by Sheila Paulson

This passage was a dangerous one, but Han Solo was desperate enough not to mind. Nobody but fools and criminals ever went into that strange area of space dust and debris known as the Swarm for anything less than urgent reasons, and Han's reasons had been very urgent indeed. He had gambled that the two Imperial Star Destroyers pursuing him wouldn't follow him into the Swarm, and he had been right, but now he had to get the Falcon out of here. There was too much interference to get clear sensor readings. He couldn't position himself with enough accuracy to risk the navicomputer, so he would have to go on and hope that everybody was wrong and that there was nothing as potentially lethal as a black hole at the center. At least he knew it was not a black hole, or all the dust and debris would have been sucked in long ago, but there were other dangers in space that were every bit as risky as black holes, and Han wasn't keen on risking the Falcon on one of them if he didn't have to.

Beside him, Chewie hooted in surprise and pointed, and Han raised his eyes to the instruments to see what it was that had so interested his co-pilot. It proved to be a ship of unfamiliar design that hung drifting not far from the Falcon; sensors gave them a blurred image, but soon they had visual, and Han was interested because the ship was strange to him, conceptually alien, and it looked abandoned. With visions of salvage rights, Han guided the Falcon closer. "Chewie, scan for life readings," he instructed. If there were none, then he'd have a go at taking the ship back with him. But Chewie was nodding. "Yes, a few life readings,* he growled.

There went the salvage rights. "Think it might be Imperial?" Han asked. "No. It does not resemble their designs. I do not recognize it.* "I know what you mean. It doesn't look familiar to me either. Let's hope it's not pirates. It could be a trap." "I doubt it,* Chewie replied. They were closer now, and it was possible to see that the ship had been damaged; the forward section had been holed, and there were blackened scars running along the sides of the ship, not as if it had been under fire but as if it had come too close to an explosion. "Looks like the Swarm got them bad," Han retorted. "Well, maybe we can rescue somebody rich and famous and get ourselves a reward. There's still pressure in the aft sections. We'll try to dock and check it out."

Chewie looked dubious, but he was curious about the strange ship too, so they guided the Falcon into position alongside. Han's docking tubes were very flexible; one of the Falcon's previous owners had been a lot more of a pirate than Han would ever claim to be; but this ship almost defied the system. "There," Han said at last when the light on the panel indicated successful docking. "Let's go suit up. I'm not going to risk depressurization just to see if I can get salvage rights."

The ship felt deserted. Han started aft of the depressurized area, discovering quickly that most of the ship's escape pods had been jettisoned. "They knew it was happening, and they got away," Han told Chewie.

"Not all of them,* Chewie objected, pointing into a room. Han pushed past him for a better look, then he shook his head, uncomfortable with the discovery. "A corpse," he said.

"No. I don't think so.*

"Stasis?" Han mused curiously and went into the room. Chewie was right and so was he; the man they found had been placed in stasis, but from the look of him, Han doubted that it would have mattered. He was stripped of clothing and there had been some attempt made to mend the ghastly wound in his stomach, but whatever had hit this ship had driven the rest of the crew, including the medical personnel, away before the wound could be completely repaired. Still, they had left him in stasis, which had given him his only possible chance at survival. Han muttered something that might have been a curse and said, "I wonder if we can save him."

"Save him?* Chewie echoed skeptically.

"If we can maintain him in stasis until we get him back to the base, maybe Leia's people can do something for him. I didn't mean you and me right now. We may be the best there are at emergency first aid, but that is way beyond me." He was studying the unfamiliar controls. "See, Chewie, it looks like the whole bed is a stasis device. If we can move the unit without losing the power supply, then we can try. They couldn't fit this into a life capsule; leaving him was his only chance of survival. I wonder who he is."

He looked down at the shuttered face, noting the scar that ran from the corner of the left eye, pulling the face ever so slightly off balance. That looked a recent injury too, though not so fresh as the belly wound. "Well, he'll keep while we check the rest of the ship."

They didn't find anything more on that deck, but a lower one revealed something that made Han believe that it might be an Imperial ship after all. Cells. "I don't like the look of this," Han muttered and went to activate the viewscreen to allow himself a look at possible inhabitants. The writing on the controls was unfamiliar, but Han was good with things like that, and in a moment, he had an image of a rather more that pretty blonde girl asleep on a cot.

"Now, this is more like it," Han said. He hit the switch for the next cell and found himself looking at a man who seemed to be staring straight at him. Even though it only meant he was looking toward the monitor, it was an unnerving experience because of the bleakness and utter impasssiveness of the unrelenting stare. "On the other hand," Han said uneasily, "maybe this isn't such a good idea after all." He punched up the next cell quickly and found another man, younger and taller with dark, curly hair and a rather devil-may-care expression. He jerked his head up and looked at the monitor; there must have been something to tell when it was activated, a light perhaps. He made a gesture that was unfamiliar but probably obscene and turned away again. Han tried another button and found another man, shorter, older, sitting wearily on the cot. He glanced up at the screen too, without much interest, and then turned to the task at hand, which was playing idly with a small metal object. The fifth cell held a black woman, young and attractive. She did what none of the others had done, spoke to the screen. "When are we going to be let out of here?"

Han activated what he thought was the comm switch. "Who are you? Why are you a prisoner?"

"We're rebels," she said. "Of course. Why do you need to ask?"

"Look, I just boarded this ship. Except for you and some guy in stasis there's nobody on board."

"What about my friends?"

"There are three men and another woman in the cells. Are they your friends?"

"Yes. Can you let us out? Or at least let us be together. If you're not a Federation officer, why should it matter to you?"

Federation? Han wondered. Who were these people? "I think I'll let you out," he decided. "I'm not exactly a rebel myself, but some of my friends are. I can't read the controls so it might take a minute or two. Hold on." He pushed some more buttons, then drew his blaster just in case. In a few minutes, the others emerged from their cells, all but the man with the unnerving stare. They hesitated in alarm at the sight of Chewbacca, who stood with his bowcaster leveled at them, but when he did nothing more threatening that that, they relaxed slightly. Then the shorter man looked around and noticed that one of their companions was missing. "I'll go fetch Avon," he said.

The taller man turned to Han, keeping as far from Chewie as possible. "I'm Del Tarrant," he said. "These are Dayna Mellanby and Soolin. Who are you?"

"Han Solo. I'm captain of the Millennium Falcon. This is Chewie, my co-pilot. You say you're rebels?" He lowered his blaster since these people didn't seem prepared to jump him, but he didn't holster it yet.

"Yes," Tarrant replied. "They captured us on Gauda Prime, and we're being taken back to Earth for trial."

"Earth? I'm not familiar with that world, and I've been all through the galaxy."

"How could you not know about Earth?" Dayna asked.

Chewie growled, *I think we know what might be at the center of the Swarm, Han.*

At the sound of Chewie's voice, alarm came back into the faces of the others. Grinning a little, Han asked, "What, Chewie?"

"A dimensional gateway of some kind.*

"Got it," Han agreed. "Wonder if it works both ways." He translated for the others as the other two men joined them, the dark haired man as impassive as before, the other man urging him forward.

"Come on, Avon. We don't want to stay here anyway," he was saying.

Avon ignored him. He looked at Han and Chewie and his reaction to the Wookiee was muted as if not even the sight of a huge alien creature could get through to him. Up close, his eyes held things that Han was glad he'd never had to face. "Who are you?" the man asked.

"Han Solo. I found this ship drifting, abandoned except for you and the one in the medical unit."

He suddenly had the complete attention of the entire group. "The one in the medical unit?" the still unnamed man echoed. "What one in the medical unit? Who is it?"

"I don't know, but he's got a hole blown in his middle, and he's in stasis."

Avon's face went, if possible, even more rigid that before. "Show us," he insisted.

"Is he alive?" the other man asked.

"Vila," the blonde said quickly, as if in warning.

"Well, we need to know," Vila returned.

Han said, "I don't know. You almost wouldn't think so, but they were obviously working on him when they had to abandon ship. They'd started to fix him up, and why bother leaving him in stasis if he didn't have a chance. I don't know. Look, don't get your hopes up, if he's your friend. I don't know if..."

But Avon was already heading for the door, and Han almost had to run to keep up with him. They all but fell into the medical unit, only to come to a dead stop at the sight of the man on the bed. "Blake," Avon said, and Han was astonished. He'd thought Avon utterly cold, but when Avon said the name, his voice cracked a little.

"A friend of yours," Han realized. "What happened to him?"

"I shot him."

The answer rocked Han back on his heels in surprise. "What?"

"It was Blake's fault," Tarrant said. "Well, maybe mine too," he added reluctantly. "Blake tried to test me; he made it look as if he'd betrayed us all. He hadn't, but we weren't to know that. I told Avon--and Avon shot him."

"It wasn't your fault, Tarrant," Dayna said. "What else could you know but what Blake let you know?"

"I take it Blake didn't really betray anyone?" Han asked.

Vila said unexpectedly, "Only himself." Everyone turned and stared at him, including Avon, whose eyes had not left Blake's face until now.

"Is that supposed to mean something?" he asked cuttingly.

"Well, yes. Blake had changed, Avon. He wasn't the person we used to know. He was playing games with Tarrant, playing games with his precious rebellion, even playing games with you. He was a fool if he expected you to fall into his arms when you saw him. Even I know better than that. He asked for what happened to him, and even if he'd forgotten a lot about how to manip--how to get round us, well, then he should have remembered that you're hasty with a gun. If you hadn't shot him, I would have done," he added, then looked away, embarrassed.

Soolin had been inspecting the equipment. "There are marginal life signs," she reported. "Competent surgeons might repair the damage--if it's worth it to anyone."

Vila looked at Avon, whose face had, very carefully, not changed. "It's worth it, Soolin," he said, catching her eye and gesturing toward Avon. "It has to be."

Han spoke up. "Then let's get this stuff to the Falcon and I'll do what I can to get us out of the Swarm and back to the rebel base. If you're rebels wherever you came from, then you should be accepted by the rebels here. I don't know if what you were fighting was as bad as the Empire, but the rebels will probably help you out, at least enough to do something for Blake." He looked from Blake to Avon, who was still staring down at the still form, and unaccountably, he knew that he'd be wearing a similar expression if it were Chewie who was lying there; especially if he had shot him. The idea wasn't quite as ludicrous as it seemed. If someone told him Chewie had betrayed him to the Empire... There must have been reason for Avon to believe it, other than just Tarrant's word.

"We'll take your ship back with us," Han decided. "We can leave it docked and I can compensate. I don't think it'd be safe to stay on board though. It's damaged, and the forward compartments are depressurized. I think we'd all be safer on the Falcon. We can rig up a power supply for the stasis unit when we get there. This thing has a portable unit that'll last until then."

That was satisfactory to everyone, but then Vila halted. "What about Orac?" he asked.

Avon roused himself from his intense scrutiny of Blake. "Orac. Yes, we must find Orac."

"Who is Orac?* Chewie grunted. The others looked at him a little uneasily, especially Vila. Even spacesuited, though with his helmet removed, the Wookiee was intimidating, and his growls seemed threatening.

Vila retreated behind Avon, considered it, and moved behind Tarrant, who was bigger. Han grinned, and so did Chewie. "He asked who Orac was," Han translated. "And don't worry, Vila. He only hurts his enemies."

"I'm very friendly," Vila said promptly without moving any closer. "Orac is our computer. It looks like--" He glanced around the room. "There it is."

Orac was a transparent box filled with blinking lights. Han regarded it dubiously. "What's so special about that?"

Avon looked around, found a small something, and put it into place on top of Orac's casing. "Orac, explain where we are and what has happened."

"I am too busy acquiring new data to be bothered with your questions," Orac snapped. "I do not yet know where we are or how we got here. I cannot monitor other computers here except those on this ship."

"What about Blake, Orac?" Dayna asked. "Is he alive?"

"Yes. Roj Blake is alive. With proper care, he will remain that way."

"Then we better see that he gets it," Han decided, not sure he liked Orac's pompous tones. Threepio was bad enough; Han had a horrid mental picture of Threepio and Orac arguing pedantically; it was enough to drive a man to drink.

