Avon raised his hand in the V-fingered salute that still felt awkward, no matter how often he practiced it. "Live Long and Prosper, Sowal," he said to the tall man standing on Stiletto's teleport platform. He kept his face stern, hoping that it would prevent any sniggers of amusement on the part of the watching audience. Social life on Stiletto  being rather limited, nearly the entire crew had gathered to see Sowal off. A dignified, quiet farewell was liable to turn into an emotional scene. Not on his part, of course. He was grateful to the Vulcan for instructing him in the mind-rules, and had no intention of embarrassing the man.
    "Live Long and Prosper, Avon," Sowal replied, returning the gesture. The cowled hood of his robe lay back on his shoulders, but his starkly lined, alien features were as unreadable as if they were covered. "It may be that you will require further instruction. Perhaps I should remain."
    Avon shook his head. "We were fortunate to intercept the Wanderer, out in this remote sector.  Twice fortunate that its next port of call is your home planet. Our battle with the Federation isn't yours, but if you stay longer, Blake will find a way to make use of your skills."
    Blake looked up from the teleport controls and grinned. "As  Avon so delicately puts it, you could be very helpful to us, and I'd gladly welcome you as a permanent member of the crew."
    Avon scowled. "Sowal is a pacifist." He put his hands behind his back and visibly stiffened.
    Vila piped up, from his comfortable lounge against the wall, "So'm I."
    "I said 'pacifist' not 'coward'," Avon replied. He was looking at Blake as he continued, "I gave my word ."
    "But what if you need him?" Pavra asked, quietly. At her side, Puss gave a soft growl of agreement.
    Avon's eyes narrowed. "Are you suggesting I require a keeper?"
    Dayna and Soolin exchanged exasperated glances, but neither of them said anything.
    "Well, if anyone wants my opinion..." came a voice from the intercom. Andromeda was always listening in, and quite ready to put in her two cents worth.
    "No! We do not!" Avon glared. "Well? He glanced around the room.
    Blake ran his hand through his hair, and sighed. "You're right. If he doesn't go now, the chances are he'll never see his home again."
    Avon nodded, and relaxed.
    "I will go, then. Blake," Sowal turned slightly, to face him. "The Federation is also enemy to my people. I believe the time has come for us to offer what aid we may to your forces. I will so advise the council." Sowal flipped the cowl forward, hiding his face, and picked up his small parcel of tools and personal necessities. "I am ready," he stated.
    "He's going," Blake said, in a firm and carrying voice.
    Tarrant and Jenna came in from the corridor, put on teleport bracelets and joined him on the platform. Tarrant granted Avon a blinding smile and Jenna positively smirked.
    "What's this?" Avon asked, whirling on Blake. "A quick drop-off, you said. We are vulnerable sitting here, you said."
    Blake shrugged. "The Gypsies know more about this quadrant than we do. It seemed a pity to waste the opportunity."
    "Orac could sift their computers in a matter of moments."
    "Yes, but what about all the things that don't get put in the computers?" Blake said, reasonably. He flipped the teleport switches and sent the trio across to the other ship.
    "Down and safe," Jenna's voice came over the intercom. "Don't worry, Avon, we won't be long. I know how you'll miss us."
    "You're planning something, Blake, and you don't want me to know about it." Avon glared, then headed for the corridor. "Fine. Don't tell me about it, and don't expect me to save the day when your plan fails, either!"
    Blake rolled his eyes. "Melodramatic as always, Avon."  He sat down behind the console.
    Dayna said, "Well, he's upset. He doesn't like good-byes." She grew thoughtful. "I don't, either."
    Vila said, "Oh, I don't know. A good farewell party with lots of drink and pretty girls..."
    Dayna hissed something uncomplimentary and stalked off.
    "Something I said?" Vila looked around innocently.
    Soolin said, "You can be an idiot sometimes, Vila. Think. I wasn't even with you, but I know what happened the last time you were in this sector."
    Vila went pale. "Oh," he said, very softly. "Oh!" He got up, and ran after Dayna.
    Blake and Pavra stared after Vila, astonished. "Do you want to explain?" Blake asked Soolin.
