"On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to meeeee…"
    "Vila, shut up," Avon muttered. He'd been rather enjoying having the watch to himself. At first, when Vila appeared and announced he was keeping Avon company, it hadn't seemed a problem. Usually Vila could be counted on to find a comfortable corner in which to fall asleep almost immediately. Unconscious, he wasn't much of a nuisance. Only, for some reason known only to Vila, the thief had instead appropriated Orac and coerced the computer into researching  old-time religious holiday music. That was bad enough, but Avon drew the line at Andromeda providing accompaniment mimicking a pipe organ.
    "Oh, come on, Avon, it's fun. We used to have Christmas all the time."
    "As I understand it, Christmas is one day in the solar year." Avon looked at Vila, who was cheerfully swigging something green. "Even you couldn't call that 'all the time'."
    "Well, no. But, you see, since no one knows when the real day was, we used to pick a day and call it Christmas. And the beauty of that is, when you wanted an excuse to party, you'd add another Christmas." Vila smiled reminiscing. "We'd decorate the place with shiny things…"
    "Stolen baubles, no doubt."
     "And we'd give presents to each other. It didn't really matter what it was, just something you thought the other person would like. And we'd make special food and drink…"
    "Let us not forget the drink," Avon said dryly. He crossed his arms and leaned back, with his feet up on the console. It was nonsense of course, but he could easily imagine the Restal clan gathered together in one of their cramped Delta hovels, singing (off-key, but merrily), drinking, and openly showing their affection for each other. Avon's family hadn't indulged in such sentimental nonsense. Anything he or his brother needed was provided. If they wanted something frivolous, and could argue a logical enough reason, it too would be purchased. But presents- just to make someone happy- to show them you cared? Unthinkable - a sign of weakness. Abruptly, Avon rose, the almost-smile on his face vanishing in the middle of a story Vila was telling about the hand-made gifts he'd exchanged on the last Christmas before he was sentenced to Cygnus Alpha.
    "If you are going to remain here, then I may as well leave. I have other things to attend to."
    "Aw, c'mon, Avon. You haven't told me what your folks did for Christmas."
    Avon stared down at Vila. "Nothing, Vila."
    "No decorations?" Avon shook his head. "No tree, not even a green paper one like we used to make?" Avon assented silently. "But where'd you put the presents, then?" Avon sniffed with disdain. Vila gaped. "You mean, you never got a Christmas present in your whole life?"
    "Never," Avon replied solemnly. He crossed his arms and smirked. "Perhaps I was never a 'good enough boy' for your Santa Claus to  visit." Heleaned forward and patted Vila on the cheek. "Never mind, Vila, from the sound of it, you had Christmas enough for the two of us." He left the flight deck before Vila could come up with a reply.
    Vila blinked. He told Orac, "What a pity. Poor little Avon, never even wrote to Santa Claus."
    "That is not true, "Orac remarked.
    "Eh, what's that you say?"
    "Avon did write to Santa Claus."
    "Oh, go on. How would you know anyway?" Vila debated pulling Orac's key. The plastic monster really did tell some whoppers.
    "When Avon was seven years old, he wrote to Santa Claus, via the family's computer. It was stored in memory as undeliverable and later transferred to the main data store. In the course of various researches, I came across this information."
    "Avon wrote a letter to Santa? This I have got to hear." Vila looked around to make certain no one else was around, then he said, "Read me the letter, Orac."
    "Very well. There were many spelling errors, which I will attempt to correct. " The computer made throat-clearing noises, then commenced, 'Dear Santa,  I have been good. I do not fight with my brother. I work hard at school and always wash my hands before eating. So you will give me what I want, please.
    'I don't need any toys, even though my brother ripped Teddy's ears off.  What I want is for you to send a boy my own age to play with. My mother says Deltas don't have anything, so maybe you know a Delta who would like to visit me and share my toys.'
    'Thank you. Kerr Avon.
    'P.S. It would be nice if he knew how to play computer games. But I can teach him if he doesn't know.' "
    "My, my, my." Vila sat back and took a deep gulp of his drink. "Avon wanted a playmate." He chuckled. "Blake would never believe it. Or maybe he would." He cocked his head to one side, considering. A broad grin slowly spread across his face. He rubbed his hands together. "This is too good to pass up. Andy, watch out for hairy aliens and Federation ships, will you, luv?"
    "Of course, Vila," Stiletto's  computer replied. "And what shall I tell Avon if he returns to find you've left your post?"
    "Tell him I've gone to play Santa." Whistling, Vila left the flight deck.

