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.

With Blake in control once more, Avon is gradually accepting he was born a telepath, but his powers were suppressed to the verge of destruction.

      Blake begins behaving oddly, and problems develop with the ship as Jabberwocky begins to remember his long suppressed past - his memories had been blocked when his brain was used in the mindship. In the meantime, Jenna Stannis and Del Grant have teamed up and have one objective: Kill Avon. When their plan goes wrong and Tarrant is gravely wounded, only the combination of the mindship and Avon, the untrained telepath are able to save the pilot's life, and at this point, Tarrant becomes Jabberwocky's linkmate. Jenna joins the crew.

The Froma

On a mission to draw in potential rebel support, Blake and his crew are asked to steal the Froma, an alien artifact that cannot be stolen as it destroys anyone who tries to remove it from its world. When Avon and Hugh are captured, Avon receives an unexpected telepathic contact - from the Froma itself. The strange device proves to be a sentient organism, the last of its kind. Able to link telepathically with Avon, it wants to bond with him on a permanent basis, but Cally helps, and the entity is taken to Kahn where it can be among the newly reviving Auronar.

"They expect us to do what?!"

      The sharpness of Avon's voice should have struck a jarring note, but it didn't. Blake's own reaction to the demands of the rebels on Triana had been much the same. He must have been spoiled by the ease of their past few planetfalls. Helping Avalon to unite the various rebel factions on different worlds had gone without a hitch for the past two months. Since the incident with Del Grant on Eridani Major, nothing had really caused them any problems. Oh, they'd had a run in with three pursuit ships, but with everyone in tune with Jabberwocky, the battle had been little more than a skirmish, easily won. In fact, Blake had begun to be complacent, which should have warned him that things were about to change. They had stopped at five different worlds since Eridani Major, met with the rebels there, and worked out tentative agreements with them that would help to ensure the success of Avalon's plans to transform a haphazard collection of rebel groups into one comprehensive whole, able to mount a campaign against the Federation that just might have some impact.

      Even on Jabberwocky itself, things had been going smoothly, and more than anything else, that should have warned Blake. With his crew of misfits and troublemakers, who were never happier than when they were in disagreement, two months of comparative peace were almost too much to expect. Part of the time, Tarrant had been recovering from the wound he received on Eridani Major, but he was well now, and Blake had taken him down to meet with the Triana rebel cell, along with Cally and Soolin. None of them had expected any real resistance.

      But resistance they had got. Triana's rebel leader, Marthonal Tant, made it clear from the first that he wasn't having any, not unless Blake could prove his good intentions. Blake had been amenable until he heard exactly how they were expected to prove it, then he stalled by suggesting a need to confer with his crew. He could feel Tarrant simmering beside him as they walked out of the council chamber. Soolin, cool and unsurprised, was no less annoyed, and of them all, only Cally had adequately maintained her poise as she followed Blake from the room.

      "They expect us to steal the Froma," Blake replied. "And they expect us to do it now."

      Avon looked like he could have done without Blake's repetition, but before he could add something vitriolic, Vila leaned forward. "What's a Froma when it's at home?" he asked curiously.

      "You mean you've never heard of it?" Jenna questioned in surprise.

      "We don't all have your smuggler's experience, Jenna," Hugh pointed out. "The name's familiar from someplace, Blake, but I can't say I can pin it down either."

      "The Froma," said Avon in his 'lecturer' voice, "is an alien artefact of undetermined origin. It was discovered on Triana when the planet was colonised and has remained here ever since, despite Federation efforts to take it back to Earth. It has an affinity for the planet, at least that is all the explanation scientists have been able to determine. Ships attempting to remove the Froma from Triana invariably crash. People who try to shift it from its location have a very nasty habit of dying."

      "But we couldn't possibly steal it," Soolin exclaimed. "There's something more here than meets the eye."

      Blake was inclined to agree with her, but before he could say so, Vila objected. "There's nothing that can't be stolen if it's handled properly."

      Avon turned to stare at Vila as if he had suddenly grown a second head. "You cannot be serious," he demanded. "Vila Restal, self-proclaimed coward, is prepared to steal an item considered 'cursed' which has proven fatal to everyone else who has ever tried to remove it. It cannot be done. I would say, Blake, that the Triana rebels set themselves too high and that we should abandon them to their fate. We can proceed to the next world and deal with people who will, possibly, be more practical and realistic, though I tend to doubt it."

      "And the word will go round that we declined the first challenge put to us," Blake pointed out. "I don't know, Avon. I'm not saying we should agree, but neither should we refuse them out of hand."

      "But what exactly is the Froma?" Dayna asked. Growing up isolated on the planet Sarran, she often came up against things she had never heard of but which the others took for granted. "Is it a device, a relic, a jewel, what?"

      "A jewel?" Vila echoed. "Who's talking about jewels?"

      "No one," said Jenna impatiently. "Go back to sleep, Vila."

      "Wasn't sleeping," Vila muttered. "Remember, if we're supposed to steal something, I am the only thief on board."

      "The Froma," Avon announced impatiently, "is a device of unexplained nature. It has no obvious power source, it is small, perhaps not as large as Orac, and it is made of an unfamiliar metal. Attempts to analyse its chemical components have proven unsuccessful. Yet the device has been known to send electrical charges into those who have handled it unwisely."

      "It sounds nasty," Vila objected. "Why would anyone in his right mind want the bloody thing then?"

      "Because," Jenna announced cheerfully, "its surface is coated with pure irrestium. And you should know that irrestium is -"

      "One of the most valuable substances in the galaxy," Vila interjected. "No wonder the rebels want it. I'd want it myself if it didn't have a nasty habit of terminating people. I'm too young to die."

      "The rest of us are getting tired of hearing you say that," Soolin snapped at him. "Try stealing the Froma and you'll never have to say it again."

      "It might prove interesting to learn why the Froma won't be taken from Triana," Avon commented. "Not that we should attempt it, but it would be worth our while to find out why. Perhaps Orac could discover something useful."

      Blake looked at Avon in surprise. Maybe the challenge of stealing something unstealable or maybe curiosity had caused Avon's resentment to vanish. Vila, too, was looking interested, but then Vila's normal protective impulses vanished when there was something to steal worth stealing. Present Vila with something worthy of his gifts and the cowardly little man vanished to be replaced by a gifted professional. Blake didn't mean to risk his crew or his ship to attempt the impossible, but perhaps the others who had tried and failed hadn't had Blake's resources. Orac alone might find the data they needed to make it feasible.

 So he inserted Orac's key. "Orac, we request information about the Froma."

      Instead of claiming other tasks, Orac responded immediately. "Fascinating. I have never considered the Froma before, but what little information I have been able to gain so far is of great interest. The Froma is worth further study."

      "Do you know what the Froma is?" Avon asked, interested.

      "Federation records are inconclusive," replied Orac. "I have accessed everything available locally, and have come to an interesting speculation. It is possible that the Froma could be a living creature."

      "Made out of solid metal with an irrestium shell?" Blake asked incredulously. "Oh come on, Orac. That's not likely, is it?"

      "Why not? Not all life forms are carbon based. I refer you to Sopron. It was certainly a powerful entity. Simply because the Froma resembles no known life form does not mean that it does not live."

      "Surely not sentient, Orac?" Cally asked.

      "There is no evidence to support such a speculation. Communication has never taken place."

      "Only negatively," Vila put in. "Lightning bolts make their point all right."

      "There have been many non-sentient life forms that have excellent defence systems, some painful, some lethal, some merely unpleasant," Orac continued. "I do not insist that the Froma lives; I merely point out that it could. Further study is warranted. I recommend Avon and Vila visit the Froma for that purpose."

      "Is that practical, Orac?" Blake asked. "Won't the Federation have it under surveillance?"

      "The Froma guards itself. Its reputation is a better defence than anything the Federation can devise. It is, however, housed in a museum with a complex alarm system and monitors. The Trianians maintain the museum under Federation authority. While it is believed unstealable, precautions are made to prevent its theft."

      "And you want us to go down there?" Vila asked in outrage. "We'd be captured immediately. It's not safe."

      "What is?" asked Tarrant. "I thought you were the one who was so anxious to go down there and prove you could steal it. I should have known your sudden courage was too good to be true."

      "That shows what you know, Tarrant," Vila retorted hotly. "There's more to being a good thief than you understand. I can't just go in and study it; I have to plan it differently. I'll need to be a tourist and I'll need somebody more than Avon. Soolin might be good, because I don't think the Federation has identified her yet. Hugh too." He added quickly when Blake started to speak, "Not you, Blake. Too many people know your face."

      Blake raised an eyebrow at the unlikely spectacle of Vila taking charge, but then Vila was in his element when there was something to steal. The time for Vila to panic would be afterwards or at the first sight of major trouble. Until then, he could be counted on to do his very best.

      "Thank you, Captain Vila," he said with mock sarcasm. "Anything else?"

      "Yes," Vila decided, apparently loving the attention. "Tarrant can come too. If we have to haul the bloody thing away, he's big enough to do a decent day's work."

      "Thank you, Vila." There was nothing mock about Tarrant's sarcasm.

      Jabberwocky suddenly chuckled. "He's right, Del. You are good for manual labour."

      "Not you too, Jabberwocky," Tarrant protested. "I thought you were on my side."

      "Just because I'm linked with you doesn't mean I'm opposed to anyone else," the ship reminded him. "But you can't be carrying the Froma about, not if it gives killer power surges. It wouldn't be safe. Orac, how about a shielding for the device?"

      "I have been considering that," Orac replied with such impatience that Blake realised that the two computers had been chatting back and forth about it already. "I might design a casing which could resist the voltage put out by the Froma. I have accessed Federation records and am now planning such a container. Transference from its present position would be difficult, and it would appear that the Froma has more options than that, since an electrical charge, unless very specifically directed, would not be sufficient to bring down a ship. For a directed charge to be emitted indicates not only sentience but that of a higher order."

      "Not necessarily," Avon disagreed. "Random electrical bursts if emitted in great enough quantity could do the necessary damage."

      "Every single time, Avon?" Blake asked.

      "Perhaps."

      "Design your container, Orac," Blake instructed. "And continue your research. We will not attempt it without proper guarantees."