    "It isn't a very pretty story. There's a planet called Terminal. Liberator  blew up there, and Cally is buried there." Soolin flipped her long braid back over her shoulder. "The others never talk about it, but Dayna told me. Once. A long time ago."
    "Avon never said anything," Blake remarked, gnawing thoughtfully on a knuckle. "I guessed, of course, after word got around about Avon and Scorpio  and his new crew." He looked at Soolin. "Was she alone?"
    Soolin met his eyes. "Yes. But Dayna said she called you. Dayna heard it, in her mind. Did you  hear it?"
     "No. I wish I had."
    "Why? It wouldn't have helped her." Soolin shook her head. "I'm getting maudlin. Never mind, Dayna will get over it."
    "And Avon?" Blake asked. "Was there anything between him and Cally? I wondered, sometimes."
    "You'd have to ask him." Soolin looked back over her shoulder as she left, and smiled. "But I wouldn't hold my breath waiting for an answer."
    Pavra followed Soolin. She paused at the doorway. "I never met Cally. I'm sorry about that. I think we would have been good friends."
    Blake stroked his chin and stared at the blank bulkhead. May you die alone and silent. That was the first thing Cally had said aloud to him. Obviously, it had been the worst thing she could imagine. He had heard about Auron's mysterious plague. The ghost planet, they called it now. Gentle, courageous Cally and all her people- gone as if they never were. He lifted his head, his chin firming in resolve. No, that wasn't true. Cally had made a difference. Even if her name was forgotten, she had left ripples on the tide of human history. When the Federation fell, then would be the time for monuments. Now, all he could do was fight in her name; another name to remember when the cause seemed futile- Gan, and Bran Foster, his family, and now Cally. Sometimes he felt an invisible army marched beside him.

    Avon was annoyed. Jenna and Tarrant had returned from the Gypsy vessel bubbling over with enthusiasm and closeted themselves with Blake for hours. Another scheme to put them all at risk was no doubt simmering merrily away. And without his input. He had let Blake goad him once more. He said he didn't want to be told anything, and Blake was taking him at his word. Infuriating bastard. Blake was probably counting on his curiosity and survival instincts overwhelming his pride. Reluctantly, Avon admitted it would work. Blake was quite capable of planning and carrying out his mission- whatever the Hell it was- all by himself, if no one would cooperate. And getting himself killed in the process.
    No.
    Avon stopped. No, Blake was not going to die alone. His mouth twisted. Alone and silent. Ah, Cally. If only... No. Regrets were pointless. The past was over and done with. Just hanging on to the present took all his energy. He went to his bed and sat down, gently massaging his temples. He was tired. Tired of a great many things, but at present he was chiefly tired of thinking about Blake. It was bringing on another headache. He'd had a constant, nagging ache for the last week. No doubt that irritation was in part responsible for his outburst in front of Blake. Perhaps a mild sedative, and a decent night's sleep would help. He was tired, body, mind and soul. Eight hours of sleep ought to help at least one of them. He popped a capsule into his mouth and swallowed it dry. He undressed quickly, fumbling at the tie of his sleeping trousers as the medication began to take effect. He lay down and was asleep before he could even turn onto his side.

    The lights were dim. Avon didn't like that. The corridors were quiet, too. That was good, wasn't it? It meant he could do what he wanted- what he needed to do, without interference. Still, he wasn't happy about it. It was too much like being alone and silent. He flinched. No. He knew what he had to do.
    He paused at the entrance to the flight deck. It didn't look right. There was a man sitting there on watch. Avon blinked. The man was tall, and curly-haired but he wasn't Blake. He didn't belong there. Avon strode up to the man quickly, his bare feet quiet on the smooth deck. As he approached his shadow fell over the man, who looked up and smiled. "Avon," he started, but Avon didn't wait for any lies, any Federation tricks, but brought his paired hands down on the man's neck, hard enough to render him unconscious. He could have killed, of course, but there was no need.
    "Avon? Why did you do that?"
    Avon jumped, startled, then he narrowed his eyes. "Zen? Why is your vocoder set in that register?"
    "Zen?" The female tones continued, sounding surprised. "Avon, it's Andromeda."
    "You are a computer?" He wasn't sure, but he had a vague recollection of a computer named Andromeda. And even vaguer unease at the recollection that he didn't recall why Zen wasn't here.