They managed to wheel Blake's stasis bed back to the boarding tube and onto the Falcon, where Avon worked out a quick power linkage to the Falcon's system that gave the bed's power supply an added boost. Han watched, interested. Avon could never have seen equipment like the Falcon's yet he handled it far better and with less hesitation than Han had managed with the cell monitoring device. Vila saw Han's face and said, "Don't worry about it. Avon's a computer genius. Sort of like a computer himself, if you know what I mean."

Avon ignored him; Han got the idea that Vila was halfway trying to provoke Avon into a sharp reply, possibly to get through the barriers he seemed to have installed around himself. Han wasn't sure he liked Avon.

Tarrant, who looked around the ship with an interested and intelligent eye, seemed to be more his type. When Han went to the cockpit after instructing the others to strap in, Tarrant trailed along. "I'm a pilot, too," he explained. "Mind if I come along and see what your set-up is like?"

"As long as you keep out of my way," Han replied, waving him into the navigator's chair and beginning the pre-flight check with Chewie. "We're in a dangerous bit of space called the Swarm," he offered. "I wonder if Chewie's right that it's a dimensional gateway of some kind--a vortex on your side that sucks things in. I don't want to get any closer to it than I can help. We're going to get out toward the edges so I can use the navicomp and then we'll head back to the base." He fed in numbers to compensate for the docked transport ship. "That Avon of yours seems like a strange type."

"He is," Tarrant agreed enthusiastically. "He's not somebody you can like easily, but we've all come to like him a little, though he makes it hard enough. It was a bad thing with Blake back there. Avon just went to pieces; I've never seen him like that, actually vulnerable."

"Hell, everybody's vulnerable," Han said with sudden insight. "Some people just learn to cover it up, is all."

Chewie looked at him in surprise, then he grinned. *Even you, Han?* he growled. Tarrant eyed him uneasily.

"Ain't talking about me, Chewie," Han said hastily. "Go on," he prompted Tarrant. "Avon went to pieces? Hard to imagine. He seems so controlled."

"He is. He's got walls all around him, the kind with broken glass on top and force fields and signs saying 'keep out.' Nobody ever gets to Avon--well, I think Vila understands him best, though Blake used to, or so I'm told. Give him a chance; think how you'd feel if you shot Chewie here."

"Never happen," Han said quickly, though he wasn't as sure of that as he would have been before seeing Avon and Blake. "Sounds like you've had it rough. You all look dead beat. Tell me more."

Tarrant shook his head, though not in denial. "Listen to me; I'm rambling. I've said too much already. I never knew Blake. I met him without realizing who he was at first. He and Avon used to be together on the Liberator but they got separated a couple of years ago--Avon's been looking for him ever since, though he wouldn't put it like that. You know, I bet it hurts him that Blake hasn't been looking for him. I never thought of that before. I wonder if Vila did."

"Did Vila know Blake?"

"Yes. Avon and Vila are the only ones left of Blake's original crew. We all tend to look down on Vila. He plays the oaf with great skill, helps him to keep a low profile if people think he's stupid and a coward."

"Stupid and a coward?" echoed Han. "He didn't exactly strike me that way."

"No you're getting a look at the Vila that we don't see too often. Though he does the other stuff from force of habit. Remember how he kept ducking behind me when Chewie spoke? Well, that's Vila's usual style. Drinks too much too, or pretends to. Once I caught him drinking and when he went off, I took a taste of the stuff. It was water. I don't understand Vila. But I think that as long as Avon is the way he is--and you're not seeing the normal Avon either--that Vila will keep surprising us. Vila likes Avon. Insults him all the time and would never dream of admitting any fondness for him, but if something happened to Avon, Vila would mind the most. I think he's going to see that Avon gets back to being sane or die trying; if that means getting Blake well and reconciling them, then that's what Vila will try to do. I don't know what'll happen if Blake dies."

"The rebels have some good doctors and medical droids," Han said. "I know they'll do their best for Blake. But he doesn't look too good." He shrugged. There was nothing he could do about it right now. "Here," he said. "We're getting clear readings again. I'm going to go to light speed to get us back to the base. Can you program a navicomp?"

Tarrant shook his head. "Give me a lesson and I'll manage," he said. "I learn fast, but I'm not familiar with your equipment."

"Didn't stop Avon," Han retorted as he fed in the numbers.

"We can't all be geniuses like Avon," Tarrant said in tones that indicated that he could once he got his bearings. Han was beginning to wonder if arrogance was a common trait back where these people had come from. Tarrant gave him a cocky grin. "Next time I'll be able to work that," he said, and whether it was true or not, he plainly believed it. Well, the man was a pilot after all. Maybe he could. Then Han shook his head. Not on his ship he wouldn't.

After the still-linked ships were in hyperspace, Vila arrived in the cockpit, passing Tarrant in the passage. He dropped into the seat that Tarrant had vacated and asked, "How long before we can get Blake to the doctors?"

"Couple hours. When we're closer in, I'll contact them and have them get all set up. Have you been taking care of him?"

"Avon has. Won't let the rest of us." He stared out at the Doppler effect of the stars. "It never looked quite that way on the Liberator," he ventured, then added, "Don't tell Avon I said so, but don't hold it against him if he's nasty to you right now."

"He sure is," Han agreed. "Tends to put people off."

"This whole thing has been hard on him," Vila defended. It looked like it was all right for him to pick on Avon, but nobody else better try. "Well, he's sort of been going mad for a bit; after we lost Cally. He'd been told Blake was dead. I wouldn't have believed anything Servalan had to say, but Avon seemed to. And when Cally died..." He heaved a sad sigh and shrugged his shoulders. He looked like he was half asleep--like Tarrant and the others, he seemed to be at the end of his rope.

"Cally?" Han prompted when Vila fell silent.

Vila yawned and continued. "Cally was-well, she sort of held the rest of us together, kept Avon sane. The place blew up on her--Avon went in and found her. She was dead, of course. I felt her die." He went quiet again, then he continued. "Avon never said much about her after that, but he wasn't the same. What I'm trying to say is that this business with Blake has been hard on him. When he didn't come out of the cell back there, I went after him and found him just sitting there, staring at the wall. I thought he was catatonic right at first. Gave me quite a turn, it did. But having Blake alive after all put more life into him. If Blake dies now, I think we'll lose Avon. And I...oh, damn..." he muttered and turned away, finally running down. He looked at the edge of collapse.

Han said, "Hey, easy. Give us a chance to fix Blake up before you start giving up. And remember, people are stronger than you think. Chewie knows. He's doctored me through some of my worst moments, haven't you, Chewie?"

"Someone had to,* the Wookiee growled dryly. He reached out and patted Vila, who in spite of his early 'fear' didn't even attempt to draw away this time. He looked up and smiled tiredly at the Wookiee, and Chewie found his heart going out to this small human. He made a long speech at him, and Vila eyed him doubtfully.

"Eh?"

"He thinks things will come right for you and your friends," Han translated. "Says he feels it. He's pretty good at that sort of thing. He likes you," he added. "You should be flattered. He's awfully fussy about who he likes. When he doesn't like somebody, he might even get a bit rough." He grinned broadly. "What was it we told those blasted droids, Chewie, that you pulled people's arms out of their sockets?" The pair of them went off into gales of laughter.

Vila smiled. "Likes me, does he? I'll go tell Avon. That ought to make him mad." He grinned with relish at the idea and left them to their laughter.

Han looked after them. "I think I like him too, Chewie." And then he gave a new snort of amusement. "I wonder what Leia is going to think of this bunch?" he speculated. "She'll have her hands full for sure."

They made good time back to the rebel base, and a medical team was waiting when they arrived to wheel Blake away for treatment. Leia was waiting too, along with Luke Skywalker. "You're back earlier than we expected, Han," Leia said. "What happened? Did you run into trouble?"

"Yeah, I ran into a couple of Imperial Star Destroyers," Han said. "I had to hide out in the Swarm, and that's where I ran into this bunch." He made introductions and added, "They say they're rebels too, though they're fighting a different bunch than we are. Chewie and me think they might be from another galaxy."

Avon looked at Leia, eyed the landing area coolly and said, "Your operation seems efficient. Do you have a large organization here?"

"Large enough," Leia said cautiously. "You must understand that we cannot give you information freely right now. We can't take the chances. If you will come this way, I will escort you to a room for debriefing."

"You seem to assume that we will give information more freely than you will," Avon said.

She smiled suddenly. "I would prefer it, of course, but I will not expect it of you. However, we are attempting to heal your comrade in good faith; perhaps that should count for something. I think we can manage to come to a mutual agreement."

"You are able to speak for the rebellion?"

"In matters such as this, if there is a need, yes." And she looked it too, standing there as regally as possible, a touch of cool command on her face. For all her youth, she could be a person to be reckoned with, and Avon nodded his head slightly as if in recognition of that.

"We would, however, prefer to wait in your medical unit," he said.

Leia nodded. "Of course. I understand. Luke will take you there. After you have news of your friend, I will meet with you and we can discuss the future."

Avon looked after her resentfully as she turned and whisked away, pulling Han Solo and Chewbacca with her. Luke Skywalker, who looked to Avon as if he were hardly born yet, smiled brightly enough to be almost insulting and said, "If you'll come this way please..."

There was nothing else for it. They went. Silence reigned at first, then Dayna gestured at an unfamiliar metal tube that Luke wore attached to his belt. "Is that some type of weapon?" she asked.

"Yes, it's my lightsaber," Luke replied with a grin.

"Lightsaber? What does it do?"

"This." Luke unhooked the weapon and activated it. A bright beam of light shot out, humming, and he made a few passes with it to demonstrate.

"A pretty toy," Dayna remarked, obviously interested.

"But not very practical," Tarrant returned. "You'd have to get right up to your opponent to use it. And while you were getting into position, they could blast you."

"This is a Jedi weapon," Luke replied hotly, not liking Tarrant's attitude, though Han Solo had said much the same thing to him once.

"Jedi?" Avon asked. "What is a Jedi?"

Luke told him about the Jedi and the Force, and was rewarded by looks of doubt and skepticism, especially from Avon. He halfway expected someone to say, 'No mystical energy field controls my destiny,' but of course no one did. Vila looked curious, but that was the closest that any of them came to be open minded.

Dayna listened to his lecture about the Force impatiently, then said, "May I see your lightsaber?"

Luke handed it to her, expecting her to try to activate it, but she didn't. Instead, she studied it, examining the workmanship and the technology, then she raised her eyes to Avon. "I could design one of these, I think. Luke, would it be all right if I made one for myself?"

"You're not a Jedi."

"No, but I like hand-to-hand weapons best. There's more of a challenge to them."

Luke didn't care for the idea, but he didn't say so. Instead, he said, "We're at Med Center. I'll show you where you can wait. If you like, I'll show you where you'll be sleeping while you're here and then bring you back here."

Tarrant, Dayna and Soolin opted for that, but Avon shook his head and went into the Med Center. Vila hesitated and followed.

An aide showed them to a small waiting room. "It might be some time," she said. "Your friend needs a lot of work. I'll bring you something to drink, shall 1?"

"That's a very good idea," Vila agreed, perking up a little, but when the drink proved to be something rather like coffee, he didn't complain but sat with his fingers curled around the mug, watching Avon in silence. Avon seemed to have retreated into himself again, and his face held no expression. Vila was silent at first, then he said tentatively, "Avon?"

Avon's eyes came around to look at him. He said, "There is no need for you to stay here."

"Yes there is. I know Blake too, remember. Besides, someone has to look after you."

Avon would never have tolerated such a remark before the incident with Blake, but now he only managed a look of faint scorn before he withdrew into his thoughts again. "Avon?"

"Vila, if you are going to insist on staying here, could you manage to refrain from babbling?"

"I'm not babbling. Why does everybody always assume that I've got no sense?"

"Possibly because you don't."

"I've more sense than you do."

Avon gave him a wry smile. "Perhaps you do at that."

"If you mean what happened with Blake," Vila continued with great daring, "nobody blames you for that."

"Possibly Blake might."

"Avon, Blake wasn't himself either." He caught himself up there. The word 'either' had not been a good choice. "What I meant was..."

"You have said more than enough already."

Vila realized that he had and took another swallow of his drink instead of answering.