      "Assuming," Cally put in suddenly, getting up and turning to face Blake, "that the Trianian rebels really want us to steal the Froma."

      That won a startled look from the others. "What do you mean, Cally?" asked Blake.

      "Asking you to attempt the impossible might sound like a valid test of your abilities, Blake, but on the other hand, perhaps the rebels merely wish to ascertain how realistic your plans are. Anyone can race around blowing things up; but coming up with a reasonable plan to defeat the Federation is much harder. Perhaps they are saying that we should prove to them that we will consider all aspects of a problem and refuse to attempt that which is bound to fail."

      "You mean they want us to say no?" Vila asked in surprise. "Then why even ask?"

      "Suppose we agreed, then we were captured or killed in the attempt. We would have proven that we couldn't deliver. We would also have proved that we'd taken too many unnecessary risks. We would be of no use to anyone dead, Blake."

      "She might be right," Jenna agreed.

      "It's possible," Hugh said thoughtfully. "What are you planning, Blake?"

      "Certainly I won't refuse out of hand. I still want Vila to examine the situation. He can take whoever he needs. Once he's seen the Froma and reported back, we'll see if it's really feasible. I think we have a better chance than anyone has had till now, thanks to Orac and Vila."

      Vila looked unbearably smug, flashing a triumphant glance at Avon, who grimaced and turned to Blake. "Do you honestly imagine that with Orac and him you can achieve what no-one has ever succeeded at, Blake?"

      "No, Avon," Blake replied with a sudden smile. "I will be counting on you too."

      "Entirely as an afterthought," Avon muttered. "I shall go down, Blake, but only because I am curious. I find the whole plan highly suspect as it is."

"It will work," Servalan said to Space Commander Clancy. "I am certain it will work."

      "You'll be taking a big risk, Sleer. If it weren't for the Supreme Commander's vouching for you, I wouldn't even consider such a risk."

      "Is it a risk, Clancy? If the rebel Blake and his crew are successful in stealing the Froma, we can remove it from them, and the Federation will be that much richer at the same time as we put an end to Blake's rebellion. The rebels on Triana will be discredited and their cell broken up. Your job will become that much easier."

      "If you fail, the rebel Blake will be free and the rebellion in possession of the Froma."

      "That will never happen," Servalan insisted. She looked round this provincial office with its outdated equipment and its cheap decor and shuddered. If she could not regain power, something like this might be her fate, trapped on one of the outer worlds, serving the Federation in some thankless task. No, she would not fail. She had infiltrated the Triana rebel cell a month earlier, knowing that Blake would come here soon - she had her sources within Avalon's operation to keep her informed of Blake's itinerary. With her usual skill at manipulation, Servalan had wormed her way into the confidence of Marthonal Tant, and it was from her that the suggestion of stealing the Froma had come. Triana was an isolated world, useful only because two Federation space-lanes crossed near here and because of its mineral wealth. The Froma itself was only a very valuable curiosity, one that she would like to possess, but one that could be used far better as a tool. The rebels wanted it, the Federation wanted it. So far, Federation attempts to remove it had met only with death and a loss of several ships. Better to let Blake's crew remove the Froma, which might then destroy them, and if by some chance they succeeded the Federation could remove it from the rebels using Blake's techniques, at the same time as they smashed the rebel cell here. The resultant publicity would do her no end of good - in fact if she came home with Blake's head and the Froma, she could write her own ticket. Arpel would then be no stumbling block - not if Servalan announced that she had gone temporarily under cover to rid the galaxy of Blake. She smiled at that thought. This would work. It had to. She held all the cards. At the very least, she would come away no worse than she was now, and any failure could be laid at Clancy's feet. The casual red-haired space commander was nearing the end of a not very spectacular career and it would be no-one's loss if he were to take the blame for any mistakes here.

      "And if you do fail?" he asked.

      "Then what have we lost but a little time and effort?" she pointed out. "We do not possess the Froma now, and the rebels do exist. If we do not stop them this time, there is always later. Besides, I can already give you names and places and dates, and if nothing else, that will help you capture them after I have gone."

      "Give them to me now."

      "And lose the chance of taking the Froma from Blake?"

      "I think you're wrong, Sleer. But we'll try it your way for now. I won't pass up a chance to take Blake and his crew though."

      "If you ruin this plan, Clancy, heads will roll, and the first of them will be yours."

      "You exceed your authority, Lieutenant."

      "Do I, Clancy? Supreme Commander Arpel would not think so."

      He threw her a glance of active loathing, which she returned in full measure. The man was a fool who could ruin all her plans. She would have to devise a method to keep him out of the way. Otherwise, her carefully constructed plans could tumble about her like a city wrecked by earthquake. If Clancy destroyed this mission, she would bury him and enjoy the process, but she could not let him try.

      "That's it, then?" Vila said sceptically to Avon as they stood looking at the Froma. They had teleported down with Soolin, Tarrant and Hugh and had separated for an hour playing tourist, then met again to go through the museum where the Froma was housed. Hugh and Tarrant were lurking about in the next chamber, alert for trouble, and Soolin was across the room staring at the Froma from a different angle, her elbow on the railing, her chin resting on her hand. She looked bored. Vila could not conceal his outraged disbelief. "It's ugly," he protested.

      "That does not detract from its worth." Avon frowned. The Froma was a dull metallic black, the irrestium coating transparent, visible only by the way it caught the light at unexpected angles, glittering suddenly as one moved, then when one stood still, waiting, it went dull again. It was like a trick seen from the corner of one's eye that would vanish under direct scrutiny, leaving only doubt.

      Avon's frown deepened, intensified by the sudden sensation that he was being watched. He cast a cautious and exploratory eye around the chamber for hidden camera monitors and discovered three of them. Positioning himself carefully to avoid facing one of them directly, he resumed his examination, trying to shake the uncomfortable sensation that there were more than monitor eyes upon him. The sensation was unpleasant but he could find nothing to account for it. Finally dismissing it from his mind as a stupid flight of fancy - he knew he was being watched, so why make a fuss over it - he considered the Froma.

      Roughly half the size of Orac and the same general shape, though with a few extraneous corners and bulges, as if a blind man had tried to design a cube, it was as ugly as Vila claimed it was, only more compelling. Having focused on it, Avon found it difficult to pull his eyes away. This squat little shape killed people and drove ships from the sky and that should be impossible for it had no power source. There was no obvious way for it to absorb energy from its surroundings, unless it was more porous than it looked and sucked in some unknown form of energy from the air itself. He leaned closer to it, only to have a uniformed guard bestir himself from the shadows at the corner of the room and make ineffectual shooing gestures at him. "Please, sir, not so close. The Froma has been known to attack the unwary. Stay outside the boundary and you will be quite safe. But if -" He ran down under the force of Avon's glare and backed away a little. As Avon had no wish to test the Froma's perimeter of defences, he withdrew obediently. Satisfied, even if unsure he had won, the guard retreated to his cubicle.

      "But I still don't see why it's so important," Vila persisted. "It's just an ugly little thingamy with homicidal tendencies. I wouldn't have it as a gift."

      "No one is offering it to you," Soolin retorted, continuing curiously, "Doesn't its monetary value tempt you?"

      "Not as much as staying alive does." Vila shook his head and turned away from the device, his eyes probing the corners of the room and the energy barricade that glinted almost invisibly around the Froma. He looked up to the ceiling and down to the floor again, then he began to browse around, peering behind vases and draperies, touching the walls, prodding the floor in various places and generally presenting a very thorough portrait of a thief casing his next job.

      Avon heaved an impatient sigh and took him by the arm, steering him back to the Froma. "Don't give us away." he muttered in an undertone.

      "I'm not," Vila shot back, only loud enough for Avon to hear. "I have to check the place, otherwise what's the good of coming here? If you had any sense, you'd create a diversion, give the poor bored guard something to watch and let me do my job."

      Avon glared. Dealing with Vila while he was thieving was different from dealing with him the rest of the time, and Avon had never learned to like it. But Vila was right that the guard needed distracting so he strolled over to Soolin and slung a casual arm around her shoulders. She glanced at him in surprise, caught the warning in his eye and played up, demanding to know why she'd been brought to see something so dull. Avon pointed out the fame of the Froma and the way she could one-up her friends when she told them she'd seen it. Soolin scorned that loudly. "They'd be really impressed when I told them I'd seen some ugly box that just sat there, wouldn't they?" Avon retaliated and they enjoyed a nice healthy quarrel that drew the guard from his cubicle to supervise with obvious enjoyment. Avon presumed that the people maintaining the monitors would be listening too. Finally, Vila wandered over to them, complaining about the noise and Avon allowed the fight to die down as they left the room, the guard following them at a discreet distance.

      They met Tarrant and Hugh outside and split up again in case they might be recognised. As agreed, Vila headed across the square with Soolin, while Tarrant started down a side street and Hugh fell into step with Avon. Once away from the museum, the doctor asked, "Do you think Vila can manage it?"

      "Perhaps," Avon replied. "I detected two separate security systems and Vila will no doubt have seen more. That will not be as much of a problem as the Froma itself. Besides, it is under observation."

      "That guard?"

      "Three monitors as well and... something else."

      "Something else?" Hugh stopped walking and looked at him in surprise.

      "What?"

      "I am not certain." He couldn't quite describe the sensation he'd experienced there. It had made him uncomfortable though, and he resented it.

      "It wasn't... telepathic, was it?" Hugh asked.

      "No!" Avon resented the question. He still did not like to believe that he possessed any telepathic gifts, although he could not deny the healing ability that accompanied it. Even with that, he had never experienced anything like this, a sense of presence, something unlike any previous mental contact. There had been no conscious awareness of speech, no concrete ideas. It was just a presence, someone watching him steadily with incredible patience. The Froma? He dismissed that idea as soon as it occurred to him. The Froma was an inanimate object. And even if Orac's speculation that it could be alive was correct, that did not make it sentient. He had felt no communication. Even the moon discs had had more of a presence that this.

      Hugh must have sensed his discomfort, for he didn't press it. "What was wrong with Vila?" he asked instead.

      "With Vila?" Avon asked in surprise.

      "Yes. He was being more sneaky than usual, as if he had something to hide.

      "Vila always has something to hide," Avon pointed out. "His lack of intelligence for instance."

