(sequel is Broadcast Difficulties)


The intake/outtake chamber in the largest detention facility on Stepney was standard Terran construction; Bodie had seen its like before. Leaning against a wall which faced the corridor to the holding cells, he occupied his time awaiting the return of the section warden by silently and inconspicuously noting the positions of sallyport doors and the probable areas to which they gave access; surveillance units and their fields of vision; feasible locations for microphone pick-ups that would activate at any innocent comment; and the deportment of the single armed attendant who slouched blank-faced near the entry door. Bodie stood with similar detachment, his solid frame betraying none of the tension coiling within, arms folded languidly across his chest, his expression contrivedly one of bored impatience.

It was a rather primitive set-up; but this was a rather primitive, backwater planet. Despite his calculatingly nonchalant pose, and even with the sure knowledge that he could counter any possible opposition that might be offered--were he forced to do so--he remained fully alert, having learned in the painful, but instructive past that to become lax was to invite failure. Mindlessly scuffing a heel on the institution-slick surface of the floor, he hummed tunelessly to himself in a manner guaranteed to offend the most insensitive of ears.

His wait proved surprisingly brief.

The section warden, a man named Carnall, operated the sallyport door which separated the holding cells from the intake/outtake chamber. Accompanying him in the airlock, waiting for the first sallyport door to seal the breach, were a brawny guard and a slightly built, curly haired man. After a cursory glance, Bodie dismissed the two prison authorities and focused on the prisoner. The sallyport door to the intake/outtake chamber slid open, and the three men left the airlock to join Bodie. Attired in standard issue clothing, the smaller man walked with the steady determination of someone who has been hurt but refuses to acknowledge it, hands bound before him by metal manacles. Primitive, Bodie thought with disgust.

As the prisoner obeyed the warden's command to sit in a utilitarian chair arranged before a utilitarian table, he looked across at Bodie. His expression gave nothing away, but Bodie thought he glimpsed a hint of desperation in those wide-spaced eyes--which he knew, even from this distance, to be green. He met the man's wary gaze steadily, wondering if the fool would have the presence of mind to carry off this charade. Shoving away from the wall, and shaking his head ruefully, he asked with mild exasperation, "Ready to get out of here, Doyle?"

There was the briefest flicker of startlement in the prisoner's eyes. Voice low and husky, he replied, "Have been for days."

"That's lucky," Bodie said sarcastically, silently congratulating the man on his quickness. "Your old friend Bodie's come too far to be disappointed."

"You do know him, then?" Warden Carnall probed, dark brown eyes glancing from the seated man to his visitor.

"Yeah, I know him." The prisoner's attention was riveted on Bodie. "Took your bloody time, didn't you?"

"Couldn't hurt you to stew a while, sunshine," Bodie drawled. "But, one more day and you'd've gone on the block. Couldn't have allowed that, now could I?"

The other did not react to the taunt, save to become so still it was apparent to an astute observer that he had ceased to breathe altogether.

Looming behind the prisoner's chair, the guard raised a derisive brow. "Might have been just the thing for him," he observed, just loudly enough for all to hear clearly. "There are a few people here who don't care what they take to bed."

"Save it, Peitz," the section warden said.

Bodie, however, arched a brow at the prisoner, his gaze turning speculative. "You been misbehaving, Doyle?" he asked lightly. Then shifting almost imperceptibly, he addressed Carnall, a tall, bland-faced man whose expression told Bodie nothing, "Didn't think a man's sexual preference was a crime in this forward-thinking community."

The warden said gravely, "We tolerate it; part of being a member of the Consortium. But trying to solicit one of our higher administrators--who didn't find your man's attentions desirable--was a mistake he shouldn't have made."

Bodie shook his head, tongue clicking against his teeth. "I'll be sure to discuss it with him," he said, with an air of distaste.

"See that you do. My releasing this man to you before putting him up for public indenture is unprecedented. Still, I can see no reason not to, since you are willing to pay off his marker--and you do know each other." He looked down his nose at Doyle, who kept his head bent slightly forward, gaze averted. "I explained the conditions of release to you, Doyle. Your friend Bodie will be responsible for your actions until you have repaid the debt." He stated a sum. "Once you have worked off the fine, or alternately served a period of six months in this man's employ, you will be listed with Central as having completed your indenture. He, of course, may release you at any time. And remember, you have the option to fulfill the terms of your sentence here on Stepney. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Doyle said flatly. Unflinching, his eyes slid across to Bodie. "I accept the indenture."

"As you wish." Carnall drew out a force disabler and gestured to Doyle to lift his wrists; with a soft hum the manacles popped open. "That's it." He removed the metal couplers with unexpected consideration. Even from across the room, red welts could be seen around the thin-boned wrists. "You're free to leave Stepney under this man's guardianship."

Rising slowly from the chair, Doyle hesitated when the guard standing directly behind him snorted loudly. Without thought, Bodie stepped forward, his whole body tensed to react.

"You're done here, Peitz," the warden said, each word clearly enunciated.

"Sir."

Peitz pivoted on heel and strode, stiff-backed, out of the processing chamber. Bodie used the guard's departure as an excuse to study the man who was standing unsteadily a few feet away. The prisoner was trembling, although not overtly, and there was a wildness in the eyes that no amount of studied disinterest could quite conceal.

"What about his things?" he asked the warden.

"Forfeited when he was sentenced," Carnall said. "Would you like a breakdown?"

"That would be nice," Bodie agreed dryly. "Have to tot it up, don't I? After all, I'll have to replace enough of it to keep him decent."

"Of course." The warden waved a hand before him, indicating that the two men should precede him out of the room.

Bodie closed the distance between himself and Doyle, who had achieved a questionable vertical. Unobtrusively steadying the slim form with a hand at his elbow, Bodie said matter-of-factly, "C'mon, sunshine. Not long now."

The warden locked the door behind them, then led them out of the chamber and into the corridor which opened onto the administrative wing. A few doors down, he flagged them into the outgoing records room. "Maggie, run a copy of this for me, please." He handed the older woman seated behind a VDU a slip of paper taken out of the file he held.

"Don't suppose you'll be trying to find his lov...friend, will you?" Carnall asked, while they waited.

Bodie hesitated, giving his newly bought companion a sidelong look. But the prisoner produced a tiny shake of the head.

"Nope," Bodie replied. "Expect that one can take care of himself." He took the proffered paper from the other man's fingers, one brow quirking upward as he cursorily scanned the printout. "You should count yourself lucky to have rumbled this one," he murmured; then he smiled disarmingly lest the official should take offense.

"I didn't rumble him," the warden said. "This way."

From the administrative offices, they passed into the corridor that gave access to the main entry lock. Unspeaking the warden walked alongside the other two men, pacing his stride to accommodate theirs, which was slower. Doyle was noticeably lagging, and Bodie was keeping right beside him.

Seconds before they reached the metal slab sealing the chamber, it silently slid to one side, giving them passport to the outer lobby. Carnall flicked a finger in silent communication to the duty officers posted there, and they continued through to the last door.

"Here you go," he said at the glass-fronted entry. "You should encourage Mr. Doyle to employ discretion in future. Somehow I don't think he is suited to this particular environment."

Beside Bodie, Doyle stiffened, a harsh breath catching audibly in this throat.

"I shall," Bodie assured the warden, finding nothing of contempt in the other man's expression, but rather a reluctant compassion. "It won't happen again, I think." He gently jarred the man beside him. "Doyle?"

A little bitterly, the other replied, "It didn't happen this time."

Bodie shrugged. "Good bye," he told the warden, and as they exited into dreary daylight, he immediately relegated the prison official's existence to the furthest reaches of his mind.

"Are you all right?" he asked, directing Doyle to the skimmer parked at the mouth of the wide cul-de-sac. Few other vehicles lined the street; either the prison did not encourage visitors or it was simply not a popular place.

"Yeah." Taking in a huge breath, Doyle asked, "Who are you?"

"Name's Bodie," he said. "And you're Ray Doyle."

The other's mouth twisted slightly, the full, finely sculpted upper lip compressing hard onto its thinner opposite number. "That's right. How could you know that?"

Bodie left the question begging for a moment as he unlocked the skimmer and opened the door to his companion, abandoning Doyle to climb in unassisted as he took himself round to the driver's side. It was late in the afternoon, and the the sun's warmth was thwarted by billowing clouds and the tops of towering buildings. Chilled, Bodie turned up the collar of his jacket, well aware that Doyle was dressed only in slacks and a loose shirt, and prison- supplied soft-soled shoes. He started the engine of the hire car and engaged the heating unit to take off the edge.

"'S not important just now," Bodie answered at last. "You look a bit rough. Are you up to a spot of shopping?"

Doyle sat quietly contained in the passenger seat, hands clasped together in his lap. "I can manage."

"Right."

Only a short time later, having navigated the skimmer through the heart of Stepney's capital city, Bodie had to stir the man beside him awake. Doyle roused at once to the light pressure of fingers on his shoulder, sleep- shadowed eyes assimilating Bodie's presence and the fact that the hire-car had stopped outside a small, exclusive department store on the edge of the downtown district.

Here the cold air seemed to strike harder than before, and Bodie hurried his companion into the main foyer of the store to get him out of the wind. "You'll need something warm where we're going," he advised tersely. "With that in mind, pick out what you want. I'll wait here." He indicated a chair propped beside the stair that rose to the wide glass entry.

Dark, serpentine brows arched upward. "Aren't you worried I might make a break for it?"

Bodie only smiled at him. "It would be a stupid thing to do," he said, with silken warning. To his surprise Doyle's mouth twitched in the faintest suggestion of a grin.

"All right," he conceded. "Are you registered?"

Bodie nodded. "Just keep it reasonable, eh?"

Giving him a level look, Doyle shuffled away and disappeared amidst the aisles. Bodie took his post, dragging the chair nearer the wall. He had not given any indication of being in a hurry; but the man was a Vauxan, or at least part-Vauxan. Bodie's desire to be clear of this place as quickly as possible should be perfectly obvious to him. Bodie would soon find out just how much of a sensitive Doyle was.

In fact only a short while later Doyle returned, arms laden with two large packages, his face pale with exertion, the dragging gait slightly more pronounced. Bodie made no comment, but took one of the packages as Doyle came abreast of him. "Finished?" he asked.

Doyle sketched a quick assenting nod and followed Bodie through the door. They walked the few feet to the hire-car. Ushering Doyle in before him, Bodie could hear the other man's labored breaths. They were barely in transit before the lithe form slumped in the neighboring seat, head propped against the glass, long-fingered hands resting limply on the package in his lap. Bodie glanced across at his new charge, absorbing the heavy fall of dark lashes lying on ashen cheeks, a frown etched between winged brows even in rest.

A movement out of the corner of his eye restored his attention to the flight corridor ahead. Driving with smooth control, he wondered again if his snap decision, made in the inhospitable surroundings of the bleak prison, would not prove to be a most serious mistake.

---

Ray Doyle awoke to the gentle jostling of a near perfect landing just as the flyer reached the outskirts of the docking hangars at the planet's main port. It took him a moment to orient himself, his mind slowly juxtaposing the plush interior of the skimmer with his recent barren cell in Stepney's correctional facility. The man named Bodie was engaged in shutting down the hire-car's flight systems with practiced competence. Completing his sign-off to Stepney Control, he turned to Doyle, who was looking at the terminal building with a growing uneasiness.

"You're awake," Bodie said.

"What're we doing here?" Doyle asked, running a hand through his hair to shift long, limp curls off his forehead.

"My ship's docked in Outgoing. We take the shuttle from here."

"Outgoing?"

Bodie did not even blink at the troubled break in Doyle's voice. "We'll be off-planet within the hour."

"Where to?" Doyle demanded, forced to speak gruffly to cover his weakness.

Bodie eyed him coolly. "You'll find out soon enough."

Smothering an angry retort, Doyle watched as Bodie slid out of the driver's seat, leaving the keys in the ignition. Doyle toyed with the notion of seizing the craft and making his escape--but only for a second. The reality of what he had agreed to in the intake/outtake chamber was just now confronting him, and the creeping panic generated by that knowledge threatened to shatter his very tenuous control.

"Hop it, Doyle," Bodie ordered. He snagged one of the packages out of Doyle's loose grasp and shut the driver's door, walking round the snub nose of the skimmer to Doyle's side of the vehicle.

Knowing he really had no alternative but to obey, Doyle tightened his hold on the other package and stepped out, staggering slightly as rubbery legs almost failed him.

When Bodie put out a hand for support, Doyle made no complaint, well aware that his other option would be the too close attentions of the rough tarmac beneath their feet. Guided by Bodie's grip on his elbow, he made it to the shuttle stop. Within minutes they were picked up by one of the regularly circulating transports and, accompanied by a few other passengers, rode in silence to one of the inward hangars. A cargo ship, Doyle guessed a little nervously, and waited to see if he would be proven correct.