***********************

    "You made your own clothes all the time on Gauda Prime, you told me that," Vila said, a trifle too loud. He looked around the recreation room, and noted with relief that Dayna and Tarrant were obliviously involved in their board game.
    "Well, yes, I did, but that's not the same thing, not at all," Pavra protested. She wrapped her hands around the mug of genuine Earth cocoa which Vila had prepared for her, complete with fresh whipped cream. She looked into the brown and white swirls of liquid as if reading her future in tea leaves. "I'd need patterns and materials and tools, Vila. And I'd probably botch it anyway," she added, weakly.
    Vila beamed. He knew he'd work her around to it. "Andy can synthesize most anything and Orac can find you patterns, I'm sure."
    "Why not have the computers make the finished product, then?"
    "That wouldn't do," Vila was adamant. "An old family tradition. Home-made presents are the best."
     Pavra sighed. "All right. But I don't want to be there when you give it to him."
    "Give it to who?" Vila said innocently, eyebrows climbing in a valiant, but fore-doomed, attempt to reach his hairline.
    Pavra rose from the table, taking her cocoa along. "Shall I ask Avon to get the pattern from Orac?"
    "No, no, I'll take care of that," Vila said hastily. "I'll get everything and bring it to our quarters tonight, shall I? You can get started in the off-shift."
    Pavra smiled and nodded.

    "Vila?" Avon looked up. Once more the Delta was a blur of bright color, receding swiftly down the corridor, hunched over to conceal something.
    "Gone again," Blake said calmly. He looked back at the plans he and Avon were contemplating. Orac had been more cooperative lately, providing detailed plans of so many Federation installations that they had to pick and choose which would make the most effective target. Andromeda's offer to do the job if Orac wasn't feeling up to it may have had something to do with the other computer's attitude change.
    "He's up to something."
    "Naturally." Blake puzzled over a confusing schematic.
    "Doesn't it interest you in the slightest?" Avon was piqued. Vila had been driving him mad for weeks with his secrecy and bundle-smuggling, voice-locked conversations with Orac, hiding in Andromeda's replication room for hours on end, and every time Avon looked at him, the thief smirked. Just to complete Avon's irritation, Blake watched the two of them with an smugly avuncular grin.
    "I trust Vila."
    "To do what?" Avon reassessed Blake's intelligence, unfavorably. "He is quite likely planting the seeds of minor mischief which will inevitably blossom into a truly magnificent disaster."
    Blake's eyes crinkled with amusement. Teasing Avon had long been one of Vila's favorite amusements- as long as Avon's temper held. "I'm looking forward to it."
    "You would." Avon resigned himself to fate and pulled the schematic closer. "It would help if our resident lock-pick could spare a few moments for unimportant details, like this."

    "It's beautiful!" Vila admired the finished product from all angles. "The best one I've ever seen!"
    "The first three were horrible." Pavra squinted and looked at the object sitting innocently on her bunk. "I don't know. It still doesn't look very realistic to me."
    "It's not supposed to look real." Vila picked it up and chuckled when a low growl sounded. "Perfect. Av- I mean, anyone would love him."
    "Him?" Pavra shook her head. "Avon won't even call Orac 'he'."
    "But a Teddy's not an ‘it'!" Vila gave the golden furred, tubby-bellied, toy a squeeze and was rewarded with another purring growl. "This is definitely a ‘him'.
    "I have to admit, they do grow on a person." Pavra indicated a trio of furry lumps sitting on a shelf, ranging in shape from vaguely anthropoid to vaguely ursinoid. "Ugly as they are, I couldn't bring myself to throw them in the recycler." She handed Vila a large towel. "Wrap him up and take him away, please. I can't bear- oh, I can't believe I said that- I'll be seeing beady little black bear eyes in my sleep for a week."
    "Thanks, Pavra." Vila gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "That's to save my place, I'll be back later." Whistling cheerfully, Vila exited, wrapped bear tucked under one arm.