      "More likely the reverse," Hugh disagreed, as he resumed walking toward the corner of the square. There were a few people about including two Federation troopers lounging in the park in the middle of the square, propped against the foot of an abstract statue made of some metal that had oxidised, giving it a diseased look. The locals were giving the troopers a wide berth, and Vila and Soolin had done the same. They were past them now, strolling along as if they met Federation troopers every day. Avon glanced at them, then forced himself to turn away and follow Hugh. They had reached the edge of the square where a narrow alley branched away when there was shouting behind them.

      "You there! Stop!"

      "Do we turn?" Hugh asked in an undertone.

      "Yes. To ignore it would indicate guilt. Besides, would you want to face trouble or have it come up behind you?"

      "You do have a point." They turned to discover that the troopers in the middle of the square were looking after Vila and Soolin with obvious suspicion. Vila spun round, looking frightened and confused, the perfect picture of an honest citizen who can't understand why trouble has come his way. "D'you mean me?" he asked in disbelief. Avon approved the tone of his voice. Surprisingly, Vila was managing rather well, but he doubted it could last. Vila's face was easily recognisable even in a backwater such as this. Soolin took Vila's arm and glared at the troopers, playing up rather well. "My husband has done nothing wrong."

      "Husband, eh? That would make you Mrs Restal, then?" The trooper's voice held contempt. "We had word that you were due here. Surrender nicely now. Drop your weapons."

      Vila jumped back as if the trooper had suddenly sprouted horns, and it took Avon a moment to realise that he was trying to give Soolin a chance to go for her gun even as he reached for his teleport bracelet to call for help. Avon started to reach for his own. As the trooper raised his paragun, Vila stepped back. "Look, can we talk about this? I'm harmless. You wouldn't want to shoot me out of hand, would you?"

      "Wouldn't I?" The trooper's voice held contempt, but by then Soolin was moving. Her gun came out in a flash, only to have both troopers fire as she moved.

      Soolin dropped soundlessly, stunned or dead, Avon couldn't tell, but the second trooper's shot caught Vila in mid-chest, and it seemed to explode in blood. Vila's eyes opened very wide, then he made a strange, choked sound that Avon could hear all across the square, then he pitched over backward and lay unmoving, the front of his shirt saturated, puddles of blood collecting around him. Avon went rigid, his bracelet halfway lifted, unable to tear his eyes away from Vila's body. Beside him he heard Hugh's breath go out in a long disbelieving sigh. "Oh my god," he gasped. Avon felt curiously detached as he noted that in times of stress people were still prone to evoke a deity, though religion had been outlawed for centuries.

      Then Hugh exploded into action, and Avon shot a restraining hand to grab his arm. "Stand still," he hissed at him. "Do you want to join him?"

      "But maybe I can..."

      "Resurrect him?" Avon asked harshly.

      "I can do something. He may not be dead." But Hugh sounded unconvinced. Instead, he lifted his wrist and activated his teleport bracelet. "Jabberwocky bring us up..."

      Avon was startled when Hugh's voice trailed off, but only for a second, then a gun was shoved into his back. Someone reached round and pulled off his bracelet, and Hugh's was removed at the same time. Two seconds later, Vila's and Soolin's bodies vanished from the square.

      Though he knew it was futile, Avon struggled against them, and he was still fighting uselessly when the stun beam struck him and carried him into merciful darkness.

      At Hugh's abortive request to be brought up, Cally activated the teleport, then her breath went out of her as she saw the still figures of Vila and Soolin materialise before her eyes, accompanied by a shocked-looking Tarrant, his face white, his gun at the ready. Vila was soaked in blood; Cally wondered blindly if the human body actually held as much, then, as she turned appalled eyes to Tarrant, a strangely familiar odour assailed her nostrils. Ignoring it, she reset the teleport to try to fetch up Avon and Hugh, but nothing happened. "I can't bring them up," she told Tarrant carefully. She knew she was in shock at the sight of Vila, but that did not mean she didn't have to get everything else right. Vila was dead; she was certain of that, but Avon and Hugh might still be alive. She pulled the levers back and tried again. Nothing. "Would they have removed their bracelets?" she asked Tarrant. "Why would they do that?"

      "They must have been captured." Tarrant's voice was no steadier than her own. Holstering his gun, he knelt beside Vila and touched him, then, to her utter horror, he threw back his head and laughed. She wondered if he had gone mad. Had he hated Vila so much that he would laugh at his death?

      "Stop that!" she cried, revolted.

      He lunged at her suddenly, grabbing her wrists and dragging her over to Vila's body. The smell grew stronger as she knelt beside him. It smelled like - like alcohol. Had Vila been drinking? Then, as she felt for a pulse, she realised that the 'blood' was too thin, it was too dark, and it smelled remarkably like wine. Tarrant folded back Vila's tunic to reveal shards of broken glass, gently freeing a few pieces that had become embedded in his skin. "He's alive, Cally," he exclaimed jubilantly. "The stupid fool had a bottle hidden under his shirt and it's what got hit. He might have some cuts and a cracked or bruised rib or two, but he's alive."

      Blake came thundering into the teleport section and stopped dead at the gory image Vila presented. "Oh no," he gasped, his face stricken.

      "It's only wine, Blake," Cally reassured him quickly.

      "Wine?" Blake stared at her in shocked disbelief, then he must have noticed the smell. "Wine? It looks terrible. Is he badly hurt? Is Soolin?"

      At her name, Soolin moaned, and Vila stirred and gasped under Tarrant's ministrations. "They were stunned," Tarrant explained quickly. "Only stunned. But Avon and Hugh have been caught, I think. The troopers knew about us. They called Vila by name. I think there must be a traitor in Tant's organisation."

      Blake knelt beside Soolin and eased her into a sitting position, at which point she got her first glimpse of Vila. Her eyes widened in momentary horror, then, amazingly, she began to giggle feebly. "His wine," she said. "He'll be furious. He was so careful to keep Avon from discovering he'd stolen it. He knew Avon would be angry." And then, glancing around, "Where are Avon and Hugh?"

      "I couldn't bring them up," Cally told her. "Blake, we must go down for them."

      "Not yet, not until we know where they are held." Blake looked worried, and Cally realised that it would hurt him to delay, but he had no choice. "We'll contact Tant and ask him to find out for us."

      Vila's eyes fluttered open then, and he winced as Tarrant gently freed another shard of glass from his skin. "What're you doing, Tarrant, butchering me?" He lifted his head, peered down at his wine stained chest and all the colour left his face. He sagged. "I'm dead," he moaned. "I knew running around with Avon would get me killed one day."

      "It's only wine, you idiot," Soolin told him with a combination of fondness and impatience.

      Vila sat bolt upright, letting out a squeak of pain as more glass poked him. "Not my Librian Red! Why... ? How... ?"

      "You were shot, you fool," Tarrant pointed out. "The charge hit your bottle. It may even have saved your life. Soolin was stunned and so were you, but the bottle was the main casualty."

      The colour that had begun to return to Vila's face fled it yet again. "I could have been killed down there," he moaned. He stared at his bare chest and saw a piece of glass protruding from the skin and for the first time he seemed to realise that he had been hurt. "Oh no, I'm wounded."

      "You'll live," Blake reassured him. "Tarrant, you take him and Soolin up to the medical unit and make sure that Vila gets those cuts taken care of. Check for broken ribs as well."

      "I'm not hurt." Soolin rose, rubbing the back of her neck. "I'm only a little sore. We've got to get Hugh and Avon out of there."

      "And so we shall," Blake assured her, patting her shoulder. "Go along and have a scan to be sure you're all right. I don't think we'll do anything before you're back."

      "But they've been taken," she protested.

      "They won't be killed out of hand. You and Vila were only stunned," Cally pointed out.

      "They only shot at you because you tried to shoot back," Tarrant told Soolin, offering a hand to Vila to pull him to his feet. Vila came moaning and wincing, but once on his feet he seemed steady, though he moved in a curious, hunched over stance to protect his injured chest, although Tarrant had removed all the major fragments of the bottle. Real blood now mixed with the wine. Vila gasped as the liquor stung his cuts and began to complain noisily.

      Blake caught Cally's arm. "Come along, Cally. We have work to do."

      "Steady, Avon. Don't try to move just yet. You're all right."

      Avon opened his eyes and regarded Hugh sourly. "Don't be a fool," he muttered, gasping at the unwary movement as he tried to sit up. "What the hell happened?" he snarled. "Where are we?"

      "A cell, where else? They caught us, Avon, and when you tried to fight them, they stunned you. twice. I was worried about you. A double-stun can depress the system. Your heart almost stopped for a minute, but you'll be all right. You'll be light-headed at first, so stay seated. There's nowhere to go, after all."

      When Avon looked at Hugh, he saw bitterness and despair on the surgeon's face. Recognising it for what it meant, something more serious than their present incarceration, he asked reluctantly, "Vila?"

      "Dead," Hugh told him. "I'm sorry, Avon."

      "He was always a fool," Avon said sharply. He rested his head in his hands to keep the cell from spinning around him, and perhaps to avoid looking at Hugh. "You don't think that they could have teleported in time... " He fell silent, realising that the question was futile and pointless. Dead men don't come back to life, not after direct heart shots, not after losing that much blood. A universe without Vila in it! No more whining complaints, no more excuses to get out of work, no more incompetence. No more arguments, polishing his wit against one as sharp as his own, no more... He cut the thought short abruptly. "Have you determined why we were brought here? Have you been questioned?"

      "A female officer came in when we were first brought in," Hugh informed him. "She was very angry. She practically ignored me except to ask if I was the doctor. When I nodded, she said, 'Good. I will leave you with him. I will be very dissatisfied if he should die.'"

      "What did she look like?" Avon asked abruptly, arrested by Hugh's story. If anything could distract him from Vila's death, it might be Servalan.

      "She was tall and slender with dark hair, and she had magnificent eyes." Hugh shivered. "She was like a black widow spider. She made my skin crawl."

      "Servalan. So she is behind this."

      "I don't know, Avon. I got the feeling that she hadn't wanted us captured. She said, 'Clancy's head will roll for this. The fool has ruined all my plans.' Then, when I suggested she free us - in my usual style, mind - she gave me such a poisonous look that I wished I were on another planet entirely, even Cygnus Alpha, and said, 'Perhaps it is not yet too late.'"