The shuttle came to a stop outside a massive structure with huge bay doors that were presently secured. Alighting, Bodie gestured toward the smaller, personnel-sized entrance. The wind whistled through the row of buildings, catching at their hair, and stealing the heat from their bodies. Thankful for the unfaltering presence at his left side, Doyle had no choice but to brave the frigid air, closing his eyes and frankly letting himself be walked the last few yards into the bay. Blessedly at that point the wind was cut off, although the ambient temperature did not appreciably increase.

Bodie's ship occupied the middle of the hangar with space to spare. There was little about it that was outwardly exceptional. Long and full-bodied, it was a standard cargo transport. Deliberately nondescript, Doyle guessed. Heels ringing on the monolithic floor, they crossed to the ramp which accessed the ship's personnel hatch. There Bodie remotely activated the conveyor and keyed the opening, the heavy metal panel swinging wide with the soft hum of automatics.

Carried forward by the conveyor, Doyle could concentrate on keeping himself upright without leaning so heavily on the man beside him. He missed the warmth, but most certainly did not want to be misinterpreted, especially in view of Officer Peitz' comments. As the ramp took them inexorably upward, Doyle realized with sick inevitability that he was beyond the point of escape. His future--or fate, if it came to that--was subject to this man's whim, and there was nothing Doyle could do about it--nothing that would not return him to Stepney's prison, anyway.

The inside of the ship was simple in design and dully furnished, bespeaking standard cargo vessel from the flat grey paint of its bulkheads to the thinly carpeted floors. Herded through the maze-like corridors, Doyle consoled himself that his surroundings, however uninspiring, were at least tidy and notably clean.

"Right here," Bodie said sharply, reaching out and pinching Doyle's sleeve between thumb and forefinger to bring him to a stop, when he would have continued robotically onward. Bodie turned the latch and waved Doyle inside.

Doyle was almost reassured to find that the crew quarters were as starkly appointed as the rest of Bodie's craft. This was no sybarite's craft, but a working freighter. Relieved, Doyle forsook all interest in his new abode, and made his way to the bunk with something akin to desperation. Without asking permission, he lowered himself down, packages falling from nerveless hands. If there had not been a bunk, he would have collapsed onto the floor.

The company of so many humans, imposed upon him in the holding facility, had worn him down more damagingly than he had thought. Even now their errant and wholly overwhelming emotions seemed to linger like the stench of corruption clinging to something long dead. Coupled with that oppressive overload, the short journey from the prison by way of the the clothing store had added to the toll. Curled on his side, Doyle closed his eyes, waves of exhaustion crashing over him, too swamped in misery to wonder why Bodie was allowing him this respite.

"Here, Doyle. Drink this."

Jolted from his helpless descent into the sucking whirlpool of semi- consciousness, Doyle forced himself to look up at the man. He was too weak to struggle when Bodie sat on the edge of the bunk and lifted him in the crook of one strong arm. Almost nauseous with fatigue, he held onto consciousness just long enough to accept the proffered drink, frowning slightly as he swallowed it without question. Then startled, he tried to focus on the other man's face. "You know I'm Vauxan," he gasped. The emptied glass was rescued from rapidly slackening fingers. As warmth and darkness reclaimed him, Doyle felt a flurry of terror spread through his abdomen.

Bodie had given him no reason to fear--until now.

---

Sitting quietly in the pilot's seat, Bodie idly mulled the star field spread in disarrayed beauty before him. Sad, he mused, that it should be a sight so familiar that it had lost the urgency of wonder. In any case, he was distracted by other considerations at the moment, chief among them the man who slept as one dead in the cabin next to his in the main body of the ship.

Doyle had impressed him. Targeon had said that Doyle was stronger than he appeared, but Bodie had nevertheless been taken aback by the undernourished- looking man, who had yet stood tall and remote in the intake/outtake chamber. It had been Bodie's half-acknowledged hope that the Vauxan would put up a fight at the detention facility; that he would refuse to indenture himself to Bodie, and thereby relieve Bodie of his obligation. Based on what he thought he knew of Doyle, Bodie had assumed that Doyle's stay among the dregs of humankind would surely have stripped some of the self-possession from him.

And yet, the man had had the wits to pick up on Bodie's ruse with uncommon acuity. He had recognized the logic of going with a stranger as opposed to remaining in prison and facing almost certain insanity. Worse still must have been the prospect of being put on the block; though how Doyle had been foolish enough to incur charges of same-sex solicitation on that rathole of a planet, Bodie could not imagine--not given the Vauxan's intelligence and native ability.

Trumped up charges? Possibly--and at this point, immaterial. Doyle's fragile composure had won Bodie over in a heartbeat. From the original intention of doing no more than securing the man's freedom, he had leapfrogged to the decision of taking Doyle on altogether. There were reasons, of course: for all Doyle's carefully constructed facade, he was a man dangerously vulnerable. Left to himself in this condition, he was delectable prey; and Bodie had vowed to protect him.

He glanced up as a soft whirring of wings heralded the arrival of another of his mercy cases. "Had a look at him, did you?" he asked quietly, as the squat, multi-legged body of the sfang settled on his shoulder. He was rewarded by a gentle confusion of images sent skittering across his mind. For a moment he saw Doyle as the sfang must have seen him upon arrival: long- legged and lanky, with healthy musculature on a too-thin frame, and a profusion of dark curls surrounding a pale visage. "You didn't wake him?" And this time Bodie was shown the Vauxan's recumbent form, chest rising and falling to the rhythm of undisturbed respiration. Bodie grinned and turned his cheek against the creature's soft flank. An agile forelimb batted at his face as he resumed his perusal of the forward star field. "Don't get too enamored of him," Bodie warned good-naturedly, yet a little miffed at the sfang's ready acceptance of the other man. "He won't be around that long, if things go according to plan." The sfang shifted on his shoulder, bobbing challengingly on its long legs. "Sorry, Asper," he said firmly. "Two of us on this ship are more than enough."

The sfang hopped onto the back of the co-pilot's seat and there subsided into a bout of sulky preening. Ignoring him with the ease of long association, Bodie settled into the tedium of a full-scale systems check-out. For a while though, as was often the case when the sfang communicated something to him, the Vauxan's image remained in his mind, like the ghosting effect of burned-in phosphors on a cheap monitor screen. "Stupid bugger," Bodie sighed, and doggedly went on with his read-outs.

---

Several hours went by before the Vauxan awoke. During that time Bodie had looked in on him twice, just to assure himself that the man was sleeping normally. It was not unknown for Vauxans who had suffered severe emotional trauma to descend into a kind of coma. Although it was not an irrevocable state, treatment was most efficaciously begun at the outset. The second time Bodie had let himself into the small cabin, he had found Asper hunkered down on the man's pillow, it's tiny muzzle buried up to its four beady eyes in thick curls. Raising a brow at the tableau, Bodie had refrained from comment, pondering if sleeping Vauxans conjured up particularly soothing dreams for sfangi to feed upon. Assured that the suddenly ingratiating creature would let him know if the Vauxan required his assistance, he had gone back to the flight deck.

Asper was nowhere in evidence, however, when one of the console displays, programmed for that purpose, signalled the Vauxan's rousing. Bodie was already outside the cabin when Doyle began to stretch and make waking, snuffling noises. It was a moment before he spied Bodie, who stayed in the doorway, maintaining a reassuring distance. The round face exhibited only a trace of fear which was soon concealed beneath a mask of watchful caution.

Interpreting that play of expressions easily, Bodie made no effort to enter. "Get yourself cleaned up, and we'll talk. Think you can find your way to the flight deck?"

"I've been on freighters like this one before," Doyle said noncommittally.

"That's where you'll find me." Bodie hid his amusement at the other man's wariness but was quite unable to fault it. He doubted that he would be so composed if their situations were reversed. Overcoming the impulse to linger, he stepped out the door and turned on heel, his footfalls muffled by the padded floor.

Bodie was waiting when the Vauxan reached the flight deck a quarter of an hour later. Showered, and dressed in a simple, loose-fitting shirt and snug trousers, Doyle appeared much restored. He had lost the unfocussed look that had given him such a delicate air on Stepney. Yet Bodie sensed fear in him, amongst other, less readable, emotions; nonetheless, the Vauxan was making a valiant effort to keep his feelings well guarded.

Bodie gestured for the man to take the chair beside the pilot's station, but Doyle shook his head. "You've got a problem," he said baldly.

Taking his measure, Bodie said icily, "Is that so?"

Doyle gave his head another, and this time, impatient shake. "Not me. The ship. I could sense it coming up here. Something in the sub-relays."

"Impossible," Bodie said unequivocally. "I ran a complete systems check just before we took off."

"Including the sub-relays?" Doyle insisted. He was distracted, eyes darting from the console to Bodie's face, his uneasiness almost palpable for all that it was very well contained.

"The overcircuits are fail-safed," Bodie said, as if by rote. "Redundant. You can't miss a fault there. It's impossible."

Doyle inhaled sharply. "I'm telling you there is something wrong. Pull up the register for the starboard cargo hold. Subgroup 371."

Without another word, Bodie swung back to his terminal and accessed the appropriate register. It took a moment for the ship's computer to sift through the data he needed, but as the tiny figures scuttled across the screen, he grew gradually more and more engrossed. Fingers tripping across the keyboard, he stopped the scrolling at the appropriate read-out and swiftly scanned the data.

"The suppressors are failing," he said, almost conversationally. His eyes shot up to meet Doyle's. "That's palogene ore in there, y'know."

The Vauxan blinked. "Can you neutralize it?"

"I'm not sure," Bodie said, his thoughts following along the same path. Palogene ore was one of the most volatile minerals in the known universe; highly unstable, it required a crucially controlled environment to withstand the rigors of transportation in its natural state. With proper precautions it was no more dangerous an item than food products. But, should those safeguards fail, the palogene would rapidly go critical, and any vessel unfortunate enough to be cradling it in its holds would share its spectacular fate. Ironically, Bodie had taken on the load to "legitimize" his visit to Stepney, lest certain suspicious-minded individuals should question his motives. The fact that he would also be well reimbursed for making the trip-- and accordingly out nothing for rescuing Doyle--appeased his mercenary inclinations; presuming, of course, that he survived to deliver the palogene intact.

"This thing can only give me the block of subrelays. Can you pinpoint the assembly group?" Bodie asked, his voice betraying none of the adrenalin flooding his system.

Doyle nodded. "They're sheathed in organics. That's how I knew something was wrong to begin with; the organics are out of phase."

"Show me," Bodie ordered, shoving at the other man as he surged out of his seat.

Requiring no added encouragement, Doyle spun round and bolted down the corridor to the main interchange, Bodie fast on his heels. It took less than a minute, but Doyle was gasping for breath when he came to a halt outside the instrument panel which controlled access to the starboard hold.

The corridor from Doyle's quarters to the flight deck happened to pass this way, noted Bodie gratefully. As he looked on, Doyle began to run unsteady fingertips over the base of the panel. Even through metal alloy, he thought, astonished. Biting his lip to keep from speaking, he guessed that the Vauxan would not hold his silence any longer than necessary. Still, standing with empty hands while another dealt with the problem made Bodie very ill at ease.

"Here." The single word was a harsh rasp. Bodie marked the location of the long finger, then shouldered Doyle aside as he ripped the panel open. He swiftly found the spot and with extraordinary delicacy drew the board out. His practiced eyes found the weak unit at once. If he could replace the impaired link so that the rhythm of the suppressors was not affected, they might be able to increase the damping effect in time. If the palogene wasn't too far gone, they might even be able to save the whole consignment.

"I'll need a linker. There's a spares locker at the foot of the panel. Yeah--there. Hurry, damn it!" Bodie urged.

Doyle dropped to his heels and began a thorough search. Seconds passed, growing in leaps and bounds into a full minute as he pawed through the accessories bin.

"Doyle!"

"There aren't any," the other man said with terrible finality. He raised his head to look at Bodie. "Not in here, anyway."

Bodie's face went grimly pale. "Don't suppose you Vauxans can substitute as an organic link?"

He hadn't been serious; it was his penchant to offer black humor in moments of despair. Yet the serious green eyes turned inward as Doyle gave the notion full consideration. Then he shrugged. "Probably kill me," he commented, unperturbed. "But we're dead anyway, aren't we?"

Doyle straightened, then swayed. Bodie reached out reflexively to bolster him. "I wasn't--" Bodie began, but Doyle silenced him with a look.

"The organics will resume the link, if you can provide a coupling sheath. I didn't see any in the spares box. Do you have some?"

Bodie gave him a feral grin. "Damned expensive, those are. Of course they wouldn't be in the spares box. My cabin. Stay here." Bodie wheeled and ran toward his quarters, shouting over his shoulder, "And don't do anything stupid."

The staccato drumming of his feet racing through the corridors mimicked the rapid-fire pounding of Bodie's heart. At the back of his mind was the miserable certainty that he was wasting his time. He had seen the linkages and knew that they had already suffered too much decomposition to lend him the two or three minutes necessary to retrieve a new coupler. Yet he never hesitated, skidding into his cabin and almost toppling over as he made a right-angle turn just past the end of his bed. With one long stride, he came to stand before the wall behind his bedside table. Taking a precious five- second breath to steady himself, he stretched forth a hand and palmed the identification plate. A small door swung open, revealing the interior of a compact cubicle. Bodie snaked a couple of fingers inside and snatched up a tiny packet. In the next instant he was out the door and in the corridor, pelting back the same way he had come.

