

      "I did briefly during the surgery. He assisted Hugh and Orac sometimes." She shook her head. "A sentient computer, more so than Zen ever was. I'd like to try this link-mode I've been hearing about. It sounds like a pilot's dream."

      "It is. Tarrant loved... loves it"

      She kindly ignored his slip. "Grant told me something of Avalon's plans and your ideas. Blake, I like the idea of more organisation. We never accomplished as much as you wanted to before. Maybe now you can. I'd like to be a part of that. What I've seen of the Federation in the past year hasn't raised my opinion of them. I can't guarantee to believe in your cause as ardently as you do, but I'd fight beside you if you'd let me."

      "If I'd let you? I've missed you, Jenna."

      "You didn't hesitate to increase your crew."

      "Shouldn't I have done? By the time I got back, Dayna, Tarrant and Hugh were already here, Soolin too."

      "She doesn't sound like she enjoys it."

      "Soolin doesn't like people to get too close to her. Does she remind you of anyone?"

      "Avon, obviously."

      "Soolin's family were murdered," Blake explained. "She learned to handle a gun and killed the murderers. She learned early on not to trust anyone. Then she met a man named Dorian. I don't know if she loved him, but she stayed with him. He decided to feed her to a nasty alien room that devoured people's souls and absorbed all his corruption. I'm surprised she's been willing to stay with us as long as she has. She's good in a crisis; I don't want to lose her."

      "Because she's useful? That doesn't sound like you, Blake. You were giving her a good impression of a man who was genuinely concerned for her well-being."

      "Well, so I am," Blake replied. "I wanted to use arguments she would believe and understand, but I also wanted her to know we cared about her."

      "What argument will you use with me?" she asked, interested.

      "That I'd like to have you with me again. I miss the Liberator, Jenna. It's been wonderful having Avon, Cally and Vila with me again. Say you'll stay too."

      "We'll see," she said brusquely, as if she resented not only the emotional appeal but also her own reaction to it.

      He did not take it for denial, and he reached out enthusiastically to cover her hand with his own.

      The day passed slowly, and tension permeated the ship. It didn't take Grant very long to return with the surgeon who was working for the rebels on Eridani Major. Dr Arnet was a wizened little man with a nut brown beard and surprising tufts of white hair around a very bald crown. He clucked in dismay over Tarrant's readouts, but he crooned like a lover when he saw the layout of the medical unit. As soon as Hugh assured himself that Arnet knew what he was doing, he stretched out on the spare bed in the medical unit and went to sleep. From the look of him, it would have taken nothing less than supernova to awaken him.

      Dayna hung around the medical center, silent and gloomy, reacting to Arnet's every movement until he sent her off to sleep, promising to summon her again at the first change. She went reluctantly, but she went, Vila showing up to shoo her back to her cabin. Just when Arnet was settling down to watch Tarrant in peace, Vila returned and proceeded to make a nuisance of himself until Avon arrived. He didn't stay; he inquired after Tarrant's condition, picked up Orac and retreated. Vila looked after him and followed.

      Avon could have gone to the main rest room, but Blake was there discussing rebel business with Grant since there was nothing else to do to fill the hours. Vila hung back until he knew Avon was not going there, then when Avon continued on, Vila trailed along behind. Avon found Cally and Jenna on the flight deck, the Auron explaining the controls to a fascinated Jenna. Avon paused long enough to greet Cally, then announced his intention to do some work with Orac and vanished.

      When Vila finally ran him to earth, he was in the teleport section. He had just made himself comfortable and inserted Orac's key when Vila peeped around the corner of the chamber, and frankly watched him. "Orac," Avon said, "prepare to receive data."

      "What is it now?" Orac asked peevishly. "I have been kept from my own work far too long already."

      "I request information regarding Auron healers," Avon said surprisingly. "You are aware of the abilities that Cally and Jabberwocky insist that I possess?"

      "Yes. I am not telepathic, but my carrier waves pass through the dimension where Cally's telepathy is transmitted. As for Auron healers, they are generally considered able to treat things involving the mind, emotional control, and other such human and Auron failings. If your information is requested for the purpose of providing healing to Del Tarrant, I must inform you that you would likely fail. There have been documented incidents of skilled Auron healers restoring damaged tissue, but the key words are 'Auron' and 'skilled', of which you are neither. If you attempt to link with Tarrant at this stage, you would risk being drawn into death with him. Instinct is no substitute for proper understanding. Cally asked me these questions already this morning and I find them redundant. Even you, Cally and Jabberwocky working together could do nothing. At best you could provide him strength, but there would be no guarantees."

      "That is what I had expected." Avon pulled out the key, his fingers closing around it rather too tightly; Vila winced at the sight of his whitened knuckles.

      "Avon," he ventured, coming into the room. "I don't think it sounds safe. We might lose both of you."

      "I resent your eavesdropping," Avon snapped at him, adding tiredly, "but not as much as I resent this ability which Cally considers a gift. Before I joined with Jabberwocky yesterday, I thought I could see my way clear to attempt it. I could even understand how best to reach Grant. This... this is different. No matter how I approach it, it slips away from me."

      "Orac said it took somebody trained, and that they had to be Auron. What you can already do is special, Avon, but you can't do everything."

      "The ability should be there," Avon insisted. "I did not ask for it, nor do I wish for it. I might be able to deny that I could have been a telepath, but ever since I brought Blake out of the void, I have been unable to deny this." He slammed his fist down on the tabletop. "What good is it?"

      "A lot of good, Avon. Blake would be mad or dead now if you hadn't been able to do it. Jabberwocky might be useless. Grant would still be out for your blood. Just because there's one thing you can't do doesn't mean you've failed." Vila couldn't believe he was actually giving Avon a pep talk but he pressed on. "I'm the greatest thief alive but no matter how much I tried, I couldn't steal a planet." He took hold of Avon's arm and shook it lightly. "There's only so much any one man can do."