Time dragged. Several times, Vila tried to start up a conversation, but Avon would give him a cold look or make a chilling comment, and Vila would fall silent again. But the last time that Vila tried to speak, there was no answer at all, and, looking over at Avon, he saw that he had fallen asleep in his chair, and that the cup was in danger of falling from his hand. Vila hopped up and retrieved it, then went looking for the aide again. "My friend's asleep," he told her. "Can you find a blanket for him?"

"Yes." She fetched one and brought it to cover Avon, looking down at him as he slept. "He looks quite different like this," she said.

Vila had noticed that too; Avon asleep looked vulnerable and far younger than his years. Oddly enough, Vila felt curiously protective toward him.

There was a sound behind them in the doorway and a stranger came in. "Oh, doctor, is he..." the woman began.

"What about Blake?" Vila asked with a nervous glance at Avon, who did not wake up.

"We've done our best for him," the doctor replied. "He will live, but his recovery will take some time. He's very weak right now. But he is conscious. He was asking for someone called Avon. Is that you?"

"No, him," Vila answered, pointing. "I'd better go first though, just for a minute."

"Not longer," the doctor said. "I want him settled down and sleeping. He needs it badly. But right now, he won't let himself sleep."

"Then let's go," Vila said.

Blake did not look as if he were any better; he looked pale and drained and curiously shrunken, but his eyes were open, if far too bright, when Vila came into the room. "Vila?" he said in a voice that was scarcely audible. "What is...this place? Are...we prisoners?"

"No, Blake. We got rescued by some friends and they've fixed you up; you'll be all right. You need to sleep though."

"Avon?" Blake asked, gripping Vila's arm with surprising strength.

"He's asleep right now, Blake." He hesitated. "Blake, you can't blame Avon for what happened. He..."

"I know that, Vila," Blake said tiredly. " I just want...to see him..."

"He needs to see you too," Vila said. He glanced over at the doctor, who nodded.

"Just for a minute."

Vila had relaxed a little at Blake's words, and he went off quickly. "Avon, wake up and come quickly."

Avon jerked to alertness, his face draining of colour. "Blake?" he asked, and Vila realized how Avon had interpreted his words and said hastily:

"He'll be all right, Avon, but he wants to see you, and the doctor is waiting to give him a sedative. Hurry up."

Avon staggered to his feet, and Vila realized that he was cruelly tired, totally drained by the events of the past few days and, half expecting Avon to protest, he took him by the arm and led him to Blake's room. Avon approached the bed, and Vila drew back to stand with the doctor in the doorway.

"Blake?" Avon said flatly.

Blake's eyes opened and he looked up at him. "Avon."

"You ask for trouble, do you know it, Blake?" Avon told him. "I don't know how you have survived this long."

"Avon..." Blake was on the verge of sleep, but there was something he had to say first. He had noticed the doubt in Avon's eyes and he knew that he had to resolve that before he could permit himself to sleep. "Avon, I'm sorry," he said. "I handled that...like a damn fool."

"Yes. You did." Avon lowered his voice so that Vila would not hear and added, "So did I."

"They tell me...I'm going to live," Blake said. "Maybe we can...find a way to...work things out. Avon..."

Avon shook his head. "Damn you, Blake, you had better live."

"Or you'll...kill me?" Blake knew as soon as he said it that it was a bad mistake, but he was not thinking clearly. It was the kind of remark he had been accustomed to making in the old days, and once Avon would have responded with relish, but now he was plainly shocked, looking at Blake helplessly, deprived of any reply. Blake was horrified that he had made such a mistake. "I didn't mean that," he said. "Avon, I'm sorry." And he stretched out his hand.

Avon looked at it as if it were something he had never seen before, then, almost without realizing what he was doing, he gripped it tightly. "I don't know why I put up with you," he said, and his voice was shaky. "You've brought me nothing but grief, Blake, but I'm glad you're all right."

The doctor came forward then. "Enough for this time. Tomorrow you may stay longer." He put his arm around Avon's shoulders and urged him toward the door before turning back to Blake.

Vila took Avon's arm again. "Come on, Avon. Let's go find where they want us to sleep." He stopped. looked at Avon's face, and led him from the room. Avon halted there, just outside the door, and Vila gulped nervously and did something he had never dreamed of doing before. He put his arms around Avon and hugged him tightly. Avon didn't respond, but he didn't pull away either; he only stood there and let. Vila hold him for a moment. Vila thought, You wouldn't admit you needed that, but I know I did. He felt closer to Avon right then than he had ever felt before.

Then he stepped back. "Come on, old man," he said quietly. "You need to sleep."

Avon went to bed so docilely that Vila was shocked, but once he had accomplished that, Vila realized that he was too tired to sleep himself and he went off instead to tell the others about Blake and to see if he could find himself something to drink. In the corridor, he met Chewie, and the Wookiee stopped dead, looked at him consideringly and growled a question. Vila shook his head. "I'm sorry. I don't understand."

"He says you look half dead," Han Solo remarked, coming out of a room along the passage. "And he's right. The others are all asleep--well, I don't know about Avon, but the other three. Luke said they were all pretty tired."

"We've had a bad few days," Vila admitted. "Is there any chance of getting something to drink around here?"

"Something alcoholic?" Han asked. "I think we can find you something. Come on back to the Falcon with us. They say your friend is going to get well?"

Vila nodded. "I've just seen him. He's got a way to go, but they tell us he'll make it. Avon saw him; did them both good, I think."

"Good," said Han. "Well, come along with us, if you want to."

Avon awoke the next morning feeling rested for the first time in weeks and got up and dressed. He had no recollection of going to bed at all; the last thing that felt like a memory was Vila hugging him. Unlikely. He must have dreamed it. Satisfied with that explanation, he went off to look for the others. A young man he met in the passage directed him to the mess hall, and he found Tarrant and Dayna there before him having breakfast with Luke Skywalker. They looked at him with interest.

"I see you look your usual charming self this morning," Tarrant said.

"I see you are every bit as perceptive as usual," Avon countered.

Dayna smiled. "Have some breakfast, Avon. The Princess wants us to meet with some of the leaders after breakfast, and after that, they'll let you see Blake again."

Avon found that someone had fetched him a tray of food, and he thanked them, then turned back to Dayna. "Where are Vila and Soolin?"

"Soolin will be along shortly. She was still sleeping when I left. I don't know where Vila is this morning."

"I do," Han Solo said, leaning over Dayna's shoulder and giving her a roguish grin. "Vila came back with Chewie and me to the Falcon last night, and he had too much to drink. We left him sleeping it off."

"I should have known," Avon said scornfully. "Totally unreliable and useless."

Chewbacca growled ominously, and Han hid a grin. "Chewie doesn't think you should say that about Vila," he explained. "I think Chewie's about to adopt him."

"And take him off our hands?" Avon asked with every evidence of delight.

The Wookiee growled louder and set off on a long speech. Han said mildly, "He thinks you're a little ungrateful. No, Chewie, it's not our business."

"It is,* Chewie insisted. *Vila has done much for him.*

Han shook his head. "Oh, come on, Chewie, he doesn't really mean it, any more than I ever do."

Avon pointedly turned away from them and began to eat. Tarrant hid a smile and said, "What does this princess of yours want to talk to us about?"

"She's not any princess of mine," Han said more promptly than necessary. ''But I guess she wants to compare notes about your rebellion and hers. And to see if there's any way to get you back where you belong, if that's what you want. If not, she'll see if there's a way to fit you in here. Shouldn't be too hard."

"Well now," Avon said coldly. "We might have plans of our own."

"Oh, come on, Avon," Tarrant said. "We don't know anything about this galaxy. Even if we do want to go off on our own here, we'd need more information. I don't like the sound of this Empire of theirs."

"But you do like taking orders?" asked Avon. "If so, you have concealed it well for the past two years."

"Well, at least I wait until I get enough information before I make my decisions."

"Yes, I've noticed your reluctance to jump to erroneous conclusions," Avon said with rather a lot of bitterness.

"So has Blake," Dayna added, realizing what Avon meant.

Tarrant flushed and muttered, "Sorry. But I am curious about this rebellion. For all we know, we can't go home. None of us have any pressing reasons to go back there. Everybody who means anything to us is here already."

"Speak for yourself," Avon said.

"I was." Tarrant gave him a bright grin that seemed to disconcert him. Chewie snickered. Avon looked up at the Wookiee and decided that he liked him even less than he liked Tarrant.

The meeting with Princess Leia did not go particularly well. She greeted them calmly, motioning for them to take chairs and introducing them to two older men, General Dodonna and General Rieekan. "I thought the Generals should be here for the meeting," she explained. "There is a lot to accomplish, and they can help to clarify our position."

Rieekan nodded. "Han Solo has told us that you were rebels in your own galaxy," he said. "Our information on the Swarm indicates that the gateway you passed through might work in both directions. We have lost ships to the Swarm too. Which means that there is a chance that you can go home."

"Assuming we would want to," Avon replied. "Perhaps you could give us a bit of information on the situation here." He saw the faces of the generals stiffen and added, "We don't expect military secrets, but surely you can give us general information about the Empire and the political structure here." He gave them a smile with no warmth to it. "Consider it a sales pitch."

"You sound like you won't be buying," Leia said.

"I am not a rebel," Avon replied. "I have tried to coordinate rebel efforts because it is to my advantage to see the Federation collapse. A few idealists do wonders for any cause if they are properly manipulated."

"I can tell that you are no idealist," Leia said.

"I am a realist. Ideals are excess baggage."

"And Blake?"

"Well now, Blake is an idealist. He is also the one who is wounded."

"By you, I'm told," she replied, irritated by Avon's cold demeanor. His face closed away from her, and Leia found herself regretting her words. She said instead, "I believe in my cause, and I see no advantage to admitting someone to it who claims to believe in nothing. What of your friends?" She looked at the others. "Are you rebels?"

"Tarrant is a mercenary," Avon told her. "Dayna is a weapons expert. You might find her useful. Soolin is a hired killer. Vila is a thief. We are all saboteurs."

"I see. And what were you before?"

"I was convicted of trying to steal five million credits from the Federation banking system. My field of expertise is computers, which might also prove useful, should we decide to stay."

General Dodonna looked at Leia in distress. "These people are criminals, Leia."

"And Han is a smuggler. He's a reluctant rebel himself, yet he has done a lot of good for us. I think we need help badly enough not to worry too much about such things."

"Han Solo may be a smuggler, but he is a good man underneath, not a cold-blooded killer."

"I do not believe these people are cold-blooded killers either, General. Of course they have killed; they are at war, just as we are. I've had to kill people myself." She looked at Avon. "You do yourself a disservice, Avon."

"I state facts," he replied bluntly, rather surprised at her pragmatic attitude.

"Facts are subject to interpretations."

"And you are a fool. Another idealist, blind to reality."

"I think not." She rose to her feet. "However, we will talk more about this later. Would you like to visit Blake now?"

"Not particularly," Avon replied, but something in his eyes gave him away to her, and she was surprised to realize that something about Avon interested her. His barriers were even higher than Han's had been at first. Han was just beginning to lower his. Leia wondered how much of Avon's attitude was caused by what had happened with Blake. The doctor had filled her in on the scene between Avon and Blake in the Med Center, and it intrigued her.

She said only, "Then you will do as you wish, of course."

He gave her a suspicious look, inclined his head and left the room. She noticed with interest that he was heading in the direction of the Med Center. Yes, there was much more to Avon than met the eye. He might prove a real challenge.

Avon encountered Vila, who somehow did not look as if he had had too much to drink, coming out of Blake's room. At the sight of Avon, Vila came to an abrupt halt, looking unaccountably guilty. "Vila," Avon said ominously, "what have you been doing?"

"What do you mean, what have I been doing? I haven't been doing anything, only talking to Blake."

"About what?"

"Well, you know. I've been filling him in, telling him what we've been up to since Star One, bringing him up to date." He looked at Avon's unyielding face and added quickly, "He asked."

"In other words, you have been discussing me?"

"Well, I could hardly help it, could I, if I told him what we'd been doing? I haven't been telling him any deep dark secrets." He hoped Avon would believe him, but it wasn't entirely true. He hadn't gone into detail about actual incidents like the one with Anna Grant, but he'd told Blake about Avon's search for him, Cally's death, and how Avon had been changing ever since.

