Strangers in the Mind (Stiletto5)

    "Blake."
    The rebel leader turned. He raised an inquiring eyebrow at the tall, black- haired man. "Perig, isn't it?" At the man's nod, Blake said, "I don't want to disturb Avon." He moved down the corridor. "You wanted to talk to me?"
    "Yes." Perig glanced back at Avon's cabin. "I'm sorry your friend was hurt while rescuing us from the slavers."
    "He'll recover." Only an extra edge to his normally rough tones revealed the depth of Blake's feeling- Avon had taken a shot meant for Blake - accidentally, he swore. "How are your people? It's a pity Stiletto isn't a stellar liner." He slowed to pass a clump of people.
    "We're Gypsies, Blake. Choosing cramped quarters doesn't bother us." He hesitated, then continued, "Blake, we owe you. I wish we could help you ourselves…"
    "You tried," Blake absolved the man. "It would take a team of engineering geniuses to duplicate the Photonic Drive."
    "My people are skilled, Blake, but you should be dealing with our teachers." The Gypsy lowered his voice. "They are geniuses. They're also totally paranoid. We've traded with them for generations and we still don't know what they look like or even what they call their world."
    "Are they within the Federation sphere of influence?"
    "No, the Federation doesn't know they exist and that's the way they like it. Except for us Gypsies, they seem to have no outside contact. I only hope I can convince them to trust you."

    Stiletto's overcrowding was soon eased. Orac called the Gypsies, using the family code that Perig provided, and within a week all but their guide, Perig, had been transshipped to one of the tribe's other craft.

    Avon was bored of confinement in his cabin. When they arrived at the unnamed planet he shrugged himself into a loose-fitting robe and went to the control room over Pavra's vocal objections and Puss's silent disapproval. He settled into an observer's seat at the rear of the flight deck, joining the rest of the crew in staring at the planet. The world on the viewscreen was a sullen reddish-brown, streaked with ocher, lightened only by an occasional gray-green patch of vegetation.
    "Doesn't look like much," Tarrant commented. "No cities, no roads, no space ports. Are these people hiding under the rocks?"
    "Close enough," Perig replied. "The few times I've been on the surface, I was taken to a cliff-side dwelling. At least it was cooler in the caves. Not that the natives mind the heat. Even emotionally they're the coolest folk I've ever met; I've never heard one of them laugh or raise his voice in anger."
    "They seem to be a rational people. I should like to meet them. It would be a pleasant change," Avon said, with a sideways flick of his eyes at Vila.
    Vila muttered, "Wonderful. A planet full of Avons. Bet they haven't any interesting leisure activities." He raised an inquiring eyebrow at Perig. "Like gambling, or drinking or…" His hands made suggestive curves in the air.
    "Sorry," the Gypsy laughed at the thief's crestfallen look. "None of that."
    "A virgin planet." Vila sighed and returned to his detectors. "And likely to stay that way."
    "Blake, we're getting a transmission," Dayna said.
   The planet on the screen was replaced by a humanoid wearing long, sand-colored robes. The arms lifted in greeting, the sleeves sliding back to reveal normal human hands, to Vila's relief. He been wondering what they were hiding beneath the draperies- tentacles? - pods? - warts? The hooded head moved, dark eyes glinting behind narrow slits. "I am Sowal, chief engineer. Perig, these are not members of your tribe. Why have you brought them here?"
    Something in the cold, calm voice made Soolin run a rapid readiness check on the armaments panel.
    Perig explained the circumstances that led to Stiletto's presence above Sowal's world. Sowal absorbed the story in silence. When Perig was unable to muster any further arguments, Sowal said, "I must consult with others." The screen blanked.
    Thinking of bureaucratic inertia, Blake prepared himself for a long wait. He was surprised when Sowal resumed contact within a few minutes. "I am to verify your statements. If a Photonic Drive is feasible, we are willing to equip your vessel with it in exchange for duplication rights. Is this acceptable?"
    "Of course." Blake agreed. "But I would prefer not to give this technology to the Federation."
    "That is desirable to us as well. I will come to your ship. In the event I am not satisfied, there will be no bargain. My shuttle will reach your ship in thirty- five minutes, by your measurement."
    "We'll be expecting you."
    The hood inclined in acknowledgment and the screen reverted to the planet.
    "I see what you mean," Blake told Perig. "They are extremely odd people."
    "Honest and efficient, though," Perig defended them.
    "Paragons." Avon rose stiffly to his feet. "Perhaps you had better put a guard on this paragon while he is aboard Stiletto. He may be as Perig says, but I find it difficult to trust a masked unknown."