      "A fact which Tarrant would find slim consolation."

      "Avon, you're not to try it," Vila insisted, worried. "We can't lose you too. It's bad enough with Tarrant."

      "Tarrant is a nuisance and a fool," Avon said sharply.

      "That doesn't mean we want him to die, "Vila replied. "I never thought I'd say it, but I like Tarrant."

      "Whitewashed eulogies always follow death. It does not change Tarrant's nature."

      "But I do like him - well, some of the time. And even if he makes me mad the rest of the time and picks on me, I don't want him to die." It was a frustrated wail.

      "Yes, Vila," Avon agreed. "Neither do I."

      "You're not going to try it, are you?"

      "Perhaps you will tell me what my options are?"

      "Staying alive. Staying safe. After all, it's not your fault that you're not an experienced Auron healer. And you didn't make Tarrant jump in front of Grant's gun."

      "No," Avon agreed, "and I certainly never went out of my way to make Tarrant wish to preserve my life."

      "But a good pilot is useful," Vila suggested.

      "We have Jenna now," Avon reminded him. Then he replaced Orac's key in its slot though he did not question the computer. " Bring Orac," he ordered.

      "Bring Orac," Vila muttered under his breath. "It's always bring Orac, do this, carry that. It's always let Vila do the dirty work. I'm not a bond slave." But he picked up Orac obediently and trailed Avon from the room.

      Jabberwocky noted Avon's progress through the ship. He had been monitoring Avon ever since Avon had asked Cally the night before if he could heal Tarrant. Jabberwocky was certain that Avon could do no such thing, and he was determined to prevent him risking his life in that way. Auron healers were very rarely able to use the powers of their minds to speed blood replacement, to regenerate necrotic tissue, to encourage the knitting of broken bones, to repair damaged organs. It took many years to learn to do even the most basic of repairs with mental powers, and hardly anyone had had the necessary psi abilities in generations. Jabberwocky speculated that cloning had weakened the gifts and even if Auron were still intact he did not believe that there would have been more than two or three of the Auronar with the necessary abilities. Mental gifts such as Avon's slowly emerging ones were most useful in dealing with non-physical conditions, but even if Avon possessed the basic gifts necessary to become a physical healer, he could not develop them in time to save Tarrant. At this stage in his development, Avon would be lucky to survive the attempt.

      Jabberwocky knew Cally could not do it either. Though Cally was a powerful telepath, she possessed none of the more uncommon Auron gifts except for the odd flash of precognition. The dream she had experienced after Terminal was rare for her and it was unlikely that she could suddenly heal if linked with Avon or with himself and Avon.

      The only thing that Avon might be able to do would be to lend Tarrant strength, and that would be risky too. It would be far easier for Jabberwocky to try to do that himself in link-mode, though the same risks applied. If Tarrant died while he was linked to him, he might die as well and that could be a problem for the others. But they were still in orbit around Eridani Major and even if all systems should fail, there would be time to reach the planet's surface, even if it meant down in that broken down old Federation ship on the hangar deck. Jabberwocky considered it. Once he was in link-mode with Tarrant, he could boost him, even if it drained his systems. Hugh had worried all night that with the major blood loss and the actual trauma of the injury Tarrant would not have enough strength to hold on. If Jabberwocky could boost his strength long enough, maybe Tarrant could survive. Jabberwocky reviewed the scanner readings; very weak. Almost gone. Only a thin thread of life remained.

      Dr. Arnet was still fussing around the medical unit, and Hugh was deeply asleep. Jabberwocky suspected that Hugh would wake in an instant at the slightest need, but it would be better not to wake Hugh. Arnet would not realise what was happening; he had not been briefed on Jabberwocky, even though he was cleared by the rebels on Eridani Major. Jabberwocky need not disturb him either.

      He prepared himself, then he began to regulate his brain waves to match Tarrant. He kept part of himself detached, ready to pull out again if it was too late, but Tarrant hung on. Though the life support system took over the basics, there was a spark inside Tarrant that would not let go of life. But the spark was fading.

      Jabberwocky eased into linkage with Tarrant very gently, careful not to startle him in case there was awareness. But there was no response. Jabberwocky noted with a forced clinical detachment that the brain waves seemed to strengthen for a moment, but the upward rise did not continue, and the change was so slight that Arnet should be unable to detect it if he looked at the scanner.

      //Tarrant,// Jabberwocky sent to him softly, soothingly, //Tarrant. You are not alone, Tarrant.// He remembered his son suddenly; his son who would be close to Tarrant's age, who would possibly have met Tarrant at the FSA. He had never got round to asking Tarrant about Dorn. He hated to have missed the chance. He wanted very much to talk to Tarrant about his son. //Tarrant, listen to me. Stay, Tarrant. You must not let go. You must stay.//

      Somewhere in the very heart of the link came something faint and blurred that might have been a protest. // ...n-nn-no. Le-lemme 'lone.//

      //Tarrant, stay,// Jabberwocky insisted. //We need to talk. There is much to say, and you are too young to die.//

      No immediate response, then a very confused one. // ... 's whatVila... always says... too young t-to die...//

      //You are younger than Vila,// Jabberwocky pointed out. At least he had found Tarrant, though Tarrant was almost too weak to react to him. //Stay, Tarrant,// he repeated, projecting strength to him, shutting down a system or two to find the energy necessary. He found himself wondering if disembodied brains could get headaches and didn't mind if that had gone into the link because its very incongruity could startle Tarrant into one more moment of awareness, and the longer he could sustain awareness, the more chance Tarrant had to regain some of his strength. //You must not go. The others need Tarrant. Even Avon is considering coming into the link to heal you.//

      //Avon... not healer... Avon... I don't understand.//

      //Avon is a healer,// Jabberwocky explained, //but not for you. You will have to do that for yourself. You will need my help. You must stay and listen to me and I will tell you about my son.//

      //...son? What Jabberwocky... have a son.?//

      //Maybe you know him, Del. He was at the Academy. His name is Dorn Suliman.//

      //Dorn ?// Tarrant echoed the name and then was silent for so long that Jabberwocky was frightened that he had lost him, then Tarrant's thoughts came to him a little more clearly than before.