    "Avon? Are you all right?"
    "Of course I am." Avon strode over to the navigation console, and made a course change. As he'd somehow expected, the computer tried to override him, but he wasn't having any of that. A probe fused the circuits in a satisfying shower of sparks. The computer protested shrilly, and began calling for help.
    "Blake! Vila! Dayna!"
    Avon showed his teeth. The machine was mad. They were gone, dead, all of them. He was quite sure of it. He'd made sure of it himself, hadn't he? He picked up Orac and slammed the activator key in place. Now the ship's computer was flashing red emergency lights and wailing sirens at him. Avon went cold. That was right, that was how it was. He stepped carefully over the body, and took Orac to the teleport chamber. It wouldn't take long to reach his destination. He was almost there, and then it would be over. He would be so glad when it was over.
    Orac was protesting and sputtering at him. As always. And as always, it obeyed when Avon insisted. He clipped on a teleport bracelet and stood on the platform. He felt wonderfully relaxed. There would be an end. He gave the order and Orac operated the teleport. It was odd, the way the teleport sometimes affected vision. He could have sworn he'd seen Blake there, just for an instant. Avon smiled. Blake, tousled, and half-dressed, eyes wild with his usual passionate fervor. That was good. That was a much better vision of Blake to carry with him than the old one. The one with Blake lying bloody and oh so very, very, dead.

    "Avon!" Blake shouted, but it was too late. He looked at the teleport console, but the outboard coordinates had been zeroed. "Orac! Get him back, now!"
    * That is impossible. *
    "Do it, dammit!" Blake pounded a fist into the console. Oh, god, teleported into space- how long could a human body withstand vacuum? What was it, five seconds? Ten? His hands went frantically over the controls, trying desperately to find a way to retrieve Avon. Dimly, he felt the presence of others at his back, but he ignored them.
    * I would advise against any attempt to operate the teleport. * Orac said sharply.
    Blake ignored that, too, despite Orac's tone.
    "Blake!" Jenna grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him off-balance. He fell to the deck, just as the console exploded. Smoke poured out of the wrecked device, quickly smothered by  fire suppressant foam blasting from the bulkheads. Blake choked and rolled away from the mess, dragging Jenna with him.
    "Avon." Blake looked around wildly.
    "He's not here," Jenna said softly, putting her arms around Blake.
    Dayna started crying, tears sliding silently down her cheeks. "No," she said, "not now. Not when everything was finally going right."
    Puss was behind her, fur bristled and claws fully extended. She gave one low wail of distress, and ran from the room. No one got in her way.
    Vila came in, quietly, his arms around Soolin and Pavra. "What happened?" He asked, voice shaking.
    Jenna answered for Blake. "Avon killed himself." She shook her head. "He teleported into space." She was white-faced. "I would never have..."
    * That is not correct. Avon teleported down to the planet. * Orac interrupted.
    "What planet?" Blake found his voice, new hope giving him strength.
    * Terminal. *
    Blake blinked, and accepted the information. He rose to his feet, and surveyed the damage. "We'll have to land," he decided almost immediately. He looked around. "Where's Tarrant?"
   Andromeda answered over the intercom, her simulated voice barely audible, "He's on the flight deck. Avon knocked him out. I can't help him. I couldn't help Avon."
    "Come on," Blake said, and ran for the flight deck.

    Fortunately, Tarrant wasn't badly hurt. He woke up in Stiletto's  small medical unit nursing a terrific headache and a puzzled resentment. Something cool brushed against his neck, and he flinched, opening his eyes. Dayna was there, medicated pad in hand, staring down at him. "Avon hit me,"  he told her in astonishment. He rubbed gently at the sore place on the back of his neck. "What did I do?" He cradled his head in both hands for an instant, then looked up, angry, "I'm going to have a word with him."
    "We have to find him first," Dayna informed Tarrant.
    "Find him? Look, Stiletto's  not that big a ship."
    "But he's not on it." Dayna turned away to lay the pad down.
    "Not..." Tarrant swallowed. "He didn't..."
    "No, he didn't teleport into space. We were passing Terminal. He's down there, somewhere."
    Tarrant considered that, remembering the savage Links. "Did he take a weapon?"