    Avon lifted his head. It was hard to tell, above the sound of the shower, but he thought he'd heard a noise in his cabin. It wasn't repeated. He shrugged and resumed scrubbing. He was tired, perhaps he imagined it.
    A good, hot shower relaxed him, soothed all the tension of a day of arguing Blake into slightly less suicidal plans, a day of wondering what Vila was scheming- in general, Avon's usual sort of day. Still, it was pleasant to have the others around to bicker with, although it wouldn't do to let them know he felt that way. His room was dim, but he left the lights down. He'd been on Stiletto  so long he'd know his way to his bed blind-folded. He slipped off his robe and lifted the sheets, sliding in gratefully to the silken comfort. "Grrrrrrrooowww!" something moaned, just as Avon's bare shoulder touched rough fur. "Ahh!" Avon shouted and tumbled out of bed, landing with a thump on the bare deck, twisting aside for his gun. "Lights!" he shouted as his hand closed around the reassuring hard surface of the weapon. The light flared as he scrabbled backwards, gun aimed at a lump in the tangled sheets. The lump shifted slowly, and drooped, finally sliding off the bed to the floor, with a half-hearted "grrrr."
    Avon paused, then lowered the gun to poke the furry thing. It flopped over onto its back, all four paws spread in supplication, black stitched snout smiling slightly, as though embarrassed by the commotion. Avon sighed and put the gun down. He picked up the bear, which said, "rrrr?" Avon shook his head. "Delta sentiment. It will be the death of me one day."

    Outside Avon's door, Vila had his head pressed against the wall, listening. He didn't know how the present would be received and had thought it best not to hand it over with a 'Merry Christmas, Avon, this is from Santa'. No, that wouldn't have been a good idea at all. But he hadn't expected bangs and thumps and screams either. He'd waited a good fifteen minutes and not heard anything after that blood-curdling scream. If Avon was surprised and fell and hurt himself, Vila really ought to look in on him. But on the other hand, what if Avon was lying in wait, angry? Well, maybe if Vila was really lucky he could outrun him.
    Nervously, Vila unlocked the door for the second time this 'night'. The room was quiet and dark. Vila hesitated in the open doorway, letting his eyes adjust to the dim sleep lights. Vila finally made out the shadowy figure of Avon in bed. He looked all  right, but Vila took another step in just to make sure. Avon grunted softly and rolled over onto his side, the sheet slipping down past his shoulder. Vila froze. Avon grumbled in his sleep and his right hand groped for something. "rrrrrr,' the Teddy purred as he was pulled close to his new master's chest. Avon's frown faded and he sighed, then began snoring, gently, only a little louder than his bear.
    Vila grinned, stepped silently out of the room, and shut the door behind him. "Merry Christmas, Avon," he whispered.