      "I should have known. I think it was her idea to steal the Froma."

      "But it was the rebels, Avon."

      "Was it? She is here. The rebels make an unprecedented demand. Perhaps Servalan believed that we could steal the Froma. She might have known we were coming here. If she could insert one spy in Avalon's organisation, why not two. If she knew when we were due, she might have tried to kill two birds with one stone: allow us to steal the Froma for her, then remove it and capture us at the same time. With all of us and the Froma, her return to power would be guaranteed."

      Hugh looked at him in surprised comprehension. "That would explain why she was so angry. The local troops jumped the gun when they saw Vila and captured us, rendering her plans null and void. Without you and Vila, there would be no chance to steal..." He fell silent miserably, reminded of Vila again.

      Avon wished he had kept his mouth shut. This whole situation had been ill-managed from the beginning. He should have suspected Servalan's hand at work here. As a result, Vila had already paid the price, perhaps Soolin as well. Blake's rebellion was stupidity; against the resources of the Federation they could never hope to win, and at best they would squander themselves a few at a time, dying pointlessly on remote worlds. Back on Liberator it would have been easier; there he might have shrugged off Vila's death without a qualm, or at least he could have attempted it. Here, with the linkage through Jabberwocky, he had been foolish enough to allow the others to get closer to him. It was futile to allow the others to matter; he had learned that lesson long ago.

      *You are very unhappy.*

      Avon's head jerked up. "What did you say?"

      "Nothing," Hugh replied, surprised. He had not spoken, and Avon realised with sudden displeasure and resentment that the sound had come from inside his head, that it had been no sound at all but a telepathic communication. It was not Cally; Cally's telepathic identity was completely familiar. It had been nothing like Cally. But it had been sympathetic. It was not that he particularly wanted sympathy; he thought it foolish. But someone sympathetic might conceivably wish to help them escape and, though Avon liked to insist that he was not a telepath, he knew that there were said to be some telepaths who could receive from non-telepaths, and some of them might be rebels.

      "Never mind." Avon lay down again. "I have a headache," he told the doctor and closed his eyes. Perhaps Hugh would take it as an excuse not to discuss Vila, but then Hugh expected more from Avon than Avon wanted to give. This time, he would use Hugh's sympathy.

      //Who are you?// He tried to direct the thought to the person who had just contacted him.

      At first there was no response, and Avon tried a second time. //I heard you. Did you communicate with me?//

      *I share your grief,* the thought came back to him, and Avon realised that his own mind was translating it to actual words, for there were none in the projection, more a sensation of emotion, feelings. This was not communication as Cally did it; it was either a projection by someone who spoke a different language and was reduced to communicating at a more basic level or it was communication at an intense inner level that Avon had not experienced before. In order to get a response, he would have to touch that level. The idea did not please him, for only by rigidly controlling the more dangerous emotions could he hope to deal properly with the loss of Vila, someone he did not want to admit had mattered to him all.

      *He was your friend. It is right that you mourn him. I mourn the others. They are gone now and I was alone until you came. I will be your friend. I cannot take the Vila's place, but I can be here.*

      //Where are you?// Avon tried again.

      *I am where I am.*

      //Who are you, then?//

      *l am me. I am the only one left. I am the only.*

      Hands suddenly grabbed him, shook him. "Avon, wake up."

      He grasped Hugh's wrists. "Leave me alone, damn you."

      "I thought you were going into some kind of trance. Are you all right?"

      "A telepath is communicating with me," he explained impatiently. "I am trying to get us out of here. Now leave me alone."

      "Is it Cally?" Hugh asked.

      "No. I was about to find out when you interrupted me."

      "I'm sorry." Hugh retreated, and Avon felt mean but only for a moment. Closing his eyes again, he cast about for the being that had contacted him. //Are you still here?//

      *Yes. Where did you go?*

      //To speak to one of my kind.//

      *But we are the only ones, you and I.*

      That halted Avon for a moment. Then, groping after understanding, he asked. //Could you sense - the Vila?//

      *No. Only you. But he was real for you. I have tried to make the others real again for me, but until you came there was no one. Now I no longer need to imagine.*

      //Vila was real,// Avon explained. //He was killed.//

      *I have much sorrow for you. I would comfort you in your great loss. Though I could not feel the Vila, he was real to you. Did he go well into the emptiness?*

      At such a direct question, something caught inside Avon and he made a choked sound of protest. He was only dimly aware of something touching his shoulder gently. Hugh, perhaps, offering comfort that he neither needed nor wanted.

      *Another,* exclaimed the entity in surprise. *Something touches you. There is another entity, one I could not sense at all. Now it is here. Was the Vila like that?*

      //Something like that,// Avon conceded.

      *But... but how does one communicate with an entity that is ___ ?* Avon could not quite grasp the concept the being expressed to him, but the closest he could come to was 'wordless'.

      //We communicate with oral speech,// he responded.

      From the blank incomprehension he felt in response, he realised his description was no better than the other's had been. //We have a means of communication that I cannot describe to you,// Avon told it. //The bulk of my communication is carried on that way. For me to communicate as you do is very difficult for me.//

      *But I feel you so strongly. No longer alone. Elation. Joy. We will always be together?*

      //I don't even know where you are,// Avon pointed out.

      *You asked of where before. It means nothing. I am where I am. You are where you are. We are together in ___ *

      Another untranslatable concept. This could be difficult. He had already come to the realisation that the being was not human; now he was forced to conclude that whatever had touched his mind was far more alien than he had been able to conceptualize. //I do not understand,// he sent.

      *Our togetherness is,* was the response. *We communicate. We are. Together is beauty. It is life. Soon/centuries would I, without you, have disbecome.*

      Instead of becoming easier. the conversation was growing more difficult, but Avon realised that it was not that the entity had suddenly become obtuse but that, as Avon became accustomed to this strange form of telepathy, the other had managed to assimilate his language and was using it directly instead of communicating by images. Avon had translated the images automatically to suit what felt natural to him, but now that the being was using his language he could no longer place his own interpretations on the speech.

      So he tried something else. //Do you have a physical body?//

      *I have a centredness. A binding for my __. When your containment neared mine, I felt you across the nothing and wanted to touch, but you were shut from me. Only in your sorrow could I touch you, though I have tried and tried. You went away, but you returned. Much joy. I would bring you joy, and take away sorrow. I will share with you. I have known aloneness, now it is no more.*

      The last thing Avon wanted was to be linked permanently to some peculiar alien creature who could sense no one but him. Presumably it would be able to experience Cally as well. No doubt she would be thrilled. He held those thoughts back. //Do you know where I am?//

      *Your centredness is not-near. Your essence is all places as is mine.*

      //You are wrong, or you would have sensed me before. I was off-world until now.//

      *World? What is world? Homeness? Strengthgiving place?*

      //This planet,// Avon explained. //It is called Triana.//

      *You make new concepts in my essence, Other.*

      //I would have your physical location,// Avon insisted. //So I could see you face to face.//

      *I do not know 'see' *

      //How do you perceive your surroundings?// Avon found it difficult to attempt to communicate such concepts. All references to sense perception were described with words connected to it, words that would be meaningless to something that perceived 'essences' and thought alone.

      *Tactile,* said the entity. *Warm place, strengthgiving place, homeness. Warm waves of life. Removal from homeness must be prevented. Power to struggle against non-self. Threat must be prevented. Homeness, lifegiving place, always stay. You, Other, perceived as strength give-and-taker, solid, hard, cutting, centredness blocked. Imaging: this being, self, solid, strong, alone, must disbecome. Now Other, you no longer will disbecome.*

      //Disbecome?// Avon asked, though he suspected the creature would have ceased to exist from loneliness, gradually spending its energy until nothing was left.

      *As the Vila,* the entity told him. *Much regret. Once many like me, now gone. Only I. You have no longer the Vila, I have no longer my others. Would you disbecome?*

      //No,// Avon said hastily. //I am not alone. There are others, the ones you cannot sense, like the one who touched me.//

      *Touch? Tactile? Direct contact between entities? Such contact is not lonely?*

      //Sometimes,// Avon said honestly. //Sometimes it is not enough.//

      He felt Hugh shaking him again and sent, //I must go for a time. I shall return.// When he opened his eyes, Hugh was bending over him, his face white.

      "Avon, I thought you were dying. You were hardly breathing. Are you all right?"

      "Yes." Avon sat up, ignoring Hugh's concern. "I have been in contact with the Froma."

      "WHAT?!"

      "It took time to realise it. The Froma is the last of a life form that formerly existed on this planet. It lacks the senses as we know them and can touch others only through telepathy. It needs this world's energy to sustain it, and since it does not perceive humans - non-telepathic humans, that is - as conscious entities, it perceived only threat and defended itself. I do not entirely understand how it functions, for there was not enough time for that, but it is a sentient life form. Until it sensed me, it was considering gradual suicide out of loneliness."

      "You're sure it's the Froma?" Hugh asked in disbelief.

      "Yes."

      "But you're not really a telepath."

      "Apparently I am enough of one to matter. It didn't sense you at all until you touched me, and then only distantly. The concept of communication by speech is beyond its understanding."

      "Yet you could communicate with it?" Hugh asked. He sat back on his own bunk and regarded Avon with interest. "What did it say?"

      "It sensed my... regret at Vila's death. It can read emotions," Avon explained stiffly. The Froma's continual mention of 'the' Vila had forced his feelings to the surface, where he was unable to deal with them properly. Safer buried where he could pretend they did not exist. It hurt him now and he was angry at himself and at the Froma for causing his barriers to weaken. To make matters worse, he saw the open sympathy on Hugh's face, though the doctor had more sense than to speak of it. "Oddly enough," Avon continued wryly, "since the Froma could not sense Vila, it believed I had created for myself an 'imaginary friend' to prevent loneliness." He twisted his mouth into a smile. "It was astonished when it realised that there were other entities that it could not perceive."

      "Well, that's fascinating," Hugh said brusquely. "Though it doesn't do us a hell of a lot of good. We couldn't use it to get out of here?"

      "I can't see how."