    "He didn't even get dressed!" Dayna slapped a table hard. "He's gone mad. Even if we get him back..." She sniffled, and Tarrant forgot about his injuries.
    "We'll get him back." He slid off the table. "What's the rest of the bad news?" Avon never did things by halves, particularly disasters. He had a positive talent for them.
    "Well, the teleport's a pile of bits, Orac won't say where he teleported him to, and the Links are close enough to human to make any sort of sensor search pointless."
    "Fine." Tarrant pulled on his jacket. "So we only have to eyeball-search an entire primitive planet with hostile animals snapping at our heels. Don't worry. Compared to our usual missions, this is a piece of cake. I'll just go to the flight deck and see if Jenna needs a hand."
    Dayna smiled weakly, and followed.
    "Come on, Orac," Vila was cajoling the computer when they arrived. "Just give us a hint, could you?"
    * I have been given strict instructions. I cannot divulge any information. *
    Blake said, "Leave it, Vila." He stared down at the plastic box. He smiled suddenly and said, "Orac, correct me if I'm wrong. Avon is on the planet Terminal." The computer was silent. "He's in the Northern Hemisphere." The computer was still silent. "He's on the smaller of the two continents in the Northern Hemisphere."
    * That is incorrect. *
    Blake grinned. "I always was good at twenty questions."
    As it turned out, it took less than that to discover that Avon had used the same coordinates as on his last, ill-fated trip to Terminal. Between Andromeda and Orac, Stiletto's  crew quickly learned more than they ever wanted to know about the planet.
    Tarrant was still slightly dizzy, so Jenna took the ship down on her own.
    The landing was rough. "Sorry about that," Jenna said. She got up and waved at the scene on the monitor. "I didn't dare land any closer to the coordinates. Not and have any hope of taking off again." This part of Terminal was in apparently in the middle of winter. Jagged rocks and sparse vegetation poked through a covering of white. The heat of the ship's landing had melted a clearing around them, and she could see how fine she'd cut it.
    "At least it's not snowing now," Dayna said. She was pulling on a thick jacket as she spoke.
    "Still cold," Vila commented. He looked very unhappy. "I've always hated the cold."
    "So stay here!" Dayna snapped.
    Vila looked hurt. "I'm going. I didn't say I wasn't going, did I?"
    "We're all going," Blake said firmly. "Except Tarrant. He stays."
    "What?" Tarrant protested. "No, I'm not. I have a bone to pick with Avon. I want to be there when you find him."
    Blake dropped a hand to Tarrant's shoulder. "You're still light-headed. We don't have time to spare picking you up out of the snow, too. Besides, someone's got to stay with the ship, and make sure those animals don't break in."
    Tarrant grumbled, but Blake was right.
    "Pavra can help you," Vila put in. "No," he said, firmly when she would have protested. "You'd be swallowed up in that." As Pavra was only a hair over five feet tall, he wasn't exaggerating by much.
    Pavra looked even more unhappy than Tarrant. "But, Avon..."
    "We'll bring him back," Blake said.

    Puss came along, of course. The search party was glad of her company. Not only was she well equipped to withstand the temperature, but she would deter any sensible predators.
    "That way," Jenna said, pointing her hand-held coordinate locator, preset to Avon's teleport location. "About two kilometers." She let the locator swing from its attachment to her belt, and ran to Blake's side. She had to stretch her legs to keep up.
    It was hard going. The day was bright and clear, but still bitterly cold. The snow crackled underfoot, distant animal cries echoed eerily off snowbanks, and their own panting breaths were loud. Puss and Blake went ahead, breaking a path for the slighter members of the party. Jenna concentrated on the locator, realizing the importance of getting to Avon as quickly as possible. He had teleported down virtually naked almost an hour ago. She dreaded arriving moments too late. Blake would never forgive himself. Oh, she wanted Avon's neck between her fingers. He could hurt Blake so easily. Jenna's stomach muscles clenched. His death could hurt Blake beyond bearing.