***************************
BATS

    "What's this, then?" Vila said. He didn't really expect an answer, but he had hoped that Puss would slow down. She'd snatched him away from his favorite pastime, well, one of his favorite pastimes, and made him leave the bottle unguarded on the recreation room table. Probably be gone when he got back, either drunk up or confiscated by one of the other crew-members.
    Puss growled and Vila shut up. The big cat's whiskers were twitching furiously, which usually meant she was agitated. Not wanting to become filet of Vila, he decided to go along quietly. Despite his resolution, he did yelp when she abruptly pushed him into a darkened room and shut the door. He heard breathing. Lots of it. Something was in the room. Something big. Something that moved toward him. Vila cringed back, and was about to scream for help, when the big something chuckled- in Blake's voice.
    "Vila," Blake said, "come here. I want to discuss something with you."
    "Whatever it is, I didn't do it," Vila replied. "I never did anything."
    "We know that," Tarrant's voice indicated he wasn't  far from Blake.
    Vila scratched his head, puzzled. "But why are we in the dark?"
    "Aren't you always?" Avon's voice came from further in the room. That was really spooky. An invisible Avon- just what a sensitive thief needed.
    "Can't I turn the lights on?"
    "NO!" Came a chorus of shouts. It sounded like everyone in Stiletto was here. Now Vila began to worry in earnest.
    "If you turn on the lights, it'll be spoiled," Dayna said. She didn't sound angry, which was good. Wasn't it?
    "What will?"
    "Come here, Vila." Now Pavra was talking to him. Blindly, Vila turned his head in her direction.
    "Is this some kind of a game?"
    "Yes." Soolin sounded as if she was right next to Pavra. "If you can find us, then you win."
    "I  always won at Blind Man's Bluff," Vila said, with some pride. "I've got very good hearing."
    "And I thought  talking was your specialty," Jenna mocked from the darkness.
    "I'll prove it." Vila closed his eyes to concentrate on his other senses. Not that it mattered- the room was as dark as the inside of a black Night-eater of Fomalhaut V. He moved forward confidently and snatched, grabbing a slim arm. "Got you!"
    "Yes," Blake said, "But who have you got?"
    "Dayna. She was closest. I know where you all are." He released Dayna, took several steps to the side, detouring around a bulk that he thought was Tarrant and tapped Avon on the shoulder. "Hullo, Avon."
    "Very good." Avon applauded, dryly and Vila suddenly had the feeling he'd made a big mistake.
    "All right. What's this game really about?"
    "I'm going to put the lights on," Blake said, as if warning. A couple seconds later the room was flooded with light, revealing one of Stiletto's larger storerooms. Boxes were strewn haphazardly about with the crew either sitting on crates or standing beside them.
    "I didn't think you went in much for kid's games, Blake," Vila said.
    Avon grinned and Vila's heart sank. "Ah, but this wasn't a game. It was a test and you were the only one to pass."
    "Test?" Vila said weakly. In his experience, passing tests was a bad idea. People began to think you were qualified to do something you didn't want to do.
    Blake clapped Vila on the shoulder, grinning even broader than Avon. "The Dracnor are interested in joining the rebellion. They want to talk to a rebel representative, first. You, Vila, will represent the rebellion."
    "Er. Thanks all the same, but wouldn't someone else be better. Anyone else?" Vila's voice got higher and higher. Tarrant was grinning gleefully, which meant this was not the plum assignment Blake was implying. "I mean, I never even heard of these Dracnor people."
    "They aren't exactly people," Tarrant cheerfully informed him. "They were once, before the Federation had them genetically adapted to work in the mines on Drac. The ore ran out, and the Federation abandoned them, but they've managed to survive."
    "Not people? What are they, then?"
    "They aren't very pretty, Vila," Avon said. "But then, as they live in near-total darkness, that doesn't matter."
    "Near-total darkness?" Vila was edging toward shrill.
    "The ore they were bred to mine is highly photo-degradable. It also breaks down if the ambient air temperature rises above freezing." Thoughtfully, Avon added. "You may want to pack an extra set of thermals."
    Vila backed up against the wall. "Blake!"
    "Now, Vila, don't let Avon and Tarrant upset you." Blake frowned at the smirking Alphas. "The Dracnor are a very gentle, shy folk. They've found Feldon crystals in their ‘worked-out' mines. The rebellion can use power like that  for ships, and for colonies dependent on the Federation. They want someone to talk to about trading supplies for the crystals. I'd really like to send someone who can get around in their world without tripping into the walls."
    "Feldon crystals?" Vila remembered how badly the last attempt to get Feldon crystals had turned out, but he also remembered how valuable they were. Surely, these shy, gentle folk wouldn't mind the official rebel representative taking a few samples. "I suppose I could help out."
    "Good." Blake gave Vila his best, warmest smile.
    "But I want to see what they look like. First."
    Silence.
    "I mean it, Blake. You aren't sending me alone, in the dark, to face whosits without me at least seeing what the whosits look like."
    Avon said quickly, "They were only mutated slightly, Vila. Minor external differences for the most part." Blake nodded.
    "No. That's it. When you and Avon agree, it's trouble." Vila folded his arms and shook his head, firmly. "I see them or I don't go."
    Blake sighed.  "All right, Vila. Orac got this hologram from the Federation files." He tossed Vila a hologram cube.
    Vila set the cube on one of the crates and activated it. He screeched and jumped back. "No, no, no! Minor external differences, my foot! Gentle, shy folk! They'll eat me!"
    Blake sighed again. "No, they won't."
    Avon tilted his head, studying the hologram. It was no wonder Vila flinched. The Dracnor had a bipedal form. Arms, legs, eyes, ears, all the components were there- they just didn't add up to anything human. For one thing, the being was covered in fur. It was an attractive silvery silken fur, but Vila did have a phobia about hairy aliens. Then there was the face, dominated by huge golden eyes and fan-shaped ears spread to catch the least sound. The mouth wasn't overly large, but the sharply pointed teeth were those of a carnivore. And the wings, velvety and flexible, with very human hands emerging about two thirds of the way down- now the wings were bound to give Vila pause. "The largest of them is no more than one meter in height," he said, attempting to reassure Vila. It didn't work.
    "Vampires! That's what they are."
    "Vila." Blake was stern. "You're going."
    "I am?"
    "You are." Blake straightened to his full height, rebel fervor glowing in his eyes.
    That was it, then. Vila slumped, resigned, then he straightened. "Well, I'm not going to die on an empty stomach. Andy, do you know how to make garlic stew?"
   