      //Knew someone...called Dorn...long time ago.//

      //At the Academy?// Jabberwocky prompted. Keeping Tarrant's attention might do more good than anything else. He had to boost his strength, but even before that, he had to make Tarrant want to live. Normally that would be no problem, but when someone was as weak as Tarrant was right now, survival seemed to take more effort than it was worth.

      //Academy,// Tarrant agreed, //ship. Went on... mission. Made us kill... No! Don't want to... remember...//

      Jabberwocky promptly did a turn around. Though he wanted to learn more, he couldn't let Tarrant dwell on anything that might be painful now, so he dangled a bit of bait before him instead. //Tarrant, link-mode. We're in link-mode, just you and I, not the others. That's the way it's meant to be Tarrant, one ship, one pilot.//

      //Per... permanent?// Tarrant asked weakly but with a definite show of interest. Jabberwocky didn't want to bribe him into staying alive, but if it worked, then he could deal with the consequences later. //Avon will be furious,// he offered. That ought to get Tarrant's attention.

      //Furious?// Tarrant echoed. //Avon... what did Grant...?//

      //Avon is fine.// Jabberwocky assured him. //Grant has seen the error of his ways.//

      //Can sympathise... sometimes... want to kill him myself.//

      Jabberwocky chuckled at that. //Tarrant, stay with me. Keep answering. Can you feel yourself getting stronger?//

      //Can't feel anything.//

      That was not good. Jabberwocky kept on feeding energy to Tarrant, trying to boost the young man's strength, to speed healing. He was not designed for this, and finally he began to get the answer to his question. Disembodied brains do get headaches.

      The lights blinked. Startled, Vila yelped in surprise, only to come to a halt when Avon muttered something under his breath and suddenly took off at a dead run. "Jabberwocky," he bellowed as he ran. "What are you doing?"

      "Stay away, Avon," Jabberwocky replied. "I'm too busy to talk to you now."

      "I know what you're doing. It won't work."

      "It is working," Jabberwocky insisted. The lights had stabilised at a slightly lower level than usual, and Vila was huffing and puffing as he hurried after Avon, weighted down with Orac as he was. It was Tarrant, he realised suddenly. Jabberwocky had linked with him.

      "Avon, wait," he called, struggling to keep up. "You can't help. Let Jabberwocky do it."

      "It could kill them both, Vila," Avon called over his shoulder as he burst into the medical unit.

      When Vila followed him moments later, Hugh had roused from sleep and he and Arnet were try to restrain Avon. "Don't try it, Avon," Hugh insisted. "Leave it be. You can't help."

      "I can stop Jabberwocky from destroying himself and this ship. Jabberwocky was never designed to do what he is attempting."

      Cally arrived then, with Blake trailing behind her, and Cally darted forward and caught Avon's arm. "Avon, what is it? You have not tried..."

      "Jabberwocky has tried," Avon retorted. "I will not permit..."

      "Shut up, Avon," Hugh cut him off. "Look at the monitor, damn it!"

      Startled, Avon turned and stared at Hugh for a long moment, then he looked at the monitor. Vila's eyes followed Avon's and he gave a little gasp of surprise. The readings were noticeably stronger.

      "He's doing it," Cally exclaimed. "Jabberwocky is doing it."

      Avon's face was a study. Suddenly, Vila realised that Avon had already given Tarrant up for dead and now he was trying to revise his thinking. He tore his eyes from the monitor and twisted free of Hugh's hand. "Let go of me," he barked.

      "Quiet!" Hugh continued sharply. "In case you hadn't noticed, Tarrant is very ill. A noisy disruption is not the best thing for him. Maybe Jabberwocky can help him, but we've got to give Jabberwocky all the help we can. Arguing is not the answer. You're not the right kind of healer for this, Avon. There's nothing you can do."

      "You're probably right," Avon conceded so easily that Vila was highly suspicious, even more so when Avon backed away and sat down on the far side of the room.

      Hugh heaved a sigh of relief, too tired to speculate, and turned back to Tarrant just as Dayna burst into the room. At the sight of her and the sound of her loud demands to be told what was happening, Hugh threw up his hands in exasperation and started to herd everybody toward the door while Arnet made distressed noises in the background.

      By the time Vila looked back at Avon, he was already in link-mode.

      Instead of making a big noise about it, Vila ducked under Hugh's outstretched arm, caught Cally by the shoulders, and steered her over to Avon. Making a grab for him, Hugh suddenly caught his breath and let out a dismayed whistle. "Damn."

      But Cally touched Avon's shoulder and then shook her head. "He isn't trying to heal, Hugh," she reported. "He's just feeding Jabberwocky strength. If he does no more than that, it should be all right."

      "Don't you go in too," Hugh insisted.

      "I will not. But notify the others that Jabberwocky will shut down certain non-essential portions of the ship for the duration."

      Hugh nodded. Everyone else was in the hall outside the medical unit anyway; he could hear Jenna asking Blake questions, and Soolin's voice cautioning Grant to stay out of it. Vila thought it sounded like a small circus. "Now what?" he asked Hugh.

      Hugh gestured to the monitor. "There's a slight improvement. It's too soon to tell if it will be enough or not, but it's the first hopeful sign I've had. There's only one thing to do now, Vila. We wait."

