Hurt Feelings(Stiletto 6)

   Puss stretched, then hissed in annoyance as the action pulled the still-healing skin of her side. The momentary twinge reminded her of the battle aboard Servalan's ship and its disastrous aftermath. She'd been battle drunk before. It had never made her turn on her comrades, far less a prospective mate. She had wanted Avon since she first caught his scent, first felt his subtle emotional aura. He was her destiny, she felt it with a sureness beyond knowledge. Even if he never accepted her as mate, she would stay with him. If only he would let her. Since she had injured him, he had refused to stay in the same room with her. She could not speak as a human, but she had used the ship's computer to send him an apology. His reply had been short and to the point : stay away from me.
   She was furious with herself, and she was furious with Avon for not being one of her people. If he'd been a male of her own kind, she'd not have got through his pelt, even with the rough play. When she woke in the medical unit and saw Avon being bandaged, blood stripes still wet upon his body- that defenseless, no-clawed body, with less fur than the tiniest newborn cub- she had felt like a baby eater. She had pushed the human treating her wounds to one side, and went to Avon, trying as best she could to show him how she felt. He had gone absolutely white, twisted away from her touch and run from the medical unit.
   That had been over a week ago, and he was still running. She was frustrated and short tempered, and well aware that the other humans were wary of her. The only one who didn't smell of fear in her presence was Sowal, but then he never smelled of any emotion. She paced restlessly around and around in the recreation room, which was running the holo-program Avon had set up, back when they were almost friends. It was intended to replicate one of the southern jungles of her home world, replete with tropical greenery, and all the sights, sounds and smells that Orac had been able to retrieve from Federation survey files. The illusion would have been convincing to a human, but they had no machinery to record or play back the feeling of life, the countless bursts of emotions that surrounded one in the true jungle. But it had been Avon's gift, and pretend-hunting in the false jungle he had created for her soothed her. If nothing else, it tired her enough that she would be able to sleep. Eventually.

   "I know it's none of my business, Avon," Vila said conversationally, "but you are being a bit hard on Puss. After all, she didn't really hurt you much, and you can see she feels really bad about it."
   "Sealer," Avon replied, hand out for the relevant tool.
   Vila sighed, fished in the tool kit and slapped the heat sealer into Avon's palm. Avon fiddled with the sealer, and there was a hiss as connections fused. "Continuity tester." Vila responded to the flat command with gusto, smacking the instrument down hard enough to really sting. Avon accepted the tool calmly, failing to satisfy Vila with a jump of startlement or even a curse. The tester blinked and beeped.
   Avon slid out from under the console, picked up the outer casing and snapped it into place. "There," he said, "that should please Blake. The Photonic Drive controls are now fully integrated into the navigation and battle computer array."
   "That's very nice," Vila replied, not much caring. Since they had rejoined Blake, Avon had returned to his role as roving technician with portfolio-to-nitpick, and Vila was delegated to his old role as tool nurse, clean-up, and gopher. Only there had usually been a stream of banter along with it easing the boredom. Avon had always been a chilly bastard, but he was in the deep freeze lately; ever since Puss had marked him up. The wounds were little more than scratches, and he'd seen Avon dismissing a blaster burn to the shoulder as an inconvenience, so it couldn't be the injury itself that was the problem. Maybe it was because Puss was a friend? Was Avon getting paranoid again? "Erm. About Puss..."
   "You're right," Avon interrupted sharply. Vila started to smile, but Avon continued with, "It is none of your business," which wiped the smile away. Avon turned and reached for the tool kit Vila still held.
   Stubbornly, Vila tightened his grip and put his other hand over Avon's. "Now, look," Vila started, feeling quite angry at Avon, and afraid for him, and afraid of him, all in one tangled moment.
   Avon gasped, eyes suddenly wide, jerked out of Vila's grip and backed up, blindly, as if he'd been attacked. The tool kit dropped as Vila let go in surprise at Avon's overreaction. Naturally it landed with a heavy metal clank right on Vila's instep. Vila yelped and hopped, and by the time he was able to blink the pain-tears out of his eyes and hobble after, Avon had disappeared. "What the hell was all that about, Andromeda?" he asked the ship's computer, while leaning against a console to rub his aching foot.
   "I don't know," Andromeda replied. "Something's upsetting Avon. Maybe you should go after him."
   "Hah! Not bloody likely. He's half crippled me, and you know how Avon hates to leave a job unfinished." Vila shook his head. "Watch out for bogeymen, will you, that's a good girl," Vila said as he left the flight deck. Blake wouldn't like it, him leaving the flight deck without a human on duty, but at the moment, Vila didn't care what any Alpha thought. Stuck-up, psychologically warped, bossy, lords-of-creation. It had been Avon's watch, too, and he felt free to abandon it, so Vila could certainly get his foot attended to and maybe get a little something for his nerves along the way.
   After a few steps, he reluctantly decided to forego the liquid consolation. His foot really hurt. Cursing Avon under his breath and leaning against the corridor wall, he made his way to the medical unit. His foot hurt, there was no one around to care, and he just knew Blake was going to yell at him even though it wasn't his fault. He was in a very bad mood by the time he arrived and saw Pavra and Sowal having a nice little chat by the vitamin dispenser.
   "Could I have a little help here?"
   "Vila?" Pavra rushed over and Sowal was there without seeming to have hurried. They got him to an examination table.