**********************

     "Hello? Is anyone here?" Vila listened with every nerve ending. At least Blake hadn't made him teleport directly into the caves. Not that standing around at night on a planet too poor to own a moon was much fun.
    "You are Vi-lah?"
    Vila whirled, stumbled and was caught, gently, by lots of very small hands. Very small hands with sharp tips. "Yipe!"
    "Yess," a high-pitched voice lisped, sounding amused. "Blake dess-cribed you well.  I am Joella , Welcome, Vila, to Drac." The hands set him firmly on his feet again.
    "Er, yes. It's lovely to be here, I think."
    Around him, voices tittered. "Come, Vi-lah." A hand caught his and tugged.
    Reluctantly, Vila accepted the guide. He tried to tell himself it was a child's hand, but the bones felt odd, and the soft drape of something which wasn't a cloak wrapped around the hand. "Wait a moment, I need to contact my ship." The tugging stopped.
    Vila tapped his bracelet, activating the communicator. "Avon, are you awake?"
    "Of course I am. What do you want?" Avon's voice came - abrupt, but not noticeably nasty.
    "I want not to be here."
    Avon chuckled. "Now, don't go insulting your hosts. Remember, you are there to represent the rebellion. Actually, now that I think of it, you are ideal for the role."
    "I am?" Despite his discomfiture, Vila preened. A compliment from Avon was rare.
    "Yes. Someone more representative of rabble would be hard to come by."
    "Hmp. Don't expect me to bring you any souvenirs. I'll call back later- you will be there, won't you?"
    "Yes, Vila. If it will make you feel any better, I'll stay by the teleport. The same way you always do for me."
    "Um. All right," Vila said, but wasn't too reassured. Avon had sounded as though he didn't expect any trouble. There was always trouble.
    The cave didn't smell bad. That surprised Vila. Subconsciously, cave-dweller equaled primitive brutes in his mind. He expected rotten meat and bones littering a foul nest filled with the chittering of rodents scurrying unseen in the dark. There was plenty of dark, though. It was very dark. Darker than  the inside of a black Night-eater of Fomalhaut V. As dark as the inside of a black Night-eater of Fomalhaut V that had fallen into a bottomless pit of tar. Or even darker. He could make out shapes, but couldn't tell if he was looking at an outcropping of wall, or a Dracnor, or one of their furnishings.
    But it smelled clean, and the people were very polite. They settled him onto a comfortable piece of furniture, which felt like it was covered in velvet, and offered him food and drink. He didn't know what he was eating, but it tasted good. The drink was quite nice, too.  And it was hot, which was thoughtful of them. Despite his thermals, he was chilled. And they were running around in nothing but their fur suits- he could tell because they kept touching him, curious about his clothes, especially the pockets. He'd had to gently fend them off more than once. After a little while he lost his fear of them. They were very little people, and as Blake had said, very gentle.
    "Iss there anything elsse you would like, Vilah?" The Dracnor had kept up a constant conversation around him - mostly in whispers and giggles- except for his guide, who never left his side and occasionally shooed away the others. They kept coming back, fascinated by him.
    "Er, well, you know I was supposed to talk to you."
    "You are talking to usss," the voice was puzzled.
    "You know, about joining the rebellion and trading Feldon crystals for supplies. That sort of thing."
    "Oh. I'm sorry. We were enjoying your company sso much, we forgot. Margal, do you have the lisst we made?"
    There was rustling and complaining, then another voice, shriller than Vila's guide, apologized, "I gave it to Bran to let the men add whatever they wanted. He hassn't returned it yet."
    Joella sighed. "They probably want to redecorate the cavesss, and can't decide what color they want. Go and get the list. They won't have put anything ssenssible on it anyway."
    "The men want to redecorate?" Now it was Vila's turn to be puzzled.
    "We go out to hunt while they musst stay behind, and sso they are ressponssible for keeping the cavess pleassant. When the Federation owned usss,  we were all forced to work in the miness, even the men and children."
    The other Dracnor hissed, remembering the brutality of the Federation rule.
    "We are the ssstronger. We were made larger, sso that we could sstill fly when we were bearing children. Since the malesss did not have to do that, the Federation created them smaller, to work even the sssmallessst veinsss of ore. Now the Federation is gone, and we can protect our maless and treat them ass they desserve."