      All he wanted was to lie here and do nothing; he was too exhausted to pay attention to the voices that nagged at him, trying to make him do something, say something, react. Tarrant was only halfway sure who he was and why he was here. He didn't know where here was and he didn't care, but they wouldn't let him alone, and they insisted he stay here. He didn't want to stay here. He was sure if he did there would be pain. He didn't have the energy to endure pain and he only wanted to be left in peace. But Jabberwocky was there. He knew it was Jabberwocky and Jabberwocky was saying something, telling him to stay, asking him questions.

      He wanted them to leave him alone and they wouldn't. Now there was the start of pain, so intense that he sucked in his breath in shock only to have it rebound on him tenfold. He whimpered in protest, shocked at the sound the pain had forced from him, and tried to shut it away again. But now that he had experienced it, he couldn't find the peaceful oblivion that had given him refuge before. He could only be here and hurt, all too aware of the pain that coalesced and spread all through him, centring on his gut. For a moment, he was confused, remembering Blake's wound. Had he become Blake? No, that didn't make sense, and suddenly it was imperative that it make sense.

      //You were wounded too.//

      That was Jabberwocky. There was a vague memory of Jabberwocky offering him link-mode; yes, that was right, that was as it should be. He was a pilot; he should be linked. That would show Avon. That thought won him a deep chuckle. Avon? Was Avon linked too? Why was Avon linked?

      //The others insist upon making me a healer.//

      //It must go against the grain.//

      //Oh, it does. Most unprecedented.//

      Tarrant thought he smiled, though he could not be sure for he had no sense of control over his body. //What is this place?// he asked after a few minutes... or possibly a few weeks; he couldn't tell.

      //Somewhere I would vastly prefer not to be. Your mind. Such as it is.//

      //That's not nice, Avon,// Jabberwocky reproached him.

      //I shall remember that the next time I desire to be nice, assuming there is such a time.//

      //Did Grant shoot you too, Avon?// Tarrant wondered. //Are we dead?//

      //You may choose to be dead, thus giving up any right to Jabberwocky. I, however, prefer to remain alive and take full advantage of the condition.//

      That prompted Tarrant to remember that Jabberwocky had said he was linked with him. Avon must have just come in on the link. Jabberwocky must be ready for link-mode again. //It's my, link, Avon.// Tarrant pointed out possessively.

      //Yes,// Avon agreed, //Regrettable.//

      //I'm a pilot. I belong in here.//

      //So you would have us believe. Deciding to die won't get you any benefits, Tarrant.//

      That made him curious. //Am I deciding to die?//

      //You have shown remarkably little interest in staying alive to date. I should never have expected you to give up.//

      //I'm not giving up. Maybe I'm just in shock because I did something so foolish as to try save your life.//

      Avon hesitated, then he said, //Thank you.//

      Tarrant was certain he had said that for the shock value. Even though Avon was here trying to get through to him, there were limits, and that seemed to go beyond them. //You sound as if I should not have bothered.//

      //You shouldn't,// Avon replied, deliberately annoying. //Grant was only making noise. He had no intention of actually shooting yet.//

      //He certainly gave a good imitation of it,// Tarrant shot back, beginning to get irritated. Bad enough he had done something so foolish as to try to save Avon's life at great risk to his own. Even worse to discover that it had been unnecessary. Tarrant was furious with himself. Avon had often told him he was a fool. How annoying to discover that he might have been right.

      That thought caused Avon to chuckle. //Of course I am right,// he pointed out. //The rest of you will need to realise that. One day Jabberwocky will be mine.//

      //One day. Maybe. It's mine now.//

      //It will be of little use to a dead man.//

      //You bastard,// Tarrant snapped at him. //I'm not dead. I'm not planning on dying.//

      //You might try proving that.//

      Tarrant concentrated. He was still appallingly weak, and now that he was thinking about it instead of his anger at Avon, the pain came pounding back like a troubled surf, beating and receding and surging up again. A small moan escaped his lips, and he thought furiously, //Damn you, Avon, I need you to make me mad.//

      At least if he had Avon to rage about, the pain might be bearable.

      //It will be an interesting experience,// Avon replied obligingly. //Jabberwocky under your control? No doubt we will all wind up at the heart of a sun or as prisoners of the Federation. Or, far more unlikely, you will learn to think before you taken any action. Even Vila considers the outcome before he acts.//

      That was better. The pain ebbed a little. //Yes, he decides that anything will be a threat, so he hides in his cabin with a bottle of adrenalin and soma.//

      //Only you could so underestimate Vila.//

      //I'll tell him you said that. It will make him quite insufferable.//

      //You should recognise the condition,// Avon pointed out, still deliberately aggravating. //If there is anyone on Jabberwocky who is insufferable, it is you.//

      //Not as insufferable as you.//

      Avon's voice held disgustingly false modesty. //I do try.//

      //Try? It comes without effort.//

      //How do you feel, Tarrant?// Jabberwocky asked him.

      //Don't remind me. Be a good link-partner and give me something else to think about. //

      //I'm sorry, Del.//

      //This ship may choose to mollycoddle you,// Avon interrupted. //I however, have no such considerations.//

      //I must say I'm not surprised.//

      The pain came again, as strong as before, but this time, he didn't have to fight it quite so hard. He wondered if that meant he was winning or losing the battle.

      //Winning, of course,// Jabberwocky told him. //I will not let you lose. After all, you're my link-mate now, and I'll be all alone if you lose. I might even be forced to link with Avon.//

      //Anything but that,// Tarrant replied and went to sleep.

      Hugh all but pounced on Avon with delight when he came out of the link. "I don't know what you did, Avon, but it's working. He's starting to get stronger. Oh, he's still very sick," he added when Avon shot an involuntary look at Tarrant, who lay unconscious and fragile-looking, his face white as the sheets. "But if there are no complications, I think he'll make it. You don't know how to heal that way. What did you do?"

      Avon bared his teeth in a rather self-congratulatory smile. "I treated him the way I always do," he explained. "I pointed out his faults and weaknesses and reminded him that if he was inconsiderate enough to die, I would be waiting to link with Jabberwocky."