      "Well, then," said Hugh, "we'll have to wait for Blake to come for us. If Soolin's alive, she'll tell them we've been taken, or Tarrant will. I'm sure he got away."

      "Assuming we would care."

      "Avon, about Vila -"

      "I do not," Avon insisted through clenched teeth, "wish to discuss Vila."

      "Maybe we should," Hugh began only to stop as something occurred to him. "Avon, if you can talk to the Froma, why not use it to reach Cally? I know you're not trained, but the Froma has a natural ability, obviously. Maybe it could boost you."

      Avon welcomed the idea, even though he was reluctant to use telepathy. He had not enjoyed the contact with the Froma, but he did want to get out of here. At least it would take Hugh's mind - and his own, he admitted - off that picture of Vila's chest erupting blood. He saw no point in engaging in sentimental discussions with Hugh, though he suspected the doctor would try to insist on it. But not yet.

      "Very well," he agreed. "I will try. We may not have much time. If Servalan returns, she will no doubt wish to question us."

      "If she comes back while you're communicating with the Froma, she'll believe you're still unconscious." He added softly, "About Vila. I'll miss him too."

      Avon ignored that as he lay back and closed his eyes. //Are you there?//

      *You have returned. Much joy.*

      //There is another I would contact,// Avon explained. //But she is far away and I am not able to reach her alone. I think you can help me.//

      *I could not touch the Vila or the other who 'touched' you.*

      //This entity is like you and me.// Avon was reluctant to claim himself a telepath but unable to make the subtle distinction in a way that the Froma would understand.

      *Much joy. How do we contact the other?*

      //I will need your strength.// Avon remembered his experiences in the healing linkage and the way he drew strength from Cally. He felt himself linking with the alien, a strange and different sensation, and he experienced a moment of sheer panic, wondering if he could draw free on his own. Then strength flowed through him from the Froma and he sent, //Cally!//

      After a moment of disbelief, her answer came swiftly. //Avon? Where are you? I have never felt you so strongly.//

      //I found someone to boost me,// he explained. //Never mind that now. Pinpoint our location and bring down two teleport bracelets. Servalan is here.//

      //Servalan?//

      //While you waste time exclaiming, we could be in serious trouble. We are in the cell block. If it is unshielded, teleporting down should not be difficult.//

      //We had just pinpointed the cell block,// Cally explained. //And now we can pinpoint your cell... Blake has been in contact with the rebels to try to locate you.//

      //There is no time for that,// snapped Avon. //We speculate that Servalan has been working for the rebels here under cover and has been the one to force the issue of the Froma for her own personal glorification. I can explain later. Send someone down immediately.//

      //I will come myself. I would meet this other telepath. I can sense his alienness.//

      //That can wait.//

      //Very well.// There was a moment's pause, then the familiar sparkle filled the cell, and Cally and Tarrant were there, weapons ready, holding out bracelets. Avon snapped out of the link with a promise to return later, then he and Hugh had fastened on their bracelets and Cally called into her own, "Bring us up, Blake. Now."

      They materialised in the safety of Jabberwocky's teleport section, and Avon wrinkled his nose. "It smells like a distillery here," he accused distastefully.

      "It's only wine," Tarrant replied with a grin.

      "I am glad to see you celebrated our capture and Vila's death so thoroughly." Avon glared at him.

      Suddenly Cally's eyes were stricken. "Oh, Avon," she cried. "I am so sorry. I had forgotten."

      It was odd; she did not seem intoxicated. But to have forgotten Vila's death? He glanced at Hugh and saw him staring at Cally with shocked disbelief, trying rather unsuccessfully to hide his hurt.

      Blake rose hastily from the teleport console. "Vila isn't dead, Avon," he insisted.

      For a moment, his words didn't register, then Avon stared at Blake, who was eyeing him warily. "We didn't realise you'd seen what happened to Vila," he explained quickly.

      "I saw it too, Blake," Hugh snapped, for once as cold and annoyed as Avon. "He was shot in the heart. He lost too much blood to survive. Even if I had been free, I could have done nothing for him."

      Vila came dashing into the teleport section as if he had run all the way, summoned, perhaps, by Cally telepathically. He looked quite well but for traces of a healing patch visible at the open front of his tunic. "Here I am, Cally," he said. "What's the rush? Oh." He spied Avon and Hugh. "You're back then. Did you have a nice time in jail?"

      "Vila," said Avon. He was annoyed at himself for allowing his relief to show. Vila would become quite insufferable if he realised. And he did. His eyes twinkled with delight as he realised that Avon was, for once, looking quite pleased to see him.

      Hugh made no attempt to hide his own pleasure. He flung his arms round Vila in an exuberant hug, causing Vila to cry out in protest. "Here now, you're hurting my ribs. I know you're glad to see me, any reasonably intelligent person would be, but let's have a little less..."

      "Oh, shut up, Vila," Hugh snarled. "You're supposed to be dead."

      "Dead? Not a bit of it. I..." He broke off and sneaked a suspicious look at Avon. What he saw in Avon's face caused him to avert his eyes quickly. "What do you mean, dead?" he asked Hugh. "Were you there? Did you see ..?"

      "We saw you take a direct heart shot," Hugh accused him as if it had been his fault.

      Cally slipped her arm round Avon's waist and leaned her head against his shoulder. He stiffened and did not return the embrace but neither did he draw away.

      "It was my wine," Vila announced in aggrieved tones. "I'd stolen the biggest bottle of Librian red: wonderful stuff, a hundred and fifty credits a bottle, thick and red and potent. Smooth as a..."

      "Never mind, Vila," Blake cut in quickly.

      "Right. Well, they got me right in the Librian Red," Vila explained. "Now I'll need to fetch another bottle. Rare stuff, and if they noticed one was missing they'll be on their guard."

      He sounded so outraged that Avon glared at him. "You mean that what we thought was blood was only WINE!" he accused.

      "Only wine?" Vila objected. "The most expensive wine there is."

      "Wine," Avon scorned. "You're a fool, Vila." He turned and stalked off the teleport deck without a backward look.

      Hugh spun on Vila the moment Avon was gone. "Stop behaving the fool for once," he snapped. "Avon thought you were dead. It's not a joke. I haven't seen him look like that since he shot Blake."

      Tarrant looked at Blake uneasily. "We're not used to that from Avon."

      "You're as much a fool as Vila then," Hugh insisted, his voice angry. "How do you think Avon reacted when you were shot, Del? He told Grant if you died he would kill him. At least then he had someone to be angry at."

      "That's right, he did," Vila remembered. He'd meant to keep things light, realising that Avon had received a shock and that he couldn't display his relief as Hugh could, but somehow he hadn't expected quite that reaction from Avon. Well," he added hastily, "I'll see you all later," and he set off after Avon.

      It took some time to track him down. Avon wasn't in his cabin or any of the rest rooms or the flight deck, or even back in the engineering section where usually only Blake went. Vila finally tried the computer crawl spaces behind the flight deck and found Avon there working busily. "Here now," Vila ordered. "Come out of there."

      "No," Avon said. "Go away."

      "I'm sorry I didn't live up to your expectations and stay dead."

      "So am I."

      Vila winced. He hadn't thought it would be quite that bad. "Fine," he snapped, hoping an argument would clear the air. "I can see I'm appreciated. Why don't we go to Malodar then and you can shove me out the airlock, like you did in Cally's dream. Maybe that would make you happy."

      "Maybe it would." Avon's voice caught, and Vila began to worry. This wasn't like Avon at all. "What happened to you down there, Avon?" he ventured uneasily. "Did they drug you or torture you or something nasty like that?"

      "No," Avon replied unhelpfully. Vila edged closer. In this cramped space, he could hardly see Avon's face, but what he could see didn't reassure him. Something had got past Avon's defences. Surely it couldn't be him. Avon wasn't the type to wave his feelings about. Avon was the cool, controlled one, too controlled maybe. Could someone that controlled finally snap? If so, why hadn't it been when Blake was shot or driven into the void by Witt? Why should it be Vila who would trigger this? It had to be something more. Vila had a high opinion of himself, but not quite this high. Something had knocked down Avon's walls and left him as defenceless as a child, and only by being desperately cruel could he hang on at all. What could it have been?

      "Go away, Vila," Avon half shouted. "I don't want you here."

      "What's wrong?" Vila cried, more afraid than he had been when he was shot. Avon looked like he was crying. That was impossible. "Avon, what did they do to you?"

      "They did nothing." Avon averted his face. "Alone," he whispered, his voice close to breaking. "Centuries alone."

      Vila edged closer, stretching out a tentative hand to touch Avon's arm. Then, to his horrified astonishment, Avon turned and grabbed Vila, sobbing against his shoulder. Vila couldn't believe it. This couldn't be for him.

"Disbecome," Avon moaned. "No choice, must disbecome. No others, nothing. Alone.

      //He's gone mad,// thought Vila, shaking Avon roughly. "Avon, can you hear me? Avon, snap out of it. What's wrong?" When nothing helped, he grabbed Avon and shook him roughly.

      There was a startled silence, then Avon blinked and lifted his head awkwardly, as if he had forgotten how to move. Vila sucked in his breath sharply because, whatever was looking at him out of Avon's eyes, it was not Avon.

      Awkwardly, Vila scrambled backward to be brought up short against a conduit. "Who are you?" he asked uneasily, wanting to run but afraid to leave Avon alone.

      "You are the Vila. You are not disbecome."

      Vila stared open-mouthed. "Yes, I'm Vila," he admitted. "Who are you?"

      "So many sensations. No wonder the Avon could not describe to me. This is the way his kind communicate?"

      Vila shivered. Either Avon had gone mad or he had been possessed by some alien intelligence. "I asked you who you were?" he reminded this creature who was not Avon.

      "He called me the Froma. It will do. I am pleased to greet you, Vila. Great joy. He grieved for you, but he was angry too and he surrounded his essence with shields to keep hurt inside. Feelings are for sharing. I thought to help him to free his grief. Mistake. You are not disbecome."

      "Disbecome? Dead, you mean? No, I'm not dead. But look here, Froma, or whatever you are, you can't take people over like this and manipulate their emotions. It's not right."

      "Why not?"