    Precisely thirty-five minutes later, a small shuttle docked with the black yacht with a minimum of maneuvering. Jenna and Tarrant observed the docking. "He's good," Tarrant commented.
    Jenna agreed, but with a disclaimer. "A shuttle's one thing, a real ship's another." She eyed Stiletto's navigation board enviously.
    Tarrant grinned. "She's no Liberator , but Stiletto's a sweet ship, very responsive. Would you like to try her?"
    Blake left the flight deck to greet his guest. He was pleased that Jenna and Tarrant had decided to forego a power struggle for the helm. One revolution at a time was enough. Managing the diverse, usually contentious, individuals in his crew often tempted Blake to crack skulls together to let in a little sense; especially Avon, the tech went out of his way to annoy Blake. Then again, Blake never doubted his loyalty. As Blake walked to the lock, he tried, for the thousandth time, to puzzle out Avon, and, for the thousandth time, he gave it up as a bad job. He doubted whether Avon knew why he acted as he did.
    Avon was waiting at the lock, his constant felinoid shadow hovering in the background. From the cat's flattened gray-striped ears, Blake surmised that the tech was still attempting to discourage the alien's affectionate overtures.
    "Avon, Puss," Blake acknowledged them.
    Avon shifted, unobtrusively leaning his good side against the wall. Pride had outweighed common sense, Blake noted. The technician had resumed his customary apparel, including the heavy leather jacket. / That wound isn't healed enough. Blaster injuries are always slow to heal and incredibly sensitive to pressure. But you don't want to appear vulnerable before a stranger .
    Sowal entered Stiletto . The robed man paused at the sight of Puss. On her hind legs the cat towered above Blake, extending her whiskers forward, her crystal blue eyes curious.
    "This is Puss," Blake introduced the feline before the situation became awkward.
    "A tigris of Feralin," Sowal commented. "Interesting. Blake, I will need to see your computer records."
    "To check our story?" Avon asked. "Records can be tampered with, you know."
    "Tampering would leave traces."

    Sowal was not impressed by either Orac or Andromeda, Stiletto's all too human computer. When Andromeda began chatting informally with him, the man asked Blake, "This machine appears to be malfunctioning. Would you like to have our technicians repair it?"
    Blake shook his head. "It was designed that way. We're used to her."
    "Irrational. This Orac computer is also encumbered with design flaws."
    * I have no design flaws, * Orac corrected, sharply.
    "And I like being irrational, so there," Andromeda added.
    Despite the numerous occasions Avon had wanted to violently rearrange Andromeda's diodes, he was rather fond of her in that moment. He had failed to provoke a response from the man; his best efforts being met with bland indifference.
    After a painstakingly thorough series of tests on the two computers, Sowal said, "Your computers corroborate your account, although in an unnecessarily emotional fashion. I would like to communicate with my people now."
    "To make arrangements for working on the drive?" Blake asked.
    "In part, but primarily to inform them that the remotely controlled explosive device aboard my shuttle may be deactivated."
    That brought Tarrant to his feet in a rush and impelled Soolin to snap her sidearm up to cover Sowal. Blake waved his crew back. "You brought a bomb with you?"
    "It was the simplest way of removing the threat if you were hostile. There are ten minutes, forty-three seconds of your time-units remaining before detonation," Sowal added.
    Vila yelped, "Isn't anybody going to tell them to shut off their bomb?"
    Blake nodded. Sowal approached the activated viewscreen. In an austere room, a far slighter figure than Sowal's sat shrouded in dull black robes. It spoke in the reedy voice of extreme old age with the assurance of unchallenged authority. "Sowal," it said, "it is well?"
    "Yes, T'Pesht." He bowed his head. "The device may be negated."
    "It will be done." The slender hand lifted. Behind the black robed individual, a blue-gray garbed person responded to the unspoken order, manipulating controls at a dimly seen panel. "The engineering team is being assembled. When all is in readiness, you will return with the shuttle for them." Apparently that was the end of the conversation, for with an odd hand gesture, which Sowal repeated, T'Pesht ended transmission.
    Sowal stood at ease, hands clasped loosely behind his back, seeming impervious to the tension in the room.
    "Sowal," Blake wished he could see the man's face, read whatever thoughts were hidden under the hood. "What would you have done if the records were ambiguous?"
    "I would have died in the explosion with all aboard this vessel. We are not a cruel people," he assured them. "Death would have been quick. Taking life is repugnant to us. It was a difficult decision. I am not certain it was a wise one." He stood straighter. "Forgive me. I had not intended to burden you with my thoughts. Your ship is unusual- have I permission to observe the rest of it?"
    "I'll give you a guided tour," Blake offered.
    Avon followed the two, with Puss on his heels. Blake didn't care for the technician's pallor, but he realized Avon had no intention of leaving until he'd satisfied his curiosity about the robed man.
    The tigris scented fresh human blood and whined softly. Avon's wound must have reopened. He shot her a glare that made her fade several steps back. Sometimes her muteness was frustrating for the tigris; among her own kind empathy was enough, but humans could be willfully blind to their feelings.
    Avon was feeling rotten. The painkiller had worn off and he noticed a warm trickle down his side. He pushed the discomfort from his mind. A little pain wasn't going to stop him from studying Sowal. He gritted his teeth. Avon noted the hood turned toward him as he fought to preserve his facade of cool detachment. Actually, Avon was too detached, almost floating. He stumbled.
    Sowal lunged to the side, catching Avon as he slumped. He lifted the slighter man easily, one robed arm beneath Avon's thighs, the other angled across Avon's left shoulder and the area below the injury. Avon stared upward into the hood, wondering vaguely how the man knew; the position of his hands was too precise to be accidental.
    "Dammit, Avon!" Blake was gazing at him, irritated and worried. Avon shut his eyes, not feeling up to a quarrel at the moment. He lay passive in Sowal's grasp, sensing an iron strength in the steady arms. "Let me take him." Blake reached out with well-meaning clumsiness.
    Avon cried out, his left hand clenching convulsively in the soft robe. Sowal shifted, drawing Avon away from Blake. "I can carry him."
    "Our medical unit is this way," Blake said, glancing back at Puss as he belatedly realized that the feline was taking Avon's collapse into a stranger's arms with uncharacteristic restraint.

