The Professionals Circuit Archive - Echo	 Echo

 

by Ellis Ward

  
 *(sequel is Broadcast Difficulties)*


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

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

 His wait proved surprisingly brief.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Right."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ******

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

 "You're awake," Bodie said.

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

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

 "Outgoing?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Here, Doyle. Drink this."

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

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

 ******

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 The Vauxan blinked. "Can you neutralize it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Doyle!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Doyle gave him a reproachful look.

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

 "And if I had?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ******

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

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

 Bodie magnanimously overlooked the insult.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Obviously. You haven't said why."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Why me?" Doyle's voice cracked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Of course."

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

 Bodie murmured, "Doyle."

 The Vauxan halted mid-stride.

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

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

 ******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Until the day Ray Doyle turned up in Stepney Prison.

 ******

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

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

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

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

 "It's used in their agricultural industry."

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

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

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

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

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

 "In a way," Bodie smirked.

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

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

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

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

 "Got a few enemies?" Doyle asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Bodie inquired very softly, "Would you have?"

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

 "What he asked. For your lover?"

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

 "You worried about him?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ******

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

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

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

 ******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ******

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

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

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

 "You all right?" Bodie asked.

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

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

 "Prime it? You do that onboard?"

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

 "Or vice versa," Doyle parried.

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

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

 "Come along, then."

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

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

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

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

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

 "Something like that, yeah."

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

 Doyle shook his head.

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

 "Nobody knew they were intelligent?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "You want to help them."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "You talk too much," Bodie said unkindly.

 ******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Bodie agreed for both of them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ******

"What the hell happened to you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ******

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

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

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

 "Tea?" Doyle asked sympathetically.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ******

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

 So, why last night?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "*Even* humans?" Bodie sniffed.

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

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

 "May I come aboard, Captain Bodie?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Don't!"

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

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

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

 Bodie tensed automatically. "What sort of transaction?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "You want Doyle in exchange for the Annic?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Doyle?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "What about your brother?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Late bloomer, eh?"

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

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

 "Yeah?"

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

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

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

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

 "Do you keep in touch with her?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "You felt that?"

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

 "And several parsecs away by now."

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

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

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

 He was treated to a haughtily curled lip in reply. "She called Asper a
pet."

 "A pet!" Doyle snorted. "Humans!" Then at Bodie's long, level look, he
recanted, "Well, some of them."

 "Careful, son," Bodie chided him. "You're as close to being one as makes
no difference."

 He had taken a single step into the corridor when Doyle spoke his name.
There was a strange, tentative expression in the round face.

 "What is it?" Bodie prompted.

 "So, where are we headed now? You haven't said."

 "We'll talk about it later," he said abruptly. To temper the shortness of
his words, he went on, "When you feel better. Get some rest for now,
mate."

 "Tell me, Bodie," Doyle insisted, with a trace of the old caution. "Is it
this mission of yours?"

 The human relented under that uneasy regard. He said unthinkingly, "In a
hurry to go?" Doyle opened his mouth, and Bodie anticipated him hurriedly,
"Scratch that. 'Course you are. And, yeah, it's the 'mission,' as you call
it. But we'll talk about it later, okay?"

 Bodie waited while the Vauxan's face cleared and he laid back onto the
bunk. If one's body could relate conflicting emotions, Doyle's was
speaking in volumes. Yet he said nothing more, conceding to Bodie's
request. It tardily occurred to Bodie that as his bound property, there
was really little else Doyle could say.

 "I'll be on the flight deck, if you need me." Bodie strode into the
corridor, unable to dispel the feeling that he was escaping--and not just
from Doyle.

 ******

Doyle napped off and on for several hours. When at last he deemed himself
reasonably restored, he saw to a few neglected points of hygiene, then
made his way to the flight deck.

 Bodie switched off the monitor he had been viewing at the first give-away
tread that announced Doyle's arrival.

 Subjected to the human's intense appraisal, Doyle knew he was looking
better. His color had greatly improved, and the lassitude that had
followed his healing of the sfang had finally dissipated. This was
entirely due to Bodie, who had taken pains to ensure that every time Doyle
had surfaced from a convalescent drowse, there had been food and drink
awaiting him. Bodie had gauged his appetite well, so that the meals had
grown smaller and more suitable to his needs as he had gained in strength.

 "You're looking more human," Bodie commented; then with false demur, he
murmured, "If you'll pardon the expression."

 "Kinder than the truth," Doyle said self-effacingly. "Need to stay awake
for a while, I think. Was starting to wonder if the bunk was attached."

 "So was I," Bodie confessed. "Would it get easier? If you did that
again?"

 An involuntary tremor tore down the Vauxan's spine. "Don't think so. Not
like learning how to do something; it's an actual physical drain. Suppose
the sensations wouldn't be quite so strange, though."

 "Bad?"

 Doyle flopped into the co-pilot's seat, his posture all relaxed curves
rather than attentive angles. "Like being sucked empty. Probably like
dying, I should imagine."

 Covering a shiver of his own, Bodie muttered, "Even from such a little
thing as Asper?"

 Doyle spread thin-boned fingers wide. "It wasn't the quantity of energy
he needed," he explained. "He was very close to packing it in. There's a
kind of psychic overlap-- I don't know if I can even describe it. Once
caught up in that, it was almost impossible to resist."

 "But *you* weren't injured," Bodie protested.

 The Vauxan shrugged. "No. But it's one of the drawbacks of being
empathic. Like cheating your body into believing another's death is its
own, maybe. Can't say I really understand it. Just know that the shields
learned in training are very necessary. It explained a lot to me once I
gained control. You've no idea how wanton, or how powerful, the feelings
you humans generate are."

 "And Vauxans don't?"

 "Not if they've had training, no. Worst of all are babies--human or
Vauxan. They've no control, y'see. That's one reason our families tend to
be small, and why people who work with children have special devices to
filter out so much random emotion. Being with children is like being in a
pit of writhing slithers; all mindless sensation," Doyle concluded
graphically.

 "Asper doesn't seem any the worse for wear," Bodie stated, gesturing
toward the sfang which was stationed behind his head on the neckrest.

 "He wouldn't be," Doyle said sourly. "*I* did all the work."

 A small, wiry forepaw waggled in his direction. "Don't worry, Asper,"
Doyle said reassuringly. "I'd do it again."

 "You would, wouldn't you," Bodie murmured sardonically. "Even with what
you know."

 Slight shoulders described a vague shrug under the loose shirt. "No
choice."

 Bodie's face hardened and he swivelled toward the instrument panel.
"That's bloody stupid."

 Taken aback by the vehemence of Bodie's words, Doyle could not summon a
suitable reply. So he chose to say nothing, silently taking in the
settings on the pilot's monitor and the computer-generated star field cast
upon the main screen. "You're not heading for the Harlesden Gate," he
remarked.

 Bodie grunted.

 Doyle took that as confirmation. "So we're staying in this sector for a
while, then?"

 The human leaned forward and keyed on the screen pointer. Deftly he
manipulated it toward the edge of the computer image. "There," he said
flatly. "That's where we're going."

 Doyle studied the screen closely. Despite having travelled extensively on
his own, this was an area he was not overly familiar with. "Don't know
it," he concluded.

 "Would've been surprised if you had," Bodie remarked. "Dagenham's
actually the last place in this sector to undergo any real exploration.
Some of these other systems are completely untouched."

 The Vauxan's finger jabbed at the tiny dot which was set apart by the
pointer. "Except for that one."

 Bodie's eyes lit with a predatory gleam. "Yes. Once; years ago. It's a
backward place."

 "What took you there in the first place?"

 "Ship trouble. Had to put her down to sort out an engine vibration
problem."

 The slight smile on Doyle's lips was cold. "And what did you find on this
backward place?"

 "Echo stones," Bodie announced smugly. "A huge cache of them."

 For an instant the Vauxan's expression was unreadable. "There've been
stories of echo stone hoards for centuries. You found echo--and you were
content to let it lie?"

 Bodie balanced his elbows on the armrests, fingers steepled over his lap.
"Didn't want it then, did I."

 Doyle merely stared at him.

 "Didn't need it, either," Bodie continued, defensively.

 "But that's changed now?" Doyle asked intently. "Now you'll illegally use
an empath to retrieve this hoard?"

 "That's right," Bodie shot back. "And as I told you, that empath will be
well rewarded for his services. Not just pay off his marker, but share in
the profit from the echo stones, as well. Enough to free his lover,
remember?"

 The angry exchange colored the silence that ensued, which was
paradoxically louder than the low hum of the automatics.

 Finally, Doyle said bleakly, "Yeah, I remember. How long before we get
there?"

 "Four days."

 The Vauxan absorbed this information without pleasure. "All right," he
said evenly. "You'll let me know what you expect of me when you're ready,
I take it?"

 "Of course."

 "Of course." Doyle rose, suddenly finding the confines of the flight deck
entirely too crowded for his state of mind, and started toward the portal.
Yet he hesitated near the hatchway, not pleased that the comradeship he
sometimes shared with this oft-prickly human had again been sorely tested.
Or had it ever existed outside his own mind? He choked back the words that
came unbidden to his mind, and went out into the corridor.

 ******

Sometime after Doyle had gone, the dull tread of his heels fading away,
Bodie suddenly hunched forward and slammed a fist into the empty chair
opposite him. The cushion absorbed the bulk of the blow, but his shoulder
took a good portion of it as well, shock vibrating all the way to the base
of his skull. A surge of pain sang through his arm; it suited him very
well at that moment, an appropriate counterpoint to the exasperating
confusion that crowded his mind.

 It did not ease the ache--either muscular or emotional--to know that he
had brought this upon himself, either. But his actions were necessary,
Bodie knew. The day might come when Doyle would find out who Bodie really
was, and Doyle would remember then that he was the human who had had no
compunction about using him. Any affection he mistakenly harbored would
suffer a clean, swift end, and they would both be free to carry on with
their lives. Bodie pulled his arm across his chest, rubbing roughly at his
angry shoulder. At least, he hoped that's how it would be.

 Otherwise, it was entirely possible that he was already lost.

 ******

As Bodie had expected, the Vauxan avoided him for the remainder of the
day. Bodie occupied his time as he usually did when on a haul like this,
mixing basic chores with games and a bout in the passive exercise chamber.
Asper made himself scarce, and Bodie suspected the creature was with
Doyle. The thought filled him with a kind of bitterness, recognizing as he
did the ready bond the two had forged in the very short spell they had
been together. Would he lose the sfang when he lost the Vauxan, as well?

 He would not hold Asper forcibly, even though they had been together for
over five years now. The sfang had come to fill a niche in his life
wherein Bodie doubted another would ever be welcome again. Perhaps Doyle
had earned the creature's devotion. After all, he had been ready to
surrender his own existence to preserve the sfang's.

 The drift of his maunderings and the general malaise of melancholy
continued until the following morning. Bodie performed his daily
inspection of the ship, a necessary habit dating back to his earliest
years in space. It never paid to depend completely on the automatics, as
Doyle had proven so emphatically just hours after his being brought
aboard.

 As Bodie made his tour, the other man's presence was in evidence
everywhere: a station spruced up here; a console showing signs of recent
refit there. Yet the Vauxan himself was nowhere to be found, until Bodie
came past the cargo holds.

 The door to the starboard cargo hold, formerly the receptacle of
Dagenham's palogene ore, stood open. Approaching, Bodie could hear a
strange thudding noise emanating from within.

 Gingerly, he poked his head inside, his furrowed brow smoothing instantly
at the sight that greeted him. Doyle was running the length of the large
chamber, the sfang airborne only inches behind his head, chasing after him
like a vengeful harpy. Gauging by the broad sweat stain which darkened the
front and back of the Vauxan's shirt, Doyle had been at it for some time;
yet he did not appear to be breathing at all hard. As Asper dove down and
caught some luckless curls in razor-sharp teeth, Doyle gave a yelp and put
on a burst of speed.

 A slow smile came to Bodie's lips, and unconsciously he untensed. He was
reminded of those two cavorting together just before Principal Dubchek had
turned everything upside down. As one they circled the makeshift track,
sharing the exuberance of wild things barely tamed. Doyle managed to pull
free of the sfang's tormenting teeth and skidded out of the near curve
before pounding full tilt down the long stretch. They made two more full
circuits before Bodie was noticed, and only then because he stepped into
the hold where they could not miss him.

 It was with regret that Bodie observed the slight stiffening that
threaded through Doyle's body. Accordingly, he gave the Vauxan a polite
nod and pivoted on heel to leave.

 "Don't go."

 Doyle abandoned the makeshift track and picked up a towel from the end of
a long mat; a protective cushion for delicate cargoes. As he swabbed at
his neck and face, Doyle offered a conciliatory smile, thin though it was.
"D'you run?" he asked, when Bodie hesitated.

 Asper fluttered out of the air above his head and landed on Bodie's left
forearm. He flicked a finger under its muzzle in greeting, absurdly
pleased that the creature had chosen to acknowledge his presence. "No. I
use the passive chamber when I need to."

 "Not as good for you, that," Doyle stated, peeling off his soaked top.
"Keeps the muscles fit, sure; but chambers take all the work out of it."

 "Could've fooled me," Bodie scoffed.

 "Well, if you don't run, d'you wrestle?" Doyle persisted.

 Bodie gave the question due consideration, not oblivious to the
underlying request for peace between them. "Yeah. But it wouldn't be fair
right now. You're beat. I'd dust the floor with you."

 Doyle's eyes widened at this unsubtle challenge. "Would you indeed?"

 "Easily. Besides, you're smaller than I am. Must have two stone on you."

 The green gaze insolently raked over the human's body. "At least. We'll
consider that your handicap."

 "You really think I'll need it?" Bodie asked arrogantly.

 "Know you will," Doyle goaded, tossing the towel to the floor and falling
back a pace as Bodie came nearer.

 Asper shot into the air as Bodie began to strip off his shirt; it was too
close-fitting to allow him the flexibility he would need. Doyle waited
until the human stood bare-chested and skinned of boots.

 At an unvoiced signal, they began to circle the mat, studying each
other's movements, assessing the easy flow of muscle and sinew over bone.
Neither betrayed their conclusions in any way, totally concentrated and
totally committed. Bodie broke first, and Doyle barely evaded him, taught
in a few seconds just how much advantage his own speed would lend. The
human was fast, far faster than he had any right to be. All the same Doyle
did not hesitate to barrel into him, thus taking him by surprise.

 They grappled briefly, a test of each other's strength and endurance.
Doyle danced out of reach, green eyes narrowed. He seemed to be
re-evaluating Bodie's ability to back his alacrity with enormous power,
even though the strength must surely have been expected. Wondering at what
the other man's face betrayed, it occurred to Bodie that perhaps he had
frightened Doyle. Surely the Vauxan could not imagine that Bodie would
injure him, no matter how determined he was to win? Or maybe it simply
went beyond that, to more primal considerations: submission and conquest,
and all that either outcome might suggest.

 Given that possibility, Bodie began to question whether he should have
agreed to this game at all. What had begun as a mere contest of brawn was
developing rapidly into a revelation of subliminal--or not so subliminal--
desires. Doyle was certainly endowed with the animal speed Bodie had
expected, but he was also possessed of a rare strength for one so slight.
His movements were sleek and deft, and Bodie found himself wanting to
watch just for the sheer pleasure of it. But there was a part of him that
also wanted to capture that quicksilver body; and once imprisoned, bend it
to his will.

 The match continued for some minutes until both men were panting, without
solid points having been scored on either side. Doyle was wearying and it
showed in his responses. Under normal circumstances, he would have been an
equal opponent to Bodie. Having spent himself earlier on his run, however,
it was foregone that Bodie should finally bear him to the mat, his
superior weight pinning Doyle down, vice-like hands rendering his arms
immobile.

 Hot breath rushed between them, chests lifting and pressing together, as
starved lungs demanded air. "Give!" Bodie demanded, preparing to straddle
the smaller man.

 Doyle did not waste precious breath on words, but gave his head a quick
shake, denying acquiescence. Yet to Bodie's consternation, he let himself
go limp, and the human shifted his weight to move on top of him.

 At the instant that Bodie was at his most vulnerable, Doyle seized his
chance. He twisted and rolled, squirming bonelessly out of Bodie's grasp.
Surprised to find that his apparent victim was still capable of treachery,
Bodie tried to restore his temporary predominance; Doyle, however, was not
trying to escape at all. Too late Bodie found himself on his back, made
helpless with callous skill. Yet he struggled, attempting to gain leeway,
only to fail before begun, trapped between the other man's steel-hard
thighs, forearms held immobile by nearly the whole of Doyle's weight
pressed down upon his wrists.

 "You?" Doyle managed to produce the hoarse word though rasping breaths.

 Bodie writhed again, the blood flowing too hot in his veins to easily
concede defeat, and opened his mouth to shout his refusal.

 Before Bodie could give voice to either denial or surrender, Doyle
released him and rolled onto the mat at his side.

 Stunned, Bodie levered himself up onto his elbow, only just repressing
the aggressive impulse to climb onto the other man and insist that he
carry on. Looking down into Doyle's sweat-sheened face, all the fury began
to drain out of him. "Bloody sure of the outcome, aren't you? Presuming we
were to take it to its natural conclusion, that is," he said ironically.
Giving Doyle no chance to speak, he added, "That's all right. Just remind
me not to take you on when you're not tired, okay?"

 "Right," Doyle whispered. He lay on his back, eyes closed, arms loose at
his sides. The heaving, darkly pelted chest was slick from his exertions.

 Tempted beyond resistance, Bodie plucked gently at a whorl of hair near
the stark outline of Doyle's right collarbone. "Who taught you that?" he
asked, letting the hair spring back to the heated surface of Doyle's skin.

 "My brother."

 "The one who used to terrorize you with monster stories?"

 Doyle's eyes started open as if with surprise. "Yes."

 "You as good as he was?"

 The Vauxan let his head roll from one side to the other in negation.
"Miles from. He thought, being that I was half-human, I should be able to
protect myself."

 Bodie gave a cough of laughter. "What did he expect you to do, brawl?"

 Doyle rolled his shoulders forward and raised himself up onto his elbows.
"Seemed to think I was predisposed to it. My sexual preference may have
been a factor." He closed his mouth abruptly.

 But Bodie merely smiled, as though all brothers should be so thoughtful.
"Has it come in handy, then?"

 "More than once," Doyle owned. "Mainly in human strongholds--and there
are rather a lot of those."

 "Quite a plague on the universe, humans," Bodie said, readily addressing
the oblique criticism.

 "Some of them," Doyle agreed.

 Grinning openly, Bodie jockeyed himself to his knees and thence to his
feet. He held out a hand. "Come on, then, sunshine. I could use something
to eat. What about you?"

 Doyle accepted at once, and was brought all the way to his feet in a
fluid motion. Held captive by Bodie's compelling gaze, he jerked with
surprise when the sfang seemingly materialized from nothingness and took
roost upon his head.

 Bodie increased the pressure of his grip on Doyle's hand, leaning forward
to taunt the creature. "You scared the lad, you great brute," he chastised
tauntingly. The sfang poked an obstreperous paw at him. Bodie lifted his
chin, allowing the prodding limb to knock against his nose. His position
brought his throat within a hair's breadth of Doyle's mouth, the Vauxan's
breath warm and fast upon Bodie's cooling skin.

 Doyle took a sharp step backwards, causing Bodie to glance questioningly
at him as Bodie came down off his toe tips. Doyle's expression gave him
pause, but before Bodie could comment, Doyle was turning away, reaching
for his towel. Bodie stepped past him, companionably ruffling the other
man's hair. He said equably, "Get cleaned up; then we'll have our little
talk, all right?"

 ******

"Why echo stones?"

