The Professionals Circuit Archive - Broadcast Difficulties	  
Broadcast Difficulties

 

by Ellis Ward

  
 *(sequel to Echo)*


 Standing at the lift mechanism computer outside the main cargo hold, Ray
Doyle rekeyed the defaults that would implement the upgrade he had just
installed. Eyes fixed on the monitor, he cursored through each field until
all pertinent alterations had been made. With the stroke of a little
finger, the data was stored to the machine's permanent memory. At that
precise instant, he was swamped by a surge of white-hot, dizzying lust. 

 *Bloody hell, Bodie!* he moaned inwardly, riding the crest of sensations
so intense they lit up the backs of his eyelids with brilliant colors and
poured liquid heat into his groin. 

 Inhaling sharply, he opened his eyes to gaze blankly and at length at the
temporarily meaningless screen. Aware of what was happening, however,
Doyle set about employing the mental shutters that would partially
filter--though not block out entirely--the promiscuous desire, which
gradually lessened in intensity until he was back under control. 

 Three weeks ago, it had not occurred to Doyle that he might be subject to
a complaint of this nature. Three weeks ago, he and the man who had
rescued him from a thought-infested prison on Stepney had coupled their
futures in a Vauxan bonding ceremony at the Templar's office in
CarShalTon. With his mother Gilla, cousin Moor, and assorted distant
relatives, as well as Bodie's sfang Asper--its pure white silken muzzle
peeping out of the leathern pouch suspended from Bodie's shoulder--in
attendance, Doyle had readily opened his mind to the human. Aided by the
Encircler, who had augmented Doyle's half-breed empathic ability, they had
experienced the fullness of their emotions in a way that would likely
never be repeated. Open and utterly trusting, neither had resisted when
the facilitator's psychic probe had gone deep into their image-rich
selves. Out of those kaleidoscopic emotions she had plucked something of
each man's essence, which she had then implanted in the core of the other.


 Faintly shaken, the two men had remained solemnly hand in hand until the
Encircler had completed their bonding by guiding them through the
comparatively prosaic documentation that would make their union legal in
the eyes of the Consortium. Within moments, the gathering had been herded
out, according the newly espoused individuals the privacy which Vauxan
custom deemed necessary at this time. 

 Oddly ill at ease, Doyle had stared down at their conjoined fingers,
noticing only then that his own were cold and pinched in Bodie's
too-urgent grasp. "You okay?" Doyle had whispered. 

 Bodie had lifted the curls from Doyle's forehead. "Will be when you give
me a kiss." The words had sounded glib. 

 Bringing his head up warily, Doyle had begun a slow study of Bodie's
face. What he had seen there had disconcerted him, for Bodie had borne a
notably pained expression. "You're not sorry?" he had blurted out, the
possibility that Bodie regretted their bonding too wounding to
contemplate. 

 "No, of course not. Idiot," Bodie had added chidingly. "You?" 

 "Never." 

 "Even if you were--" One dark brow had arched up arrogantly. "--you're
stuck with me." 

 Relief coursing through his veins, Doyle had murmured, "Thought you
might've resented the Encircler rummaging round in your head." 

 "'Course not. Gilla told me what to expect, y'know. Wasn't as bad as I
expected, actually." 

 "No?" 

 Bodie had grinned crookedly. "Was afraid the Encircler--once she'd
'rummaged round in my head' as you so neatly put it--might warn you off
me." 

 "I already know the worst of you, Bodie. Idiot." 

 His smile widening at the echo of his own insult, Bodie had dropped his
gaze to Doyle's mouth. 

 That unsubtle perusal had kindled an immediate response: Bringing their
bodies into close contact, Doyle had taken Bodie's mouth with
proprietorial presumption. Gently at first, then more insistently, he had
deepened their kiss until Bodie was clinging to him for support. 

 Afterward, they had stood, loosely held, in each other's arms, foreheads
pressed together. A low chirring sound, partly nettled, partly
inquisitive, had issued from the leathern pouch. Four beady eyes had
appeared from beneath the flap; they had moved from one man to the other
until both men had been encompassed in a quadruplicate onyx glare. 

 "That'll do for now," Bodie had said, taking a moment to tuck Asper back
inside the carrier. "Time to attend Gilla, eh?" 

 ******

His mouth soft in reminiscence, and still warmed through with Bodie's
broadcast of untempered arousal, Doyle let his thoughts touch on the
events that had followed. They had been feted at Gilla's home with
marvelous food and drink while being made welcome to the clan into which
Doyle had been born. Later, back on board the *FG BEHEMOTH*, they had
tenderly and with great affection restated their vows, through body
language alone, until exhaustion and the late hour had given them over to
sleep. 

 The next several days had been spent in the hilly regions outside
WalLingFord, a small town some considerable distance from CarShalTon.
There they had hiked across rugged, wild terrain, exulting in sweet,
unrecirculated air, the pleasing variegation of plant life and indigenous
creatures, and the solitude that had surrounded but had not intruded upon
them. 

 For his part, Asper had found the wide-open spaces intoxicating. He had
indulged in hunting live prey, though surprisingly, had never gone for the
kill. The sfang, Bodie had observed aloud, had become as domesticated as
the two of them. He had spoken with fond amusement, rather than irony, his
manner reflecting a contentment that seemed new to him. 

 Shortly upon their return to the spaceport city, Bodie had hired out the
*FG BEHEMOTH* to the Institute of Vauxan Studies. They had contracted to
ferry echo stones to a science outpost called Snaresbrook Station, which
lay two Gates distant, for the benefit of a renowned Vauxan medical
scientist, whose intention was to examine the stones as possible healing
conduits. 

 Bemused to hear that Bodie had been given the consignment--based in large
part on Doyle's ability to shield him--Doyle had nevertheless received the
news that they would be departing Vaux before the week was out with some
relief. By then he was already keen on returning to the world he had first
known with Bodie--the *FG BEHEMOTH*--and on having Bodie all to himself
again. Not discounting Asper, of course. 

 They had off-planeted three days ago. The lull following their return
from WalLingFord had been consumed with all the tasks necessary to
facilitate their departure. Despite the many hours of supervising the
purchase of upgrades in both hardware and software, as well as undertaking
to resupply their stores while Bodie oversaw the partial refit and overdue
specialized maintenance of the ship, Doyle had found a few hours to visit
with his mother Gilla. Pressed by obligations surrounding the remachining
of one of the *BEHEMOTH*'s engines, Bodie had sent him on alone. 

 Doyle had preferred to make the journey to his mother's house in the
outer reaches of CarShalTon by himself--for he doubted Bodie would have
approved all of his reasons for going. Once there, Gilla had fed him
sweets and plied him with Vauxan tea while bringing him up to date on the
goings on of their family. Once he had been made borderline stuporous from
the onslaught of so much seldom-sampled--and unusually rich--Vauxan fare,
Doyle had been incapable of dissemblance when his mother had shrewdly
questioned the motives for his visit. Aware from her own experiences that
separation so soon after bonding could prove distinctly unsettling for
both partners--even humans--she had politely but relentlessly badgered her
son until he had confessed all: Doyle had wanted permission to go through
his brother's personal effects. 

 His statement had quite obviously taken Gilla aback, though this had been
evident more in the subsequent silence than in any overt change in her
expression. The inevitable--and logical--question *why? * had never
followed, however. Gilla had simply granted him leave to do as he wished. 

 There had been little enough left of Targeon's belongings to sift
through, the few items all contained in a single finely crafted storage
chest, its chiseled outside depicting scenes from Vauxan folklore. Doyle
had smiled to himself at sight of it, gliding a fingertip over the panel
near the right front corner which featured a gruesome display of marauding
sfangi attacking a cluster of hapless Vauxans. 

 Beneath the heavy lid had been revealed a small bundle of finely woven
ceremonial outfits; a casket wrought of semi-precious metal containing
jewellery that had belonged both to Targeon and his spouse as well as some
curios he had collected in his wanderings; a couple of diaries, their
dates preceding the period Doyle was interested in; a vid-cube whose
listing of holograms was frustratingly short; a thin, battered
documents-folder, and an ornately preserved copy of Targeon's Last Words,
the legal statement required of all First Inheritors whose assigns had
died before them. 

 Disappointed that so little remained, Doyle had cursorily inspected the
documents that had been in Targeon's possession at the time of his death.
These he had set on the floor next to one knee. Frowning to himself he had
then selected the Last Words and the vid-cube. 

 "May I take all of these?" Doyle had asked. Though she had said nothing,
Doyle had been aware of Gilla's presence at the door to the spare room all
the while. 

 "You must remember everything that is in there, surely?" There had been
no condemnation in her voice despite the bald frankness of her words.
"When you came home after Targeon died, you studied his things for hours."


 "I didn't memorize them." No explanation of his reasons for wanting his
brother's effects had been offered. 

 When he had said nothing more, Gilla had shrugged her agreement, "Of
course you may take them." 

 "Thanks, Mum." Jaw clenched tightly shut, Doyle had set about restoring
his brother's possessions to the chest, his every move painstakingly
precise. When a pair of arms had come to enclose him from behind, Doyle
had been forced to bite his lower lip to keep in a sound that would have
shamed him. 

 "You always loved him," Gilla had whispered. "He loved you too, you
know?" 

 Clasping his mother's arms across his chest, Doyle had nodded. Once he
could find his voice, he had replied, "He gave me Bodie." 

 "Did he?" 

 Doyle had reminded her lightly, "Targe made him promise to look after me,
didn't he?" Raising their joined hands to his mouth, he had kissed her
fingertips. "Did he speak much of Bodie?" 

 "Bodie was *here*, my love." 

 "Yes, but I don't think *Bodie* would've mentioned George Cowley. Did
Targeon?" 

 "George Cowley...." 

 The tone of her voice had caused Doyle to stiffen. He rose and turned to
face her, bringing her onto her feet alongside him. "You knew him?" 

 "I met him once," she had corrected. "An acquaintance of Targeon's, so he
introduced himself." 

 "Tell me." 

 Her recounting had been as spare as the contents of Targeon's chest. The
man who had called himself George Cowley had appeared on Gilla's doorstep
one day years before Targeon had married. She had treated him with typical
Vauxan courtesy, all the while sidestepping his rather pointed questions
regarding Targeon. Then she had seen him on his way believing she had
given him nothing he could not have learned from a stranger. Her elder
son's adventuring had too often taken him into the realm of blurred
legalities for her not to have exercised a certain caution when discussing
his activities. "And you never saw him again?" 

 "Never." 

 "Describe him to me." 

 "It was many years ago, Raydoyle." 

 "You must remember something?" 

 "Oh, well--" She had closed her eyes in concentration, saying nothing for
more than a moment. "Slightly built, but strong--at least that was my
impression; sandy hair, thinning a bit; pale but very discerning blue
eyes--I do remember his eyes: they seemed to look right into my heart; and
a limp--he had a noticeable limp, for all that it did not slow him down.
He was dressed well and was never other than gracious." 

 "And Bodie--did Cowley speak of him?" 

 "As I said, no." 

 "Did you ever tell Targe or Bodie about Cowley's visit?" 

 Gilla's face had wrinkled with exasperation, her russet eyes deepening to
a shade of sienna red. "You interrogate like a human, Raydoyle." 

 Once more lifting his mother's hands to his mouth, Doyle had hung his
head in mock shame. "It's the company I keep. Please, Mother, it's
important." 

 She had given his unflawed cheek a stinging tweak. "No, I never told
them. Until this moment, I had forgotten George Cowley ever existed." 

 "Don't be cross. It's important to me." He had leaned forward to kiss her
broad forehead. 

 Uncomplicated affection had taken the place of Gilla's irritation. "If
that is how you manage Bodie, I'm impressed; I would not have thought him
susceptible." 

 "Nothing could be further from the truth," Doyle had retorted. "Why Bodie
tolerates me, I don't know." 

 "And I accused *LerMith* of being thick." Gilla had given her head a
shake of resignation. "You two belong together, my love." 

 ******

Another invasion of unbridled wanting jolted Doyle out of his reverie.
"Maniac!" he growled. Retaining enough presence of mind to properly shut
down the computer, he backed out of the auxiliary program, playing his
fingers across the keyboard until he heard the sequence of tones that
assured him the unit would power down, yet remain on stand-by. The final
beep spoke to an empty corridor, Doyle many yards beyond the center
intersection by then. 

 Just outside the opening to the flight deck, Doyle stopped. There came a
fluttering of wings from behind him. He glanced round, but Asper had
apparently already darted off again. It occurred to him--not for the first
time since setting off from Vaux--that Asper had not been much in evidence
just lately. But, as he had done before, Doyle as quickly put the matter
aside for more driving considerations. 

 *Bodie. * 

 His partner perched on the edge of the pilot's seat, seemingly engrossed
in the display on the personal monitor mounted on the nearer bulkhead. A
glimpse told Doyle nothing; but, then only one thing was of concern to him
at that moment. The solid form of his mate, so capably constructed yet so
appealingly designed, attracted him like a magnet to an iron source. 

 "Bodie." 

 For all that Doyle's voice was low and unhurriedly paced, Bodie startled
as though his name had been screeched over the ship's speakers. He
swivelled round, a hand simultaneously blanking the screen. "Damn it, Ray!
You trying to scare the life out of me?" 

 "Thought you must've heard me." Doyle was quite openly confused. "Wasn't
trying to sneak up you." Had Bodie been broadcasting unconsciously? 

 Bodie laughed; to Doyle, his mirth sounded forced. "Never mind. Was deep
in it, that's all." He tipped his head to one side. "Good to see you,
sunshine. All these systems checks we've been running, we've hardly had a
minute to ourselves." 

 "Thought you might fancy a break." The look that settled in Bodie's eyes,
welcoming as well as speculative, went far toward restoring Doyle's
equilibrium. He licked his lips; the coil of heat in his groin was
unwinding with every second. 

 "Think I can spare a minute," Bodie dropped his gaze to Doyle's snug
trousers, "or two." 

 Needing no further invitation, Doyle reached down to loosen the band at
his waist. Urgency made him clumsy, however, and the simple clasp
threatened to defeat him. 

 "Come here," Bodie demanded. 

 Dragging his attention away from the recalcitrant closure, Doyle brought
his head up, eyes wide and absurdly distressed. 

 A hand beckoned him forward. "Let me do that, hm?" 

 Doyle stated simply, "I need you." 

 "Can see that." As Doyle moved within reach, Bodie swept the trembling
fingers away and assumed command. "You've got me, soon as we can get you
out of-- There." He tilted his head back and made a quick, comprehensive
study of Doyle's features while blindly easing him free of his trousers. 

 "Better?" he asked silkily. 

 Breathing shallowly, Doyle whispered, "Want to kiss you." 

 "Before or after?" The question contained a trace of amusement. 

 Treacherously hovering at flashpoint, Doyle abruptly shucked his
trousers. Seconds later he had swung one leg up over Bodie's knees,
unceremoniously climbing onto his lap. Bending forward, he curled his arms
round Bodie's neck and matched his mouth to his lover's pouting lips.
Doyle's devouring kiss and the sensuous roll of his hips conveyed his
inclination clearly. 

 With a hand working at his own waistband, Bodie shifted to accommodate
them both. Seconds later, with the seat fully reclined, he readily gave
his partner the lead. Doyle was incandescent with sexual heat, almost
frantic in his headlong rush toward fulfillment. Bodie tried
unsuccessfully to soothe him, to slow him down. 

 Beyond control, Doyle communicated the potpourri of sensation and emotion
that comprised his condition to his lover, heedlessly overrunning his
fragile shields. At once, their shared carnality was impossibly heightened
by the brusquely established loop. 

 Bodie moaned helplessly when Doyle freed his mouth in order to catch his
breath. "Need you," Doyle growled. 

 But Bodie's moan had not been a refusal, he being as much a victim of
their resonant sensuality as Doyle himself. 

 And then they were one. Bodie surged violently upward against Doyle, who
met his roughness with equal fervor, clinging to him as the moment swept
them both to velvet oblivion. 

 The hushed murmur of unceasingly active microservos and automatics
provided a curious counterpoint to the ragged fitfulness of their
breathing. 

 Some while later, Bodie commented sluggishly, "I think I've died." 

 Digging a finger into a flank, Doyle assured him, "Don't feel dead." 

 "How can you tell?" 

 Doyle only smiled, as utterly drained as his partner sounded. He found
that Bodie made an excellent cushion; in fact, he was in danger of falling
asleep where he lay. 

 "Ray--?" 

 "Hm?" 

 Bodie slowly rubbed his hands up and down Doyle's back. "Mind if I ask
what brought that on?" 

 A strange sensation twisted inside Doyle's belly. "You did." 

 "Me?" 

 "You must-- You must've been thinking about me. Doing...this. Weren't
you?" 

 Bodie did not answer at once. Then with a whimsical air, he shrugged,
"Don't know if I can think back that far just now." He cupped Doyle's face
between his hands and forced him to meet his gaze. Grinning, Bodie said,
"Yeah, 'course I was thinking about you. *Always* thinking about you, Ray.
Just didn't know you can read my thoughts." 

 "*Those* thoughts come through loud and clear," Doyle informed him a
touch testily. 

 "Is that why it's been so--um--*fraught* lately?" 

 "You mean since we off-worlded?" Doyle clarified. "Must be." 

 "And you reckon it's *my* fault, do you?" 

 Anguine brows knitted together over the bridge of Doyle's nose. "It's
*both* of us. I could block you out, y'know, but bonded partners would
*never* imagine--" 

 "--doing that. Don't take this wrong, sunshine, but will it always be
so--?" 

 "--fraught?" Bodie's tentative, but good-natured probing eased Doyle's
mind. "We ought to adjust eventually, I expect." 

 Folding his arms round Doyle's back, Bodie gathered his partner close in
a breath-stealing embrace. "Just don't forget I'm only human, eh?" 

 Turning his face into one of Bodie's palms, Doyle suggested, "Then keep
your mind on your work. 

 For just an instant rebellion sparked in Bodie's eyes; he parted his lips
to retort. Whatever he intended to say, however, went unspoken; instead,
he brought Doyle's head down and kissed first his mouth, then his nose,
then each eyelid. "Off with you, then," he said firmly. His notice leapt
beyond Doyle's shoulder. "And what are *you* looking at?" 

