The End of the Rainbow

                                  by Cami

Prologue:

     Tight lipped and pale, Avon hobbled across the width of the
small cell, aiming for the sanitation facilities on the far wall. 
His extremities were still partially numb while the rest of him
was racked with cramps, the aftereffects of multiple stun
charges.  Perversely, he welcomed the pain.  If he thought about
it, he didn't think about the consummate disaster that had
occurred on Gauda Prime.  Keeping regret a small part of life
wasn't proving easy after that debacle.
     Behind him Tarrant moaned softly, reminding Avon why he was
propped in front of the shallow sink.  Tarrant was thirsty. 
Despite having the release valve set on full open, only a small
trickle of brackish water dripped from the single spout.  It
seemed to take several eternities to dampen the square of cloth
that he had placed over the drain.  When it was saturated, Avon
plucked it out and walked with hesitant, unsure steps to where
his shipmate was sprawled on the hard platform that served as the
cell's only furniture.
     Tarrant sensed his presence and opened his eyes.
     Ignoring the fiery throbbing in his back, Avon crouched
beside him.  "There is no cup and very little water, but this
should help."  He twisted the ragged cloth, coaxing precious
drops of moisture to fall onto Tarrant's lips.  The young man
licked them into his mouth.
     After repeating the tedious procedure two more times,
Tarrant indicated that he was satisfied.  "Thank you," he
whispered.
     "Tell me where it hurts," Avon instructed as his hands began
a gentle examination of the pilot's body.
     "Worst there," Tarrant said, flinching when fingers probed
at his left side.   He managed a weak smile.  "But not much
better anywhere else."
     "They'll leave you alone now," Avon predicted joylessly. 
"I've told them that you didn't know Orac's location.  They
appeared to believe me."
     "You didn't have to..." Tarrant paused to suck in a shallow
breath, "do that."
     "I found the sight of them beating you senseless for
information that you didn't have distasteful."  The crude
interrogation process had roused Avon from unconsciousness, to a
world that he'd hoped never to see again.
     Tarrant grabbed weakly at Avon's sleeve.  "They'll hurt you
next.  T-tell them where it is.  Doesn't matter now.  All over."
     "All over," Avon echoed while his hand subconsciously
soothed across Tarrant's curls.  "She won."
     "Servalan?"
     "She was here, earlier, gloating over her victory.  You were
so groggy, I'm not surprised that you don't remember.  Though she
didn't say, I believe they've already found Orac.  It wasn't that
well hidden."
     "Did she mention the others?"
     "No."
     Tarrant sighed desolately then closed his eyes.
     Avon backed soundlessly from the bunk, hoping that Tarrant
would sleep.  There was precious little other comfort that he
could offer his injured shipmate.

     They'd come for him soon after that, and he'd never seen Del
Tarrant again.  Until now.  The face on the viewscreen was older
and had changed more than would seem possible in two years, but
it was unmistakably Tarrant.
     "You are sure this is the man?" Avon asked.
     Grant's sober voice came from behind him.  "I'm sure.  I
lost two operatives before a third managed to penetrate the Space
Systems Development Complex.  This information was bought with
blood.  I'm sure."  
     Grant reached over Avon's shoulder to jab at the picture on
the monitor.  "The tall man on the right is the Federation's
prize scientist, the one who gave them the star drive.  The one
who is this close," Grant's thumb and index finger moved to
within a hair's width of each other, "to gifting them with a
teleport."
     "Has Blake seen this vid-disk?"
     "He didn't have time."  Grant swung around to perch on the
desk, facing Avon.  "Blake listened to my report and
congratulated me on a job well done.  Then he loaned me Orac and
requested that I work up a plan to stop //that bastard//," he
nodded to the screen.  "Orac identified Tarrant."
     "And have you worked up a plan?" 
     "Give me a break, I've only been back for six hours."  The
blond man shrugged.  "I still have an agent inside the facility."
     "Assassination then?"
     "Do we have a choice?  According to Orac, this man is the
singlemost threat to the rebel cause in the Federation.  If they
get a teleport...  Well, you know what a disaster that would be."
     Avon's focus drifted back to the lanky figure on the screen. 
"Tarrant saved my life on numerous occasions."
     Grant nodded, his blue eyes understanding but wary.  "Dayna
talks about him.  That's why I thought you had a right to know."
     "You'll tell her?"
     "Not me."  A dreamy smile teased across the mercenary's
face.  "I only have twelve hours before I ship out.  I don't
intend to spend that time in a futile argument."
     "She'll be furious."
     Grant stood, yawning.  "I know that, but her temper will
have cooled by the time I get back again."  He patted Avon's
shoulder, "Take care," then started for the door.
                               *     *     *
     There was a time when Avon could have walked into Blake's
office on a whim, but that was before the rebellion had grown so
large that bureaucracy was the order of the day.  Now one had to
talk their way through three levels of administrative staff, have
an appointment a month in advance, or try to catch the rebel
commander in a rare moment of off-duty leisure.
     Avon didn't have the time or patience for any of the
acceptable procedures to scale the bureaucratic mountain. 
Therefore, the mountain would have to come to him.  In the
cafeteria, he let slip that he had developed schematics for an
ultralinear time warp drive.  An hour later, he was summoned to
Blake's presence.
     Blake rose to greet him, a smile stretching from ear to ear. 
"I just heard," he said, reaching out but stopping short of
actually touching Avon.  "Congratulations.  Do you know what this
means?  With this new capability, we will save..."
     "An ultralinear time warp drive is an impossibility.  It
defies the laws of physics.  No legitimate scientist would waste
time on it.  If you had bothered to read my reports, you would
know that I've been concentrating on breaking the Federation's
Arno-X code."
     "But...I don't understand."  Blake's eyes were puzzled and
disappointed.  "Deva said that..."
     "I needed to see you on a matter of some urgency so I
started a rumor that was sure to reach your ears and capture your
attention."
     Anger blazed across Blake's face.  "Damn you, Avon.  To
steal your way into my office is bad enough, but did you have to
use that particular ploy?  For a minute..."
     "...you saw victory within your grasp," Avon finished wryly. 
"We all have to live with disappointment."
     "I should have you thrown out on your ear or locked up in
detention."
     "But then you would have to admit that you were fooled by a
story that was so obviously a lie that a student engineer would
have seen through it.  Wouldn't it be better to hear me out and
give credence to this meeting?"  Avon tossed a vid-disk case
across the desk.  "Look at this."
     "I don't have time," Blake protested, but his fingers
obediently freed the disk and inserted it in the appropriate slot
on his computer display.  "What is it?"
     "Watch."
     Blake dimmed the lights and pressed the start button. 
Though he had the scenario memorized, Avon's eyes gravitated to
the monitor.
     In the opening sequence, the picture was fuzzy and at an odd
angle.  Gradually, it came into focus and leveled to a horizontal
plane.  It showed three men in white coveralls working in a
laboratory setting.  The tallest of the group, whose back was to
the camera, was poking at an object that rested on a lab bench,
presumably talking to his two silent observers.  Since there was
no audio, that was a matter of conjecture.  
     The lens zoomed in until the device being examined was shown
in full detail.
     "A teleport interface," Blake said.  His eyes shot to Avon. 
"This is the material that Grant brought back from Galinum."
     "Watch the monitor," Avon instructed.
     Abruptly the picture jiggled.  Something had prompted the
man operating the camera to scan away from the interface.  A
glare filled the screen as it panned over an expanse of ivory
cloth.
     "This is not very interesting," Blake grumbled, obviously
still perturbed by Avon's devious method of gaining his office.
     Avon didn't reply, allowing the movie to make his point. 
The camera steadied again, on a field of human flesh that swiftly
sharpened to a close-up of a face.
     "Freeze it there."
     "The Federation miracle worker," Blake guessed, unimpressed.
     For a second, Avon was shaken.  Blake hadn't
recognized...but then his acquaintance with Tarrant had been
brief.  And the pilot had been bruised and bloody at the time.
     "You know that man," he pointed out.
     Blake slowly advanced the picture, frame by frame. 
"Tarrant," he finally cried.  "So he didn't die on Gauda Prime;
he sold out.  I was right not to trust him."
     Avon eyed him sharply.  "Tarrant wouldn't sell out," he said
quietly but firmly.  "I'm sure that he is not cooperating
voluntarily."
     "Come now.  I told you what Deva discovered in the secured
files.  Your Tarrant was cousin to the agent who betrayed me. 
That's why I tested him on Gauda Prime.  Treachery runs in the
family.  According to Orac, this mystery scientist has been
providing technical expertise for almost two years.  That does
not sound like a coerced alliance."
     "Blake, you of all people should realize what the Federation
can do to a man's mind."
     "Exactly.  And I know that the drugs necessary to maintain
docility in a rebellious individual would not permit the type of
highly sophisticated work that Tarrant is performing.  The
chemicals dull the brain."
     "You are thinking of your own case.  There are other..."
     "What does Orac say?"
     Avon shrugged.  He had been afraid--no, he had been sure--
that Blake would ask that question.  "Orac can not find data that
would support my theory.  That does not mean that it doesn't
exist.  It is only a computer and limited by the knowledge
available to it.  As we both know, the Federation has developed
something that is impervious to Orac's intrusion.  That's why the
stardrive-powered ships took us by surprise.  The only way Orac
found out about the teleport project was by analyzing supply
requisitions.  It is possible that the Federation has tampered
with Tarrant without leaving evidence visible to Orac.  I've done
research on various psychomanipulation techniques and...."
     "Avon, Avon, Avon," Blake covered his hands before he could
reach in his pocket for the second vid-disk.  "I know what you're
trying to do and I understand, but this debate really has no
fruitful purpose.  Whether Del Tarrant is doing this voluntarily
or not, he must be stopped.  Grant will handle it."
     "Grant will kill him."
     "Trying to effect change requires difficult choices.  Your
loyalty to your ex-shipmate is commen..."
     "I'm quite familiar with loyalty."
     
          //"So get out of here will you," Tarrant ordered,
     his voice strained from the effort of piloting the dead
     ship, "there's no sense in both of us dying."//
     
          //"Avon!"  Some corner of his mind heard Tarrant
     call his name and realized that the pilot was risking
     his own safety to try to help him.//

          //"You didn't have to do that," Tarrant said,
     protesting his telling the Federation interrogator that
     the young man couldn't possibly know where Orac was. 
     Protesting because,  "They'll hurt you next."//

     "There were internal injuries from the crash.  I thought he
was dead."
     "What are you talking about?"
     Avon blinked himself back to the present, wondering how long
he had been lost in the past.  Long enough to draw Blake's
attention.  The rebel leader was looking at him with concern.
     "Blake, you owe me," he said, playing on the other man's
conscience.  "I want a chance to go after Tarrant."
     "I won't allow it.  It could very well be a suicidal
mission.  Grant already lost two men getting this information."
     "It is my right to take that risk."
     "You are too valuable.  What if they capture you?  Think of
what..."
     "I don't intend this to be a one-way trip."  Avon leaned
against Blake's desk, holding the other man's eyes until Blake
broke the contact. 
     "I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this."
     "No, you're not.  I will go with or without your approval. 
And I expect Dayna, Soolin, and Vila will insist on accompanying
me."
     "Vila.  He's a cripple.  He won't be able to help you."
     Avon smiled.  "Vila is still the best lockpick in
intergalactic space.  He'll do this, for old time's sake."
     "Your Tarrant better be worth it.  If he turns out to be a
traitor, I will personally skin him alive."
                               *     *     *
     "What do you mean that Tarrant is alive?"  Vila's startled
exclamation was mirrored in Dayna and Soolin's faces.
     The four of them were gathered in Vila's cottage.  It was
located on the outskirts of a modest-size city, a long flyer hop
from Blake's headquarters on Horizon but near the medical
services that Vila's condition required.
     Avon handed them a packet that contained five still pictures
extracted from the disk.  "I don't know how...but he is.  Blake's
people searched the base when they rescued us.  The Federation
must have already moved Tarrant somewhere else, possibly off
planet."  He rubbed his hands over his eyes.  "He is most
definitely alive."
     "They've had him for...," Vila pressed at his fingers,
calculating the interval since Gauda Prime, "...twenty-three
months."
     Dayna's hands were trembling as she passed the pictures to
Vila.  After a quick glance at the strained face in the top
photograph, Vila shuffled them on to Soolin.  "What are we going
to do?" he asked.
     "I am going to Galinum," Avon said.
     "That's where this Federation Space Systems Complex is,"
Soolin said, fingering the photo of the laboratory.  "Security is
going to be tight."
     Vila wheeled his chair to a cabinet on the far side of the
room.  Inside was a small chest that he carried on his lap back
to where the group was seated about a table.  "It's lucky then
that I've kept my skills sharpened," he said, displaying a set of
lockpicking tools.
     "Damn that Grant."  Dayna stood and paced, her lithe body
taut with anger.  "He's on Galinum, isn't he?"  Avon nodded. 
"Good," she smiled ferally.  "I wonder what he'll look like with
his cock in his mouth."
     "Silly," Vila suggested, trying to ease the tension that
permeated the room.  "When do we leave?"
                               *     *     *
     Arriving on Galinum, they had barely completed a post-flight
check when Grant appeared at the hatch of their ship, seeking
admittance.
     "Hear him out before you get violent," Vila told Dayna as
they waited for the mercenary to make his way to the flight deck.
     "I expected you all to show up," Grant said, pausing
cautiously on the threshold.
     Dayna glided in his direction.  "I'll just bet you did," she
purred.
     Avon put out a hand to stop her while directing his words to
Grant.  "I trust that you haven't solved Blake's problem yet." 
     Three sets of eyes snapped towards Avon as his shipmates
realized why he had insisted on haste.  Soolin voiced what they
all were thinking, "Blake was going to kill Tarrant."
     Grant shrugged noncommittally.  "As I said, I've been
waiting for you."
     He stretched out his right arm so that they could see the
large envelope in his hand.  "Blueprints of the complex," he
explained.  He tapped his head, "And information.  My operative,
Tayl, has done some checking.  Tarrant never leaves the grounds. 
Tayl couldn't find out where his living quarters are located;
you'll have to snatch Tarrant from the lab itself."
     "That's unfortunate," Avon said.  "I had hoped to avoid the
complex entirely, the research facilities in particular."  He
accepted the packet and extracted the contents.  "This will help. 
Thank you."
     "There's something else."  Grant hesitated then continued,
"You'll have to make your move right away."
     "Why is that?" Dayna asked, her stiff voice proclaiming that
she hadn't come close to forgiving him.
