BINDING FORCES

                         by Miranie


    Vila stepped quietly into Tarrant's quarters through the
connecting door.  He was naked, and the cooler environment brought
goosebumps to his flesh.  Tarrant always liked it colder than Vila did;
the pilot griped endlessly about the heat every time he spent the night
in Vila's quarters.
 
   Vila quickly slid between the silken sheets.  They were
cold too, of course.  He curled into a tight ball, waiting for Tarrant to
emerge from the bath.

    Tarrant was splashing in the adjoining bathroom and
singing loudly.  The song was a rather insipid tune, popular several
years back, but Tarrant had a pleasant voice, true and strong.  Then
Vila heard the whoosh of the dryers, and Tarrant came padding out
into the bedroom, footsteps silent on the thick, lush carpet.  He was
dressed in thin, shapeless undergarments, and his hair was still frizzy
with moisture.  He grinned at Vila, then began straightening up the
room.

    Vila rolled his eyes.  Tarrant could never leave so much
as a sock out of place.  Military training had made him a fanatic about
tidiness.

    "Tarrant, I'm cold," Vila complained.

    "Turn on the bedwarmer," Tarrant suggested, shaking out
his shirt and hanging it in the closet.

    "I don't know how," Vila lied.

    Tarrant snorted.  "Come on, Vila.  You can't expect me
to believe that.  You're brilliant with computer controls--as long as
they pertain to your personal comfort."

    "Oh, get your skinny butt over here and under this
blanket," Vila said grumpily.

    Tarrant tossed his boots into the closet, then launched
himself in a flying arc toward the bed.  He landed heavily beside Vila. 
"You only had to ask," he said, grinning.

    Vila pulled the covers up over them both, shaking his
head.  Sometimes Tarrant reminded him of an overgrown puppy,
playful and rambunctious and so very physical...  Tarrant rolled over
and enfolded Vila in his arms, entwining his legs with Vila's.  Not that
physical was all bad...  Vila snuggled closer, luxuriating in Tarrant's
body warmth, in the young, clean scent of him.

    "Warm enough now?" Tarrant asked, looking lazy and
contented and incredibly beautiful.

    "Mmm," Vila replied.

    Tarrant sighed, and sleepily kissed Vila's eyelid.  Vila
smiled; this was his favorite part of the day, sharing warmth and
comfort with Tarrant during sleep shift.  It was the nearest thing to
love and safety they had--or could even hope to have.

    Vila slipped his hands around Tarrant's slender torso,
rubbing the younger man's back gently.  Piloting sometimes put knots
of tension in Tarrant's shoulders.  Not tonight, though.  Tonight
Tarrant was loose and relaxed.

    Well, most of Tarrant was, Vila amended, as he became
aware of Tarrant's hardening erection, pressed warm and solid
between their bellies.

    Vila poked the pilot sharply in the ribs.  "Tarrant...
something's come between us."

    "Ignore it, it'll go away," Tarrant said, not opening
his eyes.

    Vila was getting aroused himself now.  He pressed a kiss
against Tarrant's soft lips, then nibbled the side of his neck.  That
always excited the younger man.

    Tarrant squirmed, growling, "Vila, we've got an early
mission tomorrow."

    "That's right!  And we might get killed, you know.  Then
you'd be sorry--going to your grave without screwing one last time."

    "I'll take that risk," Tarrant groaned.

    "You would," Vila muttered.  He wasn't going to give up,
though.  Tarrant was young enough to be more or less at the mercy of
his glands.  Vila reached down and grabbed Tarrant's erection through
the soft trousers, caressing it with all his skill.

    Tarrant tried to pretend he was asleep, but Vila wasn't
fooled.  The pilot's breathing was too fast--and it was getting faster. 
Boldly, Vila put one of his cold hands where Tarrant was warmest.

    Tarrant yelped at that, rolling over to pin Vila beneath
him.   "All right, that does it," he said with mock menace.