      Hugh burst out laughing. "I never thought of that. Knowing you and Tarrant, though, it might have been the best thing you could have done. Jabberwocky gave him strength through his link, and you gave him a motive for living."

      "It's called teamwork," Jabberwocky offered happily. "You're a lot closer to being ready for me than you were two days ago, Avon."

      "And Tarrant is ready for you?" Avon lifted a sceptical brow. "I should say that your judgment is still flawed."

      "Maybe," Jabberwocky conceded. "Why don't you go and get some sleep, Avon. You're wiped out."

      "Thank you for that professional diagnosis."

      "I agree, Avon," Hugh put in. "Cally, why don't you walk him back to his cabin and..." He let it drop there, ignoring the look of outrage that Avon bestowed upon him, and went to open the door. As he had expected, everyone else was gathered there.

      "Tarrant will live," he announced, "and now, I'm going to go and fall down in the first soft place I find. Arnet, would you stay with him?"

      "My pleasure," the older doctor agreed, his face alight with curiosity. Hugh knew he would start pumping Jabberwocky for information the minute he left the room. At least Jabberwocky could be counted on to be discreet.

      Tarrant had no idea how long had passed before he finally woke up. He had been drifting in and out of consciousness for some time now, hearing voices as people fussed over him and gave him medications and did things to his wound that hurt abominably. Usually after that, there was a bitter medicine that made the darkness come back, and he was never awake long enough to ask questions or even try to understand where he was or why. He knew without having to think about it that he had been shot, and he even remembered how it had happened, which was embarrassing. But he did not wake enough to do more than make a fitful protest when he was moved or bathed. Sometimes he heard Hugh reassuring one of the others, and sometimes Dayna would sit with him and talk to him though it was her voice he recognised rather than the actual words. And through it all, Jabberwocky was with him, talking to him underneath, keeping him in contact with the world, without disturbing his rest as his body began to heal.

      But one day his eyes popped open and he lay there staring at the ceiling, wondering what day it was. The pain he had come to expect was still there but it was muted and far away as if it wasn't quite a part of him, and his mind was clear. When he tried to turn his head, he discovered that he was appallingly weak, but that as long as he lay there without putting out any effort, he could hold onto consciousness.

      "Don't try to move," cautioned an unfamiliar voice nearby.

      "I think I know better." Damn it, his voice sounded strange, with no strength behind it. "Who're you?"

      A strange woman with fair hair leaned forward into his range of vision. "Hello, Tarrant," she said, "I'm Jenna Stannis."

      He wondered how that had come about. When he last remembered anything, there had been no trace of Jenna, but now here she was, a very attractive woman too. No wonder Blake had been so eager to find her. "Where did you... come from?" he asked her.

      "Earth, originally." She smiled then. "I'm sorry. I was with Del Grant back on Eridani Major. He and I had decided we wanted to kill Avon."

      "I noticed that he did."

      "He didn't mean to shoot you, Tarrant. And he's made his peace with Avon now."

      "So this was all for nothing?"

      "I shouldn't say that. You have a very definite way of getting people's attention, Tarrant."

      He made a wry face at that. "Are we still orbiting Eridani?"

      "No, we left five days ago. Blake met with the rebels there and set something up with Avalon and now we're on our way to Tapperi. We left Grant on Argentum yesterday and he's going to do some work with the rebels there until we come back to pick him up."

      "We?" Tarrant asked suspiciously. He didn't have the strength to pursue this, but there was a part of him that had always been reluctant to find Jenna, since she was a pilot too and a potential rival; but he quested in his mind for the link that he was sure had been formed and found Jabberwocky there, sending him complacent reassurances.

      "Blake has asked me to stay with you on Jabberwocky," Jenna explained.

      "Did he?"

      "I don't imagine you like it," she conceded, "but I may decide to do just that."

      "Do you know about Jabberwocky then?"

      "Oh, yes, I know about Jabberwocky. I know he's linked with you. Avon was certain it was too early, both because of your physical state and because of some problems Jabberwocky was having, but it seems to have worked. Interesting to think that Avon helped to save your life. He'll probably never get over it."

      "I think I remember. He made me mad."

      "Very carefully, I should think. Avon as a healer and a telepath is a bit more than I can swallow comfortably. I'm glad he's as annoying as ever or I wouldn't be able to recognise him."

      "But he's not as-" Tarrant began then bit his lip. He wasn't going to admit to just anyone, and certainly not to Jenna Stannis, that he was finding Avon easier to take of late. He corrected himself in mid stride. "But he's not really a telepath. "

      "No" she agreed. "At least he won't admit to it. I give Cally credit though. If he still has it in him to be one, he'll be one eventually."

      "What about being a healer?" Tarrant asked. "I know he helped Blake and Jabberwocky, but that was different. I shouldn't think this would be within his scope."

      "Oh, it isn't, Tarrant. Jabberwocky gave you strength. Avon gave you the will to live."

      He stared at her, appalled. "I didn't want to die."

      "You were so far gone you didn't have the strength to want to live either," she pointed out. "Now go back to sleep. You're not well enough for anything else yet."

      He resented being ordered about, but his body betrayed him and he sank back into sleep. Next time he'd get a few things straight.

      Tarrant roused from sleep again, remembering something. He wasn't sure if Jenna are still there or not, but in case she was, he kept his eyes shut, not that he had enough energy to open them again so soon anyway, and said tentatively, //Jabberwocky?//

      //Yes, Del?//

      //You said something about your son?//

      //And you said you knew him. It didn't sound like a pleasant memory. Is he dead, Del?//

      //I don't know. He was still alive when I last saw him. We were ordered in to clean up the rebel movement on Sistus 4, and it turned out that they wanted us to annihilate the whole population: women, children, innocent civilians. The commander said that there were no innocent bystanders and that an order was an order, and he ordered all the ships to fire. Of course everyone else obeyed without question, but Dorn and I weren't so sure. Afterwards we talked about it. That's when I finally decided I couldn't accept the Federation any longer. With my father, and then Deeta leaving, well, let's just say that I'd had enough.//

      //What about Dorn?// Jabberwocky asked intently.