   "It's broken, isn't it?" Vila said, wincing as Pavra cut the laces on his plimsoll and eased the shoe off.
   "I don't know." She got the diagnostic equipment and adjusted it to take a reading of Vila's foot. "Now, hold still, and tell me how you managed to do this to yourself."
   "Me? I didn't do anything to myself! It was Avon," Vila wailed, aggrieved even more by the sight of his rapidly purpling foot revealed now that Pavra had removed his sock. "I was just talking to him, and he threw the tool kit at me!"
   "Threw it?" Pavra asked.
   "Well, maybe he sort of dropped it. But he didn't stay around to help me, or even ask if I was all right, which I wasn't, was I? It's broken, isn't it."
   "No." Pavra checked the diagnosis. "It's badly bruised, that's all. I'll wrap it up. You just stay off your feet for a week and out of Avon's way."
   "That'll be a pleasure." Vila grimaced theatrically as Pavra wound a support bandage on his foot. "You'll tell Blake I had to leave the flight deck, won't you? I know I shouldn't, but I couldn't just sit there and suffer, could I?"
   "You could have used the ship's intercom," Sowal reminded him.
   "I was in agony, I couldn't think straight."
   "That is quite likely."
   Vila gave Sowal a dirty look. "And you're another sympathetic character, you are. Hey, how am I going to get to my quarters?"
   "Well, you got here on your own," Pavra said, teasing. "Your room's not much farther."
   "What!"
   "I will assist you," Sowal said. "Or carry you."
   Vila frowned. He could just imagine what Dayna, or worse, Tarrant, would say if they saw him being carried by Sowal. Public drunkenness would be the least of the accusations. "Just give me an arm to lean on," he replied, feeling quite heroic.
   It did hurt, but much less since his foot was bound and Sowal was supporting him on his bad side. He was beginning to cheer up, contemplating a week of being waited on instead of being Avon's slave. Made a nice change. And he could try to work on Avon's guilt- that is, if Avon knew the meaning of the word. "There I was, being concerned for Avon. Should have known better," he muttered.
   "Concerned? In what respect?" Sowal asked.
   Vila perked up. Sowal didn't usually respond to Vila's conversational gambits. Maybe the pointy-eared Alpha-alien did have a spark of human sympathy in him somewhere. "Well, it's just that he's been acting odd- um- odder than usual, even for him. I mean, he's been hiding out from Puss. I've seen him get up and run when she came into the room. Makes her feel bad, and life is dangerous enough without a sulky, seven-foot tall cat with fangs and claws stuck on the same ship as me. As all of us. I told Blake, but he thought Avon was just embarrassed and it would all blow over." Vila gestured at his foot. "Does that look like blowing over, I ask you?"
   "How precisely did your injury occur?" Sowal's voice was as calm and toneless as ever, so Vila had to try very hard to imagine any sympathy.
   But then, Vila had a lively imagination. It was one of the few things no one had ever managed to take from him. "Like I said, I was talking to Avon about Puss and he didn't want to hear it. He tried to grab the tool kit. He dropped it on my foot, and ran off. I don't know what's got into him lately," Vila grumbled. "I mean, he never was the life of the party, but now he won't let anyone near him. The other day, Blake touched him on the arm, to get his attention, and I thought Avon was going to jump right through the ceiling. Or whatever you call the ceiling when you're on a ship. It can't be a deck, can it?" Vila amused himself by trying to decide whether it would be a bulkhead or an overhead, and if he was wrong, which would be more likely to annoy Tarrant. He did so enjoy annoying Tarrant.
   "We have arrived at your quarters," Sowal announced. "Do you need any further assistance?"
   Vila gazed into the calm, solemn, not-quite-human face and decided against inviting Sowal in for a game of cards. "No, thanks. I can manage from here." Vila limped over the threshold, paused and turned back to Sowal. "Thanks. And if you see Avon, tell him I've got an almost-broken bone to pick with him."
   "I shall convey the message," Sowal said.

   "Avon." Sowal had searched Stiletto for Avon without alerting any of its crew. Logically, he assumed Avon would be in an unexpected place, but even so, he had put this chamber last on his list. The walls of the small storage area were obscured by boxes containing personal possessions Servalan had left aboard. It might have been better to dispose of the contents, but no one had wanted to do so, for various unspoken reasons. He didn't understand it, but it was a minor mystery of relative unimportance. The chamber was dusty, ill-ventilated and poorly lit, with scarcely room to pass between the boxes. Not an ambiance conducive to meditation, yet Avon's pose was one of the traditional ones. He was sitting cross-legged on the dirty deck, with his hands resting lightly on his knees and his head tilted back against the equally dusty box behind him.
   "What is it, Sowal?" Avon replied listlessly, without opening his eyes. "If you've come for a game of chess, you're out of luck. I don't think I'd make much of an opponent today."
   "You are unwell?"
   "I am..." Avon laughed, and opened his eyes, looking down at Sowal along his cheekbones, without lowering his head. "I don't know what I am. I only know that it is tearing me apart," he whispered the last, then shut his eyes again. "Go away."
   "T'Pomaiz taught you the mind-rules."
   Avon shook his head. "It doesn't work. I still... I am not one of your people. Your mind-rules teach how to suppress your own emotions; how to control your telepathy. I'm not telepathic, and my own emotions have always been under my control."