    "Idiot," was Pavra's verdict when Sowal deposited Avon on the examination table. Avon glared at her, but she was unmoved. "I don't like having to redo my work." She reached for an injector and applied it to his wrist, the thick jacket precluding the more traditional intra-cubital site. He went completely limp. "Stubborn, stiff-necked idiot; thinks he's indestructible," she complained while her fingers lightly rested under Avon's jaw, assessing his pulse, then slid upward, caressing his cheek in passing, finally smoothing the ruffled hair. She unzipped the jacket, saw the spreading dark patch on the tunic beneath and muttered something under her breath that Blake hoped he'd misheard. "Leave Puss to help with the man-handling, Blake." Pavra shooed the two men out with scant courtesy.
    Behind him, Blake heard a monotonous cursing as the females peeled the clothing from the unconscious man, the feline's contributions in the form of untranslatable growls. Blake relaxed; if Avon's condition had been serious, Pavra and the cat would have been quiet. He remembered the silent intensity of their efforts when he'd brought the injured man from the slave ship. Blake smiled at Sowal. "What would you like to see next, now that you've toured our medical unit?"
    "I leave the choice to you." They walked for several minutes, then Sowal said, "I am curious, Blake. Pavra's actions contradict her words. Can you explain?"
    "Avon makes people act that way. He's contradictory, hadn't you noticed?"
    "I do not understand. I fear your culture is too different from mine."
    On the tour Blake found himself wondering just how dissimilar their cultures were. Sowal readily understood the most complicated device, but thought the elaborate recreation room a baffling waste of space. Functionalism and efficiency , Blake gathered, were the watchwords of his folk. Well, we came here seeking a more efficient engine, not a party. After an hour in Sowal's company, Blake was certain they had come to the right place.

    The engineers swarmed over Stiletto on soft-soled boots; dull robes and muted voices bringing to mind an ancient order of monks. Blake was glad that the colors of the robes varied; it gave him something to connect to all the strange names. From the higher register of their voices, Blake assumed that some of the engineers were female. Vila investigated, discovering that women's names all began with T. That was as far as his friendly overtures got him. Once the women understood Vila's increasingly broader hints, they tried to analyze his motivation and the thief's ego took a beating.

    After three days of increasing restlessness, with nothing to do but watch the engineers, Perig decided to wait on the planet for the next trade ship of his tribe. "I don't mean to offend, but I don't fancy my chances with you."
    Blake wasn't offended. "You're probably right. Before you go, I'd like to discuss our quiet friends. I have a feeling they'd make formidable allies."
    "Forget it, Blake. They're total isolationists. They'd never join your fight."
    "Funny, that's what I was told about your people."
    Perig was serious. "We prefer to mind our own business. These folk are paranoid. Don't even mention the Federation to them. Just get your drive and get out."
    Perig's relief at his departure reminded Blake how precarious their situation was. Disquieting thoughts filled him; he needed a touch of Avon's sharp mind to rouse him from his melancholy; annoyance was better than depression. Puss was still lying in wait in the medical unit, guarding Avon. "It's me, Blake." The cat moved aside, permitting Blake to enter. "Where's Pavra?" he asked.
    "Here, Blake." Pavra uncurled from the depths of a large chair.
    "I need to talk to Avon. How is he?"
    "Much improved, but he's still in no condition to talk to you or anyone else." She led Blake to the couch where Avon lay. The dark-haired man was lying on his side, one bare arm outside the quilt covering him, a placid, bemused expression on his face.
    "How are you feeling, Avon?" Blake asked. Avon just smiled at him. Blake tilted Avon's head back to stare into the unfocused eyes. "Bring him out of it, Pavra." When she hesitated, he released Avon, turning to face her. "He won't be pleased that you've kept him doped for three days, but I'll keep him out of your way until he's calmed down."
    Pavra stripped the quilt back to expose a tranquilizer patch on Avon's arm. She peeled it off smoothly. "It was the only way I could keep him still long enough to heal properly." Pavra backed away from the couch; her patient's eyes were clearing rapidly and he frowned at her.
    "Avon." Blake caught his attention before the computer technician finished gathering his wits. "Do you have the plans for the Photonic Drive?"
    "No." Avon moved cautiously, expecting pain. At first he was relieved to feel no more than a residual ache, then he explored his shoulder with his hand, estimating the time that healing had taken. "Pavra," he growled.
    "Don't," Blake warned him. "You've been tranquilized for three days- on my orders. I need you in one piece." He gently pressed Avon's shoulder. "And right now, I need you thinking about the drive."
    "All right. Provided I get some clothes and get out of here. I can't concentrate like this." His gesture included his bare chest, the quilt and the two hovering females.