 Following Bodie's gaze, Doyle spied the sfang hunched over the back of
the copilot's seat, louring down at them as it slowly swayed back and
forth on all six limbs. "How long have you been there, Asper?" Doyle
asked, taking care to untangle their legs before attempting to peel
himself off his partner. 

 A brief, but detailed image flared in Doyle's mind. "*That* long." He
turned towards Bodie. "Did you hear him come in, then?" 

 Bodie rolled his eyes. "Wasn't listening, mate." To Asper, he tsked,
"Pervert." 

 After standing unsteadily, Doyle wiped himself semi-dry with a
handkerchief fished out of his trousers pocket. Wadding the soft, damp
material into a loose ball, he raked his free hand through his hair,
glanced back at Bodie, who was similarly preoccupied, whistled softly to
get his attention, then winked at him. " 'S a good thing those seats
recline," he remarked. He shook out his trousers, aligning the legs so he
could step into them without losing his balance. 

 "Get out of here, you," Bodie snorted, emphasizing his words with a swat
upon Doyle's hastily covered bottom. 

 "See you at dinner, then." 

 "If not before," Bodie said meaningfully. 

 ******

Bodie's words echoed in Doyle's ears through the remainder of the
afternoon. The fact that his partner had joked about their mindless
coupling led him to believe that Bodie accepted his culpability in their
recently obsessive sexual activity. And yet-- There had been that moment
of denial when Doyle had pointed out Bodie's part in all this--at least,
Doyle would have sworn it was *denial*. For whatever reason, however,
Bodie had chosen not to pursue it. 

 Perhaps the human was having second thoughts about being bonded to a
Vauxan. Or might it be that the novelty of having a lover--and an
unusually demanding one, at that--always in tow was beginning to wear off?


 It was true that they had not known each other long, though they had
known *of* each other for many years. Compelled by his promise to look
after Targeon's half-brother, Bodie had engineered Doyle's release from
prison a little over a month ago. In the time since, Doyle, who had
searched the known worlds for the man his brother had called LerMith, had
fallen in love with Bodie--only to find at the end of their journey, that
Bodie and LerMith were the same man. Bodie, at first fearing entrapment,
had kept his true identity to himself. Yet he had proclaimed his love and
fealty to Doyle, publicly as well as privately--had even opened his mind
to him before witnesses. How could Doyle doubt him now? 

 In the deepest recesses of his heart, Doyle trusted Bodie implicitly. And
he knew it was wrong to hold his lover accountable for his own
long-standing insecurities. Despite their earlier miscommunications, he
knew Bodie would tell him if he wished to end their relationship.
Recalling Bodie's recent loving acceptance--and enthusiastic
participation--Doyle could dismiss that particular concern with some
degree of certainty. 

 So how to explain Bodie's irritation? Might he have been unaware of his
own lusty musings? Possibly. After all, a certain delectable residue could
linger in the mind long after the thought that had spawned it had been
expunged. Or a new idea, born of stray synapse firings, could have been
forming, Bodie all unaware. In fact, while Bodie may have been occupied
with something else entirely, below the surface of his senses a veritable
cauldron of desire might have been bubbling. 

 Doyle laughed cynically to himself: *Well, it was possible. * Presuming
that that *was* the answer, what then might Bodie have been pondering that
could have blinded him to his fleshly impulses? 

 *George Cowley? * 

 The man had haunted Bodie's dreams for years, a phantom from his past
Bodie believed would follow him to his death--if he did not somehow
contrive to take a hand in that death. A vague image of Bodie blanking the
screen on his personal monitor as Doyle had entered the flight deck
flickered into prominence. Obsessed with purely physical matters at that
moment, Doyle had given Bodie's secretive action no thought. Was it
possible that Bodie had been attempting to track George Cowley's movements
even then? 

 It was time Doyle pursued his inquiry--begun on Vaux in Gilla's
house--regarding this George Cowley. While it was not his intention to
intrude on Bodie's privacy, he did like to think that Bodie might benefit
from a fresh viewpoint. 

 Unfortunately, Doyle's schedule over the next few days presumed many
hours committed to the upgrading of the ship's stand-alone computers.
Interruptions like the one just experienced--however pleasurable--would
force him to work well into the evenings, should they continue. If that
were the case, Doyle would just have to make the time to peruse the
vid-cube and those few documents he had taken from Targeon's chest. Not
that he expected to find much there: Nevertheless it was as good a place
as any at which to begin. 

 ******

At dinner, Bodie was unmistakably abstracted. He picked at his food and
shiftily eyed his watch every few minutes. Before a quarter of an hour had
elapsed, he excused himself, brushed a kiss across Doyle's mouth, and
departed. As he strode into the corridor outside the galley, he called
over his shoulder, "I'll be on the flight deck for the rest of the
evening. Want to get a few more refits double-checked, okay?" 

 "Okay," Doyle said, though Bodie could not have heard him by then. 

 At the opposite end of the table Asper squatted low before the edge of
the plate prepared especially for him. His meal, like Bodie's, had been
scarcely touched. 

 Reaching out a finger, Doyle stroked the sfang's silken feathers.
"Catching, is it?" he asked morosely. 

 Asper pressed into the Vauxan's touch and chirred softly. 

 "Must go, old son." Doyle picked up a morsel and offered it to the sfang.
He had a glimpse of tiny sharp teeth as the creature snapped the chunk of
cheese out of his hand. "Leave the fingers, eh?" he scolded without any
real rebuke. 

 Then he was on his feet, stretching achingly as he started for the door.
"Only a couple more stations to do tonight," he said wearily. "Don't know
why I'm so knackered." 

 Chittering loudly, Asper clicked his forepaws together. 

 "Okay, so I *do* know. Wise guy." He paused at the opening. "You're
welcome to join me, y'know?" 

 When Asper only stared back at him, Doyle lifted his shoulders,
unoffended. "Right. Later, mate." 

 ******

Doggedly Doyle pushed on with his computer work until well into the
evening. All the while he determinedly kept his mind on the job, even
though the tendrils of arousal had been on the move since before dinner. 

 This time he was bent on identifying the agent of his lust--the irony
that his intense attraction to Bodie might be a contributing factor not at
all lost on him. In fact, what he hoped to do--that is, sort out his
feelings from those of his bonded partner at a time when they were both
possessed of a very similar condition--could well nigh be impossible for
any Vauxan, not only a half-breed. But if he had any hope at all of doing
so, he must track the phenomenon from its earliest spark through to
ignition, at which point rational study quite simply became impossible. 

 Just after eight, Doyle completed the last assignment of the day--the
refit of the slave unit located in the galley--and made his way to his
cabin. Once there he crossed immediately to the small desk where he had
stored Targeon's things. Lifting them out with a kind of reverence, Doyle
straightened and turned for his bed. The soft flurry of sfang wings
announced Asper's arrival. 

 "Hello, there," Doyle greeted blandly. The sfang alighted on his
shoulder; automatically, Doyle steadied the small creature with a hand.
"Going to look through this lot with me, are you? C'mon, then. Make
yourself comfortable." 

 Doyle settled on his bunk, the rogue image of Bodie lying here naked and
beguilingly tumescent springing full-blown into his mind, reminding him
that the minimal shields he had erected nearly an hour ago were proving
inadequate to their purpose. Soon, he would have to act, or block Bodie's
broadcasting altogether--and the latter was simply not an option. 

 His face a picture of studied concentration, Doyle lifted his companion
from his shoulder, aware on one level of his mind that Asper was
complaining irritably. He placed the sfang on the bedclothes beside his
thigh and took up the documents-folder that had been in Targeon's
possession at the moment of his death. 

 Travel authorizations; passports for those zones requiring them, of which
there were three; immunization and fertility certifications; psychological
profile; a listing of next of kin; an old-fashioned photograph of Doyle
and Targeon, taken by Doyle's father not long before Gilla had sent
Targeon home to continue his education; and a hologram of Targeon's wife
and child: All of these things Doyle had seen before but not for many
years. Targeon's death had brought him back to Vaux for the first time in
a decade. Dealing with his grief as best he could, Doyle had spent several
hours going through his effects. Not surprisingly, by then Gilla had
already disposed of most of her son's things; Doyle had not faulted her
for it. 

 There were no answers here, but he had not really expected any. As he
tucked the various items back into their original packet, he squirmed a
little: Desire suffused his entire being, down to the most insignificant
molecule, it seemed. He was flushed with it, and slightly breathless. 

 He meant to hold out a little longer. One thing he had learned through
this evening's experiment was that he was not solely responsible for these
voluptuous moods--Bodie *had* to be transmitting as well. Given that
conclusion, Doyle did not feel overly guilty for retaining his control as
long as possible--especially seeing that Bodie had yet to put in an
appearance. 

 He set the documents packet aside and took up the vid-cube. Activating
the mechanism with unsteady fingers, Doyle raised the oculus to his eyes.
The images collected here represented those people and things Targeon had
held most dear. They featured alien worlds as well as Gilla's back garden;
Targeon's father and Gilla, as well as Gilla with her doctor husband,
Doyle. To some extent his own past played before his eyes as well, though
his familiarity with the contents of this vid-cube may have contributed to
that feeling. Near the end of his viewing, Doyle interrupted the program,
his exclamation of recognition causing Asper, who had been dozing
fitfully, to come bristlingly awake. 

 "Sorry, mate." Doyle soothed the sfang with a quick caress. 

 Increasing the magnification at one edge of the temporarily frozen image,
Doyle narrowed his eyes. He knew that well-shaped skull, the smooth cap of
jet black hair, the solid curve of a broad shoulder, and the lean tapering
of flank to hip. *Bodie. * So, he had been captured by an imager, after
all, though his instantaneous action had ensured that nothing
identifiable--except to someone who knew him very well--existed. In the
next second, he would have been completely out of the frame. 

 Flushed with triumph, Doyle ran the program to the end, then picked his
way through it once more, searching for other details that he might have
missed. That single fragment of Bodie, however, was the only item of note
to be found. 

 With the vid-cube resting deactivated in his palm, Doyle leaned back and
moaned softly. Untouched, he was nevertheless hardening at a fresh surge
of molten urgency. He must go now, lest he be driven to assuage the
simmering need himself--such liberty not encouraged amongst bonded
partners, unless separated. Targeon's Last Word would have to wait until
later. 

 Sliding off the bed onto rubbery limbs, Doyle took care not to disturb
Asper this time--only to find the sfang staring up at him with four-eyed
intensity. "Sorry, sunshine." With his feet more or less steady beneath
him, he scissored long legs toward the bulkhead. "You just go back to
sleep, eh?" 

 ******

"Expected you long before now," Bodie said. His mouth smiled--smirked,
actually--but his face was ashen, as if with great weariness. 

 Regarding him through a covetous haze, Doyle ventured, "Look like you
should be in bed, mate." His mouth was dry and his heart thudded heavily
in his throat. 

 "Now that's a subtle invitation." Bodie switched the ship's sensors to
automatic. "Can you wait till then, or would you rather--?" A hand swept
round the inside of the cockpit, completing the question. 

 "If you'd rather I *not* disturb you at all, I can handle the matter
myself," Doyle replied shortly, a trifle stung by his partner's cavalier
attitude. 

 Bodie sobered at once. Then, with an irrepressible twinkle in his eyes,
he said mildly, "No double entendre intended, right?" 

 A tiny smile cracked the frozen landscape of Doyle's features. "Bastard."


 "Sorry, sunshine." Bodie rose from his seat and reached out for Doyle.
Pulling him into the circle of his arms, he lowered his head until it came
to rest heavily on Doyle's shoulder. "Just worn out, I reckon. Nothing I
like more than hours and hours of systems checks following a major refit,
y'know?" 

 "Not to mention a lover who won't leave you alone?" 

 Bodie drew back and fixed Doyle with dark blue eyes. "You've been the
best part of the day--every time. I *mean* that. And I *have* been
thinking about you--for hours, in fact--so I can't blame--" 

 "I know. Bodie, can we--?" 

 "--go to bed? It would certainly be more comfortable than in here, I
agree." 

 But before Doyle could guide him into the corridor, Bodie tightened his
hold, his mouth pressed warmly against Doyle's throat. "Love you, Ray." 

 Bodie's tenderness was almost Doyle's undoing, his raw feelings
eradicated in an instant. "And you." 

 Touching his lips to Doyle's forehead, Bodie whispered, "Then let's prove
it once more, eh?" 

 ******

They lay together under a thin sheet, still coupled. The heat of Doyle's
cabin surrounded them like a cocoon, ripening the scent of their
lovemaking and the sweaty tang of their efforts, the resultant musk heavy
on the recirculated air. 

 "All right?" Bodie whispered. Curled around Doyle's back, he made a
wonderful, living blanket, supplying the greater temperature that Doyle
always craved. 

 "Perfectly. You?" 

 "Was afraid I might've hurt you; you shouldn't've--" 

 Doyle gave a muffled hiccup of laughter. "You couldn't hurt me if you
wanted to. What's a little enthusiasm?" 

 "You did get me going, mate. I've never quite let go like...." The
sentence died, unfinished. When he spoke again, a minute or more later,
Bodie's voice had dropped a register. "And you're wrong, I *did* hurt you,
didn't I? You know--before: You thought I was making fun of your wanting
me." 

 "Wouldn't've held it against you if you had. I've been a right nuisance
lately." 

 Soft, moist lips nuzzled behind Doyle's left ear. "Which, according to
you, has been *my* fault. In my humble opinion that makes it *our* fault.
If you need me, Ray, you've got me. Any time, anywhere. Within reason, of
course." 

 "Of course." 

 "And anyway, what's a little enthusiasm?" 

 Doyle hid a grin in his pillow. At peace with himself, flagrantly sated
and bonelessly relaxed, he wanted nothing more at that moment than to lie
here with his lover and slip painlessly beneath the surface into the
nether realms of sleep. Far enough gone that he barely stirred when Bodie
extricated himself from his body then began a gentle mopping up, Doyle
nevertheless sensed the almost inaudible rush of sfang wings hovering a
short distance away--in the doorway, perhaps? 

 More than half asleep, Doyle frowned. 

 ******

"Pass the marmalade, please." Bodie held up his knife, which was already
smeared with *ungul* butter and dotted with bread crumbs, and waited
expectantly. 

 Surveying his partner from beneath purplish eyelids, Doyle exclaimed,
"That's not *all* you're eating?" 

 "I'll grab a bite in an hour or so." He steepled his thick brows
meaningfully. "Behind schedule, y'know. The marmalade, please." 

 Sluggishly obedient, Doyle wagged his head slowly. "Was *you* who started
things this morning, y'know? *I* was still dead to the world." 

 "Didn't take you long to resurrect, though did it?" Bodie gave him an
overbearingly cheery wink. His gaze softened as Doyle succumbed to a
jaw-splitting yawn. "Besides, who woke *me* up three times during the
night? Don't hear *me* complaining, do you?" 

 Finding the weight of his eyelashes almost insuperably heavy, Doyle
countered tartly, "That's 'cause *I* did all the work." 

 "But the outcome was to your satisfaction, was it not? Every single
time?" 

 Doyle dissolved into a grudging smile. He sighed. "Passive resistance, I
think it's called." 

 "Nothing passive about it, if it gets the job done," Bodie asserted
self-righteously. 

 "Hark, listen to you." 

 Brushing crumbs off his hands and swallowing down the last of his toast,
Bodie stood up. He scooped up his cup of tea. Winking once more, he said
amiably, "I'll be on the flight deck if you need me, sunshine." 

 He strode out of the galley, leaving Doyle alone. 

 Chewing by rote, Doyle stared into middle distance, scarcely fit to order
his thoughts, let alone contemplate the day ahead. And it was a full day
that awaited him. The prospect did not fire his enthusiasm. 

 A hand cupped under his chin, Doyle closed his eyes and surrendered to
the drowsiness that blurred the edges of his consciousness like a clinging
mist. As he sat there, a chirring sound announced the arrival of the
sfang. A current of air and the tap of a forepaw brought his eyes
fractionally open: Asper hung suspended just in front of him, his
unreadable black stare demanding some as yet unstated response. 

 " 'Morning, Asper." With his lower jaw held immobile in his hand, Doyle's
words were only vaguely intelligible. 

 Asper, however, did not rely on the spoken word for communication. He was
ravenous and conveyed that fact in the best way he knew how. 

 Wincing as Asper's clamoring hunger collided with his own full stomach's
distress, Doyle found himself dizzyingly wide awake. "All right, all
right," he groaned, holding his head as he stumbled from the chair. From
the perishable food stores cupboard, he selected one of the prepackaged
sfang meals that Bodie had specially prepared whenever he put into port.
As Doyle turned with the meal in hand, prior to placing it in the
processor, Asper rocketed into the air above Doyle's head and commenced a
fierce racket. 

 "What?" Doyle asked blankly. Images blasted into his mind, incoherent and
disjointed. Seizing on the underlying tone of Asper's protest, Doyle
translated, "You want something else instead?" 

 Asper plopped down on his shoulder and began to bob energetically. 

 "Care to give me an idea what that something else might be?" Stretching
forth his forepaws, Asper waggled his talons in the direction of the
stores cupboard. 

 "Good enough." Doyle released the safety latch on the cupboard door and
held it wide. "So, what d'you fancy, then?" 

 Leaping from the Vauxan's shoulder, Asper set about more closely
examining the food products contained therein. From one item to another he
flitted, pausing briefly here, lingering there, then moving on again and
again. 

 Standing with hands on hips, Doyle watched the sfang, a bemused
expression easing his strained features. He had never known Asper to
refuse a meal of any kind. Now, when the creature landed on a packet,
clasped all six jointed legs around it, and lifted it from the cupboard,
he put out a hand and speechlessly accepted the choice. 

 *Essence of brinjal? * Aware only that this was one of Bodie's preferred
selections, Doyle placed the packet in the processor under Asper's
supervision and set the appropriate program. 

 Alighting again on Doyle's shoulder, Asper scraped his forepaws together.


 "Only take a minute, mate," Doyle said, turning his cheek against a
smooth flank. "Wish you had said something sooner." 

 The timer hummed as the processor delivered the packet to the preparation
chamber, now reconstituted to its basic state but awaiting further
processing. 

 "So-- Do I heat it, chill it? Or do you want it as-is?" 