As he skidded round the corner, he felt something akin to a blow at sight of the Vauxan slumped forward over the dismantled panel, the assembly board held between shivering hands. "You bloody-minded--" He braked violently to avoid piling into the man. "Fool!" But he wasn't sure if he were castigating himself or the Vauxan. He fell to his knees, fingers as uncooperative as unwieldy stumps as he fought to extricate the back-up sheath from its protective casing. While he worked, he edged closer to the barely breathing Vauxan.

With the precision of an auto-surgeon, Bodie eased the sheath over the area bridged by Doyle's fingertips, then watched breathlessly as the organic material joined with its kin and began to reknit the rend in the linkage. Slowly, so slowly that Bodie feared he might face old age--or death--before the repair was complete, the unit re-formed. When he judged it safe to allow the organics to finish the job, he began to pry Doyle's rigid fingers from the frame of the board, fully aware when the other man's head drifted sideways to rest against his shoulder. Moving with elaborate care, Bodie shifted his legs out from under him so that he could cradle Doyle's now limp body in his arms, the slow passage of the slighter man's breath reassuringly warm and regular against his throat.

A minute passed, then another; Bodie knew he should pull up the read-outs and recheck the panel. But he was loathe to move, content for the moment to rest with his back pressed against the solid bulkhead, the thumb of one hand tracing a clover-leaf pattern on Doyle's collarbone, freshly washed curls ticklishly brushing the underside of his jaw.

"Doyle." He spoke in a normal tone, suspecting that the Vauxan would respond as well to gentleness as to its counterpart. "Doyle." Bodie rearranged the other man, settling him in the curve of his left arm while he took the rounded chin in the fingers of his right hand. "Can you hear me?" Cautiously, he jogged the tousled head from side to side. "I think it worked. You can come out of it now. Come on, Doyle."

So gradually it might have been his imagination, Bodie felt a faint stirring of resistance. "That's right, wake up," he said encouragingly. A rustling sound brought his eyes up sharply; it was the sfang. "Told you to stay in my cabin," he said shortly. The sfang paid him little attention as it plummeted down toward the Vauxan's head. When it was a few inches above the man's forehead, the sfang began to hover, the impossibly fast beat of its snow white wings stirring the man's soft curls and lifting them. Bodie was about to remonstrate the creature, when a tentative smile lifted the corners of Doyle's mouth. As Bodie watched in bewilderment, the Vauxan's lips parted, and he whispered, "Good; so good...." Then his eyes rolled open, hazy and disconnected. Bodie regarded him intently.

"How do you feel?" he asked, hushed.

Doyle took in his surroundings with vague curiousity. "Okay, I reckon. Who was that talking to me? Wasn't you; not your voice...."

"Get hold of yourself," Bodie warned him. He bent his head to indicate the articulated creature which was still fluttering above Doyle's left temple. "It's a sfang--but he won't harm you," he added hastily.

Doyle caught his breath, eyes wide and frozen upon the incredible apparition. "It's illegal to own those things," he managed at last.

"Yeah. I don't." Bodie smiled and hoisted the man into a sitting position. "Better now?"

Doyle slowly raised a hand to his head, never letting the attentive sfang out of his sight. "Hm. Don't think I'd like to try that again, though. Even if the palogene were going critical." His own words brought him up sharp. "What about the palogene, anyway?"

Bodie shrugged. "Haven't had a chance to look. Been sitting here with you, haven't I." With that he unceremoniously dumped his charge on the floor and clambered to his feet, disregarding the other man's grunted protest. "Should have blown by now, if the suppressors hadn't kicked back in," Bodie observed cheerfully. As he spoke, he refitted the board into the access panel and carefully resealed it. "Like to have another feel?"

Doyle gave him a reproachful look.

"Only joking. The sheath did the trick while you were off with the pixies. Thought I told you to wait."

"And if I had?"

"Yeah." Bodie took in the other man's artless sprawl with unfeigned admiration. "You didn't have to do that, though. Thanks."

"What else was I supposed to do?" Sarcasm edged Doyle's words. "My neck, too, y'know."

Bodie held out a hand. Still suspicious, Doyle nonetheless took it, needing the human's strength to regain his feet. He went stock still as something light and musky landed on his shoulder.

"He really won't hurt you," Bodie stated with certainty. "But if you'd rather...."

Doyle raised a hand, forestalling his offer. With infinite deliberateness, he brought his head round until he was practically nose to nose with the sfang. Swallowing hard, he faced it, the effort to do so clearly written on his tensed visage.

The sfang angled two of its forepaws upward and placed them on either side of Doyle's nose. It rocked forward and prodded the man's upper lip with its silken muzzle. Faintly stifled, Doyle shivered. As if in response, the sfang launched itself off his shoulder, moving with incredible speed past Bodie's head. Doyle produced a heartfelt exhalation. "That's some pet," he muttered raggedly.

Bodie clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Asper wouldn't like that; considers himself my co-pilot, y'see." He gave Doyle a push down the corridor. "Come on; let's see what's happened to the palogene. Then we'll talk."

---

After rechecking the linkages and initiating a sub-relay systems verification, they eventually ended up in the small galley, facing one another over a narrow table. Food littered the surface, quickly thrown together by Bodie and laid out with the terse command, "Eat." Doyle had dismissed most of it at first glance; but, as with the drink Bodie had greeted him aboard ship with, much of it was perfectly acceptable Vauxan fare. After a slow start, his ravenous appetite took over. Bodie picked at a small plate of fruit and cheese, washing it down with soul-intimidating tea. Having served on long- haul freighters and military vessels, he appreciated the use of the Gates which allowed him to carry fresh as well as preserved food stocks.

Doyle finally appeared to be slowing down. Having picked the last specks of his meal from the plate, he took a long, appreciative slurp of tea. "Probably one of the few human beverages worth drinking," he said by way of compliment.

Bodie magnanimously overlooked the insult.

"So why did you buy my marker?" Doyle asked without preamble.

"You're a Vauxan," Bodie replied, working his tongue around a wonderfully sour grape.

Doyle leaned forward on his elbows. "There's no way you could have known that. They didn't know on Stepney."

"You mean, they didn't verify it when you said you were human. Why tell them that anyway?" Bodie asked, neatly turning the conversation around.

A sardonic laugh escaped Doyle's throat. "Most people wouldn't believe me if I said I was."

"Because you don't look Vauxan," Bodie suggested astutely. "And yet you were in the company of one; very unusual for humans to do that."

In the act of lifting the mug to his mouth, Doyle paused and studied Bodie over the rim. "How can you know that? Moor was gone a week before you arrived. Or did Warden Carnall--"

"No. You're listed with Central as a Vauxan; not a human. I was looking for a Vauxan."

Bewilderment rippled over the Vauxan's mobile features. He pursed his lips, dark brows drawn forward. "That isn't common access."

"True." Another grape went into the man's mouth; it was caught between sharp teeth and split. "But there are ways to get round it."

"Obviously. You haven't said why."

Bodie lifted his cup and took a long swallow. "You won't like it: I need your services as an empath."

Doyle stared at the other man blankly. "That's against the Convention. Whatever it is you want me to do, if you're caught--if I'm caught--we could be put away for a lot longer than I would have spent in that miserable little pit you just took me out of. And in a lot worse company."

"Mine, for example," Bodie admitted, unruffled.

For an instant the angry frustration Bodie had witnessed in the intake/outtake chamber on Stepney returned to darken Doyle's face. "I'm a Vauxan, Bodie. You have no understanding. We have proscriptions against--"

Bodie interrupted him. "You're right; I don't. But I'm not stupid, either. Stupid means getting caught. Either of us. You do this job with me and you'll be wealthy--and free. I'll even help you track down your lover. This...Moor you mentioned."

It was like watching a block wall go up. Doyle's expression hardened; he studied the human opposite him with a penetrating gaze.

"I have the means to find him," Bodie argued smoothly. "Illegal access or not, it's still access, y'know. And after that, you may go wherever you wish. Central will carry you on its lists as a free man."

"Why me?" Doyle's voice cracked.

"No grand scheme, lad," Bodie replied. "You were there and so was I. Simple, really."

"Well, you may have made a big mistake. I'm a--" Breaking off abruptly, Doyle stared down into the depths of his mug.

"Half-breed?" Bodie finished when Doyle made no effort to continue.

Bright green eyes flashed sparks. "Central has that?" This time logic overrode emotion, and he gritted his teeth.

Bodie bit into a large chunk of cheese. "That must mean 'yes'." At Doyle's stunned look, he shrugged. "Rather obvious, mate. You were in Vauxan company, have Vauxan skills, yet can pass for human. Bloody obvious, if you ask me."

"You--" Doyle pushed away from the table with sudden force, rising indignantly to his feet. Holding onto the edge of the table, he said coldly, "I haven't got a choice, have I? I did agree to go with you. But I bet you guessed what happens when Vauxans are stuck in human company. You knew I'd sign myself over."

Unapologetically, Bodie said, "It seemed likely, yes."

Doyle bared his teeth. "So what do I have to do?"

Dark lashes shielded Bodie's gaze as he made a thorough examination of a small cube of cheese. "For now, get some rest. You might feel better after you do. In the morning, you can start servicing the organics--since you seem to have a knack for it."

"A 'knack'," Doyle repeated hollowly. "And then?"

"Not to worry. We'll be together for while yet, so you might as well get used to the idea." He raised his head, revealing deep, rich blue eyes. "But I meant what I said. When this is over, I'll help you go wherever you want."

"Right. Just don't expect me to be grateful."

Bodie snorted coarsely. "I could remind you of where you were only a short time ago."

Letting go of the table, Doyle slowly straightened. "And you would be right." His eyes closed for just an instant; when he spoke, his voice was hollow with defeat. "You promise, Bodie?

"Yes," the human replied without hesitation. "Stop worrying. We enter the Aldwych Gate in a couple of hours; from there we're only a few days from our first stop. After we drop off the palogene, we'll be heading out again. But no more than a month, and I give you my word, you will be a free man."

Doyle seemed to be studying Bodie's face for the truth. Then he bowed his head briefly in resignation. "All right. If it's all the same to you, I'd like to go my quarters now."

"Of course."

Doyle headed for the hatchway to the connecting corridor, his gait stiff with resentment and fury.

Bodie murmured, "Doyle."

The Vauxan halted mid-stride.

"Thanks again for what you did with the organics."

Doyle might not have heard him for all the response he gave. A few seconds later, Bodie sat alone at the table, glancing over with sharp irritation as the sfang plopped down beside the plate Doyle had forsaken. He watched without joy as the small creature discovered that nothing edible remained. Sighing softly, Bodie pushed his own dish toward the animal. "Go ahead. You'll just get sick, as usual." And with that, he held out the forgotten chunk of cheese, and waited while tiny teeth gnawed delicately at the reddish-yellow morsel.

---

Bodie's ship, FG BEHEMOTH, penetrated Aldwych Gate according to schedule. As was the custom among smugglers and others of even less savory repute, it was not uncommon to petition for entry based upon perfectly sound authorization--though, once admitted there were any number of places a dubiously intentioned person might go.

Their time in outspace was quite short in relation to the massive distances covered. The discovery of the Gates and the introduction of organics to space drive technology had thrown open the heart of the galaxy to mankind--and many other 'kinds'--several centuries before Bodie's time. Since then exploration, propelled by the universal mechanics of greed and ambition, had carried on apace. The Vauxans had been among the first to join the Consortium along with the Terrans who had first proposed it. Now the member species numbered in two digits, and continued to grow in slow but steady increments.

As all spreading cultures tended to encourage the less conventional members of their populations to support them via often inventive methods, people like Bodie had become representative of a type of adventurer that homeworld policy could not condone, yet relied upon to a great extent to keep their colonial offspring alive.

Abused and unhappy, he had abandoned his homeworld when in his teens, stowing away on a transport to a military colony that quickly made use of his native intelligence and sturdy frame. He had come into manhood in the service of his planet, seeing enough action and spilled blood to satisfy the most rabid of would-be mercenaries. Determining that warfare did not live up to its appeal in the face of raw destruction, he had left as soon as his first enlistment was up. Using what he had saved in the service, he had bought a small interest in a growing company that supplied planethoppers to the rim worlds. A subsidiary of the company trained and engaged pilots to man those same ships, ferrying needed supplies and people to ever-increasing outposts.

The education he had acquired during this period was a good one, despite the high boredom factor. After a couple of years, Bodie had bailed out, far richer and wiser than when he had started. By then he had managed to accrue enough in the way of funds to purchase a small hopper of his own and to take on missions for various, less-than-legal businesses, which for reasons best known to themselves found it necessary to contravene the laws of any particular realm they happened to be in.