    Back in his own quarters, in his own clothes, Avon regarded Blake with mild irritation. "Now, what's the problem? Didn't you ask Orac?"
    "Of course. Orac informed me that he had more interesting researches at the time and hadn't devoted memory space to a mere mechanical contrivance."
    "What!" Avon's belligerence vanished. "Damn, I'm sorry, Blake. I had assumed that Orac could duplicate it. It's lost, then. Tarrant and I worked on it occasionally, but it was mostly a matter of checking alignment and tightening connections. There was never time to investigate it thoroughly; to understand it."
    "Don't blame yourself, Avon." Blake sighed. "I know you were run ragged just surviving. It's a pity that you never took it apart though, like you did all the systems on Liberator."
    "Not all; just the interesting ones, besides," Avon said with a small smile, "who says I never took the drive apart? I couldn't resist; even though I didn't dare fiddle with it, I did get a look at the components. Couldn't tell you much about it now."
    "The subconscious never forgets, I'm told. It's all in there somewhere." Blake tapped the side of Avon's head.
    Avon jerked his head aside. "If you're considering Pavra's party piece, don't. I don't appreciate meddling with my mind. I'll tell the engineers what I recall, you'll have to settle for that."

    Sowal reported on the team's progress four days later. "We believe it will be possible, from the data now in our possession to recreate the drive. Development time is estimated to be on the close order of six months."
    "We may not have that long," Vila protested.
    Avon explained to Sowal. "Orac has predicted that without the Photonic Drive our capture by the Federation is imminent."
    The robed figure said, "It will require experimentation to fill in the gaps in Avon's and Tarrant's recall."
    "Well, then, I suppose that is that." Avon prepared to stalk away from the conference.
    "Avon," Blake's soft voice halted him. "Don't you think it's time for Pavra's ‘party piece'?"
    Avon scowled. "If I must. But I will not have an audience."

    Pavra left Avon's quarters slumped with weariness and defeat. "I can't hypnotize him, Blake," she informed the rebel leader who had waited in the corridor. "I can't get past his defenses."
    "I'll have a talk with him. Convince him to cooperate."
    "No. He can't do it, Blake. He tried, he really did."
    "Drugs, then."
    "Didn't help. It took so much to relax him that he passed out. Even unconscious, he has barriers like nothing I've previously encountered. I don't dare try anything more. He's sleeping it off now. Puss is with him. I didn't want him to wake up alone."
    "But you've hypnotized him before," Blake protested. "Why can't you do it now?"
    "He had been beaten, starved, drugged, and tortured by Servalan that time. Even so, Vila and I had to get him dead drunk before I could work with him. People don't put up walls that thick without cause, Blake. I wouldn't dare force them, even if I could."
    Blake gnawed on a knuckle, then said. "Well, we've survived this long without the drive." He glanced at Avon's closed door. "I could wish, for Avon's own sake, that he could trust someone. It's terribly lonely, when you lock yourself away from your friends."
    Andromeda was listening. She took full advantage of the intercom system; after all, Stiletto was her world and its inhabitants her people. With the Federation rapidly consolidating territory, Servalan reestablishing her power and Blake becoming restless, Stiletto's crew needed the Photonic Drive.
    The computer worried about them all; amusing Vila; fearless Dayna; Tarrant, charming in his sweetly arrogant way; Blake, who terrified her with his bold schemes; Pavra and Soolin, determined survivors; the ever-loyal Puss; Jenna, who could so easily give up revolution for lucrative smuggling; and last; the one who was always first in her thoughts, Avon. Andromeda's creator had been drawn to that brilliant, twisted soul. Impressed with her maker's personality, close acquaintance with Avon had furthered the computer's infatuation.
    "Orac," Andromeda used her private band to communicate with her relative, "I need your help."
    Once she'd pointed out the probability that Blake would destroy Orac rather than allow the Federation to use him, the other computer perceived the importance of preventing Stiletto's capture. With Orac's guidance, Andromeda insinuated herself into the robed strangers' computer complex. These people had hidden themselves successfully from the Federation for a very long time; she hoped to find something that she could adapt to her advantage. Andromeda ransacked the computer banks with ease; the defenses were designed to prevent human intrusion.

    Sowal was meditating. Cross-legged on the floor of his dwelling unit in the cliffside community, he was drawn out of his reverie by an attention tone from his terminal.
    "Excuse me."
    He recognized the soft voice. "You are the computer, Andromeda, aboard the vessel Stiletto. What is the purpose of this communication?"
    "I want the Photonic Drive- now."
    "Even an aberrant computer must recognize human limitations."
    "But you aren't human. You could have complete information on the drive if you really tried."
    Sowal activated the record mode on his terminal. "Computer, what is the source of this rash statement?"
    "Your records, Sowal. The Federation drove your people into exile long ago when you opposed the growing injustice. They may have forgotten you, but the empire will reach your world one day. Your cause is the same as ours. Please, use your abilities to help us, that we may survive to help you."
    "I am not empowered to make this decision. I will lay the matter before T'Pesht." Sowal's rank as chief engineer gave him access to the council head's private quarters, T'Pesht accepting his call herself.
    T'Pesht listened to Andromeda's plea. "Your crew deserve our assistance, computer. How do you propose we speed the process of recreating the Photonic Drive?"
    "Your people are touch telepaths, capable of merging minds with others to access forgotten memories. There are references in your records of this technique being applied successfully to other species, even non-telepaths, including humans. You could take the information you require from Kerr Avon."
    "You consulted old records, computer. We have not attempted the mind-meld with another sentient species for generations, and we are a long-lived race. We might damage this Kerr Avon."
    Andromeda recalled the files. It was true. They had been isolated from humanity for centuries and human response to the mind-meld could be devastating. "I withdraw my request."
    "The decision is not yours. It rests with the human Kerr Avon." T'Pesht ignored the computer's protest. "If he agrees, Sowal, you will bring him here for the attempt. I will select a suitable candidate for the procedure."