 In answer, Asper floated down to the edge of the counter where the
processor resided. He scrabbled onto the floor of the preparation chamber
and started forward, as if he would march right inside. Before he could
tend to the meal himself, Doyle gathered the creature up and returned him
to his shoulder. 

 "Uh uh. Manners, my lad." With that, Doyle removed the brinjal packet
from the appliance, pried the seals off the casing, and set the opened
serving in the center of the table. 

 So quickly Doyle saw only a blur of white, Asper fell upon the dish and
began to gulp it down. 

 "Steady on, Asper," Doyle said uneasily. Usually a delicate eater, Asper
was wolfing down large mouthfuls of the spicy substance in a wholly
uncharacteristic manner. Despite his misgiving, Doyle decided that nobody
seemed quite himself these days, and kept the mild reprimand poised on the
tip of his tongue to himself. 

 Giving gritty eyes a rub, he was just thinking that it might be time to
start the day's chores, when Asper vaulted into the air and fled the room,
his meal half-eaten. 

 Doyle heaved a great sigh. "Right," he grumbled to himself. "Best leave
this out in case the little bugger decides he's hungry again. *I* have
work to do." 

 ******

The remainder of the morning was taken up in Bodie's cabin. There Doyle
installed advanced software and added new peripherals to his partner's
computer. The job went easily though not quickly; it was a multi-task
process that simply took time. But Doyle was accustomed to the vagaries of
his particular avocation, even when it occasionally proved altogether too
tedious for his liking. At the moment, Targeon's Last Word lured him like
a siren--more because he wanted to see how his brother had viewed Bodie
than for any other reason; certainly, George Cowley would not warrant a
mention--that name, in any case, was one that would have stood out in
Doyle's mind, even through all the intervening years since he had last
read his brother's document. 

 Following that, he would launch a search for information specifically
relating to George Cowley. If he had not made such a late start, he would
have tried to squeeze in a break in his own cabin to at least finish off
his inspection of the items taken from Targeon's chest. 

 Unfortunately, the middle of the morning was already upon him, and he
estimated that he still had a third of the way to go. When the all too
familiar tightening in his groin impinged on his senses, he bit his lower
lip and gave a growl of sheer frustration. 

 After yesterday, last night, and this morning, he ought to have no need
for a renewed bout of mindless passion--no matter how hot-blooded he might
be. In fact, Bodie had taken him to shivering heights *twice* before
releasing him from their shared bed. 

 *To wear him out? * 

 A sardonic smile shadowed Doyle's full mouth. If that were indeed the
case--and, in all fairness, he could not be sure that it was--it would
appear that Bodie's ploy had not worked. And in any event, Doyle had
already decided on another course of action. Of the opinion that prompt
action might forestall his twin-edged complaint, Doyle at once ended the
current sequence of checks, set the unit on stand-by, and headed for the
door. 

 Moments later, he was in the great main cargo hold, which stood empty
save for the exercise equipment that Doyle had provided for his daily
work-outs. He sat in the middle of the mat, haltingly pulling on his
running shoes, his fingers proving irritatingly uncooperative. His work
clothing lay in a heap at the far end of the pad; in their place he wore
loose-fitting, warming trousers and no shirt. 

 Sexual heat sang in his veins, exhorting him to forego this silly
exercise and see to his immediate needs. His head clamored with it, his
hands shook, his genitals hung heavy and maddeningly sensitive upon his
upper thighs. He could think of nothing but Bodie--Bodie, alabaster smooth
and pale, sprawled on his back with legs spread wide, pleading for Doyle
to impale him now, now, right *now*-- 

 Still, he took to his feet, trying to focus his mind. The length of
hardened flesh filling his support pants mocked his purpose. *Any time,
anywhere. * Every step brought unbearable pressure against his willful
erection. Gritting his teeth, Doyle left off walking and began a slow jog,
increasing the pace with each step, hands tightly fisted, heart
thundering. 

 The first circuit was self-imposed torment; the second, during which
Doyle picked up speed, shifted his concentration toward the physical
effort of catapulting his body forward. Almost imperceptibly, the grinding
sexual urge began to ease its stranglehold on Doyle's consciousness. With
tentative exhilaration--and a modicum of guilt (he was, after all, denying
Bodie as well as himself), Doyle pushed himself even harder. The sound of
his footfalls were muted on the reinforced but resilient, hold floor. That
steady *thup, thup, thup* and the susurrus of his breath were the only
noises to be heard. 

 Until Asper appeared, clicking furiously, right overhead. 

 Startled, Doyle glanced up, then away--for the sfang was diving straight
toward his head. A clump of hair fell prey to Asper's talons; in the next
second it was snatched up and tugged--very painfully. 

 Giving a yelp, Doyle lurched forward, trying to escape his attacker. This
a game they had played before, he readily took part, welcoming the
distraction in the hope that it would create a wholly natural barricade to
Bodie's unruly broadcasting. 

 Round they went, and round again, Asper diving and strafing, occasionally
connecting with Doyle's curls, and once dealing a burning scratch to the
back of his neck. 

 "Watch it!" Doyle objected, but pelted on. He felt in command of himself
for the first time in days, his thoughts his own, his needs held in check,
his body no longer his enemy. 

 And yet-- 

 Impossibly, a fireball of pure lust exploded inside him, rampant
sensation licking out from every nerve ending, lush carnality laying waste
to what had proved to be a very tenuous control. Groaning aloud, Doyle
refused to stop, not even when the sfang dropped onto him and began to
tear at his curls. 

 Beyond reason, Doyle broke stride and skidded to a halt. Throwing his
hands up, he ripped Asper--along with several strands of his own
hair--free of his head and heaved him upward, toward the upper deck. Asper
let out a blood-curdling screech, extended his wings to stall his forward
momentum, and dove *straight down*. 

 Defiant, Doyle stood with his arms at his sides, chest heaving with each
panted breath, glinting green eyes unflinchingly tracking the sfang's
approach. In two heartbeats Asper was upon him, wings and legs at full
extension. The sfang wrapped himself round Doyle's head, the
acid-producing ducts on the underside of his body pressed tightly against
the Vauxan's vulnerable face. For an instant, suffocated beneath gamy
feathers, Doyle knew a twinge of fear. 

 Then, gently, he reached up and peeled the trembling sfang off his face. 

 *So! * 

 Holding the shattered creature a few inches away, he looked with concern
into four fathomless eyes. "Silly bugger," he breathed. 

 He might have said more, but Asper broke free and shot off toward the
entryway. There the sfang rose abruptly to avoid crashing into Bodie, who
stood paralyzed beside the exercise mat. Huge-eyed, the human swivelled
his head round to follow Asper's passage as he careered into the corridor.


 At the sound of Doyle's purposeful approach, Bodie turned to face him,
his complexion shock-white, his eyes filled with horror. "You're not
hurt?" 

 "Nope," Doyle said matter-of-factly, even though Asper's epiphanical
revelation had shaken him. He would have to wait until later to consider
the ramifications--later, once his mind was his own again. For now-- 

 He reached for Bodie's shirt, and, with hands twisted inside the open
collar at his throat, tore it open. 

 "Ray?" Bodie said his name faintly. Hearing nothing, Doyle callously
stripped his partner bare. Then he kissed him with savage intensity before
tumbling him down onto the mat. "On your knees, Bodie," he commanded
brusquely, shoving his own trousers down to his ankles and kicking them
off. 

 Half on his side, Bodie simply stared up at him, every trace of
expression wiped clean from his face--though the paleness remained. 

 Gathering the last shreds of control with difficulty, Doyle sucked in a
shuddering breath. "I won't rape you. But I--" 

 "That's thoughtful of you." 

 The sharp voice cut into Doyle like a blade forged of jagged ice.
Lowering himself to the mat in front of his partner, he gasped, "I--" 

 Two dark brows rose condemningly, the blue eyes beneath flinty with
scorn. 

 "I'm sorry," Doyle choked out. He extended a hand and shakily traced the
curve of Bodie's jaw. "I am sorry." Then he rose in one fluid movement and
bolted for the entryway. 

 *"Doyle!" * 

 Stopping at that moment required a strength of will Doyle would not have
believed himself capable of. But stop he did. A few seconds later, he even
succeeded in turning round to face the human. 

 Sitting now with one hand slung across an upraised knee, Bodie beckoned
with a finger. There was nothing of reproach in his face anymore, nothing
of anger, nothing at all, in fact, that Doyle could decipher. Like a man
nearing the gallows, he obeyed Bodie's summons, the killing ache in his
genitals a dull throb that chastised him with every tiny movement. 

 "You scared me," Bodie said without embroidery. "If you'd tried to fuck
me just then, you'd've damaged yourself as well as me, y'know? Think I'm
okay now, though, if you want to give it a try." 

 Doyle shut his eyes and sank heavily down onto the mat a few feet away.
"I--" 

 "Ah, Ray-- You're hurting, aren't you?" 

 Before Doyle could conjure a reply, Bodie was beside him. A gentling hand
came forth to stroke him, to cradle, to knead, Bodie's every touch a
promise of fulfillment to come. Before long the hand was replaced with
Bodie's mouth, hot and wet and very knowing. 

 A helpless groan escaped Doyle; he resisted the temptation to ravage that
molding warmth. What remained of his rationality, however, was fast
evaporating before white-hot passion. 

 All at once even that comfort was taken away. "Bodie, please!" he cried
out. 

 But Bodie had only drawn away to arrange himself on his knees, head down,
bottom angled up for Doyle's pleasure. "C'mon, mate," he said, teeth
gritted. "Do me while you're still slick, eh?" 

 By this time Doyle had no choice but to take what was offered. He moved
into position behind the incautious human, braced himself with one hand on
Bodie's hip, and with the other guided his too-hard erection between
lightly downed buttocks. Beyond finesse, he sheathed himself in one
desperate lunge, then, clinging to Bodie's back, began to ride him
brutally. 

 It took only a few minutes for Doyle to reach orgasm. Helpless, he
dissolved into glittering, searing sensation. Everything became
inconsequential then--everything except Bodie, who lay quivering but
uncomplaining beneath him, his body providing the succor that Doyle had
demanded so urgently. 

 "Oh, Bodie." Doyle rubbed his cheek against Bodie's shoulder.
Self-disgust and shame burned like acid inside him. 

 "Don't." Bodie's voice was harsh. "Look, Ray, can you move--?" 

 "Of course. I'm sor--" 

 *"Don't you fucking say it!" * Bodie snarled. "Don't ever again apologize
for doing that, d'you hear me?" 

 "But I--" 

 "D'you *hear* me?" he shouted. 

 Withdrawing from Bodie's body with great care, Doyle muttered, "Hard not
to." 

 Freed, Bodie rolled onto his back and reached for Doyle, who was
examining himself for traces of Bodie's blood. 

 "Come here, you idiot." 

 Given no opportunity to object, Doyle only managed to throw out his hands
before his weight could crush his unconcerned partner. Bodie's
straightforward gaze, darkly blue and sparking with exasperation,
reassured him as mere words could not. 

 "You're really not angry?" Doyle insisted. 

 "Bloody moron, aren't you?" Bodie took hold of one of Doyle's hands and
placed it on his own swollen member. "Now *I'm* hurting, and I'd be ever
so grateful if you'd kindly do something about that." 

 Startled out of his misery, Doyle craned his head in order to verify with
sight what touch had already disclosed. 

 "You're *not* angry," Doyle remarked, amazed. 

 "Will be, if you don't get on with it," Bodie informed him with silken
menace. 

 Biting his lip hard at this unlooked for reprieve, Doyle hunched forward
and gave his lover a searching kiss. Then slowly raising his head, he
hazarded a glance at Bodie's face--only to be humbled by what he found
there: A vast reserve of love and understanding he presently felt wholly
unworthy of. 

 "Bodie," he whispered, every raw emotion perilously close to the surface.


 "Shh," Bodie assured him with a melting smile. " 'S all right, eh?" 

 Swallowing hard, Doyle mumbled, "Right. I-- What was I--?" 

 "You were about to get on with it, weren't you?" 

 "Ah. Well, then-- I'll just get on with it, shall I?" 

 And get on with it, he did. 

 ******

"So what was all that between you and Asper?" Bodie sat at the galley
table, half-drunk cup of tea girdled by both hands. 

 Slouching in his chair, opposite his partner, Doyle said cautiously, " 'M
not entirely certain." Until he had had an opportunity to dissect his new
comprehension of Asper's aberrant behavior, he meant to keep his thoughts
to himself. 

 "But you've got an idea, haven't you?" 

 Doyle shrugged. 

 "He was about to lay into you," Bodie persisted. "That's the way sfangi
kill their victims; they go right for the face." "Things just got out of
control," Doyle muttered. Doubt emanated from Bodie like sparks from a
flame; Doyle ignored it. "And anyway, if he'd wanted me dead, I would be.
Simple as that, eh?" 

 "Hm." Bodie let go of his mug and laid his hand on the table; he waited
until Doyle had enclosed it in a warm palm before remarking, "When I said
you scared me--and I wasn't referring to your wanting to fuck me,
y'know?--well, I wasn't exactly telling the truth." 

 "No?" 

 "Only, my heart stopped," Bodie explained. His gaze was penetratingly
direct. "Whatever possessed Asper to do that?" 

 "Just out of sorts like the rest of us, maybe?" 

 Bodie appeared unconvinced. "He's never done that before." 

 "So perhaps I play rougher with him than you do. And, you know that we
operate on a slightly different level, both of us being sort of empathic."
Doyle raised his partner's fingers to his cheek. "Bodie, I'm sorry I acted
the lout; you should've thumped me." 

 Lowering his eyes, Bodie gave his head a shake. "After a bout like that?
'Ve never been so hot in my life." 

 "True?" 

 "True." 

 Some of the bruisedness in Doyle's expression gave way before his crooked
smile. "Then you'd better have a good memory. It'll probably never happen
again." 

 Unperturbed, Bodie countered, "We'll just see about that, my lad." 

 "We will?" 

 "We will." Glancing into the bottom of his cup, Bodie stated, "By the
way, I noticed Targeon's vid-cube and Last Word on your bedside cupboard."


 "Did you?" Doyle said guilelessly. "I have them on loan from Gilla." 

 "Any particular reason?" 

 Turning Bodie's hand over and back over again, Doyle replied, "Just
feeling a bit nostalgic, I reckon." 

 With a twitch of eloquent brows, Bodie wordlessly asked him to elaborate.


 A little defensively, Doyle said, "He *was* my brother." 

 Bodie nodded understandingly. "And my friend. I do understand, Ray. At
least, I think I do." 

 ******

There was much to divert Doyle's mind while he finished the installation
of the upgrades in Bodie's computer. Despite the emotional inducement of
seeking Asper out immediately, he chose to gather his thoughts into some
sort of ragged order first, well aware that the detailed and familiar work
would not divert him. 

 He had discovered something rather shocking during his confrontation with
Asper: Bodie had *not* been responsible for the barrage of lusty images
that had colored Doyle's every waking--and sleeping--hour over the past
couple of days after all. Rather, they had been generated by Asper. More
accurately, they had been recreated by Asper from the originals, utilizing
enough of Bodie's signature emotive patterns to befool Doyle into
believing they came from his partner. Now, Doyle was able to employ the
appropriate barriers to protect himself against future assaults.
Unfortunately, the effects of Asper's last attempt at tampering had not
been so easily overcome: Hence, his ruthless treatment of Bodie. 

 He had also divined from Asper's manic behaviour that the urge to
stimulate his and Bodie's mating habits had been completely beyond the
sfang's awareness and control. In those moments when Doyle had succeeded
in denying his unwanted arousal, Asper had become frantic with
frustration--and it was that frustration communicated to Doyle that had at
last given him some idea of what was really going on. 

 So who, or what, had ultimately engineered Asper's curious predicament?
And what might it mean for the three of them in the days to come? 

 Waiting for the set-up program to wind down at last, Doyle stretched his
arms overhead, joined his fingers together and loudly cracked his
knuckles. Then he bent forward once more and accessed the ship's library. 

 After a few moments of scrolling through various subheadings, Doyle
brought up a dauntingly scholarly treatise on the behaviour of laboratory
sfangi, which turned out to be quite expansive and heavily foot-noted. Not
to be put off, Doyle returned to the chapter listing and commenced a
lengthy browse of topics encompassed. 

 Then he plunged into the introduction, a brief and sardonically written
synopsis of how the scientific community had come to study the sfang.
Initial experimentation had been undertaken a century or so before under
the aegis of the military arm of the Consortium--even though by then
biological weaponry had long been proscribed. 

 The family of Sfangi--a rather genetically pure species with regard to
size, shape, coloration and physical ability--had proven an exceedingly
formidable laboratory specimen, for they were generally immune to standard
anesthetics. This had soon come to mean that the only vivisectable sfang
was a dead sfang--and even the least pedant amongst the group had been
forced to concede the contradiction. Worse, dead sfangi were hardly better
research material due to the acid-induced molecular breakdown that took
place within instants of death. 

 Even so, until researchers had contrived to accumulate minimal specifics
regarding levels and degree of poison, electro-shock, and simple violence
necessary to invite but not quite invoke the death-state, the clever and
unpredictable creatures had been known to play dead--only to spring "back"
to life once taken from the confines of their specially designed
cages--with predictable results. 

 Sfangi had also been found to be master escape artists. Given this
talent, along with their by then well-known refractory and violent
natures, sfangi had soon been abandoned as possible pawns of the military
establishment. 

 This distasteful prologue out of the way, Doyle then skipped to the
chapter entitled *Breeding*. At the outset, the writer absolved himself
for the sparcity of exact data represented therein, citing the nature of
the sfang and consequently limited laboratory experimentation as his
defense. 

 As Bodie had once told him, sfangi were not averse to breeding under
clinical conditions. They were, however, unforthcoming as to the mechanics
involved. Insofar as the researchers had been able to determine, sfangi
were largely independent, non-monogamous, and preferred to mate in
private. This, the writer reported, was assumed to be the natural
resolution to the sfang's tendency of "broadcasting" strong emotions, and
the agitation that occurred amongst other sfangi caught within the range
of any such transmissions. The assumption seemed logical, given that
sfangi were also known to aspire to a solitary existence, seldom being
seen in the wild with other adults or young. 