    Vila smiled, thrusting his hips enticingly.  "What are
you going to do to me?" he asked.

    "I ought to chuck you out into the corridor," Tarrant
replied.  Instead, he kissed Vila deeply.

    Vila grinned in triumph when they came up for air.
"What are you worried about, anyway?" he said.  "You can probably
fly us to Mormallor in your sleep."

    "That's `Malodaar,' Vila," Tarrant corrected, bending to
take another kiss.

                         # # # # #

    The flight back from Malodaar was tense and mostly
silent.  As soon as they touched down, the crew scattered, each eager
to be away from the others.  Vila went to Tarrant's cabin and sat on the
bed, waiting.  The pilot had remained with Scorpio to do the
post-flight checks; he took his duties very seriously.

    Vila bit his lip, thinking.  He wasn't sure how much he
was going to tell Tarrant about what had occurred on that wretched
shuttle.  He was afraid that the rash young man would do something
stupid, such as challenge Avon...

    Tarrant appeared sooner than Vila expected, apparently
finishing post-flight in record time.  He seemed unsurprised to find
Vila awaiting him.  Crossing the room, he took Vila into a fierce
embrace.  They clung together in silence for a long moment.

    "Tarrant, have you ever thought of leaving?" Vila asked
finally.

    "What?"

    "Let's leave," Vila repeated.  "We don't need Avon and
the others.  We can make it on our own.  We're both skilled
professionals--"

    "Vila, I can't believe what you're saying!"  Tarrant
backed away, a look of shock on his face.

    "Why should we stay?  The Liberator's gone, thanks to
Avon.  If he had listened to you, we might still have it. But he didn't,
so there's nothing to keep us here.  We don't have to live like this,
always on the run.  We could go to some independent world--"

    "No!" Tarrant objected.  "You can't be serious.  We
can't abandon the others."

    "Why not?  They'll have the base, and Scorpio.  They'll
be all right."

    "Vila, we've all been through so much together.  We're a
team, damn it."

    "The hell we are!" Vila spat angrily.  He had hoped he
wouldn't have to reveal what had happened over Malodaar, but this
was too much!  "Tarrant," he gasped.  "Avon tried to kill me on that
shuttle.  If I hadn't hidden, he would have shot me and thrown me out
of the airlock."

    Tarrant wouldn't meet Vila's eyes.  With a jolt, Vila
realized that the pilot had known all along.

    Tarrant put his arms around Vila again.  "It's all
right.  You're safe now," he soothed.

    "No, I'm not safe," Vila said, pulling away.  "None of
us are.  Avon will kill any or all of us, if it suits him to do it."


    "We've always known that," Tarrant said.

    Vila stared at Tarrant suspiciously.  "Are you defending
him?"

    "Vila--"

    "You =are=!" Vila accused, incredulous at this betrayal.

    The young pilot looked uncomfortable.  "Vila, look at it
logically.  He thought it was either you or him.  Anybody might have
done the same."

    "You wouldn't have," Vila said flatly.  He was as sure
of that as of anything in the universe.

    "No, I probably wouldn't," Tarrant admitted.  "But then
I'm given to stupid, mindless heroism, or so I've been told."

    "And I bet I know who told you," Vila said darkly.

    Tarrant sat on the edge of the bed, looking unhappier
than Vila had ever seen him look before.

    "Tarrant," Vila said evenly.  "I am leaving, whether you
come with me or not.  I've put up with a lot from that bastard, but I
won't put up with being hunted like an animal. They all think I'm a
liability, anyway, unless a lock needs opening.  Will you come with
me?"

    "Vila...don't do this to me.  Please."  Tarrant's voice
was barely more than a harsh whisper.

    "You're staying with Avon.  Fine.  I got along on my own
for thirty years, I can do it again."  It wasn't fine, though.  Vila was
hurt to the quick that Tarrant would choose Avon over him.  Hurt, but
not surprised.