Avon glared at him. "No one would tell you any secrets, Vila. In future, you will not interfere."

"Or what? You'll put me out the nearest airlock?" Avon's face froze, and Vila was instantly sorry. That incident still rankled a little. He didn't think he could have forgiven anyone else for it, but he thought he could--and had--forgiven Avon. Now he realized that the wound was not completely healed, though the look on Avon's face took it closer to healing. He said hastily, "Just a joke, Avon."

"Not a funny one. You tempt me, Vila."

"Oh. Do I?" Uneasily.

Avon suddenly remembered how protective Vila had been the previous night. Ordinarily, he would have resented any such behaviour, but there are times when even those who claim to need no one actually do need help, and last night had been one of them. Vila had been there when it mattered and had not brought the subject up today, though he could easily have done so. Avon's resentment seeped away. "Not really," he said tiredly. "How is he this morning?"

"Better. They've got him in a tank of some kind of fluid; helps to regenerate the damaged tissue and speed healing, they say. He isn't well enough to be bored with it yet, but in a few days, he'll be wanting to get up and start organizing things, if I know Blake. He seems, well, more like Blake now, if you know what I mean."

Avon did."I'll go in. You try to avoid trouble, or I'll have Chewbacca take you in hand."

That threat didn't bother Vila. "Chewie won't hurt me," he said with a broad grin, and bounced off down the corridor, looking very pleased with himself.

Avon hesitated a moment in the doorway, knowing that this was going to be a very awkward interview, then he squared his shoulders resolutely and went in.

Blake was resting in the tank of fluid Vila had mentioned, head and shoulders propped out of the liquid. He looked half asleep, but at the sound of Avon's entrance, he turned his head to see who it was, then a smile crossed his face. Avon had not expected to be received with such delight, and he made a hasty mental note to have strong words with Vila at the first opportunity. Blake looked more alive today, and for the first time, Avon actually believed that he was going to get well.

But that welcoming smile disconcerted him, and automatically, he attacked. "Blake, you're a fool."

Humour lit Blake's eyes at the familiar words. "It's even good to hear you tell me that, Avon. But why specifically this time?"

"Two reasons. One, only a fool would be pleased to see the man who almost killed him. And secondly, the phrase, 'I set all this up' is perhaps the quickest way you could have chosen to bring about your death."

"Guilty on the second count then, Avon. It was stupid. Tarrant put me off my stride, telling you that I had betrayed you. In all the world, that was the last thing I would have ever done. I was waiting for you, Avon."

"So you said."

"Damn you, Avon, you know what I meant."

"And that's why I shot you, isn't it, Blake, because I knew what you meant?" There was a hint of desperation in his voice, and he avoided Blake's eyes.

"We both made mistakes," Blake said quickly. "I didn't know what Orac had picked up about what I was trying to do, or how you would interpret it. Avon, I think I've become more like you. I find it difficult to trust anyone any more. Things haven't gone well for me since Star One. I've found new allies, but they never measured up to you. And don't say you were never my ally--you were my friend, though you might not admit to that either. Then I found Jenna again, only to lose her. She's dead, Avon. I don't know if Tarrant told you." Avon shook his head. "Well, after Jenna died," Blake continued, "I almost wanted to pack it in. Things kept going wrong, but I knew you were out there somewhere; you and Cally and Vila and the Liberator. Vila told me about Cally and the Liberator." He sounded weary and very sad. "I didn't know. I'm sorry, Avon."

"You're sorry? It was...my fault, Blake. I was..." He hesitated a long time, then he said quickly, "I wanted to find you. It was a trap set by Servalan, but I went anyway, knowing that it probably was a trap. She had reproduced a replica of your voice; Orac said it could be you, so I went. And the result was Cally's death and the loss of the Liberator."

"It happened, Avon. You didn't intend that to happen any more than I intended to get Gan killed. Let it go for now. We'll talk about that later when I'm stronger and you can stay longer. But for now, I managed to get word to Orac indirectly. I didn't dare risk direct contact. I knew you would come eventually, just as I would have come to you, if I could. That's what I meant when I made that singularly ill-advised remark about setting things up. I needed you, Avon. You won't like me being so blunt about it, but I still do, not only for your skills, though I need them too, but for yourself. And I didn't really know how much until I walked into that room and saw you. And then I messed it up. Avon, do you think you can forgive me for that?"

"Me? Forgive you?" Avon sounded genuinely perplexed.

"For putting you through all that, back there on Gauda Prime."

Avon made an abrupt gesture that might have meant anything, but his honest bewilderment had made it clear to Blake that there was hope.

Avon shook his head, but not in denial. "Blake, I should be the one to ask you--" he began, his voice trailing off as he felt it start to shake.

Blake said as matter of factly as he could, "That's all right, then."

"Is it?" Avon asked sharply. "You are an optimist, Blake."

"So you've always said. Avon, it's good to see you." He looked at Avon consideringly. "You've changed."

"So have you."

"Well, yes." He didn't go on, sensing that Avon was withdrawing from what he feared might be an emotional declaration, yet already he thought that Avon looked better than he had. He said once more, "I'm sorry about what happened back there. Sorry I didn't manage to contact you sooner. I didn't want to take the risks, but now I think I should have done." He looked drained and exhausted all at once, as if he had held on to his strength until he'd said his piece and could now let go. "I wanted to ask you about this place, Avon, but I'm too tired. The doctor will come and throw you out as soon as he notices the readings on the monitor..."

"I'll leave you to rest then, Blake." He moved to the door, paused there, smiled, and was gone. Blake relaxed at that smile and let himself drift gladly into sleep.

"How's he doing?"

Avon looked up, startled, and saw Han Solo regarding him with a measuring glance that was a lot shrewder than he had expected from the man. "He will live," Avon replied.

"Good. Vila's been worried about both of you."

"It's not Vila's place to be concerned."

"Why not?" Han asked. "He's your friend, isn't he?" Avon looked affronted at the question, but before he could reply, Han plunged on. "Look, it's none of my business, but I know what it's like to be on my own, to not want to owe anybody. But ever since I boarded that Federation ship of yours, everybody's been talking about Avon, defending you, worrying about you, making excuses for you. Vila's on the verge of breaking down--he talked to Chewie and me last night for a couple hours about it."

"While he was getting drunk?" Avon asked with a sneer.

"Drunk? Hell, he didn't even finish one glass. I thought he'd just as soon have people think that, and I went along with him, but I've had it. You don't treat friends like that the way you do-- or maybe someday you'll find out that he isn't around anymore, and then it'll be too late to be sorry. I oughta know. I've made some dumb mistakes myself from time to time."

"And that, of course, qualifies you as an expert? Vila is not your concern any more than I am."

"Why not? I like Vila. So does Chewie. But it's not just Vila. Tarrant was defending you too."

Avon's surprise registered before he could mask it.

"And Blake," Han continued. "I haven't seen Blake, but you came out of there just now, and you didn't look like you'd been tossed out on your ear. So Blake's come to terms with what happened. Maybe all of them are right about it, and it really wasn't your fault. If that's so, okay, but..."

"No one has asked you to interfere in my affairs."

"Chewie did, for Vila's sake. Vila wants to get things straight between you and Blake. He says you call him a fool and a coward, but he's not either. I never saw Chewie take to anybody as fast as he did to Vila. I trust Chewie--not many people I do trust, but Chewie's different. Well, he says there just might be hope for you yet."

To his utter astonishment, Avon found himself smiling instead of getting angry, and Han discovered that he was not completely immune to the pull that Avon exerted on people without even realizing it.

Avon said, "Perhaps I should speak with Chewie." He added with relish, "Orac can translate. It will certainly resent being used as a translator. It is, of course, far beneath its dignity."

Han laughed. "You haven't met Threepio yet, have you? I'll send him along to help."

C-3PO proved to be a robot with a personality every bit as obnoxious as Orac's. He called Avon 'Master Avon,' which proved that he knew his place, as Slave had. Unfortunately, he also referred to Vila and Tarrant as 'Master Vila' and 'Master Tarrant.' Unexpectedly, he and Orac took to each other at once, and Avon was finally forced to demand their attention. Threepio fussed and Orac was affronted, and Avon almost gave it up and left them to it.

It was not his way to give in to computers, so he said, "Orac, I have a number of questions. Those you are unable to answer, I will expect from you," he finished, turning to Threepio.

"Oh my," the golden droid said in alarm. "I cannot violate security clearances, Master Avon, unless..."

"I request information," Avon interrupted with forced patience, "on the dimensional gateway which brought us to this galaxy."

"Then why did you not say so in the first place?" Orac asked, peeved. "Please specify what information you require."

"I want to know," Avon replied, "if it is possible to use it to return to our own galaxy, and if so, how much time will have passed there, and also if there are any structural requirements for the ship to give the passage an acceptable safety margin."

"That will take time, and I will be unable to use the computers here to assist me."

Avon turned to Threepio. "You will assist Orac," he said, and it was not a request. "Very well, Master Avon."

Tarrant found Avon still working with Orac and C-3PO several hours later and poked his head into the room. "Avon?"

Avon looked at Tarrant without any traces of fondness. "What do you want, Tarrant?"

"It's long past dinnertime. The Princess sent me to see if you were hungry."

"Not particularly. Was that all?"

Tarrant came all the way into the room. He looked rather like a disobedient schoolboy summoned before an irate headmaster. "I just wanted to say..." He hesitated, then finished in a rush. "I'm sorry about Gauda Prime."

Avon looked at him in cons id arable astonishment. "Well, yes," he said a bit awkwardly. Apologies from Tarrant were a rarity. "Have you talked to Blake yet?" he asked.

"Not yet. He was only to be allowed two visitors today, you and Vila. I'm to see him tomorrow. I know he was only testing me back there--but he was damned good at it."

"Oh yes. Blake manipulates people very well." There was a trace of something in Avon's voice that might almost have been fondness, and that startled Tarrant. He was going to look forward to talking to Blake. It could prove very interesting.

"I believe it," Tarrant said. He looked over at Orac. "Will I get my head bitten off if I ask what you are up to?"

"I am trying to find us a way home."

"Do you think it's possible then?"

"Do you want to stay here for the rest of your life?" Avon countered.

"There could be worse places, Avon. These aren't bad people, and they have a very good system and organization here, the type that Blake might have dreamed of having. I've talked to some of the leaders and a lot of the pilots and Luke Skywalker, and I'd love to try to fly some of their ships."

"Then you would choose to stay here?" Avon asked.

"I don't know. Probably not, but lets just say that I'm not in a mad rush to get home."

"What about the others?" Avon asked.

"Well, that's easy. Vila and Dayna will do whatever you choose to do, and Soolin will probably go along with them. Blake--well, you know him better than I do, obviously. What do you think he'll want to do?" Avon frowned, not quite sure what to make of Tarrant's casual words, 'Vila and Dayna will do whatever you choose to do.' Would they really? And might not Vila possibly choose to follow Blake now that they had found him again? Would Avon himself choose that? Not to follow but to allow himself to be led? He did not know, but he suspected that Blake would want to go home; he had some unfinished business there. It would be some time before he was well enough to do so, but Avon was certain what Blake would choose; he realized that he had known it all along and was disgusted to realize that that was why he was setting Orac the task of finding a way home.

"Blake will return," Avon heard himself saying. "And we will go with him."

"Giving orders?"

"No. Feel free to do whatever you wish, Tarrant. The rest of us are going back."

"Oh, I'm going back too," Tarrant said. "But I'm going to enjoy myself while I'm here."

Blake was awakened the next morning by what sounded like a very one-sided argument outside his room; Vila was talking to someone whose responses seemed to be a series of grunts and growls, with a third party putting in a word here and there for translation. Blake discovered as he listened that he felt better than he had the day before. It was fortunate that they had come to a place with advanced medical skills.

"But you don't understand," Vila was saying. "I like arguing with Avon. Somebody's got to keep him in his place. Otherwise he gets unbearable. And he likes arguing with me. He won't admit it, but he does. So lay off, Chewie, at least for a few days."

A long growling reply. Vila asked, "What'd he say?" And the other voice replied,"Only that it's your decision." A chuckle. "Rather you than me. I think he's..well, he's..."