     The blond man settled in a chair, rubbing a hand to his jaw. 
"Tayl managed to slip Tarrant an antidote, on the chance that he
was being given psycholucinogenic drugs."
     "Psycholucinogens are used to sustain conditioning," Vila
said in response to the questioning looks on the women's faces.
     "Was he conditioned?" Soolin asked.
     "Apparently so.  Now it's breaking down.  He's been judged
unstable, and they may decide to terminate him."
     "Grant," the rest of Dayna's angry words were drowned under
Avon's, "What gave you the right to interfere?"
     "I did you a favor," Grant said unruffled.  "Now he's likely
to know you're on his side and cooperate with his rescue."  He
pointed to the diagrams still clutched in Avon's hands.  "Shall
we get down to business.  I don't know about the four of you, but
I'd like to get this over with.  I'm as concerned about my
operative as you are about your former pilot."  
                               *     *     *
     At some point in time, he had understood where he was and
why, but now Tarrant's thoughts were reduced to confused
gibberish.
     He drifted endlessly in a void where nothing existed,
including himself.  There was nothing to see, hear, taste or
smell.  Even touch was limited to the mildest sensations.  He was
floating in mid air, arms and legs loosely restrained so that
they were stretched to their full lengths.  There was no up or
down.  No anchor on which to orient his body or his mind.  There
was nothing.  He was buried alive in nothing.
     Panic welled in him.  He wanted to cry out for help but his
lips wouldn't move.
     Time was forever in his vacuous eternity, ticking away with
an unending sameness.  
     Ever so slowly, his anxiety mutated to terror.  Seconds
stretched for years, allowing the terror to build and swell
inside him until it bubbled free as wild hysteria.  He would have
pulled his hair out, clawed and bit at his flesh, done anything
to affirm his existence, if the restraints hadn't prevented it. 
A scream of madness filled his mind.  It shrilled perpetually,
continuing long after any comprehension of it faded.  When only
blankness remained, the voices began, gently reawakening his
consciousness to a stream of propaganda, while his body continued
to float in its barren womb. 

     Tarrant shuddered when awareness returned.  A distasteful
mingling of antiseptics and perfume clogged his nostrils, causing
his nose to twitch.  He could sense hands releasing the padded
cuffs that secured his wrists and ankles, and detaching sensors
from his forehead and chest.  Sharp twinges accompanied the
removal of intravenous and catheter lines.  The tape was already
gone from his mouth.  There was gravity in the room again.
     The interminable night was finally over.
     The patches were lifted from his eyes and light flooded his
optic nerves.  He squinted against the discomforting brightness,
watching an army of fuzzy bodies scurry from the room.  Three
figures remained: his two guards, assigned to protect him, and
the woman who hovered beside the treatment table.
     "How are you feeling?" she asked, curving her hand to his
cheek.
     "I'm fine," he said, sliding from under her caress and
climbing shakily to his feet.
     She draped a robe over his shoulders.  "Are you up to going
to the lab today?"
     "Yes."  He shrugged his arms into the sleeves, tied the
sash, and brushed out of the chamber into the adjacent apartment. 
"Shouldn't I be?"
     "You have been working too hard again," she scolded softly. 
"The director very generously allowed you time off for therapy."
     "I'm fine now," he insisted, afraid that any other response
would send him back to the sensory deprivation chamber.  "How
long was it...this time?"
     "Don't think about that; it's over."
     "How long?"
     "Forty hours." 
     //Forty hours!//  No wonder he felt weak and disoriented.
     Tarrant paused to rub his still light-sensitive eyes, and
her hands reached for him again.  It sent shivers up his spine. 
He turned to her, studying the familiar face, remembering her
expression when she had hooked him up to the chamber's
technology.  She had been sympathetic then, except...except for
the faintest hint of satisfaction far back in her eyes, as if
part of her enjoyed his discomfort and fright.  Or had he
imagined that?
     "Do you love me?" he blurted out.  Surprise, then hurt,
washed across her face, and he was immediately ashamed of his
unkind thoughts.
     "Del, I hope you're teasing.  Of course I love you.  You
mean everything in the world to me."
     "Then why...why?"  His eyes focused on the deprivation
chamber door.
     "Darling, I don't like putting you through that, but it's
necessary for your health.  Like a bad-tasting medicine, the
benefits are worth the temporary unpleasantness."  She squeezed
his hand then gave him a gentle push toward his bedroom.  "Get
freshened up.  I'm going to make your breakfast."
     Confused, he chided himself for his childish behavior,
striking out to punish her for the hateful therapy.  She loved
him and loathed the treatments as much as he did.  It was
inconceivable that she would relish his distress.  He was simply
befuddled.  The therapy sessions always left him feeling insecure
and vulnerable.
     In the privacy of his room, he found himself staring into a
mirror.  "Please help me," he begged, without knowing to whom he
was speaking or why.
                               *     *     *
      "Thanks to Tayl we know exactly where Tarrant will be
today," Grant said as his fingers roamed over the map of the
primary research building.  "He'll be in one of these three labs
on the second floor.  There are troopers posted at the stairwells
and the lift.  You'll have to decide which route to take when you
get inside.  Remember, he has two bodyguards who are with him
constantly."
     "Are we sure Tarrant *is* at work?" Avon asked.  He had been
troubled when they hadn't been able to make their move yesterday
as originally planned.
     "Yes," Grant said patiently.  "Tayl's signal confirmed
that."  Sensing Avon's unspoken question, he added, "I told you
that it wasn't unusual for Tarrant to be absent for a day.  They
were probably reinforcing the conditioning.  Let's hope Tayl has
a chance to administer another dose of antidote."
     Soolin put her hand on Vila's shoulder.  "Are you sure you
are going to be all right?"
     "I only have to unlock the door to the lab building," he
replied, "then Grant will teleport me back to the ship.  It's a
supply door, back in an alley.  There shouldn't be a problem."
     Grant nodded.  "Tayl should be here by then as well.  That
leaves the three of you to pull Tarrant.  As soon as you get into
the open, signal me for teleport."
     "That's it then," Avon said. 
     "Not quite."  Grant looked at each of them in turn.  "If he
won't come with you, you know what you have to do."
     "We'll get him out," Dayna snarled.
                               *     *     *
     The visions were coming again, making it difficult for
Tarrant to concentrate.  He pretended to study the set of figures
displayed on his computer screen, not wanting anyone to suspect. 
If they thought he was ill, they'd schedule him for more therapy.
     He wished the images flashing across his brain would stay
long enough for him to understand them.  Most of them were of
familiar faces that he couldn't identify and strange places that
he'd never been.
     He heard the door to the lab slide open.  Before he could
turn to see who had entered, the explosive sound of weaponry
thundered through the room.  Instinctively, he jerked to his
feet, eyes darting about.  His guards were slumped on the floor. 
A man and woman filled the doorway, the woman's back to him.  The
man was staring his way, his gun pointed at Tarrant's chest.
     "A-Avon," the name spilled from Tarrant's lips as memories
flooded his brain.  In an instant, all of the images made sense
and he understood what had happened to him.  The Federation had
used him cruelly, forcing him to betray both his ideals and his
friends.  He looked at Avon, his stomach lurching with fright. 
"Are you going to kill me?" he whispered.
     "That depends..."
     The wry, familiar voice acted as a stabilizing factor.  It
allowed Tarrant to retain control over the jumble of integrating
memories that were threatening to overwhelm him.  "I'm sorry," he
offered, knowing how terribly inadequate that was when compared
to his corrupt deeds.
     For a long moment, Avon's dark eyes bore into him as if they
were scanning his very brain.  Then what passed for a smile
softened his grim features.  "You'll have time to apologize
later," he said briskly.  "Come on, we could use your help in
fighting our way out of here."
     There was the shrill whine of nearby gunfire.  The soldier
in Tarrant wasn't surprised.  Every trooper in the building was
probably converging on the laboratory.  He detoured toward the
dead guards and snatched one of their guns from the floor.
     "Put this on."  Avon handed him a teleport bracelet and
pushed him after Dayna who was racing across the outer lab to the
door that led to the corridor.
     "The building is shielded," Tarrant warned, clipping the
circle to his wrist on the run.
     "We know," Avon answered briefly then spoke into his
bracelet.  "Soolin, plan B.  We'll meet you at the north
stairwell."
     Not allowing anything to cloud his thoughts, Tarrant focused
on their escape.  Joining Soolin, the four of them blasted a path
to the exit, their actions so coordinated that the two years
apart might have been a dream.  Then they were outside the
building.
     Avon called, "Grant, now."
     There was a sharp, female cry as the teleport effect misted
over them.
                               *     *     *
     "Scanners clear," Vila reported, unbuckling his safety
harness.  To his left, Tarrant appeared frozen over the bank of
instruments.  Avon noticed as well.
     He nodded to Vila then said, "Release control to me,
Tarrant.  I'll put the ship on automatics."
     Vila didn't need a medical degree to recognize the signs of
stress that radiated from Tarrant.  He had held together
remarkably well for a man newly freed of conditioning.  Flying
the ship had helped, keeping him too busy to brood.  Now other
distractions might be required.
     Stretching an arm, Vila thumped Tarrant's back.  "Make
yourself useful, you big lummox.  Get me my hover chair." 
     "Your hover chair?"  Tarrant's eyes scanned down.  "Wh-
what's the matter with your legs?" he asked, stuttering slightly.
     "A spinal injury," Avon answered for him.  After setting new
coordinates and engaging the navigation computer, he fetched the
chair from a locker and unfolded it.
     "On Gauda Prime?" Tarrant guessed.
     "Yes."  Vila slid into the chair that Avon held steady
beside his flight seat.  "I've been getting the best medical
care," he hastened to add.  "They think I might even walk again
some day soon."
     "That's good."  Tarrant stood and paced about the small
flight deck, his eyes often returning to where Vila sat in the
mechanized chair.  "Where are we going?"
     "We can't tell you that...yet," Avon said.  "Not until Blake
clears you."  Avon nodded to the flight controls.  "I know it
would be quite easy for you to figure out our destination, but I
trust that you won't try."
     "I won't.  You have my word."  Tarrant stared into space for
several seconds, his eyes a mix of distraction and confusion,
then said, "You're with Blake?  Then he's alive as well.  I seem
to remember realizing that his bounty hunter routine was an act."
     "That's right," Vila said.  "It was his people who rescued
us.  We looked for you.  We thought you were dead."
     "No," Tarrant sighed deeply.  "I was taken to Galinum.  They
kept me secluded.  I never heard any newscasts.  I didn't know
what had happened to the rest of you."
     "What did they tell you?" Avon asked.  "How did they obtain
your cooperation?"
     "Messed with my mind.  After that, I didn't remember any of
you until recently, until that man..."  He scanned the flight
deck, searching for Tayl.
     "Grant's debriefing him in one of the cabins," Vila
explained. 
     Tarrant flinched, his face going pale.  "Some one is going
to want to question me as well."  He glanced from Vila to Avon,
his eyes pleading.  "I'll tell you everything I know about what
technical information I gave them.  But no drugs, please.  And
don't ask me about anything else."
     "No one will do anything you don't want," Vila assured him,
looking to Avon for confirmation.  The tech's eyes were
impassive.  "You're our friend," Vila added, as much talking to
Avon as to Tarrant.
     "Perhaps you should get some rest," Avon said.  "Vila, show
him to a cabin."
     "We have one ready for you," Vila recalled cheerfully as
Tarrant started for the exit.  "There's a change of clothes and
everything you'll need.  Dayna and Soolin took care of that."
     Tarrant paused in the doorway.  "How is Soolin?"
     "Resting comfortably," Avon reported.  "The wound was only
superficial.  Dayna cleaned and dressed it."
     "I guess I was too busy flying the ship to notice much of
what was going on," Tarrant said, tugging at the long curls that
brushed against his neck.  There was a desperate smile on his
face.  "I think everything is beginning to catch up with me.  A
nap might be a good idea."
     "Then stop blocking the door," Vila said, "so I can get by
and show you where to go."  He powered up his chair and set it in
motion.
                               *     *     *
     "I hate this contraption," Vila grumbled two days later as
he maneuvered the hoverchair onto the flight deck.  "It almost
dumped me on my head a minute ago.  I'll be glad to get back home
to my wheelchair."
     Dayna rested her hand on the chair's high back.  "But this
is much more versatile," she said.  "If you'd practice with
it..."
     "I'd be even more crippled than I am," Vila contended.  "It
doesn't like me."  His eyes darted about the small room.  "Avon
isn't back yet?"
     Dayna shook her head.  "He must still be chatting with Blake
on the secured communication channel.  What about the others?"
     "Soolin promised to keep Tarrant in the galley so the rest
of us could talk.  I checked Grant's cabin," Vila smiled slyly,
remembering his surreptitious entry and exit, "they're both
sleeping."
     "So that only leaves...Avon," Dayna's voice rose as the
computer tech brushed into the room.  "What did Blake say?"
     "What I predicted he would say.  He won't allow Tarrant on
the base without a full debriefing, including a psych
evaluation."
     "Tarrant's already told us everything about the status of
the teleport project," Dayna said.  "He's worn himself out
putting all of that data into the computer."
     "But he refuses to talk about how they conditioned him,"
Vila said glumly.  "And Blake won't trust him without having that
information."
     "As well as a security clearance," Avon added.  "He won't
issue that until after a session with Orac, conducted under the
influence of truth drugs."
     Dayna frowned, tapping her fingers on the flight console. 
"We trust him.  That should be enough."
     "I don't blame Blake," Avon said.  "He is showing the same
caution that I would were I in his shoes."
     "Where does that leave us?" Vila asked.  "We can't force
Blake's interrogation and tests on Tarrant.  We'd be no better
than the Federation."
     Avon caught Vila's eyes and held them.  "If Tarrant were
allowed time to recover first, he might be more amenable to the
necessary security procedures.  We could send him home with you
for now."
     "Me?  Babysitting a former hotshot pilot with cobwebs in his
brain.  Don't I have troubles enough of my own?"
     "It's a wonderful idea," Dayna applauded.  "I could teach
Tarrant how to administer your therapy.  That would spare Soolin
and me our daily trips.  And you wouldn't miss any sessions when
we're off planet."
     "We could hire a thera...  Oh, all right," Vila capitulated. 
He had known as soon as Avon had suggested the solution that he
wouldn't refuse.  He wasn't even sure why he had made a token
protest.  Having Tarrant about wouldn't be so bad.  He would
enjoy the company.  He might even instruct the pilot on the finer
points of blackjack, then beat the pants off him.