   "Indeed." There was not quite a lilt of disbelief in Sowal's tone.
   Avon slitted his eyes open, and gave Sowal a faint, mocking grin. "Well, so far as the rest of humanity is concerned. I was not in the habit of 'expressing' myself. If an emotional response is denied long enough, eventually it will cease to be possible to evoke one."
   "My people have no recent data on human physiology, but I do not believe so radical an alteration in evolution is possible in the time we have been isolated. You may deny your feelings in the human fashion, but not eliminate them, as your emotional responses are in large part a result of involuntary hormonal activity. You may choose, for example, not to outwardly express anger, but the adrenaline surge which accompanies that emotion will still exist."
   "The body may be weak, but I shall rule it," Avon said. He showed his teeth briefly. "The problem is, I can't rule other people's bodies." He looked at Sowal. "They feel, all the time, and when they touch me..." He shuddered, like an animal attempting to free itself from parasites. "They touch me. It keeps getting stronger until sometimes I can't even tell if the emotions are mine or theirs."
   "I see." Sowal met Avon's eyes. "And the mind-rules to prevent one from sharing another's thoughts?"
   "T'Pomaiz taught me how not to invade another's mind. I don't invade. I am invaded."
   "I can assist you to develop selective barriers.."
   "Selective? No. I don't want to know what anyone is feeling. Not Blake, not Vila, not Puss, or anyone else. I want to be alone in my skull."
   "Empathy could be very useful, particularly ..."
   "Particularly for a rebel on the run, likely at any moment to be captured and watch my fr... associates tortured before my eyes? I think that would be much more of a curse than otherwise. T'Pomaiz suggested that if I did not attempt to use it, the ability would likely wither."
   "That is one possibility."
   "And the other possibilities?"
   "I do not know. There are no empaths among my people, so I do not know what may happen to one who denies it. I strongly urge you to reconsider. If you work with me, I am certain we will discover a method of controlling your empathy."
   "I don't want it, not even under control. I don't want the temptation," he paused and laughed, briefly. "Blake would be proud of me. I don't want the ability to sneak into other people's skins and worm out all their hidden feelings. I don't want to know when I am loved, or hated, or simply being told pretty lies. I want to be human."
   "You are. This ability must be latent in all human beings, or it would not have been so easily brought to full function during the mind-meld."
   "Latent. Perhaps in a few millennia, when humans have reached the Golden Age of peace, prosperity and blandly conformist harmony that Blake dreams of, then perhaps humans can afford to know one another so well." He closed his eyes again, and began a gentle rocking. "In the meantime I intend to ignore it and hope it will go away."
   Sowal left. It was apparent that Avon was frightened. He could not be forced into a mind-meld in that state without doing damage far greater than the uncontrolled empathy was likely to inflict. Perhaps the unused ability would lapse into dormancy, but it seemed unlikely. He pondered the ethics of informing Blake about Avon's condition. He had not been sworn to secrecy, but Avon would still probably consider it a betrayal. Vila had told Sowal some of their past. If Avon felt betrayed by Sowal, he would never consent to the mind-meld.
   It seemed there was nothing he could do that would not exacerbate Avon's condition. Nothing at this time. The situation could change. Indeed, during his short time among the humans, he had noted that change was the only fundamental of their existence. Blake's whole Cause was based on that expectation. Possibly the restlessness of the human spirit was also an endocrine function. He would have to discuss that with Blake.

   "So the Photonic Drive is fully tested, and there are no problems?" Blake asked Avon and Sowal, who'd done the final refinements.
   Avon shrugged. "None that I can see. Except for the obvious one, of course."
   "What?" Blake asked.
   "Only that you will be eager to test it against the Federation."
   "Well it has been a long time since we've tweaked their noses," Blake replied. "I wouldn't want them to forget us."
   "I could endure it."
   Blake grinned. "Admit it, Avon, you've been bored of late, haven't you?"
   Avon lifted his head to give Blake an astonished, affronted look. "An intelligent man is never bored."
   "Well, less than challenged, then. Don't you feel the need to test your strength and wits against the best the enemy has to offer?"
   "In a word- no." Avon scowled as Blake chuckled. "And what, precisely, do you mean by 'best the enemy has to offer'?"
   "Just a figure of speech."
   "Are you trying to tell me that you haven't already laid plans?" Avon's eyebrows rose. "That this conversation is purely theoretical?"
   "Well, there is a rather convenient target not fifty spacials away. It's a research station, XK 24."
   "Are we already en route?"
   "Yes."
   "So much for the democratic process."
   "You agreed I would lead, Avon," Blake said, softly.
   "I agreed that you could try." Avon fished Orac's actuator out of his pocket. "I did not agree to blindly obey. I will want to consult Orac on the feasibility of this mission. Once you are so good as to actually tell me what it is?"
   "A high-level space-drive research center, rumored to have finished, and improved upon, Plaxton's Photonic Drive."
   Avon did nothing so noticeable as wince, but he did go still in a way that Blake had learned to read far better than Avon appreciated. "I doubt that very much," he grated.
   "There is a ship," Blake insisted, " Orac says it is completed and only awaiting the arrival of high-ranking officials before it begins its proving flight. Now is the best chance we'll ever have."
   Avon went blank for a moment, considering, then said, "If there is the slimmest possibility, we will have to investigate. With two Plaxton-drive equipped ships, we would stand a much better chance of survival."