 They were sitting in the galley, facing one another across the narrow
table. Asper squatted over its plate between them, working at a
nondescript heap of brown lumps with evident relish.

 Bodie favored the Vauxan with a pained look. "Well, let's see; they're
rare--and therefore extremely valuable. Useful, too; or so I hear."

 Doyle's fork idly chased a small, wilted tuber around his dish. "In the
right hands," he agreed grudgingly. He speared the vegetable and shoved it
into his mouth, crunching down with barely repressed violence. "And echo
is extremely dangerous--for humans."

 The human to whom this comment was directed fabricated a sweet smile.
Doyle wondered if the bastard knew the effect it had on him. "That's what
I have *you* for, isn't it?" Bodie stated reasonably.

 Doyle was unamused. Forgetting the mouthful that bulged inside his right
cheek, he said caustically, "D'you really trust me that much?"

 The question seemed to jar Bodie. He said unpleasantly, "If I'm dead,
you'll never get your marker back."

 The Vauxan's face lost all traces of animation. Then he lowered his head
and stared blankly at his motionless fork.

 Bodie said curtly, "Sorry. That was a ridiculous thing to say. You could
have put paid to me any time I was asleep; even a little while ago, in the
cargo hold." His face twisted ruefully. "What did you mean, then?"

 Doyle answered with great precision. "I'm a half-breed, remember?"

 "So? You're more Vauxan than human."

 "Maybe," Doyle said bitingly. "In any case my abilities are limited.
D'you mean to risk your life, knowing that?"

 Laughing humorlessly, Bodie stated, "Well, if I've picked wrongly, it's
only what I deserve, right?"

 The Vauxan's head moved with slow concurrence. "And I'll be stuck with a
permanently blackened form."

 "So just make sure you get it right," Bodie suggested practically. "And
we'll both be happy, won't we?"

 Doyle was careful to keep his face devoid of the frigid fury clawing at
his insides. For several minutes he concentrated on his meal, gently
pushing the sfang away when it began to edge toward the remnants of his
food.

 Bodie made a great show of being engrossed in his meal, also; but for
once Doyle noticed that he was only picking--he would snag a morsel, and
while it was being chewed, he would push everything else from one side of
the plate to the other.

 "Bodie."

 The human only raised his head after Doyle had repeated his name. "Hm?"

 "What will you do with them? The echo stones," he elaborated when Bodie
gave him a blank look.

 "Sell them, of course. For a vast profit, too. Told you that."

 Doyle studied him intently. "Legally?"

 The moment stretched between them. Bodie stabbed into a piece of cheese,
barely missing a segmented forelimb that was inching its way toward his
plate. "Don't push your luck, you greedy bugger," he growled. Disregarding
the brazen display of tiny white teeth directed his way, he announced,
"Actually, yes. There's a research facility on Vaux that would pay most
extravagantly for the opportunity to study them in depth." He fairly
glowed with innocence. "Satisfied?"

 "Why'd you let me think--?"

 Bodie interrupted him. "You worry too much. Wouldn't want things to
become boring for you, that's all."

 Doyle steadied himself with visible effort. Then he broke into a slow,
wolfish smile. "This Vauxan friend of yours, Bodie;" he mused aloud, "why
did he never kill you?"

 "Can't. You know that: Vauxans can't kill."

 Doyle rose smoothly. "How unfortunate." He stalked out of the galley.

 ******

The next few days passed with unexpected amity. Bodie spent them, as was
his wont, ensconced on the flight deck. Doyle kept to his own company
although he did not object when the human joined him for a run in the
cargo hold or in the galley to share a meal. Their conversation was
unforced but infrequent, and unfailingly civil when it did occur.

 Asper split its attentions between them, though often Bodie would find
the sfang teetering on the edge of an open panel, overseeing the Vauxan's
current work in progress.

 Doyle took perceptible satisfaction in tinkering with the ship's
computers. He had a canny, intuitive touch with them, so that even
recalcitrant equipment soon yielded to his magic. *FG BEHEMOTH*, while
always well cared for, had never operated with such finesse.

 As they neared the Essex-5 system, Bodie came to recognize a growing
reluctance within himself. Once they had completed his "mission" and
bartered away their prize, the time would come to return Doyle to his
companion. The prospect niggled at him, an untreated wound that slowly
festered, becoming more noticeable as time passed.

 His knowledge of Vauxans and their ways only confused him when applied to
Doyle. He could tell that Doyle was attracted to him; that was not a
product of his own imagination, which admittedly could be very inventive
at times. But bonded Vauxans were not susceptible to others, Vauxans among
the most loyal people in the known galaxy. And although Doyle had never
openly solicited Bodie's attentions, his body language betrayed his
interest as explicitly as an invitation to his bed. Or so Bodie
conjectured.

 *Never should have promised*, Bodie ruminated again, wearied that the
same thought should occur to him with such irksome regularity. Would
Targeon have understood his feelings? Or would he have despised him for
them? And should he himself have anticipated being drawn under this one's
spell when the two Vauxans were so unlike that one would never guess they
shared common blood?

 In all the years that Bodie had worked with Targeon he had never
encountered his younger, half-brother, Ray Doyle. He had known of him, of
course; a bright young man who had never been comfortable in either of the
homes of his heritage. Doyle had pursued his technical training
off-planet, wandering the galaxy for several years, apparently searching
for something that he had never voiced to Targeon in the increasingly rare
times they had met. For all his physical attractions, intelligence and
ability, Doyle had always been a man incomplete.

 For five years Bodie had kept tabs on the half-Vauxan from a distance,
honoring his promise to Targeon to look out for his younger brother,
playing the part of an impartial observer while leading his own solitary
existence. Not long after Targeon's death, a devastating event that had
eventually brought Doyle home, the half-breed wanderer had tried to settle
down, teaching at a technical center on Vaux. During that time Bodie had
travelled around as he had always done, yet continued to monitor the
younger brother that Targeon had believed might one day require the
human's intercession on his behalf.

 Three years later, Doyle had also moved on, and for a short while Bodie
had lost track of him. Even a well-maintained, highly sophisticated
computer network could be defeated when it was used to trace a single
entity amidst the billions of sentient life forms roaming the thousands of
worlds cluttering the galaxy. When Bodie had rediscovered him, Doyle had
returned to his old ways of flitting from one planet to another; only now
he was accompanied by another, a Vauxan of whom Bodie knew nothing and had
never bothered to learn more about, assuming hopefully that Targeon's
brother had finally found someone to share his life.

 That had been a year and a half ago. Since then Bodie had allowed his
surveillance to slacken, almost ready to unload the unwelcome burden that
Targeon's dying request had imposed upon him. Yet there had been no real
question in his mind, when a cyclic update had reported that Doyle was
being held in a dingy cell on Stepney, that he would do what he could to
effect the Vauxan's release. It was coincidence that he had arrived after
Doyle's companion had been spirited away. Bodie could not have reached the
backwater planet more quickly had he wanted to.

 Waiting in the intake/outtake chamber for the prisoner to be brought to
him, it had been Bodie's intention to tell him immediately who he was and
why he was there. But when the Vauxan had appeared, emotionally worn and
near the edge of shattered rationality, Bodie had suffered a curious surge
of compassion. From that desire to help had sprung the decision to do much
more than buy the Vauxan's way out of prison.

 His hasty plot had been formulated on the spot; a way to keep Doyle with
him for a short time, just long enough to get to know this beloved brother
of the man who had mattered so much to them both. Perhaps he should have
understood the underlying need that had triggered his change of mind. But
had he acknowledged it then, he would certainly never have taken their
involvement this far. The fact that Doyle should want him made everything
all the more difficult: what would Doyle think if he ever found out that
Bodie had known who he was all along? Better not to yield to the
temptation presented by the siren eyes and lean, seductive body. Bodie was
a loner--always had been; he fully intended always to be. And Doyle
already had a mate, even if he had apparently never bonded with him, as
most Vauxans chose to do.

 Bodie heaved a sigh, blindly watching the slowly moving star field on his
screen. Asper, who had been sleeping in his lap, chittered suddenly when
the pressure of Bodie's hand weighed too heavily on the creature's small
back. Bodie shushed him, and continued the idle caress with a much lighter
touch.

 "Tired?" The husky, familiar voice came from behind.

 It was late, and Bodie nodded, swivelling around at the impersonal
pressure on his arm. Doyle had brought him a mug of steaming tea. Bodie
mumbled his thanks, wrapping the fingers of one hand about the cup to warm
them.

 "Thought you'd gone to bed."

 Doyle slouched against the back of the co-pilot's station. "Nah. Been
working on the shower controls in your bath. They were cranked up to near
danger levels. Fancy yourself sterile?"

 "A little radiation can keep a feller out of a lot of trouble," Bodie
joked; his heart was not in it, though he was pleased to see Doyle's
expression lighten.

 "In more ways than one." Drowsy eyes considered the human with amusement.
"What time do we reach this precious planet of yours?"

 "Afternoon tomorrow. We'll scope the area out first. Make a run the
following morning, just after dawn."

 Doyle assimilated this in silence, watching the human's hand in its
loving glide up and down the sfang's spine. The indolent movement seemed
to hold him entranced.

 Bodie surprised himself by asking, "What were you and your
friend...your...."

 "Moor," Doyle said evenly.

 "Yeah, Moor. What were you two doing on Stepney? You never said."

 Dark brows rose in mild surprise. "You never asked."

 Bodie stared at the other man, waiting vainly for him to speak. Finally,
with a grimace he said, "So I'm asking. Is it a secret?"

 Thin shoulders twitched in a shrug. "Was looking for someone."

 When the Vauxan gave no indication of saying more, Bodie rudely prompted,
"Who?"

 Shaking his head, Doyle said unemotionally, "No one you'd know. Had
something I wanted to talk with him about."

 Intrigued, Bodie gulped down some of the scalding fluid, sucked in a
breath to cool his stinging mouth, then demanded, "Like what?"

 "'S not important," Doyle said easily. "Not anymore." He stared at the
human for a long moment, as if searching for something in Bodie's face.

 Under that calm green gaze, Bodie felt his blood stir. What he had
speculated upon as a possibility was suddenly incontrovertible: if he
wanted Ray Doyle in his bed, he could have him there. The Vauxan would not
come without a price, however; and Bodie would not trade in the currency
of commitment.

 As if reading his thoughts, Doyle let his eyes fall. "G'night, Bodie," he
murmured. "See you in the morning."

 Bodie's mouth fell open, but the Vauxan was already in the corridor, a
remote, unreachable figure. He could have called after him, and perhaps
Doyle would have stopped. *Would* have stopped. Doyle was ready; Bodie was
not. Turning his mind purposefully away from the pulsing ache in his
groin, Bodie began to puzzle over Doyle's cryptic words. He'd gone all the
way to Stepney, probably aware of the social climate there, to find a man
in order to discuss something. Only now, for some reason, the need to talk
to that someone was no longer important.

 Why not?

 ******

Bodie was snapped out of a yearning dream by the sharp voicing of his name
over the intercom. He had not intended to nod off again, but last night he
had not slept well. Taking a few minutes to rest in his cabin early in the
afternoon, Bodie had drifted off almost at once, more weary than he had
realized.

 "What is it?" he asked roughly, just loudly enough to trip the voice
sensor.

 "Get up here," Doyle said uninformatively.

 "Trouble?" Bodie drove a leg into his trousers.

 There was a hint of mocking humor in the Vauxan's voice. "Take the time
to get dressed. It isn't going away."

 The communication was terminated with a click. Bodie could have
reaccessed the deck, but there was no point in doing so. The Vauxan would
explain when Bodie arrived.

 He did not have to ask. Striding onto the flight deck, hair combed by a
swift raking of impatient fingers, Bodie came to a halt just inside the
entry, eyes riveted upon the image displayed by the ship's screen.

 They had reached the outer edges of the Essex-5 system just after dawn.
Their speed stepped down by preprogrammed commands, the ship had crept
through the increased solar debris and planetary detritus toward the
second body orbiting the star called Essex. Everything had been routine
till now; the squat shape of the planet skipper enhanced by computer
imaging had effectively altered that.

 Bodie rubbed his jaw, responding to the silent challenge in Doyle's eyes.
"Well, it has been a few years. Have you hailed her?"

 Doyle waved a hand at the read-outs shuffling across the bottom of the
viewer. "Nobody home."

 Bodie moved to the captain's station, finding the seat still warm. "Dead
in the water?"

 A curious uncertainty flickered across the Vauxan's face. "Almost."

 Blue eyes jolted upward. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

 "There are trace readings," Doyle said. "Not sentient."

 Bewildered, Bodie prompted, "And?"

 The Vauxan couldn't quite cover his concern. "It's a cross between a
mineral and something alive." He raised his brows meaningfully. "Your echo
stones, perhaps?"

 Bodie turned back to the viewer, bottom lip thrust slightly forward as
his face hardened in concentration. "Scans show anything?"

 "No life forms. Not the kind *we're* familiar with, anyway. Don't know
how echo might register. Wouldn't have thought it could."

 The lower lip was sucked into Bodie's mouth, there to be trapped between
sharp teeth. "One way to find out."

 Doyle inhaled loudly. "And make the same mistake? Didn't think you were
that stupid, Bodie."

 The acerbity of his words brought Bodie's eyes up again. "Typical human,
y'know."

 The curly head nodded in contemptuous agreement. "Yeah. And if it *is*
echo over there, what d'you think will happen when you set foot on that
ship?"

 "You said it was just a trace," Bodie reminded him. "Probably too weak to
do any harm."

 Doyle grunted his disgust. "Is that your professional opinion, Bodie?
I've always been told that only a few Vauxans understand those things--and
*they* don't condescend to explain it to the rest of us."

 Bodie summoned an easy grin. "So we provide the Consortium with some much
needed knowledge. For humans, that is."

 The Vauxan searched the other's cheeky expression with eyes that were
carefully lacking in emotion. As though the conversation had gone
according to some predetermined route, Doyle lifted his hands in
resignation. "Never really expected you'd do otherwise."

 "Good. Looks like you can think for both of us now," Bodie replied
tartly. He hefted himself from the chair and pushed past Doyle to the
door. "Give me ten minutes--" He swung round to be sure Doyle was clear on
this; but the Vauxan was so close on his heels, Bodie found himself
talking directly into the other's face. "Where do you think *you're*
going?"

 "With you," Doyle asserted mildly. "Where d'you expect me to go?"

 "Nowhere," Bodie said with emphatic pronunciation. "One of us has to stay
with the *BEHEMOTH*."

 A solid hand came to rest against the human's chest. "She's already on
auto."

 Bodie frowned at him. "Trying to read my mind?"

 The Vauxan's face lit with an engaging grin. "Just doing what you said:
thinking for both of us. If those stones are still active, you'll need
someone who can shield for you. *If* you're lucky, *I* can."

 Caught by the unexpected warmth in the wide green eyes, Bodie felt an
unwelcome tightening beneath his ribcage. "All right," he said, finding
himself unexpectedly short of breath. "We'll go together."

 By the time they were suited up, the *BEHEMOTH* had brought them
alongside the derelict craft and was extending the boarding tube. They
checked one another's environment gear one last time before entering the
airlock which led to the tube. Bodie went first, heart a busy presence in
the center of his chest as he traversed the short distance to the other
ship. He'd seen the like before and was familiar enough with it to know
the basic layout of the interior before operating the access hatch.

 Doyle followed right behind, eyes surveying what little could be
discerned in the immediate glow from their lamps.

 They came in through the rear airlock, which was situated between the
compartment housing the engines and the aft cargo hold. Much smaller than
the *BEHEMOTH*, the abandoned craft yet gave an appearance of space
through its ingenious design. Feeling cramped and more than a little
claustrophobic all the same, Bodie made for the flight deck. Despite his
objections he was glad of the company of the man trailing after him; for,
mingled with his natural caution, there was a very faint twinge of
*something* in his mind; as though--

 "You doing that?" He came to a complete halt in the middle of the
corridor, turning clumsily to confront the Vauxan.

 Doyle peered at him through the faceplate of his helmet. "Overdoing it,
am I?" he queried dryly.

 Bodie thumped him lightly on the shoulder. "Nah. Was afraid it was me."

 A low chuckle pulsed over Bodie's communicator. "Didn't know you were
given to flights of fancy."

 Bodie glowered good-naturedly. "Your brother wasn't the only one who knew
a few monster stories."

 Infinitely reassured by the comfortable by-play, Bodie resumed his
inspection of the ship. As he grew accustomed to the feel of the Vauxan's
protective presence in his mind he began to accept it with an ease that
was in itself a little unsettling. Targeon had never done this, so Bodie
had never experienced it before. It made him wonder what it would be like
to share that sense of empathy under other, more pleasurable
circumstances....

 His pleasant meanderings were shattered as they came to the portal to the
flight deck. The motionless form slumped in the pilot's chair was clearly
illuminated in the glow of Bodie's lamp. He glanced back; Doyle shook his
head. The Vauxan pointed and, following the direction of his finger, Bodie
saw it: a small, round, glassy black object on the floor just below the
dead pilot's hand.

 Echo stone. Deadly for humans because they could not control the sensory
overload. Once exposed, a victim would be trapped by the sensual feedback
that was produced by their own minds, and enabled via the synergy of the
stones. In time, they would become mindlessly entranced until exhaustion
left them incapable of guarding themselves. It was at that stage the
stones would feed without reciprocation, draining the hapless user of
energy until death ensued. Discovered centuries before, the devastating,
widespread illegal use of echo had eventually resulted in its increasing
rarity. A natural product of very few systems, it could not be synthesized
nor replicated. Strangely enough, only the empathic races could use the
stones with impunity. For humans, echo stones devolved into legend; the
stuff of fiction.

 "Couldn't resist," Doyle said trenchantly.

 Bodie leaned over and collected the stone in his gloved palm. It felt
light and insubstantial. "Is it spent?"

 There was a pause. "As well as. Wouldn't recommend taking it as a
souvenir, though. Probably dangerously unstable."

 "Is this what you were sensing?"

 "Maybe." Doyle gestured at the rigid corpse. "Certainly wasn't her."

 Bodie turned the beam of his torch aside, leaving the dead woman in
shadow. "Should we check the cargo holds?"

 "No," Doyle said sharply. At Bodie's querying look, he went on
exasperatedly, "Unless you're feeling particularly suicidal?"

 "What does that mean?"

 "Those things aren't alive; not in the way we are, anyway. The reason psi
peoples can handle them is because they feed the echo just enough to
appease. Reciprocal synergy. If there's any echo in those holds, it'll
have gone dormant. Don't imagine I can guard your virtue if you walk in
there like a bloody virgin into a room full of rapists."

 Bodie didn't give the thought further consideration. "Since you put it
that way...." He studied the Vauxan curiously. "It doesn't tempt you, does
it?"

 There was a slow negative movement inside the Vauxan's protective helmet.
"I can..." he faltered, seeking the proper word, "...sense it. The
cognition." He frowned at his inability to convey his feelings lucidly.
"It's like a twitching muscle, just under the surface of the skin. Not a
sensation I particularly enjoy."

 Bodie held up the echo stone between thumb and forefinger. "So you're
more Vauxan than human, after all."

 For a moment Doyle said nothing. Then: "So it would seem," he stated
dispassionately.

 Bodie tossed the black orb to the flight deck floor. "Why didn't that one
go dormant?" he asked.

 Doyle nodded toward the woman. "Went too far. Probably damaged itself in
her dying."

 "I see." Bodie turned away. "We're done here. Let's go, shall we?"