Bodie had found this method of making a living far more suited to his tastes. Clients learned that not only was he exceptionally talented and skilled, but he also maintained a code of personal honor that he would not transgress. Accordingly, he was sought out with gratifying regularity, making a discreet, if occasionally embellished reputation for himself that kept him from wanting for anything. If there was something lacking in his personal life, he refused to credit it. Since acquiring Asper, he had decided that he needed nothing more in the way of companionship. Certainly nothing humanoid. And his sexual needs were easily filled: along with his wit and well-developed body, he was endowed with a deceptively boyish face that had never repelled a possible bedmate. He put into port often enough to ensure that that was never a problem. Failing that, he was well adept in the use of either--or both-- hands.

Only one person had ever been allowed to get under Bodie's defenses. Curiously, that one had not even been a lover, but a friend--and a Vauxan. Bodie never knew why it should have been Targeon who had so totally earned his loyalty and respect.

The circumstances under which they had met--a spaceport brothel that was trafficking in kidnapped Vauxans--had not heralded particularly auspicious beginnings. Bodie had almost killed Targeon, mistakenly believing the Vauxan responsible for the vicious beating of one of the human men whose services Bodie had contracted for in the past. As it transpired, Targeon was actually in the midst of instigating a revolt amongst the brothel's ill-treated inmates; with Bodie's eventual, whole-hearted assistance, he had succeeded. In doing so, unfortunately, they had also brought the wrath of a largish crime syndicate down on their heads soon thereafter. They had barely escaped with their lives--and several prostitutes, many of whom were not entirely pleased with being rescued.

To some extent, certainly, their shared sense of ethics and personal morals was a factor. Whatever the reasons, they had remained close friends and partners for several years, even after Targeon had married and begun to devote more time to his family.

It had, in fact, been Bodie who had rendered comfort when Targeon's young wife and daughter were killed in a freak ground accident. After that the Vauxan had seemed to lose his focus on life. A year had passed, and Bodie had believed Targeon was regaining some of his appreciation of life when cruel happenstance struck again. Bodie had been with the Vauxan then as well, only a few feet away when a balky skimmer engine blew. Mortally wounded, Targeon had clung to Bodie in his final moments. There had been nothing Bodie could do, and both had known it. Targeon had asked one thing of him, never having asked anything of Bodie before. And Bodie had agreed, binding himself to a promise that in intervening years he often wished he had never made.

He had been twenty-eight years old then. After seeing to the disposal of Targeon's remains, Bodie had continued as he had done before--before the time he had cared. Since then life had been simple and relatively uncomplicated. Five years had passed and his vow had never been put to the test.

Until the day Ray Doyle turned up in Stepney Prison.

---

The FG BEHEMOTH was several hours out from Aldwych Gate when Doyle ventured onto the flight deck. Bodie looked up as though nothing untoward had transpired between them, calmly informing the Vauxan of their whereabouts. He even managed to contain his speculation at sight of the sfang closely nestled on the other's shoulder, perched half-hidden under soft auburn curls.

"Where are you taking the palogene?" Doyle asked. As he spoke, he slowly climbed into the station next to Bodie's, his movements exaggeratedly careful so as not to unseat the sfang.

"Dagenham," Bodie replied. "Ever been there?"

"Heard of it. Even less developed than Stepney. Whoever would want the stuff there?"

"It's used in their agricultural industry."

"Palogene?" Doyle's forehead wrinkled with bemusement. "An unstable product like that? What do they do with it: blow holes out of the ground?"

"Actually, no. Mixed with certain bonding agents, it becomes a most extraordinary soil stimulant."

Doyle gave a rude chuckle at Bodie's prim delivery. "What, fertilizer?"

There was an answering twinkle in Bodie's eyes. "Got it in one. Makes the crops grow huge and healthy and feeds ten times as many people."

The Vauxan sighed dramatically. "For that I nearly mushed my brains?"

"In a way," Bodie smirked.

Doyle raked a hand through his hair, disrupting tumbling dark curls that plainly rarely knew the management of a comb. "Pretty stupid, eh?" he said with some pugnacity.

"Very un-stupid, actually. We'd be dead now, if it hadn't been for you." The unemphatic statement conveyed Bodie's gratitude more clearly than a thousand words.

"You already said 'thank you'." A small crease appeared between the wide- set eyes. "Seems odd, though, that the linkages should break down just there." There was as much question as speculation in Doyle's tone.

"Had it checked out just before collecting you," Bodie granted. "Could have been sabotage--but why bother? Although being that it was palogene I'm hauling, I reckon there might be a few splinter groups who wouldn't be unhappy to see it go up. Or maybe just me...."

"Got a few enemies?" Doyle asked.

"Don't think a person could count himself alive in this business, if he didn't have at least one or two." He took the question under close consideration. "Although I don't often visit that particular pesthole. Never could tolerate the petty administration."

"Yeah," Doyle said under his breath. "That makes two of us."

Ostensibly mulling the chart on the screen, Bodie commented, "The charges brought against you were for solicitation and resistance of arrest. What's the matter--were you bored?"

Without turning his attention from the VDU, Bodie was nevertheless fully aware of the Vauxan's sudden cessation of all motion, the lanky form sitting unnaturally upright in the co-pilot's chair. He also knew, seconds later, when Doyle deliberately shed the coiling tension generated by Bodie's question, and forcibly relaxed himself. Only then did Bodie look at him.

"No," Doyle said coolly, although his eyes were simmering. "Not bored. Just thick."

"So what happened?" The low, unjudging voice invited a response.

Doyle arched a brow at him. "Wasn't that in the report as well?"

"No. I expect I could read between the lines--if I knew you better. I do know them--or bureaucratic ciphers like them. Had something to do with your companion, though, didn't it? Was he set up?"

Doyle pursed his lips and nodded, faintly mollified. "Moor was nicked for trying to stop a fight. The bastards who were the cause of it claimed he started the whole thing. Being an off-worlder--and a Vauxan--he was prime fall material." Taking in a sharp breath, he instantly stilled when the quiescent sfang loudly clicked its teeth in annoyance. Guardedly, he continued, "I found the appeals mandarin in the pub round the corner the next afternoon; tried to explain what had happened before Moor could be taken to court." An unpleasant smile tugged at Doyle's mouth. "He was willing to get the charges removed--if I was willing to engage in a little 'recreational activity' with him." Cheeks reddening with remembered humiliation and rage, Doyle finished, "A streetbeater came in just then and our little official turned injured party. Made accusations; I denied them. Next thing I knew I was being processed in."

Bodie inquired very softly, "Would you have?"

Doyle's head snapped up. "Would I have what?" He reflexively put up a hand to balance the sfang, oblivious to the creature's ferocious chittering.

"What he asked. For your lover?"

Doyle glared at him. "No. And not because Moor isn't worth it. It would have been a waste of time and effort, that's all. He would have used me and Moor would have been taken before the court anyway."

"You worried about him?"

All expression vanished from Doyle's face. "What d'you think?"

"Well, you can stop." Bodie gestured toward the computer terminal. "I've already traced him. He's very skilled in the repair and maintenance of ground equipment. The fellow who picked him up at auction has gone to Darius. Expects to be there for about a month."

Hope flickered in skeptical green eyes. "He's all right, then?"

"Perfectly. He's even back on the Central Register. Available as soon as the debt is paid off."

Doyle's head bent slowly forward. "Thanks, Bodie." He peered uncertainly at the human from under thick, dark lashes.

"I'm curious, though," Bodie murmured. "Why was he put on the block and you weren't?"

"Timing," Doyle said, distaste thick in his voice. "It fell on the day I was being processed in. My turn would've come later this week."

"Lucky you." Before Doyle could muster a retort, Bodie pointed at Doyle's shoulder. "Getting on rather well with the local assassin, aren't you?"

"This baggage?" Doyle was startled into an unguarded grin. It took years off his worn face, easing the hard lines etched about the full lips and removing shadows from the gamin eyes. "He seems to think we're kin," he said wryly. "Haven't been able to convince him otherwise."

Bodie snorted. "Maybe you are." He stepped down from the pilot's chair and achingly straightened. "Can you man the fort for a while? I'd like to get something to drink."

Doyle tossed a quick glance at the control panel. "You don't have the automatics on."

"I've seen your form, mate," Bodie advised him, studying his companion from the portal. "You can fly this thing every bit as well as I can." With that he stepped through the hatchway, leaving Doyle with his mouth ajar.

As Bodie headed down the corridor to the galley, he tried to pin down the cause for the vague uneasiness that lurked within him. On the surface, nothing had been said, no confidences exchanged that would account for this instinctive erecting of shields. Oh, he recognized the signs within himself; but it had happened so seldom that he found it difficult to give credence to the possibility of his proving susceptible now.

Well, he wouldn't be. Not now; not ever. His fledgling attraction to the Vauxan was easily rationalized away: he hadn't slept with anyone in weeks. And Doyle was attractive, Bodie had to admit that. Long, well-defined legs, fluidly-muscled body, a face that commanded attention.... Bodie found himself picturing Doyle's mouth, that long upper lip, the beckoning softness of pink tongue-tip, the welcoming moist warmth where it resided.... He inhaled raggedly, more than a little taken aback to discover just how far gone he already was.

So. The Vauxan was getting to him. Well, he could handle that. Lust could be ignored. And even if Bodie were tempted to try his hand, Doyle would see to it that he kept his distance. For there was, after all, Moor; and Bodie had no reason to doubt that Doyle was not devoted to the man.

Reaching the galley, Bodie started the kettle going. A month, he had told Doyle. And so a month it would be--one way or another.

---

Over the next two days they fell into a comfortable routine. Doyle proved gratifyingly adept at almost all aspects of freighter travel. As his strength and spirit returned, he spent far less time in his cabin and a good deal more of it at various stations around the ship, performing the duties Bodie had assigned to him the day of his arrival. Bodie often encountered him hunched beside a control panel, performing routine maintenance checks. Not that there was much requiring his skills, for Bodie had always been meticulous in the care of his ship, having nothing but contempt for those foolish enough to rely on chance or hope when a crisis developed.

Yet it pleased him to see the Vauxan diligently ensconced at one station or another, often sporting the unlikely halo of a sfang circling overhead-- when it was not affixed to a shoulder. Never given to blind trust, Bodie had naturally checked over Doyle's initial efforts, and had been rewarded to find that Doyle was as well-trained as he was intelligent; everything Targeon had said he was. Accordingly, Bodie forbade him no access.

For himself, having come to an awareness of his new-born desire for the Vauxan, Bodie chose simply to block the feeling out. When he was with Doyle, there was nothing to betray that he had ever considered him anything more than a commodity--or more truthfully, a pleasant, but temporary companion.

---

Doyle did not question Bodie's attitude, having quickly learned that the man could be distant or friendly, sensitive or callous, all in the space of a heartbeat. He accepted that they were allied merely for the sake of Bodie's venture, yet ceded the man a respect that he rarely gave freely. Bodie had treated him well so far; far better than chronic indenturers at Stepney Prison had led Doyle to expect. He might have been Bodie's employee rather than his slave--for a prisoner who opted for indenture was nothing else, no matter how much the Consortium attempted to circumscribe the usage of sentient beings under such circumstances.

It had been a gamble in that ugly, cold room at the detention facility where they had first come face to face, to pretend he knew the dark stranger with the fraudulently guileless blue eyes. Since finding himself warded to him, the Vauxan often wondered at the human's faultless timing. Had Bodie arrived a day earlier, perhaps even hours earlier, would Doyle have been as ready to partake in the deception? But the answer to that was obvious. Every second spent in the howling company of those imprisoned in the rudimentary facility had been like a stone scraping against already flayed skin.

Humans were not known for their love of Vauxans. They did not understand their empathic abilities, nor often respect their different societal patternings. Even less could they appreciate the apparently devastating effect that wilful emotions could wreak on improperly protected Vauxans. No matter how proficient in the ways of shielding themselves, his kind found large groups of humans empathically too promiscuous to cope with, and therefore tended, when possible, to look on from a safe distance.

But how could Bodie have known? For that was another notable aspect of human intercourse with Vauxan culture: humans had little desire to learn about their fellow humanoids. They were historically selfish and self-serving, and that trait had not diminished greatly with the passing centuries.

The same could not be said for Vauxans, who often gave of themselves to the point of self-detriment. Although biologically basically the same as humans, in their evolutionary process Vauxans had developed a quirk in the cerebral cortex that enabled them to communicate among their own kind almost telepathically. Since people, even Vauxans, rarely expressed their innermost thoughts in actual words, their communication was more on an empathic level than an exchange of direct information. Beyond that, they had the ability to heal one another by a sharing of energy--dangerous to the one offering aid if the injured party were unable to enjoin any control. Not surprisingly, social functions, including mating rituals, were considerably different from human customs.

Somehow, Bodie seemed to comprehend all that, and acted accordingly. He was one of the very few humans with whom Doyle could be psychically at ease. When they shared their mealtime in the galley, even if their conversation was desultory, there was none of the emotional overload that Doyle had come to associate with humankind. Yet because Bodie implied through his body language, and his actions, that he preferred solitude, Doyle was happy to entertain himself. When he had agreed to be placed in this man's custody, he had not known what might be expected of him. He believed now that it was only to do Bodie's job--whatever that job was--without being made to debase himself, as well.