   Blake shook his head. "No. That's too dangerous. I want that ship destroyed, along with all of the research."
   "We could use that ship. Your rebellion could use it."
   "We'll do without it." Blake turned to Sowal. "My people will follow me..."
   "Oh, will they?" Avon said, annoyed.
   "Enough, Avon!"
   "Yes, quite enough, I should think." Avon stalked off, after giving Blake one last glare.
   Blake sighed, and ran his hand through his hair. "Yes, they will," he muttered, "including you."
   "Avon is correct. The capture of such a vessel would greatly enhance our long term survival projections."
   Blake looked at Sowal, almost surprised to see the alien still there. "It would. If we could capture it. I don't think we can."
   "Vila has told me stories of your exploits and Orac has confirmed them. This seems well within your capabilities."
   "We're not what we used to be," Blake said ruefully. He glanced back to make certain Avon was beyond earshot. "Especially Avon. Frankly, he's not up to a mission, and I'd need him if we were to try to capture the ship." He studied Sowal. "Something's wrong with him, and you know what it is."
   Sowal said, "He is experiencing some difficulty as a result of the mind-meld, but he is quite - determined- for one of your species. He will not accept my assistance."
   "Nor mine." Blake shook his head. "Avon's always got to do it on his own. I've held back too long, hoping he'd recover his equilibrium, but there are too many people suffering for me to wait any longer. We've got to start hitting back, really hurting the Federation. They lost the major portion of their space fleet during the Intergalactic war. They've been using massive drugging programs in an attempt to keep restless populations subdued, but it hasn't been an overwhelming success. Oh, the drugged people are docile, all right, but they're pretty much useless, too. So they are returning to their roots, conquest through threat. And for that, they need fast, powerful ships."
   "But will destroying this one ship cause any measurable delay? It would be only logical for such important data to have been duplicated."
   "Your people are logical, Sowal. The Federation isn't. Greed and fear are the main motivating factors. The scientists who develop the project will not want to share the credit, and neither will their military superiors. Nor will they wish to take the chance of being punished for promising something which fails. No, there will be no duplicates. Not until it succeeds in front of high-ranking witnesses."
   Sowal inclined his head. "As you say, Blake. I have much to learn of your people."
   "And much to tell your people?"
   "That is my thought," Sowal admitted. "We have been long isolated. Understanding is the first requisite to predicting another's actions. If we understood humanity, perhaps we could have assisted when the Federation changed from a benevolent, if sometimes autocratic, authority to a self-destructive monolithic organism."
   Blake rubbed his chin. "We don't have any accurate records of those days. What did happen to the Federation?"
   "Our historians are handicapped as well. While our records are intact, they are limited. When 'incidents' began, our official protests were ignored. The incidents became more blatant, but the council ruled that we had neither the right nor the need to intervene in Terran internal affairs. The assumption was that our autonomy would be respected so long as we did not attempt to expand our sphere of influence. In any case our physical defenses were vastly inferior and we were reluctant to utilize other methods. This made us appear weak. The Federation annexed our colonies under the pretext that they were hostile, or that the planets had been mistakenly ceded to us."
   "What of your colonists?"
   Sowal turned mild eyes on Blake. "Once it became clear that we could not defend them against aggression, we recalled them. It was a strain on our planet's resources, and eventually we requested aid. The Federation sent warships instead of grain carriers. The flotilla was equipped with what they colloquially called 'planet-busters'. They created a new asteroid field out of an entire solar system, then returned to Earth in triumph."
   "How did your people survive?" Blake had noticed Sowal's tendency to leave a story unfinished. Perhaps the endings were obvious to his logic, but not to Blake's.
   "The solar system they destroyed was not ours. Kerr Avon is not the only being who understands computers. Our coordinates were exchanged for those of a barren system via a self-replicating worm program planted in the central computer registry of the Federation. As we had been under interdict for over twenty five of your Terran years none of our attackers had personal experience to contradict the computers."
   "But surely they had sensors. You couldn't have passed off an empty world on them."
   "We had built cities, and 'populated' them with protoplasm 'farms' to provide life readings. We also had ships, and ground-based missiles which kept them at a distance until there was nothing left of the planet."
   "Still, someone, somewhere, must have had a computer not linked up to the main Federation banks that had your true coordinates."
   "True, but the ancestors of the Gypsies had already agreed to help us keep our secret. They shared navigational data with all the independent space-faring humans, either directly or indirectly. Our worm substituted the coordinates in every computer it encountered and then replicated itself disguised as a navigational hazards update."
   "Vila would love it." Blake grinned. "The old shell-game, done on a galactic scale."
   Sowal quirked an eyebrow, but did not ask for an explanation. Blake had attempted to explain various of Vila's remarks and actions, but had not appreciably enhanced Sowal's understanding. Vila's prime motivation appeared to be hedonism, seeking immediate pleasures at undue expenditure of energy, even to the point of damage to body tissue, which seemed quite contradictory as he also had an exaggerated sensitivity to pain. "Yes," he replied, politely. "Now, about this ship you wish to destroy..."

   "Yes, it's a shame," Tarrant said. He took another bite out of his sandwich and followed it down with a gulp of 'tea'. It wasn't exactly the same as the Terran product, but the flavor wasn't bad- just different. He was relaxing in Stiletto's dining area before going on watch. Avon was being intense, but he didn't mind. Let Avon blow off steam here, it was safer than on the flight deck.