 A short while later the two men sat on the deck of *FG BEHEMOTH*,
silently overviewing the molecular destruction of the derelict spacecraft.
It had been Doyle's suggestion to obliterate it, in order to avoid the
possibility of some other voyager encountering the ship and investigating
too thoroughly. Bodie'd had no objections, yet he felt strangely
bereft--until he realized that, with the removal of the ship, Doyle had
withdrawn the mental overlap. It was almost like losing a part of himself.

 The *BEHEMOTH* assumed geo-stationary orbit at Bodie's pre-established
coordinates within the hour. It was later in the day than Bodie had
originally intended, due to their inspection of the dead planet skipper.

 "That thing wouldn't have been around much longer, y'know," Doyle
commented as Bodie commenced planet scans.

 "What thing?" Bodie asked absently.

 "The ship you just destroyed. Couldn't have been out there too awfully
long. Your secret cache may not be so secret as you thought."

 "See what you mean. Lucky we got here when we did." Bodie drew a
displeased face. "Damn. 'S still winter down there. Four thousand square
miles with a mean temperature of 0 degrees."

 "Just a spring day," Doyle muttered. Bodie shot him a black look, then
saw the unhappy sentiment echoed in the half-breed's face. Vauxans were
not fond of the cold; Bodie had already noticed that Doyle kept his cabin
several degrees warmer than the rest of the ship. He hadn't thought it
remarkable before, but when the body temperature was involved, a few
degrees could make a great deal of difference.

 "Manageable?" Bodie questioned.

 Doyle's expression was not pleasant. "Sure. Just bundle up." He cocked
his head to one side. "Unless you'd rather go home?"

 "After coming all this way? Not likely, mate."

 "Was afraid you'd say that."

 "Look at it this way:" Bodie said kindly, "We'll be finished tomorrow
morning and...." He hesitated. *And you'll be free*. "And we'll dump the
payload and be on our way to this Moor of yours." The name did not freeze
on his tongue this time but rolled off easily; naturally.

 Doyle turned his attention to the sfang propped on the chairback behind
his head. "Just as you promised," he said tonelessly.

 Finding it suddenly hard to swallow, Bodie repeated Doyle's words: "Just
as I promised."

 Gently patting Asper, Doyle looked away, his face remote.

 Irritated by the ready acceptance, Bodie wondered how long it would be
before he forgot the flaring emotions this one had stirred out of embers
he had believed long dead. *You'll die again*, Bodie taunted himself. *You
did before*. "Why don't you make yourself useful," he requested tiredly.
"Get us something to eat. Something warm and filling."

 The green eyes settled on Bodie without resentment. "Suppose I can manage
that." He started toward the door, raising a forearm automatically as a
white blur sprang toward him. "See what we can find for you, too, old
son."

 Bodie ruthlessly clamped down on a rush of wanting that surged up out of
nowhere. It went far beyond simple desire now; beyond the need for mere
physical relief. *Why him*? Bodie mused sourly. He had never felt anything
like this for Targeon--nor for any other man. Or woman, for that matter.
What was it about the Vauxan half-breed that had overcome Bodie's
self-imposed walls, and was even now penetrating more deeply into every
facet of his being? Swamped with resentment that he should have been taken
despite his defenses, Bodie could only rage impotently that it should be
so.

 *Love*. How he hated that word. But the reality of it was growing bloody
unignorable, and he knew he could no longer pretend--even to himself--that
it did not exist.

 "Bastard," he said moodily, well aware that the epithet was meant more
for himself than Doyle.

 ******

Having satisfied himself that the long-range scans had imparted as much
information as they could, Bodie took *FG BEHEMOTH* down through the
planet's atmosphere and landed it several miles from the small native
settlement that worshipped the stones. It was possible that their arrival
had gone unnoticed, although the snowfall that accompanied their downward
approach had been light and vertical.

 Their sensors showed that the indigenous people whom Bodie had observed
from afar five years previously had advanced little, if at all. Not long
committed to the ways of agricultural living at that time, there was
nothing now about the landscape to show that their skills had improved to
any marked degree. Of course, Bodie allowed, it *was* winter; and at this
latitude above the equator, the season would be long and harsh.

 They locked down the systems, leaving life support on minimal stand-by
before going their separate ways to prepare for the environment of
Essex-2.

 Some minutes later, Doyle found Bodie across from the main hatch outside
the cabinet that functioned as his armory. Both had dressed warmly and
Doyle was grateful that Bodie had warned him that first day on Stepney
that he would require "something warm." Although the outside temperature
had not dropped, a brisk wind had risen, and the snow was increasing.

 The Vauxan watched as the human strapped on a small Browning pulse
handgun, a compact weapon that provided several intensity settings. Asper,
who had been silently hunched upon Bodie's shoulder while the human kitted
up, suddenly darted upward, circled Bodie's head twice, all the while
clicking its teeth. It hovered briefly in front of Doyle, its gleaming
eyes very bright.

 "What's that about?" Bodie asked distractedly.

 "He wants to come with us."

 The human's head came up sharply; he fixed the sfang with a piercing
look. "Not your kind of place, Asper," he said firmly. "Besides, it's
cold."

 The sfang landed on Doyle's shoulder just below his right ear. It
commenced a violent up-and-down motion, ruffling Doyle's hair with the
force of its exertions.

 Doyle snickered. "Says he's due an outing, Bodie."

 Bodie peered at the Vauxan suspiciously. "Since when does *he* talk?"

 The curly head tilted to one side. "Let's just say I'm good at
interpreting."

 "Yeah. I'll just bet you are. The answer's still 'no'."

 At that Asper crouched forward, two forelimbs outstretched, and clashed
the tips together before him. Bodie's brows went up as one. "And what does
that mean: 'Please'?"

 Doyle turned his cheek against the sfang's side, clucking
sympathetically. "You understand sfangi, too," he said complacently.

 Bodie gave him a long-suffering glare. "He's so subtle." But he reached
out a palm and curved it round the sfang's haunches, letting his hand
glide down alongside the Vauxan's face in passing.

 Doyle did not draw away.

 Eyes fastened on Doyle, Bodie said softly, "All right, you little sod."
He scooped the creature into his fingers and planted it on his own
shoulder. "Come on, we'll fetch your carrier."

 ******

As Bodie strode away with the placated sfang, Doyle ran his fingertips
against the surface of his jaw, where the residual warmth of Bodie's touch
was rapidly fading. He sighed, a slow passage of breath through parted
teeth. Clamping down on his wayward emotions, he turned to the weapons
cabinet which Bodie had left standing open.

 Incuriously, he ran his eyes over the various pieces mounted therein. His
brows rose as he took in the spectrum of firepower Bodie kept available.
Despite the obvious Vauxan reluctance to utilize kill weapons, Doyle was
no stranger to them, having employed the odd shooter more than once in his
travels. Sentient life forms, whilst generally the most treacherous and
deadly of all, were not the only unsafe creatures one encountered on a
barbaric planet.

 Contemplatively, he took out a small S.550 and hefted it in his palm. The
weapon was fully charged and in excellent repair. Shaking his head with
reluctant admiration, Doyle acknowledged to himself that Bodie did nothing
by half measures. Fitting the handgrip into his palm, Doyle snapped his
wrist up so that the blunt muzzle bore down on a wall fixture at the end
of the empty corridor. The.550 cocked smoothly, with the gentlest pressure
of his thumb, and the sights zeroed in the guided charge instantaneously.
Doyle rolled the weapon over in his hand, deactivating the order to arm,
and thoughtfully slipped it into his jacket pocket. With nothing else to
occupy his time, he resumed his perusal of Bodie's armory.

 He had just shut the cabinet and pressed the reset to lock when Bodie
appeared at the end of the corridor, a leathern case slung under one arm.
A slight stirring from within betrayed the sfang's whereabouts; Doyle
grinned his delight.

 "Is he comfortable in there?"

 "Hates it," Bodie replied with satisfaction. "It's his own fault, though,
isn't it."

 Doyle waved a hand at the closed cabinet. "Reckoned you were done. It's
locked."

 "Ready to go?"

 The Vauxan shrugged. "Let's get it over with," he replied simply.

 Doyle turned toward the main hatch and began to input the unlocking
sequence, oblivious to the searching gaze that followed his every
movement. The seals gave way with a loud, pneumatic sigh; he pulled the
massive door inward. There was a tiny lull, then the outside weather
overrode the artificial environment created by the ship. As the full force
of the wet, flake-filled wind struck him, Doyle staggered, huddling
instinctively deeper within his warmly insulated jacket. Adjusting the
hood to seal out the invasive slivers of cold air, he let the conveyor
carry him to the surface, with Bodie at his side.

 Bodie stopped at the end of the ramp to check on the sfang, then left the
conveyor behind, high-stepping through six inch snow to the rear of the
*BEHEMOTH*. Doyle lent a hand as Bodie initiated the controls that would
deploy the small ground skimmer. They waited with cold patience as the
three-man craft was eased from the bowels of the ship to the surface.
Using the voice- activated remote that circled his neck, Bodie fired the
engines and shifted the skimmer clear of the mothercraft, then ordered the
closing of all portals in the hull of the *BEHEMOTH*.

 A moment later both men were thawing in the sheltering warmth of the
skimmer. It did not boast the comforts of the mothercraft, but it spared
them the elements and the tedium of a ten-mile hike. Bodie set the
coordinates, and engaged forward thrust. A hundred yards out, Bodie
transferred control to the ship. Its computers compensated automatically
for vagaries of terrain, wind force, atmospheric density and temperature.

 It was an eerie journey, their forward viewing panel obscured with
unrelenting snow, seemingly growing thicker as they neared the settlement.
When Doyle voiced this observation, Bodie confirmed it, saying
laconically, "'S because we're gaining altitude, too."

 Doyle did not speak again, sensing that the human was deeply entrenched
in his own thoughts; though had he guessed them, he would not have been
happy at the direction they were taking.

 ******

In fact, Bodie was contemplating the weather and how, despite its
intransigence, it might prove to be the ally they needed to complete this
job quickly and neatly. Having originally intended to do a thorough
reconnaissance, he was thinking now in terms of striking swiftly, seizing
the stones, and retiring to a safe distance before their actions could be
interfered with. He glanced sidelong at the Vauxan in the opposite seat,
only inches away, his heart skipping betrayingly at sight of the tousled
head half- concealed by the protective folds of his hood, noting the set
of the other's full mouth and the slant of calm but alert eyes. A muscle
in Bodie's jaw hardened as he returned his attention to the forward
monitor.

 They reached their destination scant minutes later. Speaking curtly,
Bodie directed Doyle to shut the systems down while he clambered out of
the craft alone to make a visual survey of their surroundings.

 As he recalled, there had not been much to see; there was even less so in
the endless swirl of snow. Yet Bodie had his bearings by the time the
Vauxan joined him, wordlessly extending the case containing the sfang.

 Bodie took a peek inside. He muttered, "Told you so," into it, then
settled the strap about his neck. Doyle waited without comment, his face
almost completely enclosed now by the environment hood. The human
appraised him briefly before jerking his head sharply to one side. They
strode over a stretch of ground that shifted beneath their feet as the
less packed surface gave way beneath their weight. Bodie had chosen an
area distinctive for low rises and even deeper valleys. The terrain
afforded protection from possible observers, but it also impeded their
progress. Combined with densely falling snow and their bulky clothing,
their rate of speed was necessarily retarded.

 Doyle was puffing by the time they topped a small ridge where Bodie
signalled a halt. The human took in the other's condition, putting down
the uncharacteristic shortness of breath to the weather and temperature
rather than to impending exhaustion. Doyle could run rings round him
without coming up breathless.

 "All right?" he asked.

 Doyle's lips tightened, but he responded with a quick nod. "Is this it?"
he asked, unimpressed.

 Pointing to the next valley, Bodie said, "Other side of that. We have to
go quietly from here. There will be guards."

 "In these conditions?" Doyle exclaimed under his breath. "What do they
need to guard against? Or did you tell them we were coming?"

 A firm hand gripped the Vauxan's arm, the bite of it palpable through the
folds of Doyle's sleeve. "Hasn't it occurred to you yet?" Bodie snapped.
"These people aren't so very different from you."

 It obviously had not. "Empathic, you mean?" Doyle asked distastefully,
his breath frosting in the air between them. "Of course, they'd have to
be, wouldn't they."

 "But remember, they're very low on the scale of societal development.
Don't you have legends of what early Vauxans used to do with echo stones?"
Bodie knew that they did; Targeon had related them to him.

 Doyle's expression was as cold as their surroundings. "Of course. Echo's
like a narcotic substance, if misused. So what do you expect me to
do--kill the poor blighters?"

 Bodie's teeth ached from the unnatural set of his jaws. "No, you bloody-
minded-- Just get 'em out of the way, that's all. Long enough for me to
grab up a few stones and bugger off. Okay?"

 Regarding the human expressionlessly, Doyle said indictingly, "Since
that's virtually the sum total of what you've bothered to tell me so far,
I guess it will have to do."

 The human couldn't quite control a ruddy flush that emphasized the fire
in his eyes. "Look, all I want you to do is watch my back while I'm
inside. If someone comes, just give a shout."

 "That's all?" Doyle said scornfully.

 Bodie had the grace to look abashed. "And shield me from the echo stones,
of course."

 Doyle said brusquely, "You're going to do it now, aren't you. Not wait,
as you said before."

 It wasn't a question, but Bodie gave a nod of affirmation. "Yes. Quicker
begun, quicker done."

 Regarding him bleakly, Doyle said, "Let's get on with it, then."

 Clamping down hard on the surge of regret that sprang from nowhere, Bodie
strengthened his hold on the Vauxan's arm; Doyle jerked free.

 Hampered as they were by the cold and snow, and the uneven lay of the
land, they nevertheless made hasty work of attaining the next ridge. Once
at its highest elevation--shy about six feet--Bodie gestured the Vauxan to
the ground beside him, then cautiously edged forward to look into the
small cove that lay below.

 He spotted the native guard immediately, a pathetic individual half-bent
over a smouldering fire that sputtered and shivered in the wind. The man
was clad in heavy skins, a solid length of wood tipped with a
business-weighted stone clutched in one thickly wrapped hand. Bodie
alternately watched him for several minutes and scanned the rise on the
other side of the small valley, which sheltered the natural outcropping
that formed the entrance to the small cave. The other end, he recollected,
wound toward the native's small village nearly a kilometer away.

 He glanced down at Doyle, who had inconspicuously drawn close for warmth,
the round face very close to his. "I'm going to stun him," Bodie said, his
breath stirring Doyle's snow-jewelled lashes. "Then I want you to stand
watch just there." He indicated the right side of the cave's entrance.
Doyle nodded his understanding.

 Several seconds later, when the human continued to study him, having made
no effort to execute his plan, Doyle asked querulously, "What are you
waiting for, then?"

 "This," Bodie whispered, and leant forward. Framing the Vauxan's face
with his gloved hand, he peeled down the protective mask with the ball of
his thumb to bare the full mouth--and kissed him. Taken by surprise, Doyle
did not resist. By the time the magnitude--and possible significance--of
Bodie's action had begun to register, the human was scrambling away,
hissing over his shoulder, "Hold that thought...."

 ******

In the compendium of kisses, it would have received a very small entry,
certainly no more than a footnote. But for Doyle it assumed
disproportionate distinction, an event to be reconsidered and cherished.
That brief, sweet contact had somehow struck the cold from his world and
replaced it with a simmering heat.

 Recalling himself to the present with an effort, Doyle set his mind on
the gravity of their situation. It occurred to him that he should feel
manipulated; after bloody all, that's exactly what had happened. But he
couldn't displace the joy that sang in his veins, or the anticipation of
what that kiss might portend.

 He lost sight of Bodie almost immediately, the dark figure blending into
the shadows of evening alongside the closer outcrop that formed part of
the cove.

 The guard continued to hunch over his puny fire, having no other goal
than to keep its feeble flame alive. Apparently the only form of attack he
and his kith had taken precautions against was the kind that came with
unsophisticated directness from the front. Consequently, he was taken
totally unawares when the Browning spat through the veil of snow and
felled him, his body crumpling forward onto the cold powdery earth.

 By the expedient of lunging over the ridge and racing across the open
ground fronting the entrance to the cave, Doyle contrived to arrive at the
guard's unmoving form only seconds after Bodie. The human had already
knelt, two fingers going to the victim's throat. His head came up as Doyle
skidded to a stop. "He's alive. Let's get him over there, out of the
weather." He did not wait for Doyle's compliance, but began to drag the
native into the lea side of the outcropping, where drifts had yet to form.

 When the guard was arranged to Bodie's satisfaction, Bodie straightened;
at his feet, however, Doyle continued to order the creature's limp limbs
and disarrayed leathers. "I'm counting on you, Doyle," Bodie admonished,
and disappeared into the darkness at the mouth of the cave.

 It required a startling act of will not to follow. Doyle did not like the
way this idiot venture was being rushed. Despite his misgivings, he took
his position on the far side of the outcropping, where he could see any
and all possible approaches--including the one Bodie had made.

 The wind blew stiffly here, and it was not long at all before Doyle began
to feel the nettling sting of it. It tore at his concentration and filled
him with irritation. Yet one part of his mind remained keenly vigilant
while another acted as a barrier for the massive--but sated--accumulation
of echo stones that filled the cavern at his back. A third part simply
struggled to ignore the bitterness of the cold, and the ever growing
uneasiness that he could neither name nor shake off.

 When Bodie finally reappeared, seemingly a lifetime later, only minutes
had passed. He triumphantly held up a small pack, brought along expressly
for this purpose, for Doyle to see. Dismissing his bounty with a
disparaging glance, Doyle was nevertheless well aware that the human
gripped in his hand a fortune beyond calculation.

 It wasn't the tread of a footstep that snapped the Vauxan's head around,
but the abrupt awareness of another empathic mind. He should have sensed
it before the other had got so close; but then neither he nor Bodie had
reckoned on another guard lying in wait *inside* the cave, where his
psychic essence was overshadowed by the throbbing presence of so much
echo. Doyle's shocked motion warned Bodie, who reacted with flashfire
instinctiveness. The stones tumbled to the ragged surface of the cave
entrance as his arms swung up to fend off the blow of the second man's
club.

 Bodie gave a grunt of agony as the haft of the heavy wood connected with
his left forearm, even padded as it was with full winter gear. Squirming
wormlike, he barely managed to deflect the full and deadly force of the
guard's murderous intent. The native was a huge creature, almost a head
taller than he, and moved with all the brute power of his size and
righteous outrage. Bodie might have stood a chance had he been better
placed, but as he twisted to avoid the next blow, his heel caught on a
patch of ice and he went down, sprawling across the ground.

 The hulking guard bore down on him without pause, swinging the club up
and bringing it down with killing accuracy.

 "NO!"

 Bodie heard the cry as though from a great distance, filtered as it was
by the blood pounding in his ears and the certainty of death numbing his
brain. But he retained the wits to roll out of his attacker's way when the
great form suddenly glowed with a fierce red energy. The native man
collapsed like a toppled tree, his club sliding harmlessly to a stop
several yards away.

 In that very instant, Bodie was seized by a terrible comprehension. His
ragged shout echoed Doyle's, and he was moving before the fallen brute had
ceased twitching. He had scarcely reached his feet when the satchel that
had slipped off his shoulder during the brief melee emitted a fearful,
keening cry. Out of the corner of Bodie's eye he glimpsed the frenzied
sfang scrabbling free of the leather carrier.

 But the sfang was the least of his concerns. "You can't do that!" Bodie
yelled as he pelted the few meters to Doyle's still form. "You half-witted
bastard, *you can't kill*!" He threw himself to his knees beside the other
man, automatically taking note of the.550 that had fallen from the
Vauxan's fingers. Bodie rolled Doyle onto his back and dragged the mask
from the waxen face, all the while muttering a mad jumble of pleas and
threats, his voice counterpoint to the mindless skreeing cries of the
aimlessly darting sfang.