      //Dorn too. We left together, but we didn't stay together; it wasn't that easy to get away and even after we did, there weren't that many openings in the outer worlds. I got involved in other people's wars for awhile, before I came upon the Liberator after the war with the Andromedans. Dorn was doing the same type of thing. We used to meet occasionally, but I haven't heard from him since then. I don't know how to find him. He... he could be dead, Thorm.//

      //I understand. Maybe Orac can find word of him.//

      //Would you - would you want to see him?//

      //Very much. But what you mean is if I would tell him who I was. I don't know, Del. I'm not sure. It would probably be better not to. Well,// he went on briskly, //I'll deal with that if it happens. I just wish...//

      //I know, Jabberwocky.// Tarrant thought that for all practical purposes it would be best to keep calling the ship that. The new name went with the new condition and would have less built in memories than 'Thorm' would. Later on, when Jabberwocky was more comfortable with himself, maybe they could talk. Satisfied with the approval that thought won for him, Tarrant sighed wearily, thought wistfully of a time about a month in the future when his wound wouldn't hurt so much, and went contentedly back to sleep.

"No recent word on Servalan," Orac reported in response to a question of Blake's a few day later. Blake and Avon were on watch together, and for once, things were remarkably peaceful. Now that Tarrant had finally regained consciousness, he was making a rather remarkable recovery; he was allowed to sit up a little longer each day, and he no longer looked quite so corpse-like after the first minute or two. Hugh gloated over the way his wound was healing, patting himself on the back whenever Avon and Jabberwocky weren't looking, though he knew that saving Tarrant's life had been a group project. Still, if he hadn't done his work well to begin with, Avon and Jabberwocky would not have been successful with their different treatment.

      Blake was pleased to have Jenna back, though it looked as though she would not settle smoothly into her old place; for one thing, there was Tarrant to contend with, and even if he was younger and consequently less experienced, he was as gifted a pilot and he was firmly in possession of Jabberwocky. It wasn't that Jabberwocky refused to link with Jenna because he had and both of them had enjoyed it. But Tarrant was Jabberwocky's link-mate now, and Jabberwocky's loyalty was to him first and then to Blake and Cally, whom he'd linked with before, and Avon, who had helped to design him. Sometimes Blake was sure that it extended to Vila and Dayna as well since they had been part of the original crew, and Hugh, and even to Soolin, even though she was still regarding them from a distance. At least she wasn't making noises about leaving any more, Blake thought, uncertain as to why he was glad about it. He knew Avon would make scornful comments about sentiment if he tried to define his determination to keep the current crew intact. Avon had certainly made some less than kindly comments about Jenna, but one day, Blake had come upon Jenna and Avon in the rest room having what amounted to a shouting match, although neither of them had raised their voice. When it was over, though, it seemed to have cleared the air, and while the two of them would never be close friends, they seemed to have regained the level of tolerance they had achieved on Liberator.

      In some ways Jenna resented Tarrant most, even more than Avon. Blake smiled a little. He had a fair idea why Jenna resented Avon so much; one reason was that the two of them were alike in some ways, and recognised their own faults in each other, and the other was that Blake tended to view Avon as very important to him. Now he smiled. Having Jenna back made a difference, and both she and Avon were important to Blake in their different ways. Jenna should know that now, he thought with a fond and remembering smile.

      But with Tarrant, Jenna had found both a rival and an ally, someone who could understand how she felt about piloting a ship, someone who could appreciate her gifts in ways the others never really could, but also someone who held the place she considered her own. It would take some juggling for position but Blake was confident that the two of them could make the adjustment. He didn't intend to interfere, though he still sat in the command position on the flight deck. There were times to take charge and times to let things work themselves out, and this was one of the latter.

      Avon lifted his head and looked first at Orac and then at Blake. "Servalan will not make it easy for us, Blake," he pointed out. "We know that she has been assigned a special ship that lacks tarial cells, to make it more difficult for us to track her."

      "She will still need to contact Space Command Headquarters and various bases in both the Inner and Outer Worlds," Blake replied, "and they are equipped with tarial cells. We'll find her, Avon."

      "Or," Avon pointed out, with relish, "She will find us."

      "What are you working on there?" Blake asked, looking at the component parts strewn out around Avon. "It almost looks like a miniature Orac."

      "Nothing quite that ambitious," Avon replied, "though it might not be beyond my capabilities to achieve something similar one day. What I am attempting to do is to design a relay system to link with Orac and Jabberwocky, something we can take with us on landing parties which will make it easier for us to process data on the spot. It should function both as a boosted communications device and a scanner, and relay the data it picks up directly to Orac and Jabberwocky for analysis without a lot of delays. So far I have been unable to reduce the size to something practical; it should be able to attach to a belt or a shoulder strap, like a portable scanner, only with a wider range of function."

      "That's a marvellous idea," Blake replied enthusiastically. There had been times in the past when there had been a delay because someone would have to return to the ship to present data to Orac or Zen for consideration, but this would take out the extra step.

      "I thought it was." Avon replied. "I've adapted some of Ensor's designs and a few of my own and both Orac and Jabberwocky have had some input." He began to gather some of the pieces together and fit them one inside the other. "I think I see my way clear for another step reduction, but it will take time."

      "Take all the time you need."

      "What, no rush? I thought you wanted to save the galaxy as quickly as possible."

      "Oh well, so I do, Avon, but I'll give you a few weeks first."

      Avon's eyes lit with humour. "Very good, Blake. You're learning patience."

      "You might say I have to. I've Tarrant's example to remind me if I don't."