    "Vila, there are the others to think of.  Even if you
don't care what happens to Avon, what about Dayna and Soolin? As
you say, Scorpio isn't Liberator -- =they= need a pilot. And they
need you, too."

    "Don't tell me it's Dayna and Soolin you're concerned
for.  It's Avon.  It's always Avon.  He's not Deeta, you know.  You
don't owe him anything."

    Tarrant shot him a sharp, wounded look.  "I know he's
not Deeta!  If you think for one minute--"

    "Oh, come off it, Tarrant!  Grow up, already.  You damn
well know you follow Avon around like you're some lost puppy.
You're not a child anymore, and Avon isn't Deeta!  He doesn't care if
you live or die.  He doesn't care if any of us do." Vila stopped yelling
abruptly, realizing he'd said too much. Tarrant's face was white, and
Vila was afraid for a moment that the young man was going to hit him.

    Instead, Tarrant spoke very quietly.  "I will not
abandon my crewmates."

    Vila sighed, defeated.  "Will you at least take me away
from this miserable rock?  Without telling Avon?"

    "Avon and I are going to Betafarl this week," Tarrant
said tightly.

    Vila remembered.  Another of Avon's harebrained schemes.
"When you get back?" he pressed.

    "All right," the pilot agreed reluctantly.  "I owe you
that much."

    Vila knew he was pushing it, but he needed a guarantee.
"Promise you'll do it, Tarrant."

    "I promise," Tarrant spat bitterly.  "I don't let down
my friends."

                         # # # # #

    "Where's Tarrant?" Avon asked.

    Vila, Dayna, and Soolin were sitting wearily in the
Xenon Base lounge.  It had been a long day, spent preparing to
abandon their home of almost a year.  They were exhausted, physically
and emotionally.  Tarrant hadn't shown up for dinner; they were mildly
concerned, but too tired to go looking for him.

    "Probably with Scorpio," Dayna said at last.  "That's
where he was working the last time I saw him."

    Avon turned and headed towards the landing silo.  Vila
looked after him suspiciously, then got up and followed him.

    Vila paused at the edge of the hangar, observing.  He
wasn't sure why; Tarrant was no longer his concern.  Habit, Vila
supposed; he was used to looking after the young man. Moreover, he
didn't trust Avon at all.

    Tarrant was dressed in grimy coveralls, doing something
to the hull of Scorpio with a heavy tool.  Avon watched silently for a
moment, then went over to the pilot.  He pulled Tarrant away from his
task, gently prying the tool from his hand.  Tarrant relinquished it
reluctantly.

    "You're doing more harm than good," Avon said.  "Get
some rest."

    Tarrant stared blankly at Avon, eyes hollow with fatigue
and grief.  Avon turned abruptly toward Vila, apparently aware of his
presence the whole time.  The computer tech pushed Tarrant at Vila,
saying, "Get him out of here."  He turned and left, leaving them alone.

    Vila kept a wary eye on Avon as he passed, then turned
back to Tarrant.  The pilot was standing as if frozen, staring down at
the deck.  Though he knew he should just go back to the lounge, Vila
found he couldn't.  Instead, he approached the pilot, wordlessly taking
his arm.  Tarrant did not look up or acknowledge Vila in any way,
though he followed him docilely enough.

    Vila palmed open the door to Tarrant's quarters and
shoved him in.  "Go to bed," he ordered.

    The pilot merely stood there, unmoving.  With a sigh,
Vila entered the room.  "I suppose I have to put you to bed, you
hopeless Alpha," he muttered.  Tarrant still did not respond.

    "You're a mess," Vila said, taking in the dark grease
splotches on the younger man's face and hands.  His coveralls were
similarly stained.  Vila pushed Tarrant into the bathroom.  Seating him
on the counter, he quickly and efficiently stripped the younger man. 
Wistfully, Vila remembered other times he had undressed Tarrant.  But
that part of his life was over now, lost forever.  A stab of self- pity
pierced Vila.  Sometimes it seemed that his entire life was nothing but
a string of losses.  You'd think with all that practice, it would get
easier.  It never did.