   "That's all you can say?" Avon remarked. "Blake wants to destroy the prototype HyperMark ship, along with its advanced weaponry, double-strength shields and improved Neutron-Stardrive and all you can say is, it's a shame?"
   "All right, it's a crying shame." Tarrant grinned. "Look, I know what's eating you. You're just annoyed because it's Blake's idea."
   Avon shook his head. "I am 'annoyed' as you call it, because Blake blithely supposes that destroying one ship will destroy the research that led to its development. He fondly imagines that all the data and all the minds that created it are on that station."
   "Well, he's probably right."
   "Is he?" Avon turned to a side table, where Orac rested in a place of, if not honor, at least convenience. He put Orac's key in place. "Orac, tell Tarrant why Blake refuses to attempt to capture the HyperMark ship."
   Orac made mechanical throat clearing noises, then said, * I advised him that it was the best course of action to pursue. *
   Tarrant frowned. "If you're trying to convince me, Avon, you should have briefed your little accomplice better."
   Avon waved a hand for silence, then leaned over Orac and said, silkily, "Orac, why did you advise Blake to destroy it?"
   * That was the optimum strategy, according to Blake's specifications. *
   "Ah, what was it he specified?" Orac was silent, and Avon said, "Come on, that's a simple enough question."
   * Blake wished to avoid undue strain on personnel. *
   "Which personnel?"
   * You, Avon. *
   Avon slapped his hand down on the table, and glared at Tarrant. "Blake's guilt complex is acting up again. In his desire to protect me, he is endangering us all. Orac, has the Federation ever produced a prototype ship without back-up records of its development, filed in triplicate on Earth and on Space Command Headquarters?"
   * Not before this, but I can find no records of the Hyper Mark ship. *
   Avon said, "Of course not. By now every top-flight Federation scientist has been warned against placing sensitive information in a computer Orac can read. The information may be on a pre-Tarriel cell computer, or on physical paper files, however cumbersome that may be, or merely stored on data cubes." He splayed his hands out on the table in front of Tarrant, leaning in to stare into Tarrant's face. "If we destroy this ship, the Federation will build more. The only difference will be that they will be better guarded. At present, the designers have managed to keep the project low key, hoping to avoid notice until it is a proven success. Once Blake attacks, they will be dead, but the plans will remain. We won't know where, or how many are being built. Not until it's too late."
   Tarrant looked thoughtful. "You should be talking to Blake about it, then, not me. We did agree to follow him."
   "So long as he acts like a leader. When he plans a mission, not for the sake of the mission, but out of irrational fear, then I will not follow. I am not a child to be protected, despite whatever fantasies Blake may have woven around me." Avon spoke softly now. "I must prove that to him, or I will have to leave this ship."
   That sounded serious. Tarrant thought about it. Maybe Blake was playing mother-hen. He'd noticed Blake tip-toeing around Avon lately, and been amused by it, but it wouldn't be funny to Avon. "You should tell Blake," he repeated.
   "It takes more than words to get an idea out of Blake's head. He's decided that I'm fragile and that he is responsible for my pitiful shattered soul. He intends to wrap me up in cotton-wool and set me safely on a shelf. I must prove I can carry out a mission."
   "Without telling Blake?" Tarrant shook his head. "I believe that comes under the heading of mutiny- not to mention extreme stupidity."
   "Yes, it may very well do. Are you in?"
   "And if I say no, you'll just graciously give in, and go along with Blake's plan?"
   "You know me," Avon said. He was smiling.
    Tarrant sighed, knowing what the smile meant. He couldn't stop Avon, short of sedation during the whole mission. He couldn't tell Blake, not without betraying Avon's trust and he couldn't let Avon risk his neck by himself. That didn't leave a whole lot of choices. "I'm in." Looking on the bright side, supposing they got away with this new, ultra-fast ship, he might be able to outrun his own crew-mates long enough for them to cool down.
    "Good. All right, Orac, you can stop jamming Andromeda's com-link now." He pocketed Orac's key, and turned to Tarrant, holding a finger to his lips in the universal sign for silence. "I'll see you on the flight deck," Avon said as he strode out, carrying Orac.
    "Yes, I expect you will," Tarrant said glumly.

    Blake picked up a fist-sized sphere and examined it. "This will do the trick?" Nearly all of Stiletto's crew complement was sitting around the largest table in the recreation area, gathered to discuss the attack on XK 24. Puss was absent by request. Avon had refused to attend if she was there and Blake had conceded the point. Puss wasn't much for planning an attack, anyway, and had no interest in technology. Sowal was there, too, but as a silent witness only. Without instructions from his leaders, he was reluctant to be actively linked with the rebellion.
    Dayna shrugged. "It's the equivalent of half of one of Liberator's neutron blasts. Unfortunately, they're too sensitive to be fired directly from Stiletto . "
    Vila had been eying the boxful of bombs and pulled back hastily. "Er, do you think we ought to be handling them, then? I mean, I'd hate to upset them. Be a bit nasty to have a falling out, with fall-out."
    Dayna laughed. "They're not that sensitive. They can be seeded in space and programmed as to destination and detonation, either by time, or by impact." She picked up a larger sphere and pointed out small openings all around the surface. "It uses compressed gas for propulsion, so there is little chance of detection. It has a limited range of course, but with the anti-detection shield on, we should be able to get close enough to drop them off without arousing suspicion."