 It had been determined that the reproductive cycle was uncommonly brief,
lasting only a few days from the moment of mating to the instant of
"hatching," though the term did not strictly parallel that applied to most
oviparous creatures. During the brief gestation period, the pregnant sfang
would undertake certain activities identified as "nesting": It would seek
a comparatively private place--the highest, darkest spot in the cage--and
there it would festoon adherable surfaces with the gelatinous globs out of
which its young would ultimately erupt. 

 Such a site would also be outfitted with a shallow lair formed from
whatever odds and ends might be available--hair, feathers, slow-decaying
foodstuffs, and anything else that might be got in a lab environment--all
of which would be glued together with an extruded binding agent. The
actual nest would not be used until *after* the neonates had not only
extracted themselves from their suspended birth membranes, loosened their
wings--usually with the help of their mother--and undertaken their first
harrowing flights. Only then would they seek the solace of the lair. 

 Fascinated, but as yet unenlightened regarding Asper's affliction, Doyle
scrolled a little further through the document until he came upon a more
promising section bearing the beguiling title *Unusual Phenomena*. 

 As the writer persuasively argued, much of what onlookers had categorized
as "unusual behavior" amongst breeding sfangi had likely stemmed from the
unnatural environment in which they had been forced to live. 

 Doyle gave a sympathetic shudder, his experiences in a crowded prison on
Stepney uncomfortably fresh in his mind. 

 Among such topics as complications of pregnancy and birth, and birth
defects, Doyle found brief mention of nesting activity in *nongravid*
sfangi. The information presented was offered mainly for its interesting
aspects, as even the scientists of the day had heatedly disputed those
findings. According to the writer, the phenomenon was presumed to have
resulted from stimulation "overflowing" from mating couples. And, whilst
the study of gender in animate sfangi had never developed into an exact
science--for obvious reasons--it had appeared that *males* as well as
females could suffer such deleterious effects. In other words, those
sfangi incapable of removing themselves to a defensible distance could be
affected by sexual stimulus not directed toward them--to the extreme of
"rebroadcasting" the stimulation they had experienced, as well as
embarking upon nesting behavior which never culminated in the throwing of
offspring. 

 Doyle raised his head and stared at the opposite wall. So-- In
unguardedly sharing his feelings with Bodie--and in amplifying and echoing
Bodie's feelings back to him, Doyle had unwittingly foisted their sexual
arousal onto the hapless sfang? 

 A guilty smile crept across Doyle's mouth. Poor Asper: A "nongravid,
nesting sfang"! Wait until he told Bodie! 

 Dropping his gaze back to the screen, Doyle skimmed through the remainder
of the information, learning, much to his relief, that a synthetic
medicament, administered to correct the hormonal disruption, would usually
alleviate most of the affected sfang's symptoms. Otherwise, the distraught
creature could do nothing but suffer through. This, too, was disputed, and
the treatise accordingly directed the reader to the subsection entitled
*Unusual Phenomena--Unsubstantiated*. Also, details were cited for special
shielding that would eliminate further incidents involving susceptible
sfangi. 

 Having seen all he needed to, Doyle invoked an electronic "book-mark" to
keep his place for later reading--they would need that shielding
specification--and then signed off from the program. The pharmaceuticals
computer in the medical chamber, recently updated to include Vauxan- *and*
sfang-specific information, would contain the recommended uses and dosages
of any reported physic--no matter the application. 

 Quitting Bodie's cabin at once, Doyle almost collided with the object of
his studies just outside the door. Images brilliant, sensuously evocative,
and largely incomprehensible skittered through his mind. Almost as
quickly, the imposition ended. Eyes tightly shut as he attempted--with
considerable success--to clear the minimal but disorienting residue, Doyle
looked up a few seconds later to discover that he was once more alone. 

 Asper had vanished. 

 Determinedly re-erecting his shields against another such intrusion,
Doyle struck off down the corridor which led to the medical station. 

 ******

"Hi." 

 His concentration sundered, Doyle gave up staring at the monitor--no
hardship following several hours of non-stop effort--and greeted Bodie
with a wan smile. "Hi, yourself." 

 "Missed you," Bodie said pensively. To Doyle, he looked tired: Dark
smudges surrounded still lambent blue but red-rimmed eyes, and the
familiar pallor was tinged with grey. 

 "Must be dinner time," Doyle said lightly. 

 "Soulless sod." 

 "You always say that when I'm on to you." 

 "Hm. You *were* intending to eat some time this evening, weren't you?" 

 At this plaintive statement, Doyle's impish grin spread across his face.
"I'd forgotten, actually. Trying to catch up with my projects, y'know." 

 "All in a good cause." Bodie lifted a hand to push a clump of heavy curls
away from Doyle's temple. "Shall I cobble something together, then?" 

 Turning his head into the warm palm, Doyle murmured, "I'll just come with
you, shall I?" Several hours had passed since he had explained to Bodie
the cause both of their heightened sexuality and Asper's unusual
aggressiveness. Bodie had not been amused. 

 "Only if you want to." 

 Green eyes sparkling, Doyle shrugged. "Why not?" 

 "You're feeling smug," Bodie observed. "Cured the resident assassin of
his malady--" 

 "Not cured, exactly," Doyle interrupted. 

 "As near as. And not before time. Y'know, while it was lovely while it
lasted, Ray, you must've taken two years off me." "Nearly as many pounds,
as well." A thin finger impolitely prodded Bodie's flat abdomen. 

 "Prick. Think I liked you better when you were panting after me all the
time." 

 With a menacing growl, Doyle twisted his head around and snagged Bodie's
forefinger between his teeth. He slowly drew it into his mouth. Lazily
watching his partner's reaction, Doyle began to suck on the knuckled
member. 

 "Yeah, okay," Bodie conceded with ill grace. "You can still get me going.
Monster. Ow!" 

 Hastily separating his jaws, Doyle barely avoided having his front teeth
loosened. "Watch it!" 

 "You bit me!" 

 "Not that hard." 

 "Hard enough." 

 Doyle's mock irritation crumbled before Bodie's wounded mien. "Okay. Just
give me a few minutes more to finish up here. After that, I'll scrape
something together for dinner. Then we'll away to bed. Look like you could
do with an early night, you do. What d'you say?" 

 Fidgeting from one foot to the other, Bodie mumbled, "Can't." 

 "Why not?" Doyle asked, at a loss. "You've been keeping your nose to the
monitor since we navigated Hendon Gate." His brows angled downward as a
niggling memory reluctantly surfaced. " 'S not because of that vibration
you imagined, is it?" 

 "*Imagined? *" Bodie glared at his partner. "I didn't imagine that! And
if you hadn't had your balls all knotted up by that bloody sfang, you'd've
felt it, too!" 

 One hand spread wide in front of him, Doyle said, "Maybe so. But, Bodie,
it can't be anything that serious, can it? Just one of the refits needing
adjustment." 

 Infinitesimally placated, Bodie gave his head a toss. "Possibly. But it
could be that a few other things need fixing as well." 

 "And you won't rest till you've turfed all of 'em out. I know you."
Sensing his partner's unspoken turmoil, Doyle offered, "In that case, can
I help? Keep you company, if you like." 

 "I-- Thanks, Ray, but-- Well, I know you're knackered, too. Need your
rest, don't you? And I'd rather you were all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed
tomorrow in case anything else crops up." 

 A pained speculation came into Doyle's eyes. "Well. If that's what you
want. You just go on ahead then, why don't you, mate? I'll see you in the
morning." 

 Sighing explosively, Bodie snapped, "Damn it, Ray, I wasn't--" 

 "What?" Doyle closed his mouth tightly. Then the words poured out: "I
know I've been a pain in the rear these last days," he admitted angrily.
"Even put the blame on you. But if what you really want is for me to leave
you alone--" 

 Biting back a curse, Bodie spun away, took a single step, then spun back
around, contemplating Doyle with a temper that matched his own. 

 In the brief instant before Bodie had moved, however, Doyle had glimpsed
a shocking bleakness in those weary eyes. All at once he could also see
that not only was Bodie grey-faced, he was shaking as well. "*Bodie. *
What is it you're really worried about? You can tell me the truth,
y'know?" he assured him gently. "Whatever it is, you can tell *me*." 

 Taking immediate umbrage, Bodie began, "*Truth? * I--!" 

 Throwing up both hands this time, Doyle forestalled his partner's
inchoate denial, "Oh, forget it!" Then, before the conversation could
deteriorate even further, he crossed the few steps that separated them,
took hold of Bodie's upper arms and held him captive until he could press
right up against him. "All right, sunshine," he said evenly. "In your own
time." 

 Half-expecting a jab to the solar plexus, Doyle was mildly stunned when
Bodie suddenly slumped forward and molded himself to his rangy form.
Automatically gliding his arms around Bodie's back, with one hand moving
to cradle the base of Bodie's skull, Doyle found himself lost all over
again in the simple pleasure of holding his lover. 

 "I love you," Bodie whispered. There was an odd tension in his voice. 

 The hard muscles under Doyle's hands begged the comfort of a soothing
touch. Fingertips lightly digging in, Doyle began a cautious massage.
"Yeah, and you." After a moment, his concentration seemingly devoted to
the task of gentling his lover, Doyle gave a low laugh. 

 "What's funny?" His lips buried in Doyle's curls, Bodie's words were
almost inaudible. 

 "Not funny, exactly. Just seems kind of strange, that's all. You know,
being close like this and not wanting to fuck you blind." 

 Dropping his hands to cup Doyle's buttocks, Bodie breathed confidently,
"It'll come back to you." 

 "Expect it will. You can be very inspiring." 

 "Sweet talker." Bodie skimmed his mouth along the tip of Doyle's ear.
"Reckon I can inspire you to finish up that workstation so we can get
something to eat?" 

 Grimacing to himself, Doyle realized that he could either continue to
pester Bodie about whatever it was that held ascendancy in his thoughts,
or he could pretend--as Bodie was doing--that there was nothing amiss.
*Or*--as had been so dramatically proven with Asper--he may have misread
Bodie's self-absorption altogether. 

 Resigned, Doyle said, "Only take a minute, sunshine." 

 ******

A few hours later, Doyle lay alone in his cabin. Propped up against the
headboard of his bunk, he had at last found time to read through his
brother's Last Word. 

 As he had suspected, there was not much to rivet his attention, until,
that is, he came to the sections that referred to "LerMith." When he had
first seen the document all those years before, Doyle had known of LerMith
only as Targeon's close and true friend. Now, with what he knew of Bodie,
Doyle hoped to gain some slight insight into his background--the
background Bodie took such pains to avoid discussing--and in particular,
his involvement with George Cowley. 

 Which was why, over dinner, in deference to his partner's privacy, Doyle
had let that subject--as well as Bodie's current, unspoken concerns--lie.
Instead he had focussed their conversation on Asper, who, halfway into the
meal, had briefly stopped in for a bite of Bodie's brinjal pickle--along
with his usual fare--before flitting off again. Provided the opening,
Doyle had sardonically displayed the knowledge gleaned in his researches,
regaling Bodie with tales of lab-imprisoned sfangi, including their
willingness to reproduce in hordes, and their confounding tendency of
seemingly breaking free of the bonds of death so that they might wreak
vengeance against the lab staff for their ill treatment. He had also told
him that while analyzing the tablets that would correct Asper's problems,
he had discovered that Bodie's brinjal pickle contained some of the
chemicals found in the hormonal supplement--hence the sfang's instinctive
need of the stuff. Once Bodie had stopped grinning, Doyle had then
explained in greater detail how captive sfangi, incapable of removing
themselves from their mating fellows' empathic overflow, had artificially
gone "on heat," even so far as mimicking nesting behavior. 

 "You know," Bodie had told him, "when you and the little bugger were
having it out in the cargo hold, the only reason I was there was because
he had come along to roust me out. Really insistent, he was. Made it
absolutely clear that he wanted me to follow him--or else. And then he
zoomed off, so that by the time I got there, the two of you were already
going at it." 

 "I was controlling it--overriding the sensations he was broadcasting,"
Doyle had explained a trifle shamefaced; he had, after all, attempted to
shut his partner out--however "naturally." "Asper needed to do something
to get us going again, I reckon." 

 "Succeeded, too, didn't he--the little blighter." 

 Although Bodie had found the incident amusing, Doyle had inwardly
cringed. His selfish use of Bodie--regardless of Asper's
instigation--would not remain in his memory as one of his better moments. 

 Not long after, Bodie had taken himself off to the flight deck, leaving
Doyle to nurse the dregs of his tea alone. It had been an eventful few
weeks and, although he and Bodie had seemed to settle in together
wonderfully well, there were assuredly more adjustments to be made.
Allowing Bodie his privacy when it was requested was one of the simplest
accommodations Doyle could make for his lover. 

 And it was not--Doyle diligently reread the last few paragraphs that had
blurred to nonsense in his mind--as though he had nothing else to do. In
fact, after finishing this, Doyle meant to complete his research into
sfangi breeding habits. There was still that section on *Unusual
Phenomena--Unsubstantiated* that he meant to skim through. 

 Bringing himself slowly upright, Doyle narrowed his eyes as he absorbed
the last passage read: *"As stated," * Targeon had written, *"in the event
of my nearest kin predeceasing me--to whit, Gilla, my mother, and
Raydoyle, my half-brother (my own mate and child being dead)--all that
remains of my estate would devolve to my cherished friend and partner
LerMith. In respecting his wish for anonymity, I do not name his familial
connections as is our custom; however, I do note that LerMith comes of
sound background; that he is the only son of honorable parents; that his
biological father died several years ago; that his mother remarried and
thereby provided LerMith with a stepfather of reliable background and
temperament, and a stepsister, who sadly, died some years ago." * 

 This, more than the sum total Bodie had hitherto revealed about his
family, Doyle felt almost as though he had unearthed some vast secret.
Yet, it was not very informative, although Doyle examined the brief
section once more before skimming through the remainder of the document.
Finding nothing else of interest regarding LerMith, Doyle at last sat back
and mulled over all he had learned--little though it was, and little that
he had not already known. 

 In fact, other than the discovery of Bodie having a stepfather and a
stepsister--the latter now dead--Doyle knew the rest, though it could be
summed up in a single sentence: While hardly more than a child, Bodie had
left his family, assumed a life that assured he remain unknown, and had
apparently never resumed contact with his mother or stepfather. 

 All, according to Bodie, because of one George Cowley. 

 Chewing his bottom lip, Doyle set Targeon's Last Word on the bedside
table. After commanding that the lights be extinguished, he lay in the
dark a long time, thinking. Quelling the urge to immediately continue his
study of Bodie's background--that part of it involving George Cowley,
anyway--Doyle surrendered himself to the inky darkness instead. As tired
as he was--Bodie had not been wrong about that--Doyle was on the precipice
of sleep within minutes. In fact, not only did he forget his intention of
concluding his researches into Asper's bizarre plight, but he scarcely
noticed when he was joined by that very creature, who soundlessly slipped
into his very warm cabin, alighted on his pillow, and there made himself
at home, his narrow muzzle lodged deeply in Doyle's curls. 

 Welcoming the spiraling images that bespoke Asper's presence, Doyle soon
slept. 

 ******

"Thank you, Gunnersbury. *FG Behemoth* awaits your signal," Bodie said
into the communicator. 

 Watching him from the copilot's chair, Doyle decided that his bonded
partner could not have got any rest at all the night before, even though
Doyle had woken in his arms. 

 The morning had been given over to their preparations for taking the
*Behemoth* through Gunnersbury Gate, Bodie's concern regarding engine
problems genuine and contagious. Wakened very early, Doyle had refused the
offer of a lie-in, and instead, had accompanied Bodie through the standard
pre-gating checklist that Bodie always observed religiously. 

 Tellingly, Bodie had forgone breakfast, though he had accepted a snack
once contact had been established with the porting authority on
Gunnersbury Station. Kept as busy as his partner, Doyle had had no
opportunity to broach the subject of Bodie's family. 

 Just before hailing Gunnersbury Gate, however, Doyle had made a point of
dosing the sfang, who had yet to settle down completely, though he had
rested peacefully during his stay in Doyle's cabin the night before. In
order to do so, Doyle had had to search the ship, finally tracking Asper
down in the vault-like engine room. Not a pleasant place to Doyle's
sensibilities--due as much to the prevalence of organics as to the cool
clamminess necessitated by their use--Doyle had wandered through huge
metal and plasticine structures for some minutes before Asper had made his
presence known. 

 The sfang had been lurking in a cluttered nook between two ranks of
ducting set several feet above the ground--and right in the heart of a
complex intersection of organic conduits. At sight of the creature's
rudimentary nest, Doyle had come to an abrupt stop. Then, wordlessly,
Doyle had beckoned the watchful snow-white creature to come to him. "Poor
lad, made you think you were preggers, didn't we?" 

 Encouragingly obedient, Asper had wafted down to land on his wrist, then
had bounded up to perch on his shoulder. For a moment they had exchanged
welcoming sensations, Asper chirring quietly and stropping himself against
Doyle's cheek, Doyle unhurriedly smoothing the creature's silken feathers
and uttering nonsense. After a moment, Doyle had raised his other
hand--the one holding the tiny tablet wrapped in cheese--and turned it to
and fro so the sfang could inspect it. 

 In response, Asper had reared up on his hind legs, waving his forepaws in
a manner that had clearly conveyed his reluctance to bow to Doyle's will.
Infinitely patient, Doyle had thought affectionately persuasive thoughts,
and eventually, the sfang had conceded. 

 Before leaving Asper to his privacy, Doyle had made a superficial
examination of his "nest." In it he had found a pair of pants that had
gone missing shortly after *FG Behemoth* had navigated Hendon Gate--one of
his first bouts of ungoverned lust, if he recalled correctly--a couple of
unformatted mini-diskettes, several strands of curly, auburn hair--he had
remembered with clarity losing *those*!--and a mismatched pair of Bodie's
socks. At that point, having so far touched nothing, Doyle had hesitated
to investigate further. 

 Felicitously, just then Bodie had summoned him over the com: They had
reached the outer corridor to Gunnersbury Gate. And now here they sat,
awaiting permission to proceed. 

 "Take over here, will you?" Bodie said, startling Doyle out of his
reverie. 