                               *     *     *
     "Strip blackjack?" Tarrant questioned dubiously.
     "I've already won your wages for the next ten years," Vila
said, "and you don't even have a job.  We have to do something to
make the game interesting.  This will provide a tangible reward."
     "I don't consider being treated to a peek at your naked body
a reward."
     Vila grinned smugly.  "You aren't going to win anyway.  And
I think it would be fun to see you in your skivvies."
     "I'm not wearing skivvies," Tarrant said, gesturing to his
sleepwear and robe.  "Oh, very well."  He smiled indulgently.  "I
suppose you deserve to amuse yourself at my expense.  I know it
can't be easy living with me."
     "Don't go getting gloomy."
     "I'm not, merely stating a fact."  Tarrant held out the
cards for Vila to cut.  "I'll deal."
     "Do you want to talk about it?" Vila asked, taking a peek at
his down card.
     "No."
     "You were screaming," Vila said softly, remembering the
shrill sounds that had pulled him awake.
     "It was a dream."
     "You have a lot of those."
     "Only when I'm asleep.  I won't have one now.  Do you want
another card or not?"
     "Hit me."
     Tarrant flipped up the deuce of diamonds.
     "Blackjack," Vila yelled, exposing his hidden card.
     "Huh?  What?  Vila, you're crazy.  You don't ask for another
card when you already have nineteen points."
     "It worked.  I guess you lose your robe."
     Tarrant dropped the remainder of the deck onto the small
table.  "I've changed my mind.  I don't want to play."  Jumping
to his feet, he padded over to one of the windows and stared into
the dark.
     "You're a poor..." Vila bit back his teasing when he noticed
that Tarrant was visibly trembling.  After some tricky
maneuvering, he worked his way from behind the table and wheeled
to where his shipmate stood.
     "I don't need anything," Tarrant said, aware of Vila behind
him.  "Go to bed.  I'm sorry to have disturbed you."
     "I don't mind.  I want to help.  Why won't you let me?  Or
someone else, if you'd rather?  A psychotherapist?"
     "I can work through it myself."  Tarrant turned, his face a
controlled mask of Alpha arrogance.  "It takes time.  Like your
injury, Vila.  Healing can't happen overnight."
     "I'm not trying to do it myself."  Vila edged his chair
forward until he was bumping against Tarrant's legs.  "You always
called me a coward, Tarrant, but you're a bigger one.  That's why
you won't talk to us, because you're afraid to admit to any
weaknesses.  Do you think being conditioned is something to be
ashamed of?  You couldn't have prevented it."
     "I know that."
     "Then talk about it.  Stop trying to hold it all inside."
     "The nightmare...," Tarrant paused and licked his lips.  "I
dreamt I was back in the sensory deprivation chamber.  It was as
if I didn't exist in there.  They used it to lower my resistance
whenever they wanted to reinforce their lies."
     "It must have been pretty horrible," Vila said, basing his
estimate more on Tarrant's strained appearance than on the little
information he had shared.
     "It was."  Tarrant inhaled a deep breath, visibly forcing
himself to relax.  "But that wasn't the worst."
     "What was the worst?"
     "Some...something private.  Nothing you need to know. 
Nothing that Blake needs to know.  I wish he'd give me something
to do.  This sitting around is...is..."
     "You don't like my company?" Vila quipped.
     Tarrant blushed.  "That's not it at all.  You've been more
than kind and patient.  But I'm bored.  It's not as if you need
me.  You do remarkably well for a..."  His blush deepened.
     "...cripple," Vila finished.  "I don't mind saying it.  It's
true."
     "But maybe not for long.  Your legs are getting stronger."
     "Yeah," Vila said, trying not to sound discouraged.  "I
managed two whole steps yesterday.  Come on," he tugged at
Tarrant's sleeve, "if we aren't going to play cards, let's get
back to bed."
                               *     *     *
     "That was wonderful," Dayna said, patting her belly
contentedly.
     "Well, it's wonderful to have you back safe and sound," Vila
countered.  "I worry when Blake sends the three of you off on his
hairbrained schemes."
     "This was one of Avon's hairbrained schemes," Soolin
revealed, "and Blake, himself, came with us."
     "Oh?"  Vila cocked his head, curious to hear more.
     Avon slanted a glance at Tarrant.  "It's nothing that
exciting," he insisted.
     Tarrant picked up on what Avon wasn't saying.  He stood and
started gathering the dishes.  "I'll clean up," he offered.  "Why
don't you take Vila out on the deck.  He should be getting some
sun on these beautiful spring days."
     "So tell me what you're up to?" Vila asked when they were
basking in the warm air.
     "I don't know."  Avon peered through the glass doors to
where they could see Tarrant diligently working in the kitchen
alcove.
     "He's not going to listen.  He knows he's not supposed to
hear.  That's why he volunteered to do the dishes.  Come on,
Avon.  We trust him even if Blake doesn't."
     "I suppose so."
     Dayna stretched her legs, propping them on an empty bench. 
"Don't mind him, Vila.  He's tired and a tad cranky."
     "He's been up all day and night working on his latest
project," Soolin added.
     "Which is?" Vila asked impatiently.
     "We went to Sardos," Dayna explained.
     "I remember that place.  Tall and Toothy forced me to go
there with him.  He stuck a gun in my face.  That was before he
nearly got me killed fighting some hardened Federation types. 
And before Servalan tried to rape me.  I was lucky to get out of
that one with my virginity intact."
     Soolin giggled.  "Nothing quite so exciting happened this
time.  Avon did salvage what was left of the replicating
equipment."
     "After we left, the natives revolted against that band of
Federation thugs," Avon reported.  "Then they smashed most of the
duplicating machinery, hoping it would make their planet less
attractive to future invasions."
     "Which worked," Dayna said.  "Servalan returned, with a
sizable fleet to back her, but there was nothing left of
interest."
     "Do you think you can get any of it operational?" Vila asked
Avon.
     "It's too soon to tell."
     "You haven't heard the best," Soolin said.  "The natives had
hidden every scrap of debris and weren't about to part with it,
but the Great Communicator stepped in."
     Dayna stood and puffed out her chest.  In a deep voice, she
recited, "Remember, I'm not doing this just for myself.  It will
be to your benefit to have the tyrannical Federation overthrown. 
As long as they exist, they are a threat to every man, woman, and
child in our galaxy.  Considering your past involvement with
them, I'd think you'd realize how very corrupt they are.  We are
friends by virtue of having a mutual enemy."
     "So they gave it to him, of course," Soolin finished,
applauding Dayna's speech.  "It was lucky he came along.  Avon
wasn't getting anywhere."
     "Blake has his uses."  Avon pushed to his feet and brushed a
smudge of powdered sugar from his green suede jacket.  "We should
be getting back."
     "So soon?"
     "I have a lot to do."
     Dayna put her hand to Soolin's shoulder.  "And we have an
early morning."  She looked at Vila.  "We're off again, but we
should be back in a week."
     "We'll have another dinner then," Vila proposed.
     Dayna chucked him under his chin.  "You do know the way to a
woman's heart, Vila."
     "Tarrant helped."
     "Then we better thank him as well."  Soolin opened the glass
door with one hand and tugged at Dayna with her other.
     While the women bid good-bye to Tarrant, Avon leaned against
the railing, gazing out over the countryside.  "How is everything
here?"
     "I'm managing a couple of steps now and then.  I saw the
doctor two days ago and he's pleased with my progress."  Vila
swung his chair and gazed into the house.  "Tarrant, well, he's
maybe starting to open up.  I'm not sure.  He's a bit bored.  If
you could..."
     "I've been trying to get Blake to spare a flyer.  It would
give both of you more freedom."
     "That's a great idea.  I wish I had thought of it.  On the
ship, when he was piloting, he seemed almost normal."  Vila
swirled the chair around again, to face Avon.  "I'm glad he's
here.  I think we're good for each other.  He feels sorry for me. 
I feel sorry for him.  It spares us both a lot of self pity." 
                               *     *     *
     //Not again!// Vila thought as a sharp cry pierced his
pleasant dream.  He groaned and rolled over, resenting the
nocturnal disturbance.
     Tarrant's violent nightmares woke him two to three times a
week, regular as clockwork, ever since the pilot had arrived on
Horizon.  Lately, Vila had tried to ignore them.  He'd bury his
head in his pillow to muffle the sound and return to sleep.
     But tonight he was more than a little annoyed.  To have his
very intimate dream fantasy interrupted, when he didn't have any
other outlet for his sexual frustrations, didn't bode well for
his young housemate.
     Vila almost tumbled to the floor in his haste to slide into
his wheelchair.  "Damn you, Tarrant," he cursed breathlessly
while wriggling his body upright in the leather seat.
     He barreled out of his room and clattered down the hall, not
trying to conceal his mad dash in the least.  "When I get my
hands on that scrawny neck...I'll, I'll..."  He spun into a tight
right turn and speeded into the open door of Tarrant's bed
chamber.  The room was bathed in the soft light from a small
lamp.  Tarrant never slept in the dark these days. 
     The pilot was thrashing about on the bed, still gripped in
his nightmare.  "N-no.  Yreyhing.  Shmeem.  Nimymo-er. 
Bishbishbish."  Tarrant's lips were frantically twisting about
words that were coming out in an unintelligible garble. 
"Eevmeoh."  On the last syllable, his voice cracked and Vila
could take no more.  
     "Wake up."  He pummeled Tarrant's shoulder, attempting to
rouse him.
     Tarrant fought back, his arm lashing out in the direction of
Vila's face.  Vila ducked in the nick of time and prudently
retreated to a safe distance.
     "Wake up, you sorry excuse for a curly-headed mammal.  WAKE
U-U-UP!"
     In the midst of Vila's loud yodel, Tarrant stiffened then
went limp.  His eyes opened, revealing a pool of tears. 
"Nonononono," he moaned in soft desolation, apparently unaware of
Vila's presence.
     "It was only a dream," Vila said quietly, backing still
further away in case Tarrant resented the intrusion on his
privacy.
     But the young man's voice was emotionless when he whispered,
"Vila?"  His hands rushed to his face, brushing the moisture
away.
     "Who else?" Vila asked, coasting over to the bed.  "Who else
do you wake up night after night after night?"
     "I'm sorry."
     "You should be.  I was having this wonderful dream
and...and..."  To his horror, Vila felt tears welling in his own
eyes.  "Damn you, Tarrant, the least you could do is let me have
my dreams."
     "You're crying."  Tarrant's hand reached out and smoothed
across the damp trail on Vila's cheek.  He gulped back his own
sobs and asked, "What were you dreaming about, Vila?"
     "Something more pleasurable than you were."
     Tarrant chuckled bleakly.  "That wouldn't be hard."  He sat
up and stretched, the lean muscles in his arms rippling in the
warm glow from the lamp.  "You're not going to tell me then?" he
queried in a voice that was close to normal.
     "You don't tell me your dreams, except that once.  Was it
the same one?  What did they do to you, Tarrant, in that
deprivation thing?"
     "Scared me senseless then played with my mind.  Very
professionally of course.  The psychostrategist who designed the
program is one of the best.  All of the lies that I so wanted to
believe.  That was the worst.  I wanted to believe them.  I was
such a cooperative subject.  They probably didn't even need the
chamber."  His head drooped, his composure slipping, as he
continued, "Do you think she knew that?  Were my hours in that
tortured void simply some added bonus, devised to nourish her
sadistic streak?"
     "Who?  Who are you talking about?"
     "No one."  Tarrant pushed his sorrow back, replaced it with
a smile.  "There, I've shared part of my dream.  Now tell me
about yours."
     "All right," Vila said, deciding openness on his part might
encourage further disclosures from Tarrant.  "I was dreaming that
Dayna and Soolin were ravaging me.  Their hands and their mouths
were all over my body.  And mine were all over theirs."  Vila
sighed.  "Soolin's thighs.  They're marvelous, generous, smooth. 
And Dayna's breasts, twin firm peaks.  But when you take them in
your mouth, they are as soft and sweet as cotton candy."
     "That's quite an imagination you have.  Or are there things
you haven't been telling me?"
     "Oh, there are things all right," Vila said gruffly, upset
by Tarrant's frivolous teasing when he had intended to be taken
seriously.  "Do you know how long it's been since I had sex?  Do
you know how fucking long it's been since I fucked?  How long
since I could even practice self gratification?"  
     Tarrant shook his head, his eyes betraying confusion as he
recognized an agitation that he hadn't expected in Vila's voice.
     "Since before bloody Gauda Prime, Del Tarrant.  Since before
then."
     "Join the club," Tarrant said softly.
     "But...but...huh...haven't you even?"  Vila curled his hand
around an imaginary object and slithered it up and down. 
     "No.  At the lab, the drugs they were giving me apparently
inhibited any sexual desires.  Since then I simply haven't been
interested."
     "More fool, you."  Vila twirled his chair, preparing to
leave.  Everything was getting way out of hand.  He hadn't
intended to make Tarrant privy to his distressed longings.  In a
way, he could understand the younger man's reluctance to bare his
soul.  It was hard to reveal one's most tortured secrets.
     He was attempting to jut his chair over the small rise at
the threshold when he felt his progress impeded.  He turned to
see Tarrant grasping the handles of his wheelchair, preventing it
from moving.
     "I don't understand," the pilot said.  "You've recovered
feeling in your legs.  You can even walk on them for short
distances now.  And you seem to have full control over your
eliminations.  Why can't you...well, you know?"
     "I'm not sure.  The doctors aren't sure.  Do you mind?" 
Vila rocked his chair.  "I don't think I want to talk about it
anymore."
     "I don't mind but, Vila..."  Tarrant pulled the chair back
beside his bed.
     "What are you doing?" Vila demanded.
     Tarrant released his hold on Vila's wheelchair and crawled
under his covers.  "Would you like to share my bed for the rest
of the night?  I don't mean anything passionate.  But maybe we
could both use a little closeness.  I think I could."
     "Share your bed?"  //Tarrant!//  Del Tarrant, young bully
extraordinaire, wanting to be cuddled up next to the likes of
professed Delta coward Vila Restal.  Space Captain Tarrant
admitting to a vulnerability.
     Vila wondered if he was still dreaming.
     All right, they'd grown into some type of friendship during
their rebel days.  And their mutual miseries had enhanced that
sense of camaraderie.  But to share a bed with someone who was
emotionally a complete stranger?
     "Vila?"
     Tarrant looked perfectly composed, if a trifle impatient, as
if he didn't care whether Vila acquiesced or refused as long as
he made a decision quickly.  But behind that emotionless facade,
Vila sensed that a rejection might hurt Tarrant. 