"He's Avon," Vila said simply. "It takes time and a lot of hard work to appreciate him properly."

"If at all," the other man replied, and Blake chuckled to himself. He was glad that Avon had had Vila with him since Star One. He didn't know if Avon could have made it without some kind of support, at least after Cally died.

Vila poked his head in the door then. "Awake, are you? Blake, these are the ones who rescued us and brought us here. Han Solo and Chewbacca." Han Solo was lean and dark haired and casually good looking, with a tough competent air about him. Blake recognized the type. People like Solo might start out in the Federation Space Academy, and some of them might even finish, like Tarrant had, but they didn't stick around after that. Too independent, perhaps, or too reluctant to follow orders. Solo ran his own ship, Blake recalled, and he found himself wondering if Solo smuggled the way Jenna had.

And Chewbacca...Blake's eyes widened at the sight of the anthropoid, even more at the sight of Vila leaning comfortably against the Wookiee, who stood rock solid beside him. "Vila, I thought you were afraid of hairy aliens," Blake teased him.

"I am," Vila replied promptly. "At least the ones I haven't been formally introduced to. But not Chewie. Chewie's my friend."

"I see." Blake turned to Solo. "It looks like thanks are in order, Solo. I'm told I owe my life to you."

Han looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I didn't do anything but find your ship," he said. "It was Avon who figured out how to keep you in stasis until we could get back here, and the doctors who finally fixed you up. I didn't have anything to do but fly the Falcon."

"True. But you didn't have to investigate at all."

"Yes I did. I was hoping for salvage rights." He grinned disparagingly.

Blake grinned back. Han was somebody who didn't seem to want to admit to any higher motives. In a way, he reminded Blake of Avon, who would have denied any higher motives as well. But Blake had never been fooled, no matter what Avon might say. Motives like Blake's cause had never been important to Avon, but there were other things, things like friendship. Avon might not admit to that either, but there had been many times when Avon's actions had been in direct conflict with his words, times when he had risked his own life to save Blake's, times when he could have taken the Liberator and gone his own way but had instead chosen to stay. No, Blake had not been fooled by Avon, and it was a trust that Avon had never betrayed, not until he believed that Blake had betrayed it first. And even then, it had hurt him to turn against Blake. In spite of his injury, Blake realized that he was a lucky man.

As he had not been fooled by Avon, he was not fooled by Solo now. But he merely smiled and said, "Well, no matter why, I'm glad you happened along. What can you tell me about what happened to us back there? I don't know much yet about how we got here. The doctor tells me that this isn't our home galaxy. Does anybody know if it is possible for us to return home?"

"You want to go back there?" Han asked in surprise. "It doesn't seem very safe."

"It's not," Blake replied. "But I have unfinished business back there."

"Oh no, not again," Vila moaned. "I don't know why we can't stay here, but Avon says we're going back, and Tarrant says that Avon is trying to find out how to do it."

"Avon wants to go back?" Blake asked in surprise.

Vila shook his head and said shrewdly, "I don't know, but he knows that you will."

For a minute, Blake was at a loss for words, then at last he said, "Vila, if he's trying to make it up to me for shooting me..."

"Maybe he is," Vila said, "but even if he hadn't been the one who shot you, he'd be trying to find you a way home, and you know it. I'm glad we've found you again, Blake. I think he's needed you badly for a long time now."

"Needed someone to argue with him and try to make him do things he doesn't want to do?" Blake asked.

"He needs someone to challenge him and expect the best from him," Vila said surprisingly. "And you always did that, Blake."

The doctor came along then and shooed them from the room, but Blake thought about what Vila had said and wondered if he might be right.

"Blake?" A hesitant voice, one not normally so. Blake looked up and saw Tarrant hovering in the doorway.

"Come in, Tarrant."

"No, I...can't stay. I just wanted to look in and see how you were feeling."

"Better than I was," Blake told him. He was still in a good deal of pain and he tired very easily, but he was more alert now, and more aware of his surroundings. "I'm going to live, at least," he said wryly, and added, "I wish you hadn't tried to interfere between Avon and me, Tarrant."

"Oh, come now, Blake. You wanted me to think that you were on the opposite side. You can't tell me that you're a bounty hunter and that Avon has a particularly interesting price on his head and expect me to go back and tell Avon that you're looking for him out of auld lang syne."

"No, I know that. But you didn't have to take such delight in telling him."

Tarrant bit back an angry retort. "Blake, I..." He muttered a curse. "Maybe I just got tired about hearing about the great Roj Blake, the figurehead of the rebellion. We were always looking for you and never finding you. If you were so loyal to Avon, why the bloody hell didn't you try to contact him instead of putting him through all this?"

"Concern for Avon, now, Tarrant? After the way you told him with such pleasure that I'd sold him? That's not very consistent."

Tarrant flushed. "I'd be concerned for any of my shipmates," he said, "no matter what I might think of them personally."

"And what do you think of Avon personally, Tarrant?"

"I think he's the most annoying man I've ever me," Tarrant said frankly. "He can be a right bastard at times, can Avon." He grinned then. "And yet, there are times when I almost like him."

"Almost?"

"He hasn't been easy to like, Blake. And he's been more than a little mad lately. I thought when he shot you that it had finally driven him over the edge. If you'd died, or if you hadn't forgiven him for it, I think Avon might be completely insane now. It's not your business, but I thought you ought to know so you won't try pushing him too hard. He's not up to it yet. He's getting there, but I think the balance is shaky. Go easy on him, Blake."

"Vila said the same thing, but then Vila loves him."

"Hates him, more likely."

"If you belive that, then you've got to be one of the stupidest men I've ever met."

Tarrant grinned. "No, I know he doesn't hate him. I think that maybe Vila looks on Avon like a brother, someone to torment and protect at the same time, and I think it might even work both ways. Damn it, Blake, what is it about Avon? He's one of the unfriendliest chaps I've ever met; he'd stab a friend in the back if he had to and go right on as if it didn't even hurt. He isn't conciliatory, he isn't even tolerable most of the time. But he has people running around in circles out of concern for him. I don't understand it."

"And you're jealous of it, aren't you, Tarrant?"

Tarrant started to reply hotly, and then he bit it back. "Maybe I am," he admitted. "It'd be nice to have some of that concern once in awhile."

"Yes," Blake said, "but would you want to go through what Avon has in order to get it?"

"I've...you're right."

"Yes." Blake said it sadly. "Don't think that I haven't been reproaching myself for not finding Avon sooner, Tarrant. I can see that he's been through hell. You're wrong, too. It is my business. I'm worried about his sanity too, but I think he's starting to improve. He's better now that he was on Gauda Prime."

"Yes, he is. Rushing back to your precious rebellion might not help him though, but he'll go if you ask him to. Are you ready to take that responsibility, Blake? Or do you just give the orders without caring what happens afterwards?"

"What do you think? Damn it, Tarrant, I care about that man. I'm not going to do anything deliberately to hurt him. But Avon's stronger than you seem to realize."

"I wish I shared your confidence."

"Wait and see. We're going to be here for awhile yet. If...when I'm well, you still think there's a problem, come and talk to me again. I'm not an unreasonable man, though I may seem that way to you right now. I do not intend to hurt Avon. He's too important to me to risk. I know you have no reason to trust me, but that's one area in which you can. I give you my word on it."

Tarrant looked skeptical, but he seemed uninclined to push the matter further. "I'll reserve judgment," he decided. "Fair enough, Blake?"

"Fair enough," Blake agreed.

"How are you managing, Avon?"

The computer expert looked up from his work on the plans for the ship to find Princess Leia standing in the doorway. "I hear you are looking for a way back home," she continued. "Have you had any success?"

"I'm making progress," Avon replied cautiously. "Are you glad to be rid of us?"

"Not necessarily," she said, "though I think you exaggerated your 'undesirable' qualities when you met w ith the generals."

"Perhaps."

"Some of our technicians are working on your ship, I've been told, on the reinforcements and structural needs that you've mentioned to them, but there was something else that they were concerned about."

"Yes?"

"The effects of the Swarm on people. When you came through it before, how did you react to it?"

Avon looked at her in surprise, his eyes going blank for a moment. "I-don't remember," he said vaguely.

Leia was surprised. "Why not? Were you drugged or unconscious?"

"No. I was..." He looked at her strangely. "Perhaps I was mad," he said.

Leia gave him a doubtful look. "I don't understand."

"I had just killed Blake," he said. "Or so I had thought." And then his face closed away from her completely and he turned back to the equipment.

Leia stood there for a moment, remembering how she had felt that Avon kept things buried even deeper than Han did. She said gently, "I was told how that happened, and you were not to blame, Avon."

Without turning, he said, "That would have been small consolation to Blake, if he had died." And added even more quietly, "Or to me."

So you care very much, she thought, but she did not say it. She had learned from her experience with Han Solo that one did not call attention to things he preferred left unsaid, not if she wanted to keep him with the rebellion. And she did want to keep him there, she realized, though she had not yet come to terms with the reason. Pushing that thought aside, she considered Avon again. In that way, he did remind her of Han. "Blake's getting well," she said, "and you have made your peace with him. Avon, I'm sorry about what happened, but you were given a chance to try again." She added, "Not everyone is so lucky."

At that, he turned and gave her a considering look. His face was expressionless, but there was something more in his eyes, and she heard herself saying, "I lost my whole planet; I couldn't prevent it, and it was my fault. Everyone on Alderaan died, because of me."

"For your cause," he realized without even needing to think about it.

She nodded. "Yes, for the cause. I know, when I make myself think about it that Alderaan would have been forfeit anyway, no matter what I did or said, but it was because of me that it happened when it did. We were a peaceful world, Avon, with no planetary defenses, and now there isn't an Alderaan any more. The Empire destroyed it, blew it up." She closed her eyes for a moment as if to hold back tears, though she had not been able to cry for Alderaan yet. Some things are too deep for easy tears.

He studied her thoughtfully, then he said, "Knowing what you know now, could you have done what you did any differently?"

No one had ever asked her that before. She said in surprise, "No. I couldn't have done."

"Then recriminations are pointless. You remind me of Blake. He takes the blame for things that can't be changed as well."

"And you can stay unemotional and detached and never look back?" she flashed at him. "I don't believe that, Avon, or else you would have been able to remember the transition through the Swarm"

Avon looked at her sharply, surprised to discover that she could fight back so well. Then he said, "I could have changed what happened."

"Could you?" she shrugged. "Avon, I'm sorry. But...when I remember Alderaan, I..." She turned away suddenly. Her back was rigid, but her shoulders quivered.

Avon stood there unmoving for a moment, then he stepped forward and rested a hand on one slender shoulder. And then, to his discomfiture, leia turned abruptly, flung herself into his arms and wept. Startled and uncertain of what to do next, Avon merely stood and held her lightly, feeling helpless.

"Leia, are you..." There was a noise at the door, and then Han Solo appeared, stopping dead at the unlikely sight of Leia in Avon's arms. Her back was to the door and he could not see her tears.

Han froze there and then said, "Sorry," very stiffly and turned and marched out again.

Surprised out of the grief that she had finally let herself feel, Leia freed herself from Avon and looked up at him. "I'm sorry," she said.

"You might tell him that," Avon replied. "He looked as if he would have enjoyed killing me."

Leia smiled a little. "Han? No, I don't think so."

Avon shook his head, a little amused. "I do."

"Han?" She was still doubtful. "That stubborn Corellian has been nothing but trouble from the moment I met him. He's arrogant, insufferable, stupid, conceited..."

Avon began to laugh. "A fine collection of virtues. And, while I should not precisely say that 'stupid' was a good description, the rest of them might possibly describe someone else as well."

She glared at him. "Yes. You."

"Well now, that was not quite whom I had in mind."

"You're as bad as he is," she retorted. "I've a meeting now. You might think to ask some of your friends about the transition through the Swarm." She stalked out, head high.

Avon watched her go. He felt not the slightest inclination to explain to Han Solo the true circumstances, but he realized that he just might enjoy the resultant fireworks.

When Vila came bouncing into the room a few minutes later, Avon was still smiling.

"What's so funny?" Vila asked promptly.

"Nothing you would understand."

"Oh. Is it something to do with Han? He's really mad about something."