    Soolin and Dayna walked behind Jenna, guns out, and alert.  Small animal life fled as they approached, and a constantly renewed group of shaggy semi-humanoids paced them, snarling from the underbrush, and occasionally throwing things in their general direction. They seemed to have territorial boundaries, trading off with a new group every half-kilometer or so. The Links had mutated again, according to Dayna. They were larger, and their pelts were now a dirty yellowish white. This made them difficult to see against the snow, but a few roars from Puss kept them at a distance.
    "Don't shoot unless you have to," Blake advised.
    "But don't wait if you have to," Vila added. "Better safe than sorry. I'm sorry already," he mumbled, not loud enough for anyone to catch. He expected to be eaten at any moment. Or freeze to death. Or just fall down and die of exhaustion. For once, he didn't think any amount of complaining would make Blake call a rest stop. Not that Vila would ask for one. He wasn't quite sure why he'd volunteered in the first place. Except that he'd finally begun to feel like part of a family again, even including Avon. Why was Avon always getting him into these situations? And why was it always on a planet like this?
    Puss made a sudden, coughing roar, rising to her hind legs, her mane bristling wildly. Everyone stopped dead. Even the Links sat down on their haunches in the snow. In the silence, the Stiletto  party heard the tigris make a soft, 'chuffing' sound. She grimaced, curling her upper lip and flaring her nostrils, then dropped to all fours, and bounded off across the snow, a blindingly white streak with the momentum of an avalanche.
    "She's got the scent," Blake shouted.
    Puss stopped as abruptly as she'd begun running. She was crouched beside a blurred set of footprints when they caught up.
    "Avon," Dayna said, with certainty.
    "You're sure? It couldn't be one of those animals?" Blake asked.
    "No, it's human." Dayna was their best tracker, having practiced her hunting skills since childhood. Blake had become adept as a bounty hunter, but he'd come to it late. His instincts weren't as well developed as hers. "The tracks are fresh. That way!"
    For perhaps a quarter of an hour all went well. Blake was beginning to think ahead to what they would do when they found Avon if he was  still in the same frenzied state. They had brought sedatives, but he wasn't sure it would be safe to knock Avon out. He might very well freeze once he stopped moving.
    "Oh, no," Soolin whispered. It didn't take a skilled woodsman to see the tumbled patch of snow surrounding Avon's last clear tracks, and the host of other tracks around. "The Links."
    "I'll kill them. I'll kill them all," Dayna swore.
    "That won't do Avon any good," Jenna said.
    "Maybe not. But it will help me."
    "Dayna." Blake was studying the tracks more closely. "Look. There's no blood. Maybe they took him prisoner."
    "They're animals. They don't take prisoners," she snapped.
    "Maybe they changed," Vila put in. He shrank when everyone looked at him.
    "Out of the mouth of fools," Jenna said. Soolin gave Jenna a dirty look. Jenna noted it, amused.
    "They've mutated," Dayna said, softly. She cast further out, studying the tracks intently. "Here. These are deeper than the others. They're carrying something heavy."
    "Or they're bigger than the others," Soolin commented.
    "You're such a pessimist," Dayna said. "Come on!"

    Avon had been surprised when he teleported down into the middle of a white, frozen wasteland. And not surprised, at the same time. It was the red lights and sirens that had misled him. He was sure the base here wasn't that one. Servalan was here, and Blake. He was going to kill one of them. He just hadn't made up his mind which. He shivered without noticing it. He started off, but the teleport bracelet slipped down his arm and he stopped to look at it. He shouldn't be wearing it. The others could trace him by it, and he didn't want them here. He especially didn't want Cally here. He shied away from that thought. He took off the bracelet, and buried it in the snow. Of course, now he couldn't go back,  but there wasn't anything to go back to, was there? He remembered Servalan's smiling face, and unbearable fear. Worse than any physical torture, he remembered that unreasoning, inescapable fear that had him groveling to her, belly-down and whimpering like a whipped cur. He wouldn't return to that. No, he'd just go to Servalan's base and kill someone. Then maybe he'd steal a spaceship and go somewhere else. Or not. It didn't really matter.