 Death and dying had long been a problem for empathic races. Shields and
conventions protected them amongst their own kind, but when they were
exposed to humans or other races capable of broadcasting, it was nearly
impossible to avoid the backlash of psychic trauma that was unleashed at
the instant of death. It was worse, somehow, if the empath were in any way
responsible.

 "You *know* better," Bodie cried out, gathering the unresisting figure
into his arms. "Damn you, you can't leave me like this. Ray!" Breathing
erratically, Bodie held him close, refusing to accept that he could lose
the one person who had become so important to him. He dragged off his
gloves and opened Doyle's jacket to slide a hand inside, right up under
the Vauxan's shirt, desperately seeking a heartbeat.

 It was there, but only just; a faint pulse that was noticeably fading
even as Bodie verified its presence.

 "I won't *let* you die, you backward sod," Bodie raged hollowly. Yet he
knew that Doyle's chances were nonexistent. Even if the empath had been
farther away, while his odds would have improved, in all likelihood the
result would have been the same. Targeon had understood that risk in being
partnered with a human; any Vauxan wandering free of his own kind knew and
accepted it.

 But Bodie would not accept it. Doyle could not die; Bodie needed him.
Somehow he must maintain that fragile spark; somehow he must--

 Yet even as Bodie wildly sought some means of preserving the Vauxan's
life, he sensed the first ominous wisps of another presence.

 Fear stole the moisture from Bodie's throat. Doyle's dwindling
consciousness was leaving him vulnerable to the echo stones. Those in the
cave could not endanger him, blocked as they were by the natural elements
built into the structure that formed the grotto, and being recently fed.
But Bodie had brought out a dozen or so in his own hands, and they lay
now-- awakening--only a few feet away. They would never have been missed
from the awesome pile he had uncovered within. But one was more than
sufficient to destroy him.

 Acting purely on instinct and propelled by more than a little blind fear,
Bodie surged to his feet, finding his legs watery and uncoordinated. He
dragged the Vauxan up beside him and hefted him into his arms, gasping
with shock at the burst of pain that radiated from his battered forearm.
He found his balance with difficulty. Lurching forward through sheer
strength of will, he turned back in the direction of their transport.

 Bodie never knew how he managed to reach the skimmer. The snow blew into
his face with every step and he did not have a hand to raise his mask. The
Vauxan was a dead weight in his arms but it never occurred to him to leave
Doyle behind; no matter that abandoning him would have greatly improved
Bodie's own chances. Distance helped, and as it lengthened between him and
the stones, his head began to clear a little. At one point he thought he
heard voices. He ignored them, doggedly maintaining his pace. It was not
long after that the voices turned frantic, fractured by distance and the
muffling snow; then they broke off altogether. Sometime thereafter Asper
reappeared, folding itself into a miserable huddle upon Doyle's chest, its
hideous shrieking reduced now to a terrible mewling that Bodie no longer
even heard.

 Exhausted to the point of indifference, Bodie almost stumbled over the
skimmer, which had been whitened by the accumulation of snowfall. Beyond
surprise or relief, he activated the entry wings and fell inside, not even
then relinquishing his precious burden. Just retaining the sensibility to
command their return to the *BEHEMOTH*, Bodie lay back, gasping loudly. He
was vaguely conscious of a tearing pain in his lungs that was of as little
consequence as the hot pulsation in his bruised arm.

 More than that, he was feeling strangely weak and disconnected; as though
he were suffering a spell of syncope. Bodie puzzled over it with little
real interest. The injury to his forearm had not been sufficient to cause
such a reaction; he was certain of that. And while his exertions had been
considerable--taking into account the distance he had covered while
carrying Doyle, along with factors of cold, adrenalin overload, and
emotional turmoil-- he had certainly suffered far more in previous
misadventures and had never fallen into a faint as a result.

 And yet-- He drew a little away to gaze down into the pallid face of the
man he had come to love too late. Bodie had always known that Targeon
would have died for him, their friendship had been that close; but
Targeon, being a Vauxan, would never have considered *killing* for him.

 "Damn you, Doyle," Bodie whispered brokenly. His thumb etched a path down
the cold cheek to the base of the wilful jaw, then downward still to the
soft skin of his throat--and froze there as two independent thoughts
fought to gain predominance in his addled brain.

 His sense of debilitation had retreated once distance was placed between
Doyle and him.

 *Doyle's heart was still beating*.

 Made dizzy by a sudden rush of hope, Bodie brushed away the sfang, which
was tentatively climbing onto the Vauxan's shoulder, and molded himself
against his torso. It took a moment for him to differentiate between the
trembling weakness that was his own and the feeble, but he was sure now,
real presumption of his energy.

 Targeon had told him that Vauxans could do this: an injured person could
be restored to health by another's life force. He himself had seen Doyle
employ that very technique to save Asper from the deleterious effects of
Principal Dubchek's lightning-fast draw.

 Somehow it had never occurred to him that *his* life force, *his*
strength could be used to repay the debt of life he owed the Vauxan.

 *Easy*, Bodie decided driftingly, willingly submitting to the Vauxan's
unconscious demands. *I don't have to do anything. Just lie here close to
him, while he takes what he needs. *

 He had wanted to lie close to Doyle since the first moment he had seen
him. Certainly he would not complain about the fulfillment of his
fantasy--no matter the threat to himself.

 The reality of that danger was brought home explicitly when the skimmer's
preprogrammed run was complete, and Bodie was drawn out of a deadly stupor
to the knowledge that they had already arrived back at the *BEHEMOTH*.
Impossibly weak, he extricated himself from the Vauxan's warmth to check
the read-outs. This time the lethargy lingered, but when he trailed a
finger down the length of Doyle's throat, the trace of heartbeat there was
markedly stronger. Asper, all six legs tightly clenched around Bodie's
forearm, fretfully butted at Bodie's lowered chin.

 "Don't worry, old son," Bodie reassured the sfang with a tremulous laugh.
"One of us will feed you."

 ******

Doyle lay cold and pale in the middle of his own bunk, lashes and brows
strikingly dark against the pallor of his skin. Bodie had been forced to
leave him for longer than he had liked, and it had delayed him even
further that he had returned nervously to check on the Vauxan following
each task.

 The infusion of Bodie's energy had served to temporarily stabilize him,
so that Doyle held his own while Bodie concentrated his efforts on
reinstalling the injured man in his own quarters, and sketchily saw to the
security of the ship. Bodie could not guess what might happen to
them--having no measure for gauging just how much of himself he could
safely mete out to Doyle. But while it was not his intention that he die
for Doyle, should it come to that he wanted the other man protected. The
arrangements took only minutes. When he was done, he paused just long
enough to down a couple of protein/glucose tablets. Fortified, he returned
to the Vauxan's cabin.

 He stripped to the skin, then removed Doyle's clothing as well. The room
felt stuffily warm to him, the temperature set nearly ten degrees higher
than the rest of the ship; nevertheless Doyle was cold when Bodie pulled
him into his arms. He bent the curly-capped head so that it lay in the
curve of his shoulder. Drawing the covers up close around them, Bodie
began to focus his entire being on radiating heat, and strength.

 This time the draining sensation took hold at once, causing Bodie to reel
under the stunning force of it. They had spent twenty minutes on the
skimmer on their return trip and that had taken him the edge of inanition.
He voice- programmed the alarm to wake him after ten minutes, then once
more succumbed to the curious, swirling blackness.

 ******

There was something beating against Bodie's face; an insistent tapping
against his nose and eyelids that finally drove him to respond. When he
tried to pull away, his limbs were leaden as with massive weights, and his
heart thumped with labored slowness in the huge cavity of his chest.

 The soft pummelling upon his forehead resumed, accompanied by a fearful
noise that only gradually resolved itself into the wake-up alarm he had
set just minutes before.

 Fully conscious, albeit rather tenuously, Bodie forcibly broke free of
the man lying beside him. "Stop." The single word bore little of its usual
stolid intonation, but the computer apparently recognized it as one
permutation among many, and the irritating wake-up tone finally ceased.

 Catching his breath with difficulty, Bodie looked about the cabin
owlishly, welcoming the sfang's tentative advance. He lightly stroked its
feathers with a single, wilted finger; that was the only part of his body
that recognized his sovereignty at the moment.

 Reassured, Asper squatted down beside him, its glossy eyes moving between
him and Doyle, the darting movement almost more than Bodie could take
without becoming dizzy.

 As he slowly regained control of his faculties, Bodie glanced across at
the wall chrono--and went very still. Nearly twenty-five minutes had
passed since he had set the wake-up call. Had it not been for Asper, it
was very likely that he would still be under the Vauxan's spell.

 "Bloody vampire," he mumbled. But it was with relief rather than
resentment that he drank in the sight of Doyle's dark-downed chest moving
with the tell-tale rise and fall of functioning lungs. His skin tone had
improved as well; there were two vaguely pink smudges notable amidst the
expanse of grey-tinged cheeks.

 Bodie watched him peacefully for several minutes as strength crept back
into him, before stretching forth a questing hand. He wove his
blunt-tipped fingers into errant auburn curls, revelling in their living
warmth.

 His eyelids were heavy and he found himself dozing. Frightened that he
would not wake to recommence his unconventional nursing of the Vauxan,
Bodie forced himself to sit up. He spent a long time on the rim of the
bed, head swimming, eyes hazy with the blood pounding across them.

 At least he had had the foresight to bring along some sustenance packets
and choked one down now despite his constricted throat and parched mouth.
Feeling marginally better, he drained a glass of water, then curled up on
the bunk near Doyle.

 Summarily crushing the tiny murmurs of trepidation that niggled at the
back of his mind, he gently drew the lax body once more into his arms. No
matter what happened, he had this, the unlooked for pleasure of Doyle
sharing a bed with him.

 With unwitting avarice, Doyle's injured essence took command of him
again, as fiercely intense as the last time; perhaps stronger. Bodie set
the wake-up alarm for ten minutes and instructed the computer to crank up
the volume. With a last feeble pat for the unhappy sfang, Bodie closed his
eyes.

 ******

"No...." It was an echo of the Vauxan's last word. Soft and indistinct, it
penetrated Bodie's brain with the lack of substance sometimes found in the
detritus of dreams.

 "*No*." The husky voice cracked upon the single utterance. "Bodie,
you...idiot." If the human's ear had not been mere centimeters from the
Vauxan's mouth, he would never have heard the susurrant complaint. It
hardly made sense as it was, each word delivered with audible strain.

 Bodie tried to swim toward the surface, fighting hard against clinging
restraints. It eluded him, shimmering in the distance. And he was so
tired, wanting only to sleep--

 There was movement; a shifting of bedclothes. Warmth that had been
plastered against him slid away, leaving him at once abandoned and
curiously relieved.

 "Stay...away from...me."

 Bodie's eyelids refused to cooperate as he directed them to open. Once
they did, he understood their reluctance, for nothing made visual sense.
Blinking furiously, Bodie could almost make out the shape of a familiar
face; an important face.

 The room was filled with a blaring tone, deafening in its persistence.
Having lost all sense of time, Bodie yet understood the noise and croaked
out the one-word incantation that would shut it off. He felt queasy and
disoriented, as he had the time many years ago that he had suffered a
serious cut; he had lost so much blood then he had passed out. Waking
afterward had been like this; as though he had been pushed through a
liquefier and slowly poured out. Nothing functioned properly, his brain
least of all.

 Yet things began to make sense a little at a time and dimly he began to
take stock of his situation.

 Doyle was looking at him with a frightened, cornered expression. Bodie
reached out, thinking only to offer comfort, but the Vauxan snarled,
"*Don't*!"

 Not understanding, Bodie scraped up a dry-as-tinder whisper: "Doyle, it's
me."

 "Fool...." The Vauxan closed his eyes, the toil of speech evidently
taxing his uncertain strength. "I'll...drain you." He fought for breath,
his chest heaving erratically. "Can't...control it. Don't...let me...kill
you."

 "Won't," Bodie promised mendaciously. But when he reached out, the Vauxan
struggled impotently to evade him. With an irritated hiss, Bodie followed
and pressed himself nearer, somewhat relieved to find that his strength
was still greater than the other man's.

 Caught between the bulkhead and the human's engulfing form, Doyle struck
out weakly. "Bodie, don't...."

 But Bodie was not to be argued with, resolutely molding the slight form
back against his, the curve of Doyle's compact buttocks fitting perfectly
into the hollow formed by Bodie's torso and bent knees. "Lie still," Bodie
commanded softly, experiencing again that dizzying suction of energy.
Doyle was right; it was very like dying. "You silly nit," he muttered,
exasperated, "it's already yours, isn't it--my life."

 Not equal to the contest of wills, Doyle moaned in frustration, his hands
futilely attempting to repel the brawny arms that encircled him. His own
body betrayed him, however, well pleased to take advantage of the other
man's offering. "Can't...stop," he whispered. "Oh, Bodie...."

 "Silly nit," Bodie repeated with vast tenderness. Utilizing what he
recognized as the last of his reserves, Bodie cradled the Vauxan lovingly
in his arms. "C'mere, lover," he whispered. "If we're going to do this,
let's do it right."

 ******

Doyle woke with a start of fear, eyes shooting wide and sightless. It took
a few seconds for his shattered thoughts to catch up, reminding him what
had left the sour residue of anxiety.

 *Bodie*.

 The Vauxan forced his head to one side. Yes; the human lay there still,
head half-turned toward Doyle. At some indeterminate point Doyle had
roused sufficiently to break their unhealthy congress, Bodie no longer
capable of self-preservation. Still trembly and muddled from the shock of
his experience, Doyle had been unable to do more than edge away, placing
as much distance between them as the narrow bunk would allow. Not long
afterward, he had floated off again, not quite asleep, not quite
conscious, suspended in a strange shadow-world of emptiness and regret.

 Bodie's eyes were closed, his face chalk white. He looked dead. Doyle
gazed upon him, a terrible hollowness filling his heart. In control now,
he placed a hand upon Bodie's chest--and quickly pulled it away. The human
was alive, breathing in long, deep respirations that signified heavy
sleep. Doyle reached out again to scrape his fingers over Bodie's darkly
stubbled cheek. His reverent touch trailed down the slope of the long
neck, stopping at the demarcation where Bodie's beard ended near the
hollow of his throat. There he sought and found a steady pulse. The
inconsequential thought flitted into Doyle's frazzled brain that Bodie was
one of those rare human males who chose not to permanently rid himself of
facial hair, electing instead to treat it with depilating chemicals which
retarded growth for only a few weeks at a time.

 An immense wave of tenderness washed over the Vauxan, leaving him
painfully conscious of the love and desire he felt for this contrary human
who had risked his life and perhaps his intellect, to snatch Doyle from
imminent death.

 "Bodie." Doyle's voice was rough with disuse. He went closer, one hand
gliding over the hard swell of Bodie's shoulder and down the length of his
arm to his laxly curled hand. Entwining their fingers together, he said
more urgently, "Bodie, wake up."

 He spoke to him in the same quiet but insistent tone for several minutes,
beginning to despair that the human had slipped into a tenebrous region
from which he might never be retrieved. It had been known to happen, even
among adept Vauxans involved in an energy exchange under laboratory
conditions. But no human had ever been foolish enough to attempt such a
thing.

 "*Bodie*!" By now Doyle was bent over him, rocking the motionless human
in his arms. "Please," he whispered. "Please."

 There was a faint response, so slight that Doyle did not at first
identify it as an independent action on Bodie's part. The movement became
stronger, a physical request for room to breathe. Bodie's hands pushed
against the Vauxan's chest, a pressure that was almost more implied than
actual.

 Doyle looked down into the other's face, his lungs failing him as he met
guileless eyes, glowing blue. "Bodie!" he croaked. "You're all right?"

 But the human only gazed back at him, betraying no sign of recognition,
much less comprehension, the beautiful blue eyes shockingly vacuous.

 "Oh, Bodie, *no*...." The words were wrenched from Doyle's throat. Tears
welled up and tumbled onto lined cheeks. Carefully he gathered the human
into his arms and holding him possessively, once again began to sway back
and forth.

 ******

He was a being without identity, existing from instant to instant. At
first he seemed completely helpless, dependent upon others for everything.
When he ate, food was ladled into his mouth and he instinctively
swallowed, choking sometimes until the pieces presented to him were
uniformly smooth and soft. Water proved equally unmanageable, more of it
dribbling down his chin than entered his throat, until he was encouraged
to take it a sip at a time. His other requirements were addressed as
efficiently, although he seemed to have a greater understanding of those,
even though they were every bit as basic.

 A great deal of time was lost in the pursuit of sleep, but time was of no
consequence to him, so he did not begrudge his body's strange obsession
with endless slumber. Slowly he came to comprehend that there were only
two others who peopled his very contained little world. In his reduced
capacity he knew them only as Large and Small.

 The Small One was with him constantly. Rare indeed were the times that he
woke and The Little One was not there. The Large One was in evidence only
a little less frequently, at least at first. Somehow he knew that The
Large One was inestimably important to him, and suffered that one's
absence with terrible distraction.

 These two comprised the fabric of his life, and he was content with them
and their evident caring, which was expressed to him in many ways. He felt
it in their unique manner of touching and in the soft, strange intrusion
that both were adroit at. He came to depend upon that invasion of his
innermost self, seeking it upon awakening, and despairing when it was
withheld.

 Often he would wake to find himself surrounded by the angular length of
The Large One, cuddled protectively beside the lanky body. He would squirm
closer still, avidly seeking warmth--and something more that was hugely
desirable but beyond his ability to communicate. The other would soothe
him with low words and pleasurable caresses. Lost to sensation, he would
eagerly return the other's embrace, gleaning as much delight from holding
as being held. The quiet murmur that flowed from The Large One's mouth
would fill his ears, caressing them while imparting nothing of sense, but
ever welcome in that loving tone.

 The Little One spoke to him as well, but in a startlingly different way.
Its tiny teeth would click together and it would jab at him with prickly,
shocking white appendages. Sometimes it would scold him, although he never
understood what he had done to earn such disapproval. The Little One's
grumbling was never harsh so he learned to disregard it. And
inside--inside, The Little One created a tableau of wonderful images:
things and places and creatures that fascinated him even as they worried
at him with a kind of mocking familiarity. Eventually, he came to suspect
that he should know these images, that *he* had seen them himself. But for
some reason, a vital part of him had gone dormant. He had no idea how to
reawaken it; was not even sure that he wanted to. But he guessed that the
images would have no meaning until he did.

 ******

"Bodie."

 The Large One's voice cut through the cotton-wool of dreams with ease. As
time ambled along, he found that he was sleeping less, and had regained
full charge of his own bodily functions. Still he shared a bed with The
Large One, having come to rely on his presence to quell a rising disquiet
that only that one could displace. Smiling with uncomplicated pleasure as
The Large One sat on the edge of the bunk, he leaned forward to press his
cheek into the hot palm that circled his jaw. The other smiled back, and
he was alight with wanting, as though a small fire had been kindled within
the core of him.

 "How do you feel?" It was a collection of noises which Bodie intuitively
understood; he responded as he had learned, with an inclination of the
head.

 The other bent near again, holding Bodie's face between long-fingered
hands, brushing moist lips across his forehead. Stunned, Bodie objected
aloud when The Large One began to draw away. He mimicked the action,
cupping The Large One's cheeks between his bigger, square-cut hands. The
other held himself immobile as Bodie brought them together and, eschewing
The Large One's forehead, chose instead to place his mouth full against
The Large One's half- opened lips.