"Is he?" Avon asked unhelpfully, but with interest, then before Vila could question him further, Avon said, "Vila, I need information from you. When we passed through the Swarm, what happened? What do you remember?"

"Not much," said Vila promptly. "I didn't know what was happening, and I was sure we were all going to be killed. It felt like the ship was turning inside out--and me too. I woke up expecting to find my insides on my outsides. Ugh." He shuddered. "Why? Wasn't it like that for you?"

"Somewhat," Avon said. "How long would you estimate that you were unconscious?"

"I don't know. It felt like hundreds of years." He shivered. "Maybe it was hundreds of years and when we go back, everything'll be different."

"And here I thought you were the one with no imagination."

"Well, it could be, couldn't it?" Vila persisted. He went and looked down at the computer screen. "We're going back, I know. But isn't there some way we can do it without having to go through all that again? I was sick for hours and hours afterwards." He looked at Avon suddenly as if he had just discovered something and his eyes narrowed. "You don't remember it," he said.

Avon's face went rigid, and Vila looked miserable and vlished he had not spoken. "Avon, maybe we ought to just stay here," he said. "We don't know anything about that Swarm except that it's nasty. I don't like it. Maybe if somebody goes through it twice, it will kill them."

"Orac is researching that possibility and others now. I will not take us back unless our chances for survival are good. I am not ready to die."

Now you're not, Vila thought, Before, when Avon had believed that he had killed Blake, he would not have cared, but he was starting to care again, and Vila was glad. He said, "I want better chances than just 'good,' Avon. I'm much too young to die."

"You should have no cause for alarm, Vila. As it has often been said, only the good die young."

"Then we're both going to live forever," Vila replied with relish.

Avon said with unexpected good humour, "Go away, Vila. Leave me in peace."

Dayna smiled to herself as she put the finishing touches on her new lightsaber. "How does this look, Luke?"

"It's not a question of how it looks but how it works," said Luke Skywalker. "And I'm still not sure it's a good idea for the Alliance to sanction the use of lightsabers by non-Jedi."

"The Alliance is fighting a war, Luke. They need any advantage that they can get. Besides, as you've said, in the hands of someone who does not control the Force, a light saber is only a weapon, nothing more. And if anyone in the Alliance has Jedi potential, it would be a good idea for you to find out. I don't think I have it me to be a Jedi. But I am good with weapons. Would you practice with me? If I can develop any skill against you, then I should be able to manage fine back home where no one will know how to use the Force."

Dayna didn't believe in the Force, but she knew Luke did, and courtesy prevented her from making disparaging comments about it when he had reluctantly agreed to help her to make herself a lightsaber.

"Yes," Luke replied. "I'll train with you. Let's see if your lightsaber works." Dayna took a step backward and activated the switch, gripping the hilt firmly with both hands. As the beam shot out, white and bright, she realized the controlled power that flowed through it, power she would have to learn how to tame. Until she could refine her skill, the blade would be almost as dangerous to her as it would be to an opponent.

Assuming a fighting stance, she made a few experimental passes with the weapon. It did not feel quite natural.

Luke grinned as he watched her clumsy first movements, reminded of his first training session with Obi-Wan Kenobi on the Millennium Falcon. Dayna was in superb condition, and should be able to learn to handle the weapon against an enemy. "All right, Dayna," he said. "We'll see how you manage. Raise your blade." He activated his own and stood facing her. "Try to attack me," he instructed.

"But I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't."

His calm assumption of superiority angered her and she struck out with her blade, only to find him blocking her instinctively. He had hardly seemed to move, and she had been certain he was not even paying any attention to her, but he had deflected her blow with no trouble at all. He smiled, closed his eyes, and said, "Try again."

"But you're not even watching me."

"I can be deceived by what I see," he said, "so I will try to see what you're doing through the Force. All right, Dayna. Attack."

She hesitated, then began to move warily off to one side. She could avert her blow at the last moment, if necessary. But it wasn't necessary. When she raised her blade to strike, Luke's was before her, dancing up lightly, just enough to meet her stroke and parry it. She said in exasperation, "I'm glad we're on the same side. I wouldn't want to have to fight against you for real."

"I'm not perfect at it," Luke told her. "I still have a lot to learn, Dayna. But I'm learning. I f I had time to train you, we might find out..."

A shrill alarm cut across his words, blotting out what he'd been about to say, and the colour drained from his face. "The alert."

"What alert?" Dayna demanded, switching off her lightsaber.

"The Empire. They might have found the base."

"And if they have?" Luke looked at her gravely. "We might have to evacuate the base."

"Evacuate?" Avon asked one of the base technicians, who had been going over ship specifications with him. "Now?"

"Would you rather the Empire found us?" the young man asked, edging toward the door. "I've got to go to my station."

"And what of us?" Avon asked.

"We'll see you're taken off with us," the boy replied. "Your ship is spaceworthy now, but it's not ready for the Swarm yet. You'll just move with us to the new base. We've got one ready." He was out the door on the run before Avon could ask him any more questions.

Vila appeared the, looking frightened. "Avon, we're going to be attacked."

"So I have been informed. And the ship is not yet ready."

"Oh no. What're we going to do?"

"We will go off on a ship, ours or another, to the new base."

"What about Blake?" Vila asked. "Can they move him? Won't it hurt to take him out of that tank?"

"I don't know," Avon said. "Let's find out."

"No, it shouldn't hurt to move him," the doctor explained to Avon and Vila. "It won't help him though, and he'll need to be monitored carefully. The Bacta accelerated healing. He's well enough to heal normally, of course; I think it would only be a matter of time. But it will take longer if he comes out of the bacta before he's ready, and he'll need careful care."

"Which he is not likely to get in the middle of an evacuation," Avon said flatly.

"I will stay with him," the doctor promised.

Avon gave him an icy look and said, "You had better." Then he turned and stalked into Blake's room. Something about the way he moved warned Vila not to follow.

Blake looked up when Avon came in and asked, "Avon, what was that signal?"

"It's a warning, Blake. The Empire is nearby."

"And that means?"

"It could mean nothing. The Empire might not know the base is here."

"And if they do?"

"Then there'll be an evacuation and possibly fighting."

"What about me?" Blake asked.

"We might have to take you out of that tank and move you. The doctor assures me it won't hurt you."

"I see." Blake masked his worry.

"Avon?" It was Leia, accompanied by Han Solo. The current crisis had pushed the tensions between them into the background, at least for now. "Han is going to take you and your party off the planet and out of danger."

"Yeah," Han replied, "and we've got ta move now, before they get too close."

"And our ship?" Avon asked. "Tarrant will take it off, with some of our people on board. Soolin will go with him." Leia smiled a little. "We need the room, quite frankly. And our fighters will offer protection."

"I don't think we ought to separate," Vila announced, coming in behind them.

"There's no choice, I'm afraid," Leia said. "Blake, the doctor assures me that it won't hurt you to be moved carefully, to Han's ship. He will be in here in a few minutes to do it."

It might not have hurt Blake to be moved, but it did not seem to have done him any good either. When he was finally resting in a bunk on the Millennium Falcon, he looked dead white and utterly exhausted, almost too drained to keep his eyes open. The doctor fussed about him, adjusting some type of intravenous drip in his arm. Dayna and Vila stayed with him, watching the doctor's every move, but once Blake was in bed, Avon had left to go forward and consult with Solo. Blake watched him go, too weary to try to call him back.

Chewie appeared in the doorway, and made a comment which Vila caught. He was beginning to understand the Wookiee quite well by now, better than any of the others, including Avon, to his amusement. He translated, "Chewie says we're ready to take off, so we should strap in."

"What about Blake?" Dayna asked.

"I've fixed restraints," the doctor replied. "The rest of you had better get fastened in out there in the passenger area. Chewie will show you."

Vila went reluctantly, Dayna trailing behind him, and found Avon and Leia there already. Chewie saw them settled in and then went forward to join Han. Soon the ship was in flight.

"Where will we go now?" Avon asked Leia.

"Our new base is on the planet Hoth," Leia explained. "It's an ice world, and we don't think the Empire will expect us to go there. It's one of the last places they'd look for us. We've had construction teams working there for some months now, melting out caves for us. It won't be comfortable there at first, but it should be safer than we've been here."

"Apparently," Avon replied. "What about our ship's modifications? Will we be able to continue the work there?"

"I don't see any reason why not," she assured him. "It will be safe enough but we won't be able to spare the technicians just at first. There'll be too much for them to do." She looked at him doubtfully. "You've definitely decided to return to your own galaxy then?"

"Yes. We must."

"You mean Blake must," Dayna said. "But why us, Avon?"

"Feel quite free to stay," Avon told her. "No one is forcing you to return with us."

Dayna was a little tempted. She found the lightsaber training fascinating and would have liked to have more time with it, but there were stronger calls than that. "No, I'm coming too," she said. "It isn't because I miss any particular place back there, though."

"Why do you return then?" Leia asked her, interested.

Dayna looked at her for a minute, then she turned and smiled at Avon and Vila. "I'm going with them," she said. "I don't have a place there any more. All I have now is people. I'll stay with them."

"How touching," Avon said with a hint of sarcasm, but Vila grinned.

"Why Dayna, I didn't know you cared."

"About you? I don't."

Leia smiled, and she was still smiling when Han Solo appeared from the direction of the cockpit. "We're in hyperspace," he announced, then his eyes focused on Leia and his face darkened a bit. He glanced over at Avon, then turned to go back to the cockpit. "We'll arrive at 2100 hours," he said over his shoulder. "I don't think the Empire picked up on us at all."

"What about the others, Han?" Vila asked. "Tarrant and Soolin and our ship? Did they make it away?"

"They weren't scheduled to leave until after we did," Han remarked. "I'll let you know when I hear anything." He stalked away.

"Avon, I don't think he likes you," Vila said brightly. "Very understandable, that. He must be a fast learner."

Avon rose. "It will do him good," he said and wandered off in the direction of Blake's cabin.

"Did I miss something?" Dayna asked, looking after him in surprise.

Tarrant raised the Federation ship from the rebel base, pleased at the familiarity of the controls; he had trained on ships like this one, and had flown one of them several times, but this one had been modified by himself, Avon and the technicians and it seemed to be more maneuverable than any Federation ship he remembered handling in his career with Space Command. It was not quite ready yet to meet the extraordinary stresses of the Swarm, but the work that Tarrant had put in with the techs, assisted by Avon and Orac, had given them a ship with the possibility of outrunning Federation pursuit ships once they got home, if Orac could manage the planned photonic drive. Tarrant grinned a little. This ship wasn't the Liberator--it wasn't even the Scorpio. But it was going to be a fine ship when they had finished with it, and it would do until a better ship came along.

His co-pilot for the flight was a young rebel pilot by the name of Wedge Antilles. Ordinarily more at home in a fighter, Wedge had been delegated for this mission because his father had been the official pilot for the Organa family, and he had more experience with larger ships than most of the rebel pilots did. Besides, Tarrant needed someone to come with him who knew the coordinates to the new base, someone whom the staff there would be able to identify and accept.

Soolin was in the aft passenger section with a large group of base personnel, who were being transferred out this way. With at least five decks, the ship was big enough to hold a considerable amount of people for the short transfer hop, and the Alliance had taken advantage of the space. Always short of ships, the main fleet was scattered in strategic locations, awaiting the time when the proper opportunity would allow them to move against the Empire. Until then, the rebels did not want to tie all their ships to one location.

With a fighter escort of three X-wing fighters, the ship lifted and headed out into space. Tarrant realized quickly that Wedge knew his business; he was helpful without interfering, and he knew a lot more about the fighters than Tarrant, who had only flown a patrol or two to get the feel of them. Wedge monitored the fighters and the base, and read out the coordinates for Tarrant.

"I make fighters coming in," he said suddenly. "Looks like TIEs."

"Imperial ?" Tarrant asked.

"Yes. Three of them. Our fighters can handle them."

"This ship has firepower too," Tarrant replied. "It was one of the first things we got back on line. Shift over to the firing control position--there--and I'll run you through the sequence. This bucket can do more than those fighters of yours, though it's not quite as maneuverable."