There would come a time, however, when Doyle fully intended to ask Bodie why he had been searching in that particular sector for a Vauxan empath, when it was well known that Vauxans rarely strayed far from their homeworld; and why, too, Bodie should confer his trust upon a total stranger, when Bodie demonstratively took nothing--and presumably no one--on faith alone.

---

They were less than four hours from Dagenham when Doyle was roused from a doze in his cabin by the human's arrival at his door. What he had come to recognize as Bodie's trademark presence interrupted his sleep as surely as a touch on the shoulder.

He sat up smartly, wiping his eyes with one hand and pulling the folds of his shirt together across his chest with the other. "What is it?" he asked.

A dry rustling announced the arrival of the sfang. It settled briefly on Bodie's forearm then darted across the room to land between Doyle's legs. The Vauxan tweaked the narrow muzzle very gently, bestowing the creature with a smile of welcome. Then he froze as a curious sensation slithered into his gut. Knowing with total certainty that it had not come from within, nor from the sfang, Doyle raised stunned eyes to the human. But Bodie's expression was unchanged, wearing its customary mask of idle amusement. As instantly as it had become evident, the feeling was gone, and Doyle wondered wildly if he had imagined it.

"You all right?" Bodie asked.

In his bemusement, Doyle could not reply. Despite his training and own code of ethics, he sent out a questing pulse. He did not believe for an instant that he had fantasized that jolt of lust. But Bodie was very good at maintaining a facade: Doyle picked up nothing. "Yeah," he breathed. "What d'you want?"

"Thought you'd like to see how the palogene is primed." Bodie unfolded his arms and cocked his head at the Vauxan.

"Prime it? You do that onboard?"

"Part of the deal," Bodie answered. "Saves them the risk; increases my end of the profit."

"Or vice versa," Doyle parried.

Bodie's mouth curled into a crooked grin. "As you say." He waved a hand. "Don't need your help, if you'd rather not."

But Doyle was genuinely grateful. "No. I'd love to learn. Could come in useful someday."

"Come along, then."

The Vauxan vaulted off the bed, setting his clothing to rights as he followed at a comfortable pace in the wake of the bigger man. They were much of a stance; but Bodie had an inch over him, and considerably more in overall bulk. Not that he carried any excess weight, Doyle decided, watching the human stride down the corridor with almost militaristic economy of motion. For all that Bodie was solidly formed, everything was arranged with compact efficiency.

With the sfang zooming back and forth between them, performing fascinating pirouettes in mid-air, the two men progressed to the control panel outside the starboard cargo hold. Doyle drew a face at sight of it, not much liking to recall his brief communion with the organics links there.

"Settle down, Asper," Bodie ordered quietly. Immediately, the sfang homed in on his shoulder and assumed its post there. Bodie stepped to one side and invited Doyle to join him with a quirk of his finger.

"I've been wanting to ask you--how did you get him?" Doyle asked diffidently, half-expecting Bodie to tell him it was none of his business.

But instead of irritation, cagey humor played about Bodie's eyes. "You mean before it got to me first?"

"Something like that, yeah."

Bodie rested his forearm against the locking bar on the hatchway, making himself comfortable. "Was leading a group out of the jungle on Morden. Ever been there?"

Doyle shook his head.

"Well, it's a sort of tourist resort, one of the rim worlds. People go for cheap thrills. The place is really fairly civilized; most of the deadlies have been removed or eliminated. Humankind will out, and all that." This last was spoken with more irony than sarcasm, despite the cold truth of the words. "Sfangi are everywhere, y'know. Not long after they were first discovered on their own planet, someone got the bright idea of using them as biological weapons. They were transported to labs and bred in hordes." He ruffled the velvet feathers under the creature's snout. "The sfangi didn't mind that; they were more than willing to reproduce, even under those conditions. But it wasn't long before some got out. And they weren't nearly as stupid as the idiots who found them."

"Nobody knew they were intelligent?"

Bodie made a rude noise. "Not likely, when most encounters between sfangi and anything else ended up with the 'anything else' rather profoundly dead. Ever seen how they kill?"

Doyle shook his head again. "I've heard about it, though. They excrete some kind of acid when they're disturbed. The acid causes all the affected molecules to lose their bonds, then to reform as one amorphous substance."

The blue of Bodie's eyes deepened with repressed amusement. "'One amorphous substance.' I like that. Ever consider supporting yourself as a media reporter?" Bodie ran his finger down the sfang's throat, encouraging a soft whuffling sound of contentment. "Their favorite site of attack is the face."

"Yeah. My brother liked to tell me scary stories when I was a boy. Wanted to see if he could frighten the spite out of me. Worked, too; at least the stories about sfangi did." Doyle grimaced, remembering the loving detail that had gone into the description of a victim's desperate attempts to breathe through a nose and mouth sealed over with one's own flesh. "So how come you still have yours? Face, I mean."

"Back on Morden...." Bodie began with mock rebuke at being interrupted, "We flushed out a small nest of these fellas. Of course we were equipped. If you're fast, you can kill 'em before they can get to you."

Doyle eyed the other man with new respect. "You're that fast?"

"Was then, anyway," Bodie affirmed without a hint of arrogance. "Haven't had much excuse to practice in recent years. One of our group was killed; one seriously injured. Got them all back to base, then I returned alone. I intended to see that all the other sfangi--if there were any more--were put down, as well."

The Vauxan was unaware of the frown of sympathy that tightened his lips.

"There were only two. One was still alive--barely. Might have been this one's mother." Bodie stroked the now quiescent sfang with a gentle forefinger. "Asper was caught half underneath, almost green with the other's blood. It was making this awful noise, rather like a kitten crying." He looked across at Doyle, who tried to temper his expression. Surprisingly, Bodie said, "Bet you've never seen one of those!"

Doyle blinked hard, pitching his voice for normality. "Thought they were extinct."

"Almost. Anyway, I put the other one out of its misery and took the little feller out. Barely fit into my hand and very weak, it was." The words were spoken softly. Doyle could easily picture the tiny, helpless sfang and the regret that must have filled the human at that moment. "Thought I was going to have to kill it, too. But it did something strange; sent weird swirling images into my mind--wanting...needing.... It was just an infant, of course. I think, in a way, Asper impressed himself on me. Maybe I did the same thing to him, poor beggar."

Doyle was unaware of the warmth of his expression, until Bodie protested, "Don't look at me like that," he said gruffly. "You'd have done the same."

At once undertaking to bring his features under control, Doyle said amiably, "Must have been a nuisance learning what to feed him; how to keep him healthy; all that."

Bodie produced a grating sound that passed for a chuckle. "He taught me quickly enough. As he grew older we learned to understand each other better. We can communicate quite well most of the time now."

"You knew he wouldn't hurt me when I came onboard. You warned him I was coming, didn't you?"

"Of course. 'S not wise to surprise a sfang."

"Even one that loves you?" Doyle queried ingenuously.

Bodie swung back to the control panel, Doyle's fanciful question ignored. "Come on, old son. Let's get stuck in it."

They spent the following hour running a systems drill, through which Bodie walked Doyle one maneuver at a time. Afterward, the Vauxan tensely implemented the exercise himself, religiously following Bodie's instructions; quick to make a query if he were uncertain of any step along the way. They were in the last phase when a steady bleep came over the intercom. Doyle dismissed it, recognizing it as the communications band signalling access.

"Someone wants us." The bite in Bodie's voice indicated that the prospect did not particularly appeal. "Close dispersers--and end sequence." He laid a palm against Doyle's back. "Well done. If I didn't know better, I'd think you'd done that before."

Doyle grinned at him, displaying a chipped tooth in the fullness of his smile. He was inordinately conscious of the other man's nearness and touch; it was pleasantly cool to his Vauxan heat.

Bodie let his hand slip away. "Come on, sunshine. It's probably the community leader wanting to know if we'll be on time."

Rather than route the call to the nearest terminal, Bodie went to the flight deck. "This is FG BEHEMOTH," he announced into the communicator. "Identify yourself, please."

"FG BEHEMOTH, this is Dagenham. Principal Dubchek speaking." Foregoing standard protocol, the leader of Dagenham went on, "Have you primed the palogene?"

"Just completed, Principal. It'll be ready for delivery and general dispersion in under two hours."

A sound very like a sigh came over the open channel. "We have developed problems on this end. Is there no way to reverse the procedure?"

Bodie raised a brow. "Afraid not. Once the palogene has been restructured, there is nothing we can do. What's the difficulty?"

"Two of our pilots have been put out of service by a flitter accident. We need at least three."

Bodie's voice was sympathetic, but unwavering. "We will transport the consignment, just as instructed, Principal. What you do with it is not our concern," he reminded her.

"Yes, I do know. What is your anticipated time of arrival?"

Bodie consulted the chrono mounted on the panel. "Precisely one hour, ten minutes."

"We will meet you at the designated grid. Dubchek out."

Bodie severed the link with a flick of the thumb, then sat back in his seat with a scowl on his face.

"Surely they have more than three pilots!" Doyle mused aloud.

"You would think so. Especially when the economy of their homeworld depends on them." The tips of Bodie's fingers beat a tattoo on the padded arm-rest.

"Couldn't they call for replacements?" The Vauxan shooed the sfang off the other seat with easy presumption, then stretched out a forearm and waited for Asper to land. Crooking his arm, he rubbed his cheek against the creature; the sfang leaned with pleasure into the nuzzling caress.

"Wouldn't do them any good," Bodie explained curtly. "The stuff is most effective when applied within fifteen hours of transition."

Doyle lifted the sfang to his shoulder. "Seems a shame," he declared.

"It is a shame. We'll get paid, but a lot of their people will starve. It's a pioneering planet, dependent on the crops they produce themselves. They don't have any resources to fall back on if something doesn't go right."

"I see," Doyle said, wondering what had caused Bodie's suddenly antagonistic manner.

The human pushed himself out of the chair. At that angle he seemed very large and powerful. "I'm going to my quarters," he announced. "I'll be back in time to make the approach."

"All right." Doyle watched the sturdy back disappear through the hatch, wondering at the sharp change in Bodie's mood. The people of Dagenham would suffer, but Bodie would be paid. Why should he care? Or did he? Doyle could not put his finger on what it was that occasionally set Bodie off, but he had the increasingly worrisome feeling that it had something to do with him.

---

Principal Dubchek and her group were waiting at the docking bay when the FG BEHEMOTH closed down her engines. Bodie dropped the ramp and, followed by the Vauxan, strode out to meet her.

She greeted him formally. An older woman, the leader of Dagenham was inarguably attractive, with thick blonde hair that fell in waves around a heart-shaped face. Intelligent blue eyes, wearily resigned, met his. "I wish we could have welcomed you under better circumstances," she said candidly. "To incur so much risk and expense on both our parts, only to fail is most bitter."

"You'll excuse me if I speak bluntly, Principal, but I find it astonishing that you have only three pilots who could deliver the palogene to your agri- fields--only to allow two of them to be incapacitated just when they were most needed."

The woman flushed, bright spots of color blooming in her cheeks. "We do have more pilots, of course. But only three are trained in the use of Borg- 8s. If you are familiar with them, you know that they require a special class rating. None of our other pilots are qualified. It would be suicide to send them out."

"I understand." Bodie hesitated, as though there were something more he wished to say. He spied the transport moving into position along the starboard side of the FG BEHEMOTH and addressed the obvious. "You're ready to unload. I'll break the seals and align the ramp."

"Of course. I have your payment." She held up a small disk.

"As agreed." Then he was on his way back into the ship, Doyle a few steps behind.

Bodie activated the controls from the flight deck, monitoring the process via the electronic displays. The huge container was moved out of the ship and transferred to the waiting transport with smooth efficiency. When he was satisfied that all was clear, Bodie shut the mechanism off, and twisted in his seat, preparatory to leaving.

He came face to face with Doyle. "You can fly a Borg-8." The quietly stated words fell just shy of accusation.

Bodie made no effort to deny it. "Of course. According to your form, so can you."

"You want to help them."

A rebellious muscle tugged Bodie's mouth into a sneer. "Do I? Why don't you offer, if you're so keen to stick your neck out?"

The Vauxan went very still. Then he produced a short, mirthless laugh. "Belong to you, don't I? Can't offer my services to anyone without your permission."

After a long, hard look at the other man, Bodie's lashes fell, shuttering his expression. "That's true," he acknowledged. "Do you want it? My permission, that is?"

Doyle shoved his hands into his back pockets, chin rising. "Guess I do," he replied testily. "Wouldn't hurt you to help as well." Challenge glittered in slanted eyes that seemed inordinately green, and seductively deep in the dim lighting of the flight deck.

Wondering with dismay what was happening to his resolve, Bodie felt himself melting into those inviting depths. It was their enforced closeness, of course. The ever increasing need to make love to someone, to enclose another warm body in his arms, to share his release....