    He remembered the way to the base. Always had a good memory. He could remember every wrong anyone had ever done him. That was saying something. He could also remember every kindness, but that was no great feat. Speaking of feet, his were beginning to become bothersome. He frowned down at them. They weren't always that particular shade of blue-white, were they? Oh, well, his hands looked the same. Must be the light. After all, outside the Domes everything was disorganized, even the lighting. He missed the Domes, missed the unchanging environment, the intellectual stimulation of his peers, the petty luxuries, and the smug satisfaction of being near the top of the human anthill. Blake never felt that way. No, he was too full of plans for making all the 'little people' safe and secure.
    Avon had told him, quite plainly, that he didn't care about anyone but himself, but Blake just smiled. That was really annoying. Blake always seemed to think Avon was just like him, but hiding his true nature. One of these days, he was going to have a long talk with Blake. He would tell the idealistic candidate for sainthood, in no uncertain terms, that Avon was not going to suffer for people he didn't even know. He didn't think he was going to tell Blake that he rather admired his stubborn convictions, and envied him his surety and dedication. Only thing was, once Blake started talking, there was no telling what Avon would let slip. Maybe he wouldn't say anything, after all.
    He tripped over nothing, and landed face-first in a wet patch of something or other. Damn. He got back to his feet, slowly.  He'd better keep his mind on business, or he'd never get to the base. He peered ahead. Shouldn't be too far, now. He would get to the base, and get Cally... wait. He left Cally behind, didn't he? On Liberator . Or was it Scorpio ? Stiletto ? Now, that would never do. Get a hold of yourself, man. Can't be leaving crew all over the universe. It's untidy.
    He stopped. No. Cally wasn't on any ship. He began laughing. He'd been very untidy with her. He remembered now. Cally was on the base. Cally was a part of the base. She was so still, so very bloody, and quiet. For once not nagging at him to be better than he had any desire to be; for once not gazing at him with those too perceptive eyes, demanding sincerity, and trust, and even a sort of love, the little that remained in his wretched soul. He'd been a coward, then. Once he'd touched her and found no pulse, he hadn't been able to fire at the rubble, to give her the closest thing to a decent burial that was possible. He'd just left her there, a broken thing with all the essence of Cally poured out of it, dust sifting into her tangled hair, blood drying on her twisted limbs. He'd told the others she was dead, which was true, and that he'd buried her, which was only partly true. He'd buried her in his heart, but left her pitiful carcass to the vermin.
    He couldn't go to the base. Not even for Servalan and Blake. He couldn't go to Cally, to what she must be now. After the rats had been at her. Wherever you were, there were always rats. He shuddered. Cally had been so beautiful. He hadn't thought so at first, but the more he saw her, the more his eyes were educated to her quiet elegance and confident grace. She might have appreciated knowing that he appreciated her, but somehow it was never the right time to say anything, and then it was too late.
    Well, now, he'd  himself into a fine fix. He couldn't go forward, and he couldn't go back. What did that leave? Sideways? Up? He stared up into the snow-covered branches of an immense fir tree, and imagined himself shinnying up it as a small boy would. It was a very tall tree. Tall enough to reach the stars. He reached for a branch.
    Who are you?
    Avon screamed and put his hands to his head. "NO! No! You're dead. I killed you, go away."
    Avon!
    The voice in his head wouldn't go away. He struck out blindly, hitting something furry. It fell back, and he tried to run, but other furry things grabbed at him. He struggled, but there were many of them and they kept touching him, holding him. And the voice! Oh, no, not that. He screamed again and writhed. His skin burned where the things touched him, he could feel it sloughing off under their grasping paws. They would peel him down to the bones, and leave him for the rats.
    "No, Avon! Avon, it is me. Stop fighting, we will not hurt you." Slender hands gripped the sides of his face, pulling him around. "Avon, it is me, Cally."
    "NO!" Avon moaned. He was weakening. The things were too strong, and the sight of Cally's unmarked face was like a blow to his gut. All his muscles were unstrung, all his senses were false. He had nothing left. Everything was lies, lies and madness. "No," he muttered, and felt his head fall heavily, the pain of the sudden jerk like the hangman's noose, knotted under his ear. He didn't pass out completely, but in some strange, helpless fashion was aware. His body would not obey him, but he still heard and felt.
    "Hurry," came the false Cally voice. "He is dying."
    Dying? No, already dead. Twice, three times dead, and long since rotted in the grave, down to clean, white bones, and tender pale worms nosing among the sockets of his skull. With that, everything finally did go away, and stopped bothering him.