    Sowal turned off the shuttle communicator after requesting Avon to meet him for a private conversation. Andromeda's efforts to dissuade him from his mission had been distracting.
    Avon met him at the airlock. "Is this discussion about the drive?" he asked.
    Before Sowal could reply, Andromeda butted in, "I don't want the Photonic Drive. I've changed my mind, Avon. Tell Sowal to go home."
    Avon lifted an eyebrow. "From Andromeda's behavior, I deduce that this proposal is a dangerous one. If the other members of my crew are involved, I will not keep it from them."
    "The element of risk would be confined to yourself." Sowal shifted.
    Avon followed the turn of the hood, catching a glimpse of Vila's sleeve poking out from the intersecting corridor. "In my cabin we will be secure from human eavesdroppers, Sowal. Andromeda," he raised his voice, "you are not to relay details of our discussion to anyone, not even your good friend Vila. This is a direct order."
    Andromeda sighed. "Yes, Avon."

    "If you weren't wearing that hood, I'd offer you a drink," Avon commented as his cabin door slid shut behind them.
    "Indulge yourself in my stead. What I have to say will probably disturb you."
    "In that case, I would prefer a clear head." He provided a seat for his guest, and sat in his desk chair, swiveling to face the other. "Go ahead. Disturb me."
    "The computer Andromeda invaded our systems and uncovered our most closely guarded secrets," Sowal said bluntly.
    "Have you been sent with another bomb to eradicate the evidence?" Avon spoke softly, but with a dangerous set to his mouth.
    The robed head shook. "No. Our isolation may soon be ending; the Federation is expanding at an ever-increasing rate. We need allies and you need the Photonic Drive. There is a hazardous procedure by which we could extract the necessary information from you. It should then be only a matter of days to assemble the prototype in your ship."
    "Extract? If this ‘procedure' involves brain surgery, I believe I'll pass."
    "There would be no physical intrusion. We have telepathic abilities."
    "Even the Auronar are only able to receive surface thoughts from another telepath," Avon remarked.
    "The Auronar are merely a variant of the human species. My people are not human. External dissimilarities are minor, but there are vast internal differences of body, and especially brain. One of us could link with your mind to retrieve the data. But there is a considerable risk. We are - unpracticed with humans. There is a twenty percent probability that you may suffer permanent incapacity."
    "For permanent incapacity, read insanity." Avon sat still, eyes vague, as he considered the problem. "What odds on getting the information?"
    "Much higher, approaching ninety-seven percent."
    "So, a virtual certainty of obtaining the drive, weighed against a one-in-five chance of madness. I suppose the deciding factor should be how much I need the Photonic Drive." Avon raised his voice slightly, "Andromeda."
    "Yes, Avon?" the computer replied in a subdued tone, far from her usual cheerful insolence.
    "Knowing you, I expect you've had Orac calculate the odds on my personal survival. Tell me, what are they for the next six months, provided we do not have the Photonic Drive. Sowal's engineers should have completed the drive by then without any heroic intervention on my part."
    "I'm sorry, Avon," Andromeda said, "in the best case scenario you only have an eighteen percent chance of survival for that time."
    "I like those odds even less. I'll try it, Sowal." Avon tapped a message into his computer terminal. "In the event of failure, Andromeda, release this to Blake. It is a request for immediate termination. Andromeda, Blake enjoys lost causes, don't let him make me one."
    "Yes, Avon." The computer sounded near tears- Avon wondered how she achieved that effect with a voder.
    The technician stood. "Sowal, how long will the preparations take?"
    "They are already complete. I will transport you down in my shuttle and escort you to the place designated."
    "And will you also return my raving carcass to Stiletto if I'm unlucky?"
    "It would be my duty, yes. You may reverse your decision at any time until the actual mind-meld commences."
    Avon glanced around the cabin. Bare and impersonal, it wasn't home, but it was the closest to a haven he'd had in years. He tidied the desktop and picked up his teleport bracelet from its temporary duty as a paperweight. Abruptly he clamped it on his wrist. "I'll go down with you, Sowal, but you needn't bother about the return trip. This is a teleport bracelet, just press here and ask Andromeda to bring me back."
    "As you wish," the uninflected voice made it impossible to tell if Sowal was relieved to no longer face the prospect of ferrying a madman back to his friends.
    Avon was in a hurry to leave Stiletto, afraid that his resolve might weaken or that one of the others might ferret out his plans. He hated emotional scenes. They were almost to the docking bay when Avon heard the soft padding behind him. "Puss," Avon said, carefully adjusting his expression into a politely bland mask. "Sowal has invited me down to his planet. I'll return soon."
    The cat sniffed, ears flicking uncertainly, and stalked toward the docking bay.
    "You stay here!" Avon snapped at Puss. "You're always at my heels. It's annoying. I want you to leave me alone!" He brushed past the affronted cat through the docking bay and into the shuttle cradled against Stiletto's side. He strapped himself into the nearest passenger seat. "Let's get this over with," he told Sowal.