 It was a deed that stirred the banked fire inside to stunning effect. He
did not understand the turbulent imperatives that demanded gratification,
but set about acceding to them at once, letting the seeking movements of
his mouth express his innermost compulsions.

 Trembling, The Large One forced them apart. Bodie was confused to see his
own wanting reflected in the other's face. But The Large One only raised a
hand and lightly knuckled Bodie's cheek. His haunted green eyes became
brilliant, the color shimmering under a veil of moisture. The wetness
welled up onto dark, thick lashes, and through them, onto ashen cheeks.
Stricken but not knowing why, Bodie reached out and collected the freely
flowing phenomenon on the edge of one finger. This arcane occurrence
represented deep-seated pain, Bodie understood that; he understood too,
that in some way, *he* was responsible.

 "No." Denial burst from *his* mouth, torn out of that deeply cloistered
part of him that had shut itself off. "Don't."

 Snuffling loudly, The Large One dragged Bodie into a suffocating hug,
clutching him so closely that Bodie's ribs ached. Indifferent to the
discomfort, he accepted the embrace happily--but the seeds of uncertainty
were sprouting.

 ******

As time continued to pass, he came to answer regularly to the name
'Bodie,' and increasingly extended his learning of the small world around
him. Even The Large One's conversation was beginning to penetrate his
walled-off comprehension. Little affected his routine, however, except for
the occasional absences which always devastated him. Although they never
lasted long, it was as though they augured the possibility of immeasurable
loss. The Little One stayed close at hand when The Large One was gone,
offering its presence as consolation. Bodie made do with that, mainly
because he had no choice; but the time came when Bodie believed that his
unreasoning dread had finally been realized. The Large One was truant for
far longer than usual. Bodie slept twice, fitfully, and still that one did
not return.

 Driven by the need to do something--although he was not clear exactly
what--Bodie forsook the small cubicle that was his home, only to be beaten
back by the ferocious protests of The Small One. It refused him passage no
matter how much he shouted or waved his arms, and swamped his mind with
incredible pictures, distracting him until he was exhausted.

 When next he awoke, The Large One was with him once more, clutching Bodie
in his arms, his thin body unnaturally cold. With a small moan of
thankfulness, Bodie returned the embrace, wrapping himself around the
other as he remembered having it done to him. And then Bodie spent a long
time simply looking, cataloguing the other's features one by one.

 Soon he discovered that there was nothing about this one's face that did
not appeal: from the dark hair that curled so enthusiastically around his
skull to the well-shaped jaw, and the perfectly proportioned nose and
beguiling mouth in between. He explored The Large One's face with
unabashed interest. Testing the memory of several individual curls, he
marked the fineness of each strand and its overall softness, then
carefully stretched it to its limit. The Large One fidgeted at that, a
faint line appearing between the dark arching curves of his eyebrows. So
Bodie moved on, running the tip of a finger over the neatly defined brows,
bringing up the edge of his thumb to tease spreading lashes, which lay so
thick and prickly upon the ridges of high cheekbones.

 Using thumb and forefinger, Bodie travelled along the compactly formed
nose, causing a twitch and snuffle as he briefly inspected the two small
holes at its base.

 Then he stopped, captivated by the well-shaped mouth with its slightly
longer, more voluptuous upper lip. Hesitantly, Bodie traced the outline of
it, aware for some reason that his fingertip was shaking. The lips
quivered, falling apart so that the teeth they guarded were slightly
visible. Bodie raised his finger to his own mouth and wet it. Then he
glided the moistened pad along the tender surface of The Large One's lower
lip, and eased the tip a little inward until it rested upon the pliant
cushion of a wondrously soft tongue.

 He had explored too much. Green eyes flared open and the sharp edges of
teeth came down on Bodie's finger. He cried out, more in startlement than
pain. When he would have removed the offending digit, The Large One
captured his wrist and held his hand there. The Large One then sucked
Bodie's finger deeper into the enchanting moist warmth of his mouth.

 Shivering, Bodie coasted on the sensations. The other's glittering eyes
were lustrous green, focused on him unwaveringly. From nowhere the other's
name was in his mouth and he set it free in a low murmur: "Doyle.
Ray...Doyle."

 Doyle let go of Bodie's wrist, fingers slowly following the curve of his
arm up to the back of his neck. Without releasing him, Doyle rocked
forward and kissed the human's lips. Bodie invited him in immediately,
comparing the velvet pressure of the tongue within his mouth to the raspy
sponginess of it as it had encircled his finger. This was most definitely
better, he decided, losing himself in the taste and texture of Doyle's
kiss. He pressed closer, seeking something that he knew this one could
give him--but Doyle drew away, hands on Bodie's shoulders to keep him at
bay when he would have demanded more, narrow thumbs rubbing calmingly on
the bony ridge of Bodie's collarbone.

 "Please." Bodie sought to overcome Doyle's resistance. "Ray?"

 But that one would not be persuaded. "Not yet," Doyle said with an odd
quaver that made his voice vibrate huskily in Bodie's ears. "Not yet,
Bodie."

 ******

It was the sfang who forced mind and memory to fully reconnect. Bodie woke
alone from a troubled sleep, his head coruscating with confused images and
half-grasped memories. Only this time, they did not go away.

 Bodie rolled over and glared up at the small creature looming over the
head of his pillow, its dark, fathomless eyes staring down at him with
fearful intentness. The human believed that the images must originate with
the sfang and struck out at it. But the sfang eluded him, launching itself
into the air, the barrage of thought pictures continuing to assail him
unabated.

 Bodie scrambled to his knees, gathering himself to lunge at his attacker.
Made dizzy by that constant assault, however, he could not even balance,
and sank back onto the bunk, head clasped between his hands. "Asper,
don't!" he cried out. "Asper!"

 Just then the doorway was filled with Doyle's familiar shape, his
startled eyes absorbing everything in an instant. "Asper, leave him alone!
He may not be ready yet!"

 Obediently the sfang ended the tormenting images, and Bodie collapsed in
a heap. Doyle was there immediately, comforting Bodie with lavish
gentleness, caressing the other man's arms and back, whispering his name,
over and over.

 The sfang fluttered to the rumpled mattress, and tentatively scuttled
onto Bodie's left knee. It rammed its pointed head against his thigh.

 "Bastard," Bodie said gratingly, the word framed equally with rage and
helpless laughter. "Rotten, self-centered little sod."

 He heard a muffled sob, but when he tried to raise his head, Doyle would
not let him. They remained in a close embrace, sharing their body heat for
a long time. As Bodie rested limply against the Vauxan, the fragmented
thoughts coalesced into memories. *Snow; sudden sick terror; the
gut-tearing realization of a loss he could not bear. Then later, warmth;
too much warmth; and a giving that he could not deny nor control. And
finally, the emptiness; a vast unbroken lake of it upon which he had
floated lost but never entirely alone*.

 "How long?" he asked, his mouth moving against the column of Doyle's
throat, measuring the rhythmic surge of blood flowing under the surface
there.

 "Five days."

 A prickling quiver skated down Bodie's spine. "So long." He was allowed
to look up at last. "Are *you* all right?"

 Doyle's eyes were brilliant with tears. "You bloody fool. Of course *I*
am."

 Bodie turned his face back into the comfortable notch beneath Doyle's
jaw. "That's all right, then."

 There was more he wanted to say, but a not unwelcome languor had settled
upon him and it was all he could do not to fall asleep where he sat. But
he resisted all the same, for he had no intention of leaving Doyle; not
even to nap, however briefly.

 The capable hands that had seen to him for five days bore him down to the
mattress anyway. "Give it up, mate," Doyle murmured. "I'm not going
anywhere." Chirruping in agreement, the sfang sprang onto Bodie's leg and
took up residence on his lap.

 Wanting for nothing, Bodie slept once more.

 ******

Doyle was happy at last. For two years he had searched for the person his
half-brother, Targeon, had encouraged him to find should he ever want a
friend. Targeon had always understood him and his peculiar differentness.
His friend--the human Targeon had been partnered with for several
years--had never been on Vaux when Doyle had; hence, they had never met.
Doyle only knew him as LerMith, the Vauxan name that meant 'almost
Vauxan.' Doyle had been called that as well, under less than kind
circumstances, by his own people.

 Through Targeon--on the rare occasions that they had been together in the
years before he died--Doyle had come to know much about this human: his
quirky, sometimes twisted sense of humor; his bravery and tolerance--and
his own sense of being apart; for he was never at home with his own
people, and was sometimes even uncomfortable with himself.

 Doyle's three sterile years in the research center on Vaux following
Targeon's death had convinced him that the time had come to find LerMith,
to see if the friendship Targeon had promised him was really Doyle's to
command. So he had set out with his cousin Moor, who was the only person
willing to join him on this venture, who also knew what LerMith looked
like. Moor had seen him once or twice while Targeon was still living--and
a last time at Targeon's passing ceremony, which had taken place while
Doyle was away, and before he could reach Vaux.

 Considerable persuasion had been employed to convince Moor to accompany
him. The fact that Doyle had extricated his cousin from a rather sticky
situation several years before had weighed in his favor; Moor had readily
conceded to owing his cousin more than mere thanks.

 But it had been a journey in frustration. Once traced, LerMith had always
moved on a short time before, often only a day or two ahead. Doyle had
begun to believe that they were following a spirit creature, for the human
rarely travelled under the same name twice, and always managed to escape
them, no matter how they tried to anticipate him. To make matters more
difficult, Doyle had no hologram with which to spark recognition from
those he questioned at each spaceport. No one on Vaux had ever been able
to explain this apparent oversight, except to note that LerMith always
managed to be somewhere else when likenesses were being made.

 After two years, Moor had grown quite, quite bored with the whole
venture, and Doyle himself was to the point of admitting defeat. He had
promised Moor that Stepney would be the last place they would search--and
that had been a shot in the dark, a planet LerMith had only visited from
time to time. The chances of his being there had been miniscule. But for
Doyle it had been the last opportunity to find...something; a friend with
whom he could share the common bond of background, forged by his
half-brother Targeon.

 Instead he had found Bodie.

 Lying on his back on the bunk, the Vauxan abandoned his contemplation of
the ceiling to look at the human, eyes feasting on the face that was
sinfully handsome in repose, but which he had seen taut with anger,
mischievous with humor, and flushed with passion. In all his searchings it
had never occurred to him that the one person in all the universe who
could make him happy should have found *him*, instead.

 And he had come so close to losing him.

 It had been an unbearably close-run thing. He had killed for this man,
fully comprehending the consequences when he had downed the primitive bent
on murder. The shock of the native's dying had been stupefyingly painful,
and nothing Doyle might have done could have prepared him for it. Only the
knowledge that Bodie would survive had given him any consolation at all;
when he had woken later to find that Bodie was risking the very life he
had suffered so much to ensure, it had nearly maddened him.

 But Bodie's indomitable strength of spirit had brought him through, and
with each new hour he had gained back lost ground. *It'll be all right*,
Doyle promised himself, although he could not help but question what the
future might hold for them. Bodie had turned to him in passion, and mutual
desire had sprung up between them. But had that been for *him*, Doyle; or
just the pliant, accommodating body that had been so conveniently near to
hand?

 If that were all, then Doyle did not know if he could endure it. He had
never wanted anything so much as he wanted this man's love, so much more
important than his lust. Yet, if Bodie *could* love him, would Doyle be
able to deal with the promiscuous ways of human commitment? He knew their
oaths of fealty rarely extended beyond the first bloom of attraction; and
although they often maintained financial and emotional support for one
another, it was not uncommon for humans to betray their mates with
frequent extraneous sexual encounters.

 Vauxans were different. If they were sure of their feelings, they bonded.
The empathic joining ensured that a mating was much more than a coupling
of bodies. Could such a single-minded, long-lasting devotion exist among
humans? Or would they forever pine for what they could no longer have,
until the relationship was sundered by unequal needs?

 Doyle sighed softly. He lay on his side, bent elbow supporting him, his
gaze warm on Bodie's still sleeping figure.

 Should he, being half-human, understand this need? If Bodie offered his
love, should Doyle grant him the freedom to do as he wished, so long as
Bodie never revealed his other liaisons?

 The very thought plunged Doyle into terrible bleakness. No; he would not
be able to handle it, and knew that from his body's reflexive response to
the mere thought. He was, as Bodie had pointed out, more Vauxan than human
after all.

 But did he even have a choice in the matter?

 Doyle watched the human, beguiled by his twitches and snores, yet
yearning also to touch, to complete the galvanic contact that he had been
forced to discourage the day before, when Bodie had still been victim to
his mind's self-enforced shields. It had taken every last ounce of will to
fend off the human's uninhibited advances. Doyle remembered how desire had
sparked in the blue eyes, turning them black with frustration as he had
begged for Doyle's compliance.

 Heart rate increasing with the memory, Doyle fitfully licked his lips,
eyes roaming over Bodie's quiescent face. Everything about him fed the
furnace inside: the silky dark hair tumbled on the high forehead; the
curve of heavy lashes on pale cheeks; the soft, sensuous lips that lured
him almost irresistibly.

 Determined not to wake him, Doyle laid a hand on Bodie's head, just
behind his ear. His thumb described a random pattern on the curled-back
tip, slid behind and under it, then moved lower still to the corner of his
jaw. The skin there was very tender, and Doyle gave it his full
consideration, unwittingly creeping closer as he followed the motion of
his fingers.

 A moment later his mouth was scant inches from the human's, the scent of
the other man full in his nostrils, at once heady and most appealing. With
his fingers molded to the curve of Bodie's neck, Doyle eliminated the
distance between them and gently bestowed a kiss.

 Even in sleep Bodie's lips were pliant. Doyle licked at them, just
skimming the surface of each one to make them slick, then slipped his
tongue between, finding access immediately.

 He knew at the precise instant the human came fully aware. Pulse rate
rocketing, Doyle drew back, allowing enough space between them for their
eyes to meet. The human surveyed him without expression; this was the
Bodie Doyle had known before Essex-2. Suddenly he was uncertain, afraid he
had offended, and braced himself for condemnation.

 "You trying to take advantage of me?" Bodie asked guilelessly.

 It was hard to speak through the desert of Doyle's throat. He shook his
head. "Could I?"

 Bodie smiled. Doyle felt the bewitchment of it well within the center of
his being. If a mere smile could swamp him with such intoxicating
pleasure, what would happen if he were offered more? Bodie said, "Only one
way to find out, isn't there?"

 Doyle accepted the invitation as though it were a challenge. Gone was the
subtle caution of his first kiss, replaced with the full-grown urgency of
a man's need. Bodie held nothing back as Doyle brought their bodies
closer, his fingers biting into the human's flanks; he wanted to climb
inside Bodie's very skin. They fed at each other's mouths as hands laid
burning paths across bare flesh.

 It did not take long, this first contact; nor was much more needed than
the satin friction of one body against the other to achieve their joint
goal. And when, shortly after, they lay calming in one another's embrace,
Doyle felt as though the challenge had been met and won--and he was
unutterably content.

 "Not bad," Bodie intoned.

 Doyle lifted his head, examining Bodie warily.

 Face soft with pleasure--not smugness or cynicism--Bodie nuzzled against
Doyle's cheek, extending his tongue to taste the lobe of a curl-covered
ear. "For a first go," he clarified. Arms tightening convulsively around
the Vauxan's leanness, Bodie buried his face against the base of his neck.
"Was perfect, Ray," he breathed. "Been wanting to do that since I first
saw you."

 "Have you?" Doyle's brows hitched upward. "You didn't say."

 Bodie rolled over, half-pinning the Vauxan beneath him. He fitted Doyle's
face between his palms and gave him a daunting look. "Couldn't, could I?"

 "Why not?" Doyle was finding it hard to breathe, and not solely as a
result of supporting Bodie's not inconsiderable weight.

 "Didn't know I loved you then," Bodie said simply. There was no mockery
in the words, only simple truth.

 Doyle reached up and brushed a finger across Bodie's mouth, receiving the
bonus of a quick kiss. "Do you know what you're saying?" he asked.

 With a twist of his head, Bodie snagged the Vauxan's finger between his
teeth. As swiftly he freed him, muttering, "'Course I do. Haven't heard
anything from you yet, though."

 Doyle's mouth melted into a smile. "Didn't think you'd need to hear it."
He retracted that. "Didn't think you'd *want* to hear it."

 "Why shouldn't I?" Bodie demanded, offended.

 "You know about Vauxans," Doyle replied without inflection. "What if I
wanted to...."

 "Bond with me?" Bodie finished for him. "Just ask."

 But a faint line formed between the wide-spaced eyes, Doyle's brows
tugged downward. "You must know what it entails. Bodie, would you be...?"
He stumbled, feeling a fool, incapable of imparting how important this was
to him.

 "Faithful?" Bodie supplied. Very seriously, he brought Doyle's face close
to his. "I can only promise that I would be; and I have never broken my
word, Ray. More than that, you doubting sod, I would never want to hurt
you. I know what a broken bonding can do."

 Hearing only Bodie's assurance, Doyle marvelled, "Do you? You would have
to stand with me before my family. I would want to do it that way."

 "If that's what you want," Bodie agreed, and took the full mouth with
his.

 Very skillfully and with his entire being, Bodie began to make love to
him. Only moments passed before Doyle was soaring again, and it took all
his strength to slow them both down. "Is it what *you* want?" He had to
know.

 Bodie favored him with a tolerant grin. "For you; if it will make you
happy." He gave his head a slight shake. "Won't change anything either
way," he explained, punctuating each word with a kiss. "Because you're
stuck with me no matter what we do."

 Satisfied, Doyle pulled him back down. They grappled briefly, sliding
sensuously against sweat-and semen-slick bodies, before Doyle maneuvered
the unresisting human onto his back. After a gratifyingly luscious kiss,
the Vauxan escaped the grip of Bodie's arms and began an exploratory
journey down the length of his body. Bodie relaxed under the combined
assault of hands and mouth and the silken swab of a cherishing tongue. He
employed his own hands across Doyle's shoulders and flanks, and as the
Vauxan moved lower, Bodie twisted him around so he could reach Doyle's
hips and the backs of his thighs more easily. Doyle encouraged the
attention by pushing back against the caressing fingers, producing a
hoarse whimper as they curved into the downy furrow between his buttocks.

 Taking their time, they pleasured one another again, achieving what
neither would have thought possible: They went even higher than the first
time.

 ******

"We've off-planeted!" Bodie exclaimed. He was in the captain's seat for
the first time in six days, addressing this momentous statement to the
freshly bathed and dressed Vauxan behind him. "*When* did we off-planet?"

 Doyle disentangled a hairy, fascinated forelimb from his still damp hair
and climbed onto the other station. "Couple of days ago. While you were
communing with the cosmos." He spoke lightly, but there was an edge to the
words that he could not conceal.

 Bodie worked the starchart that was cast upon the screen, glancing
between the forward display and the small line of data that jiggered
across the bottom. "Vaux?" He canted a brow at Doyle. "Pretty sure of me,
weren't you?"

 "Sure of you?"

 "That I'd want to bond with you. You know." At the continued blank stare,
Bodie said smartly, "Don't tell me you've forgotten already?"

 Doyle laughed. "Don't be a clot. *That* wasn't why I set course for
Vaux."

 Wondering if the Vauxan intended that he pry it from him, Bodie cocked
his head to one side. "Go on." He decided his new love looked too smug by
half. "*Doyle*...."

 The Vauxan threw out his hands, warding off a threatened blow. "It's
where you originally planned on going anyway, isn't it?"

 Suspicion narrowed the blue eyes. "Yeah. But that was before. To sell the
echo stones, remember?"

 The pedantic tone was not well received. "Oh. Right."

 The moment stretched. "Right?" Bodie snapped. "Right, *what*?"

 "So I set course for Vaux."