      "Tarrant," Avon mused. "Do you resent his link with Jabberwocky, Blake?" He sounded concerned. Perhaps he blamed himself for Tarrant's linkage, since he had insisted that Blake unlink. Blake knew that it had been necessary, but he still regretted it."

      "Not resent, Avon. I'm sorry Jabberwocky's not here for me the way he was, but he's still available to all of us, and, annoyingly enough, he seems to do better with Tarrant. I shouldn't have thought it of Tarrant, but he's damned good at linking."

      "He's a pilot, Blake. The Federation's plans were to link with a pilot. Perhaps it makes a difference. I confess that I can detect no other signs of superiority about Tarrant."

      "Tarrant can."

      "I've noticed that."

      "What can Tarrant do?" Vila asked as he strolled onto the flight deck.

      "Act the fool," Avon said promptly. "I have not yet decided if he takes lessons from you or vice versa."

      "Perhaps from you," Vila countered. "After all you've had more experience than any of us. Right, Jabberwocky?"

      "I'm staying out of that, Vila," Jabberwocky replied. "And keep away from the drink dispenser. I'm all out of adrenalin and soma today."

      "It's not fair," Vila complained. "Everyone expects the worst of me."

      "With the experience of long practice," Avon retorted.

      "I've come here for my 'Ship and Asteroids' lesson," Vila announced, strolling over to Avon and looking at the small parts that still cluttered the tabletop. "You haven't got the miniaturisation worked out then?"

      "I'm getting closer." Avon glanced over at Blake. "And this is not the proper time for 'Ships and Asteroids'."

      "Why not, Avon?" Blake asked. "I'd like to see how well you do it."

      "There is no challenge to it," Avon replied. "I know how it is expected to work. Very well, Vila. Come over here and I will attempt the impossible."

      "Winning?"

      "No, attempting to teach you something."

      Vila went willingly, and Blake leaned back in his chair and watched them, smiling. It didn't take Avon very long to get caught up in the session, and once, when Avon had demonstrated a manoeuvre for Vila and succeeded, Vila glanced over at Blake and winked. Suddenly Blake wondered just how well Vila could manage the game on his own, and if he had asked Avon's help simply to give the computer expert a valid excuse for playing.

      It was main watch, and gradually some of the others arrived, trickling onto the flight deck. Cally was first, and she looked at Avon with interest and shared a secret smile with Blake as if she knew what he had guessed. She went over and rested her chin on Avon's shoulder, watching the movement of his hands, and Blake was delighted to see Avon turn and smile at her before returning to the game.

      Hugh and Soolin came in together involved in some discussion, both of them intent and serious and Blake turned an ear in their direction, trying to catch what they were saying. Soolin was unbending slowly, still reluctant to make a commitment beyond agreeing to stay on the ship. Of late though, Blake had noticed that she and Hugh had seemed to spend more time in each other's company. Of all of them Hugh might be best for Soolin, not in a romantic context unless it was what they both wanted, but because Hugh didn't shield himself from people; he gave of himself openly and be damned with the consequences, and he survived the inevitable hurts that went with taking that kind of risk. Soolin might realise that Hugh could manage it and learn to open up a little herself. Hugh seemed to enjoy her company and her dry humour, and to Blake, it looked like Soolin was beginning to unbend a little and enjoy Hugh, and by extension, the rest of them in return.

      Jenna appeared then, glancing around the flight deck to see what the current status was, discovered Avon playing 'Ship and Asteroids' and gaped at him in disbelief. Avon glanced up as he sensed her stare, then, coolly, as if he could not be bothered to dissemble, returned to the game, making no attempt to conceal his enjoyment.

      Jenna's eyes widened and she came over to Blake. "Well," she commented, "I never expected that."

      "It's interesting, isn't it?" Blake asked. "He's supposed to be teaching Vila."

      "Vila won it three times last night," Jenna told Blake in an undertone.

      "Somehow that doesn't surprise me."

      "Information," Jabberwocky announced suddenly. "I am picking up three pursuit ships at the extreme edge of detector range."

      Avon spun away from the game and headed for his position and everyone else followed, Jenna slipping into the pilot's position naturally. Blake was not surprised to see how well everyone reacted to the threat of crisis. Though Tarrant was still in the medical unit, when they linked automatically, he was there too in the link, though he would not yet take a very active part.

      As Jabberwocky displayed the sector with the pursuit ships shown as dots moving against a grid over the starfield, with coordinate markings at the edges of the screen, Dayna came running into the room, summoned by Jabberwocky, already in link-mode.

      "Fight or run?" Blake asked, glancing around the flight deck.

      "Fight," Dayna suggested, taking the weaponry position.

      Avon activated the detector shielding. "Jabberwocky, have they seen us?"

      "Yes. They possess extra range detectors," Orac replied before Jabberwocky could respond. "They have lost us now, but their computers will be able to extrapolate the most likely courses and the strategy we will employ. Also the only clear path of retreat available to us is directly past them."

      "Then we fight," Blake decided. "Jabberwocky, what are the odds of success against three ships?"

      "Piece of cake," the ship replied. "We should wait until they fire before activating the force wall, though, to avoid a drain on my systems. Other than that, just remember to act through the link and control your stations that way, the way we've practised. We can outmanoeuvre them, even if they are adapted for high speed, and we won't be detectable until we're actually close enough for a visual sighting. Their instruments won't register us until then."

      "Then we'll go for it. Jenna, take us toward them."

      Jenna was the least experienced in the link-mode, but Tarrant held back and let her do it, though it must have cost him a considerable amount of restraint. She reached out through the link and activated the controls, moving the ship into position and Jabberwocky responded instantaneously. Avon stood by the detector shielding, waiting to activate the force wall, while Dayna primed the weaponry. "Hold it steady," Blake encouraged, letting himself function as the center of activity, a position he intended to maintain even when Tarrant was well, so long as Jabberwocky could operate that way. Hugh was in a maintenance position, giving readings to Jabberwocky to interpret, and Vila took the secondary weapons position. Cally was at communications, drawing Orac into the link, boosted by Jabberwocky to try to monitor communications between the three pursuit ships.