 "Where're you off to?" Doyle asked, his partner already half-out of his
seat. 

 "Want to oversee the gross engine read-outs on the engine room computer
as we enter the Gate. You okay alone?" 

 " 'Course." Doyle smiled easily. They had executed this particular
maneuver often enough for him to feel competent in his ability. 

 "Good." Bodie paused to drop a kiss on Doyle's upturned face. "Hm. Give
me a couple of minutes, eh?" 

 "Right." 

 While waiting, Doyle mentally ran through the procedure that he must
initiate from the pilot's console. Gunnersbury interrupted with a cheery
*all-clear*, which he immediately acknowledged, then resumed his silent
checklist. As he neared the end, Bodie's voice came loudly over the com. 

 " 'M in position. You set?" 

 "Aye, aye, Captain. Gunnersbury's given us the go-ahead." 

 "Then, let 'er rip, me bucko." 

 Doyle did as instructed, confidence lending him speed and ease. 

 "Whoa." 

 Heard through the communicator speaker, the single word was not a command
but an interjection of dismay. It echoed the slight leap in Doyle's heart.


 "You *did* feel that, didn't you?" Bodie asked. 

 "Felt *something*," Doyle concurred. "But then I was looking to feel
something. The read-outs here are green." 

 "Here, too. No, wait-- There it is, slight but distinct. How long till we
clear?" 

 "Another...forty-five seconds. Ulp." 

 "Ah," Bodie drawled. "Feel it that time?" 

 "Rather noticeably," Doyle replied with equal sarcasm. "What do your
read-outs look like?" 

 "Still coming through. Time?" 

 "Thirty seconds. Damage?" 

 "Negligible--if any. The vibration falls well within tolerances allowed."


 "Slight misadjustment?" 

 "Very likely. I'll want your help correcting it." 

 "Fifteen seconds. You coming back up here first?" 

 "Nah. But, Doyle--" 

 "Yes?" 

 "Push it a bit once we've confirmed with Gunnersbury, okay?" 

 "Increase *Behemoth's* speed, y'mean?" 

 "That's right." 

 "Why?" Doyle asked blankly. 

 Bodie was slow to reply. "Just a test," he said at last. "Okay?" 

 "You're sure you want to do that?" Doyle persisted. "I mean, if the
engines are out of phase, mightn't acceleration worsen the problem?" 

 "It's only been a problem when we've sped up in outspace, Ray. Look at
your read-outs: It's been at least ten seconds since we left the Gate, and
the vibration has stopped. Shouldn't hurt to accelerate in real-time." 

 Watching the information scroll across the computer display, Doyle had to
agree that Bodie was right. "You're the expert." 

 "I wish. See you soon." 

 Doyle filed their flight program with Gunnersbury Reciprocal according to
standard procedure--a useful precaution in the event information received
prior to gating conflicted with that received afterward, which might
indicate a malfunction suffered in transit. Only seconds later,
confirmation came through: *FG Behemoth* had traversed Gunnersbury Gate
unscathed--according to their sensors, anyway. After logging that
information into the ship's computer, Doyle verified that area traffic
presented no hazards, keyed in the speed change Bodie had requested,
performed a final external sensor check, then switched the ship's controls
to automatic. 

 He spoke aloud, activating the com: "On my way." 

 ******

"Tell me about your family." 

 The request earned Doyle a quick, unreadable look. "Why?" 

 "Why not?" 

 Lying on his side probing into the depths of the main engine room control
console, Bodie replied succinctly, "Boring. What's the middle drift read?"


 Doyle glanced down at the monitor. "Minus three. Targeon mentioned them
in his Last Word. You were in line to inherit, y'know?" 

 An unforthcoming grunt emanated from somewhere near Doyle's left calf.
"Still am, in case you've forgotten. Still don't want it." 

 "Then you shouldn't've bonded with me. Anyway, it's not as if you didn't
know in advance." "Hm. What's it doing now?" 

 "Gone up to plus seven. You got the shakes or something?" 

 "Bugger off." 

 Doyle smiled to himself and swallowed the retort that came immediately to
mind. He knew that Bodie was stalling, and that he would, if possible,
avoid answering Doyle's question indefinitely. 

 Allowing one full minute to pass, Doyle finally said, "So?" 

 "So what?" 

 "Your family: Tell me about them." 

 "Nothing to tell," Bodie said obdurately. 

 Sighing expressively, Doyle took another tack. "C'mon, sunshine. You've
told me all about Cowley and why you've spent the better part of your life
changing your name and hiding from imagers so he'd have no way of hunting
you down. What could be worse?" A sudden thought leapt to the fore of his
mind. "By the way, what name are you using for this trip?" 

 A blue eye scowled darkly up at him. " 'LerMith.' " At Doyle's
disapproving moue, Bodie growled, "That's how I'm known on Vaux, okay?" 

 Counting the seconds, Doyle gave Bodie a nudge with the toe of his shoe
when he reached thirty. "Your family." He thought he could hear the
gnashing of back teeth. 

 Flatly and with a staccato lack of inflection, Bodie answered, "Was an
only child. Mum was okay, but not keen on motherhood. Dad was a good
enough bloke, but he never liked me. He died when I was ten. Mum died the
year after Targeon bought it." 

 "Why didn't your dad like you, then?" Doyle asked curiously. 

 "Was a weedy kid." Glancing up at his partner, Bodie smiled grimly. "Not
manly enough for him, I reckon. So he tried to thump a bit of toughness
into me. Didn't take, of course. Hand me the pulse meter." 

 The required tool was more than half-buried amongst its mates in the
fourth drawer of the portable cupboard that stood alongside the control
console. Once he had extricated it from the tangle, Doyle asked, "How'd he
die?" 

 "Some thug cracked his head open one night on the way home from the pub.
Stole his money and his creds. Caused Mum a touch of bother, that." 

 "Your mum must've remarried: Targeon mentioned a stepfather and a
stepsister." 

 "Few years later." 

 Eyes resting lightly on Bodie's back, Doyle wondered what Bodie was
leaving unsaid. "Did you miss him? Your dad, I mean." 

 "Of course. He had his faults, but he was loads better than the one that
followed." 

 "Your stepdad?" 

 "Nope. Mum took up with a hard lad for a year or so. Vicious little
swine. Really had it in for me. By then I'd got my growth, y'see, put on
some bulk. Used to play me about something chronic, he did. Since he
couldn't clobber me, he had to get his own back in other ways." A cold
amusement lit Bodie's half-hidden face. "Not that I didn't make it hard
for him, mind--every chance I got." 

 "What about your mum? Did she know what he was up to?" 

 Indifferently, Bodie said, "Not from me. In any case, I didn't aim to
hang about. I'd decided by then to off-planet as soon as I could." 

 "To join the mercenary forces fighting on Joad." 

 "Yes." 

 Once more Bodie fell silent. Watching him toil, the darkly handsome face
diverted, Doyle gave his head a slow shake. Bodie could be more
close-mouthed than anyone he had ever known! 

 "What happened to your mum's feller then?" 

 Teeth partially bared, Bodie extended his arm to return the pulse meter.
"What's the drift now?" 

 "Spot on. Come on, Bodie!" 

 "She finally twigged to him. Then she threw him out." 

 "Easy as that," Doyle remarked sourly. He could only wonder at the
miserable treatment Bodie must have suffered. "When did she meet your
stepdad?" 

 "Not long after. Six months. Less, maybe." 

 "What was he like?" 

 "A good man." 

 "And your stepsister?" 

 "She was...great." The three words lacked all intonation. "What's the
mid-range now?" 

 "Two through four. Targeon said your stepsister was dead. How old was she
when she died?" 

 Rolling forward, Bodie adroitly balanced on the balls of his feet, then
pushed up to his full height. "Sixteen. She fell in with bad company." He
wiped his hands together. "Anything else?" 

 Eye to eye with his partner, Doyle could see that Bodie had no desire to
continue the conversation. Curiosity yet burned bright within him--but he
would not put Bodie through needless torment to satisfy it. 

 "Plenty. But, some other day, eh?" Doyle said affably. "You all done?" 

 To his surprise, Bodie gave him an engaging smile. "Bloody scavenger,
aren't you? Picking over the bones. Go on, then, get it out of your
system. What else d'you want to know?" 

 " 'M not a scavenger," Doyle defended himself. "Just want to know about
you." Tempted all the same, he searched Bodie's face for some indication
that he resented Doyle's nosiness. Finding none, he ventured, "You sure?" 

 Bodie kissed him. "Yeah. Why not?" 

 "Okay," Doyle murmured, his mouth close to Bodie's. "What about your
stepdad, then? Is he still alive?" 

 "Far as I know." He elaborated, with mock regret, "We lost touch." 

 "And Cowley: About his kid Alex, your partner--" 

 "Yeah?" Bodie's jaws tightened. 

 "Did your mum and stepdad know about what happened on Joad? That you had
to--" Doyle hesitated, suddenly lost for words. 

 "Kill my partner?" Bodie suggested bluntly. 

 "Alex would've died either way," Doyle said evenly. "You spared him from
the Enils. He wouldn't've thanked you if you'd both fallen into their
hands, y'know?" Doyle's face twisted with distaste. "Claws," he amended
under his breath. 

 Bodie nodded somberly. "They knew." Apparently sensing where Doyle's
questions were leading, he went on softly, "Mum seemed to understand." 

 "She stood by you," Doyle interpreted with approval. "And your stepdad?
Did *he* understand?" 

 Bodie's eyes fell to his hands, dark lashes concealing their expression.
"He agreed with Cowley, actually: I hadn't saved Alex from an ugly death;
I'd murdered my partner." 

 "Alex didn't think that." 

 The breath seemed to still in Bodie's chest. Slowly, he brought his head
up to meet Doyle's gaze. "Alex." A raw smile touched his mouth. "In fact,
Alex would've done the same for me." 

 Doyle stated significantly, "Yet, Alex was Cowley's kid. D'you reckon
maybe Cowley has finally come to realize that, too: Y'know, that you did
the only thing you could?" The question was not rhetorical. Since Bodie
had explained his reasons for avoiding George Cowley, the thought, still
embryonic, had slowly begun to form that confronting George Cowley might
be the only means by which Bodie would ever live in peace. 

 Bodie tilted his head to one side. "You mean, forgive and forget?" he
said cynically. "Somehow I don't think so." Before Doyle could argue,
Bodie went on, "Look at it from *his* point of view, Ray: The day Alex
died, Cowley'd finally arranged to buy out the kid's contract. He was
already on the way to Joad to arrange a meeting." 

 "So you really think he's *still* after you? After all these years?" 

 "Cowley? Oh, yeah." 

 "Why? How can you be so certain?" 

 Leaning nearer, Bodie rested his head against Doyle's. "Something my
former commander passed on. Told you I'd been taken to the medical station
orbiting Joad's second moon--yes? Well, while I was being patched up
there, Cowley arrived on Joad. *That's* when he found out." 

 Doyle pulled a pained expression. "He must've thought the boy was clear
of it all." 

 "That's exactly what he thought. When Boswell, my commander, explained to
him that I'd been removed for medical reasons and that I might be
difficult to get hold of, he said he would find me if it took him the rest
of his life." 

 "Boswell didn't spill where you were?" 

 "He did, actually. But by the time Cowley left Joad I'd been put on a
transport back to base. There I discovered I'd been released from my
contract, so I headed out again as soon as I could. Contacted Boswell just
before I left--that's when he told me what Cowley had said. Couldn't've
been more than a day ahead of him--and purely by chance." 

 Furrows lined Doyle's forehead. "Was it because of your injuries--your
being released from your contract? Pretty unusual, that." 

 "I never questioned it." 

 Flinching inwardly at that flat, harsh voice, Doyle regarded his partner
with aching sympathy. "No. You were just grateful to be out of it, weren't
you?" Sliding a hand into Bodie's hair, Doyle held him immobile while
applying an affectionate kiss. Their mouths parted with a lingering, moist
sound. "Still-- Other than this Boswell's word, what reason d'you have for
believing Cowley's continued to look for you?" 

 "Because I've continued to track *him*. And it's far too much of a
coincidence--to me, anyway--that he should so frequently put in an
appearance in places I've just left." 

 "Despite all your name changes and assorted fiddles to put him off the
scent?" 

 "Considering technology these days, Ray--" Bodie caught Doyle's lower lip
lightly between his teeth, then gave it a tender, penitent lick. "--it's a
wonder we aren't tagged with tracers when we're hatched." 

 Doyle ran his tongue over the spot where Bodie's teeth had been. "Were
you?" 

 "Was I what?" 

 "Hatched." 

 "Purely natural, sunshine." 

 "That's what they all say." 

 Bodie's eyes rested heavily on Doyle's mouth, causing him to stir
self-consciously. "About Cowley and Alex," Doyle said apologetically, "It
was ages ago; didn't think you'd mind discussing it." 

 "Don't. But," Bodie noted wryly, "it never was my favorite topic,
either." He canted his head to one side to taste the skin at Doyle's
throat, his breath stirring whorls of hair exposed at the open neck of
Doyle's shirt. 

 "Can see that." Doyle absorbed the familiar scent of Bodie's hair,
relishing it. "I know of a surefire way of changing the subject," he
whispered. 

 "In the engine room?" Bodie said, in a faintly scandalized tone. He knew
well his partner's dislike of the huge vault--and why. 

 "So long as you're with me, I don't hear the organics," Doyle confessed.
"And it's the only chamber in the ship that ought to shield Asper from
our...um...activities. Anyway, last time I saw him, he was in the main
cargo hold, chasing his tail. Followed me as far as there after I dosed
him with his hormones." Cupping Bodie's face between his hands, he lifted
his lover's head and took command of his mouth with growing passion. 

 Bodie responded without demur, opening at once to Doyle's searching
intimacy. With vast tenderness, Doyle lowered his partner to the floor and
began to undress him. Shoulders, chest, abdomen, hips, thighs: He
worshipped every inch of the well-loved form, baring Bodie to his sight
and touch with the bated calmness of one unwrapping a precious package. 

 Under Doyle's single-minded assault, Bodie began to writhe with helpless
abandonment. "C'mon, Ray!" Hissing with impatience, he plucked at Doyle's
shirt, determined fingers soon gaining purchase at his collar. With utter
disregard for closures and seams, he yanked violently. 

 Concerned less about the material than for his need of Bodie's warmth,
Doyle held off his partner just long enough to lend wriggling assistance.
Seconds later, Bodie's hands slid under the half-removed, body-hot fabric,
and Doyle arched forward, encouraging Bodie's further explorations. Eyes
closed, he gasped softly. 

 A short distance away, in the nook formed by two ranks of ducting, Asper
hunched motionlessly at the edge of his nest, four obsidian eyes fixed on
the two forms struggling together on the engine room floor below. When
Bodie gave a low, guttural moan, the sfang leaned fractionally nearer,
shifting slightly to keep from pitching forward. 

 There on the edge of the makeshift roost he remained, until the urgent
noises issuing from below--the silken glide of flesh against flesh and the
rasp of labored lungs--grew more urgent still. Spreading his feathers
wide, Asper settled down. 

 It would not be long now. 

 ******

The rest of the afternoon proceeded without incident. Following their
mutually gratifying interlude in the engine room, the two men went
separate ways: Bodie to the flight deck, Doyle to the medical chamber. 

 Doyle whiled away his hours crouched half inside the cupboard under the
diagnostics unit, installing new connectors and rebuilding the chassis.
The work was simplistic in the extreme for someone of his experience and
aptitude; accordingly, he was free to reflect upon the morning's
conversation while deftly attending to the task at hand. 

 Considering Bodie's singular reticence, the amount of information that
had been divulged had been most impressive. There was yet more to
learn--Doyle was sure of that. But something of what Bodie had said had
led him to wonder whether George Cowley was quite the nemesis Bodie
imagined him. 

 For one thing, Doyle considered why Cowley, with some proven ability of
tracing one man--Bodie--out of the billions of individuals inhabiting the
many known worlds had not managed to anticipate Bodie's every move rather
than only follow in his wake. That, however, was the very game that Bodie
had played with Doyle. Through his unauthorized forays into Central's
files, Bodie had sometimes known Doyle's precise whereabouts before Doyle
had. Lacking that same access, Doyle had been forced to rely on word of
mouth and public records to advance his search for the man he knew only as
"LerMith." Perhaps that explained Cowley's situation: Perhaps he, like
Doyle, must always follow a step behind due to his lack of timely
information. 

 Which must--as Doyle well remembered--be hugely frustrating for Cowley.
And that thought led him to ponder Cowley's motives. In his own case it
had been the desperate craving for companionship that had sent him on a
years-long quest for "LerMith." In Cowley's case, it appeared to be
vengeance. Doyle had some difficulty in accepting this explanation: While
a person could bear a grudge for many years, to Doyle's mind it was
unlikely that anyone, no matter how obsessed, would commit an entire
*life* to the pursuit of revenge. 

 Even for the loss of a child. 

 A burst of inquisitive chattering startled Doyle out of his musings. He
peered out of the cupboard to find Asper teetering on the edge of the
wide-open door, glowering down at him. 

 "What d'you want then?" he asked agreeably. Reaching out a hand, he gave
the underside of the sfang's narrow muzzle a scratch with the edge of his
thumbnail. "You're never hungry again?" 

 Asper's hormone treatment, Doyle had observed, seemed to have generated a
noticeable increase in the creature's appetite. In the hours since noon,
he had twice been forced to interrupt his duties to feed the sfang. A
glance at the wall chrono indicated that a pattern might be developing. 

 "If that's what it takes to keep you happy, sunshine," Doyle proclaimed
with a wry grin, "I'll feed you every hour on the hour." 

 In the galley a few minutes later, Doyle dished up Asper's usual fare
accompanied by a dollop of brinjal pickle. The sfang dove down past his
head as he set the plate on the table. 

 "Greedy bugger," Doyle commented as Asper settled and began to tear into
his meal with alacrity. A rumble from his own stomach suggested that it
might be time for him to eat as well. He stepped up to the com unit and
activated it with a fingertip. "Bodie." 

 "Here." 

 "It's past your dinner time. You hungry?" 

 "So it is," Bodie replied vaguely. A second or two stole by. "You
offering to throw something together?" 

 "Nothing extravagant. Want me to bring it up there?" 