    Tarrant finally spoke.  "Go away, Vila."

    "Not until I get you cleaned up and put to bed."

    "Why should you care?" the pilot asked dully.

    "Because I plan to hold you to your promise to take me
away from here," Vila replied sharply.  "You can't do that if you're
half-dead."

    A wounded look flashed across Tarrant's face.  "Don't
worry, Vila.  I'll keep my promise," he said wearily.

    "Then let's get you cleaned up."  Vila herded Tarrant
into the bathing cubicle and turned on the water.  "I'll go get you some
clean clothes."

    Vila went through Tarrant's scant wardrobe absently.
The task reminded him that he would soon have to pack his own
belongings.  Dejectedly, Vila admitted that he would miss his
crewmates.  They were all the family he had.  Tarrant most of all,
despite their recent disagreement.  But if he wouldn't leave Avon,
there was nothing Vila could do.

    A sudden sneeze came from the bathroom.  Frowning, Vila
called, "Tarrant, you have the water on warm enough?"

    The only reply was another sneeze.  Muttering to
himself, Vila went to check on the young man.

    Tarrant was standing unmoving in the bathing cubicle,
the water spraying unnoticed over him.  Sticking his hand in, Vila
found the water was freezing.  "You idiot," Vila scolded.  He reached
in to adjust the water temperature. "You're not off the hook, you know,
even if you catch your death of a chill.  You're taking me away from
here no matter what."

    Tarrant didn't respond.

    "Are you just going to stand there until you drown?"

    There was still no response.  Resignedly, Vila rolled up
his sleeves.  Grabbing the hand-held nozzle, he adjusted it so that it
sprayed warm suds.  He pushed Tarrant to sit on the cubicle ledge and
began washing his hair.  Tarrant tried to look up, but Vila held his
head down.  "Be good, or you'll get soap in your eyes," he chided.

    Gently, he scrubbed the grease marks from the pilot's
skin.  The intimate contact brought to mind many precious nights of
mutual passion.  Vila had always found the sight and touch of
Tarrant's lean, sinewy body exciting.  Now, however, he felt only pity. 
Tarrant looked somehow much smaller and thinner than Vila
remembered, vulnerable and very young.

    Adjusting the nozzle back to water, Vila began rinsing
off the creamy soap.  Tarrant shivered, and Vila dialed the spray
hotter.  "Are you warm enough?" he asked.

    Tarrant looked up slowly.  "I'm sorry," he choked.  "I
can't blame you for wanting to leave.  I wish I could go with you.  But
I can't.  I just =can't=."  His pleading gaze met Vila's.  "Don't leave,
Vila.  Please don't leave."

    Vila swallowed, blinking back tears.  He thought of all
the years they had been together, the adventures they had had, the
laughter they had shared...and most of all, the danger they had
endured.  Trusting, impetuous Tarrant needed someone to look after
him, and who would do it if Vila left? Not Avon, that was certain.

    "I'll stay," he whispered, before he quite knew what he
was saying.

    With an inarticulate cry of gladness, Tarrant threw his
arms around Vila.  "Hey!" Vila protested, as soapy water soaked his
clothing.  But he didn't really mind.  He crushed Tarrant against his
chest, caressing the sodden curls.  They were all doomed, Vila knew
it.  Avon had that wild look in his eyes these days.  He was taking
bigger and bigger risks. One day soon, Avon was going to
self-destruct spectacularly, dragging them down all with him.  Vila's
only hope was to leave.  But he knew now that he couldn't.  He was
bound, as surely as cursed Malodaar's gravity had bound that tiny
shuttle.  Freeing himself would require jettisoning something he
simply could not bear to lose.  Avon might be able to make any
sacrifice for survival, but Vila could not.

    He hugged Tarrant tighter.  "I'll stay," he repeated.

=======

"All forces in nature have a different relative strength; gravitational
forces are the weakest."

                             --Resnick and Halliday, =Physics=