    Vila sat up, suddenly figuring out why the Dracnor had not discussed business with him. They were used to thinking of men as decorative, delicate things that no one took seriously. "Wait a minute. You do know it isn't like that with us?"
    The Dracnor were silent, obviously considering Vila's statement. "It isss true, they did ssend a male," one of the women commented. "Perhapss, among them, the men are the warriorsss and huntersss?"
    "Are you a warrior, Vilah?" Joella asked.
    "Um, no, not exactly. I have other skills."
    "Are you then a hunter?"
    "Not that either." There was more silence, which rested heavily on Vila in the dark. "I'm a thief."
    "Thief? Thief?" All around him, the shrill voices puzzled over the unfamiliar word. "Ah, sssomeone who takesss otherss thingsss. I have heard the Federation guardss sometimes when they punissshed one who did thuss."
    They argued for a few minutes, trying to understand the concept. In their society, they had little beyond the necessities of life. One contributed what one was able and took what one needed. Those who could contribute most had the highest status. Why would someone want to lower their status?
    Vila squirmed. "It's not like that on Earth and most other places," he told them. "Some people have everything and they don't want to share."
    That was an even bigger shock.
    "You see, it's up to thieves like me to take some of the excess from these greedy people and redistribute it."
    "That iss good," Joella said doubtfully, "but it does not sound like a job for a woman." At that moment the woman who had gone for the list returned. She was surrounded by a group with voices shriller than any Vila had heard yet. The men had gathered up the courage to greet their guest. They were even more enthusiastic about investigating his person, swarming all over him with excited squeaks and tiny, swift moving hands.
    "What'sss thisss?" cried one male, pushing an object into Vila's hands for him to identify.
    "Hey! That's my best sonic probe, give it back before you break it!" Vila stuck the probe back and patted himself down, noting missing items everywhere. "You guys would make great pick-pockets," he said with admiration. "But I need all my tools."
    Promptly, all the scavenged items were returned, and Vila stuck them all back where they belonged- more or less- it was hard to tell in the darkness.
    "Thisss isss not a tool. It issss very beautiful." From the oohs, and ahhss, the ‘beautiful' thing was being passed around for all to admire before handing it back to Vila.
    He rubbed the object, identifying its familiar shape with ease. "It's a keepsake from my old ship." Out of all Liberator's treasure, Vila had come away with only one piece- a single flawless gem the size of his thumb. He wouldn't have had that if it hadn't been exactly the right shape for a fingering piece so he'd kept it in his pocket.
    "You like beautiful things, Vilah?" piped up one of the men. Vila'd given up trying to keep track of who was talking to him, so he just nodded. "Wait! Wait! We have beautiful things, too." Suddenly, there was a rustle of wings as the men flew away.
    "What was that all about?" Vila wondered.
    Joella answered him. "They like you. They want to give you pressentss."
    "Oh, well, that's nice. I like presents." He made up his mind to accept politely whatever he was given. They were the kindest people he'd met since joining Blake, even if they were bats. He didn't want to hurt their feelings.
    Another rush of wind, and the shrill ones had returned. "Here, here, me firsssst!" They jostled for position, each eager to donate his prize to the guest. "I made thisss myssself." Something soft, and  Jasmine-scented brushed against Vila's hand. "It isss for good dreamsss, you put it under your head when you sssleeep."
    Vila sniffed. It did smell good. Stiletto had deodorizers and ozonators  and air-purifiers, but it still smelled like a ship. "Thank you. I'll enjoy this." He stuffed it into a pocket. He smiled and it was as if he had opened a floodgate. The Dracnor men were all over him, only this time they were pushing things into Vila's pockets and draping things over his neck and arms and everywhere they could possibly hang something. He was beginning to feel like a Christmas tree.
    Joella finally called them off. "Vilah, I think you had better go home while you can ssstill walk. Here iss the lisst of thingsss we would like in exchange for the crysstals Blake needss." She took his hand once more to lead him from the caves.