 "Uh--Yeah. Would you?" 

 "Wouldn't've asked otherwise, mate. See you in a few minutes." 

 "Right. Thanks, Ray." 

 Doyle's face darkened as he gathered ingredients. He had heard that
distracted note in Bodie's voice all too recently. Since Bodie had blamed
his earlier abstraction on the engine malfunction--which problem had since
been solved to his satisfaction--Doyle mulled what could be causing his
partner grief now. 

 Once he had completed his preparations--having made more than enough for
two--Doyle piled everything onto a tray. As he turned to carry it out of
the small chamber, he glanced round to make sure that he had forgotten
nothing. Asper had already taken off, leaving his plate pristinely bare.
Remarking silently to himself at the sight, Doyle walked through the
opening and into the corridor. 

 ******

"So, what's up now?" 

 "Up?" Bodie repeated. He sat in the pilot's seat, chewing mechanically on
a chunk of Vauxan sourfruit. 

 "You're worried about something." 

 "Am I?" 

 Doyle rolled his eyes. One all-encompassing look upon entering the flight
deck had told him that Bodie was on the edge of exhaustion. His color
resembled the utilitarian shade of grey that graced the *Behemoth's*
bulkheads, his eyes were wreathed with spidery red veins, and his usually
relaxed mouth--now petulantly compressed--was offset by harsh, deeply
etched lines. 

 "You ought to have a kip," Doyle said lightly. "I can take over here for
a while." 

 "I'm all right." Bodie thrust another bite into his mouth. 

 "You're knackered, sunshine. C'mon, Bodie, I'm almost finished with the
medical chamber. Why don't you--?" 

 Bodie cast him a repressive look. "Lay off, Doyle, will you?" 

 "Something's bothering you," Doyle persisted. "I can help." 

 "You can't. I know the *Behemoth* inside and out. Until I get all the
glitches worked out, it's better if I stick with it." 

 "What glitches?" Bodie's stubbornness was beginning to irritate him. "The
engines are running beautifully now." The status displays caught Doyle's
eye. "And according to the read-outs, *everything's* okay. Although--" He
swallowed a mouthful of tea and raised another piece of bread to his
mouth. "You'll lose your profit margin if we carry on at this speed.
Bloody hell, we'll be closing in on the science station within a few hours
at this rate!" 

 Bodie set his jaw and said nothing. 

 "Only we won't, will we?" Doyle realized. "The locator display indicates
we're off the main line, but basically on course." He frowned quizzically
at Bodie. "You've been running a zig-zag pattern, haven't you?" 

 After taking a slow, deep breath, Bodie said evenly, "SOP following a
major refit." He met Doyle's suspicious gaze steadily. "Better to shake
her down on a milk run than to find out I've missed something in the
middle of nowhere." 

 For a long moment, Doyle studied his partner's face, certain that Bodie
was leaving something out, but finding no trace of what it might be in his
carefully composed expression. "You are the captain," he murmured softly. 

 The hard lie of Bodie's mouth softened minutely. "And I am knackered," he
granted ruefully. "But I won't be here all night." He stretched out a hand
and curved it round the back of Doyle's neck. "I appreciate the offer,
Ray, but I'll be okay." 

 "If you say so." Doyle leaned close enough to skim his lips across
Bodie's forehead. "After I finish with the diagnostics unit, I'm going to
my cabin to do some reading. You're welcome to join me." 

 "Aren't I always?" 

 Doyle wrinkled his nose. "Just don't worry that I'll try to have my evil
way with you if you only want to sleep." 

 Gently fondling the knobs of Doyle's cervix, Bodie grinned, "Insatiable
brute. Think I can bear up." He drew Doyle's head down so that he could
cover the full lips with his. "Nice. Where's your partner in crime got off
to, then?" 

 Doyle did not think it his imagination that Bodie was relieved to have
the subject changed. "Don't know. He cleaned his plate and went away.
Probably still adjusting to the tablets." 

 "How much longer will he have to take those?" 

 "Few more days." Doyle gave his partner one more luxurious kiss. "I'll
leave you to it. Ring me if you need anything, okay?" 

 "I shall." Bodie set his half-eaten meal to one side. "I'll just pick at
this for a while, if you don't mind?" 

 "Right." As Doyle walked away, carrying the remains of his own dinner, he
could not shake off a growing uneasiness. The ship's displays had told him
what his partner had not: *FG Behemoth* was being readied to bolt at an
instant's notice. There was no doubt in Doyle's mind that George Cowley
must be the root of Bodie's concerns--nothing and no one else even gave
him pause. Why, however, Doyle could not guess. 

 Blinded to his own innocent knowledge, it did not occur to him that *he*
might be responsible for Bodie's disquiet. 

 ******

At ship's time 20.05, Doyle slouched back against his pillow, having first
propped it against the bulkhead that ran behind his bunk, tugged the
swing-arm platform on which the slave terminal was situated over his lap,
and thumbed the screen on. 

 As the opening menu appeared, he reached for a handful of small sweet
biscuits--one of of Bodie's favored "delicacies" that had grown on
him--popped one onto his tongue, and with the other hand keyed in his
request to access the ship's library. The advent of rustling wings
distracted him for only a second. Mumbling a greeting, he waved Asper
toward the plate of snacks he had foresightedly placed on the bedside
cupboard and resumed his study of the monitor. 

 While the sfang hopped from the edge of Doyle's pillow to the smooth
surface of the cupboard, Doyle began an extensive search for information
concerning George Cowley. Not much to his surprise he soon discovered that
a large file had been accumulated on the man--Bodie's work through the
years, he assumed. 

 "Hey, you blackguard!" Slinging out a hand, Doyle caught the sfang in
mid-air as it attempted to make off with the bulk of his fruit and
crackers--no mean achievement for the small flyer. "You can't be that
peckish--I just fed you half an hour ago!" he exclaimed. Immobilizing the
hissing sfang with a finger curled round its neck, he unceremoniously
snatched most of the stolen bounty out of six clutching limbs and dumped
it back onto the plate. 

 "Here," he said by way of conciliation, holding forth a square of cheese
and three crackers. 

 Displaying two rows of tiny, but fierce-looking teeth, Asper bristled
hotly at being thwarted--but only for a moment. Springing forward, he
grabbed up the offering and carried it off. 

 Amusedly dismissing the sfang as soon as it had disappeared through the
open door, Doyle returned his attention to the screen. With mingled
apprehension and anticipation, he opened the file on George Cowley. 

 There for the first time, he was met with the image of Bodie's lifelong
nemesis. Studying the full color holo with interest, he found it ironic
that this unprepossessing individual could have forced Bodie to remain in
hiding for so many years. Of middle height, Cowley reminded Doyle of the
quintessential businessman or company director: tidy in appearance, benign
in expression, and forthright but no-nonsense in demeanor. 

 Moving on to the text, Doyle read silently for a couple of seconds,
fingers blindly fetching another biscuit. The morsel was suspended in
front of his mouth when a low, stunned exclamation burst out of him:
"Bloody hell! He's the head of Home Defense!" 

 His immediate reaction was one of stupefaction, the next of bafflement: A
man having such powerful resources to hand would have no difficulty in
running someone to earth--not even so consummate an absconder as Bodie. So
why had Cowley failed to catch him up? 

 Perplexed, Doyle closed his mouth on the biscuit. Next came a listing of
personal statistics--all that was made available to the general public,
anyway. In his late twenties, Cowley had married one Annabel Irving, by
whom two years later he had fathered a daughter, Judith Alexandra.
Cowley's career with Home Defense had been in its infancy at that time,
though he had soon earned accolades as a man of uncommon compassion *and*
ruthlessness--such traits previously deemed contradictory in one of his
profession. 

 While Cowley had advanced in his own field, his wife, a missionary of
some renown, had returned to her chosen work, that of spreading
Christianity--a rather popular cult that continued to boast adherents all
over the known galaxy more than two thousand years after its origination.
Despite frequent separations, their marriage had reputedly been a happy
one. Nearly thirteen years following their wedding vows, however, Annie,
as she was known, had been killed in a violent zealot uprising during a
mission to one of the less civilized colony worlds, leaving Cowley a
widower and their then twelve-year old daughter motherless. 

 Three and a half years had ensued before Cowley, by then having attained
the position of Controller of the Consortium's anti-crime organization,
had remarried. His new wife, the beautiful, widowed Vivien Bodie-- 

 "*Bastard. *" 

 --had brought to the marriage her own fifteen year old son, William-- 

 Doyle read through the information twice before accepting what his eyes
had already informed him. *Bodie was George Cowley's stepson. * His
stepsister, Judith Alexandra--Alex?--must have been his ill-fated partner
on Joad. 

 "Bastard!" 

 A sensation not unlike cramp squeezed down on Doyle's insides, causing
him to wince. 

 *Why tell me that much, but not the rest? * 

 A shimmer of movement near the bedside cupboard, brought Doyle's head
around: It was only Asper, making off with another haul of crackers,
fruit, and cheese. 

 Too distracted to pay the brazen thief any mind, Doyle disconsolately
stared back at the screen. 

 *What should he do? * 

 What indeed? 

 For the next hour, Doyle prowled the corridors and inner chambers of the
*Behemoth*. There was seemingly no place where he could find comfort.
Nevertheless, he wandered through the main cargo hold, joined by a silent
Asper for a single, unhurried walk of the entire makeshift track. Left on
his own again as soon as they reached the opening, Doyle struck off for
the engine room--the farthest possible point from his present
location--though upon arrival several minutes later, he turned at once and
headed back to his cabin. The engine room, after all, disconcerted him at
the best of times; it was hardly the place he would choose for an extended
spell of brooding. 

 Outside his cabin, he paused, both hands spread flat against the
bulkhead, and there he acknowledged what he had known since uncovering the
truth about his partner: The questions he wished to ask could only be
answered by Bodie. 

 So Doyle shoved away from the wall and laggardly worked his way toward
the flight deck. He was not anxious to initiate the coming conversation,
but neither could he put it off for any length of time and retain his
peace of mind. What frightened him most of all was the possibility that he
knew Bodie far less than he had believed. Having shared an empathic bond
with this man, a bond heightened by their joining, Doyle could not help
but worry that he must be more deficient in his Vauxan skills than even
his teachers had suspected. 

 Accordingly, he found it easier to castigate himself for his lack of
intuition than to hold Bodie accountable for his guile. Yet he clung to
the hope that his partner had merely deceived him by omission through his
customary taciturnity. After all, Bodie himself had said that his past was
not a subject he preferred to discuss. Yet-- 

 If Bodie's deception extended to their personal relationship, including
the commitment they had declared for one another-- 

 Doyle could not even countenance it. 

 Carried on noiseless feet to the opening of the flight deck, Doyle
stopped and stared hollowly at his partner. Bodie sat hunched forward in
the pilot's seat, his attention riveted to the personal monitor. The same
display that Doyle had glimpsed two days ago--and in the heat of
sfang-induced lust had immediately rejected as of no importance--filled
the screen now. This time, with unwanted clarity, he recognized what it
was: The blurred outline of a ship as interpreted by long-range scanners
made to focus beyond their functional limitations. 

 "It's a Vauxan supply ship," he announced quietly. 

 Bodie's head whipped round with surprise. "What?!" 

 "They were assigned to follow us." 

 "That's impossible," Bodie blurted out. "At that distance, they
couldn't've stayed on our tail through all the course changes I've--" 

 "They're linked to our signal," Doyle interposed calmly. "I set it up
myself." 

 "*Why? *" 

 An unpleasant smile tugged at the corners of Doyle's mouth. "Because I'm
half-Vauxan. We *are* transporting echo, y'know." 

 Eyes narrowed, Bodie demanded with exaggerated patience, "So?" 

 "So, there was some concern on the part of the porting authorities that
*you* might be at risk." 

 "That's ludicrous! You're the one who protected me from that stuff to
begin with--and considerably more of it, too." 

 "They thought it best to be safe. I agreed." 

 "*Why? *" Exasperation drove Bodie's voice down an octave. It made him
sound the slightest bit dangerous. 

 "Because I don't ever want you hurt." 

 Groaning volubly, Bodie collapsed back in his seat. "Wish you'd told me
that three days ago, y'know?" 

 "You didn't ask," Doyle said expressionlessly. 

 "Bloody hell, Doyle! I've been sweating blood because--" 

 "You thought it was George Cowley." 

 Bodie tensed. "Yeah. I did." 

 "George Cowley," Doyle whispered. "Your stepfather." 

 Very slowly Bodie straightened back up, seemingly one vertebra at a time.
"Been doing a bit of snooping, have we?" 

 "At least you're not denying it." 

 "No." 

 Inexplicably cold and hot at the same time, Doyle shivered and felt
himself flush. "I owe you an apology, Bodie. You are entitled to your
secrets. I honestly didn't mean to pry." 

 Bodie just stared at him, his eyes piercingly blue and unrevealing. 

 Adrift in the frigid silence that ensued, Doyle cast about for
something--anything--to say. "G'night, Bodie," he muttered at last. Not
waiting for a reply, Doyle turned on heel and entered the corridor. The
walk back to his cabin struck him as uncommonly long and appallingly
lonely. 

 Though Bodie's stonewall response cut deep, Doyle was determined not to
brood, nor to sulk. He had done more than enough of that already. For now,
he must let things settle down. When--if--Bodie was ready to talk, Doyle
would be ready to listen. 

 His cabin was as he had left it: The bed rumpled, the computer switched
on. In his absence the display had timed out, however, the screen-saving
device automatically invoked to avoid burn-in. Doyle brushed off the soles
of his feet and climbed under the covers. 

 At the touch of a key, the image of George Cowley reappeared. Doyle gave
it no more than a glance before exiting the file. He then brought up the
main menu for the ship's library. It was time to complete his sfang
studies. 

 As the subheading *Unusual Phenomena* scrolled across the top of the
monitor, Doyle caught a hint of movement at the doorway. 

 Bodie stood just inside the opening. At Doyle's expression of polite
inquiry, he shrugged, then began to peel off his clothing. 

 Saying nothing, Doyle stonily waited until Bodie approached the far side
of the bed. At the last minute, he drew back the edge of the covers with a
flick of the wrist, wordlessly--and with a palpable lack of
enthusiasm--inviting Bodie to join him. 

 There was no question but that the last days had taken their toll. Strain
and weariness had been notable in Bodie's handsome features earlier in the
afternoon; now, they looked to have been painted on in broad strokes. 

 Silent as well, Bodie slid under the covers and came up close against
Doyle's wiry frame. With one hand he reached up and shut off the computer,
then pushed the swing-arm platform out of their way. He lay back, arms
closing round Doyle as he went, so that Doyle was perforce taken down with
him. 

 "Lights," Bodie said. 

 For more than a moment neither man spoke, the darkness surrounding them
seemingly absolute. Yet Doyle absorbed Bodie's presence like bedroughted
soil a cloudburst. The warm, breathing reality of him was soothing as no
amount of explanations and apologies--none of which Doyle expected to hear
in any case--could do. Simply having him here, holding him so strongly
that Doyle's ribs threatened to crack was enough. 

 "Thought you'd hate me if you knew it all," Bodie said roughly. The words
were spoken into Doyle's hair; moist warmth worked its way down into his
scalp. 

 "I don't. And I meant what I said: It's none of my business." 

 "I--" Bodie's chest rose higher and higher as he took in a huge breath.
"I didn't lie to you, y'know? When I told you about Alex, *you* assumed
she was a bloke. Of course," he added realistically, "I didn't try to
correct you." 

 "True," Doyle agreed neutrally. He rubbed his cheek against Bodie's
hard-muscled shoulder. "It really is okay, Bodie. I know you don't want to
talk about it." 

 There came a choked-off sound that could have been a laugh--or a sob.
"You're right about that, sunshine." 

 "Then go to sleep. We can discuss it another time." 

 Bodie's grip tightened, as though Doyle had just demanded that he leave
rather than offering understanding. "Ah, Ray--" One hand cradled Doyle's
head, blunt-tipped fingers burrowing into thick curls. "Told you I had
already planned on leaving before Cowley came on the scene--y'know,
because of Mum's hard boy? Even though I couldn't ever blame her for him,
y'know, no matter how badly he treated me. He looked after *her*, y'see.
But when she finally found out what he'd done, she chucked him out. All on
her own. I've always given her credit for that. But I'd made up my mind,
and I meant to stick by it. Was ready to be on my own--wanted to be a hard
boy, too, I reckon." 

 He began a gentle massage of Doyle's skull, occasionally withdrawing his
hand to finger a clump of hair before burying his fingers deeply again.
"Cowley didn't know what he was taking on," Bodie murmured, his voice
empty. "I didn't trust him, though he was already the head of Home
Defense. He was stern, but fair--and I was determined to hate him.
Alex--she never went by 'Judith'--and I hit it right off. She was as
strong as I was and nearly as big. She'd been working out for years and
she loved shooters. As a child, she'd visited a few of the wilder colony
worlds because of her mother, so she'd found out early on how to protect
herself. George encouraged her. He wanted her to be independent." 

 Shifting slightly, Bodie insinuated a knee between Doyle's thighs.
"Somehow she sussed out that I intended to run off and decided to throw in
with me. I tried to talk her out of it, but we were both just a pair of
kids. Stupid, too young, and--unblooded." 

 With the hand lying on Bodie's flank, Doyle used his thumb to calmingly
describe concentric circles upon taut skin. 

 Bodie sighed. "I managed to get us passage on a freighter ferrying
supplies and arms to Joad. We were both mature for our age and convinced
the ship's recruiter that we could cut it. He'd probably have taken us
anyway--things were getting a bit out of hand there by then. And of course
our money was good. Once we'd landed, he handed us over to the proving
squad. Alex and I acquitted ourselves as though we were born to it. Three
weeks later we were on our way." 

 "Shh," Doyle breathed; Bodie's muscles were coiled like new metal
springs: Doyle could hear as well as feel the rapid-fire tattoo of his
heart. "It's okay, mate." 