He wrenched his thoughts back onto track. "Why not?" he said, reassured to sound so quintessentially normal, when quite the opposite was true. "Always been a do-gooder," he asked peevishly, brushing past the Vauxan as though contact with him meant nothing. "Or is this a development of impending old age?"

Doyle chuckled huskily. "Practically the same age as you, old man--give or take a year. Don't worry; it won't ruin your reputation. I won't tell, if you won't."

"You talk too much," Bodie said unkindly.

---

The Borg-8 was not an agile vessel. Over the next eight hours, human and Vauxan alike were reminded in specific detail why the contrary machines were among the most hated of all lifting-craft. Built more for function than for grace, they demanded constant attention and a deft touch that had to be both gentle and dictatorial. For all that, there was a kind of crazy joy associated with the ability to handle a Borg-8 well; and Bodie and Doyle could make it do things that most pilots would never have dared to attempt.

They operated vast distances apart, each ship dispensing a fine, misty substance, which was electrostatically treated to obtain maximum soil absorption. Keeping track of one another via their tracers and through their communicators, they flew in the rarefied reaches of the upper atmosphere, depending in large part on the seasonally turbulent cloud formations to aid their efforts.

The third pilot performed creditably, without attempting the ostentatious maneuvers the two visitors coaxed out of their flyers. He communicated his admiration, but was quick to warn of retribution should either of them add more than soil stimulant to the ground below.

At last the roaring engines were shut off and the three pilots were clambering out of the claustrophobic interiors of the small crafts. A crowd of people lined the landing field, waving and shouting. Doyle raised his brows at Bodie as they fell into step. "You're a hero," he said blandly, virtually shouting himself in order to be heard over the din.

"I'm a tired hero," Bodie responded unenthusiastically.

Doyle just grinned and fell silent as they were directed to the waiting ground car.

Principal Dubchek was effusive with her thanks, pleading that the two men stay long enough to be feted by the people of Dagenham. There was no question of offering more; both men had understood that at the outset. Bodie flicked a meaningful look at Doyle, allowing him to choose. The Vauxan merely shrugged, weary to the bone but tantalized by the prospect of a sumptuous meal, even if it was for the most part human fare.

Bodie agreed for both of them.

The remainder of the day passed in a haze. They were given well-appointed chambers with unexpectedly luxurious bathing accommodations. Being such a spartan community, Dagenham had little to offer in the way of extravagance, and this was clearly a rare privilege. In the early hours of evening, they were led into a huge banquet hall, which to all appearances was overflowing with every living member of the Dagenham pioneer community, young and old.

Food and drink were freely distributed, and thanks to Bodie's word in Principal Dubchek's ear, there was ample variety that appealed to the Vauxan. Guessing immediately where it came from, Doyle sent an appreciative smile Bodie's way.

As the evening progressed, however, Doyle began to grow unsettled, the large crowd increasingly imposing upon him in its exuberant vastness. Since leaving Stepney, he had regained his self-possession, untainted by incontinent human consciousness. He soon discovered, however, that his nerves were still raw; not to the degree they had been on Stepney, but uncomfortably close to the surface, all the same.

Bodie, on the other hand, was quite obviously suffering no discomfiture at being the focus of so large a group. He sat happily trapped between two lovely women, who were acting as though their lives had taken on new meaning at his arrival.

Unobserved, Doyle watched him: the playful way Bodie flirted; the uncomplicated pleasure he took in the women's attentions. And watching him, he felt a queer emptiness deep inside. It was an acid feeling; all the more so given that he had only known the man a few days and was humiliatingly conscious that Bodie viewed him as nothing more than chattel. Some part of him argued against that; no Vauxan--not even a half-breed like him--could have mistaken those sparks of attraction that flared between them. For whatever reason, Bodie had not followed through; Doyle liked to think it was because Bodie was a reasonably honorable man who would use Doyle's services but not his body. Or perhaps Bodie was not as attracted to men as he was to women. Seeing him now, Doyle could believe that to be the case. And maybe, just maybe, Doyle had simply imagined every fleeting occurrence. One of those women, perhaps both of them, would share Bodie's bed tonight.

Almost upon the thought, Bodie's head came up, blue eyes searching through the boisterous revelers until they came to settle on Doyle. Finding the Vauxan's eyes already upon him, Bodie responded with a searing smile, sublimely unconscious of what it did to the other man. From some deep well of strength, Doyle managed a reciprocal grin, then glanced away, pretending that another had spoken to him.

He waited only a little while longer before taking his leave of the celebration, pausing on his way out of the meeting hall to thank their hosts. Pleading weariness, he soon found himself on the front step, directed to the chauffeured vehicle assigned to him. Of the driver he asked only that he be returned to Bodie's ship. In the way of seemingly all the inhabitants of Dagenham, the driver gave every indication that anything Doyle might request would be his singular honor to fulfill; but he was also quick to lapse into silence when it became evident that the Vauxan wished to forego conversation. Following the crush at the banquet hall, Doyle found the relative lack of company intensely refreshing.

At the ramp to the ship he waved the driver off, then stared broodingly after the lights of the departing flyer until they coalesced into the thickness of the night. Here on the landing field it was wonderfully quiet, yet Doyle's keen ears picked out every insect twitter and whisper of breeze.

Yet, even in the darkness, he could see Bodie as he had left him, one strongly-muscled arm round the shoulders of a lovely woman, his face intimately close to hers; another admirer pressing invitingly against his back, intent upon capturing the Terran's every word.

The image was irksome. He should be grateful the human did not want him; after all Vauxans and humans were notoriously incompatible. And yet-- Desiring Bodie had taken him unawares; a leftover of his experience with the links, probably. Bodie's support during that frantic exercise had been keenly felt, and had likely artificially heightened Doyle's awareness of the uncommonly handsome human's attraction. Doyle allowed himself a self- deprecating grin. A month, Bodie had said. Once they left here, they would undertake Bodie's venture; and then Doyle would go in search of Moor--Moor, who had wanted only to go home.

It was time Doyle gave up and went home, too.

Long legs wearily negotiated the ramp, and Doyle went inside, therein hoping to find consolation in his solitude.

---

"What the hell happened to you?"

The sharp voice hoisted Doyle from the depths of sleep with a terrible start. Groggily he shot a glance at the chrono, then another at the man who leaned bonelessly in his doorway. His leaden brain was slow to comprehend that only fifteen minutes had elapsed since he had entered the cabin and dropped, fully clothed, onto the bunk. There was a flurry of movement beside his head, and a disgruntled sfang bounded from his pillow to his upraised knee.

"Was tired," he replied weakly, scarcely able to form speech around the frantic pulse in his throat. "Thought...thought you'd be a while. No need to ruin your fun."

"Hmm. That's the kind of fun could get me in dock." At Doyle's frown, Bodie elucidated, "Dubchek's daughters. Well, one of 'em was, anyway."

"Oh." Doyle considered this. "What about the other one?"

Bodie succumbed to a silly grin. "Forgot which was which, didn't I?"

Charmed, Doyle wondered how much Bodie had overindulged. "The one on your right," he said helpfully.

"What?" Bodie asked dopily, missing the significance of what, to him, was a non sequitur.

"The one on your right was Dubchek's daughter. The other was probably quite safe."

Bodie raked numb fingers through dark hair that promptly stood on end. "Knew that--once. Doesn't matter. After today, don't think I could've done either one of 'em much good."

Doyle suppressed the smile that twitched at his lips, lest Bodie should be offended. "Need any help getting to bed?"

The offer was not an invitation, yet for an instant, Bodie focused upon the sleep-warm Vauxan with such smouldering intensity that Doyle came completely wide awake and aching. Almost instantly the look was gone, if indeed it had ever existed outside Doyle's increasingly fitful imagination. "Nah," Bodie declined, sheepishly. He straightened up carefully, slowly gaining his full height, a hand on the door frame to steady him. "Can manage." He stepped cautiously into the corridor, then muttered in afterthought, "Oh, you can go back to sleep now."

As Bodie lumbered down the hall, boot heels treading unevenly on the carpeted surface, Doyle slowly relaxed back into the covers. "Can I now?" he whispered. Yet, despite his confusion, he was filled with a kind of elation that Bodie had taken note of his departure, and had thought enough of it to follow him out. Buoyed by an impossible optimism, Doyle closed his eyes, and with the placated sfang making a nest in his hair, was soon overtaken by slumber.

---

Morning cast its warmth upon the grey hull of the FG BEHEMOTH for several hours before any of its occupants stirred. While Doyle had avoided the more potent of alcoholic offerings the previous night, Bodie had been less circumspect--despite the fact that pioneer brew was standardly among the most lethal in the universe. Even given his own abstinence, Doyle too felt headachy and bedraggled when he finally stepped onto the flight deck; and this in spite of a thorough scrubbing in a blessedly hot shower, the concentrated currying of wilful hair, and the donning of crisp, fresh-smelling clothing.

Upon finding himself alone, and suspecting he would remain that way for a while, the Vauxan made his way to the galley and helped himself to breakfast. He was sipping scalding tea when the planetside call came in. The tea sloshed on the table in his haste to reach the nearest terminal, so that the insistent tone should not disturb the other man in his cabin.

It was Principal Dubchek, requesting their company sometime before departing Dagenham. Doyle dutifully promised to pass the message on to Bodie, discreetly covering for the other man's absence at the speaker. He had scarcely disconnected when a querulous groan emanated from the entryway. A second later a white flash preceded the patently hurting human just as Bodie entered the galley. Frowning impartially, Bodie bore himself to the nearest empty chair and gently eased himself down.

"Tea?" Doyle asked sympathetically.

Bodie attempted a nod, only to grab hold of his head as though it would spin off.

"Tea," Doyle confirmed, and soundlessly set about brewing another pot. Within moments, he had returned from the tiny alcove where the cooker and assorted appliances were stowed, carrying two cups filled with steaming and fragrant liquid. Pausing in the portal he took in the sight of Bodie slumped in the high-backed chair, the dark head bent at an awkward angle, mouth agape, eyelids wrinkled as if in pain.

Leaving one mug on the table, Doyle took the other to Bodie and played the cup under the semi-conscious man's nose, wafting it to and fro for several seconds before garnering a reaction.

With a mumbled snort, Bodie roused, focusing on the Vauxan with some difficulty. Sitting up with a mumbled oath, he accepted the cup and began to sip delicately.

"Didn't think you'd imbibed that much last night," Doyle remarked sententiously.

Over the rim of the mug, glazed blue eyes contemplated him inimically. "'S been years since I've had anything like that. My resistance was down," he muttered sullenly. "Besides, we could fuel the BEHEMOTH on that stuff."

Doyle slouched against the wall behind the other chair. "Finish your tea. You'll feel better once it's had a chance to settle."

Bodie peered suspiciously into the mug. "Why? What's in it?"

"An old Vauxan remedy for hangover. I've heard it even works for humans."

Bodie let his head roll back against the neck support, cradling the mug close to his lips. "Who was that on the com?" He set about draining his cup, then placed it on the table with precise care.

"Dubchek. Said her daughter has some funny bruises on her thighs and wants to talk to you about 'em."

Bodie's eyes widened with precipitous haste. "Bastard," he growled at Doyle's chuckle, and resumed his boneless repose. "So, who really?"

"Dubchek." At the steely expression that was aimed his way, Doyle conceded, "Said she wants to see you before we leave. Really."

Bodie essayed a ragged grin. "No rush, then. I'll be here forever." He fell silent, thick black lashes drifting onto cheeks wholly lacking in color.

Doyle was free to look his fill, for the human dropped off almost at once, putty-colored chin digging into his chest, his head drifting disastrously toward the table. Reaching out without thought, Doyle guided Bodie's shoulders forward, until thickly muscled forearms were resting on the smooth surface, Bodie's cheek cushioned by the back of his own hand. The human murmured something unintelligible, then quietened without reaching consciousness.

This unspoken trust warmed Doyle to the depths of his heart. Resisting the urge to smooth down a patch of unruly dark brown hair, he reminded himself why he was here: He was Bodie's purchase; not a free man. It would not do to assume too much.

And yet he could not help but enjoy the moment, savoring the other man's open vulnerability. For whatever reason, Bodie was confident in Doyle's reliability and good will. Doyle would do nothing to betray that.

---

When, nearly an hour later, Bodie resurfaced, he discovered that Doyle's potion had done the trick. Peering out upon the world with a wariness learned from unpleasant experience, he was amazed when the action did not result in the usual crashing headache. In fact, he felt ridiculously fit, considering his debilitated condition of only a short time before. Lifting his head off the table, he spied the sfang which was balanced on the back of the other chair, its small, bristling form teetering like a leaf in a breeze, four tiny black eyes boring into him. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Gave you a headache too, didn't I." He managed a very soft laugh, remembering the first time he had returned to the sfang, inebriated to the point of stupefaction. It had not been so funny then as, shortly after collapsing on his bed, the sfang had begun to emit terrifying, infant-like whimpers. It had registered tardily that he was responsible for the sfang's anguish, and he had vowed never to inflict such discomfort on it again.

So, why last night?