 "*Doyle*!" This time the Vauxan did not avoid the deliberate cuffing
which caught him just behind the ear. It turned almost instantly into an
intimate caress, and Doyle was being reeled into Bodie's arms. When Bodie
finally let him up for air, Doyle could hardly muster his thoughts. Bodie
said with honeyed menace, "Do I need to get it out of your hide?"

 "Hmm? That was nice," Doyle murmured. "Don't suppose you'd like to try? I
have a very thick hide, y'know."

 "You're insatiable," Bodie said, despair mixed with unwilling amusement.
But the challenge of those tempting lips proved stronger than even his
usually indomitable restraint. A moment later they were both having
difficulty in catching their breath. Seemingly apropos of nothing, Doyle
said, "I went back. That's why we're going to Vaux."

 The human slumped forward dramatically, allowing his head to lay upon the
Vauxan's chest in apparent resignation. Doyle twined his fingers carefully
into the black hair, and bent forward to deposit a kiss upon the nape of
the long neck. "The echo stones, Bodie," he said very precisely. "I went
back for the echo stones."

 Bodie's head came up so abruptly the crown of his head clipped the
Vauxan's chin, jarring his teeth together with a resounding clack.

 Unprepared for the sharp jolt of pain, Doyle gave a whoop, and cupped his
jaw with both palms. Oozing remorse, but not quite able to repress the
twitching that played havoc with the corners of his mouth, Bodie choked
out, "Sorry. Sorry, are you all right?" He ducked his head, inhaling
raggedly to steady himself.

 "Go ahead, laugh, you lousy crud," Doyle said furiously.

 "No," Bodie averred thickly. "No, 'm not going to laugh." But he
collapsed forward onto the Vauxan's lap, capturing the wiry wrists to
prevent reprisal, at least until he could regain control of himself. When
he brought his head up again--considerably more circumspectly this
time--he found the faintest acknowledgement of humor amidst the glimmer of
involuntary tears.

 "Oh, sunshine," he whispered, and kissed each salty eyelid. Then, before
Doyle could draw away, he applied the same balm to his chin. "Better?"

 The Vauxan murmured, "Hm. But then, you're good at that; making me feel
better."

 "Am I now?" For good measure, Bodie kissed him one more time, then
snarled, "Now what the bloody hell are you on about?"

 "Told you," Doyle said, unperturbed.

 "Seriously?" Bodie couldn't believe it. "You went back for the stones?
But--why?"

 The Vauxan curled a finger around the contour of Bodie's jaw. "For you.
Thought you would die; or stay as you were. It wouldn't have made things
any better, but I wanted to believe it would have pleased you, if you ever
knew."

 Bodie covered the Vauxan's hand with his own. "If *you* only knew," he
said under his breath.

 Doyle accepted that as proof of his gratitude. "We're two days out. Be
reaching Hendon Gate in about six hours."

 "Can see that. Any other surprises for me?"

 "No. But, Bodie...."

 At the muted tone, Bodie looked at him searchingly. "What, Ray?"

 "There were others outside the cave. They were all dead; the one I killed
and...." His voice fell to a hushed whisper. "And two others. They had no
faces."

 Bodie suddenly recalled the noises he had heard on his way to the
skimmer, the cries that had broken off so abruptly. "Asper," he said
flatly.

 The Vauxan nodded. "*He* killed for you, too."

 The subject of their discussion lay somnolently attached to the back of
Doyle's chair. "And for you," Bodie argued, without heat.

 "They'll be afraid to go back for a long time."

 "But when they do, there won't be anything to find, will there?" Bodie
said with certainty.

 Pleased that he had been been understood so quickly, some of the light
returned to Doyle's eyes. "No, there won't."

 ******

They cleared Hendon with a minimum of fuss, then spent the remainder of
the quiet afternoon trying to resume their old routine. Neither could
quite forget the new dimensions of their relationship, however, and would
find excuses to briefly visit and exchange an undemanding caress or a
quick kiss.

 As he worked through basic systems checks, Bodie would occasionally drift
off, remembering the morning's love-making with a serene sense of
repletion. He had known pleasure with more people than he could recall,
but none of them had left him with the exhilarating sense of well-being
that he enjoyed now. Perhaps, he considered, he had been wrong to fear the
prospect of love.

 Late in the afternoon, he left Doyle in charge of the flight deck, so
that he could steal a quick nap. The sfang accompanied him and channelled
soothing dreams his way.

 Doyle woke him over the intercom some time later, summoning him to the
galley. The Vauxan was already eating when Bodie arrived. Bodie gave him a
reproachful look which also encompassed the small white creature hunched
over its own meal in the center of the table.

 "The bloom's off so soon?" he asked, making a great show of serving
himself.

 Speaking thickly around a large mouthful, Doyle queried eloquently, "Eh?"

 Bodie stared at him. "Us. You called me over the ship's com to drag me
out of bed--and when I get here, you're already stuffing your gob."

 The Vauxan's nose wrinkled affectionately at him. "That's because you
wouldn't be eating at all--if I'd got you out of bed personally."

 Still a bit miffed, Bodie snorted. "That's assuming a lot, isn't it?"

 Doyle waved his fork, dangerously burdened with food, over the table.
"Not where humans are concerned, no."

 Bodie froze in the midst of ferrying a spoonful of soup to his mouth.
"Speaking from experience, are you?"

 "Nah," Doyle grinned cheekily. Then: "Well, maybe one or two."

 Caught between searing jealousy and prurient curiousity, Bodie inquired
with elaborate disinterest, "So, how do I compare?"

 Doyle blinked and lowered his fork with more speed than was strictly
necessary. "You're not serious."

 They stared at one another across the table, still stretched on the rack
of newness, their emotions very vulnerable. Doyle broke the moment by
saying brusquely, "They don't."

 Bodie dropped his spoon and went to the other man's side. He crouched
down on his haunches, resting his cheek against Doyle's leg, more grateful
than he could express when Doyle's arms came to lie on his shoulders. "I
swear I won't do that again. It just...I've never felt this way. Never."
He raised his eyes and met Doyle's rueful gaze. "It scares me to death,
Ray."

 "Shouldn't," the Vauxan murmured. "I'm yours, Bodie, whatever you want to
do with me." He touched a fingertip to Bodie's nose. "Kinda nice to know
that I can have that effect on someone, though. Especially you."

 Bodie encircled the lean waist in a loose hug, pressing his face against
a hard muscled thigh. "And what's so special about me?" he wondered aloud.

 "You love me." The words were simply stated but unmistakably imbued with
a kind of awe.

 "I do, y'know," Bodie said at once. "Too bloody much, maybe."

 Doyle pushed him away, pointing at his chair. "You'll get used to it.
Oh--in a week or so, I expect."

 Bodie tenderly ruffled Doyle's already tousled curls. "You should be so
lucky, lad. Intend to wear you out, I do."

 The dark head arched back and interested green eyes raked over him.
"Promise?"

 "And threat. Now leave me alone, will you; I have to get my strength
back."

 "Ah, poor old spacer," Doyle murmured consolingly, but his face was
flushed with appreciation as he watched the human resume his seat.

 The remainder of their meal was spent in companionable discourse,
disturbed only by the plummeting dives and skreeing complaints of a hungry
sfang. Doyle offered to clean up so Bodie could return to the flight deck.
He readily agreed, having determined in his earliest years that tidying up
after a meal was one of life's least stimulating tasks.

 Reviewing the flight path that Doyle had established, Bodie decided that
the Vauxan had chosen it in order to bypass the more volatile sections of
this particular sector. Normally he would never have come this way, simply
for the fact that it went through some of the deadliest dull systems in
the galaxy. But Doyle would have relied on that, quite aware that neither
of them were up to adventuring yet. In essence, they were creeping in
through Vaux's back door.

 Doyle joined him on the flight deck, bearing two cups of scalding tea and
a sluggish, overfed sfang.

 Accepting the tea with a smile of thanks, Bodie rolled his eyes, nodding
toward the bloated creature. "Can it still fly?"

 "Doesn't make much difference, the way he always hitches a ride."

 Bodie laughed softly. "True." A little over-full himself, the human
leaned back in his chair and stretched forth his legs.

 "Bodie."

 "Hm?"

 "This Vauxan friend of yours--did you ever mate with him?"

 The human's expression was studiedly composed. "As a matter of fact, no."

 Doyle held up a hand. "Don't worry, I was just curious." His eyes were
very dark and Bodie wondered if it would be possible for him to get lost
in such inviting depths.

 "Why?"

 "I can make it better for you," Doyle said tentatively. "Share my
feelings and feed yours back to you. At least I think I can," he added,
irresolutely.

 Bodie reached out and took hold of Doyle's hand. "Does that mean you
haven't done it before?" At Doyle's quiet assent, he asked, "Whyever not?"

 Meshing their fingers together, Doyle murmured, "Was never in love
before, was I."

 "But surely you don't have to be in love...?"

 "No. I just never wanted to try it that way unless it was with someone
special."

 Bodie felt himself melting inside. "Why haven't you ever loved anyone
before, Ray?" His thumb curved into the Vauxan's palm and began describing
slow, lazy circles.

 "Could ask you the same question, I expect," Doyle countered wryly.

 "You could. And you'd probably get the same answer."

 Doyle bared his teeth and increased the strength of his grip. "Because
I'm a half-breed, maybe? You know: never felt right with anyone. But I
think it's simpler than that. Maybe I just never knew exactly what I
wanted until I found it."

 Bodie considered this and arrived at the same conclusion. "Yeah," he
agreed. "Maybe that's all it really comes down to." He kissed a prominent
knuckle. "Hold out for the best, eh?"

 "You never said," Doyle reminded him with an engagingly shy smile. "Do
you want me to try?"

 His answer was immediate: "Yes. But--maybe in a few days, when I don't
fall into a stupor every six hours. You knocked me for ten this morning as
it was, y'know."

 Doyle leaned across the space separating their stations and kissed Bodie
with an artisan's mastery. "And will again, tonight."

 "Be gentle with me," Bodie whispered.

 ******

He was.

 Held safe in the Vauxan's arms, Bodie floated on the periphery of sleep,
warmed through to his soul, as completely sated and relaxed as he could
ever recall being.

 "Bodie."

 The husky voice was ethereally soft, intentionally blending into the
artificial night that surrounded them. Choosing to answer, Bodie prompted,
"What, Ray?"

 A band of hard muscle curved across Bodie's chest. "Thought maybe you'd
already fallen asleep."

 "What'd you expect, after a work-out like that?"

 Doyle's hushed laughter reverberated in his chest like a hollow drum.
"You managed to hold up your end fairly well, I thought."

 "Yeah," Bodie agreed. "And yours, too."

 A prodding finger elicited a groan of protest. "So, I like holding your
end," Bodie granted. "Is that it? If so, I'm going back to sleep, okay?"

 "No, that's not it at all, you randy toad. Just wanted to be clear on
something.... After Vaux--after we finish our business there...."

 Bodie anticipated him. "We'll find Moor. You'll pay off his marker with
*your* share of the loot--and then you'll send him on his way. Right?"

 "Right," Doyle said smoothly. He hugged the human until his bones
creaked. "So go to sleep. Past your bed time, isn't it?"

 Bodie wordlessly growled, languidly nestling deeper in the Vauxan's
embrace. He was quite willing to do as he was told.

 ******

The indefatigable summons of the communications signal brought Doyle out
of heavy, cloying slumber. Bodie stirred beside him, grumbling an
incoherent complaint about life's constant little exigencies.

 Taking quick note of the time, Doyle dragged sleep-numb fingers through
his hair, then wiped them thoroughly over his eyes.

 "What is it?" Bodie mumbled into his pillow.

 "Someone messaging in. Go on, back to sleep with you. I'll answer it."
With a fond caress for Bodie's disarrayed hair, Doyle worked his way out
of the bed and into his trousers. He shivered in the corridor as the
sheltering warmth of his cabin was left behind.

 A minor upheaval took place in the bunk he had abandoned as Bodie,
curious who was signalling them, and woken past the point of easily
returning to sleep, shoved himself upright and considered following his
companion to the flight deck.

 The decision was made for him when Asper, who had been rudely tossed off
the foot of the bed by Bodie's gyrations, decided there might be food
involved and came to land heavily on the human's head.

 "All right, all right," Bodie groused. "Hang about, will you?"

 Not bothering to dress, he padded out of the cabin and into the corridor,
patiently collecting the sfang in both of his hands and holding it in
front of him so he could fix it with a less than friendly eye. Bodie was
quick to concede the impromptu match, however; for, not only did the sfang
have a glassy stare that no human could ever hope to equal, but it also
boasted four eyes to the human's mere two.

 Sighing, Bodie stopped long enough in the galley to ferret out something
the sfang would find palatable. He left it alone, intently gulping its
food, and went in search of Doyle.

 ******

"*FG BEHEMOTH*," Doyle said into the ship's communicator. "We read you.
Identify caller, please."

 "This is the routing station on SutTon. We have clearance data and
docking information. If, that is, you aren't too busy to receive."

 Amused by the overly indulgent tone of the porting authority, Doyle said
kindly, "Of course we aren't. Keying over now." After setting the ship's
recorders to accept the pertinent data, he asked, "So, how are things on
Vaux?"

 "Vaux and her satellite SutTon are perfectly fine, thank you," the bored
voice replied. "And you'll be pleased to know that nothing much has
changed in your absence, lerMith Raydoyle."

 Doyle's face lit up in spite of the insult. "*Thought* I recognized the
voice. It's Alders, isn't it?"

 "You remember! Yeah, it's me. Old school chums never die, y'know; they
just nurse grudges forever."

 "That was years ago, mate. Reckoned you'd've forgotten that right after
enders."

 "No, *you* forget, lerMith: Your big brother Targeon threatened to kick
my teeth in if I so much as ruffled your bouncy little curlies."

 Doyle grinned reminiscently. "And it would have served you right, too.
You had at least three stone on me."

 "Probably closer to five now," Alders responded lugubriously. "Read-outs
indicate data transmission successful. Before I sign off, however, there's
someone here who wants to talk to you."

 "Yeah, who?" Behind him unnoticed, Bodie stepped on the flight deck and
leant back against the hatchway frame.

 "Your long-suffering Moor, that's who," another, lower-toned voice
announced.

 "Moor! You're free!"

 A thrill of sick surprise sliced into the human's belly at the crow of
joy that burst from the Vauxan's lips.

 "No thanks to you, sweeting." Despite the curt words, there was a
definite undertone of welcome that raised a prickle of sweat to the
surface of Bodie's skin.

 "I know," Doyle said contritely. "I am sorry. Was coming for you, though.
Didn't think I'd leave you stuck in it forever, did you?"

 "Nah," Moor said with surly affection. "Know you better than that. But I
*will* have my pound of flesh, y'know."

 Bodie held his breath, disconcertingly aware that his heart had somehow
worked itself into the narrow channel of his throat.

 "Will you, now?" Doyle chuckled. "You're welcome to try."

 "Skinny little thing like you? I'll have you down in no time. Look,
Alders's making rude gestures at me; this isn't exactly legal. Meet you at
your docking bay tomorrow, after you get in."

 "Done," Doyle said, the timbre of his voice betraying his pleasure. "*FG
BEHEMOTH* communication ended."

 Bodie was already on his way back down the corridor. Unthinking he
returned to Doyle's quarters, coming to a stop in the middle of the room.
There he stood for uncounted seconds while his thoughts whirled like
crazed dervishes. No reasoning or logic would ease the shattering pain
that billowed up within him. He had known.... Of course he had. He grasped
desperately for something that would refute what he thought he had known.
Doyle loved him; he was a Vauxan. He would *not* hurt him. He--

 "Bodie?"

 Shuddering with the effort to behave as though nothing had happened,
Bodie forced himself to remain motionless when two thin arms came round
him from behind, and a bony, well-remembered body molded itself against
the expanse of his broad back. He hissed involuntarily as gentle teeth
nipped at the base of his skull, followed by a molten tongue which traced
the first, prominent knob of his cervical ridge.

 "Oh, Bodie, you're warm," Doyle breathed. "Warmer than any human I've
ever known."

 Bodie tried to speak but found that he had lost the ability. Doyle's
hands slid up his chest, clever fingertips finding and carefully nursing
the nubs of his nipples into sensitive peaks.

 "It was the porting authority on SutTon," Doyle murmured absently. "Why
are you standing here like this?" Without waiting for an answer, he
propelled the human inexorably toward the bed. "It'll be much more
comfortable here-- although maybe we'll try it like that sometime."

 Bodie yielded mindlessly to the insistent hands and seductive voice. He
was trying not to think, to keep the dangerous, lurking outrage at bay.

 Doyle tumbled him onto the bed, then came down beside him. Still holding
Bodie from behind, he moved suggestively against him, tracing the contours
of the long, rigid spine, the warmth of Doyle's kisses igniting unwanted
fires wherever his lips touched.

 Writhing helplessly, Bodie was seized by a fierce rage that his body
should be so ready to deceive him as well. All at once, he rolled and
grappled the Vauxan onto his back, Bodie's mouth taking Doyle's lips with
a savagery that filled him with bitter triumph.

 Doyle did nothing to resist, accepting the human's roughness as readily
as he had his tenderness. Bodie dug a knee between Doyle's thighs, and the
Vauxan merely spread them wider. Bringing his full weight to bear, Bodie
finally broke the bruising kiss and opened his eyes. Doyle was watching
him, awaiting Bodie's intention, but not at all frightened.

 The terrible uncertainty that had driven him to stake his claim
evaporated in the face of such unquestioning trust. Shamed, Bodie bent his
head forward and lightly kissed the yielding lips that were swollen and
tinged with rosy color. His hands begged forgiveness as they ran down
tense flanks to the tops of hard thigh muscles. Moving inward across the
flat plain of Doyle's belly, they sought to restore the sweet arousal that
his fierceness had subverted.

 Doyle encouraged him with a small, fluttering sigh. His fingers linked
together in the human's hair, and Doyle held Bodie immobile while he took
his time to fully relish the human's mouth. Bodie's hands continued to
weave their spell of magic, however, and soon Doyle was beyond thought. He
gave a murmur of protest when Bodie drifted downward, then gasped aloud as
he was taken into generous, wet heat that surrounded and absorbed him.

 Bodie heard his name repeated over and over in the seconds before the
Vauxan gave up to him what he sought. And then he gentled him, hands
sweeping over thighs and hips long after the last shudder had faded away.
"Bloody hell, mate," Doyle proclaimed on a lusty sigh.

 Smiling, Bodie rose alongside him, and gathered the unresisting body into
his arms. Holding him protectively, Bodie asked, "Good?"

 Briefly, Doyle could not find words. Then he managed, "Let me show you."

 But Bodie would not let him move, squeezing him tightly. "In a while,
when you're all right."

 "All right!" Doyle scoffed. "I'm *great. * Here, let me...." And this
time he exercised the full measure of strength that was so stunningly
formidable in one so slight, tipping the human onto his back. Refusing to
be held at bay, Doyle accorded Bodie the same thorough ministrations that
had been dealt him, giving no quarter until the human was wriggling under
his touch, arching upward to appease the urgency that clamored for
fulfillment.

 Afterward, cradled in the warm shelter of Doyle's embrace, Bodie
discovered tears clinging to his eyelashes. He felt weak and drained--and
confused. He could not doubt the Vauxan's devotion, but he also knew he
had not misheard him.

 So? So, he must have misinterpreted Doyle's words. And even if he hadn't,
if Doyle was in fact arranging a tryst with his former lover, it was of no
consequence. In Bodie's books, Doyle was his--and would remain his--
whatever it took. He would not surrender him without a fight.