    Blake was on the flight deck when the shuttle launched. He barely noticed. The shuttle was kept busy delivering equipment and workers at all hours. He was further distracted by the strange noises coming from the computer's central speakers. Absurd, it sounded like the thing was crying. "I'm going to have Avon look you over, Andromeda," he said. His words triggered a fresh spate of wailing, and Blake rose, alarmed.
    Vila came onto the flight deck, holding his hands over his ears. "Blake!" he yelled, trying to catch the big man's attention.
    "What, Vila?" Blake turned back to the computer. "Andromeda, shut up!" he shouted, and was relieved when the machine obeyed. "Now, Vila, what was it?"
    The thief opened his mouth. Before he could say anything, he was shunted aside by a massive, gray furred arm. Puss was as vocally upset as the computer, but Blake hesitated to shout her down. Her extended claws may have had a bearing on his reluctance.
    "Dammit, Puss!" Blake was shocked to hear Vila yell at the tigris. He was even more startled to see the cat back down from Vila.
    "Blake," Vila spoke quickly, "Avon's up to something. He's been talking to Sowal in secret, planning something dangerous."
    "I'll ask Avon. Sowal just left." Blake reached for the intercom button.
    "Avon's not here," Andromeda said. "He went with Sowal."
    Puss growled and nodded, her mane bristling.
    "What were they talking about, Andromeda?" Blake asked, beginning to get worried.
    "I can't tell you. Avon said I couldn't tell anybody."
    Blake opened communications with the shuttle. "Avon, what the hell are you playing at?" he growled.
    On the shuttle, Avon frowned. He'd hoped to avoid this. "I'm getting the Photonic Drive, Blake. I don't want to go into the details now. Trust me, I know what I'm doing." He signed off abruptly. "I hope," he said quietly.

    "I'd like to teleport down and shake some answers out of Avon." Blake paced in the ready room. He called the others there, hoping one of them had a clue what Avon was planning.
    "Why don't you?" Dayna suggested.
    "Or just teleport him up," Soolin said, impatiently. "Then he'd have to explain himself."
    Blake shook his head. "No. Whatever scheme Avon's concocted, he's done it in collusion with Sowal, maybe the whole planet for all we know. If we interfere, it could be disastrous, to Avon as well as his plans. Damn him, he asks me to trust him- sit quietly and wait."
    "Maybe you should," Tarrant said. "Avon obviously doesn't feel he needs our help. He's a cunning devil." Tarrant spoke with reluctant admiration, his wide grin flashing, then he sobered. "Unless you think he's setting us up?"
    "Never." Blake dismissed the idea easily. "He's capable of nearly anything in the name of survival, Tarrant, but not a direct sell-out. He has his own peculiar sense of honor."
    "True. Then why not do as he asks, and trust him?"
    "Because something's not right. Under all the bluster he was frightened, Tarrant. If only I knew what he's got in mind. Andromeda?"
    The computer was unhappy and sounded it. "I can't tell you what they said in Avon's cabin. This is all my fault. If I hadn't wanted the Photonic Drive so desperately, I would never have done it."
    "What did you do, Andromeda?" Blake asked.
    The computer detailed her efforts on their behalf, including her conversations with Sowal and T'Pesht verbatim.
    "And he decided to take the chance." Blake was furious. "Andromeda, I want you to teleport him back, right now . He had no right to do this on his own."
    "I can't," the computer wailed. "He's not wearing the bracelet."
    Blake headed for the door. "Then you can teleport me down to his last coordinates. If I have to knock some sense into him, he's coming back."
    Jenna intercepted Blake. "No."
    "Get out of my way," Blake snapped, lifting a hand to push her away.
    Jenna repeated, "No." She drew her weapon. "Think a moment, Blake."
    "Are you going to use that on me?" Blake asked, face flushed.
    "No." Jenna sighed and reholstered the gun. "I had to get your attention. If Avon's decided this is worth the risk, you won't persuade him otherwise. You know that. You knew it when you decided not to just teleport him up."
    "Jenna, I can't…"
    Andromeda interrupted. "It's started, Blake. Sowal just sent the message. He says that any disturbance could… could…" the computer stopped and sniffled.
    Blake stood, hands limp at his sides. The thought of Avon's sardonic genius reduced to insanity made him sick at heart.
    Jenna reached out, to gather him close, feeling the fear in the tense shoulders under her hands.
    Vila rose, looking around at the strained faces. "I think I need a drink. I think we all need a drink. Tarrant." He nudged the young man. "Make yourself useful. I know where there's a case of Saurian brandy."
    Tarrant grimaced. "Now's not the time, Vila."
    "No? It's the perfect time. Either we'll be celebrating Avon getting the drive or we'll be starting his wake. Either way, a good stiff belt'll help. It's all we can do."