   
    "Do not fear. No one will hurt you. You are safe."
    Avon didn't recognize the voice, but he was dimly aware that it had been talking to him for some time. He opened his eyes.
    "Yes. You are awake."  The voice belonged to a man. His hair was glossy, a thick black mane that waved about his face, but his jaw was smooth-skinned, without so much as a trace of stubble, despite his obvious maturity. He had a wide, flat nose, glistening black skin and a mouth filled with rather impressive teeth.   
    "Is your name Tarrant?" Avon asked.
    The man looked puzzled, in a good-natured way. "No, I am Cesar. I will call the Teacher." He leaned forward to change a warm, coarsely woven cloth that lay across Avon's shoulders. He dropped it into a steaming bowl of hot water, wrung out a replacement and added that to the cocoon swathing Avon. He patted Avon on the shoulder. "She will know what to do."
    "That's very comforting," Avon muttered. He looked around. They were inside a primitive structure, little more than a hut, but it was warm. He hadn't thought about it, but it had been exceedingly cold outside. He tried to shift, but his  hands were numb. He maneuvered them out of the nest of furs and warm cloths. They were grotesquely padded in wrappings and quite without feeling. His feet felt the same; heavy blocks of uselessness. "Unless your teacher is a very skilled surgeon, I don't think there's much she can do." Avon shut his eyes for a moment, then opened them to stare at Cesar. "I thought you were going to call your teacher?"
    "I did," the man said, mildly. "Didn't you hear me?"
    "No, Cesar. Avon does not know how to listen."
    Avon looked up at that soft, impossible voice to see a fur-covered being enter the hut. Despite the primitive clothing, the face and figure were all too familiar. "Cally. You're dead. I saw..."
    Cally shook her head. "No. I was close to death, but I survived. Avon, where are the others? You are not alone, are you?"
    "I... no, I'm not sure." He sighed. "Things have been very confusing lately," he confessed.
    Cally's eyes softened. She sat down beside Avon, in that peculiar crouch that she made seem so effortless. "I understand."
    Well, that was more than he did.
    "But there must be someone, Avon. How else could you have come here? There must be a ship. You must have a crew."
    "Perhaps. What does it matter. You seem to have gone native quite completely."
    Cally sighed. "Avon. Why are you so difficult?"
    "How else could you recognize me?"
    "I could always do that." Cally smiled. "Well, perhaps after Jason helps you, you might feel more like talking."
    "Jason?"
    Cally nodded. "He can help you. If you let him." Cally was very serious now. "You were always the hardest for me to reach, Avon. I never did know why. But if you do not let Jason reach you, I am afraid you will die."
    Avon was silent.
    "Do you understand me? I do not want you to die, Avon," her voice trembled, and Avon looked up, startled. Auron tears. A very rare commodity at any time, and now far more precious than gold.
    "How did you survive, Cally?"
    "Jason." Cally smiled again. "He did not know what he was doing. He did not know what I was, or even what he was, but he healed me."
    "I left you to die," Avon admitted. "I was so sure you were dead. I was going to bury you, but..."
    "Oh, I am very glad you did not!" Cally laughed. "I suppose I must have looked dead. I certainly felt nothing. Terminal is not a normal world. I do not know if its accelerated evolution interacted with my Auron metabolism and sent me into a coma. I do not know if the  mind- meddling equipment Servalan had used on you put me into a state of suspended animation. I do not even rule out the possibility that Auron's gods did not wish to let one of the last of her children die like that." She shrugged. "I have had a long time to think about it, but no way to test any of my ideas. All I do know is that I did not die. When I came to my first clear awareness, Jason was holding me, talking to me in my mind, but not in words. Only emotions. He wanted me to live. And so I did, because I wanted to live also. It was very painful, but even pain is better than death."
    "Not always." Avon turned his head away. Cally made an exasperated noise, then rose to her feet.
    Avon heard the flap of hide at the entrance of the hut move. He shut his eyes.  If Cally had gone, that was good. He didn't want...
    "I am Jason."