     Vila swiveled his chair to where he could lean on the bed
for support as he eased to his feet.  "I'm coming," he said. 
"I'm coming."
                              *     *     * 
     Tarrant adjusted his arms slightly, drawing Vila closer.  It
was very nice having a warm body nestled in his embrace.  Even
one as stiff as Vila's.  Well, stiff every place but where it
counted.  "Is everything all right?" he asked.  "You aren't
relaxing."
     "I'm still getting used to being in your bed," Vila said,
wriggling nervously.  "I never expected this of you."
     "It's not something I do every day or with anyone who
happens along.  Actually, I've never done it before, but I like
it.  It's rather nice, sharing a bed without the pressure of some
grand sexual performance."
     "I suppose."  Vila's voice was morose.
     "It might be different if I wanted to but couldn't...like
you.  But I don't even want to anymore."
     "You're young to take up celibacy."
     Tarrant didn't want to dwell on himself or the reason behind
his emotional depletion.  He stroked his hand across Vila's hair. 
"I think it will come back for you, Vila, in time.  Your body has
suffered a severe and abiding trauma."  He chuckled lightly. 
"And it isn't as if you've been exposed to many potential sexual
partners lately.  Dreaming about Dayna and Soolin is one thing,
but can you actually picture yourself in bed with one of them?"
     Vila laughed at the thought, his body relaxing perceptibly. 
"It would be quite...uh...strenuous and challenging.  Those are
ladies who like to be in charge.  I don't envy Grant, I can tell
you that."
     "Exactly," Tarrant said, happy that he'd lightened Vila's
mood.  "As soon as you find some soft, shapely, pliant little
thing, you'll perk up in no time.  Perk up..." Tarrant repeated.
     "I hope so," Vila said drowsily, missing the pun.  He
snuggled his face into Tarrant's neck.  "I hope so."
                               *     *     *
     In Vila's opinion, Blake often took his rebellion too
seriously.  It was easier to see that now, as an outsider looking
in.  "You know, if you don't take a break occasionally," he
warned, looking to where the larger man was hunched over his
computer terminal, "you're going to pop a blood vessel and spare
the Federation a lot of grief."
     "Indeed," Blake murmured, distractedly, as if he hadn't
heard Vila's actual words and was replying with polite vagary to
a voice that was apparently directed his way.
     "Indeed."  Vila returned his attention to the box in front
of him, then shook his head.  He'd been trying to jimmy the lock
since early morning.  He needed a diversion whether Blake did or
not.  "I'm going to get something to eat," he announced,
releasing the catch that held the hoverchair in a fixed position.
     "Eat, ah yes."  Blake stored what he was working on and shut
down his computer.
     "You're coming with me?"
     Blake smiled.  "Even revolutionaries need occasional
sustenance."
     "I guess..."
     "Besides," Blake pushed to his feet, rolling his shoulders
to get the kinks out, "we don't get to spend much time together. 
How are you coming with the lock?"
     "It's definitely an entirely new mechanism," Vila reported,
heading for the door.  "I'm not surprised your people couldn't
open it.  Based on what I haven't accomplished today, I can tell
you that it could take me up to two more days.  Maybe I should
take it home with me.  Work on it there."
     "I'm not sure about that.  We have no idea what's inside. 
Possibly something quite valuable.  I don't like having it off
the base."
     "Or near Tarrant."  Vila said, sliding into the almost ever
present line at the base cafeteria.  "Blake, let's take our food
back to your office.  I'd like to talk to you, in private."
     "What did you want to talk about?" Blake asked later,
spreading a napkin over his lap.
     "About Tarrant.  He's climbing the walls with nothing to do. 
And I know you could use him.  You're wasting some pretty
valuable assets, not taking advantage of his skills.  He almost
had a teleport worked out all on his own."
     "I wish he wasn't quite so precocious," Blake said. 
"Eventually, the Federation scientists are going to complete the
teleport.  Orac is sure of that.  Tarrant gave them all of the
basics."  He shrugged, not wanting to dwell on that grim
inevitability.  "I'll admit that even Avon was impressed, that
Tarrant could take it so far without Orac."
     "Del Tarrant was never stupid.  Impetuous, headstrong,
insolent, egotistical, but never stupid.  He told me how he came
by all that knowledge.  The silly sod spent his night watches
studying.  He'd work with Zen and Orac, then Dorian's files as
well.  Also, the Federation had what was left of Scorpio.  That
gave him an advantage."
     "I should have planted charges in your ship," Blake
admitted.  "I was hoping to salvage it for the rebellion."
     "You can't dwell on the past, but you can think of now.  You
need good pilots, and Tarrant's one of the best.  Ask Avon if you
don't believe me."
     "Vila, it's Tarrant that you should be trying to persuade. 
If he'd agree to my security procedures, he could be flying one
of my starships as early as next week."
     "I know."  Vila twirled his fork through a mound of pasta. 
"I think his reluctance has something to do with Servalan."
     "Servalan?"  Blake's interest perked.  Servalan was still
masquerading as Commissioner Sleer and slowly climbing her way
back to power.
     "Did anyone ever tell you about Virn?"
     "Virn."  Blake rolled the word around on his tongue. 
"Virn...Virn...  Oh yes, the place with the preservative in the
sand.  We've decided there's no way to utilize that."
     "Tarrant said the same.  He and Servalan were trapped
together on Virn.  The sand intended to use them for breeding
purposes."
     "Oh?"  Blake's eyes rose to meet Vila's.  "No one told me
that."
     "There was no need before.  But I think Servalan is why
Tarrant won't agree to a debriefing.  I think she was involved in
his conditioning, and he's embarrassed about that.  I imagine his
feelings for her are pretty ambiguous...after Virn."
     "That might explain his reluctance, but it doesn't excuse
it.  I can't take the risk of having him here.  There's too much
at stake."
     "I was afraid you'd say that," Vila said glumly.
     "Understand my position.  Tarrant isn't your average rebel
recruit.  He's a former Space Command officer and a member of a
very influential family.  You know that the relatives of military
deserters are usually executed?"  Vila nodded.  "Tarrant's family
was exempted from that punishment, because of the power they
wield, collectively and as individuals.  You'll find Tarrants in
important positions throughout the Federation regime."
     "And you have a personal grudge against one of them," Vila
noted.
     "Yes.  Dev Tarrant."  For a minute, Blake's eyes grew dark
and foreboding.  Vila sensed the rebel leader was contemplating
revenge should he ever get his hands on the man who had betrayed
his friends.
     "It's not only Dev," Blake said, shaking himself out of his
musings.  "It's all of them.  Tarrant's mother is..."  A beeping
on his communicator distracted him.  "Excuse me."  
     He listened intently for several minutes, then said into the
transmitter, "Just a second, I have someone here."  He glanced
apologetically at Vila.  "I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to
allow me some privacy."
     "No problem."  Vila settled his tray on his lap and prepared
to leave.  "Why don't you send that box to my quarters?  It would
probably be better for both of us if I worked on it elsewhere. 
We distract each other."
                               *     *     *
     Tarrant was waiting in the yard when the flyer touched down. 
He lifted Vila from the passenger seat and deposited him in his
wheelchair.
     "You were gone longer than I expected," he said, pushing
Vila clear so that the flyer could take off.
     "That lock proved to be a challenge."  Vila waved farewell
to his pilot.  "But I was up to it."
     "How are the others?" Tarrant asked, anxious for news and
conversation after his four days of isolation.
     "Avon, Soolin, and Dayna weren't there."
     "You didn't get any therapy then.  We better take care of
that right away."
     "No-o-o," Vila wailed.  "I didn't miss that, the slapping
and wrenching and agony."
     "That are all working," Tarrant countered without sympathy. 
Besides, he could tell that Vila was only feigning distress, part
of his effort to maintain his whiny image.
     Vila continued to fuss as Tarrant settled him on the padded
table and began working at his muscles.  He started with a light
massage, then moved on to the exercises designed to restore
Vila's leg strength and mobility.
     As he bent and flexed the right leg, Tarrant noticed that
Vila had finally grown silent.  He was lying contentedly, eyes
closed and his lips curled in a small smile.  Tarrant grinned
happily.  He had missed the other man more than he would have
thought possible.  It wasn't only that Vila's therapy was the
single, current purpose in his life, but the distraction of
Vila's babbling, games, and cooking projects kept the murky
shadows at bay.
     "Did you find any blackjack partners on the base?" Tarrant
asked.
     "Uh-uh.  Didn't have time.  Wish I had.  I could have come
back a rich man.  What did you do while I was gone?"
     "Nothing much.  I looked through that seed catalogue."
     Vila's eyes opened, his head tilting up.  "I'm glad you
reminded me about that.  We have to send in our order.  I intend
to have a large garden this summer, vegetables and flowers." 
Vila's face grew puckish, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he
finished, "Now that I have someone to do the work."
     "So I'm your intelligent menial.  That must be a first."
     "I'm teasing."
     Tarrant thumped Vila's arm.  "I know that.  I think having a
garden is a good idea.  I like to keep busy."
     Vila's expression sobered.  "I talked to Blake about you."
     "Turn over," Tarrant instructed, glad to have the excuse to
avoid Vila's pity-filled eyes.  "I appreciate your effort, but we
both know that Blake is doing the right thing, not trusting me."
     "That's what he said.  He said I should be working on
convincing you to allow the security check."
     "I can't."
     "Look, Tarrant, I...I..."  Vila sounded a tad wary.  "I told
Blake about Servalan.  It's silly, allowing that little affair to
stand between you and the adventurous life that you crave."
     "Servalan?"  Tarrant didn't understand.  "What has she to do
with anything?"
     "She's why you won't talk about your conditioning," Vila
said.  "I figured it out.  You're embarrassed because you slept
with her and probably still had feelings for her, and that's why
you called yourself a //cooperative subject//.  And it's probably
why you aren't interested in sex.  She manipulated you again."
     "You're done."  Tarrant backed from the table and grabbed a
towel to wipe the massage cream from his hands.
     Vila twisted about and sat up, a frown creasing his face. 
"You won't talk about it?  Not even knowing I already know?"
     "It's much more complicated than you realize," Tarrant said,
skirting the issue so as neither to affirm nor deny Vila's
suspicions.
     "Stupid, prideful Alphas," Vila muttered.  "All right,
Tarrant, stay here and be my //intelligent menial//.  See if I
care.  You'd probably just go off and get yourself killed if you
were working for Blake anyway.  I should be glad that you're here
where it's safe."
                               *     *     *
     Summer was radiantly obvious in the long days and the steady
beating of the sun on the earth.  A lush wildness of vegetation
had sprung up in the area surrounding Vila's cottage.  In the
midst of the untamed greenery was one cultivated plot, the garden
where Tarrant now toiled.
     Vila supervised from a comfortable recliner on the patio, an
iced fruit drink within easy reach.  In contrast with Tarrant's
head to toe outfit that included a large brimmed hat to protect
his face, Vila was scantly clad in a pair of shorts, soaking up
the rays that beamed down on them.
     Watching his housemate hack at a large weed, Vila smiled
lazily.  Tarrant had thrived under the burden of daily manual
labor, gardening as well as his other project.  Avon had finally
coaxed a small, antiquated flyer out of Blake.  It needed some
attention, which Tarrant happily provided.  He hoped to have it
ready for short hops in a couple of weeks.
     By the end of summer, they'd have an abundance of fresh
produce and a working transport.  They could flit off on regular
excursions to nearby spots of interest.  Spots of interest such
as the casino in the capital, where Vila expected to enjoy some
very profitable entertainment.  
     If they were both here then...  
     Vila's legs were progressing at a slow, steady pace.  He was
using the wheelchair less and less as his muscles strengthened
and his balance steadied.  In a month or two, he might be fully
involved with the rebellion.
     Tarrant might be as well.  He slept more soundly, the
terrible nightmares only evident on rare occasions.  With the
pilot's stress levels falling, Vila thought it might be time to
badger him into undergoing debriefing.
     Not that Vila wouldn't have preferred living here, tending a
garden in peace.  He wasn't all that anxious to return to a life
of danger.  But he owed Blake, who had so generously supported
him, including monstrous medical bills, during his long
convalescence.
     Vila resolutely set future concerns aside so that he could
best savor the tranquility of the summer day.  He closed his
eyes, lulled by the warmth and the steady //chop-chop// of
Tarrant's hoe, and fell asleep.
     He woke sometime later to find Tarrant perched on the
railing, grinning at him.  The pilot looked incredibly young with
the smattering of freckles that now covered his toothy face. 
Noting the glass in Tarrant's hand, Vila reached for his own
beverage and grabbed empty air.
     "That's my berryfrost you're drinking," he accused.
     "And not very frosty," Tarrant complained.  "You might have
kept it chilled for me."
     "You're big enough to get your own," Vila grumbled good
naturedly.  He struggled to his feet and stumbled toward the open
door.  "I guess I'll have to fix myself another since a certain
party appropriated mine."
     Tarrant followed at his heels.  "I've had enough sun for the
day," he decided.  "I'm going to shower."
     "You better hurry," Vila said, noting the time.  "That movie
we wanted to see will be on in fifteen minutes.  I'll set out
those munchies I made earlier."
     With the two of them flopped companionably side by side on
the sofa, legs propped on a table that was also replete with
refreshments, Vila thought the only things missing in his life
were Avon, Soolin, Dayna, and sex.  
     The gorgeous actress on the screen was a poignant reminder
of the last item on his list.  If not even her voluptuous figure
could stir his body into action, he might have to resign himself
to a life of continence.
     Stealing a glance at Tarrant, Vila wondered if the younger
man's natural urges had ever returned.  They hadn't talked about
it again, after that one night when they'd also shared Tarrant's
bed.  The fondling had been nice.  While not making up for the
other, it had offered some very tender moments.
     But Tarrant had never suggested repeating the experience and
Vila didn't think it was his place to make an overture.
     Abruptly, the leggy blond disappeared from the screen to be
replaced by the Newsbrief Logo.  "What!" Vila shouted his
disappointment.  "We were just going to find out who the murderer
was."
     "Maybe they'll show us the end after their announcement,"
Tarrant said, not sounding hopeful.  "I wonder what startling
development couldn't wait until the regularly scheduled vidnews."
     An officious face filled the screen.  "The Federation Space
Systems Research Center announced completion of its teleport
project early today.  We take you now to a taped...
     Vila's head jerked to his right, anxious to see how Tarrant
was reacting to the news.  The pilot's freckles stood out
prominently against skin drained of blood.
     "...announcement made by the project's director, Academician
Brya Tarrant."