      That was a good question. Why not? "We have to learn to handle things in our own ways," Vila finally said. "Avon has to deal with what he feels his way, and he wouldn't thank you for this. He doesn't cry. It's not his way. You might do more harm than good without even meaning to. If he remembers this, he's going to be impossible to live with."

      "I have failed," the Froma moaned. "I have done wrong. I meant only joy and sharing, but I was wrong. I must disbecome."

      "Now just a minute," Vila protested, realising that he had not only Avon's emotional state to worry about but also the alien's potential suicide, which could conceivably take Avon with it. "Let's hear no more about disbecoming. Listen to me. Next time you want to help, ask first. It saves all this trouble."

      "You can forgive?" asked the Froma tentatively. Vila thought of the ugly little black shape in the museum and wondered wildly how Avon had got involved with it.

      "I can forgive," Vila replied, "as long as you give Avon back. It's wrong to take over somebody's mind without permission. Did Avon give you permission?"

      "I did not know to ask. Alone, so long alone, I have forgotten how to be with other entities. I did not believe there were others until I found the Avon and he was distressed. I only meant help."

      Vila felt sorry for the poor little thing, who had tried to help Avon, of all people, because he had felt Avon's 'distress' at Vila's 'death'. Well, Vila knew that in his own particular way Avon cared, though he'd never pushed him to admit it. He hoped the Froma hadn't ruined all that with its hapless meddling.

      "Look," he said. "You seem like a nice chap and all, but can't you let me have Avon back now? I promise we'll contact you again. Cally can. She's a telepath and she'll know just what to do." Which is more than I do, he thought worriedly.

      "You will not be long?"

      "I promise - if you promise not to take Avon over again."

      "I agree."

      Vila was glad he'd slowly edged forward as they talked, because when the Froma withdrew Avon pitched over, and it was all Vila could do to catch him. Pulling him against his shoulder again, Vila shook him lightly. "Avon, can you hear me? Avon, it's gone."

      Avon stirred against his shoulder and said muzzily, "Vila?"

      "Who else would be stupid enough to come crawling in here after you?"

      Avon shifted against him comfortably, still feeling the lingering effects of the Froma's presence. "I'm glad you're alive," he muttered. Then before Vila could respond, Avon sat up abruptly, cursing as his head came into contact with the low ceiling. "What the hell..."

      "The Froma took you over," Vila said matter of factly. "Poor old thing, it was a mess. Wipe your face - it was using you to cry all over me."

      Avon shot a hand to his cheek and discovered the lingering traces of tears. Quickly he scrubbed them away, eyeing Vila with suspicion and defiance. "It did what?"

      "It got the mistaken idea you were sad because I was dead, and it rushed in without stopping to ask if it needed to. It got all maudlin and wanted to disbecome or something. It talked with your voice, Avon. Eerie, it was."

      "It took over?" Avon sounded outraged.

      "It didn't know any better. I told it that it was bad manners to take over somebody without asking first. It's gone now and won't come back until we contact it."

      "Assuming we would want to," snapped Avon.

      "The poor thing needs you, Avon," Vila said. "It thought it was the only 'entity' in the universe. Even you wouldn't want to be that lonely."

      Avon didn't look sure, but he said, "No. It could sense you, Vila?"

      "It was inside your head. It could see and feel everything you did." He shrugged. "Anyway, we can probably steal it now with no trouble."

      "It will die if removed from Triana. It draws its life energy from this world."

      "Well, then we can't steal it. But maybe we could move it to rebel headquarters long enough to show them that Blake can deliver."

      Avon's lip curled, but he said, "That might not be wise, Vila. Servalan is here."

      "Servalan?" echoed Vila unhappily.

      "Servalan." He headed for the access panel. "Let's get out of this place."

      Vila followed him, happy to get Avon back, ordering him about and snapping at him. Next time he got killed he'd make sure to do it far from Avon, and when it came time to resurrect he'd find a less dramatic way to do it. Avon was all right, and so was he, and they both had another chance, no thanks to Servalan and the Federation. And if anybody looked twice at Avon as if they noticed he'd been crying, Vila would give them what for. That hadn't been Avon really and he wouldn't have wanted it to be. Vila hoped Avon believed that. If he didn't, he'd make life hell for Vila for weeks before he got over it.

Blake turned from the communication device and eyed the rest of the crew. "Tant recognises Servalan," he informed them. "She's been using the name Sleer there too; presumably not enough people know of that identity yet to make it risky. Tant thinks stealing the Froma was her idea, but everybody liked the idea and wanted to keep it away from the Federation. Tant himself hoped we would come to him and admit that he had set us an impossible task; he would have believed then that we could achieve more practical alternatives. You were right, Cally."

      "So now what do we do, Blake?" Jenna asked.

      "First we'll need the help of Jabberwocky and Orac. Cally as well, and Avon, if you would. We need to learn more about the Froma. If it is unable to read any but telepaths, to abandon it on Triana would be cruelty indeed."

      "Take it with us, you mean?" asked Dayna distastefully. "But it would die, wouldn't it?"

      "That's what I want Orac and Jabberwocky to find out."

      "Just a moment, Blake," Avon cut in. "I do not feel that it would be safe to bring that thing on board our ship."

      "Perhaps not. We will have to be certain first. If it is truly bound to Triana, there is no chance of it, but I don't like to abandon it, and neither you nor Cally could remain with it."

      "Neither could I condemn it to end its days alone and silent," Cally put in, obviously distressed with the idea.

      "It wasn't so bad; it didn't mean to hurt anyone," Vila defended it. "It only wanted to make people happy. It won't take over again without permission. It promised."

      "It promised," Avon mocked, his face resentful. "I should prefer to stake my safety on something more than the promise of an alien which has not been particularly helpful up till now. Especially one we know nothing about."

      "You have done so with me." Cally reminded him.

      Avon turned to her and smiled a little. "Ah, but I know a great deal about you now - and I did not trust you at the beginning."

      "I will know if the Froma is trustworthy," Cally assured him, ignoring the latter part of his statement. "What must we do, Blake?"

      "I want you and Jabberwocky to go into link-mode with it after Avon pulls it in," Blake told her. "I want Orac accessed too. Between you, I want to learn if it would be possible to move the Froma from this world."

      "You have somewhere in mind for it to go, Blake?" asked Jenna.

      "Yes, I have somewhere in mind." He didn't go into detail, to Avon's rather obvious resentment, but Blake knew better than to explain his plan before he could be guaranteed of success. Better to raise no false hopes in anyone, and if the Froma could read things not intended to be read, such as Avon's unhappiness at Vila's 'demise', then Blake would keep his own counsel.

      "Very well," Cally agreed. "I will link. Avon, will you join me?"

      He plainly did not want to do so, but he glanced round the flight deck and saw the others watching him expectantly. Tarrant's face was carefully neutral for as Jabberwocky's link-mate he would have to be present too, and he had seen Avon when he had returned from wherever he had gone when he had discovered that Vila was alive, and had been told that the Froma had possessed him temporarily. That the Froma had relinquished Avon with only mild promptings from Vila should have been reassuring, but neither Avon nor Tarrant looked reassured.

      Tarrant wished he were anywhere but here, even though Jabberwocky reassured him. //This will be fun, Tarrant. Think of it, a totally unknown life form.//

      //I am thinking of it,// Tarrant replied sourly. //I don't like what it did to Avon.//

      //It did nothing more for Avon than Avon did for me when I broke down,// Jabberwocky replied. //I couldn't cope with my feelings when I remembered my past, so Avon helped me release them. The Froma did that for Avon...//

      //Without Avon's permission,// Tarrant pointed out.

      //Yes. Avon resents it. Well, that's his way. But the Froma meant well.//

      //A charming epitaph,// Tarrant projected sarcastically. //Killed by something that meant well.//

      "Link-mode," Jabberwocky announced briskly and welcomed Cally and Avon to the link. Tarrant put his barriers up a little, knowing he would be largely superfluous. He felt no surprise at the addition of Orac, though in linkage or computer access, Orac and Jabberwocky always communicated too rapidly to be read, even by him. Still, Orac's curiosity and fascination with the new phenomenon were obvious.

      //Now, Avon,// Cally instructed. //We are ready.//

      Warily, Avon drew the Froma in and it came carefully, then radiated great joy. *So many others; you are fortunate, Avon. I would share such joy. Is possible?*

      //That is why we are here,// explained Jabberwocky. //Orac would like to study you. Your homeness gives you life, but it does not maintain your spirit. We must go away from this place, then Avon and the rest of us will no longer be here for you. We wish to learn if there is any way for you to go from the homeness.//

      *No. My strengthgiving place sustains me.*

      //You must permit me to study you.// That was Orac. //I am very busy and would prefer to waste no more time debating your location when I could be learning your functioning. Open yourself now.//

      There was a startled silence, then the Froma exclaimed, *A not-alive entity. I did not know such things could be. Study if you will. I am here. But I will not give up my homeness.*

      Tarrant waited while Orac did whatever it was that Orac did. He let himself drift, monitoring Jabberwocky, trying to guess what would happen next. Finally, Orac said, //I have finished. This is most fascinating. Energy from Triana maintains the Froma, but any world of similar composition would do. The transition between worlds could be established in a dormant state as long as linkage was maintained. I would recommend that Cally perform this function.//

      *The Cally is an entity of great joy and strength,* the Froma conceded. *But is dormant like disbecoming? I fear it.*

      //It's like sleeping,// Jabberwocky explained and let the Froma experience the concept without words.

      *Seems empty. Avon, my first Other, they mean me no harm?*

      //No-one means to harm you,// Avon said stiffly through the link.

      *Then I will make risk, if only to be not-alone. Always with you, Avon?*

      Tarrant turned to Avon, who wore the look of someone who has been followed home by an ugly dog and who doesn't know how to get rid of it without hurting its feelings. He would have laughed, but feared it might disrupt the linkage.

      //Blake will inform us of that in his own good time.//

      *The Blake is much in your thoughts. As you trust it, I will trust you.*

      //Then by all means, we will tell 'the' Blake, and see what it has to say,// Avon replied sardonically.

      "First of all, I can't just teleport down into the museum," Vila insisted impatiently

      "Why not?" Blake asked him.

      "Because the floor is sensitised at night and if I land there, I'll set off all the alarms."