      "We'll get almost into visual range before we fire," Blake decided. "Hold steady, Jenna and bring us around so that we come at them from the side. I want to get as much of element of surprise as I can."

      "On course, Blake," she agreed, transmitting to Jabberwocky as she spoke, and he could feel her delight as the ship responded to her. All of them were in the linkage, everyone prepared, and Blake was sure the pursuit ships didn't have a chance. He couldn't help wondering if the ships had been searching for them blind or if there were any more of them holding back out of range. Orac reacted to the thought. "There are only three ships, Blake," it announced. "They discovered us by chance while they were testing an advanced design of extra range detectors. I have assimilated as much data as was available and will see if it could be adapted for our purposes."

      "Thank you, Orac."

      "Almost in visual range, Blake," Jenna reported.

      "Dayna, the lead ship," Blake instructed, then going sub-vocal through the link, expressing the instructions to fire. Dayna received him and turned her mind on the controls and a plasma bolt shot out, aimed at the lead ship.

      "Plasma bolt running," she observed aloud, though Blake would know it through the link.

      "Direct hit!" Vila yipped in triumph.

      "Attention," Jabberwocky reported. //Attention. Second ship has fired. Plasma bolt running.//

      //Evasive action,// Jenna ordered.

      //Watch the third ship.// That was Tarrant, able to see the battle through the link even in the medical unit. Jabberwocky had probably given him visual on the miniature screen there, but even without it he would be seeing it through their eyes. //It's going to come around and attack.//

      The first plasma bolt dissipated short as Jenna brought the ship around. She turned again as the third ship tried to ease up on them. This time, their fire came closer and Jabberwocky rocked a little as the explosion missed them, the force wall absorbing the energy and dissipating it along its entire surface to lessen the impact.

      Dayna whooped as her shot took out the second ship. Disabled, it backed off, unable to pursue, and Jenna turned her attention to the third ship. It was apparent to her, and to the rest of them through her, that the cleverest pilot was in this ship, and now that Jabberwocky had fired a few times, that pilot seemed to have something of their measure as he came in at a different angle moving with the skill of a pilot who does not always follow a recognisable and predictable pattern.

      //He's good.// That came from Tarrant and Jenna at the same time and even in the heat of battle Blake smiled to note that their reactions were similar.

      After that, it was a battle of wits between Jenna, Tarrant and the third pilot, one that challenged Dayna to stay alert and in tune with the link in order to guarantee the best shots. Vila came in with a shot or two to help steer the enemy pilot into Dayna's range, and in a few moments she had a clear shot.

      //Now, Dayna,// Tarrant urged her as Jenna sent at the same time, //Fire, Dayna.// Dayna obeyed and the third ship disintegrated before their eyes.

      //Take us out of here, standard by six,// Blake instructed, and Jabberwocky replied enthusiastically, //On the way, Blake. That was fun. I always knew it would be.//

      "Fun!" Jenna exclaimed, coming out of the link and rubbing her temples in surprise. "What responses! I never had a ship react like that before. Jabberwocky, you are amazing."

      "I know, but thank you, Jenna."

      The others came out then one by one, with varying expressions of triumph on their faces. Hugh shook himself alert. "I'll have to go down and check Tarrant," he observed. "He took a lot more active part than he should have done. If he insists on trying to do too much too soon, he'll wear himself out and take longer to get back on his feet. Trying to convince him of that is-"

      "As effective as trying to convince Blake to give up his rebellion," Avon cut in.

      "Or Vila to stop drinking." That was Dayna and Vila threw a hurt look at her. He got up very deliberately and programmed a glass of adrenalin and soma, making a big show of it, then when Blake started to speak, Vila winked at him and passed it to Jenna. She looked at him in affronted surprise, then she took it and sipped at it.

      "You're not used to link-mode yet, Jenna," Vila explained. "It helps."

      "Now that you are used to it, perhaps you will no longer need a drink," Avon suggested.

      "I never needed it," Vila replied haughtily.

      "You gave a good impression of it."

      "Well," said Vila thoughtfully, "we all have our little secrets, don't we? Now what about the rest of that game?"

      "Since you know perfectly well how to play it," Avon observed, "I shall design you a different one."

      Vila looked at him in consternation. "You knew? Then why...?"

      "Of course I knew," Avon agreed. "As to why," he suddenly smiled, "perhaps I simply enjoy the game."

      Vila goggled at him with astonished eyes. "You simply enjoyed the game. I must make note of that for next time."

      Avon turned to Jenna then. "You did rather well in the link for someone with so little experience," he told her. The tone of his voice was almost patronising, and Hugh had the sudden impression that Avon had said it deliberately in hopes of starting an argument.

      Jenna reacted according to plan then, for she burst out resentfully, "So little experience!"

      "With link-mode, not with space battles."

      Jenna exploded. The resultant argument drew Vila in quickly, followed by Dayna and even Soolin. Cally resisted longer, until Avon noticed and turned to her with a deliberately provocative look. Then she abandoned restraint and jumped in, her eyes shining.

      Avoiding the sudden chaos on the flight deck, Hugh halted in the doorway, then strolled over to Blake. "An excellent tension reliever," he pointed out. "Our first battle so soon after everything else. Let them have their fun, Blake. They need it."

      Blake looked at the loyal members of his crew, most of whom were shouting at each other. "Leave it alone, Hugh?" he asked deliberately. "Oh, no. I plan to participate." And with fond memories of his days on Liberator and of battles with Avon, he plunged into the fray.

      Hugh shrugged his shoulders and followed.

* * * * *