Maybe because last night he had been suffering a touch of self pity. After the hero's tribute, he had felt very alone and depressed. The need for another's warmth had consumed him, but the attention he craved was not his to command. So he had turned to the pleasant regard of the two very willing women beside him, only to discover that no substitute would suffice. Dagenham's finest had merely allowed him to forget for a while what it was that ate at him--until he had looked up and found Doyle gone.

Stretching forth a finger, Bodie carefully stroked the precariously positioned sfang, smoothing its skewed feathers, marvelling as he often did at the incredible texture of them.

Only lust, he reminded himself, unable to escape his remorseless thoughts concerning the Vauxan. Yet why had he suffered such a sense of loss to see the empty chair where the Vauxan had sat? It had struck him like a physical blow, causing a breathtaking discomfort just below his breastbone. And when he had barged into Doyle's cabin--intending he knew not what--the sight of the defenseless form, all legs and exposed chest, had reinforced his uncertainty, driving him to speak before he could reach out and do something Doyle would assuredly have ended up hating him for.

Shuddering, he stretched forward and laid his head upon the table. A few seconds later, he felt the forgiving scrape of a wiry paw upon the nape of his neck, then the sandpaper-fine friction of tiny teeth nibbling at his skin.

With the morning, of course, sanity had returned, his wayward emotions rigidly contained once more. He would not make the same mistake twice. And although he had toyed with the idea of immediately hunting down Doyle's lover so that he could turn the Vauxan over to him for safekeeping, he knew there would be too many questions asked--and too many answers demanded--for him to gracefully abort the charade now. In a few more days his unwise adventure would be history, and Doyle would be his own man again. Bodie's promise would have been fulfilled, leaving Doyle none the wiser.

Pulling himself together, he rose with a sigh, mindfully chucking the sfang under its narrow muzzle in passing. Idly wondering where his traveling companion had got off to, Bodie headed for the flight deck. His nap had done him a wealth of good; it was time he applied himself to the business at hand.

Restored to the pilot's seat with Asper dozing on the back of the co- pilot's chair, Bodie had spent half an hour reviewing the main systems check- list, when Doyle finally appeared behind him.

"How about something to eat?" The Vauxan held a large tray in his hands, laden with a variety of fruits, cheeses and breads--and fresh tea. "You should be ready for something by now."

The Vauxan was right; Bodie's stomach even brought forth an appreciative growl from his nether regions at sight of the food. "Missed your calling," Bodie said pleasantly as he accepted the tray and set it upon his lap. "Or do you sideline as a nursemaid on your planet?"

Doyle hesitated at the faintly mocking tone. "Only in unusual circumstances."

Hating himself for causing that look of caution in the other's eyes, Bodie tossed a piece of cheese to him. "What sort might that be? Other than dealing with drunken humans, of course."

Chewing abstractedly, Doyle fell back a step and hunkered down behind the co-pilot's station, under the eyes of a now very watchful sfang. "That's the extent of my training, actually."

Striving to keep his voice level, Bodie demanded softly, "You telling me you've done that before?"

Feinting a swipe at the sfang, Doyle replied off-handedly, "Nah, just learned the basics. My brother once had a human friend; was his partner. Targeon told me that he'd had to nurse him when he got rat-arsed, too. Don't know why I remember it." Scornful green eyes flicked up at him. "Lucky for you I did."

"Hmm." Grateful that the sfang chose that instant to divert Doyle's attention by way of a toothy lunge, Bodie murmured with contrived disinterest, "This bloke--your brother's partner--did you know him?"

Doyle waggled tormenting fingers in front of the sfang's face, jerking his hand away just before a gaping mouth armed with gleaming teeth could clamp onto it. "Nope. Never had the chance. Why?"

"Oh--curious. Didn't know Vauxans kept company with humans. Always heard your kind doesn't get along all that well with my kind."

Doyle spared him a brittle grin. "That's because most of you tend to broadcast too loudly. It isn't that we don't like 'your kind,' it's just that it's uncomfortable being around someone who's always switched on." He started to shrug, but abandoned the movement when Asper made a ferocious dive towards his head. "Yow!" Taking shelter behind Bodie's chair, he glanced up at the human, who was looking on with sardonic amusement. Stifling a giggle, Doyle continued with his explanation: "It's like having someone chatter in both ears for hours on end, day after day. Even humans couldn't stand that."

"Even humans?" Bodie sniffed.

At that moment, Asper launched himself from the instrument console. Doyle leapt to his feet and bolted from the flight deck, the sfang snapping at the back of his head, the angry hum of its wings fading down the corridor. Absurdly content, Bodie continued with his meal, unaware that he was smiling.

The tray was almost empty when the ship's com activated. It was Principal Dubchek.

"May I come aboard, Captain Bodie?"

"Certainly, Principal," Bodie replied politely, a little amused at the woman's formality. She had been markedly friendlier last night. "Just a moment and I'll have Doyle escort you to the flight deck."

"That would be very kind," she stated, and signed off.

Outside the galley, Doyle took the message over the intercom, acknowledging Bodie's request immediately if a little breathlessly. Ducking at the last instant, he just avoided a swooping run by six talon-like limbs, then headed off at a gallop for the main hatch. Once there, he spun round, and threw up both hands. The sfang back-flapped to an impressive stop inches from the Vauxan's head, clicking its teeth dangerously. Doyle smirked and patted the creature's snout condescendingly, then pointed down the corridor. "To your room, beast--for now. I'll play with you later, okay?"

Assuming the sfang would obey as it always did, Doyle reached for the access panel and keyed the release. Just as the hatch began to dilate open, however, there was a stirring of air beside the Vauxan's left ear, and Asper dropped onto Doyle's shoulder. Gasping with the realization that in another second the Principal of Dagenham would see the sfang, Doyle snatched the creature from its perch and stuffed it down the front of his shirt. He folded his arms loosely over his chest to pin the wriggling combatant in place.

Face composed as though nothing were out of the ordinary, Doyle greeted the Principal, who bade her attendants wait at the head of the ramp. He waved her down the corridor toward the flight deck in front of him, maintaining a careful distance between them, one hand inconspicuously stroking his shirt front. The Principal seemed to notice nothing amiss, making inconsequential conversation as they went.

Bodie was awaiting them, and offered a small bow to the woman. He glanced curiously at the Vauxan, who was standing in a rather ungainly semi-hunch.

Eyes overwide, Doyle began, "I'll just see to the...um, galley. Think I left a..."

"No, please," the Principal said, laying a detaining hand on Doyle's forearm. "This concerns you as well. Do stay."

Conscious of Bodie's frowning attention, the Vauxan bit his lip and nodded. "As you wish."

She beamed at him. "I shan't keep either of you long. But I must offer my thanks for all you have done--and to grant you this, from my personal collection." With that she drew forth a small box from her voluminous robe and held it out to Bodie.

He hesitated. "You owe us nothing, Principal. I told you that last night."

"So you did. But look at it, I beg you. Perhaps you will change your mind."

Not best pleased, but determined to be politic, Bodie took the small container into his hand and pried it open. His expression mirrored his astonishment as he lifted the large, iridescent stone from its cushion of silken fabric. "Annic--the largest I've ever seen!"

"And likely the largest you will ever see. They are not easily come by and certainly not of this quality."

Bodie made a low whooshing sound through pursed lips. "I've no doubt you're right." He held the gem up to the light, slowly rotating the multi- faceted stone between his fingertips.

"Don't!"

Dark blue eyes shot across to the man standing in the doorway. Doyle froze mid-wriggle, then strove to look as unremarkable as possible. "Don't drop it," he rephrased awkwardly.

Bodie's brows came together as he considered the Vauxan disapprovingly. "Wasn't going to drop it," he said archly. Then he extended his hand back to the woman, conscientiously returning the stone to her palm. "But I think this would be better off with you, Principal Dubchek. You honestly owe us nothing."

Distracted by the twitching Vauxan, the woman returned her eyes to Bodie with an effort. "If you are certain, Captain Bodie; I would not wish to bully you into accepting it. Perhaps you would, however, consider a transaction?"

Bodie tensed automatically. "What sort of transaction?"

Principal Dubchek seemed to find his suspicion heartening; it fell right in line with her pioneer mentality. "Because you ensured the production of our crops, I can afford to offer you this stone--freely, or in exchange for the Vauxan's wardship. An equitable offer, surely?"

"The Vauxan's wardship...." Bodie did not even try to conceal his dismay. "How could you know...?"

The woman regarded him with some amusement. "Last night. You told my daughter. Perhaps you don't remember?"

Bodie rubbed his jaw reflectively. He glanced across at Doyle. The Vauxan's face was wiped clean of expression, his eyes as lightless as coal.

"No, I'm afraid I don't. But--what would you want him for?"

"Not to harm him, certainly," the woman assured him. "He would be an incalculable asset to our training program. His skills, even for a short period of time, would be of great benefit to our community."

"You want Doyle in exchange for the Annic?"

"Yes. It is a very rare stone, Captain."

Bodie moved his fingers over his jaw again, as though giving the question serious consideration--although he had already rejected the idea out of hand. Doyle stood with quiet dignity, plainly awaiting the other man's dictum.

Feeling a little ashamed at stringing the woman along at the Vauxan's expense, Bodie began, "No, Principal...."

His words were drowned out by Doyle's sudden cry. The Vauxan folded over and clutched at his chest. But the sfang, half-smothered and desperate for freedom, blossomed spectacularly from the recesses of Doyle's shirt, wings flaring wide as it catapulted itself into the air.

Neither man was prepared for the woman's reaction. Thought was not a factor as Principal Dubchek reached into her robes and snaked out a hand which gripped a blunt-nosed weapon. Understanding penetrated Bodie's mind at the same instant that she fired, her instinct-swift reaction born of long years of practice and a keen appreciation for survival. Although she was fast, the sfang was faster, already curving back on itself mid-air in order to disappear down the corridor. In doing so, it avoided the main force of the beam, but was nevertheless caught in the nimbus of the charge that melted a chunk out of the bulkhead. A blood-curdling sound, like metal scraping against metal, was torn from the sfang. The creature's wings tangled clumsily together, spindly legs clutched spasmodically against its small body. It tumbled toward the floor.

"Asper!" Bodie shouted. His hand crashed down on Dubchek's forearm before she could let loose another shot.

In the same instant, Doyle threw himself forward to catch the sfang. They went down together, Doyle stretched to his full length, the crumpled body surrounded by long fingers as he twisted and slammed to the deck, taking the brunt of the fall in order to protect the limp creature.

"It's a sfang!" the woman cried. "It will...."

Bodie ripped the shooter from her hand, only then letting go his killing hold on her arm. "It wouldn't have harmed you. It doesn't hurt people. It's never hurt anyone!"

He heard the fury in his own voice, and realized that he was shouting, albeit needlessly. The woman's shocked gaze went from him to the curly-haired man in speechless disbelief.

Doyle painstakingly climbed to his feet, cradling the sfang's body close to his chest. He was saying something neither human could hear, speaking in a soft, incomprehensible whisper.

"Ray?" Bodie asked, his voice breaking on the single syllable.

Green eyes, hazy with pain, told him more than he wanted to know. Bodie tried to swallow and found his throat too constricted to perform so simple a task.

"A pet?" the woman asked, bewildered. "The sfang was your pet?"

Bodie watched Doyle stumble down the corridor, blinking at the sharp prickling at the back of his eyes. The woman's continued presence registered and he pulled himself together. "A pet," he echoed thickly. "Yeah."

Genuine regret shadowed the woman's handsome face. "I am sorry, Captain. It came out of nowhere. I did not think; there was no time."

He nodded, schooling his features to impassivity. "I know, Principal. It was not your fault. I don't hold you responsible." Gesturing to the corridor, he said politely, "We'll be leaving soon. Your offer is generous, but I won't cede custody of Doyle for it." He waved her before him. "Let me show you out."

The woman inclined her head. As they walked together to the main hatch, Bodie returned her weapon. At the entrance, she paused. "My sincerest apologies, Captain. But please know that you are welcome here anytime. Both of you."

Bodie dredged up a neutral smile. He doubted he would ever willingly set down on this particular rock again. "Thank you, Principal. I'll remember that."

He sealed the hatch behind her. Leaden legs carried him to the intermediary first aid station. Finding no one there, he went to the infirmary, but with equal lack of success. Guessing then that Doyle must have taken the sfang to his own cabin, Bodie made his way deeper into the ship. The door to Doyle's cabin stood open, so Bodie silently entered.

The Vauxan was sitting curled forward on his bunk, the sfang lost in the dark hollow formed by the curve of his body. Doyle was crooning unintelligibly in a low, sing-song tone, hands moving rhythmically around the damaged creature. As Bodie came closer, he saw that the Vauxan's eyes were squeezed shut and his face was shining with perspiration.

"Doyle?"

He did not respond, rocking slowly back and forth. A little uneasily, Bodie reached out and laid a hand on Doyle's shoulder. At contact he almost let go, unprepared for the sensations that bled over into his mind. It was not unlike his own communication with the sfang, but he knew intuitively that this was filtered through the Vauxan. Ignoring the weird feeling rippling sympathetically through his nervous system, he leaned lightly against the other man, and reached into the warm sanctuary created by Doyle's body; there he covered the long Vauxan fingers which were cupped around the unmoving sfang.