     For half a minute, Tarrant stared hard at the monitor, then
he cupped a hand to his mouth and dashed from the room.
     "Tarrant," Vila called as his eyes strayed back to the
screen.
     "...the effort of many dedicated workers, we are pleased
to..."
     Vila muted the sound, studying the woman now gracing the
screen.  It was impossible to guess her age.  Her short-cropped
hair was silver, but her face unlined.  Piercing blue eyes, as
cold as a winter frost, dominated her features.
     From the bathroom down the hall came the sound of vomiting.
     Vila stood, torn, his hands fingering the vidscreen controls 
The woman, Brya Tarrant, was gone, replaced by the original
newscaster.  Vila's nervous fingers accidentally flicked the
sound back on.
     "...speculate a Vandu Prize nomination would not be out of
the question.  Academician Tarrant's previous honors include the
prestigious H. M. Bently Award for her work in the field of
psychotherapy, two separate Fredonia grants..."
     //Psychotherapy...//
     Tarrant reappeared, his eyes devoid of life, moving at a
steady clip.  He brushed between Vila and the vidscreen as if
neither existed.
     "Where are you going?" Vila asked when Tarrant started out
the patio door.  "Where are you going?"
     Vila turned back to the screen.  To his consternation, the
movie had returned.  He wasn't going to learn anything more from
that source.
     What had Tarrant said that long-ago night?  Desperately,
Vila searched his memory.  Something about the psychostrategist
who had worked him over had been one of the best.  Mention of a
woman with a sadistic streak.  //What if that woman hadn't been
Servalan?  Had been some relative of Tarrant's?//
     A grating sounded briefly from the yard.
     The flyer drive.
     But it wasn't near repaired.
     Moving as quickly as his still tottery legs would allow,
Vila lurched from the room.  He arrived outside to see Tarrant
bent over the drive housing, poking at the innards.  As Vila
gripped the rail and stumbled down the three steps to level
ground, Tarrant finished and slammed the cover shut.
     Vila forced his legs to move faster, reached the flyer and
flung open the passenger door as Tarrant triggered the starter. 
"What are you doing?" the thief shouted above the unnaturally
loud noise from the drive unit.
     Grim faced, Tarrant yelled, "Taking it up for a test flight. 
Get out of here."  Vila hesitated, refusing to be intimidated by
Tarrant's sullen scowl.  "Get out," the pilot repeated.
     "In a minute," Vila compromised.  "One question."  The flyer
started to wobble as if Tarrant was going to take off with Vila
half in and half out.  "Who was that woman?"
     "My mother!"
     The flyer lifted from the ground with Vila scrambling into
the passenger seat.  Something inside of him warned that this was
possibly a suicide flight and he had just signed his death
warrant.  But what else had he been supposed to do?  Maybe his
presence would force Tarrant to be cautious.  Then again, maybe
it wouldn't...
     The flyer banked sharply to the left, barely clearing the
trees at the east end of the clearing.  Vila fumbled his safety
harness across his chest, then gripped the armrests.  It rivaled
the final moments on Scorpio for the wildest ride in his life. 
Tarrant put the flyer through maneuvers that Vila was sure it was
never designed to perform.  In addition to the unhealthy rattling
of the drive, the superstructure groaned and squeaked, clearly
protesting the rough handling.
     Tarrant increased their speed and the treetops turned into a
blur beneath them.  Ahead were the jagged peaks of the Krizanza
Range.  Vila grimaced.  "Tarrant, let's go home," he yelled. 
"This thing feels like it is going to fall apart around us."
     "You shouldn't have come."
     "I know that.  Drop me at home," Vila pleaded, "and take it
up again yourself."  Not that he intended to allow that to
happen, not until Tarrant had calmed considerably.
     "No.  Look."
     Vila squinted his eyes to see what Tarrant was referring to. 
Ahead, clouds hung over the foothills, pelting them with rain. 
     "No.  Over there."  Tarrant freed a hand to clutch Vila's
chin, turning his face to the left.  "See, a rainbow."
     Yes, hanging at one of the end of the storm was a curved
line of color.  "I've seen it.  Let's go home now."
     "We can't," Tarrant said, not sounding entirely rational. 
"We have to find the treasure.  You've heard about the treasure
at the end of the rainbow."
     The flyer was moving into the storm now, lurching in its
turbulent winds.
     "Whatever she did, whatever happened, it isn't worth this,"
Vila said.  "Damn it, we're both too young to die."
     Suddenly, it was as if they were in a lift and the support
cables had snapped.  The flyer plunged down at a high rate of
speed.  Vila screamed.  Tarrant had both hands on the controls
now, fighting them with every ounce of his strength.
                               *     *     *
     Vila lay face down in the grass, sobbing softly.  Tarrant
sat cross-legged next to him.
     "I'm sorry," he said with genuine regret.  "I don't know
what came over me.  Seeing her, I guess.  Finding out she was in
charge confirmed her betrayal.  I didn't want to hurt you.  Never
meant to hurt you."
     "I'm more angry than hurt," Vila rasped out, his hand
pressed to the bruised and bleeding lump on his forehead. 
     "You have a right to be.  What I did was stupid."  Tarrant
pushed up onto his knees.  "I'll work on the flyer.  Get it
running again.  We'll be home before dark."
     "And Avon's going to be converted to Blake's idealism." 
Tarrant felt a tugging at his tunic.  "Sit down.  That flyer
isn't going anywhere ever again."
     Tarrant stared at the crumpled wreck.  "I suppose not."  He
heaved a sigh.  "At least it didn't explode."
     "No thanks to you."
     "Yes, well...I'll get you patched up and activate the
emergency beacon, and we should still be home before dark."
     Except the beacon and the entire communication system had
been destroyed, as Tarrant discovered when he returned to the
flyer for the medkit.  He ran a hand through his curls, quietly
assessing what they did have: the medkit, field rations and
supplies, weapons, flyer parts.  More than enough to survive in
the wilderness but Vila was not going to be a happy man. 
     Tarrant waited until he'd patched Vila's head wound and
wrapped a brace of tape around the man's sprained wrist before
sharing his bad news.  "So it looks like we're stuck here," he
concluded, "until we're missed and someone comes searching."  He
studied the area where the flyer had settled in a copse of trees,
wishing it was more in the open where it could be easily spotted. 
But they'd hear a search party and could signal it with a flare. 
The concealed location of the flyer wasn't an insurmountable
problem.
     "That's wonderful," Vila said sourly, the two pain pills
still resting in his open palm.  "Who's going to miss us,
Tarrant?"
     "Well, Dayna and Soolin...Avon.  They'll see the flyer is
gone and guess what happened."
     "They're off planet."
     "You don't think Blake..."
     "Only if he needed me for something."
     "The others will be back eventually.  We're not in any
danger."  Tarrant gestured to the flyer then to the surrounding
scenery.  "Since it's summer, we won't freeze or starve.  I
learned enough about survival at the FSA to keep us comfortable
and cozy until the others return."  He snuck a side-long glance
at Vila.  The other man was frowning unhappily.  Tarrant sighed,
saying, "It's not as if there are hairy aliens to worry about."
     "Humph, you almost qualify as one.  Damn it, Tarrant, the
garden is going to be overrun with weeds by the time we get
back."
     Tarrant rubbed at eyes that were suddenly awash with tears. 
Vila's abrupt change of mood had taken him by surprise.  Tarrant
rather thought he preferred the man's scolding to his emotionally
charged forgiveness.
     "Say, are you crying?" Vila asked.
     "No.  Yes."  Tarrant turned his back to Vila, hoping to
spare himself further indignity.  "You should hate me, you know."
     "That wouldn't do either of us any good."  Vila hesitated
then continued, "It's not as if you didn't have a good reason for
rushing off and almost getting us killed.  I think.  Will you
tell me about it?  You owe me the truth."
     Put that way, Tarrant could hardly refuse.  "You saw it
yourself on the vidscreen.  Brya Tarrant, my mother, used me to
climb another step on the Federation power ladder."
     "Maybe you don't know everything," Vila suggested.
     "I'm afraid I know all too much.  I was conceived in a petri
dish, and it was downhill from there.  Deeta tried to tell me but
I refused to listen."
     "Go on."
     "Go on what?  It isn't that unique a story, not in Alpha
ranks.  The Federation bioengineers are always running computer
simulations with the gene pools.  They found a match that they
wanted to try between my biological parents.  Brya agreed as long
as she received custody of any resulting children."
     "As you said, that's not very unique.  But she wanted you,
didn't she?  From what I've heard, most Alpha parents would let
the government raise their offspring under similar
circumstances."
     Shaking his head, Tarrant said, "It wasn't that she wanted
us.  She just didn't want anyone else to have us.  We were her
possessions.  It was Deeta who figured that out.  I grew up
refusing to accept that Brya was selfish, ambitious, and totally
devoid of feeling."  He forced a smile to his face as he turned
back to Vila.  "I wish I had died on Gauda Prime before having my
illusion destroyed."
     Tarrant stood up, paced, and kicked at the grass,
remembering and hating.  "On Galinum she became what I always
wanted her to be: the perfect loving mother.  However, it was all
a very carefully designed ruse.  She never loved me at all, only
what she could achieve through me.  It was easy for my wonderful
mother to convince me to share my technological expertise.  She
was very proud of what I was accomplishing.  I worked so hard
trying to please her."
     "I'm sorry."
     "So am I," Tarrant sighed, "but it's almost a relief to know
the truth.  No more fantasies about the treasure at the end of
the rainbow.  Even after you rescued me, I tried to make excuses
for her, but I can't deny her behavior any longer.  She lied to
me, never told me she had a personal stake in the outcome of my
work, never told me she was the project director.  Someone else
played that role; one more part of her calculated deception.  She
is very, very good at what she does, Brya is."
                               *     *     *
     Vila wouldn't have chosen to be stranded in the wilderness,
but now that he was here, he wasn't finding it too terrible.  As
Tarrant had promised, his survival skills kept them sheltered and
well fed.  They had a cozy little nest in the gutted flyer, where
they could sleep undisturbed by rain or creepy, crawly insects. 
A nearby natural spring offered plenty of sweet, clear drinking
water and a tumbling brook bathing facilities.  If Vila hadn't
been somewhat handicapped by his still wobbly legs, he might have
considered their predicament an unplanned, rather primitive,
vacation.
     "Catch anything?" Tarrant called as he hopped from rock to
rock to cross the stream to where Vila lazed in the shade of a
large tree.
     "Not yet."  Vila glanced at his exuberant young friend, who
definitely didn't have the patience required to be a successful
fisherman. 
     "I've collected enough greens for the day."  Tarrant held
out a delicate looking leaf.  "Taste this."
     "You already have?" Vila asked, not entirely trusting the
pilot's ability to separate the edible from the poisonous.
     "Yes."
     After slithering the leaf through the rushing water, he took
a little bit into his mouth.  "Not bad."
     "That's what I thought."  Tarrant settled back, stretching
his long body flat against the spongy bank.  "There's plenty more
of it not far from here.  Mixed with that fungus that grows in
the rock outcroppings, we'll have a fine salad."
     "It would be better with dressing," Vila said, picturing a
thick, creamy mix of oils and cheeses.  "Better still if we had
an adrenaline and soma to wash it down with."
     "Grumble, grumble," Tarrant drawled, his eyes drooping
closed.
     When Vila checked him again, he was sleeping.  Tarrant
looked a bit silly, dressed in his underwear and boots.  With
only one set of clothes each, and not knowing when they'd be
found, they'd decided to save their outer clothing for the
chilly, rainy days.  It meant that Tarrant's fair skin was
reddening and peeling and freckling, which Vila, to his surprise,
found more cute than unattractive.
     Reaching over, Vila dusted the dead flakings of skin from
the bridge of Tarrant's nose.  No, it wasn't bad here at all.  If
one only had...
     Vila felt a stirring in an area that had long been dormant. 
Afraid it was his imagination, he almost didn't make a visual
check.  But a disturbance in his fishing line forced his eyes to
focus in that direction anyway.  Sure enough, there was a
rounding in his shorts.  He put a tentative hand to it and almost
whooped his relief.
     Barely resisting an urge to shake Tarrant awake to share his
good news, Vila hurriedly reeled in his fish instead, while his
thoughts strayed elsewhere.  Suddenly the wilderness wasn't that
appealing anymore.  He wanted to get back to civilization
and...and...  He tried to picture the most alluring female that
ever existed--long legs, silky hair, ample cleavage--but his
imagination wouldn't cooperate and his erection softened.
     Sighing, he consoled himself that what had happened once
would happen again.
                               *     *     *
     A steady rain splattered against the metal roof of the
flyer.  Tarrant peeked around the tarpaulin that covered a large
hole in one side of the vehicle.  "It's really coming down."
     "We can hear that it is.  You didn't have to look outside to
know.  You let a breeze in."  Vila shivered.  "I'm cold.  Get
back here."
     Tarrant crawled into the makeshift tent that he and Vila
were using to stay warm.  The two blankets and their closed-in
double body heat served to keep the chill at bay.  He tentatively
curved an arm about Vila.  "Do you mind?"
     "N-no," Vila said over a yawn.  He rested his head against
Tarrant's shoulder.
     "Go to sleep, if you'd like.  I'm not tired."
     "Not su-prised... you...slept s'afternoon."
     "A short nap," Tarrant conceded, grinning.
     "Sufadeeda..." Vila's voice trailed off to a jumbled slur.
     Tarrant gently rested Vila back against what served as his
mattress, then pulled his own bedding over until it was touching
Vila's.  It was really too cold to sleep apart.  There was a
danger of hypothermia if the temperature continued to drop.
     Alone in the dark, Tarrant couldn't avoid his feelings.  He
was growing very fond of Vila.  It wasn't unexpected. 
Confronting the truth about Brya had left him with an emotional
void.  It was only natural that he transfer his affections
somewhere...and Vila was the only one available.  And a very
compassionate source at that.
     Tarrant remembered having done something similar after Deeta
had died.  He'd turned to Avon to replace his lost brother, not
that Avon had ever realized...he hoped.  Eventually, he'd
regained his equilibrium and the status quo had returned.
     That would happen again.  
     Snuggling close to the smaller man, Tarrant smiled
contentedly.  He and Vila should do this more often.  Cuddling
was marvelous therapy for what ailed you.
                               *     *     *
     "We have to keep up your exercises," Tarrant insisted.  "We
don't want to lose all of the gains we've made."
     "I can walk from the flyer to the creek without leaning on
you," Vila protested.  "I'm well.  I just need time to build up
strength."