      "Then how..." began Blake impatiently.

      Vila frowned thoughtfully, someone gifted, planning his strategy. "An antigrav platform, Blake, if it would teleport. Once the floor protection is shut down, I'd need someone to help shut off the rest and bring back the Froma. Avon and Cally would be best."

      "An antigrav platform is possible, Blake," Avon spoke up quickly. "Jabberwocky, have you anything that could be adapted?"

      "Yes, Avon. In section C-1."

      "I'll go and check it out," Avon volunteered and took himself off to do so.

      "Helpful, isn't he?" Dayna asked, almost suspiciously.

      "What, Avon?" Vila asked lightly. "He doesn't want me killed twice in one day, that's all. Miss me, he would."

      "Like the plague," suggested Tarrant with equal lightness. Blake wondered if they had chosen that tone because it was safer than saying it seriously. In a way, he was worried. Avon tended to take things like Vila's 'death' as reason to draw back from the others, and Blake had wondered, when Avon had reappeared earlier with the almost eradicated traces of tears, if that meant Avon would start making noises about leaving again. Even after Vila had taken him aside and explained, Blake had still been concerned. Not only would Avon resent being put in the position of losing someone important to him, even if he could not openly admit that importance, but he would also resent being manipulated and possessed by an alien, and now that the Froma was to be brought on board he might decide that such dangers to his feelings might be better dealt with away from Blake and the others. The more he thought of it, the more Blake remembered Avon's occasional threats to leave the Liberator in the early days. Would he use the arrival of the Froma as an excuse to depart?

      Leaving Vila expounding his cleverness to the others, Blake went in search of Avon. After all, if anyone on board was qualified to help with the antigravs he was, and that could be his excuse, if indeed one was needed.

      He found Avon in the main work room holding up several antigrav strips, tentatively fitting them to a flat surface big enough to hold a man. When Blake entered, he looked up sharply. "So you didn't trust me," he accused.

      "I thought you might need a little help," replied Blake easily.

      "Oh come, Blake, give me credit for more intelligence than that. You said to yourself, 'Avon might run', and you've come to talk me out of it."

      "If that's true," Blake said carefully, "it wouldn't mean I didn't trust you, just that I know you rather better than you might prefer to admit. Sometimes, when I think one of my crew has been killed, I wonder if it is worth it. You know what I went through when Gan was killed."

      "You wallowed in guilt and self-pity," Avon said with gentle impatience but without rancour.

      "Today I walked into the teleport and saw Vila lying there covered in blood," Blake said quietly. "So I know something of what you must have felt, though I got my reassurances rather earlier than you did."

      "Meaning?" Avon gave all his attention to his work, but he was listening.

      "Meaning that I sent you all down there. At least you wouldn't have been to blame if Vila had actually died."

      "You are not responsible for the entire universe, Blake," Avon told him impatiently. "Did you come down here for acquittal, then?"

      Startled, Blake met Avon's eyes. "Perhaps I did. We're rather predictable, you and I, aren't we?"

      "Are we?" Avon asked coldly. "I sometimes wonder why we bother. It will be the death of all of us, Blake. You know that."

      "Everyone dies, Avon."

      "Some sooner than others."

      "And I care too much?" Blake asked. "While you pretend not to care at all?"

      Avon shook his head. "I don't know if any of you believe that any more," he said with rare honesty. "Perhaps it was never true. I don't plan to leave, Blake, though I will expect as much of you. As long as you choose to 'lead' us," he went on, his voice slightly mocking, "then lead without recriminations. No-one is here under duress."

      "Not even you, Avon?"

      "Duress is not the word I would choose," Avon replied. "But I am here now and I mean to stay, so long as my staying doesn't require a greater degree of stupidity than I've shown so far."

      Blake smiled suddenly, remembering Avon's words when Gan's limiter had malfunctioned and Avon had announced his intention to leave. "Oh, I don't know, Avon," he said. "We can always achieve greater depths of stupidity."

      "Speak for yourself," Avon retorted, then, holding up a set of antigrav strips, "At least earn your keep. Did you come here to work or to talk me to death?"

      Blake laughed, suddenly comfortable with Avon again. "A little of both, Avon," he confessed cheerfully. "A little of both."

Vila materialised in the dimly lit museum chamber, his antigrav platform resting a little distance above the floor, and he looked around hastily for trouble. The monitors were active, but it wouldn't take Vila long to do something about that. He flipped a switch and a jammer came on, blurring the pictures. The observers would see it, of course; there was no help for it. But they were housed across the building and Vila didn't intend to stay long enough to meet them.

      Guiding the platform over to the controls, he shut down the floor sensitiser and the energy barricade that surrounded the Froma, and raised his teleport bracelet. "Secure, Blake. Send me back-up fast. We don't have a lot of time to spare."

      Avon and Cally materialised almost immediately and Cally went to the Froma, laying her hand upon it gently. Her eyes glowed and her whole face seemed to radiate her joy at the contact. Following with less enthusiasm, Avon helped her lift the Froma, then he nodded at Vila. Even as troops came pouring into the room, they vanished and reformed back on Jabberwocky.

      "That was too easy," Vila complained. "Well, now we've got it, what are we going to do with it, Blake?"

      "We're going to give it a very good home," Blake assured them. "Orac has checked it out and it should work nicely."

      "Where?" demanded Avon with ill-concealed impatience.

      Before he could answer, Tarrant's voice came urgently over the speaker. "Blake! We're under attack!"

      It seemed that Servalan had prepared for this eventuality. As they raced to the flight deck, Avon explained. "She would have been prepared to remove the Froma from us once we had taken it, or she would never have allowed us to get this close. For once, Vila was correct - it was too easy. Once we escaped from the cell, Blake, she would have been waiting for us to make our move."

      Blake had already gone into link-mode with Jabberwocky. Vila saw the look on his face and followed him.

      Tarrant and Jenna did not always get along, viewing each other as rivals for the position of Jabberwocky's main pilot, but today Vila felt them acting in concert even before they burst onto the flight deck and slid into their proper positions. Cally held back with the Froma - odd, now that he was in link-mode, Vila could sense it, in a not quite dormant state. It had joined the link-mode, drawing its sustenance from the link since it was distant from its planet. Until it could be coaxed into dormancy, Cally would remain linked with it, and for now that included the others. Tarrant and Jenna were too busy to pay it any heed, and Blake, his eyes on the screen that was suddenly filled with pursuit ships, wasn't listening in on the Froma either, though Avon, who had settled into his position, seemed more aware of its presence.

      Vila slid into the secondary weapons position beside Dayna, who was charging up in preparation for battle.

      "Can we get round them, Del?" Blake asked aloud.

      "It won't be easy. The force wall is up, but the longer we run with it the more it will drain us. Servalan held her troops in reserve until we could take the Froma; if we have to fight them all, they'll get us eventually, though we can take a lot of them with us."

      "Jenna?" Blake asked, not to detract from Tarrant's authority but simply because Tarrant's answer, defeat, possible death, was unacceptable.

      "It's always been a trap, Blake," Jenna told him sadly. "I don't know any other options. We fight."

      "We die," Avon interjected pointedly. "Perhaps we have finally achieved that degree of stupidity we discussed, Blake."

      *No,* came a new consciousness, bursting into the link, powerful enough to make Vila wince at this close range. *The Avon must not disbecome.*

      "A lot you can do about it," Vila muttered under his breath.

      But Avon turned suddenly to the Froma, ignoring Tarrant and Jenna's unified control of the ship as Avon sent a directed thought to the Froma that Vila could pick up through the link. //Froma. We will disbecome unless you help us.//

      There was a startled, wordless question as the Froma suddenly understood their position. *Because you helped me, you are in danger from the ___.*

      //Yes,// Avon told the Froma, for once using his own peculiar form of telepathy without dissembling. //Do you remember when forces tried to remove you from the homeness before?//

      The ship rocked as the force wall absorbed a direct hit. Vila shivered, knowing that too many shots could take the force wall down. They couldn't use the photonic drive to run away if they didn't have the power to manoeuvre. Jabberwocky didn't have the power reserves the Liberator had had.

      *Yes,* the Froma conceded. *Not to harm you and your containment, Avon. Perceive other containments, hostile.*

      Vila noticed that Cally held back, allowing Avon to take this communication himself. Though she was far more skilled as a telepath than Avon, his familiarity with the Froma could get through to it now while conventional telepathy might take too long.

      Dayna's skill was taking out some of their opposition as she worked the firing controls through the link. Jabberwocky channelled extra power to her station, shutting down the life support on the lower decks to give them what extra boost he could.

      //The other hostile containments prevent our escape,// Avon explained with a patience he could hardly be feeling. //As you destroyed the threats to your removal from the homeness, would you clear us a path through them?// He reinforced it with a series of images, and Vila knew from Avon's earlier encounter with the Froma that it could, if Avon permitted it, see what Avon did. It would take a desperate situation indeed for Avon to open himself to the Froma again, but then death was a desperate situation.

      *Understood,* the Froma replied.

      Directly in their path, two ships exploded.

      "But I didn't..." Dayna burst out in astonishment.

      As one, Tarrant and Jenna guided the ship through the opening, narrow though it was, while Avon encouraged the Froma to watch their flanks. One more ship erupted in an explosion, and Dayna whooped as her fire took out one more. Then they were clear and Jabberwocky surged forward at maximum speed. More ships came at them, but they were further away, and it wasn't hard to leave them further and further behind.

      Avon broke free of link-mode, turned to Cally, and said shortly, "See to the Froma. You can put it into dormancy?"

      "Yes, Avon, I will..." she began only to fall silent as Avon turned and left the flight deck without a word.

      *The Avon is angry?* The Froma's question sounded through the link, and Vila felt a moment of regret at the pathetic tone of its 'voice'. As he drew from the link, Cally began to offer reassurances to the alien.

      "You were warned, Lieutenant Sleer," Space Commander Clancy informed Servalan with relish, while she stood before him, gnashing her teeth in barely controlled rage. "You never understood the nature of the Froma, and now, as a result, we have lost it."

      "Perhaps not," she offered. "As it destroyed my ships, perhaps it will destroy Blake's ship as well."