Wedge shifted positions enthusiastically and let Tarrant run him through the checklist. The TIEs were getting closer, and the X-wings moved out to engage them, just as the scanners picked up three more ships approaching.

"All right, it'll be up to us to defend ourselves," Tarrant said, keeping a firm hand on the controls. "Ready?"

"Target in range," Wedge reported. "Lined up. Firing." Tarrant monitored the plasma bolt, saw the TIE shift position at the last moment.

"Missed," he reported, "but not by much. Try again."

Things got very hectic after that. The battle intensified, TIEs and X-wings weaving about. Several shots got through and hit the transport ship, but the defenses held. Tarrant wished for the force wall of the Liberator; it would have held against the TIE fire.

Wedge was gaining confidence at the unfamiliar controls. After several more near misses, he found his range and one of the TIEs blossomed into fire. Beyond it, one of the X-wings let another TIE get too close and it exploded. "We're still outnumbered," Wedge said as he aligned his sights for his next shot, then he gave a crow of triumph. "Got him."

"Nice shooting." An X-wing brought down a third TIE and the odds were suddenly a bit better.

"Can you swing around a little?" Wedge asked. "And keep checking for Star Destroyers."

"I'm not too keen on meeting a Star Destroyer," Tarrant replied. "I think they'd be more than a match for us. Look out! We're going to take another hit!"

This one was worse, and the entire ship shuddered under the blow, but even as it stabilized, Wedge fired again and another TIE was gone. He began to set the controls, then looked up in alarm. "It's getting sluggish, Tarrant. We're losing power."

"We've still got two of them out there," Tarrant replied, manipulating the controls. "There. Better?"

"Not much."

But one of the X-wings suddenly circled around behind an Imperial fighter, and then there was only one left. It hesitated, then started to retreat. The other X-wing went peeling off after it. The shot didn't destroy it, but it was disabled, and it limped off slowly in the general direction of the Imperial fleet.

"Let's get out of here," Tarrant said and pointed the ship away as fast as it would go. It wasn't much more than time distort 11, but it was better than he had expected. "We're going to make it," he added with a grin. "Nice shooting, Wedge. You wouldn't like to come along with us, would you? The Federation would give you some good targets."

"You could stay here and help us out," Wedge countered. "We can always use good pilots."

They grinned at each other, decisions already made, and the ship continued on its way to Hoth.

Dayna got up presently and wandered along to look in on Blake. Half expecting to find Avon there before her, she was surprised to see Blake alone with the doctor who was running a check with some hand equipment. Blake looked pale and weary, but he was conscious, and he gave Dayna a faint smile. She said, "I thought Avon would be here."

"He was," the doctor explained. "But I sent him off to get some rest. He seemed to need it."

"Good." She turned to Blake. "How are you feeling?"

"You'd rather not know. Dayna?"

"Yes, Blake?"

"You've been with Avon since just after Star One, I understand."

She nodded. "That's right. He's spent a lot of that time looking for you, you know."

"More than I spent looking for him," said Blake regretfully. "I wanted to find him, but I was afraid that if I tried, it would endanger him. I thought, with Orac and Liberator, it would be easier for him to find me. Then, after a time, when he didn't, I began to think that he didn't want to."

"He always wanted to, Blake, no matter what he might have said."

Blake's face brightened at that. "Knowing Avon, it was sometimes hard to tell. Often he'd do just the opposite of what you'd expect. I think he did the opposite of what he wanted to do sometimes as well; he couldn't admit ties, you see."

"He hasn't really changed that much," Dayna agreed with him. "But when you think of it, he's admitted them now, no matter how much he might pretend otherwise. I think it might be good for him, once he gets over the shock of it."

Blake eyed her thoughtfully. "In what way has he admitted them, Dayna?"

"Because of Gauda Prime. You don't think he would have reacted quite so violently to what Tarrant said if he hadn't cared about you, do you? Avon tends to get colder with people he doesn't like, Blake. He will probably kill them, yes, but not like that." She gave him a thoughtful look. "I realize that you've been through a bad time too, Blake. Both of you have. I hope Avon's been able to talk to you about it. He's been in bad shape for a long time, even before Cally died. I think I've been almost afraid of him as time went on. But he's getting back to his old self now. He's more like he was when I first met him. I'm glad."

"So am I," Blake said.

"But don't expect him to be too different," she cautioned, "or at least to act too differently."

"No, Dayna, I know better than that," Blake replied. "I won't expect too much of him, at least not right away."

"Good."

The doctor intervened. "Dayna, I think Blake should sleep now. He'll tire more easily out of the bacta. In a few more days, he'll be ready to come out of it permanently, but for now, sleep is the best thing for him."

"Of course." She gave Blake a smile and went out.

Dayna decided to go and look for Avon after that. She suspected that the doctor was right and that he needed sleep too, but she did not think that he would rest, so she tracked him down and finally found him in Han Solo's cabin--assumed it was Han's from his clothes strewn untidily around on the floor and the furniture--sitting on the bunk looking at a book viewer. When Dayna came in, he raised his eyes to look at her, and she realized that he was very very tired. He had been working hard on the ship modifications and no one had made sure that he was resting properly.

"Avon, you need sleep," she pointed out.

He tossed the viewer aside. "I would like to find a translation for the written language," he commented. "It would make working on the ship easier. Perhaps I could get Threepio to do it."

"I imagine it would help, but must you do it right now?"

"It would help."

"Are you really so anxious to go back there?" Dayna asked.

He looked at her sharply. "Are you so anxious to stay here?"

"No. I'll go where you and the others do," she said. "Blake wants to go back."

"I know he does. And he would be unbearable to live with if he couldn't return."

She smiled a little at the unexpected note of fondness that crept into his voice.

"I see," she said. "It's to spare yourself Blake's wrath then?"

Avon looked at her, and suddenly there was humour behind his eyes. "Exactly," he said calmly and picked up the viewer again.

"Avon, if you don't get some sleep, you'll have to worry about my wrath," she pointed out.

"How unpleasant," Avon said without a trace of concern. But his eyes had lit with amusement.

Dayna couldn't help smiling a little. She had been right when she talked to Blake. Avon had changed. If she were to comment on it, though, he'd probably pull back into his shell, so she kept quiet. "There's no point in arguing with you," she complained. "There never has been. I think I'll go and harass Vila instead."

"What an excellent idea."

"I'll tell him you said so."

"Do that."

The Hoth base was one of the least charming places Avon had ever seen, and he had seen more.that his share of them. On the whole, he thought, he might almost prefer Cygnus Alpha. It wasn't only the cold or the oppressive whiteness of the arctic landscape. Oddly enough for someone who had been raised on Earth in the enclosed atmosphere of the domed cities, he found the close confines of the Hoth tunnels almost claustrophobic. There was a feeling that perhaps the heaters that kept the base warm enough for survival might melt the overhead ice and bring the roof down upon their heads. When he considered it logically, Avon realized that the place reminded him of Albion, and the attempt to defuse the solium radiation device with the assistance of Del Grant. Not a memory he welcomed. Thoughts of Del Grant led inevitably to thoughts of Anna, and Avon did not want to remember Anna at all.

The arrival of their ship, rather more battered than it had been when it had left the old base did nothing to improve his spirits. "I see you managed to avoid trouble with your usual flair," he accused Tarrant.

"I'd like to see you do any better under the circumstances," Tarrant flashed back. "You weren't attacked on the way here. We were. I've had the techs on board working on repairs on the way here, but it's put us back a day or so, and they're not going to be able to spare us people right away, Avon."

"Then we will have to do it ourselves," Avon remarked. "And the sooner the better."

He stalked off to consult with Orac again, and Tarrant looked at Vila, who had been a silent witness to the discussion. "What's got into him? He's being nasty again."

"I don't know," Vila said. "Maybe he doesn't like it here. I don't." He shivered and pulled his insulated vest closer around him.

"You never like anyplace."

"That's not true. Show me a nice pleasure planet and I'll like it."

"But will it like you?"

Vila grinned. "I think I'll go pester Avon," he decided. "It'll keep his mind off whatever's bothering him."

"Don't forget to duck," Tarrant called after him.

Once his passengers had been offloaded, Han had been assigned a mission for the Alliance. His job was to go to a planet called Ord Mantell and deliver a coded message tape to the rebel underground there.

"Fine," he told Leia bad-temperedly. "You just love sending me off on suicide missions, don't you, your worship?"

"You will be well paid," she snapped at him. "Just once I'd like to see you do something out of the goodness of your heart, assuming you have one."

"But you already have," Han replied with exaggerated patience. "I brought Blake and his people back, didn't I?"

"In hopes of salvage rights," she pointed out.

"You sould be grateful," Han said with a sarcastic note to his voice.

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"Avon. You seem to enjoy his company." He grimaced. "There's no accounting for taste, is there?"

"No, there isn't." She glared at him. "Avon's almost old enough to be my father, you know."

"Is he? He's a year older than I am."

"Maybe it's your naturally immature personality that fooled me."

"If I'm going to be insulted, I'll go away."

"Goodbye."

He grimaced, then turned back. "Luke's going to come with us," he said. "Shouldn't take too long. When we get back, we can get to work on those sweeps that you want made here to check out the terrain."

He didn't seem quite as annoyed as he had before, and Leia said, "Stay out of trouble."

"I always stay out of trouble."

"I never noticed it before."

Han turned and walked off, pausing to grin ingratiatingly at her before he headed for the launch area. Leia gave a sigh of exasperation and shook her head.

Vila missed Chewie; he had come to enjoy the company of the huge Wookiee and to feel safe in his company. Besides, Chewie could always be counted on for a good time, someone to drink with and complain with, someone--hopefully--to intimidate Avon, though Avon had remained successfully unintimidated so far. Avon did not miss either Chewie or Han, but Vila did, and hoped that they would return from their mission before the ship was ready for them to leave.

"Why should it matter?" Avon asked him.

"Because Chewie's my friend."

"Then perhaps you should remain here with him," Avon commented.

"Maybe I should," Vila replied. "At least he doesn't pick on me all the time like some people I know." He checked the reading on the equipment he was monitoring and read it out to Avon, who made an adjustment on his diagram.

"Ask Orac to coordinate this," he ordered. "And then get back here. I want you to help me with the shielding plan."

Vila sighed. "Can't we take a break first?"

"When we're finished."

"But when we're finished then you'll want to take us back home and then we'll be fighting the Federation again, and then there'll be no more time for breaks. I'll work until I drop, and that will be the end of me, and it'll all be your fault."

"Forgive me if I am not impressed."

"You don't like it here, do you?" Vila asked.

"Do you?"

"Oh, it's wonderful--if you like freezing to death."

"Then take that report to Orac and hurry back here. At least if you are busy it will help to keep you warm." Vila heaved a resigned sigh and set off to pester Orac.

Blake came out of the bacta permanently the following day. He was not yet well enough to be out of bed except for short intervals, and only with help, but he was starting to look a lot better. The pain was much less now, and at times he could forget it entirely until an unwary move reminded him that his wounds had not yet quite healed. The droid in charge of the medical unit procured a mechanical chair for him, and he could use it for an hour in the mornings and an hour in the afternoons. After that, he became tired and needed to rest, but he could get around and see more of the base.

Two days later, Blake maneuvered the chair into the section where Avon and Tarrant were working on the ship, and paused, unnoticed, to watch them at work. It interested him to see the two men together; it was the first time he had done since that time on Gauda Prime, which Blake would prefer to forget. Avon was clearly in charge of the project, and Tarrant just as clearly resented it, but he had shelved his resentment and seemed to be working well enough with Avon. Their comments to each other were barbed, but not any worse than Blake had heard Avon direct at anyone else.

"...and you won't be flying this ship, I will," Tarrant was saying fiercely.

"A fact for which I am trying to compensate to the best of my abilities," Avon replied.

Blake began to laugh, and found himself the target of two outraged glares. Then Avon put aside his work and came over to him. "I didn't realize you were allowed out on your own, Blake."

"Today is the first time. I came to see how we were progressing."

"We?" Avon asked tartly. "The rest of us are doing all the work, Blake."

"So you are. And in such a hurry. Why the urgent need to return?"