    "Yes, I think they'll do very nicely. Thank you, Dayna," Blake said, smiling. "This ought to be quite straight-forward."
    "As long as Dayna's little nasties don't come back home to roost," Vila remarked.
    " If it will make you feel any better, Vila, I will program them," Avon offered. "That is, if Blake approves?"
    "They're Dayna's bombs, why don't you ask her?" Blake said.
    "It isn't Dayna's mission."
    Blake was getting tired of Avon's sulking and snapping. "That's right, it's mine. If you have some constructive criticism I'd be glad to hear it. Have you any ideas?"
    Avon looked at Blake, then shifted his gaze. "No. The elegant simplicity of your plan has me in awe. We approach under cover of the anti-detector shield, we release Dayna's toys, and we sit back and watch the show. What could I add to that?"
    "Anyone else?" Blake asked, looking around at the group.
    Jenna frowned. "We're fast, but we're not invulnerable. How many ships will be guarding the base?"
    Avon jumped Blake's answer, saying, "A nominal contingent. There are six pursuit ships assigned to the station. Two are undergoing extensive repairs, so their patrol patterns have been reassigned to the remaining vessels. There are several gaps in that pattern. Blake intends to walk right in, knock on their door, and then retreat before our hosts can return."
    "You sound as if you'd rather fight," Vila said. "I like Blake's plan."
    "Oh, and that is such a sterling recommendation," Avon said. "Vila likes it. You have the Fainthearted Seal of Approval, Blake."
    Soolin exchanged glances with Pavra, then said, "I like it too. How do you rate me?"
    "Unqualified to judge a military operation. At small scale assassination, you have no peer, but this is entirely different."
    "As Blake says, it's straightforward," Tarrant put in. He stretched his legs and stood up. "I'm tired of listening to you sulk just because you didn't get your own way. You know we're going to do it, Avon, so why not exercise some of that so-called genius and stop complaining and let us get on with it."
    Avon stood up and faced Tarrant, eyes narrowed in anger. "I suppose the more moderately endowed will always resent an intelligent man. I had thought that you had learned your lesson, though."
    "Oh, would you like to refresh my memory?"
    "Anytime, Tarrant," Avon moved forward, but before he could reach Tarrant, Blake was there between them.
    "What's the matter with you?" Blake asked, grabbing at Avon's shoulders when Avon tried to duck him.
    Avon gasped, yanked himself back away from Blake. "Get away from me." He got out of the room, moving at a fast but controlled pace.
    Blake looked at Tarrant, who blinked back at him in surprise. "What was that all about?" Tarrant asked, bewildered.
    "I don't know," Blake said. "But I intend to find out." He headed out, after Avon.

    Blake came upon Avon halfway down the main corridor. Avon's back was to him, and Blake could have sworn he was trembling. His anger died. Sowal wouldn't say exactly what was bothering Avon, but whatever it was, it wasn't getting better.
    "Don't say it," Avon said, without turning.
    "I was only going to..." Blake took a step forward and reached out to grasp Avon's shoulder, wanting to see Avon's face while they talked.
    Avon whirled, breaking Blake's grasp. "DON'T!" He was flushed and breathing rapidly.
    Blake's concern grew. "Avon, you're not fooling anyone, not even yourself. You need help."
    "From you? I think not," Avon said, with a snide snap that seemed forced. "What I need is for you to leave me alone, for all of you to leave me alone!" With that, Avon pushed past Blake and ran, actually fleeing down the corridor as if he expected to be attacked.
    "Avon!" Blake shouted in frustration, before throwing up his hands in surrender and returning to the recreation area.
    "Well?" Tarrant asked, "what did you find out?" He sounded more amused than anything else.
    "I found out that Avon doesn't want to talk about it. Whatever it is."
    Vila said, "Oh, well, then, he's all right, just being Avon. I thought maybe he was coming down with something catching." He rubbed at his ankle ostentatiously, even though it was fully healed. "It's painful, catching it from Avon."
    Pavra looked worried. "Avon won't talk to me, either. Or Andromeda..."
    The ship's computer cut in with, "He won't even let me listen to him. Most of the time he's got Orac shielding him from my sensors." Andromeda sounded hurt.
    "He's always demanded his privacy." Blake frowned. "But he's carrying it a bit far. I can't spare the time to pander to his moods. Maybe it's just pre-mission jitters." But he didn't think so. He shook his head, and bent again to spread out the information sheets and station layouts. "Look. Here..."

    "Avon, have I told you how stupid this is?" Tarrant said quietly, as he entered the dimly lit teleport chamber. They were approaching XK 24 and the others had gathered on the flight deck. Jenna was piloting. Avon had claimed a last minute adjustment was needed and demanded Tarrant's assistance. Blake had looked suspicious, but the failure of the secondary teleport controls was verified by Orac. They shouldn't need the teleport on this mission, but then neither should they need Avon or Tarrant on the flight deck.
    Avon was standing behind the controls with Orac blinking on top of the console, providing his usual shielding to keep Andromeda from eavesdropping. "I believe you did mention something of the sort."
    "Oh, good. I'd hate to go into this without you knowing that."
    Avon looked up at Tarrant. "I could do it by myself."