 "Forgot to tell you," Doyle said quietly, idly plaiting his fingers
through the dark, damp hair at Bodie's groin, "Moor's on Vaux."

 Bodie's heart advanced a beat. "Is he?"

 "Yeah. You distracted me, you great hulk." The Vauxan rubbed the tip of
his nose against Bodie's jaw. "We didn't have much time to talk; not
permitted, y'know. Got himself clear somehow."

 "Saved you some money, hm?"

 Doyle made a rude noise. "Nah. I owe him--but I'll take care of it." He
bent back his head so he could study his lover's face. "I love you."

 "That's good," Bodie said approvingly, "'Cause I love *you*."

 "Bodie, I...I have something to tell you." Doyle gritted his teeth.
"Something about Moor I should've explained a long time ago--"

 "No." A heavy finger fell forbiddingly across Doyle's lips. "Not now,
Ray," Bodie said. "It's still morning, y'know; not even dawn yet."

 The Vauxan's relief at the temporary reprieve was evident. "All right.
Later. Just promise you won't hate me when I tell you."

 "Couldn't." Bodie kissed the crown of Doyle's unruly curls. Tempering the
vehemence of his mercurial emotions, he said, "Just *you* promise *me*--
Promise you won't leave me."

 "I won't," Doyle assured him, and returned the hug with more energy than
caution. "Couldn't if I wanted to, could I?"

 "No," Bodie agreed. "I wouldn't let you."

 "Good. Wouldn't want you to," Doyle mumbled sleepily. "Want you to want
me forever, Bodie. Think you can manage that?"

 "I'm afraid I won't be able to manage anything else." Bodie's eyes fell
closed and he was overtaken by a curious peacefulness. With the Vauxan
close held like this in the aftermath of their lovemaking, he feared
nothing--and no one.

 After drowsing the early part of the day away, they doubled their efforts
in preparing the ship for planetfall, conscientiously attending to the
myriad procedural details that would have to be in order for the freighter
to escape quarantine.

 Bodie had contrived to neglect some of the more irritating "paperwork," a
frequent oversight with him, as it was probably the least enjoyable aspect
of travel in his opinion. He was inordinately behind this time, however,
due to his unanticipated furlough following their misadventure on Essex-2.
Bringing the ship's records up to date kept him at the flight deck console
most of the morning. Doyle bribed him into breaking away at noon by
standing in the doorway and letting the nose-titillating smell of lunch
waft into the confined space. Bodie chased after him complainingly, but
conceded at once to a brief sit-down in the galley.

 They had not pursued the subject of Moor since the early hours. Doyle was
in no hurry to bring his cousin up again, even though he knew it was
important that they discuss him.

 For his part, Bodie remembered belatedly that he owed the Vauxan a
confidence as well: the truth about why Bodie had rescued him from the
bleak prison on Stepney. In fact, he had let it go far too long to explain
his motives satisfactorily. Would Doyle be furious to find out that Bodie
had never intended to tell him who he was? Of course he would; especially
when Doyle found out that his own *mother* knew who Bodie was.

 It would have to wait until after they had landed, Bodie decided. They
had agreed to sell the echo stones at the Institute of Vauxan Studies
before doing anything else. Neither was entirely comfortable with them on
board. In fact, when Doyle had offered to display them to the human, he
had declined with rather more haste than diplomacy. Doyle, with his quick
empathy for the human's feelings, did not press the invitation.

 So their conversation was desultory and unimportant. While both harbored
secrets, each believed their revelations would not unduly affect their
relationship, however loathe they were to admit to them.

 SutTon's scanning facilities cleared them without undue delay, and they
proceeded to Vaux with their ultimate destination the porting facility in
the provincial city of CarShalTon, which lay in the heart of the greatest
Vauxan land mass. Like most major spaceports it boasted a vast array of
peoples and resources. Because it catered to such a wide range of customs
and physical characteristics, Bodie had always been at ease there; no one
judged, no one asked questions--mostly, no one cared.

 But CarShalTon was more than a cosmopolitan spaceport that had something
for everyone. It was a place where Bodie had felt accepted for many years.
In many ways, before Targeon had died it had felt a lot like home; or as
near to one as Bodie had ever known.

 As the soft blue planet, wreathed in veils of life-giving atmosphere,
grew large on their viewscreen, Doyle silently echoed Bodie's feelings.
This world had nominally been his home, even though there were few who had
ever truly welcomed him here. The one, still-living person who had loved
him unfailingly and without question would be waiting for him, however,
and he felt a buoyant happiness that he would at last be able to tell his
mother that he had found the one who made him whole. In his more than
thirty years, he had long since despaired of ever being able to do that.
Glancing across at Bodie, dark and handsome, his big, square, capable
hands gripping the atmospheric drive controls, he believed she would
approve.

 Regardless of her approval--or lack thereof--he would remain with Bodie.
The very thought made him warm with elation. As though suddenly conscious
of the Vauxan's ruminations, Bodie gave him a brilliant smile. A hand
seemed to reach inside and squeeze Doyle's heart. Unable to stop himself
Doyle leaned near for a kiss; Bodie did not disappoint him.

 "Don't think that's in standard landing practices. You want us to bring
the *BEHEMOTH* down keel-up?" Bodie teased.

 "Thought we had," Doyle said whimsically, savoring the lingering taste of
Bodie's mouth.

 The human only chuckled and returned his concentration to the monitor.
The *FG BEHEMOTH* was entering the atmosphere and soon would require pilot
override. In fact, the ship's computers were more than capable of
implementing the maneuver, but Bodie preferred to fly the damn thing
*sometimes*. The ship acceded to the switchover with a slight yaw, then
settled into trim as Bodie got the feel of it again.

 Doyle watched fascinated as they hurtled toward the surface. In most of
his travels with Moor he had rarely been accorded such a grand view, being
a mere passenger on a shuttle or planet skipper, relegated to the relative
confinement of the riders' compartment. And, although he had flown enough
craft to have seen this view before, it had been a while since he had
witnessed an unobscured space-ground approach, a terrifying but
enthralling event he would never grow weary of.

 They landed with a barely noticeable jolt, which was as much a tribute to
Bodie's piloting skills as to the ship's impact compensators. A moment
later the support struts were released and the craft stood at rest on the
traffic grid assigned to them, upon the surface of Vaux. There they waited
for clearance to proceed to the docking bay.

 It was a clear day, made stunningly bright by the all-encompassing
presence of Vaux's single, great star. Doyle grinned for the sheer
pleasure of it, feeling a little silly at his sentimentality, even as
Bodie looked at him askance.

 But the human said nothing. He guessed that Doyle was thinking of his
homecoming--and possibly of their forthcoming bonding. He knew that meant
a great deal to him; accordingly it was of importance to Bodie as well. In
truth, he had never considered the likelihood of bonding with anyone, much
less permanently; but the prospect of being mated to Doyle stirred
anticipation as well as satisfaction. Never before had he loved someone so
much that he yearned to make that person physically *and* legally his.

 "Love you," he murmured and received a blinding smile for his honesty.

 In moments they had received instructions to continue to their designated
docking bay. Bodie guided the *BEHEMOTH* with expert ease, handling the
enormous freighter as though it were a ground skimmer. Once the ship was
at full stop again, Bodie shut down all save necessary support systems. By
then Doyle had gone to the cargo hold to gather the echo stones; they met
outside the main hatch.

 The Vauxan opened the specially shielded container so that Bodie could
peer within. He had asked no questions since Doyle had told him that he
had gone back for the stones and was taken aback now at the sheer quantity
of them. The twelve he had collected would have made a dozen men rich for
life. This small hoard would easily support the entire city of CarShalTon.

 "Greedy?" he blurted thoughtlessly.

 A brow went up at that, but Doyle only said mildly, "You wanted them.
Thought there should be enough to balance the cost."

 Bodie's hands came up and curved around the Vauxan's cheeks. "It wouldn't
have been enough if I'd lost you."

 "One or a thousand, Bodie," Doyle whispered. "I thought you might have
got some joy at the beautiful things I would have bought for you."

 They shared a long tender kiss. "So buy them for me now," Bodie
suggested.

 Doyle gave him a crooked smile. "You can buy your *own* now, human," and
danced aside as Bodie took a swat at him.

 ******

Outside, the day was genially temperate. Bodie shielded his eyes with one
hand as they came to stand at the head of the ramp, squinting before the
glare of daylight following the artificially regulated lighting of the
*BEHEMOTH*. They had arrived mid-afternoon in early spring; hence the
human-comfortable temperature. A rain shower had passed through sometime
recently, and the humid scent of it rose beguilingly into Bodie's
nostrils. He had always enjoyed the unique odors of Vaux; this was one
that had been especially favored.

 Starting eagerly down the ramp, Doyle outpaced the automatic conveyor,
building up speed as he neared the end. When a shout came across the
tarmac from the mouth of the hangar bay, Doyle looked up sharply.

 It was his name, spoken by a familiar voice. The call came again, and
Doyle picked out the figure hurrying toward them. "Moor!" he cried, and
leapt the last feet off the end of the conveyor. He set the container
holding the precious echo stones on the ground with a thump, and took off
running.

 Bodie watched as the two men met about thirty yards away and fell
instantly into a tight embrace. Jaws grinding together, he banked down the
roiling ambivalence that churned inside his stomach. The conveyor came to
the end of the ramp, causing him to stumble when his feet failed to
negotiate the transition. Then he was standing alone beside the
*BEHEMOTH*, an unwilling observer to the others' emotional reunion.

 ******

"You're all right!" Doyle said, his voice thick with relief. Standing a
little away he made a thorough inspection of the other man. All the while,
he kept a hand on his cousin's shoulder, as though Moor might at any
moment disappear into the ether.

 "Steady on, old man. Told you I was."

 The other Vauxan was a good deal taller than Doyle, taller even than
Bodie. Well-built and handsomely featured, he smiled gamely at the half-
human. "Don't look like that," he admonished. "I really wasn't whipped or
anything. McCoy turned out to be a fair bloke, he did."

 "Why'd he let you go?"

 "Came up with some cost-savers for his antiquated equipment shop. Made
such a good job of it, he decided he owed me an early out. Even got part
of the profit, if you can believe that."

 Doyle was outraged. "'Course I can. Moor, I *am* sorry. Never meant
anything like that to happen."

 Delivering a playful blow, Moor caught Doyle with both hands and dragged
him close. "Know that." Facing the *BEHEMOTH* over Doyle's shoulder, he
noticed the human waiting at the foot of the ramp for the first time.
Barely giving him a glance, he loosened his stranglehold on his cousin.
"And what about you? Reckoned everything must be all right, if you were
transmitting the flight plan for this monster." He nodded toward the ship.
"Alders rang me, y'know, as soon as he saw the report. Not such a bad old
sod, really."

 "Easy for you to say," Doyle said tartly. Alders had been a tormentor of
the worst sort when Doyle was a youth. It had been as much a matter of
survival as pride to sort the bastard out when he had torn into Doyle one
too many times. Neither man had forgotten it, although it had engendered
an uneasy respect between them. "I'm fine," he went on. Then he broke into
a helpless, happy smile. "More than fine, actually."

 "Yeah? Treated you nicely, did he?"

 Doyle nodded. "Want you to meet him. We're...." but he trailed off before
the frown of concentration that knotted Moor's brow. The Vauxan was
studying Bodie with unwarranted intensity. Doyle turned to follow his
gaze, wondering if Bodie had done something remarkable. As far as he could
see, Bodie had done nothing at all.

 "Why you sneaky little--" Moor's hands exuberantly clasped Doyle's
shoulders. "You could've told me, y'know!"

 Doyle looked up at him in bewilderment. "Told you what?"

 "About *him*," Moor said peevishly. "So--you finally found the bastard."

 "Moor--" Doyle's voice broke off, and he slowly wheeled round to stare at
the object of their conversation.

 The other Vauxan noted with alarm that Doyle's face was turning
shockingly white. At a loss to understand this seemingly outsized
reaction, he nevertheless took hold of the smaller man again to keep him
upright in the unlikely event he should faint.

 His voice as brittle as shattered glass, Doyle whispered, "You mean,
you...recognize him?"

 Moor's expression was riddled with uneasiness. "Didn't you *know*?" His
eyes scanned the human from head to toe--just to be sure. "It *is*
LerMith, Raydoyle. I'm sure of it." With unwitting provocation, he
protested, "Surely you *knew*!"

 Doyle's face was frozen; he looked as though he had been struck. "That's
why I had *you* along, remember?"

 Baffled, Moor asked, "Why didn't he tell you?"

 Doyle did not even try to answer that as he disentangled himself from his
cousin's grip.

 "Think I'll just find out," he said grimly. He started to walk toward the
*BEHEMOTH*--and Bodie. Then he came to a full stop and deliberately turned
back toward Moor and took him in another fierce hug. "Thanks, mate. I'll
see you later. And, Moor-- Hang about for the next few days, will you?"

 "Sure," the Vauxan said agreeably. "Mind if I ask why?"

 "Want you to witness," Doyle replied blackly.

 His cousin blinked as he took in this astonishing bit of information.
"With *him*?"

 "Yeah," Doyle said shortly. "If he's still in one piece."

 ******

Bodie had himself firmly under control as Doyle strode purposefully toward
him, although he was still awash with reckless passions that lay just
below his civilized veneer.

 The nearer Doyle drew, the clearer Bodie could see his expression. It
worried him. There was a granite stillness in the normally amiable facade
that Bodie couldn't recall ever seeing before--not even when, swamped with
distrust, the Vauxan had first come on board the *FG BEHEMOTH*. Something
the other Vauxan had told him had disturbed Doyle--something Bodie guessed
with sinking heart had to do with *him*.

 Yet he held his ground as Doyle stalked up to within a few inches of him,
the rounded chin thrust forward, full lips compressed into a very thin
line. Bodie could see the muscles working in Doyle's jaw, and there was a
hard glint in distant green eyes.

 Before Bodie could speak, Doyle demanded with cold fury, "Why didn't you
tell me?"

 Bodie's brows went up, and he gave his head a little shake. "Tell you
what?"

 "Who you are," Doyle's voice crackled with unconcealed bitterness,
"*LerMith*."

 "How--" Bodie's eyes darted to the entrance of the bay, but the Vauxan
called Moor was gone. The man *had* looked familiar, although at that
distance.... "*He* told you?"

 Doyle glared at him, his face rigidly composed.

 The human exhaled raggedly. "I was going to bring it up today, mate.
Before we attended Gilla."

 This proof of Bodie's knowledge--his mother's name--was almost more than
Doyle could bear. Though sorely tempted, thumping one's intended to a
mangled heap, after all, simply was not done.

 As if recognizing Doyle's hair-trigger state, Bodie explained hurriedly,
"She knows me, y'see. I--"

 "We've been together for *three weeks*, Bodie," Doyle reminded him
stonily. "You could have told me in the transfer chamber on Stepney.
You've known who I was all along! What the bloody hell have you been
playing at?" The anguish in his voice betrayed the misgivings spawned by
Moor's shocking news. The trust between them, which had developed with
such seeming ease, appeared to be crumbling to dust.

 Bodie reached out; yet he hesitated to touch, as though he no longer had
the right. "It wasn't planned, Ray," he declared. "I...I promised Targeon
when he was dying that I'd watch out for you. When I went to Stepney, all
I was going to do was pay your marker and let you go. Meant to tell you
then...." He sighed again, his words falling on seemingly deaf ears. "Then
you were brought out and--I can't explain it, but you looked so beaten, so
alone--I wanted to help you." Blue eyes, dark with guilt, fell before
Doyle's implacability. "Damn it, I didn't do it to hurt you!" Voice eroded
to a grating whisper, Bodie added with self-condemnation, "Never intended
to fall in love with you, either."

 "What *did* you intend, Bodie?" Doyle asked caustically, using anger to
conceal his own vulnerability. "You said you needed a Vauxan to get your
echo stones. Was that a coincidence, then?"

 "Yes!" Bodie shot back. "Believe it or not, I concocted the plan right
there on Stepney. Sure, I'd always toyed with the idea of going back for
them; but when I realized I didn't want to let you go right away, it was a
means of holding you--a reason that you'd accept. And one you would
probably dislike me for."

 "Why?" Doyle tilted his head to one side in unconscious appeal. "Were you
so sure of your charms that you had to protect yourself from me?"

 "Never hurts to be careful," Bodie said flatly. "But maybe it was more a
matter of protecting *you* from *me*."

 "Or was it because *I'm* lerMith, too?" Doyle goaded. He wasn't sure why
it should hurt so much; all that Bodie had told him could easily be
believed-- especially given what he knew about Bodie. Targeon had said a
great deal about his friend's aloofness, and how he guarded himself
against involvement and even transitory attachments. And yet it did hurt;
at that moment, Doyle almost wished he had never met the human.

 "Of course not," Bodie said furiously. "You can't believe that makes any
difference."

 "I don't know what to believe right now," Doyle stated bleakly. "Targeon
told me about *you*, too, y'know. You asked me once, Bodie, why I was on
Stepney with Moor. Do you remember what I told you?"

 "That you were looking for someone." Comprehension dawned: Surely not
*him*? Bodie flinched. "Targeon's friend?"

 "Clever lad. I've spent two years looking for *you*, Bodie."

 The human spread his hands, almost touching his lover, but still afraid
to make that final contact. "Why?" he asked hollowly.

 "Because he said you would make me a good friend, if I ever needed one. I
needed one, you cold bastard. But I thought I'd got a better deal; I
thought I'd got *you*."

 Bodie lurched forward before Doyle had finished and yanked him into his
arms. "Don't say any more, Ray," he pleaded hoarsely.

 "I killed for you, Bodie," Doyle said damningly, reluctantly returning
Bodie's desperate embrace. "You bloody-minded-- Don't you understand
*anything*?"

 Face hidden in the dark tangy warmth of Doyle's hair, Bodie shuddered.
"Only that I love you--and I don't want to lose you. I should have told
you a long time ago, I know. But I...I didn't think at first you could
share my feelings. I thought Moor--"

 "Moor is my cousin."

 "Your--" Bodie stepped back to look at him. "--cousin?"

 Doyle nodded. "I would've told you this morning, but you didn't want me
to."

 "You let me think--"

 "That he was my lover, yes."

 The confusion in Bodie's wide-opened blue eyes would have been comical if
Doyle had not sensed the raw pain behind it. "Why, Ray?"

 "To cover myself. At first. After all, I couldn't know why you'd bought
me. And, after you didn't try anything on, maybe it was a test."

 Bodie could only stare at him, completely dumbstruck.

 Doyle flushed hotly. "Nobody's *ever* loved me, Bodie. Oh, they might
appreciate the package I come in, but being a half-breed is like
displaying a hazard sign; turns most people right off. With you, I wanted
to be sure. Didn't really think it through or anything, but when I
realized you wanted me, I guessed you'd respect that Moor mattered to
me--unless you came to care so much that you'd try it on anyway. Humans
will, if they want something badly enough." He stared levelly into Bodie's
face, wanting to restore their closeness, yet fearful that they had
damaged it irreparably. If their trust was to be salvaged, they would have
to employ absolute honesty--both of them. "You heard me talking to him
this morning, didn't you?"

 Remembering the urge to make Doyle his property, and the way he had
almost done so, Bodie shifted restively. "Yes."

 "You thought I was setting up a lover's rendezvous," Doyle went on
inexorably. "And when we made love, you were angry. I *am* empathic,
Bodie. Did you think I wouldn't know?"

 But Bodie only hung his head, incapable of defending himself against the
truth.

 "Bodie." Doyle took the handsome face between his hands so Bodie could
not look away and said quietly, "I wouldn't've hated you, if you had taken
me that way. Bodie!" This, as the other man tried to wrench free. "*Don't
you understand*? It would have been my fault--not yours." With his
imposing strength, Doyle jerked Bodie into his arms and brutally kissed
him.