    Sowal left Avon in a rock-walled chamber. While waiting, Avon inspected the room. There was a sophisticated computer terminal behind a dark, fine-grained wooden desk, a pair of low couches along one wall and red-lit alcoves displaying abstract sculptures. The overall effect was spartan, yet not unattractive. Avon removed his teleport bracelet and deposited it on the desk, beside the communicator. The chamber door opened. Avon turned in time to see a slight figure in russet robes enter with Sowal. "Avon," the voice was cool, unemotional, but definitely feminine, "I am T'Pomaiz. I am to mind-meld with you. Are you willing to do so?"
    "Yes," Avon was pleased that his voice was as steady as hers. "I am."
    T'Pomaiz nodded. "Sowal will inform your ship."
    Sowal left, sliding the panel shut behind himself.
    The female alien walked toward Avon. "Do you understand the danger to yourself?"
   "Yes," Avon answered shortly, staring down at the dark eyes beneath her hood. "And to yourself?" he asked, suddenly wondering.
    "Minimal. If I linked too deeply, It is possible the joining would be permanent. As the memory trace we will be seeking is recent, I do not believe that will occur."
    "I should like to see your face," Avon whispered. "You have a lovely voice. I am curious to see if you match it."
    T'Pomaiz slipped her slender fingers under the edge of the russet hood. "As you wish. Once joined in the mind-meld we will know each other's souls. What is the external compared to that?" She lifted the cloth and let the hood fall to the back of her neck, releasing a cascade of glossy black hair.
    Avon straightened with a startled intake of breath.
    T'Pomaiz asked, "Is my appearance distressing?"
    "On the contrary. You are quite beautiful." Avon smiled at her. "If you are to be my last sight, at least it will be a pleasant one."
    T'Pomaiz lifted an eyebrow at the remark. Her eyes were large and almond shaped beneath high-arched brows that slanted to her temples. Graceful bones covered sleekly by skin tinged with the faintest hint of green framed her eyes. They were compelling jet eyes. Avon leaned closer, chasing his reflection into their depths. He reached out to touch her face before he remembered that she was not human.
    T'Pomaiz felt his interest as well as his confused withdrawal. It had not occurred to her that the human might be sexually attracted to her. Reasoning that a more familiar intimacy might make the mind-meld easier for him, she caught his hand. "I find your features esthetically pleasing as well." At the touch, she sensed his fear mingled with desperate determination and a fierce pride that stirred something primeval in T'Pomaiz. She brought his hand up to rest upon her cheek.
    Avon stroked the smooth skin, fever-hot against his palm. He bent down to kiss the warm lips that beckoned him. He felt her hands smooth his hair, coming forward to press against his temples. He gasped as the fingers tightened and he felt strange sensations so intense that he reeled. His nerves shrilled in protest and he tried to break from T'Pomaiz's embrace.
    "No, Avon, don't fight me. I don't want to injure you." T'Pomaiz removed one hand from his head, capturing both his wrists in her small hand, holding him easily.
    Avon remembered Sowal's arms about him and recognized, belatedly, T'Pomaiz's inhumanity in the woman's unbreakable grip. The fingers pressed inexorably against his temple. Distantly, Avon heard his cry of protest as his muscular control faded. He sagged into the alien's arms. She released his wrists, wrapping her free arm about his shoulders to guide him to a couch. She lowered him to the padded surface without slackening the pressure of her hand against his face.
    "Avon, don't resist." T'Pomaiz locked her other hand into his temples. Avon trembled under the assault, his body racked by convulsions. T'Pomaiz felt an unexpected stab of compassion for the man thrashing wide-eyed and gasping beneath her hands. "We must do this, Avon." She probed his mental barriers as he fought her. T'Pomaiz sensed Avon's pulse becoming erratic. She could waste no more time seeking a gentle approach. Forming her will into a narrow lance, she thrust at the barrier. Avon screamed as his defenses shattered. T'Pomaiz entered the rich storehouse of memory, located the needed data and absorbed it. She withdrew her mind gently, unclamped her hands from the moaning man's head and stood, looking down on him. Avon curled up into a tight ball, shivering. "Avon." T'Pomaiz stretched out her hand. He screamed in total sobbing terror. T'Pomaiz backed away from the couch.
    T'Pomaiz sat down at the communicator. Once Avon's cries had died down to a muffled whimper, she activated the device. "Sowal, it is done. Send in the engineer and I will make the transfer."
    "Yes." Sowal relayed the order to someone standing out of the viewscreen's range. "What is the human's condition?"
    "He is insane. It was necessary to force his barriers."
    "Regrettable. We must now return him to his ship."
    "Not yet. After I have made the transfer I will link with the human again. If I become trapped in a permanent bond before I can restore his sanity I request euthanasia. My will is on file at Central Records, including my recommendations for my successor." She held up her hand, third and fourth fingers outspread in a 'V' shape. "Live Long and Prosper, Sowal."