    "No, you couldn't. As a pilot under normal conditions, you're adequate. As a pilot of an experimental ship under attack by both the Federation and Dayna's cute little mines, you'd last about two minutes."
    * If that. * Orac remarked.
    Avon turned his gaze on Orac. "Not if you've countered the programming on Dayna's mines, as you were instructed."
    * Certainly I have done so. None of the mines will impact on, or near, your coordinates, once you signal that you have located the experimental HyperMark ship. However, if you do not do so with alacrity... *
    "Right," Tarrant said, "If we don't find it quickly, we're toast."
    Avon smiled. "But if we do find it, we'll double our chances of survival."
    "I don't believe any one ship is all that valuable. It won't be another Liberator."
    "No, but it also won't have Blake on it. That alone should enhance the odds."
    Tarrant sighed. He didn't think Avon actually hated Blake, but was very tired of the snide remarks. Blake had been a good leader, so far. "If we're going to do this very stupid thing, we'd better do it soon." Tarrant drew his gun and went into position on the teleport pad.
    Avon muttered something quiet to Orac, drew his own gun, and joined Tarrant on the teleport pad. Tarrant was easier to be with than the others, having a modicum of Alpha male emotional restraint, unlike Blake, who felt so strongly all the time. Avon would prove to Blake that he didn't need him, and then Blake could worry about someone else for a change. "Now, Orac!"

    "No!" Andromeda's voice rang out, startling everyone on the flight deck.
    Blake asked, "What?"
    "The teleport's been activated!"
    "The station," Blake groaned. "Damn it, Avon."
    Puss had been standing idly near the back of the flight deck, watching and hoping that the humans' battle plans would change and give her a chance to act. Her ears pricked up, then flattened as she realized what Blake meant. She reverted to four-footed stance and raced for the teleport chamber.
    "Hold it," Blake ordered and started toward the exit.
    Jenna called out, "Blake! It's too late to cancel the mission," and he stopped, turning to face the others.
    Dayna nodded. "The mines are launched. I can't recall them, at least not without blowing up Stiletto. Avon must have a plan."
    "Yes," Vila said, "He plans to give us all heart attacks." He pushed moodily at a button on his console.
    Pavra asked, "Did Tarrant go with him?"
    The computer replied, "He must have. I can't pick him up anywhere." They were silent, digesting the information and trying to decide what to do.
    Puss returned a few seconds later, fur bristled, and jaws agape in anger. She was carrying Orac and shaking the little computer in lieu of ripping out its nonexistent throat.
    Andromeda demanded to know, " Orac! What did you do?"
    Orac said, * I obeyed my orders. May I suggest you do the same? The ship is in a hostile area. *
    "Orac's right," Soolin said, returning her attention to her monitor, and nudging Pavra back to her duty. "Whatever those two are up to, they're on their own now."
    Blake returned to the center of the flight deck, staring at the planet. It was a small circle, even under magnification. They were at the extreme range for teleport. "Orac, you teleported them down to the station?"
    * If you know the answer, why do you ask the question? * Orac replied.
    "Then teleport them back," Blake ordered. That was too obvious, he knew, but he had to try.
    * That is impossible. Neither bracelet is currently being worn. *
    "Then I'll teleport after them. They haven't had time to get into trouble, yet. Puss..." Blake looked to the giant cat, who was eager as ever for a fight.
    * That is also impossible. The teleport is locked. It will only function when signaled from the station. *
    "Oh, Tarrant," Dayna said softly, "How could you be so stupid."
    "What about Avon?" Soolin remarked. "You know Tarrant didn't drag him into it. It had to be the other way around."
    "Yes, but Tarrant should have known better." Dayna tossed her head. "Avon's never sensible when he wants something. Remember the asteroid?"
    Soolin went silent. "And he talked Tarrant into that, too."
    "All of you went along," Vila said.
    "I didn't see you putting your foot down," Dayna said, annoyed.
    "He wouldn't listen. You wouldn't listen. Avon gets an idea, and everyone thinks it must be great, just because it's Avon's idea." Vila tuned up the sensitivity on his scanner. "And I get stuck in the middle."
    "Actually," Soolin said, "Wasn't it your idea, Vila?"
    Vila looked alarmed. "I only told a story. It was Avon who was crazy enough to really play games with asteroids!"
    "Asteroids?" Jenna asked, only mildly curious. When the mines began exploding, the four pursuit ships assigned to protect the station would look for a culprit. Stiletto's detector shield wouldn't do much good if they got close. She would have to run or fight, but they had a few minutes to wait and she didn't want Blake brooding on Avon and Tarrant. Better to get his mind on something else, and hope he'd come up with a solution to their problems. This glimpse into Avon's past might do it.
    Vila obliged her by saying, "Oh, Scorpio was a heap, and we needed- at least, Avon decided we needed- some Selsium ore, and the best place to get it was in a system patrolled by the Federation. So Avon talks Tarrant onto hitching a ride on an asteroid to get in there! An asteroid! Now, I ask you, is that a sensi..." Vila turned and caught the look in Blake's eye. "Oh, no! It didn't work then, and it won't work now!"
    "Jenna," Blake said, ignoring Vila's protests. "There is an asteroid belt in this system. Could we use one to shield us and come in closer?"
    "Maybe," Jenna said, after punching up the system 'map'. "But do we want to get closer? It will limit our maneuver ability."