     "This will build up your strength."  Tarrant was standing in
a deep pool, with water swirling around the lower half of his
naked body.  He slapped the surface, sending a spray of moisture
Vila's way.  "Come on.  Get undressed and get in here."
     "I don't know how to swim." 
     "I'm going to teach you.  Swimming is a wonderful exercise,
very easy on the body.  Dayna would approve."
     "Dayna's not here," Vila muttered as he reluctantly
stripped.  "If she were, I might not mind this.  Skin to skin
with her..."
     "What are you mumbling about?"
     "Nothing...nothing..."  Vila tiptoed into the water.  It was
refreshingly cool against his hot skin.  As he stepped closer to
Tarrant, his foot slipped on an underwater rock.  Hands flailing,
he felt himself falling.
     Strong arms caught him before his head slipped beneath the
surface, and Vila found himself clutched close to Tarrant's rangy
body.  He grabbed for support as his feet searched for purchase
on the streambed.
     "Take it easy," Tarrant cautioned, "or we'll both get a
dunk."
     Vila slowed his movements, his hands circling Tarrant and
ending up hanging onto the younger man's firm backside.  When his
feet were resting on a solid surface again, he climbed up
Tarrant's body until he was fully upright, leaning slightly on
the pilot.
     "Relax, catch your breath," Tarrant said, keeping a firm
hold on Vila's shoulders.
     "I'm all right," Vila puffed out, meeting Tarrant's
concerned blue eyes.
     Tarrant chuckled.  "You must be anxious to try swimming,
plunging in before I could even explain anything."
     "Not that anxious."  Vila could feel his heart quieting and
his respiration evening out.  Past his initial fright, he became
more aware of Tarrant's hard, slippery body.
     Very hard, completely hard, everywhere hard...
     Resting against his own equally hard cock.
     Vila was in a quandary.  What to do when you find yourself
where you shouldn't be but are enjoying being there too much to
do something about it?  His second erection in as many days. 
This one even more impressive, throbbing against Tarrant's
matching organ.
     Tarrant appeared not to have noticed, still overly anxious
about Vila's near immersion.  Vila shifted, trying to ease away
while the pilot was distracted.  His movements served to do the
opposite of their intended purpose.  Not entirely surefooted,
Vila managed to thump against Tarrant while attempting to
extricate himself.  Tarrant couldn't help notice having his
sensitive groin area whacked.
     "Uh!"  Tarrant's eyes dropped, studying the vague, stiff
outlines beneath the water.  Vila watched a grin spread across
the man's face, exposing tooth after tooth after tooth. 
"Adrenaline will do that," Tarrant said calmly enough, but not
completely masking the hint of elation in his voice.
     One didn't have to be a mindreader to guess that this was
Tarrant's first erection after his long period of impotency. 
Vila was happy for him.  Happy for both of them.  But before that
happiness mutated to embarrassment, he pinched Tarrant's arm. 
"What about that swimming lesson you promised?"
                               *     *     *
     After the swimming lesson, Tarrant instructed Vila to
stretch out on the bank so that he could massage his legs.  The
water and exercise had relaxed Vila's muscles, making Tarrant's
job much easier.
     "Dayna is going to be more than pleased with your progress,"
Tarrant predicted.
     "I'm more than pleased with my progress," Vila murmured, his
head resting on his crossed arms.  "Could you do my back while
you're at it."
     "I suppose."  Tarrant slid his hands up Vila's thighs,
hesitating at his buttocks.  Vila's sun-rosy cheeks were
incredibly inviting, but Tarrant resisted the temptation to touch
them, instead lifting his hands over that area and coming to rest
on the small of the back.  He dug the heels of his hands into the
base of the spine, kneading gently.
     "That feels good," Vila sighed.
     "All things considered," Tarrant said, as his fingers plied
at Vila's shoulders, "you aren't in bad shape for being disabled
for so long."
     Vila opened his left eye to peek at Tarrant.  "You aren't in
bad shape yourself.  I noticed that about you right away.  You
were skinny but firm."
     "No surprise there.  They wanted me to stay in shape, all
the better to work long hours.  Before going to the lab, I'd work
out in a gym three days a week.  The equipment was sophisticated;
a twenty minute program kept me fit."  Tarrant paused, his hands
resting lightly against Vila's flesh.  "I was pretty pampered for
being a prisoner.  My mother to fuss over me and cook.  I never
had much of an appetite though."
     "Probably because of the psycholucinogens.  That stuff is
nasty.  We should schedule you for a physical, to make sure
you're all right."
     "Sometime...maybe."  Tarrant felt a choking in his throat. 
She had drugged him, not caring what the chemicals were doing to
his body or to his mind.  Hot tears welled up and spilled over to
drip onto Vila's bare back.
     Vila twisted around, his eyes wide with concern.  "I think
we should get back to camp," he said, kindly not calling
attention to the tears.  "I'm hungry."   He sat up and stretched
his arms.  "If only I weren't so tired.  It's a long walk, all
uphill."
     Tarrant gulped down his distress.  "I've a solution for
that," he said, hefting Vila into his arms and starting up the
slope.
     "Hey!  Wait!  You'll drop me!"
     "I won't."
     "What about our clothes?"
     "I'll come back for them," Tarrant promised.  "Now stop
squirming or I will drop you."
     "I don't think it's fair, you slinging me around, just
because you're bigger."
     "And stronger," Tarrant said, enjoying the banter as a means
of working out of his dark mood.
     "Well, two can play at this game," Vila said.  He rested his
head against Tarrant's shoulder and began licking along his
collarbone.
     Tarrant felt a warmth creep through his body.  "What are you
doing?" he barely managed to whisper out.
     "Payment in kind."  Vila's tongue tickled at Tarrant's neck. 
"While your hands are all tied up, so to speak, you're at my
mercy."
     "Vi-la," Tarrant said, too confused to know why he was
saying it.  Did he want Vila to stop?  Or was he encouraging him
to continue?  The feathery flutters against his skin were
extremely pleasurable.  He felt his penis spring to life in
response and hurriedly lifted Vila a little higher so that the
other man wouldn't notice.
     //What is happening here?// Tarrant wondered as Vila's
explorations excited him further.  He hadn't had so much as a
twinge until today.  Now he felt like a love-starved virgin in
the presence of his heart's desire.
     Tarrant decided he was getting a bit too attached to Vila. 
It wasn't fair to either of them.  It wasn't real, any of it.  It
was simply a reaction to loss, isolation and camaraderie.  It was
pity and loneliness that drew them together.  Those weren't the
types of emotions on which to build a relationship.
                               *     *     *
     Snuggled up on his mattress of crumpled drive insulation and
pine branches covered with a blanket, Vila couldn't help thinking
about sex.  About that wild euphoria that surrounded climaxing. 
At the best of times, it resembled fireworks exploding in his
head.
     It had been so long.  
     With his right hand smoothing along his quiescent penis, he
closed his eyes and sent his mind on a quest for a sexual fantasy
that would allow him fulfillment.
     Dancing girls, naked, gyrating, their heavy bosoms swaying
in time with the music.
     Nothing.
     A slim, lithe beauty, her hair falling over her face that
was buried in Vila's abdomen, licking a path toward his groin.
     Nothing.
     Dayna and Soolin, their hands smoothing up Vila's legs.
     Nothing.
     //Can't force it,// he told himself.  //I have to relax and
let it come naturally.  I'm trying too hard.//  He emptied his
mind and let it wander at will.
     A picture gradually formed, something that had happened two
days ago.  Tarrant.  Crouched by the fire, his hands busy and
unable to rub an irritating smudge of soot from his cheek.  Vila
had reached across to wipe it away and received a 
blinding smile of thanks from the pilot for his effort.
     There was a slight swelling.  Wonderful.  Now where was that
lush contortionist from the pleasure palace on Anobi?  Her long
hair had twined seductively about her Amazon-like figure.
     //Damn!  It isn't working.//
     What he needed, Vila decided, was some extra stimulation. 
What if he woke Tarrant and they swapped stories, jacking off
while regaling each other with tales of past sexual prowess.  It
was an amusement that he had often shared with his young, fellow
offenders during his first incarceration.  That was before he had
been exposed to adult prisons, where sex was violent and often
terrifying.
     Vila quickly shed those memories.  Anyway, Tarrant was an
Alpha.  Alphas were pretty private when it came to their sex
lives.
     He rolled over, facing Tarrant.  The man's aristocratic
profile served to confirm Vila's initial appraisal.  This wasn't
a Delta who would enjoy amusing a mate with stories of carnal
adventures.
     Slightly frustrated, Vila clutched his makeshift pillow with
both hands and resolved to forego further efforts at stimulation. 
He watched Tarrant's slowly rising and falling chest with some
envy, wishing he could be lost in dreamland as well.
     Tarrant exhaled a breath through his mouth, causing his
bottom lip to tremble slightly.  Such a pouty lip, Vila observed
even as he felt that familiar glow pulsing through his middle
again.
     Shocked, Vila rolled onto his back and stared at the roof of
the flyer.  All of his erections had one common denominator--Del
be damned Tarrant!
     //Come on, Vila my man,// he scolded himself.  //Homosex is
all very well and good when nothing else is available,
however...//
     Of course nothing else was available.  But Vila had a sneaky
suspicion that even if the most appealing woman in the history of
civilization had appeared before him that his eyes would still
have strayed to the lanky form next to him.
     How had that incredible eccentricity happened?
                               *     *     *
     Tarrant set the tube of depilatory aside and studied his
reflection in the mirror.  The constant exposure to ultraviolet
rays had left him looking a bit like an overripe wazzlefruit. 
Blond tufts highlighted his unruly mass of curls and his skin was
a mottle of various shades of scarlet.  Not even his mother would
be likely to recognize him, given his ghastly camouflage.
     //Mother!//  Bad choice of words that strangely brought no
pain.
     Perhaps he had finally purged her ability to hurt him.  If
that was true, he should be ready to explain his conditioning. 
It was still going to be humiliating, revealing his pathetic
family intrigues to Blake or his appointed interrogator, but
Tarrant thought he could face up to that now.  And whatever mind
altering drugs would be necessary to pass a security check.
     "You're not that handsome," Vila said, apparently having
noticed his prolonged sojourn in front of the mirror.
     "You can say that again, unless one has a fondness for well-
done meat," Tarrant touched the crusted skin on his forehead then
moved to a raw, peeling area on his right cheek, "mixed with
rare."
     "Well, you won't have to bake much longer."
     "Why is that?"
     "It's been two and a half weeks.  Unless there was a delay,
our rescuers are due home any day now.  We are about to be
missed...I hope."
     "Too bad, I almost had you turned into a competent swimmer
and woodsman."  Though he had been joking, Tarrant was surprised
to sense real regret washing through him.  No doubt due to Vila's
resilient constitution.  For someone dome raised, the man had
been incredibly tolerant of their plight.  It had almost been... 
No, it *had* been fun.
     He walked over to where Vila was preparing his fishing
lines.  "Thank you," Tarrant said.
     "I haven't caught anything yet.  Wait until we have
something succulent sizzling on a spit."
     "That's not what I meant.  Thank you for being such a good
sport.  If it had been any of the others in that flyer with
me..."
     Vila tilted his head up, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. 
"What do you think they would have done?"
     "They wouldn't have been as charitable, I can guarantee
that, especially considering that my idiocy was fueled by self
pity.  Crashing a flyer, then all of that ranting about her..."
     Tarrant settled in the grass in front of the rock that Vila
was using as a chair, imagining the various reactions should his
companion have been other than the plucky thief.
     "Avon would have found it terribly amusing," he said, "that
I could ever have been so stupid as to think Brya cared.  Soolin
would have declared it all incredibly boring and walked off,
hoping never to see me again."
     "I might have done that," Vila said, "if my legs had been in
better shape."
     "No, you would at least have allowed me to walk with
you...as protection if for no other reason."
     "And Dayna?" Vila prodded.
     "Dayna...ah, Dayna.  We'd have never gotten to my sad life
history.  As soon as she realized that we were on the ground and
both alive, she'd have killed me."
     Vila laughed appreciatively.  "Then you're lucky it was me."
     "Very!"  Tarrant rested back on his elbows, studying the
older man.  He might delay joining the rebellion until Vila was
fit enough to do likewise.  He'd miss the man's company, as close
as they'd become.  Yes, he'd definitely wait.
                               *     *     *
     Moonlight blanketed the meadow, dancing off the white petals
of the local flora.  Tarrant put a finger to his lips, warning
Vila to be absolutely quiet.  His other arm stretched out,
pointing.
     Vila's breath caught in his throat.  The most beautiful
creature that he'd ever seen was stepping tentatively into the
abundance of flowers, bending its long graceful neck to nibble at
the delicate petals.
     A second animal glided forward and nuzzled against the
first.  Squinting, Vila could see two smaller figures finally
emerge from the shadows, miniatures of their parents.  He and
Tarrant watched until the quartet, appetites satisfied, trotted
back into the woods.
     "When I saw them last night, I didn't think such beauty
could be real," Tarrant said, his voice hushed with awe.  "I
wanted you to see them to be sure I wasn't hallucinating."
     Impulsively, Vila squeezed Tarrant's hand.  "Thanks for
sharing that with me."
     Tarrant's fingers twitched in Vila's grip.  "Sorry," Vila
said, moving to release the young man's hand, deciding that the
pilot was uncomfortable with the intimacy.  But Tarrant's other
hand covered his, preventing that.
     Vila tilted his head to meet the taller man's eyes and was
jolted by what he found there.  "What is it?" he asked hoarsely,
not daring to believe the passion that he thought he saw.
     "Nothing...nothing..."  Tarrant pulled away, turning his
back to Vila.  "It's been a long time since I've been so happy
and relaxed."  His bare shoulders shrugged.  "I'm letting my
imagination get carried away."
     Vila felt a tightening in his chest.  He only had to reach
out a short distance and he could run his fingers down Tarrant's
exposed spine.  Gathering courage, he did just that.
     Tarrant stiffened, briefly.  "Vila, you don't have to.  I
know you aren't attracted to men."
     "I didn't know you were," Vila whispered.  He rested his
hands on Tarrants shoulder blades, causing the pilot to shudder. 
"I've only seen you rubbery kneed over women."
     "Then you haven't been looking lately."
     "Didn't think you could be interested in me."
     "I know it's silly."  Tarrant tried to laugh but it came out
more like a whimper.  "I mean, I knew I liked you, but it wasn't
until we came here that you started to look...desirable.  Too
much fresh air, I guess."
     "Or too much sun."