    Avon didn't want to look, but there was something in that soft voice that drew him. Unwillingly, he turned back. He blinked. Jason  was sitting in Cally's place. He looked enough like Cesar to be his brother, but his hair was evenly striped, black and silvery white. His eyes were silver-white also, with black pupils as deep as space. Jason sat down, cross-legged, and stared into Avon's face. "You are afraid," he stated flatly. Jason looked sideways at Cally. "Why is he afraid?"
    "I am not afraid of you," Avon said.
    "But you are afraid." Jason touched Avon, softly smoothing down his hair. Avon fought to keep from flinching. "Do not fear. Life is good. It is good to see the sun rise, and to feel the wind against your face. Even when there is pain, life is good."
    "You live in a very simple world," Avon commented dryly.
    Jason frowned. "No. It is not. There is ugliness and pain on all worlds. And beauty and wonder, too. If you die, you will feel no pain, and you will feel no love. You will leave the Teacher to cry for you. You will leave the Teacher with no one of her own kind."
    "I am not of her kind! You are closer to her than I am. The two of you can go commune your souls, or whatever it is psychics do for amusement. I can't."
    Jason's hands were back on Avon's head, stroking gently along the temples. "Yes, you can. You have been hurt."
    Avon held up his hands and laughed. "Oh, well, it doesn't take a genius to see that."
    "Not there. Here." Jason tapped Avon's head. "You have changed." He put his head to one side, as if listening. Then he smiled. "I changed, too. Did the Teacher tell you who we are?"
    Avon narrowed his eyes. "No. Cally?" He gazed at Jason and the silent, calmly smiling Cesar. "I have never seen anyone like you before. You're not human, are you?"
    Jason smiled even broader. "We were once."
   "Links. You're Links." Avon stared. "But how? I was here only a few years ago. You were animals. It isn't possible."
    Cally came back and sat down next to Jason. "Some of the Links were psi-sensitives. Very, very few of them. Out of thousands of 'normal' Links, perhaps there was one who could hear me. Jason was the first. When he met me he was an animal. But an animal that felt another's pain, and shared another's mind. He learned from me as I healed, and he changed himself. When the others came to join us, he changed them, too."
    "On a genetic level? Or is it only superficial?"
    "There were children," Jason said. For once his bright smile dimmed. "They looked like we do now. They felt like us, too. But they were not as strong as our children were when we were animals."
    "And they died."
    Jason nodded. "There are very few of us."
    "How few?" Avon asked.
    "Ten, Avon," Cally said. "There are only ten of them."
    Avon heard the weariness and the sorrow in her voice. More than that, he felt it. He suddenly realized she had added her hands to Jason's, and managed to work her way through his shields, and into the part of his mind that the Vulcans had released. His head lolled to one side as the paralysis of the mind-merger took over. "Not fair, Cally," he said thickly, while speech was still possible.
    I know, Avon. I apologize, but I would not have you die for stubbornness .
    He let his eyes slide shut, and concentrated on the intruders. Cally was as bright and bold in his inner mind as ever she was on a raid. She grinned fearlessly at him.
    Jason was at her side, smiling at Avon.
    They were so cheerful and supremely confident that good intentions would conquer all evil. He was tempted to toss them out, just to teach them a lesson. But then Cally would be left alone. He'd already abandoned her once.
    "All right. Go ahead and try," Avon said, ungraciously.
    "Thank you," Cally said, overly politely.
    Jason was right. It did hurt. It hurt like hellfire, running along his bones, and consuming his flesh. He fought them, but Cally was strong, and Jason was gently persistent. Or was it the other way around. Finally, after an eternity, Avon realized he was alone in his own mind again. He opened his eyes. Cally and Jason were slumped over on top of him. The weight made it difficult to breathe, but except for that, did not hurt. He flexed his fingers inside the clumsy mittens. Feeling had returned. Feeling and a chance at life.  Cesar pulled Jason away, and laid him down beside Avon. More reverently, he arranged Cally neatly on Avon's other side. He smiled at Avon. "It is good. Sleep now."
    Avon would have liked to have made a cutting remark, but nothing sprang to mind. He sighed, and turned his head to look at Cally. If this was madness, he hoped no one would cure him. Even if this was a dying delirium, it was a far better dream than he deserved. His eyelids dropped shut.

*************go to part 2 of Change of Heart here *************