 There was no passion in his touch, only a desperate need to reaffirm
their unity. For an instant Bodie tried to refuse him; but Doyle was
implacable, holding the human prisoner until Doyle's touch perceptibly
softened. No longer heedlessly bruising, Doyle subtly altered his stance
so that it was Bodie who set their pace, Bodie's mouth that commanded
Doyle's response.

 When the kiss finally ended, they stood with heads bent close. "I'm
sorry," Bodie sighed. "Never wanted this to go wrong. I'm so--"

 "Shut up and listen," Doyle snapped. Then, more temperately he began
again, "Just listen to me, will you?" It took the sum total of Doyle's
will not to tell Bodie to forget everything that had just occurred between
them. He knew the risk in doing that: Neither of them would ever be able
to forget this breach of trust, if they did not flog it out now. "I meant
that; what I said. I knew how you were feeling; what you intended to do to
me--but *I said nothing*. And, Bodie, you *didn't* force me. You made it
beautiful, instead."

 Bodie's eyes betrayed a glimmer of hope. "Realized you wouldn't hurt me,"
he confessed. He smiled very faintly. "You killed for me, Ray."

 The Vauxan slid his fingers around the human's neck and bent forward
until their foreheads were pressed together. "That's right. And I'd do it
again. Bodie-- I'm sorry I was so angry just now. I was afraid--"

 "That you'd been set up."

 Doyle kissed him lightly. "Yeah. But I got a little crazy." His mouth
twisted into a sort of grin. "Must be the human in me."

 "You do tend to be a bit emotional, don't you," Bodie murmured
cautiously.

 "Sometimes," Doyle admitted, having missed the teasing lilt in Bodie's
voice altogether. "And *you* go to the opposite extreme. Bodie--" Doyle
stretched the full length of his aching body against the human's
hard-muscled frame. "The stones can wait. We can turn them in tomorrow."

 "And what do you propose we do in the meantime?" Bodie asked, his dark
eyes deepening with abiding love.

 "I want you to take me," Doyle answered in a husky whisper. "Want you
inside me."

 Bodie crushed the reed-like figure close, more aroused by that silken
tone than he would ever have dared admit. "Sure?"

 He felt wayward curls brush up and down against his cheek. "Very."

 Later Bodie could not recall entering the ship, nor passing down the
corridor to Doyle's quarters. Asper greeted their arrival with a quick
strafing run that scrambled Bodie's hair. When Doyle suggested firmly that
he leave, the sfang bared its teeth whitely, but obeyed at once.

 Before Bodie knew it, they were entwined together on Doyle's bed and
Bodie's heart was in his throat, its pounding beat resonating in his
belly. He took his time despite Doyle's wanton, inciteful lovemaking;
Bodie was determined that this joining would cause his mate no pain.

 In fact, it was he who cried out when Doyle's body accepted him at last,
echoed by the Vauxan's voice begging him to carry on. In the moments that
followed there was nothing but pleasure, a sensuous web of it that held
them both captive. Then Bodie reeled as something was added, a lush, warm
feeling that invaded his mind and scalded already seared nerve endings
with an impossibly fiercer burning. It was Doyle, he realized dizzily,
magnifying his rapture, lavishing his own on Bodie in a glorious cataclysm
of sheer, voluptuous sensation.

 He had never known the like. For the first time in his life he wondered
if heart and lungs would give out before he finally achieved his goal. It
was of little importance if they did, for nothing mattered beyond the
deliciously pliant body sheltering him, and the unbridled rhythm of their
love.

 Afterward, they were like children who had been battered by a storm,
huddled together against the astonishing ferocity of their passions.
"Ray?" Bodie breathed, his big hands rubbing the Vauxan's still-quivering
body with rough concern.

 "Hm?" Doyle murmured at last.

 "You okay?" Bodie asked shakily, well aware that had there ever been a
chance of escaping this wilful, demanding creature, the opportunity was
now gone forever.

 There was a draft of breath upon Bodie's throat, warm and sweet; and
Doyle wriggled closer, seeking out Bodie's sweat-slick skin as though it
should double for his own. "'Okay' doesn't do it justice. You?"

 "Still alive," Bodie conceded with a wan chuckle. "But only just. That
was really something."

 "Yeah." Doyle hesitated before saying, "But I should have asked first.
You didn't mind?"

 Bodie bit the tip of Doyle's nose, then kissed it with penitent
tenderness. "Think I'd complain about something like *that*?"

 There was a muffled laugh from somewhere beneath Bodie's ear. "I did it,
didn't I," Doyle mused, with a charming combination of arrogance and awe.

 "That you did, mate. What do you do for an encore, eh?"

 The human squeaked as sharp teeth marked his neck. Doyle soothed him with
a caress, then growled, "Sleep, you randy bugger."

 "That I am," Bodie laughed under his breath. He squeezed the already
drowsing Vauxan with uncomplicated delight. "Thank you."

 But Doyle only muttered unintelligibly, worn to the marrow in his bones,
totally secure in the human's arms and overflowing with the full measure
of his contentment.

 ******

In the morning, the outside com signal brought Bodie awake with a groan.
Doyle still slept, curled up beside him and held suffocatingly close. He
extricated himself carefully; but the Vauxan was dead to the world, softly
snoring.

 Bodie dressed quickly, and hurried to the main hatch, having already
recognized the signal as one requesting boarding permission. He batted a
curious sfang away, then ordered it to stay with Doyle. Pausing to verify
that it obeyed, he operated the door mechanism--and dropped at once to his
knee.

 "My lady Gilla," he said with perfectly correct Vauxan protocol.

 The woman stretched out a hand and laid it on the crown of Bodie's mussed
head. "You have been away a long time, LerMith. I had begun to believe you
would never return." Her fingers curled into his short hair and tugged,
not gently. "On your feet, human. When did you ever follow our customs?"

 Bodie grinned up at her, captivated by the woman as he had always been.
She was slight of build but very tall, as were most of her kind. Her eyes
were the deep rust color that was common to Vauxans, her straight black
hair twisted into an elaborate plait at the back. "I think I must follow
them now," Bodie replied plaintively. "I would have your son."

 The russet eyes narrowed to slits. "So I hear. And where is he?"

 "Here, Mother," a sleepy voice announced from the bend in the corridor a
meter and a half away. Bodie's head whipped round; surely Doyle had had
the foresight to clothe himself? But Bodie need not have worried. The
Vauxan must have woken immediately upon his leaving; for not only was
Doyle dressed, but his hair had been tended to, which was more than Bodie
had done.

 Doyle came forward, brushing the human aside to take his mother into a
long welcoming hug. "How are you?"

 Gilla graced him with a look of surpassing tenderness. "I am well,
Raydoyle. As are you, if my eyes do not lie." Shaking her head ruefully,
she smiled, "I fear I must apologize, however."

 "For?" Doyle asked blankly.

 "It would appear that I passed on more than good breeding to you."

 Doyle cocked his head to one side. "What else?"

 She cast a measuring glance at Bodie, who had inconspicuously hooked a
finger into Doyle's waistband and was using it to pull himself to his
feet. "Your penchant for cohabiting with humans. I swear, I did not know
it was hereditary."

 Doyle laughed, sweeping Bodie up alongside him. "Will you attend?" he
asked.

 The human glowered at mother and son impartially.

 "Of course. You are my inheritor, you know. Should something happen to
you, that duty would devolve to LerMith."

 Bodie managed to look appropriately honored and faintly disgruntled at
the same time. "Was only taking *him* on, not the whole bloody family," he
protested.

 Gilla patted his cheek kindly. "You never *were* terribly bright,
LerMith."

 Bodie snorted loquaciously, then tossed his head in Doyle's direction.
"At least you can't fault my taste."

 Gilla drew him close and placed a featherlight kiss upon his cheek.
Repeating the gesture with her son, she said, "No, I cannot. In that
regard, you have shown yourself to be exceptionally bright. Come around
later, if you wish. I think you both need feeding."

 Punctuating this statement with an emphatic prod to Bodie's ribs, she
held out her arm to her son. Doyle stole a kiss from his sleepy lover, and
took his mother's hand to escort her down the ramp.

 A few minutes later Doyle returned, finding Bodie, not surprisingly, in
the galley. Sitting opposite him, he happily wrapped long fingers around
the cup of steaming tea that waited at his place. "Good thing you said
'yes'," he muttered.

 "Yes? What did I say yes to?" Bodie queried vacuously.

 "To joining the family. That *is* what you did, idiot, in case you didn't
realize."

 Bodie's brows formed elegant arches. "Did I? When exactly did I do that?"

 Doyle raked a toe down Bodie's shin under the table. "When you said you
wanted her son, clot."

 "Ow!" Legs safely withdrawn, Bodie pursed his lips and scrutinized the
Vauxan over the rim of his cup. "So why is it a good thing?"

 The Vauxan drew a wry face. "Because she'd sooner have *you* for a son,
than me; that's why."

 "That so?" Bodie sniggered indelicately. "Always did say Gilla had
inordinately good taste."

 Doyle dropped his face into his hands and simply stared at the human,
finding the view from where he sat most enjoyable.

 After a few minutes of this silent, intense observation, Bodie began to
squirm. "Quit it, will you?"

 "Nah. Like looking at you."

 "Well, you keep looking at me like that, and you'll find yourself back in
bed."

 Doyle regarded Bodie with new respect. "Now?"

 Shoulders describing the slightest of shrugs, Bodie murmured modestly,
"Well, maybe not right this minute...."

 The Vauxan yawned, unabashedly displaying the depths of his mouth and
throat. "Worried me there for a minute. Even had me wondering if I'll be
able to keep up with you."

 A reluctant smile crept across the human's sulkily pursed lips. "A little
abstinence would probably do us both good."

 "Think so?"

 Bodie laid one sturdy hand palm-up upon the table and left it there,
waiting until Doyle fitted his long-fingered one perfectly into it. "I'll
let you know, won't I."

 ******

The latter part of morning was spent at the Institute of Vauxan Studies.
The head of the facility was rendered speechless when Doyle opened the
shielded container to show him its contents. The agency authorizing funds
for research of echo stones was contacted immediately, and at record speed
a sum agreeable to both parties was established. Vaux, being an
economically sound world, was more than capable of coming up with the
amount Bodie requested. Yet it staggered Doyle to hear it put into words.
He refrained from comment, leaving the negotiations entirely to the human.

 Later, with their personal financial reserves immeasurably enriched, they
went to the home where Doyle had spent part of his childhood. Gilla
greeted them with unfeigned elation and, for the first time, Bodie was
properly introduced to Doyle's cousin, Moor. Even though he now knew that
there had never been anything between the two men, he was still vaguely
uncomfortable in the presence of the tall Vauxan. Moor seemed to sense
this and directed his attention to both men without favoritism.

 They ate sumptuously. Having declared them in need of fattening, Gilla
set out to tempt them shamelessly. Coercion was unnecessary; they
willingly sampled everything offered.

 Afterward they retired to Gilla's walled garden, where the sun shone warm
upon clay tiles which were festooned with a multitude of profusely growing
things. Doyle sat on the wooden deck at Bodie's feet, his head propped
against the human's knee. He was somnolent from overeating and only
distantly followed the others' conversations.

 Bodie was reminiscing with Gilla, leaving Doyle dreamily content to
luxuriate in the human's openly affectionate touch. Bodie idly tousled
Doyle's hair, and occasionally deployed his hand downward to wander along
the curve of his shoulder, where two or three fingers would rove up and
down, just shy of tickling him. With his weight resting more heavily
against the human's leg as the afternoon progressed, Doyle's eyes slowly
drifted shut and he began to doze.

 "What will the two of you do now, LerMith?" Moor ventured to ask, when
the conversation finally reached a lull.

 Bodie shrugged, unintentionally jarring the Vauxan napping against his
thigh. He steadied him automatically, his fingers beginning to knead a
sharply boned shoulder. "Ask him. He's a rich man now; got a lot of money
to spend."

 Doyle straightened with a soft groan. "Not any more. Gave most of it
away, didn't I?"

 Bodie just managed to keep his jaw from falling open. "Gave it away?"

 Scraping his cheek against the smooth material of Bodie's trousers, Doyle
explained, "Mother's become a wealthy person; so has cousin Moor."

 Gilla contemplated her son curiously. "What are you talking about,
Raydoyle?"

 He smiled ingenuously. "We sold a load of echo stones this morning to the
Institute. I directed your duties man to add a rather large sum to your
account this afternoon--and to yours, Moor."

 Two pairs of uncomprehending, coppery eyes stared back at him. "You...you
must be describing a small fortune, Raydoyle," Moor stuttered.

 "More like a large fortune," Bodie corrected. "The Institute was very
happy to do business with us."

 "Echo stones!" Gilla exclaimed. "However did you find them?"

 "Not easily," Doyle replied. He tilted his head back to peer up into
Bodie's face. "The cost was almost too high." He was rewarded with a kiss
laid squarely between his eyes. "Perhaps someday we'll tell you about it."
He began to struggle to his feet. "But now I think it's time we were
going," he said meaningfully. He poked a finger into Bodie's chest.
"Asper'll be wondering where we are."

 "Who's Asper, then?" Moor wondered.

 Doyle grinned. "Bodie's former co-pilot. A sfang."

 "Co-pilot! Thinks I'm *his* co-pilot, you mean," Bodie contradicted,
heedless of the astonished looks this announcement earned him. To Gilla,
he said, "Traitorous brute sold me out the moment he got a look at your
bonny boy, y'know."

 Gilla disbelievingly shook her head. "I'd always heard those things are
deadly."

 "They are," Doyle assured her. "But this one knows whose side to be on."
He took one of Bodie's hands in his and hauled the human to his feet.
"Shift up, mate!"

 "Okay, okay," Bodie groused. "Your mother's added a few more pounds of
mass here, eh. Things'll have to move a little slower for a while."

 "Not too slow, I hope," Doyle whispered, just loudly enough for the human
to hear.

 Bodie gave him a particularly sweet smile. "Not to worry, sunshine." He
turned toward Gilla and Doyle's cousin, tucking Doyle's arm into the bend
of his elbow. "Tomorrow morning--at the Templar's office, if you'd like to
witness. We're going to make it legal."

 Gilla looked from one man to the other; one large and powerful, the other
lean and deceptively delicate. "Of course. The rest of the family will be
there, as well. If you don't mind, LerMith."

 "'Course he doesn't," Doyle said bluffly. "Told him what he was getting
into; was only fair, y'know."

 "He'll take care of me giving the correct responses tomorrow, too. Wait
and see."

 Doyle thumped his companion without force. At the front door, Doyle
paused beside his mother and gave her a loving kiss.

 Moor glanced up at Bodie. Finding no enmity in the blue eyes, he offered
a diffident smile. When Bodie smiled back agreeably, Moor turned to his
cousin. "Thanks for the gift, Raydoyle. I appreciate it."

 "Not as much as I appreciate everything you've done for me, Moor," Doyle
said fervently. "I won't forget."

 "That's all right. Though, I must say it would've been loads easier if he
hadn't kept changing his name," the Vauxan said pithily.

 "You're telling me!" Doyle studied the human speculatively. "That's
something we'll have to discuss." And then he came to a complete stop.
"Your name *is* Bodie--isn't it?"

 Grinning gleefully, Bodie retorted, "Of course it is."

 ******

Outside, standing next to the *BEHEMOTH*'s skimmer, Bodie waited for the
Vauxan, who was still making his good-byes, to join him. Taking in the
quiet, lovely neighborhood where Gilla lived, he wondered how Doyle felt
about hearth and home.

 A few minutes later, Doyle skipped over the flowerbed lining the walk,
and came to stand beside him, sliding his fingertips into the waistband of
Bodie's trousers. Latching onto Doyle's hands before they could delve too
deeply, Bodie asked, "Do you want all this, Ray?" He waved an explanatory
hand. "Y'know, a home, your own garden with those funny-smelling green
flowers? We could do it with what we have now. If you want."

 Doyle's eyes widened in amusement. "You'd be unbearable within a week,
Bodie," he replied with certainty. "Only place for you is out in the wilds
somewhere."

 "And you?" Bodie asked. "Where's the place for you?"

 Doyle took Bodie's mouth in a deep, plundering kiss. "Wherever you are,
sunshine. C'mon," he pushed him into the rented skimmer, and strode round
to the other side. "Asper's probably taken the ship apart by now."

 "Nah, he's a patient little tyke--for the most part. Although I *have*
noticed that he likes *you* to know when you've been missed."

 "You're a brick, mate," Doyle said with mock gratitude, activating the
skimmer's computer. "But just remember--that's where you'll be sleeping,
too."

 Bodie drew a face. "Ah, well; how much damage could the little bugger
do?" He exchanged a brief, speaking look with the man who would shortly be
his bonded mate. Grimacing, he said, "Right. Hop it, Doyle!"

 As the skimmer lurched away, Doyle shot the human a quick grin. "You do
realize that he'll want to be there tomorrow?"

 The thought clearly had not occurred to Bodie. "Asper? At our bonding?"
He mulled this unforeseen prospect for a moment, then nodded shrewdly.
"You mean, *you* want him there in case I change my mind. Devious, Ray.
Very devious."

 "I'm wounded," Doyle declared. He engaged the flight program; the skimmer
left the road and lifted into the air. "You think I don't trust you, is
that it?"

 "Do you?" Bodie had always preferred the direct approach.

 "'Course. But it's an old Terran custom, isn't it: giving away the
bride?"

 Bodie laughed out loud. "So which one of us will Asper give away, then?"

 "Both of us, of course."

 Placing one large hand upon Doyle's thigh, Bodie said, "You're a lunatic,
Ray Doyle."

 Doyle pressed his leg upward against Bodie's hand. "Must be, to be
marrying you." He leaned back and stretched. "Moor was right, y'know: It
would've been much easier to find you, if you'd used your real name."

 Bodie let his fingers walk toward the joining of hip to thigh. "That's
probably true."

 "So why--if your name really is Bodie--didn't you fob off one of your
fake numbers on me, like you did everyone else?" He captured the wanderer
assaulting his trouser clasp and raised it to his mouth.

 "Same reason you had complete access to the *BEHEMOTH*'S computers--I
trust you."

 That unembroidered statement made Doyle break into a wide smile. "Because
of Targeon, you mean; because he told you about me. *He* never called you
that, y'know."

 "What, 'Bodie'? Probably wouldn't've. Once he'd started calling me
LerMith, it stuck. Don't think he even remembered it after a few years."

 "I see. One more question--"

 Bodie was patently disbelieving, "Only one!"

 Applying a mock blow that was rapidly transformed into a caress, Doyle
amended, "It's a two-parter. Why did you use so many different names; and
why aren't there any holograms of you?"

 Bodie let his head fall forward and pretended to snore.

 "Bodie--"

 Peering up at Doyle through dark lashes, Bodie warned him, "It's a
l-o-n-g story, mate."

 "So, we've got the rest of our lives. No secrets, right?"

 Bodie sighed with resignation. "Okay, okay. Regular nosy parker, aren't
you?"

 "Bodie!"

 "Right. Well, there was this bloke, y'see. Name was Cowley--George
Cowley, it was...."

 Amidst the low hum of the powerful engine, the skimmer glided gracefully
toward the center of CarShalTon. In the distance lay the spaceport, its
tall, spiring control towers shining like alabaster in the late afternoon
sun.

 Several minutes later, when the skimmer had completed its programmed
flight and was settling on the tarmac beside the waiting Gateship *FG
BEHEMOTH*, Bodie's tale was still being told.

 -- THE END --

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