     "I've tried to keep it to myself.  I didn't want to make you
uncomfortable.  I'm sorry," he shook his head, "this is probably
making you uncomfortable."
     "It is," Vila said, thinking of his straining erection, the
tight skin constricting his balls.  Sliding his hands up to
Tarrant's shoulders, he pulled himself onto his tiptoes and
pressed his hardness into Tarrant's backside.  "Why don't you do
something about it?"
     What happened next was a marvelous example of the whip-quick
reflexes that made Tarrant a superb pilot.  Before Vila had a
chance to realize what was happening, the younger man had whirled
around and crushed him in a tight embrace.  Vila barely had time
to open his mouth before a tongue was snaking between his teeth.
     Breathless, surprised, still in a state of half shock, Vila
felt giddy and lightheaded.  He jerked his lips free, begging,
"Slow down or I'll pass out before we get anywhere."
     Tarrant laughed and tumbled them both onto the fragrant
carpet of grass and flowers.  His hands were darting over Vila's
body as if there wasn't enough time in the world to complete the
explorations that he had in mind. 
     "You're not quite as beautiful as those animals," Tarrant
said with a wink, "but you'll do.  He planted a short kiss on the
tip of Vila's nose.  Then his lips drifted down over Vila's neck
and along his left shoulder.  Shocky little mixes of heat and
cold erupted on contact. 
     "You'll do as well," Vila croaked out, surprised that he
could manage a coherent statement.  The pleasurable sensations
igniting his body were so distracting that he could hardly
remember where he was.
     A wetness that could only be Tarrant's tongue tickled into 
Vila's navel, while long-fingered hands continued their frantic
fondling.  Moist breath tingled against Vila's belly as Tarrant
spoke, "I wasn't the least interested in sex for so long.  I
thought I was impotent, until last week during your first
swimming lesson."
     "I suspected that," Vila said, "but I had no idea I was the
object of your desire or we'd have been doing this much sooner."
     "Vila," Tarrant pulled back, bemused, "I just remembered. 
You...you were the same...but..."  He rubbed his hand
appreciatively along the length of Vila's shaft.  "You aren't
anymore."
     Vila grinned.  "I think we cured each other."
     "How fortuitous," Tarrant said, just before he buried his
face in Vila's groin.
     Vila hadn't been treated to such enthusiastic fellatio since
that old whore back on Earth, and he'd been paying for it that
time.  Tarrant sucked him in, released him, then repeated the
procedure more forcefully.
     While Tarrant's mouth devoured him, his tongue played its
own mischievous tune, tickling against the sensitive skin and
thrusting its tip into the little aperture at the head of Vila's
penis.  After such a long period of abstinence, it was impossible
to delay climax.  Vila shuddered and exploded, shooting come into
Tarrant's mouth.  His hand resting on the back of Tarrant's neck
sensed the convulsions of the man's throat as he gulped down
Vila's seed.  It heightened Vila's pleasures.  He trembled as
semen gushed from his body in what felt like a never-ending
stream.
     Vila grayed out, the blood rushing to his groin and the
explosive organism had drained most of his energy.  When he
regained his senses, it was over.  Tarrant's head was resting on
his belly; the young man's respiration was shallow and quick, as
if he had climaxed as well.
     Though limp, dizzy and weak, Vila sent his hand patting out
over the ground and found the proof of Tarrant's satisfaction in
a wet patch on the grass.  He brought a moist finger back to his
mouth, tasted the salty fluid, and started to shake with dry
tears.
     "What's the matter?"  Tarrant crawled up and covered Vila's
body with his own, smothering him in a series of kisses.
     Vila didn't even try to vocalize an answer, afraid that his
emotions would spill over and embarrass both of them,  Instead,
he embraced his lover, patting his curls, his back, letting his
hands tell of his satisfaction, his delight, his bliss.
     "Oh, yes.  Me too," Tarrant sighed.  His breath was warm
against Vila's neck.  "Me too."
                               *     *     *
     "What if we hadn't gone out into the meadow last night?"
Vila asked the next morning, resting in Tarrant's arms after a
second deliriously joyful bout of love making.
     "Something would have happened eventually."  Tarrant propped
up on one elbow and traced a finger along Vila's ribs.  "It was
all I could do not to ravage you yesterday morning...after our
swim."
     "When you tried to drown me," Vila remembered.
     "I threw you into the deep water because I was frustrated. 
Holding you close so you wouldn't sink.  My hands forced into
contact with your soft skin.  You're lucky, I'm a gentleman."
     "I'm lucky you're not," Vila corrected.  "A gentleman
wouldn't have stuck his cock up..."
     Tarrant darted his finger to Vila's lips.  "Let's not get
crude," he teased.  "And don't forget, you promised to
reciprocate the favor...tonight."
     "Are you sure you're an Alpha?" Vila asked.  "I never
expected the high and mighty to want such base treatment."
     "You're confusing me with Avon," Tarrant said.  He sat up
and stretched.  "He's the aesthetic."  He rolled his eyes and
grinned, "I'm the randy type."
     "Yeah," Vila confirmed, well pleased.  "You are."
     "Then rise and shine."  Tarrant tugged at Vila's hand and
pulled them both to their feet.  "We need to feed our taxed
bodies," he said with a grin, "so we'll have energy for tonight."
     "Or this afternoon," Vila amended.
     Tarrant's eyes brightened.  "That's one of your better
ideas."  He hopped agilely to the ground then reached up to lift
Vila down, to spare his legs the excess jarring.
     Vila welcomed Tarrant's arms around him, his touch so much
more intimate than when they had done this every previous morning
since the crash.  And Tarrant was much slower to release him,
pecking a kiss to his cheek first.
     "I was afraid of getting involved with you," Tarrant said,
holding Vila at arm's length.
     "I don't understand."
     "When I first realized my feelings, I thought it was simply
convenience and circumstance rather than anything more
meaningful."
     "And now?"
     Tarrant blushed and studied the ground.  "It's more
meaningful."
     Vila hadn't intended to drag that confession from Tarrant. 
Things were getting a bit too serious.  He put his hands on the
taller man's shoulders and lectured, "That's good, because I'm
not one of those spaceport tramps who are satisfied with one-
night affairs.  Nope, I have standards.  Nothing less than two
nights or I sulk."
     Tarrant tossed his head, sending his curls flying in all
directions, and laughed.  "I hope you'll be taking pleasure from
me for longer than two nights."  His blue eyes twinkled with
impish humor as he stroked his hand over Vila's cheek.  "Though
I've no doubt that you'll eventually throw me over.  I've been
told I can be quite aggravating on a long-term basis."
     "Or even for a short term.  I don't know how I've put up
with you for this long."
                               *     *     *
     Lounging at his favorite fishing spot, Vila wasn't surprised
to see Tarrant loping down the hill in his direction.  "Did you
finish your chores already?"
     The younger man snapped a smart salute, "Every one of them,
sir."  He plopped on the stream bank.
     "You were quick."
     "I was motivated."  Plucking a blade of grass, Tarrant began
to run it along Vila's bare forearm.  "Do you really think Avon
and the women are due back at Blake's base soon?"
     "Yes.  I expect they'll be along to collect us any day now."
     "That's too bad.  I've been planning a list of all the spots
I'd like to make love to you.  I've put considerable effort into
the task.  Pity it will be wasted."
     "You don't mind if I'd prefer a bed."  Vila reached around
and massaged his lower back.  "There's something to be said for
beds.  Real mattresses and pillows."
     Rolling over, Tarrant settled his curly head in Vila's lap
and smiled up at him.  "This isn't a bad pillow," he noted,
rubbing his cheek against Vila's shaft.  "You know, we could
possibly work through my list in a week, if we put our minds to
it."
     "I haven't caught any fish yet."
     "We wouldn't even have to pull your lines in.  This...,"
Tarrant's hand began to creep down the length of Vila's leg,
"...location would be perfect for...," stroked his ankle and
calf, "...what I have in mind," and crawled back up to rest on a
quivering thigh.  "The bank is almost as soft as a mattress."
     Turning onto his side, Tarrant ran his fingers along the
elastic waist band of Vila's drawers.  "I wonder what I'll find
inside here?"  One hand groped deeper.
     Vila was quickly becoming convinced that Tarrant's idea
deserved consideration when his eyes caught movement at the top
of the woodsy slope.  "Tar-rant!  Tarrant, there's something up
there."
     Responding to the alarm in Vila's voice, Tarrant sprang to
his feet, his eyes scanning the hillside.  "I don't see anything. 
What do you think you saw?"
     "I didn't get a good look.  But it was big.  A person or a
large animal."
     "You told me there weren't any large animals on this planet. 
Somebody looking for us?"
     "But is it a friendly somebody or someone we'd rather not
meet?"
     Tarrant relaxed, his hands dropping to his sides.  "You also
told me this planet was safe, not part of the Federation and that
it had a very low crime rate.  If anyone is here, it's people we
know or friendly natives."
     "Maybe," Vila pushed to his feet, "but what caught my eye
was something glittering in the sun.  Something that looked like
a Federation trooper helmet."
     "It's your imagination," Tarrant reasoned, but he didn't
sound sure.  "Wait here.  I'll investigate."
     Vila crept behind a large tree and watched Tarrant make his
way up the slope, sticking to cover whenever it was available. 
He was moving cautiously but at a steady pace and soon
disappeared over the crest of the hill.
     Alone, Vila fretted over what was happening out of range of
his sight and without any sounds to offer clues.  Tarrant had
been grabbed and was being tortured to reveal Vila's location. 
Or, possibly, he was simply doing a thorough canvass of the area
before giving the all clear.   Or...or...  What was taking him so
long?
     Vila counted to a hundred then counted to one hundred again. 
Then he started for their camp, each step reluctant and slow on
the rough terrain.  The climb took half of a lifetime.  By the
time he reached the top, his heart was beating frantically, both
from exertion and fright.
     Hiding in the tree line, he peered out over the meadow where
he and Tarrant had made love the night before.  There was nothing
disturbing its tranquil beauty.  Across the expanse, at an angle,
was their camp, centered around the downed flyer.  Though it was
difficult to see the camp clearly, because of the mix of sun rays
and tree shadows, Vila was sure he would have detected movement,
had there been any.
     Convincing himself that there was nothing dangerous on
Horizon, Vila gulped down his fright and started across the
grass.  Halfway to his destination, five figures silently stepped
into view, disturbing the peaceful panorama with the guns they
had pointed his way.  Sun glinted off their combat helmets.
     The troopers closed in on him, clipped a bracelet to his
arm, and ordered, "Teleport."
                               *     *     *
     They were a very professional group, Tarrant decided
ruefully.  He'd been strip searched and scanned, then given
standard prison garb.  Four assault rifles had been trained his
way during the humiliating procedure.  
     As soon as he had slipped into the thin jumpsuit, the
section leader ordered, "Cuff him."
     The troopers weren't gentle, wrenching his arms behind his
back and snapping thick manacles to his wrists.  One of them
prodded him in the ribs with his gun for good measure.
     The section leader nodded his approval.  "This way."
     Tarrant identified the ship as a class four battle cruiser,
as he was marched through its narrow corridors to the area he
knew to house executive offices.  Hands grabbed him and tossed
him into the first cabin on the right before he'd even been given
a chance to point himself in that direction.  Stumbling off
balance, it was a minute before he righted himself and realized
that his guards had remained outside.
     However, he wasn't alone.
     "Hello, Brya."  She was as beautiful as ever, sitting
regally behind a desk that was far more elegant than standard
space command furnishings.  It told him that she wielded
considerable civilian power on this military vessel.  He nodded
to the gun resting beside her right hand.  "Do you think that's
necessary, with me?"
     "I don't know what your rebel captors might have done to
you," she explained.
     Tarrant settled himself on the edge of the room's only other
chair.  "Oh, you're the only one who plays with my mind.  I'm
quite normal at the moment."
     She smiled coldly.  "That's why I need the gun.  I fear
there was some misunderstanding when you left so hastily.  I've
been worried about you."
     "Don't," Tarrant warned.  "Don't...  You'll not fool me a
second time."
     "I can see you're going to be difficult.  Well, time heals
all wounds, even yours, my wayward son."
     Her voice was full of motherly sweetness, with just the
faintest hint of reproach.  Her pretense of familial affection
caused a queasy curdling in his stomach.  "What do you want?" he
asked sharply.  "How did you find me?"
     Picking up the gun, she glided from behind the desk, moved
beside him, and ran her left hand over his back.  "A locator,"
she said, pressing hard at a point midway between his shoulder
blades.
     "I see."
     "Don't look so despondent," she said, shifting to where she
could observe his face.  "It was a new design.  Completely
undetectable by any equipment your supposed friends might have."
     "Reading my mind?"
     "Del, darling, I've always known you better than you know
yourself."  She weaved around the desk, returning to her chair. 
"You needn't feel guilty.  Even if you had allowed Blake to put
you through the most thorough security examination, he would not
have found my little transmitter."
     Tarrant lunged forward.  "How did you know that?  Have you
already...?"  He cut off, realizing too late that she was
skillfully goading him into giving her information.
     She smiled again, obviously pleased with herself.  "Don't be
quiet on my account.  I'm quite qualified to help ease your
prickly conscience," she said with mock sympathy. 
     Resting back, Tarrant crossed his legs and tried to match
her emotionless nonchalance.  "Why don't you just use your
machines and your drugs to interrogate me?" he asked, inserting a
note of boredom into his voice.  "Or do you need the added
satisfaction of watching me squirm?  You are such a sadistic
bitch, Brya.  I assume that was one of the reasons that you
agreed to have children.  Such handy victims, right there in your
own living room to torture at will."
     "You were never mistreated."
     "That's true.  We may as well not have existed as often as
we saw you."
     "My children had the best of everything.  Precious little
affection I received in return.  Both of you rejected my ideals
to pursue lives of violence and crime."
     "Ideals?  I didn't realize you were acquainted with the
concept."
     "Ideals," she said as if quoting a book or source, "such as
when an ingrate son deserts space command with no thought of what
will happen to the family he leaves behind."
     "I never did understand how I managed that without a pang of
//prickly conscience//."  He regarded her with the same academic
detachment that she was employing.  "There were two
possibilities.  Either I was hoping you'd receive just punishment
for the crime of producing children you didn't want, or I simply
realized that your influence would protect you.  You're the
expert, perhaps you can tell me which is true."
     "Del, I have always done my best for you."  Her eyes and
voice were soft, compassionate; she was so very believably
sincere.  He ruthlessly told himself it was a ploy.  She was only
trying to manipulate him.  "Remember that, my darling son. 
Everything for you."
     Her long, slender fingers tapped at a button on the desk. 