   "It limits it a whole lot when you get smashed by a big rock!" Vila protested. "Jenna, it doesn't work!"
   "Just because Tarrant can't do something," Jenna said, "doesn't mean it can't be done."
   Vila rolled his eyes. "Oh, no, Jenna don't go all Alpha on me. Yes, you're the best pilot in the universe, I'll get Orac to make it official, just don't do this!"
   Jenna gave him a half smile, but her attention was on Blake.
    Blake rubbed his chin and glanced around the flight deck. Sowal was silent as always, calmly observing. Pavra and Puss were looking at him hopefully. Soolin seemed nearly as unaffected by the stress as Sowal while Dayna was practically quivering in her eagerness to do something. "Has anyone any better suggestion?"
    "Couldn't we just wait here, where it's safe?" Vila asked. "They'll be calling in any second."
    Andromeda said, "I don't think so. I have a bad feeling about this."
    * You are a computer, as I am! * Orac was insulted by Andromeda's remark. * We do not have 'feelings'! *
    "Maybe you don't, but I do. Oh, Blake, we have to do something."
    "Jenna, find that asteroid."
    Vila covered his head with both hands and whimpered.

    "Avon, quick!" Tarrant grabbed Avon's arm, and pulled him into concealment around a corner. He was watching four Federation troopers march away, and didn't notice Avon gasp at his touch.
    "Clear?" Avon asked after a long moment.
"Clear," Tarrant agreed and they stepped back out into the corridor. The station was huge, but few of the laboratories in the section they'd arrived in seemed occupied.
    Avon glanced into the nearest lab and frowned. Not only was the equipment outdated, but it was actually dusty. That didn't accord with an advanced research station. Then again, perhaps they had upgraded and simply not bothered to move the old equipment. They certainly didn't need the room.
    "Which way?" Tarrant asked.
    Avon looked down at his wrist comp and studied the station schematics. "That way." He pointed.
    "Are you sure?"
    "It's the only area that fits. You can't build a ship in a bottle."
    "Don't tell Vila that. He'll try to find a bottle large enough."

    "Is that it?" Tarrant was disappointed. A slightly larger than average Pursuit Ship occupied the enormous chamber surrounding them. Workbenches and machinery surrounded the black ship, but there was little activity, which would seem to corroborate the ship's readiness as reported by Orac. The ceiling was bisected by a pair of black stripes, indicating the whole thing could open to allow the ship access to the outside. It wasn't an unusual arrangement for a test ship, but he'd thought something as special as this ship would be somehow more exciting.
    "What were you expecting, gold plate?" Avon whispered. He sent their coordinates to Orac, then studied the chamber, counting the exits and the number of workers that would have to be dealt with, trying to arrange their attack logically. His empathic sense was distracting him, though. He kept sensing Tarrant's apprehension and the workers' misery, apparently they were mostly slave labor. Which seemed odd, too. Wouldn't skilled technicians be more to the point? He shook his head. Dayna's little mines would be landing soon, and they had to be ready to take advantage of the confusion.
    "I don't know. It's just... Avon, this doesn't feel right."
    Avon had had quite enough of feelings, but he had to agree. "No. It doesn't. But that is a ship, and we could use it, even if it doesn't perform as promised."
    After a long moment, Tarrant nodded. "True. Besides, I hate to have come all this way for nothing. Dayna would never let me hear the end of it."
    Avon flashed Tarrant a grin, then glanced at his wrist-comp. "One minute."

    The mines did Dayna proud. Distant explosions rocked the entire station, sending the terrified slave laborers running frantically for cover. Conveniently, none of them ran toward the ship.
    "I'll get the opening. You get the ship." Avon ran toward the control panel set in the far wall, while Tarrant made for the ship.
    Tarrant was running, ducking and dodging, although there was no one firing at him. The strangeness of that puzzled him. Why weren't there any guards on the ship itself? He slowed down as he approached. Something just wasn't right. He unclipped his teleport bracelet from his belt, and put it on his wrist, punching the communicator button. "Stiletto", he called softly, "just listen, don't answer. We're at the ship." Then he moved to the hatch. It sensed his approach and opened.
    "Avon!" Tarrant shouted, jumping back as a squad of troopers leaped out at him. He'd been moving back even as the hatch opened, which was the only thing that saved him. He caught a glimpse of the interior of the ship past the black wave of troopers. It was bare, stripped down to a shell, with wiring hanging in untidy loops along the pitted decks. "It's a trap! It's fake!"
    Avon was nearly to the control panel, and whirled, diving for cover under one of the workbenches. He fumbled at his pocket for his bracelet, and that moment's inattention cost him.
    Tarrant saw Avon go down, but there was nothing he could do. For a few seconds, the troopers' numbers worked in his favor, as they were getting in each other's way, but it wouldn't last. "Orac!" he yelled, not really expecting it to do any good, "bring us up!"

    Tarrant arrived in Stiletto's teleport chamber still running, and slammed into the wall. He looked around, dazed. No one else was there. No one. "Avon!" he yelled, and leaped for the controls. "No. No signal. Damn it!" He smashed his fist down on the console. The ship swerved and he nearly fell again.
    The intercom chimed, and he heard Blake shout, "Avon, Tarrant, get up here!"
    The ship shuddered again, and Tarrant gave up on the teleport. He had to get to the flight deck.