    "Good-bye, Joella." Vila smiled and waved in what seemed like her direction. "I'm sure Blake will be able to get you what you asked for." He winked. "If not, maybe I can steal it."
    Joella tittered, then flew away, having been warned the teleport produced a bright light which would be painful to her eyes.
    Vila waited a minute, then called Stiletto . Avon answered so promptly that Vila suspected he had sat by the teleport the whole time. "I'm ready to come up now."
    "Been kicked off the planet already? That's quick work even for you."
    "I'll have you know I'm very popular here. They gave me all sorts of presents."
    "Perhaps they haven't the best of taste."
    Vila was about to protest when he was caught in the teleport. He blinked, momentarily as blinded by the unaccustomed light as a Dracnor.
    "Well, well, well." Avon came up to Vila, circling him slowly, and smiling. He reached out to touch the necklace of rough cut , water- clear stones around the thief's neck.
    Vila looked down and recognized the gems as Feldon crystals. He grinned and pulled back out of Avon's reach. "Aren't you sorry now that you didn't ask me to bring you a souvenir?"
    Avon's grin brightened. "Tell me, Vila. Would you rather share with me, or shall I tell Blake you want to make a contribution to the cause?" he purred.
    Vila grimaced. "You would, too." Then he brightened. "The Dracnor believe in sharing, Avon. Here, all for you." He took something from his pocket and thrust it into Avon's hands before trotting off to sort and hide his loot.
    Avon looked at the object. It was a pouch sewn from a whole bird's pelt. He scrunched it and it gave off the scent of Jasmine. He smiled. This was only a down-payment, he knew.

***********************
BILLS

   
    "Jenna?" Blake looked up, frowning. Jenna had stopped massaging his back and was gazing off in the distance. "What's wrong?"
    "Hmm? Oh." Jenna smiled down at Blake and continued his back rub. "Oh, nothing, Blake. In fact, I was just thinking how lucky we are."
    Blake turned to take her in his arms. He kissed her slowly, and thoroughly, with her complete cooperation. "We have been lucky," he admitted. "That we've survived has been a miracle.  And to have you and the others back is more than I deserve."
    Jenna grinned, her eyes lighting up with devilment. "That's true." She giggled when he retaliated with a brief tickle attack on her ribcage. "It isn't what I was thinking of, though."
    "And what was that?"
    "Just that we don't have to follow all the little niggling rules and regulations that the Federation loves. Like taxes." She shuddered. "You have no idea what a nightmare it was figuring out my taxes every year. And I helped mother with hers, which was always a total muddle."
    "I used to pay a man to do mine every year," Blake admitted. He concentrated for a moment, then sighed. "I can't remember who he was, but I do remember how he'd yell at me for not keeping my records up-to-date."
    "Yell at you? You should have reported him to his boss."
    "He wasn't a professional tax-preparer. I met him when we worked together on a big project and he did it as a favor to me." Blake scrubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Mind you, I think some of the deductions were a bit dodgy, but I never got audited, so I can't complain."
    "Never?" Jenna was impressed. "He must have been good. The Federation audits practically everyone above the service grades at least once."
    "He said something about knowing what would set off alarms in the computers that check the returns."
    "Wish I'd known that when I was running my own ship." Jenna snuggled up against Blake. "Let's not talk about your clever tax-man anymore, Roj." She began toying with one of the laces on his vest. "Neither of us is on duty for at least three hours."