 Bodie seemed not to hear him. "Within a week we knew we had made an
enormous mistake. But by then, we'd both reached our majority, and our
contracts were airtight. Not that either of us would have tried to get 'em
voided, mind: We were both determined to tough it out. So for three months
we fought on Joad. Learned all the ways a person can die; all the ways you
can make a person suffer. In the meantime, Cowley finally succeeded in
pinpointing our whereabouts. He did his best to break our contracts; in
the end, he bought them--*both of them*--out. If he'd only been a few days
sooner--" 

 The last word lingered on the air, laden with bitterness and remorse. 

 "It's past, Bodie. And you did all that you could have done. I only
wanted to know why you thought it might matter to me that she was *sort*
of related to you--otherwise, you'd told me every bloody thing?" 

 "Wasn't that," Bodie snapped. "She was only there because of *me*." 

 "From the way you've described her, she might've ended up there on her
own!" Doyle gave a silken buttock a stinging pinch. "Quite her own person,
in fact. But why didn't you try to talk with Cowley? Explain to him what
had happened?" 

 "You *know* why. I only found out he had paid off my contract when I was
already off planet." Bodie's voice deepened. "And because I've always
regretted what happened to Alex, I just assumed that Cowley must hate me
as much as I did." 

 "And still do," Doyle observed unemphatically. "Bodie-- I think it's time
we faced him." 

 A soft snort stirred Doyle's hair. "Ready to be shed of me, sunshine?" 

 Overlooking the caustic tone, Doyle said stubbornly, "If he's kept track
of you like you say, Bodie, it hasn't been as an assassin looking to top
you--otherwise he'd've done that years ago. As head of Home Defense, he
could even make it appear legal. *I* think he's been looking *after*
you--not *for* you." 

 "Well, you'll forgive me if I disagree." 

 "There's only one way to be sure." 

 "You mean, arrange a meet? Sorry, mate," Bodie said sardonically.
"Doesn't exactly appeal." 

 "Okay. Then contact him through Gilla. She's met him; did you know that?
'S true. He went to Vaux a few years ago to talk with her." 

 "Gilla?" Bodie sounded startled. "She never said--" 

 "She forgot." Doyle stifled a yawn, suddenly unbearably tired. "In fact,
she never even thought of it till I brought his name up a few days ago.
And then she said he asked her about Targeon--nothing about you. Your name
wasn't even mentioned." 

 "Why would Cowley do that?" Bodie wondered out loud. 

 "Who knows? Maybe he thought that by learning something about Targe, he'd
learn something about you. Anyway, *that's* not the important bit." 

 "Eh?" Lowering his head, Bodie idly began to trail light kisses in a
semi-circle from the outer edge of Doyle's eyebrow down to his marred
cheekbone. From his distracted manner, Doyle doubted that Bodie was even
aware of what he was doing. 

 "He didn't show up there by accident, Bodie. Pay attention!" 

 "Oomph. Didn't have much dinner," Bodie complained, tenderly rubbing at
the spot where Doyle had finger-stabbed him. "Got to make do with munching
on you." 

 "Keep that up and you'll get something to munch on, all right. Are you
listening to me?" 

 "I'm not deaf, mate-- All right! What's the important bit then?" 

 Grudgingly, Doyle said, "There's some food on the bedside cupboard, if
you're that desperate. What I was going to say--" Doyle paused as Bodie
immediately thrust out a hand and rooted around on the top of the low
cupboard. "It's in a plate near the edge." 

 "Well, there's a plate all right, but nothing on it." 

 "Nothing?" Squirming onto his side, Doyle commanded, "Lights." 

 "Ow!" With a dramatic moan, Bodie turned his head back against Doyle's
curls to shield his eyes. 

 "Hush. Lights." Darkness overcame them once more. "You're right. That
bloody, gluttonous sfang of yours must've made off with the lot." 

 "*My sfang! *" Bodie protested. "More *your* sfang these days." 

 "So *he's* had a rough time of it, too." 

 The stillness seemed to enclose them as completely as the darkness. Doyle
bit his lip, belatedly realizing what he had unwittingly said. 

 Bodie remarked colorlessly, "As have we all. Idiots, the lot of us."
"Speak for yourself. *Anyway*, what I was trying to point out was--" 

 "*Yes? *" 

 Doyle conceded a smile at Bodie's arch tone. "Bastard. Only this: Cowley
has always known where to find you, y'know? His going to Gilla's house
proves that--as does your statement that he's always known where you've
just been." 

 "But why, Ray?" Bodie asked, his voice suddenly hoarse. "Why always wait
until *after* I'd left?" 

 "My guess is that he only wants to know about you. How you're getting on.
How you're living your life. After all, you've made it rather clear that
you don't want anything to do with him." 

 Bodie's head rolled back and forth on the pillow. "What Boswell said,
about Cowley saying he'd find me--" 

 "Who knows? Maybe once he'd had a chance to think things through, he
decided you'd done your best for Alex. Which you had. I don't have the
answers, sunshine. Just guesses." 

 "And you think I should set up a meeting." 

 "I think it's time you stopped running. Don't you?" 

 "I think--" Bodie slid his knee further up between Doyle's thighs,
curling around until he could kiss Doyle's mouth. 

 Sometime later, Doyle reflected languidly, "Here I thought you'd rather
sleep." 

 "Would you?" 

 "Not just at the moment, no." And it was true; Doyle was sick of
confrontation. As Bodie's mouth scattered biting kisses down his torso,
Doyle found it absurdly easy to shut off his mind and give himself over to
his partner's knowing caresses and his own growing arousal. 

 Just, he suspected, as Bodie had known he would. 

 ******

The stirring of wings overhead rippled across the smooth surface of
Doyle's consciousness. A second later the abrupt clicking of tiny teeth
just outside one unprotected ear broke through the uppermost barriers of
slumber. As the sound grew in intensity, Doyle, still more than half
asleep, reflexively threw up a hand to ward off his tormentor. 

 Just as he was about to melt back into womblike nothingness, six taloned
feet snatched up a fat curl and gave it a vicious tug, wrenching a grunt
of dismay from Doyle's sleep-numbed mouth. 

 "Sodding hell, Asper!" The last syllable was lost beneath the sfang's
full weight as it dropped down and folded itself around Doyle's face.
Gasping, he instinctively brought up both hands to wrench the creature
away--then froze as wave after wave of coruscating images flooded his
brain. 

 Nearly stifled, he was nevertheless careful to lift the sfang gently off,
sucking in a restorative breath before trying to do anything else--not the
least of which was the ordering of suddenly frantic thoughts. "Go on
then," he said at last, something of the significance of Asper's erratic
communication filling him with equal parts of dread and incredulity. 

 Now all too awake, he felt the sudden current of air as the sfang soared
high above his head, then managed to track Asper's movements by sound as
he took to the opening. Before the noise of the sfang's passage had quite
faded from his ears, Doyle demanded, "Lights." The illuminators blasted
the cabin with painful radiance. Through slitted eyes, Doyle blinked down
at his partner, who had not moved at all. "Bodie, wake up." A peremptory
shake lent urgency to his words. 

 "Uhh. Wha--?" 

 "Wake up, I said. *Now, * Bodie!" 

 "Ray--?" 

 Doyle wriggled free of his partner's possessive grasp, then clambered
over him, stealing a rough kiss as he vaulted to the floor. "Need to move,
Bodie. *Right now! *" 

 Peering stupidly at the chrono through puffy eyelids, Bodie groused,
"It's the fucking middle of the fucking night! What--?" 

 "*Now! *" Taking hold of Bodie's arm, Doyle jerked the semi-somnolent man
upright and physically hoisted him out of bed. "No time to explain. But we
must go." 

 "*Go!? * I can't even--!" 

 "Shut up, Bodie!" Locking a hand around Bodie's wrist, Doyle afforded him
no opportunity to resist. In the next second he was in the corridor and
mercilessly cajoling his partner into a jarring lope; once out of the lift
at the next level down, he bullied Bodie into an all-out run. 

 "You'd better have a good explanation for this!" Bodie shouted furiously
as they pounded round the corner that gave access to the corridor ending
in the engine room. 

 "Wouldn't mind having one meself," Doyle shot back, wishing the
transition from sleep to wakefulness had not been quite so shocking. His
legs threatened to buckle and his head rang as though it had been lately
fitted with an enormous bell. 

 "Doyle, damn it--" 

 "Don't give me any aggro, Bodie." 

 "You moron, I don't have any clothes on!" 

 "In case you haven't noticed," Doyle roared, charging headlong into the
engine room, "neither do I!" 

 Guided by the image embedded in his consciousness, Doyle did not slow the
pace until they had arrived at the far side of the boilers--a name which
had survived through the centuries to describe the ship's motive source,
though the units used in the *Behemoth* bore no resemblance to those early
devices. Here, organics were integral to otherwise impossible functions,
and so were lavishly employed: Doyle squirmed inside as their trace signal
scraped at his brain. 

 "There's nothing in here--" 

 "*Shut up! *" Doyle snarled. Having yet to release Bodie's wrist, Doyle
snapped his partner up against his side, and while working to catch his
breath, continued to hold him, lest he attempt to break free. 

 "Ray--" 

 A surge of dizziness washed over him. "Listen to me, Bodie," Doyle said
thickly, his tongue awkward in the dry vault of his mouth. "It's Asper
who's called us here. He-- He wants to show us something. I think." 

 "How do *you* know?" The muscles in Bodie's forearm bunched as he
prepared to struggle. 

 Steeling himself for resistance, Doyle began, "He woke me up. He--" 

 Whatever else Doyle had meant to say died unspoken. A sharp movement
amidst the shadows of the organics-infested ducting had caught his eye. 

 "*Bloody hell! * Bodie breathed. 

 The tiny form, stunningly white and noticeably ungainly flittered into
full view, joined within the blink of an eye by another--then
another--until three of the impossible creatures had become visible. 

 Gratified on one level of his mind that he had not misinterpreted Asper's
boggling summons, Doyle was nonetheless as taken aback as his partner by
the reality of what he beheld: Three miniature Aspers, seemingly sprung
from nowhere, bobbing up and down mid-air as though suspended from lengths
of elastic. 

 All at once the three advanced, though not one of them travelled by the
most direct route. Their flying ability was as unpolished as their
apparent sense of the rational horizon, each varyingly soaring upside down
and sideways. 

 Doyle heard Bodie's sharp breath as the first sfanglet reached them. It
attempted to land on his partner's almost hairless chest. Infant talons
failed to gain purchase so that the creature slid down Bodie's torso, all
six legs scrabbling for a foothold, untutored wings fouling in panic. 

 "Don't move," Doyle hissed. 

 Bodie made no effort to reply, every muscle in his body tensed as the
sfanglet skidded inch by inch down his abdomen, below his navel, and onto
his genitals. There, it finally arrested its perilous plummet by grabbing
hold of thickly curling pubic hair in two sharp-tipped forepaws. 

 Air escaped loudly through Bodie's teeth. He cautiously curved a palm
under the presumptuous visitor with the clear hope that the sfanglet would
realize that his hand offered better support than his rapidly shrinking
penis. 

 At that moment, Doyle himself was accosted by a tiny, squeaking flyer. As
it faltered forward, aiming, he thought, for his shoulder, it broadcast
blurry, pastel images that were every bit as disorienting as the
side-effects of his recent abrupt awakening. The creature hovered briefly,
then shot straight upward. Tipping his head back to follow the novice
flyer, Doyle tucked his chin into his chest only a second later, eyes
squeezed shut as he prepared for impact. The sfanglet drifted down onto
Doyle's curls and was hardly felt. Immediately after, however, it lost its
footing, and only after a ticklish pin-wheeling of limbs, did it succeed
in heaving itself back onto Doyle's crown. Six sets of razor-sharp talons
dug into his scalp until the sfanglet had arranged each limb to its
satisfaction. 

 Through the link of their now meshed fingers, Doyle felt Bodie shiver
once more. Glancing sidelong at him, he saw that the third neonate had
touched down on Bodie's right ear and was obdurately attached to it, like
some absurd-looking ear-muff. 

 " 'S okay, sunshine," Doyle whispered, though what comfort he meant to
render may have been lost amidst the ignoble cracking of his voice.
"Asper, where the fuck are you?" 

 A defiant clicking erupted from the ductbanks that had unleashed the
sfanglets. Looking in that direction with extreme care so as not to
disturb his new passenger, Doyle spied his summoner perched on the corner
of a grille some feet away. 

 "We're here," Doyle prompted him patiently. The colorful but
undisciplined images lapping at his mind were making him very dizzy
indeed. 

 The larger sfang gathered himself, then leapt into the air. Chirruping
scoldingly, he began a display of plunges, ascents, and spins that set the
newcomers achatter. 

 Doyle closed his eyes, the ache in his head blossoming before Asper's
acrobatics, coupled with the sensations and impressions each of the sfangi
were putting forth so indiscriminately. He clung to Bodie's hand, relying
on his partner's sense of balance to be equal to the task of keeping them
both upright. 

 "Ray?" Bodie murmured worriedly. "You all right?" 

 "Yeah. Bit of a headache." He swallowed a moan as the sfanglet that had
been clutching Bodie's ear suddenly abandoned its lofty setting and threw
itself onto Doyle's shoulder. 

 The next moments passed in a welter of turbulent emotions, all new,
unfocussed and utterly raw. Thinking back later, Doyle remembered far more
of the frenzy than of the charm--for there *was* something of the latter
to be experienced in this first exposure to the unfledged sfang mind. At
the time, however, smarting and discomposed as he was, Doyle could only
think longingly of his mussed bed lying empty and unwarmed without him. 

 Before too much longer, happily, the multiple forays into his
consciousness did not so much resemble the pillage-and-plunder of an
unweaponed village by ravening forces as the uncertain overtures of lost
children seeking guidance. Once a degree--however elementary--of ordered
communication had been established, Doyle found his vexation effectively
defused, and to some extent even his physical complaints made tolerable:
The sfanglets, fresh from their birth membranes and intent upon forming
their first links between each other as well as the two men, were
deliberately invoking a less stressful and therefore more harmonious
atmosphere for all involved. 

 All at once, Doyle understood *why* Asper had rousted them from their bed
with such urgency--though there had never been any doubt but that he must
obey the sfang's imperative. The mental tableau of several sfangi bounding
about the engine room had ricocheted inside his sleep-drugged brain as
only one more of Asper's occasional bouts of hyperbole, and therefore of
no great concern in itself. It had, in fact, been the alarming exigency of
Asper's summons that had secured Doyle's witless obedience--and perforce
Bodie's. 

 What Doyle now knew was that he and Bodie had been brought here so that
they might meet the new offspring at the earliest possible moment--and
thus expedite their imprinting process. Inferring that Asper approved the
conjoining of human and sfangi minds--else the sfanglets would have been
kept hidden for as long as possible--Doyle was moved to wonder if Asper
had strong recollections of his own initial encounter with Bodie. 

 The question of *how* Asper had contrived to reproduce continued to loom
large in Doyle's mind--though he hoped the ship's library might be able to
provide a satisfactory answer. Tomorrow, however, would be soon enough to
relaunch his sfangi researches. Tomorrow-- 

 "Ray?" 

 "Hm?" "You going to sleep on me?" 

 "Don't...think so," Doyle replied dopily. Betrayingly, his eyelids slid
downward as though weighted, and his head began to loll to one side.
Gently rocked in sedative images, Doyle was certainly very tired, but he
suspected that it was the efforts of the sfanglets toward relaxing him
that were more directly responsible for his torpor. 

 Suddenly the spell was broken as Asper flashed round and round, screeing
loudly, streaking within a hair's breadths of each of his offspring. One
by one the tiny sfanglets left their respective perches, albeit with some
reluctance, and in single file, followed their parent back to the nest
which lay hidden behind the front panels of the ductwork. 

 Released from their mesmeric influence, Doyle swayed unsteadily, his head
beginning to clear almost at once. A touch at his elbow brought him round;
he willingly acceded to Bodie's lead. He staggered after his partner out
of the engine room without a backward glance, down the corridor, into the
lift, and out again onto the deck that accommodated their shared cabin.
Shortly thereafter, he half-fell through the just opened door, was
peremptorily caught and steadied by his partner before he could measure
his length on the floor, then was aimed, with amused patience, toward his
bed. 

 "In you go, sunshine." Bodie ushered him under the covers, which were
then drawn up to Doyle's chin. 

 " 'M all right," Doyle protested, and as Bodie slid in beside him,
commanding the lights off as he did so, demonstrated this statement by
pulling himself onto his backside and ordering the lights on again in a
much stronger voice. 

 Bodie gave him a peevish look. "You were acting like you were going to
fall over just seconds ago. Where'd you get this sudden burst of energy?" 

 "Got away from all those little mind-melters, that's how." Eyeing his
partner closely, Doyle remarked, "Don't seem to have bothered you in the
least. Why not?" 

 With a shrug, Bodie shifted around so that he could rest his head on
Doyle's lap. "Been through it before, though it was a long time ago.
'Sides, something lethal attached to that particular bit of my anatomy is
guaranteed to keep me alert. What are you doing?" 

 "Calling up the library. You interrupted my reading earlier." 

 "Pardon me. Didn't act like you minded at the time." 

 Though he thrummed with the need for sleep, Doyle was presently wide
awake. "Of course I didn't. But I thought you might be curious about
Asper--y'know, mum and dad all rolled into one ill-mannered little
package. Bit odd, that, you must admit." 

 "Well, it had crossed my mind to ask," Bodie grinned sheepishly. He
rubbed his cheek lazily across Doyle's thigh. "But you know me, sunshine:
Don't give much thought to theoretical discussion once reality has bitten
me on the bum." 

 "Or had a swing on your dangly bits?" 

 An unfeigned shudder vibrated through Doyle's leg. "If that insolent
bugger'd taken fright, that'd've put an end to *your* conjug--" 

 "Asper knew what he was about, Bodie. The little fellers were curious,
but not the least bit nervous. Hang about, here we are: *Unusual
Phenomena--Unsubstantiated*. Hm. Hm hm. Ah--this must be the place:
*Parthenogenesis or Asexual Reproduction*?" 

 "I'm all ears." Eyes closed, Bodie wrapped himself around his partner
like a large, human blanket. Once comfortable, he exhaled placidly and
gave Doyle's upper thigh a chaste kiss. "Go on, then." 

 But Doyle said nothing for a few minutes, reading silently to himself.
Several pages into the section, he noticed that Bodie's respiration was
becoming very regular and deep. 