It was a dark, but strangely soothing place that Doyle allowed him to enter. Bodie wondered at first what the Vauxan was doing; but as communication among the three of them deepened, he began to understand.

Doyle was sharing his energy with the sfang, channelling it into the injured entity in a steady flow, trying to override the trauma that had buffeted the creature to the edge of death. Unable to offer anything more than the dubious comfort of his presence, Bodie waited, intensely aware of the closeness of the Vauxan's body, of their mingled heat, and of the spicey musk emanating from the sfang.

A second became a minute; a minute an hour. Bodie neither knew nor cared how long they were there, his measure of time reduced to the steady thud of the Vauxan's heart, and the continued link of sensibility that indicated Asper yet lived. Lulled by a sense of completeness he had never known, Bodie slid into a state suspended between dream and fantasy, but was never totally unaware of the two beings sheltered in his protective embrace. When Doyle stirred, he knew without being told that it was not the Vauxan initiating the motion, but a response to the weak efforts of the stretching sfang to gain space.

With profound care Doyle unfolded to allow the sfang to totter out of his grasp; he then slowly collapsed back against Bodie. Asper stumbled, two or three of its legs obviously unequal to the task of buttressing its slight frame. Rearing upward with a strange, articulated movement, the sfang finally regained its balance--only to drift sideways against Doyle's thigh. It remained there for another moment, rubbing itself against the Vauxan with small jerky movements, its wedge-shaped head propped up on Bodie's hand. A bit more steadily, it stepped delicately to the edge of the bunk and with a single, faltering bound, lifted into the air.

Bodie watched, entranced, as beautiful white wings spread wide, describing graceful methodical sweeps as the creature made two complete circuits of the room. Having proved something to itself, the sfang then soared downward in a lazy spiral. Bodie lifted his forearm, and Asper came to rest upon it, its small body trembling. With a finger that was also less than steady, Bodie stroked the soft head and muzzle, closing his eyes against the ferocious stinging that threatened to blind him.

Asper encouraged the touch, directing the human's caresses first to one flank and then the other. After a bit, it lurched to Doyle's side, and there began to push its head against the Vauxan's hip.

A limp Vauxan hand reached down and curled around the sfang's head. "Demanding little sod," Doyle breathed, and pulled out of Bodie's arms to lie on his side on the bunk. At once, Asper crawled along the length of the exhausted man; at the curve of Doyle's chin and throat it made its bed, four little eyes closing all at the same time.

Essaying a tiny smile, Bodie decided it was time for him to go. He winced as cramped muscles informed him of their displeasure; he had been here for a very long time. A prickling sensation at the nape of his neck gave him pause.

Drowsy green eyes were watching him. Bodie bent forward and touched a fingertip to the other man's patrician nose. A gleam of amusement came into the Vauxan's eyes. Bodie moved his hand to Doyle's cheek in a tender caress. Heavy translucent eyelids drifted downward, and Doyle slept.

Bodie waited a moment longer before reluctantly withdrawing his touch. Standing beside the bunk, he drank in every detail: the gleam of teeth barely visible through half-parted lips; the flush of cheeks framed by damp, tousled hair; and the slow, perfect pulse that gave faint distention to the great vein in the strong neck, half-obscured by the pointed snout of the sfang. Bodie resisted the urge to return and brush curling tendrils off the Vauxan's high forehead, or to tweak tiny white pinfeathers which the sfang had not completely smoothed down.

Doyle would need sustenance when he awoke; so would the sfang. Bodie determined that they would be well away from Dagenham by then. He retrieved the covers from the foot of the bed and draped them chest-high on the undisturbed Vauxan, lightly tucking the edges in at his sides. With a loving pat for the somnolent sfang's sloped forehead, Bodie left.

---

When the personnel monitor alarm went off on the flight deck two hours later, Bodie was on his way, carrying a tray spread with enough delicacies to beguile the most disinterested Vauxan and sfang into an orgy of eating.

FG BEHEMOTH was sailing on autopilot, course and speed set as soon as they had cleared Dagenham's space. Bodie's own sources and the control station on Dagenham's third moon had assured him of clear passage, but Bodie had set the ship speed and shields to levels that would afford them a safety buffer.

Mindful of the previous evening's excesses, Bodie wished he were better suited to deal with the emotions that still cluttered his reasoning. If it wasn't the Vauxan causing him anguish, it was that damn sfang tearing the heart out of him. After years of successfully maintaining life at arm's length, he was all at once a fully engaged--and unwilling--participant.

He couldn't seem to get his thoughts ordered long enough to determine a course of action and stick with it. For the moment he was being led by instinct; and although he liked to think such guidance could not take him far astray, he was not altogether certain that that wasn't the case.

In the Vauxan's quarters, Doyle was lying on his stomach, one lean hand almost white, buried under sfang feathers. He was breathing shallowly, preparatory to awakening; it had been the alteration in his pattern of respiration that had tripped Bodie's alarm.

Purposely keeping his eyes off the leggy sprawl, Bodie situated the tray on the storage locker at the foot of Doyle's bunk. When everything was to his satisfaction, he turned to his two sleeping charges--and found the reasonably alert gaze of the sfang supervising his every movement. He quirked a finger at it, then reached for a dish especially prepared for the creature. With a quick, sinuous twist, the sfang disengaged itself from Doyle's hand and bounded to Bodie's shoulder. To Bodie's bemusement, Asper did not at once assault its meal, but leaned supplely against his cheek, a low chirring sound rumbling in its throat.

Impelled by an insistent forepaw, Bodie admitted, "Yes, I would've missed you, too." He added gruffly, "So eat this slop, before I give it to your companion in crime over there." Asper bobbed up and down defiantly, then skittered down Bodie's arm to his wrist, where it began to clean its plate with enthusiasm.

Bodie looked on with indulgent appreciation, well aware of the debt he owed the Vauxan. After what Doyle had done, Bodie knew he should clear the Vauxan's marker and give him his freedom immediately. And yet, to do that would signal Doyle's departure--and that moment would arrive soon enough. Till now Bodie had always counted himself an honorable man--by his definition of honor. His willingness to overrule that personal code brought to light a compulsive desire for something he had never expected to want at all; and the lengths to which he would go to secure it rather unnerved him.

"Gonna feed it all to that selfish little glutton?"

Doyle's barely voiced complaint provided Bodie with a welcome distraction to his disagreeable thoughts. "Didn't think you'd mind," Bodie replied amiably. "Thought you were going to sleep for another couple of days yet."

The Vauxan swung his legs over the edge of the bed and dragged himself onto his backside, head dropping toward his knees as gravity asserted its authority. "Haven't I already?"

"Nah," said Bodie. "Just a couple of hours. And if you're quick, Asper might spare you something--especially since you saved the little reprobate's life." He spoke lightly; but he was acutely aware of the Vauxan's continued enervation.

Seemingly oblivious to the other man's concern, Doyle supported his face between his hands, kneading the skin as if it had gone numb. "Feel like I've been out for days." He looked up at Bodie defenselessly. "Never did that before, y'know."

"Not even with another Vauxan?" Bodie belatedly wished the words unsaid.

Unoffended, Doyle answered with a carefully executed shake of his head. "Nope." He drove long fingers into his hair. Almost shyly, he said, "Thanks for hanging about, though. Attempting a transfer was something they warned me against. But you couldn't know that; me being only half-Vauxan and all."

A stab of fear splintered Bodie's guts. "I didn't realize."

The Vauxan gave him a pleasant frown. "No reason why you should. But your being here with me--well, it gave me something to hold on to. Otherwise I might've lost track of where I was. So, thanks, eh."

Bodie nodded mutely, not trusting himself to speak. He handed one of the plates to the slightly swaying man, relieved when Doyle accepted it.

Yet still another moment passed before Doyle attempted to eat anything, and even then he accorded it all the attention of a rare delicacy.

"Who was it? The one who warned you?" Bodie queried casually.

Swallowing slowly, Doyle slouched back against the bulkhead. "My mother and brother. Aren't too many 'breeds around, y'see. Most of them don't survive birth--either intentionally or otherwise."

"Don't survive?" For some reason the implications of this statement filled Bodie with anger. "You mean, on the Vauxan side, or the human side?"

Doyle ferried another morsel to his mouth. Talking around it, he said thickly, "Both. Bonds between our species are not all that common despite the centuries they've worked together. Just doesn't work, y'know. And then, the physiological differences can result in some pretty disgusting combinations-- even though technology is such that the most incompatible genes can be compensated for. Unfortunately the invisible ones--like disordered empathy-- cannot."

"Your mother is Vauxan?" Bodie turned his wrist as the now sated sfang clambered back up his arm.

"Yes." Doyle closed his eyes for a few seconds. "Which means, my father was human." He grinned wryly to himself. "How else would I get a name like 'Raymond Doyle'?"

"What about your brother?"

Doyle sucked in a bracing breath. As he straightened, drawing his plate closer, he said, "Full-fledged Vauxan, he was. From Mum's initial bonding. Mum and her first mate--his name was Taan--were stationed at one of the more dangerous jointly colonized settlements during a period of indigene upheaval. Taan and Mother were caught outside the perimeter on their way back from the mineral labs one afternoon. She was badly injured. Taan didn't make it. She stayed on to recuperate, then decided there was no point in leaving, since the work that had taken her there in the first place was still very important. The doctor who treated her was my father."

"What about your brother? D'you get along with him?" Bodie shifted so that the sfang could relax against his neck. It began to preen its ruffled feathers in the lengthy and intricate ceremony that followed every meal. The human ran a finger along the creature's side to encourage it to settle.

"When I had the chance. He was gone most of the time. Mum sent him home shortly after I was born, to see that he got proper training, and after that he became a wanderer. But he was the one who convinced Mum and Dad to raise me as a Vauxan. They couldn't decide at first, y'see, because everyone thought I had taken after my dad, even though tests showed I had the cerebral development of a Vauxan." Doyle concentrated a moment on eating. Bodie refilled his cup and waited while the Vauxan drank some of the beverage down.

"What decided them that you were more Vauxan than human?" Bodie asked, once Doyle was slowing down again.

A faint flush indicated an old grievance. "A little psychic backlash," he admitted. "One of the local lads was teasing me. Don't remember about what. But I let him have it."

Bodie pointed at his own temple. "With this?"

"'Course. Sent him reeling." Doyle sighed, considering the remains of the tray longingly. "I was on my way to Vaux that evening. Problem was, I was almost six, far older than most children when they begin training."

"Late bloomer, eh?"

Doyle responded to the human's cynical smile with a wistful grin of his own. "Wasn't funny, believe me. There I was, amongst a group of snot-nosed ankle-biters who were ages younger than me. Was damned embarrassing at first. They finally realized I was concentrating more on my resentments than the skills I needed to learn, and private tutoring was arranged." A sudden thought occurred to him and he waved a hand at the plate of food balanced on his legs. "How'd you come to know so much, Bodie? What to feed me; the beverages I can drink--like the restorative you gave me when you first brought me aboard? Where'd you learn so much about Vauxans, anyway?"

Bodie shrugged. "Been around. Even worked with one of your lot for a while. He used to tell me about your customs and--oh, differences, is maybe the best way to put it. We were...friendly."

"Yeah?"

"He's dead now." Bodie's terseness signalled an end to his confidences. He switched back to the previous topic. "So they turned you into a proper Vauxan after all."

Doyle's lips pressed a little harder together, then relaxed. "Not really. But they did instill the control I needed." Almost to himself, very softly he added, "For the most part."

Bodie sensed pain behind the words, and felt a yearning echo of it deep within himself. "What about your father: what happened to him?"

The Vauxan returned the tray to the top of the locker. "Died a few years after I was sent away. He was quite a few years older than Mum. She's the only one left now; her, and a few cousins--Vauxan cousins. Never met my father's people."

"Do you keep in touch with her?"

Doyle slowly lay back on the bed, head supported by folded arms. "Not much. My brother and I.... Well, I was closer to him."

Bodie rose, automatically compensating for the sfang clinging to him, and picked up the remains of Doyle's meal. "What happened to your brother?" Bodie asked.

"He's dead, too." The quiet words bespoke regret as well as acceptance.

Leaving the statement unpursued, Bodie said matter-of-factly, "I haven't thanked you yet, Doyle. I do. More than you know."

The Vauxan's eyes softened with understanding. "Wouldn't have been the same without the little rotter." He chewed his lower lip. "It wasn't

Dubchek's fault, y'know. She didn't think. It was like a burst of insanity."

"You felt that?"

"Yeah. Took me off guard. Guess I was too close to her." Giving an admiring whistle, he added, "Not that it would have made any difference. She's bloody fast!"

"And several parsecs away by now."

Doyle got his elbows under him. "We've off-planeted?"

From the door, Bodie confirmed, "Didn't feel like hanging about."

A slow grin laid claim to Doyle's face. He said with mock reprimand, "Mistake, that: she'd probably have given you her daughter as reparation."