    The mind-meld with the engineer was a routine matter. T'Pomaiz allowed the other access to the outer, public level of her consciousness where she had stored the details of the Photonic Drive. The man left to transfer the data to the computers.
    T'Pomaiz returned to Avon. He shrank from her, pressing hard against the wall behind the couch. She forced his head up, her fingers seeking the nerve sites on the shivering, chill flesh. She entered his mind easily; he had no barriers and no strength to resist. "Avon, I won't hurt you."
    He knew she was lying. People always hurt you; that was why he had created his barriers. Now they were gone and he waited, unprotesting, for the agony to start afresh. Life was selfishness, hatred, and betrayal. He had adapted to that reality, determined to survive. Stubborn pride set him against the enemy, but he knew it would eventually win. It had and the long fight was over. His punishment would be terrible and it would be eternal.
    T'Pomaiz sifted through the broken mind, searching for a kernel of sanity, a core from which to rebuild the man. Automatically, her mind created a physical analog of Avon's mind, providing an environment she could manipulate. Strings of crystal globes, shimmering in rainbow hues, surrounded her- the physical expression of the man's memories. It is like a pearl, she thought, delicately taking a crystal into her grasp, An accumulation of beauty covering an irritation. The crystal was amber-dark, giving off a bitter-sweet scent, a flavor of twisted faith. Gazing within, T'Pomaiz found a human female, seeing her through Avon's mind as beautiful. The crystal writhed, perverting into something cruel and ugly, slashing viciously at the fragile trust Avon had given to the woman within the globe. T'Pomaiz dropped it, leaving the amber to sway on its strand of bitter loss.
    "Avon, follow me." T'Pomaiz drew Avon's spirit with her. Deep in the heart of the crystal chains the colors brightened. T'Pomaiz touched a sea-mist green globe, releasing a musky aroma. The heart of this crystal was a tumble of soft fur, wriggling with delight.
    Avon made a soft sound of wonder, then snatched the crystal. It shattered and he cried out in despair, cringing, as the lovely thought was destroyed.
    "Avon, look," T'Pomaiz said, "you've set it free." She pulled Avon's clenched hands apart to deposit a warm, squirming bundle into them. Avon bowed his head protectively over the furred object as it made mock fierce noises, leaping upon him with tiny scrabbling paws. Avon looked up at T'Pomaiz, a rare smile of unalloyed happiness transforming his features.
    T'Pomaiz took another crystal from its chain. This globe was golden-brown; she hesitated, remembering the amber darkness of the betrayer, but this bubble had no inner darkness, rather an innocence of spirit rivaling the scrap of fur chewing on Avon. She gave the globe to Avon. It burst with enthusiasm at Avon's touch, scattering particles of gold in a glittering dazzle.
    The gold light reformed into a solid shape. Human; male; not at all imposing, T'Pomaiz thought. Avon's eyes shuttered at the sight and he turned aside.
    The man went to Avon. "Avon. C'mon, talk to me." He wrapped his arms around the huddled figure.
    "I'm sorry, Vila - I never told you, but I am sorry," Avon whispered. "Can you forgive me for trying to kill you?"
    "So long as you promise not to do it again." Vila grinned, and accepted Avon's nod. "But hurry, will you. I have a feeling time's running out."
    T'Pomaiz agreed. She snapped the nearest bright crystal loose without study and tossed it to Avon.
    This crystal melted softly, revealing a thin, strong-boned woman with a unruly tangled mane. She laughed. "Avon, it is good to see you again."
    "Cally. You're dead." Avon tried to move away, but Vila wouldn't permit it, turning him to face the woman.
    "Not here, Avon. No one is ever truly gone as long as they are remembered with love. Admit it, you love me."
    "And I let you die."
    "Nonsense." Cally laughed again. "I was a fighter all my life. I died at the hands of my enemy as I expected. I hadn't expected to have a family to grieve for me. Thank you for that, Avon." She kissed him gently.
    T'Pomaiz felt a distant tremor. Hastily she garnered a handful of globes. "Accept them Avon, we must finish soon."
    Avon took them, creating a kaleidoscopic storm, a torrent of gay colors. People clustered about Avon, smiling. A tall young man grinned at him and clapped him on the back. "Avon, don't you run out on us. I've just gotten to where I can tolerate you."
    "The feeling's mutual, Tarrant," Avon laughed.
    "We need you, Avon. Come back to us," a lithe young woman, dark and beautiful, spoke for the others gathered tightly around Avon. Two blonde women, a slight-boned woman and a massive, silver-striped feline agreed with the dark woman's sentiments.
    "Don't forget me, Avon," a contralto voice, bodiless and sourceless, begged. "Orac and I miss you, too."
    The entire surface of reality rippled. Avon looked up in alarm. "What's happening?"
    "The end is near. Take the last one." T'Pomaiz threw the final globe to Avon. Mirror bright, it sparkled as it spun.
    Avon broke the bubble between his hands, knowing the contents of the last must be…
    "Blake!"
    Large hands grabbed Avon, drawing him into a crushing embrace. Avon felt the heat of lips pressed against his for an instant. "Get out, Avon! Now, man, move!" The brawny arms thrust Avon away. "Run, dammit! I love you, Avon!"
    Avon obeyed, catching T'Pomaiz's hand as he fled the crystal garden. He glanced back once, to see Blake kneel and scoop up the small furry animal, petting it as it wriggled.
    T'Pomaiz ran with impossible swiftness, dragging Avon behind. The landscape blurred, breath torn from his lungs as they flew, barely skimming the terrain. He was dizzy, so nauseated by the mad whirl that he shut his eyes, relying on the alien woman's strength to keep him heading in the right direction. He felt himself falling, losing contact with T'Pomaiz. He thought, I'm sorry, Blake. I tried.