 Guessing that his partner was not yet asleep but perhaps disinclined to
listen, he spoke in a low, well-modulated voice that could be easily
ignored. "This section repeats most of the data on nesting activity in
nonpregnant sfangi--because the symptoms exhibited by unmated pregnant
sfangi were virtually identical. Apparently these very rare occurrences
always involved sfangi that had been caged closest to mating couples. The
researchers were never able to demonstrate with absolute certainty that
the subject sfangi had not somehow been exposed to some form of
insemination, however--by airborne transmission, for example, or some
other physical process--" 

 Eyes wide, Doyle clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "The writer here
suggests that the researchers themselves might have provided the means of
impregnation by handling those few specimens which could be safely
studied--waste products, feathers, that sort of thing--and in some way
ultimately transported the reproductive material to a susceptible female."


 He exclaimed to himself, "Bit far-fetched, that, if you ask me!
Especially since they couldn't even go near their experimental subjects
without losing a face or a limb." Engrossed, he bent nearer the monitor.
"Another theory was that fertilization might have been genetically
encoded--" 

 One skeptical blue eye rolled open and frowned up at him. Bodie scoffed,
"Meaning they were preggers before they were even *born*?" 

 "Thought you were asleep," Doyle commented off-handedly. "But, yes, I
think that's what it means." He read on a little further to himself, his
lips moving soundlessly. "You've heard this bit before: Apparently the
biggest problem facing the researchers was their inability to study dead
sfangi, whose molecular architecture tends to dissolve at the instant of
death--due, it seems, to the acid in their systems no longer being held in
check by the living chemical balance." 

 "The scientific community was thwarted once more. What a pity." 

 "Cold-hearted pricks. Anyway, lacking all empirical evidence, the study
of sfangi gender came to be deemed well nigh impossible, as outwardly they
are indistinguishable as to body size, shape, coloration, mannerisms, and
so forth. In other words, they reproduced readily enough; the researchers
simply could never specify *how*." 

 As sinuously as a serpent, Bodie twisted onto his back and gazed intently
up at his partner. "Which means that sfangi must be basically bisexual,
right? In biological terms." 

 "Don't know that *all* of 'em are, but Asper certainly is--unless there's
another sfang hanging about somewhere that you've neglected to mention?" 

 "If there're any other secrets between us, Ray," Bodie said levelly,
"they're all *yours*." Doyle made a rude sound. "You've known everything
about *me* for years." 

 "Not everything, exactly. Like that little trick of broadcasting when
we're in bed: Didn't know anything about *that*." Bodie scowled. "And it's
the broadcasting that's caused all this, isn't it? Because we got a bit
enthusiastic, Asper ended up *pregnant*." 

 "Looks that way. Must've triggered a hormonal overload which went beyond
mere stimulation. Remember, the report stated that most of the affected
sfangi would only go on heat--they wouldn't actually reproduce." He tapped
his finger against his lower lip. "Thought we'd solved the problem with
the tablets and dietary supplements, but maybe we only slowed things.
Anyway, according to some of the bits I read before, we should be able to
shield the cabins to keep him from being--" Doyle produced a cough of
helpless laughter "--maybe the word is *contaminated* again?" 

 "Rather than *infected*--which would imply that it could go both ways!
Lovely." 

 "I'm sure you'd make a wonderful mother!" Doyle said artlessly. 

 "As would you. Bastard." There was no heat in the epithet, however, and
in the next instant Bodie was rolling back onto his side, arms encircling
Doyle's raw-boned frame, legs twining with his long, wiry limbs. "That's
it, surely?" Bodie pleaded. "I'd like to get *some* sleep tonight,
y'know?" 

 "Unfeeling swine," Doyle chided affectionately. He switched off the
computer and shoved the swing arm against the wall. "Here you've just
witnessed a miracle of science--" 

 "Asexual reproduction has been around for millennia, Ray." 

 "Not amongst creatures as complex as sfangi," Doyle argued
good-naturedly. "Lights." Amidst instantaneous darkness, he began to work
his way under the covers, hampered by Bodie's inflexible grip and intimate
proximity. "Maybe tomorrow you'll be more impressed--y'know, when you've
got four of 'em buzzing about your head--and other parts of your body, I
might add. Give us a bit of room, eh?" 

 Bodie's hiss spoke volumes. All the same, he relaxed his hold just enough
for Doyle to curl up beside him. Then, giving him a last crushing hug,
Bodie stated, "So long as I'm dressed for the event, I shall be as
impressed as you like." 

 "Hm. Mind the ribs, sunshine. Bodie--?" 

 "Yes, Ray?" 

 Smiling to himself at that overly tolerant tone, Doyle asked, "Have you
decided what you're going to do with them?" 

 " '*Do* with them?' " 

 "The sfanglets." 

 "Other than chuck the lot out the airlock?" 

 "Now there's an option I hadn't considered," Doyle said drolly. 

 "Don't lie; your nose'll grow." 

 "Why ever should it do that?" 

 "Dunno. Something my mum used to say." Bodie yawned ostentatiously.
"Reckon we'll have to do the same thing I tried with Asper." 

 "Which was?" 

 "First suitable planet we come to, we'll show 'em the door." 

 Doyle cogitated the logic of this suggestion for at least ten seconds.
"Doesn't seem to have worked very well with Asper, does it?" 

 "Didn't work at all, as you well know. He wandered about for a few
minutes then came straight back." 

 "So what's the point of trying it with this lot? Maybe they'll all want
to stay, too." 

 "And maybe they won't. Sfangi are loners, y'know?" 

 "Asper isn't." 

 "Sure he is. Well, mostly he is. He puts up with us, but maybe humans
don't figure in that particular equation. *I* don't know!" 

 "Ought to." Doyle's voice was cuttingly stern. "Purchased that version of
the ship's library because of its extensive information on sfangi; same
thing with your diagnostics and prescriptions software--or so you said.
Haven't you ever read any of it, then?" 

 Bodie scraped his beard-roughened chin against Doyle's shoulder, causing
him to shrink away. He was not allowed to go far. "Only got it for
emergencies. Didn't think I'd want to know *everything* about the
miserable beggars." 

 Taking pity on his beleaguered-sounding mate, Doyle pretended to
yawn--only to be seized by the real thing. "Snaresbrook tomorrow?" he
asked, smacking his lips and beginning a hypnotic caress of Bodie's
smooth, silky hair. 

 "Late in the day, yes. Want to be rid of the echo?" 

 "Not particularly. Haven't noticed it at all, actually." 

 "No reason you should've." Bodie snuggled nearer, lying heavily against
Doyle's side. "It *is* in a protective casing." He fell quiet then, and
the rise and fall of his chest began to slow. 

 As much-needed slumber tugged at his own eyelids, Doyle somehow thought
there might be more to come. Less than a minute later, his intuition
proved correct. 

 "Ray?" 

 "I'm asleep, Bodie," Doyle growled softly. 

 "No, listen: I've just had a thought." 

 "Hm hm?" 

 "About Asper getting preggers because of us--" 

 "Hmmm?" 

 Bodie's voice dropped to a hushed whisper. "Ray, d'you remember this
afternoon--after we'd adjusted the engines?" 

 A reminiscent smile tugged lightly at Doyle's full lips. "Yeah, I do. Was
nice, that." 

 "Very. But Asper's nest is in the--" 

 Doyle's heart advanced a beat. "--engine room." The enormity of the
thought stole the breath from his lungs. "Bloody hell." 

 "Then you think--?" 

 Teeth bared and glinting whitely in the dark, Doyle said fatalistically,
"Reckon we'll know soon enough. But in the meantime--" 

 "Yeah?" Bodie asked warily. 

 "If we can't get shielding materials on Snaresbrook, we'll either have to
keep our hands off each other, or--" 

 Bodie groaned. "Or we'll be up to our eyebrows in sfanglets. Hell of a
choice, sunshine." 

 "More like, no choice at all." 

 Sinking under the edge of the covers, Bodie groaned even louder. ******

Freshly showered and dressed, Doyle stepped carefully down the corridor
which led to the flight deck, conscious of the none-too-steady sfanglet
riding upon his shoulder, the other sfanglet ensconced in his breast
pocket, and the two mugs of scalding hot tea clutched in both hands. 

 It was early afternoon, following a morning of discovery. By now Doyle
had grown accustomed to the fidgety images and sparkling sensations that
flared to life, fully formed, inside his brain whenever he was in the
presence of the sfanglets--and that had been most of the day. His many
years of training had been slow to kick in, he realized, perhaps because
there was something inherently charming about the neonate's wonder-filled
thoughts. They tended to wend their way into his head before he was quite
aware that they had intruded. 

 The sfanglet in Doyle's pocket raised its snout and twisted its head to
one side as Doyle rounded the corner at the end of the corridor. From here
the interior of the flight deck was clearly visible. Bodie sat at the
pilot's console, chin in hand, watching the third sfanglet bounce from
console to chair back, from chair back to Bodie's head, from Bodie's head
to the monitor-- 

 "Is it safe to say that you're having fun?" Doyle ventured. He fluidly
ducked to avoid a collision with the careering sfanglet, somehow managing
to spill only a drop or two of tea on his clean trousers. 

 "Wondered when you were going to show up," Bodie groused. He took the mug
proffered him, shooting a jaded look toward Asper, who sat crouched
forward on the arm of the copilot's chair. In truth, Asper's expression
was little less harried than Bodie's. 

 "Got 'em out of your hair for a while, didn't I? Did I mention they're
already eating 'real' food? Gobbled half of my snack right down."
Navigating between the two chairs, Doyle reflexively dropped out of harm's
way once more, then lowered his bottom onto the seat of the copilot's
chair and slid back without disrupting the calm of either of his
passengers or the adult sfang presently at rest there. 

 "Left me to work while you had a nice long run, you mean," Bodie said,
ignoring Doyle's conversational gambit. "Speaking of hair, it does rather
appear that they came away with a fair bit of yours." 

 Self-consciously Doyle raked his free hand through his curls. "Not that
bad, surely?" 

 Grimly, Bodie reached across to the narrow storage cupboard on his right
and came away with a small sheaf of crinkly, auburn-brown strands. "One of
the blighters came in bearing the evidence." 

 "Attila." 

 "Pardon?" 

 "He's the little feller doing aerial cartwheels. Has a mean streak as
wide as the *Behemoth*." 

 "You can tell them apart now?" 

 "Not if they're sitting quietly in a row. Though, that'd be a rare sight,
wouldn't it?" He raised his mug to his mouth and sipped carefully. "More
by personality. This wee number--" Doyle indicated the sfanglet huddled
inside his pocket "--is a lovey, but a bit of a clinger. This one--" He
bent his head toward the sfanglet on his shoulder. "--can be a bit more
aggressive. *That* one--" 

 "Attila. Well named, if I recall my hist--" 

 Just then the small creature adorning Doyle's shoulder shot into the air
and plowed into his rough-and-tumble sibling mid-air. The two began a
frantic tussle, plummeting toward the floor, breaking free just before
they could crash, then launching themselves upward to engage in battle
once more. As the pattern was repeated, Doyle glanced sharply across at
his partner as some of the console controls came in for a bit of abuse. 

 "I've locked all the settings," Bodie assured him resignedly. "They can't
do any serious damage." 

 Doyle lifted his mug in tribute, swiftly laying a hand over the rim when
the two combatants spun out of control. The sfanglet in Doyle's pocket
shrank down below the edge, only a few tufts of white feathers left
visible. 

 Before they smashed into the Vauxan, however, the two separated, one
darting out of the cockpit and into the corridor, the other hot on his
abbreviated tail feathers. 

 Doyle's pocket stirred as his timid passenger hoisted itself out of its
fabric shelter and onto his shoulder, so that it could gaze down the
corridor after its litter-mates. Without warning, it took flight, charging
after the others in hot pursuit. 

 "We're alone," Doyle said, relieved. He reached out and lifted Asper off
the arm of the chair and gently stroked his ruffled feathers flat. "There,
there, old son," he crooned. 

 As Doyle lovingly nuzzled the older sfang, Bodie remarked, "I believe I'm
jealous." 

 Doyle's eyes widened in alarm. "Don't even *think* it!" 

 Throwing back his head, Bodie gave a low moan. "Right. Talk about
something else, Bodie. *Think* about something else." He pursed his lips.
"We're two hours out." 

 Restoring Asper to his perch, Doyle asked, "You've contacted the
station?" 

 "Yep. But there's good news, and there's bad news." 

 "Great. Give me the bad news first." Doyle picked up his tea and tipped
his nose into the depths of the mug as he took a long slurp. 

 "The science station hasn't got enough shielding material to spare for
our use." 

 "Oh, no!" 

 "That's the bad news. The good news is that the Vauxan freighter behind
us has plenty listed on their bill of lading." 

 "Great! How long before they arrive?" 

 Pasting a synthetic smile on his mouth, Bodie said, "About ten hours
after we do. Maybe fourteen hours all told before we have the
modifications in place?" 

 Doyle bit down on his fist. 

 "My sentiments precisely," Bodie stated. "Still, we can wait *that* long.
We have waited longer, after all." 

 "It's just knowing that we can't-- You know." 

 "Don't I just." 

 Amidst a whoosh of fiercely beating wings, raucous chittering, and
Catherine wheel images, the trio of sfanglets returned. They flew about
the interior of the flight deck with fearless abandon, wildly striking out
at each other, spinning and swooping, and generally causing a great
commotion. 

 Bent over to protect his head, Doyle started when Asper let out a
deafening shriek and, with wings flaring, rocketed into the air. At once
the sfanglets stilled, dropping like stones to the nearest flat surface.
Asper went to each in turn, then came to hover before Doyle's face. A
sensation of intense hunger--not his own--assailed him. 

 "Right," he said at once. As he climbed to his feet, Doyle downed the
rest of his tea as quickly as he could. "They're hungry," he explained to
his bemused partner, who was watching Asper, trailed by three suddenly
docile sfanglets, glide smoothly out the opening. 

 "Ah." 

 Doyle leaned over and pressed his fingertips to Bodie's mouth. "Your turn
next time," he said sweetly. Then he turned toward the corridor. 

 "Ray--" 

 Doyle glanced over his shoulder. "Yeah?" 

 "After we've unloaded the echo and had the shielding installed, we'll be
free to do as we like. Don't suppose there's anywhere you've in mind to
go?" 

 Regarding his partner measuringly, Doyle suggested ingenuously, "Home
Defense?" 

 The animation fled Bodie's face; only his eyes moved, and they studied
Doyle with a hint of betrayal. "Can I think about it?" 

 Prepared for resistance, Doyle was quick to relent. "Of course." 

 Tipping his head to one side, Bodie said sourly, "You really think
setting up a meet with Cowley is something I ought to do?" 

 "*We*. Something *we* ought to do. Yes." 

 Bodie opened his mouth to speak, but his words were overrun by an
onslaught of petulant screeing: Attila had returned and was voicing his
impatience in no uncertain terms. 

 Blue eyes, dark with unpleasant musings, followed the sfanglet's antics
as it gamboled from point to point within the confined interior of the
cockpit, this display apparently meant to emphasize the creature's
displeasure. 

 "All right. Why not?" Bodie said thoughtfully. 

 "Cowley?" The surprise in Doyle's voice was unmistakable. He had foreseen
a fairly long period of persuasion before obtaining Bodie's acquiescence
in this. 

 "Yeah, Cowley." Distaste dripped from every syllable. Rubbing his chin,
Bodie remarked, "Maybe we'll offer him a rare and exotic gift." His gaze
continued to track the obstreperous sfanglet. 

 Doyle broke into an understanding grin. "And here I thought you were
looking to make amends." 

 "He may not be so forgiving as you like to think," Bodie informed his
partner crushingly. "If nothing else, it'd distract him long enough for us
to make our get-away." 

 "Our get-away?" Doyle queried. 

 "If we need to." 

 Lurching back a step to make room for Asper--who had entered the flight
deck at top speed--Doyle paused while the parent sfang latched onto his
startled offspring with six taloned paws, swung round one hundred and
eighty degrees, then bore the instantly subdued sfanglet away,
broadcasting an impassioned repeat of his request for sustenance as he
disappeared into the corridor, slowed not in the least by his burden. 

 "Somehow," Doyle observed whimsically, "I think George Cowley might find
Attila a challenge." 

 "He might. But, then, they're two of a kind." 

 "Demanding?" 

 "Relentless." 

 "Hm." With Asper's fabricated sensation of hunger still gnawing at his
insides, Doyle decided it was time to start for the galley. "Okay. We'll
think about it." 

 A faint smile lightened Bodie's features, the transformation, slight
though it was, enough to foster a profound sense of guilt in Doyle. "And
if you never want to," he declared firmly, "we'll never go." 

 Bodie laughed. "You're a soft touch, mate. Or maybe all that
chitter-chatter has just addled your brains. We *will* look into it, okay?
Only I think you ought to--" 

 A volley of noise, produced by several sfang voices, could be heard some
distance away. 

 "--feed the hordes. I know, I know. Just a bloody minute!" he shouted,
hurling his words in the direction of the clamor which was gradually
drawing nearer. 

 Striding purposefully to the pilot's chair, he braced himself on the
padded arms, then bent over and took Bodie's mouth in a leisurely, loving
kiss. "I do love you," he said fondly. "Gotta go." 

 From a standing start, Doyle broke into a run, gaining speed until he was
hurtling down the corridor. As he rounded the corner--where he was met by
a multitude of busily flapping wings--he heard Bodie yell after him,
"Fourteen hours and counting!" 

 Happily entertaining the activities that would take place fourteen hours
hence, Doyle was understandably slow to take notice when his entourage
began to act rather strangely. They twirled like tops, two of the
sfanglets collided then battled violently before separating amidst a
scattering of sfang feathers, and Asper let out a stream of rebuke that
frosted the blood in Doyle's veins. He had unintentionally announced his
sexual anticipation--and this was result. Ruthlessly, he slammed the
shields down on his thoughts, somehow not missing a step as he raced into
the galley. 

 Hastily gathering together the varied components known to entice the
sfang palate, Doyle scowled to himself as he mentally calculated the
amount of time usually spent in lascivious reflection involving Bodie. 

 It would, he concluded hopelessly, be a *very* long fourteen hours. 

 -- THE END --

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