      "While we were able to track it, it had not done so. Though the ship's detector shields prevented tracking, the residual traces of a destroyed ship would be monitorable. There has been nothing. I can only suppose the rebels found a way to use the Froma for their own purposes."

      "Orac," Servalan muttered under her breath. "It must have been Orac."

      "Whatever it was, you have failed and that is the report I must send to Supreme Commander Arpel. You could have brought something out of this: the identities of the rebels here. We do have many names, but we no longer have a location. They were warned, Sleer. They have gone to ground. Oh, we will pick them up eventually, but not now. I think your undercover games were a mistake."

      "Avon was unconscious. He could not have identified me, and I had never before encountered their surgeon."

      "I am told Hugh Tiver is no fool, and we all know Avon's intellect. Naturally you were identified and your purpose discovered. I shall pay the price with you for losing the Froma - but I shall make it clear to the Supreme Commander that it was your plan which failed."

      "Just as I shall make it clear to him that if your men had not jumped the gun and arrested Avon and Tiver, I could still have reached a successful conclusion. The Federation is composed of fools and staffed by idiots." She headed for the door.

      "Sleer!" His voice whipped at her. She stiffened and halted.

      "I outrank you, Sleer. You will request my permission to depart."

      It took every ounce of her willpower to keep from slaying him on the spot. Through clenched teeth, she said coldly, "I request your permission to depart." Let him enjoy it. By morning he would be dead.

      He waited just long enough to demonstrate his authority, then he said, "Get out of my sight."

      Servalan left, planning his murder. Then she would go to Arpel with a suitably edited version of the true story,. Had she managed the situation completely, she would have triumphed. She was certain of that.

      Vila whooped with glee as he manipulated the controls of the new computer game that Avon had presented him a few days ago. This one was, in its own way, even more complex than 'Ship and Asteroids', and it required even greater dexterity. Avon had called it 'Thief' and had offered it to Vila with no overt display. Vila received it with equal calm, saying only "It's about time, Avon." Then he had tried it, and it was perfect. It called for every possible bit of skill he possessed, enough of a challenge to keep him occupied for long hours, with different versions that could change the scenario enough each time to make it endlessly complex. Vila had only won it once so far, and Avon had insisted that was luck. Now, as Vila had his fun, Avon sat across the flight deck with Blake, working on the relay link that they were designing to take with them on landing parties as a link between the ship's computers and the landing party. Progress was slow, but they were making strides.

      At Vila's whoop, Avon lifted his head. "Quietly, Vila. Some of us are trying to work."

      "You can shut me out whenever you want to," Vila pointed out, turning off the game and wandering over. "You're just annoyed because I can beat you at it, even if you did design it."

      "Only because I cannot be bothered to waste my time," Avon said. He had been remarkably short tempered since Blake had announced that he was taking the Froma to Kaarn, the world where the remainder of the Auronar had been relocated. A gene stock of five thousand had been rescued from Auron when Servalan destroyed the Auronar, and Blake had decided that since the Froma required telepathic contact, there was nowhere else it could safely be left. Orac had ruled that Kaarn would be adequate for the Froma's needs. They had arrived this morning and Cally had teleported down with the Froma, unattended by Avon, who had chosen to avoid the Froma for the duration of the flight. Vila wondered if Avon was worried that Cally might decide to stay on Kaarn, though he had been confident the first time they had gone there that she would stay with them, insisting that she was closer to them than she was to her own people.

      Since Jabberwocky, and the link-mode the crew had attained, Vila would have said Cally was still closer to them, even discounting Avon and Cally's own personal relationship, but you never knew with Avon. Sometimes, Vila suspected that there was a lot of insecurity under that cool, controlled facade. It wasn't as if he could ask for reassurances either. Vila knew he had avoided the Froma since it had seen past his barricades and seemed to expect a closeness with Avon that he was not prepared to give. Instead Cally and Jabberwocky nursed the Froma along in its dormant state. But Cally had been angry when she had stood in the teleport with Blake to go down to meet with her people and Avon had not come. Blake had since returned to the ship, telling them only that Cally wished to visit longer with Franton and Patar and to examine the set up. Some of the Auron gene stock had been brought to 'birth', some would be developed later and some would be saved for the future in case of crisis. Since the death of Auron, some of its people who had been offworld at the time of the destruction had found their way to Kaarn, and Blake reported that there was now a small colony there.

      Avon had not liked the idea.

      Now Vila wondered if it was proximity to the Froma he objected to, or if it was simply that he feared to lose Cally to the lure of her own people, or both. The longer she stayed on the planet, the nastier Avon had become. Now he flung down his tools and rose. "If you intend to pester me, Vila, I shall go and work somewhere else."

      Blake caught Vila's eye, and Vila said, "Sorry. I'll let you alone then." He retreated to his game and began to play once more without paying much attention.

      "I want to talk to you, Avon," Blake said in an undertone. Vila could hear it without straining, but he pretended not to.

      "Short of gagging you, I cannot prevent you. What is it this time?"

      "You must tell the Froma goodbye."

      "I see no point in doing so."

      "I see two. First, the Froma risked itself because it trusted you and for the same reason it saved our lives. Because of that, you owe it more than you have given it so far."

      "Granted," Avon said shortly. "And the second reason?"

      "A personal one. You'll do it if you want to keep Cally's respect. You will not lose her love if you don't go down, but she'll think the less of you, and I don't believe you want that."

      "Don't you?" Avon looked at Blake resentfully, then he stood again. "Vila, shut that off and come with me," he barked.

      Vila jumped up and hurried after Avon, glancing back over his shoulder at Blake and winking at him. He'd handle this. Blake grinned.

      They arrived at the teleport section to find Jenna waiting there. Avon at once turned to Vila. "I see I do not need you to operate the teleport, Vila. You are superfluous. Go away."

      Vila smiled at Jenna. "You might as well teleport him," he told her. "Blake wants him off the ship so we can all have some peace and quiet."

      He darted away before Avon could reply.

      Cally linked one final time with the Froma. //Will you be happy here, do you think?//

      *Much joy. Many thanks, Cally. A homeness with other entities - here will I continue in joy. Cally...*

      She knew what was coming and braced herself for it. //Yes?//

      *Once more would I greet the Avon. Will he ever communicate with me?*

      She struggled to find a way to explain tactfully that Avon was unwilling to have anything further to do with the Froma. It had little understanding yet of human motivations, and she feared that rejection by one the Froma had let itself love unhesitatingly could cause damage beyond her capability to repair. She was furious with Avon for putting her in this position and even more for hurting the Froma.

      //I am here.//

      "Avon," she exclaimed aloud, spinning round to see him standing just behind her. His face was braced and wary, and he wore a resentful look, but none of that had shown in his projection. He said coolly, "Cally," then he turned to the Froma and laid his hands upon its surface. Cally withdrew hastily from the link and blocked her awareness of their communication. What Avon had to share with the Froma would be private, and though Avon permitted her closer than most people, she would not invade his privacy without permission.

      Avon's eyes closed, and his face went almost expressionless, then, slowly, warmth came into it and she knew without even touching the link that Avon had found the ability to give the Froma what it needed. They communed together for almost five minutes. Then Avon lifted his hands and turned to Cally defensively.

      She stood back and waited. When he did not speak, she said, "Thank you, Avon. The Froma needed your approval before it could be at peace here."

      "More fool it," Avon snapped.

      "If you feel that way, why did you come?"

      "Blake insisted," Avon replied. "Blake has a way of being unbearable until he gets what he wants."

      "Blake is not the only person on Jabberwocky who behaves that way."

      "Perhaps not," Avon replied a little less stiffly. "However, I still feel that this exercise has been a waste of my time.''

      "I don't think it has." Cally laid her hand on his arm. "The Froma loves you, Avon."

      "Well now, I did not ask for that."

      "Perhaps not. Maybe it couldn't help itself once it came to know you so well." She smiled a little at the look that crossed his face. "Don't worry, Avon. Once it learned that humans choose to hold a part of themselves back it respected that, and it will continue to do so. Just now, it did not take anything from you that you did not want to give, did it?"

      "No," Avon admitted reluctantly. She knew, though he would never tell her so, that opening himself to the Froma just now had been one of the hardest things he had ever done, especially after the incident with Vila. No matter how much the Froma held back, it could not mask its love for Avon, and Avon was not likely to be comfortable with that. She suspected he had felt it his responsibility to come down here, and when Avon believed that, he did not shirk. It would have been like breaking his word, and Avon did keep his word on the rare instances when he gave it. Cally wished he could admit that he had come down here with altruistic motives, but she knew that he would never concede any such thing. It was enough for her to know that he sometimes had them.

      "Then you see," she pointed out, "it means you no harm. It has never meant you harm."

      "That," Avon told her, "is less than reassuring. Perhaps we are well rid of it. With the best intentions in the world, it could do more damage than we could survive."

      "It will do none here," Cally assured him. "The Auronar will know how to cope with it and its offspring."

      "Its WHAT?!"

      Cally could not hold back a smile. "The Froma's race breeds asexually. Though it was possible for it to give birth before, it didn't have the 'heart' for it. The solitude was too much for it to endure. Now that it is no longer alone, it has energy to spare to bring others of its kind into existence." The smile broadened. "In a sense, Avon, you have become the 'father' of a race of beings."

      Avon looked horrified. "Cally, I assure you..." he began then, to her relief, a smile began to spread across his face. "That will serve Blake right," he announced.

      "Shall we tell him so?"

      "No. We shall say nothing of this to any of the others, particularly Vila. He is insufferable enough already."

      Vila would never let him live it down. Cally nodded, trying not to grin. "Very well, Avon. We shall never mention it to any of the others."

      He looked sceptical, then a new expression came into his eyes. "We?" he asked. "Do I take that to mean that you will be returning to the ship with us?"

      She looked at him in surprise, then she realised that he might have feared she would choose to stay here with the remnants of her people. Had he been anyone but Avon, she might have flung her arms about him and reassured him with words and telepathy, but even she could not always tell how Avon would react to that. Instead she said simply, "It's where I belong now, Avon," and offered her hand.

      He took it. "Then let us return to the ship," he said. "I have wasted enough time here."

      Cally sent a telepathic farewell to the Froma and raised her bracelet. "Jenna," she said calmly, "ready to come up."