The squad of troopers entered.  "Take him to a cell," she
ordered.  
     He was in the outer corridor, the door sliding closed behind
him, when she called after him, "Would you have wanted to grow up
weak and pampered?"
                               *     *     *
     Hearing a grating noise, Vila looked up.  "Tarrant," he said
as his comrade was shoved into the cell.  "What's happening?"
     "I'm sorry.  This is my fault."
     "Your fault?  How?"
     "There's no time for explanations."  Tarrant turned and
shook his bound arms in Vila's face.  "Get me out of these."
     "Can't.  They took everything."
     "Vila..."
     Vila made a face at the security camera blinking down on
them.  "Move closer," he instructed.  When Tarrant did, partially
blocking the view from the camera, Vila slid a thin wire from his
sleeve.  He had slipped it out of his boot, palmed it during the
search, then tucked it into the sleeve of his prison uniform.
     "I'll give it a go, but I'm not promising anything."
     It was a simple tumbler mechanism.  Vila had it open in less
than a minute.  His hands free, Tarrant jumped up, grabbed the
security camera, and yanked it from the wall.  "We have to move
quickly," he said.  "Open the door."
     "Huh?  Tarrant?"  Vila scuttled to obey.  The door was a bit
more complicated than the cuffs but no challenge.
     Tarrant stuck his head out the door.  "We're lucky, it's
clear.  All right, Vila, over here, next to me."  The pilot
plastered himself against the wall next to the open door.  Vila
slithered beside him.
     Pounding footsteps drew near, then halted outside the door. 
"They've escaped," a voice cried.  "Start searching.  I'll raise
an alarm."
     When the corridor was quiet, Tarrant whispered, "We're only
going to have one try.  We have to warn Blake.  Can you set the
coordinates for his base if I get us to the teleport?"
     "Yes."
     "Good.  Stay close."  Tarrant dashed into the corridor,
startling a trooper who was coming out of the room across the
hall.  As the man swung his gun around, the pilot slammed into
him, smashing him against the wall with enough force to knock the
wind out of him.  Before the trooper could recover, Tarrant found
the pressure point in his neck and rendered him unconscious. 
Grabbing up the gun, he called, "This way."
     Vila was glad that Tarrant's larger size prevented him from
seeing the troubles that hampered their journey.  More interested
in speed than stealth, Tarrant gunned down anyone who crossed
their path, using a final burst to take out one of the two men
stationed in the teleport area.
     "You can stay very still or you can die," he told the other. 
"The coordinates, Vila."
     Vila's fingers were trembling as he worked the settings,
grateful that the design was close to being familiar.  "That's
it."
     Tarrant handed him a bracelet and backed them both into the
teleport area.  "Activate the teleport," he ordered.  The man
hesitated and Tarrant fired a blast that grazed his left arm. 
"Do it."
     Cursing, the trooper obeyed.
                               *     *     *
     Blake heard a commotion in the outer office.  He was
debating investigating the situation when his door burst open and
a breathless Vila stumbled in, followed by a grim-faced Tarrant.
     "What are you doing here?" he demanded.
     "You are about to be attacked," Tarrant snapped.  "Whatever
emergency procedures you have, get them activated.  There are
Federation ships orbiting the planet.  As soon as they're
organized they'll be teleporting troops into your base.  There
might possibly be air strikes as well."
     Though he had a thousand questions, Blake set them aside. 
He slammed a series of buttons then opened the base-wide
intercom.  "This is a code red emergency," he announced.  "I want
all ships launched on a priority one basis.  Be prepared to
engage hostile spacecraft.  All personnel to battle stations. 
Invading force reported to be teleporting onto the base proper. 
This is not a drill."
     Blake grabbed up the gun that he kept mounted on the wall
behind his desk.  "You two, come with me," he directed, then
strode briskly from the room.
     He noted that his administrative staff were already donning
combat gear and departing for their assigned locations.  The
corridors were crowded with bodies moving in a hurried but
orderly fashion as everyone on the base reacted to the declared
emergency.  Blake would have been quite pleased with the
efficiency of the drama, if he hadn't been so worried.
     "In here," Blake said, gesturing Vila and Tarrant into a
side room.  As soon as they were inside, he slammed the door
closed behind them, then threw a large bolt across the opening. 
"There's no lock to pick," he called loud enough to be heard
through the thick door.  "I'll be back for you later."
                               *     *     *
     "Damn," Tarrant slammed his fists into the door.  "We could
have helped.  Damn him."
     "It might be safer in here," Vila whispered.  He was glad of
a chance to catch his breath. 
     Tarrant thumped the door twice more before turning around. 
His face was red with anger but his voice gentle, "How are your
legs?  Are you all right?"
     "Fine.  Scared.  Dazed.  You might give a man a chance to
figure out what he's doing before you ask him to do the next
thing."
     "There wasn't time.  Here, sit down.  You're shaking."  The
room was a bare shell so Tarrant eased him onto the floor where
he could lean against a wall.
     "Worse accommodations than the Federation prison," Vila
noted, trying to keep their spirits up.
     "Rats in a trap," Tarrant countered, pacing the small room. 
"If Blake loses..."
     "He won't."
     "Well, if he does, we're gift wrapped.  Damn."  He kicked
the wall ahead of him then yelped.
     "You have bare feet."
     "So I've discovered," Tarrant gritted out between clenched
teeth.  He hopped over to Vila and folded onto the floor next to
him, his hand clutching his sore toes.  "I had to work through my
temper," he said, still sounding strained.
     "Calm now?"
     "No, but in control."  He ruffled both hands through his
hair.  "I suppose in Blake's place I'd have done the same thing,
but it doesn't make this," he rapped the floor, "any easier."
     Vila slipped an arm around Tarrant's shoulders.  "What
happened?  Where did they come from?"
     "It was my fault.  There's a locator.  Somewhere in my
back."  Vila sent his fingers exploring.  "Higher, I think."
     "Yeah, there's a small bump of sorts.  It's right next to
your spine.  It would be easy to miss."
     "I'm sure that was their intent.  I'm sorry, Vila."
     "Wasn't your fault.  You didn't know it was there."
     "I should have suspected."  Tarrant covered his face with
his hands.  "She said it couldn't have been found with standard
detection equipment, but someone might have guessed that it was a
likely possibility and figured it out."
     "She?  Your mother?"
     "Brya," Tarrant corrected.  "Use her name.  I always do."
     Tarrant sounded so forlorn.  Vila tried to divert his
thoughts by changing the subject.  "There's one thing I haven't
figured out.  If they only now finished the teleport, how was it
on that ship already?"
     "That's an easy one.  No doubt the project was successfully
completed some time ago.  They delayed announcing it so they
could spring it as a surprise.  They might have had this planet
targeted for weeks or months.  I don't know how long they've
known where I was."
     Vila leaned over and brushed his lips over Tarrant's ear. 
"It's going to be all right," he soothed.  "You were brilliant,
getting us out of there and thinking to come here to alert
Blake."
     "Brilliant," Tarrant echoed bleakly.  "Oh yes, we Tarrants
are always brilliant.  It's one of our vices."
                               *     *     *
     "You were lucky, Blake," Avon scolded.  "If we hadn't
returned in time to attack the Federation from the rear, you
might have lost half of your fleet.  I warned you when we first
came here that we needed to have ships regularly patrolling the
system."
     "You were right," Blake said tiredly.  "I thought the
traffic would call attention to our position.  Now we'll have to
institute safeguards.  Maybe even relocate to another sector."
     "Closing the barn door after the herd has escaped," Avon
muttered.
     "What was that?" Dayna asked.
     "An old Earth saying of no import."
     The door to the conference room slid open and Deva entered. 
"I have all of the final figures," he said.  "Damage reports,
replacement costs."
     Blake accepted the print outs.  "I'll look at them later. 
They aren't urgent.  It's the deaths and the injuries..."
     Dayna put her hand on the rebel leader's arm.  "Blake, it
was a military victory.  They lost twenty times more than we did. 
If a planned campaign had gone this well, you'd be deliriously
happy."
     "You're right."  Blake managed a small smile.  "Thanks for
telling me that."
     "Del and I were discussing it earlier," Dayna glanced to the
blond man on her other side.  "We both thought the outcome
couldn't have been better had we deliberately lured the
Federation here."
     "A case of luck," Grant confirmed, "but I'm not complaining. 
You learn to take what breaks come your way in our business."
     "Thank the fates for luck," Vila said.  "I don't know if
Tarrant could have lived with himself if things had turned out
differently."
     Avon looked around.  "Where is he?  I understand he passed
all of your security checks."
     "In surgery," Blake reported.  "My med team is removing the
locator.  It's a simple procedure."
     "His mother must be a real bitch," Soolin muttered. 
"Servalan's equal."
     "She's dead," Vila said quietly.  "She was on one of the
Federation ships."
     "Does Tarrant know?"
     Vila shrugged.  "He must.  He knows all of the Federation
ships were destroyed, and he went over the list of prisoners for
Blake."
     "I asked him to supply any backgrounds that he could.  There
were no Tarrants among the survivors.  I'd have remembered the
name."
     "I think that's my cue to leave," Grant said.  "I need to
contact the Federation authorities about a prisoner exchange. 
I'll get back to you when I've heard, Blake."  He gave Dayna's
arm a squeeze.  "You, I'll see later."
     "I suppose," Dayna said, acting coy.
     Avon stood.  "I have work to do as well.  My lab is in
shambles.  You might have directed the main battle to a different
part of the base, Blake."
     "The next time the Federation instigates a surprise
invasion, I'll be sure to furnish them with a list of off-limit
areas."
     "You do that.  Come along, Dayna...Soolin.  I believe you
offered to help."
     "Only because you promised to repair the food processors
immediately afterwards," Soolin reminded.  "A woman cannot live
on yellow mush alone."
     Blake escorted them to the door.  "I want to thank all of
you for helping me sort through everything.  I needed my friends
around me.  We're going to have to do this more often."
     "Whenever you have time," Avon responded.  "You are the one
with the busy schedule."
     "I know.  I'm going to rectify that.  I promise."
     Vila pushed wearily to his feet.  "I should collect Tarrant. 
We're going back to the house to gather our belongings."
     "Do you need help?"
     "You have your hands full here.  As long as you don't mind
loaning us a flyer, we'll manage."
     "It will be good to have you back," Blake said.  "I've
missed you, Vila."
     "Just don't go planning anything too dangerous."
                               *     *     *
     Fortunately, the base infirmary had been spared any damage. 
Even two days after the battle, it was a busy place, bulging with
wounded rebels.  It took Vila twenty minutes to track down the
physician who had treated Tarrant.
     "He's in recovery," the doctor reported.  "It was a bit more
complicated than I thought it would be.  The pre-op exam turned
up some abnormalities.  I decided to use a general anaesthesia
for the surgery and run some tests while I had him under.  The
preliminary results point to renal damage, brought about by the
drugs he was given when a prisoner."
     "H-how bad is it?"
     "Potentially very serious, but we've caught it in time and
have corrective treatment that will cure the problem."
     "That's good.  You'll be keeping him here, then?"
     "Actually, no.  It isn't an immediate threat and we have our
hands full at the moment.  In a week or two, when we're less
busy, I'll readmit him."
     "I'm sure he was disappointed.  He was anxious to be
assigned a ship."
     "He doesn't know yet.  I didn't have the test results until
a short time ago.  I was waiting until he was fully awake to tell
him."
     "Let me tell him," Vila proposed.  "He'll take it better. 
Is he up to piloting a flyer and to help pack our things?"
     "As long as he doesn't exhaust himself.  His condition
doesn't require any special restrictions for now."
                               *     *     *
     Vila surveyed the dozen boxes and sighed tiredly.   "I
didn't realize that we had this much."
     "We?" Tarrant questioned mildly.  "Most of it is yours.  I
don't think we'll finish today."
     "You're right.  And since we won't finish today, we might as
well leave the rest until tomorrow."
     "That's not what I said.  We could..."
     "Tarrant," Vila fixed mournful eyes the pilot's way, "I'm
tired.  I'm still recuperating, and I've already had a physically
stressful couple of days helping sort out the base."
     "Sorry," Tarrant was quick to apologize.  "I wasn't
thinking."  He looked at Vila with concern.  "Are you sure you're
ready to return to active duty?  You might be rushing it."
     "I'm sure.  Unwilling but sure."
     "I'm more than ready," Tarrant's eyebrows rose in a faint
imitation of jaunty, "and I've always been willing."
     Vila considered using the opening to tell Tarrant that he
wasn't as ready as he thought, but there was the other
distressing topic that needed discussed as well.  He opted to
start with that.  "You do know about your mother?"
     "I know."
     "You haven't said anything."
     Tarrant turned his attention back to dismantling their
computer.  "Do you expect me to mourn her?  She's dead.  Good
riddance.  The galaxy is..." he cut off, his voice breaking.
     Vila stared at the pilot's back and cursed to himself. 
//Damn that woman!//  But Tarrant had to face his loss.  Better
here than to have it fester for months on end.  Leaning heavily
on the arm of his chair, Vila creaked to his feet and forced his
sore and aching body across the room.
     Hearing Vila's approach, Tarrant tried to divert him.  "I'm
almost done here.  You rest."
     Putting his hands to the younger man's shoulders, Vila began
a soft massage.  "Let's go to bed."
     "I'm really not in the mood."
     "Doesn't matter.  I'm too tired myself.  But I think we
could both use some closeness," Vila finished, restating
Tarrant's words from so many months and so many experiences ago.
     Tarrant shivered slightly then nodded.  "You're probably
right."  He allowed Vila to lead him to the bedroom, where they
stripped in silence.
     They grew comfortable, settling on their sides, with Vila
facing Tarrant's back and wrapping his arms about the younger
man.  Tarrant caressed Vila's arm, ruffling over the light
coating of hair.  "Would you think me terribly foolish if I told
you that I'm sorry she's dead?" he asked softly.
     "No."
     "She said something on the ship.  I think she did love me. 
She implied that she was deliberately strict and aloof because
she wanted me to grow up strong.  That makes sense, considering
Federation Alpha society.  The weak don't survive."
     "Yes, it does make sense."
     "And what she did after Gauda Prime.  That could have been
for me too.  If I hadn't been of use to the Federation, they
would have executed me.  By manipulating me into providing them
with technical assistance, Brya was saving my life."
     Vila pulled his hand back and stroked Tarrant's hair.  If
the pilot found comfort in good memories of his mother, Vila
didn't have the heart to contradict him.  But what would he do
when he learned about his medical problem, directly attributable
to