    Avon studied the room, making certain that no one was present, then he slid Orac's key into place. "Now, where were we, Orac?"
    * I was in the middle of some fascinating celestial observations when you interrupted. *
    "Don't be difficult, Orac," Avon said, sweetly. "I've been thinking about the worm program."
    * That program is a waste of my capacities. *
    "I don't think so. I haven't much time- one of the others may appear at any moment and I'd prefer to keep this private."
    * Oh, very well. State your requests. *
    "I knew I could depend on you, Orac." Avon patted the plexi box. "Let's see, last time, we added a depreciation/ amortization deduction on interrogators' equipment, both mechanical and electronic devices. Now, link that deduction to the auditing tag." He rubbed his hands. "With a note- that an armed guard should escort the auditee in for questioning."
    * It is done. I still think this is pointless. None of the changes you have had me make are officially in the tax laws, therefore they are meaningless. *
    "Nonsense, Orac. No one understands the tax laws. There were over eighteen thousand separate forms, worksheets, booklets, brochures and tax table guidebooks before I started amending them. It's been left up to the computers to tell people what applies to them and to assess the returns. And to select the victims for auditing." He gazed at Stiletto's  viewscreen, admiring the serenity of the stars. "Have you noticed that the suicide rate has gone down among the Delta classes since I simplified their tax structure? And up among interrogators and highly placed Federation officials? "
    * Statistics may be misleading. *
    "That's what I'm counting on. Do you know, I used to get a certain thick-headed engineer his entire tax refunded? Among other things, I claimed as his dependents some of the lab rats in the teleport project. If a human being ever looked at the return, don't you think they would have thought 'Whitey', 'Whiskers', and 'Cheesebreath' odd names for one's children?"
    * It depends on whose children they were. *
    Avon grinned.

**********************
A BELT

   
    "Just tilt your head back a bit further," Soolin said. She was trying to keep her patience, but was rapidly losing it.
    "It's cold!" Vila yelped, jerking his head out of her grasp, sending the eyecup full of neutral rinse flying.
    "Vila!" Soolin picked up the eyecup, and glared at him. "I've had enough of this!"

    "So've I." Vila mopped up the liquid running down his neck. He squinted, blinking away tears from his reddened eyes. "It's all Avon's fault anyway."
    "Not entirely." Avon lounged in the entranceway, smiling at the sight. Both Soolin and Vila were dripping, there were puddles on the floor and two empty litre containers of rinse lay on their sides on the table. "You could have shut your eyes, as I did. As I told you to do."
    "You didn't give me enough warning. I always have to help with your gadgets, and you don't care if they blow up in my face!" He lifted a hand to rub at his eyes, but Soolin grabbed his arm.
    "Don't! Will you hold still so I can finish?"
    "I can't." Vila squirmed out of Soolin's reach. "I don't like anyone messing with my eyes."
    "Then do it yourself," Soolin said, exasperated. "The longer that chemical stays the more damage it will cause. Do you want to go blind?"
    Vila turned to Avon. "I can't. Don't you understand?"
    "Something from the past?" Avon said, expression gone grim. "The Federation?"
    "Before them. I don't want to talk about it." Vila looked hopelessly at Avon. "Can't you help me?"
    "All right." Avon strode in quickly, mesmerizing Vila with his direct stare. "If you insist." Without warning, or change in expression, he punched Vila on the chin, knocking him unconscious. Awkwardly, he caught the other man, then lowered him to the ground. "Bring the rinse, Soolin," he ordered, cradling his right hand in his left.
    "You want to do the honors?" Soolin asked, holding out the bottle.
    "No, thanks." Avon bared his teeth. "I seem to have broken my hand." He sighed. "Blake is not going to be pleased when he finds both of us in the infirmary."
    Soolin knelt and carefully rinsed Vila's eyes, then examined his face. "I don't think you broke his jaw."
    "Pity," Avon remarked. "He will have something to say about my bedside manner, I'm sure."