Avon stared at Blake for a long time, a look of stupefaction sliding across his face, then he seemed to realize that he was being teased and he said stiffly, "You're quite welcome to stay here, Blake. I should doubt that anyone would miss you." The corner of his mouth quirked in something that might have been the beginnings of a smile.

"Yes, I should doubt it too," Blake replied. He grinned. "I think we need to hurry too. There's one thing I want resolved when we get home."

"Servalan," Avon said. "Yes, I'm rather eager to see her myself. Not as eager as Tarrant, of course."

Tarrant cast a glare in Avon's direction and returned to his work.

Avon looked back at Blake. "Are you up to this?" he asked, and though he tried to cover his concern, it showed, enough for Tarrant to glance at him again, speculatively this time.

"You can take me back when I'm ready to go," Blake decided. "It'll do you good to get away from that. Leia tells me that you've been working non-stop."

"Which is how you used to drive us, back on the Liberator," Avon reminded him. "I thought that perhaps you had come here now to order us about some more."

"No," Blake said and added with a grin, "I came because I wanted to see you for a change. You're too busy to visit, these days."

Avon looked at him uneasily, then he said, "I want to finish the ship. I do not like this place."

"I don't blame you. I'm not fond of it myself. And it sounds like it could be discovered by the Empire the way the old base was. Still, I've got a lot of ideas from talking to Leia and some of the leaders, things that are going to be helpful to us when we get home."

"Yes, when we start fighting the Federation with one battered Federation transport ship."

"A transport equipped with photonic drive," Blake commented. "That was Orac's doing. He monitored Scorpio's systems and discovered how to adapt the drive to this ship."

"I'm told it was mostly your work that accomplished it."

"We haven't even had time to test it yet, Blake. But if it works, it's going to give us an advantage. Nothing like we had with Liberator, but better than anything that the Federation can throw at us. And the weaponry has been adapted too; some of the techniques here have been most useful."

"I'd like to go over the specifications," Blake said. "Can you get a hard copy for me to study while I'm resting?"

"We'll send one along. Maybe you can come up with some additions."

"I'm sure I can," Blake replied. "What about a teleport?"

"If we can get the proper materials, that shouldn't be a problem. I'll let you work on that as well."

"Have you given the ship a name yet?" Blake asked.

"No. Does it matter?"

''I'll think of something then," Blake decided. He was beginning to get tired, and it was starting to show. ''I'll go back now," he said. "Send those specs along as soon as you can."

"Can you manage on your own?" Avon asked in a curiously tentative voice.

Blake, who knew he could, said, "I'd feel better if you'd come along and make sure I get where I'm going."

Avon nodded, passed his papers to Tarrant, and left with Blake.

Tarrant stared after them, a perplexed look on his face.

Late that night, Vila was up wandering around the base; he did that sometimes when he wasn't in the mood for sleep, and was hopefully seeking someone who wanted to share a drink with him, or a card game, or some pleasant diversion. He encountered Tarrant with some of the pilots, telling war stories, and he listened for awhile, but eventually Tarrant's exaggerations began to get on his nerves, and he moved on again. He was passing Avon's quarters when he heard a noise that sounded almost like a shout.

Vila stopped and knocked at the door. No reply. He pushed the button for admittance. Locked. Well, he wasn't a thief for nothing. Pulling some tools out of his pocket, Vila had the door open in ten seconds flat.

Avon was having a nightmare. In the faint light from the corridor, Vila could see him tossing about in the bed, the tangled covers twisted around his legs, his hair plastered down against his forehead, his face glistening with sweat. He was muttering to himself, something Vila couldn't make out, but he sounded distinctly unhappy, and without hesitation, Vila went over and put a hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake.

Avon sat up abruptly, swinging out at Vila, who darted back nimbly to avoid the blow. Then Avon seemed to realize where he was and what was happening. "What are you doing in here?" he demanded.

"I heard you yelling when I walked past," Vila said, keeping his voice quiet because Avon had sounded so furious. "I thought you were having a nightmare, and would want to be woke up. I don't like nightmares, nasty things, ruining a person's sleep."

Avon's breathing was slowing, and he felt himself begin to relax. "It must have been a nightmare," he conceded. "Very well, Vila. You have done your duty. Now go away."

Vila started for the door, then he turned back. "Want to talk it out?" he asked with genuine sympathy.

"No."

"I didn't think so." Vila took a step closer to the door. "About Blake, was it?"

"How did you know?" Avon asked involuntarily.

"Because when I have nightmares these days, they're about Gauda Prime too. You're not the only one, Avon. Getting shot in the back's not much fun."

"You were only stunned," Avon reminded him.

"I didn't know that when I was hit, did I? It felt like I was being killed. I thought I was dying. Terrified me, let me tell you. I don't want to die. It's too permanent."

Avon made a wry face, but he seemed less inclined to toss Vila out on his ear. When Vila continued, "You'd be better off talking about it," Avon did not disagree, but it was not a part of his nature to share his feelings with anyone, and he did not know how to begin.

"Do you dream about shooting him?" Vila persisted.

Avon nodded reluctantly. "Killing him." The words felt like they were being forced from him.

"Well, you didn't kill him. Did you ever think that maybe you did that on purpose? Pulled away a fraction at the last minute and spoiled your aim? Everybody else you ever tried to kill is dead. But not Blake. Think about it."

Avon looked at him in surprise. That was true. At close range like that, he could not have missed. But Blake was alive. Blake had somehow survived. Even betrayed, or so he had thought, Avon had not quite managed to kill Blake. He hadn't wanted to, even then. Was Vila right? Avon frowned uneasily. That would mean admitting that Blake was important to him, but hadn't he admitted that already in another way? Would he have reacted to the 'fact' of Blake's betrayal that way if he hadn't cared? Why care about Blake? he asked himself. What was it about the man? Not the cause--he despised the cause. It had to be Blake himself, and that went against everything Avon had tried to convince himself he believed. But Blake was important to him, important enough that he had done all he could to facilitate their return to their own galaxy simply because that was what he thought Blake would want. Even before Gauda Prime, he had sought out Blake, finding excuses that he could live with, but in actual fact, it had been because he wanted Blake back.

Vila watched his face carefully. After a bit, he said, "Avon, are you all right?"

"Yes. I believe I am." He found a smile for Vila, and Vila smiled back, delighted. Avon said, "You're right, Vila. I didn't want to kill him, even then."

"The trouble with you is that you're too soft-hearted," Vila said, surprisingly. "Of course you cover it up all the time."

"Soft hearted?" Avon echoed in disbelief, the charge so patently ridiculous that he did not even feel obligated to object to it.

"Well, you couldn't even kill me," Vila reminded him. "On that shuttle. Could you?"

"I found the solution before I found you," Avon said stiffly.

"Yes, you did. But you could have found me first. You didn't look very hard, and it wasn't even your idea. Someday I'll get Orac for that." He added, "You scared me out of ten years' growth, and I don't mind admitting it hurt--a lot--but afterwards, I knew that you could have found me and didn't."

Avon said in a curiously flat voice, "There was only one place where you could have hidden; afterwards, I could not understand why I hadn't looked there first."

"Can you now?" Vila asked softly.

"Yes," said Avon with a smile. "I must be a masochist."

Vila stared at him and then began to laugh. In a minute, Avon joined him. Then, when Vila turned to the door, Avon said seriously, "Vila?"

Vila stopped and waited.

"Vila, as you said before, everyone else I ever tired to kill is dead."

Vila stood there a moment, then he turned back and smiled. The wound was healed.

Blake's health improved rapidly, as did his spirits. He watched the people around him, saw them change and relax and become more at ease with each other. The continued sparring was still there, but the spite had gone from it, even from Tarrant's. He was learning. And Avon and Vila seemed far more relaxed. Avon especially was different. He had found a peace for himself that he had never had before. Blake noticed it, noticed it in the way Avon reacted to everyone around him, in the subtle sense of humour that was beginning to unfold, a wry, penetrating wit that sneaked up on people unawares and startled them into laughter. The techs were beginning to unbend around Avon now, not as much as they always had around Vila, but they grew more comfortable with Avon.

Blake was up and walking now, short trips so far. He felt better every day, and he began to work with Avon on the teleport system. The rebels were interested in the design; teleport technology had not been developed yet in this galaxy, though the idea was familiar from science fiction tales. Leia, interested, had sent some of the rebel scientists to confer with Blake and Avon about it.

"Blake?" It was late at night and work had stopped for the day. The shield doors had been closed and the base secured for the night, and whatever social activities were taking place had already begun. Tarrant and the techs had drifted away, but Blake was sitting in the ship looking at the blueprints and schematics with Avon, in a casual leisurely way. It was too late to start anything new, and Blake was pleasantly tired, not in pain, just weary. Avon's voice was sleepy as he spoke.

"What is it, Avon?" Blake asked without raising his eyes from the diagrams before him.

Avon was silent for a long time, and when he spoke, he didn't sound sleepy any more. "Blake, about Gauda Prime..."

"That's past, Avon. Forgotten."

"Is it?"

"It is by me. In a way I'm grateful for it; it brought us back together. And it snapped me out of a way of thinking that wasn't doing me any good. I was changing, becoming too bitter, too suspicious. I learned my lesson over that."

"The hard way," Avon said bitterly.

"Maybe. Isn't that how all lessons are learned? Avon, I survived. You survived. We haven't talked about it, except for that first day, and maybe we need to. It still bothers you, doesn't it?"

"Not quite as much as it did. Vila made it clear to me that if I had really wanted you dead, you would be dead."

"Blake smiled. "In other words, Avon, you missed."

"I wish that I had."

"But you didn't succeed," Blake said reassuringly. "Avon, I was asking for it, and you had no choice; there wasn't really anything else you could have done. I'm not trying to sound noble and forgiving, but I was the one who made you do it. I'm glad to be alive, obviously, and not only for my sake but for yours too. The others have been worried about you, and I think it would have been very hard on you if you'd killed me."

Avon didn't look at him. "I would have stayed...mad, I think," he said at length. "Blake, you know me. This isn't easy. But I'm..."

"I'm sorry, too," Blake said quickly before Avon could finish.

Avon glared at him. "You might at least let me say it, Blake."

"Was I wrong?"

"No, damn you. You know you weren't."

Blake lay aside the papers he was holding and stretched out his hand to Avon. Avon looked at it for a long moment, and then he reached out and gripped it firmly in his own. Blake smiled, then he pulled Avon to him in a fierce hug. Avon resisted for a minute, then he gave in and let Blake hold him.

When Blake stood back, his eyes were blazing with triumph. "Avon," he said with satisfaction.

A little uncomfortable over Blake's display of affection, Avon hesitated, then he said with a faint smile, "Yes, well, that's enough of that."

Blake grinned. "Now if we can only get this ship of ours back together, we've got a Federation to overthrow."

"You never give up, do you, Blake," Avon replied, but he sounded amused--and peaceful.

Three days later, the ship was ready. Blake had decided to christen it the Destiny, in spite of Avorl's loudly voice protests that held no real venom. It seemed an unlikely name for a former Federation ship, but it was no longer Federation; the changes had altered its appearance as well as its capabilities, and it resembled the original design only superficially. The photonic drive would make it one of the fastest ships around, and with the help of Dayna and the Alliance people, the weaponry system was superior to anything that the Federation was likely to throw at it. Avon had improved on his detector shield and strengthened the force wall, using ideas borrowed from this galaxy and incorporated with ideas he had been working on and designs originally found on the Liberator. Tarrant had modified the controls so that the ship was more maneuverable than its Federation counterparts. And in return for the assistance provided by the Alliance, they had allowed them the use of Orac and had provided information on such things as the teleport system. It would take time for the fine details to be worked out, but eventually the Rebel Alliance might be able to incorporate teleport systems into their ships. That alone might be of enough use for Blake and his people to pay their way here.

"We're ready to go," Blake announced to Leia Organa, one day about two weeks after their arrival at the Hoth base.

"But Chewie isn't back yet," Vila objected. "Are we going to leave without saying goodbye?"

"He should be back any time," Leia replied. Her face darkened slightly. "In fact, they are several days overdue right now."

"Have you sent anyone out to investigate?" Blake asked.

"We can't spare anyone," Leia admitted. "We've tried to contact the underground on Ord Mantell, and we're waiting for a message now, but there's been nothing."

Avon, standing beside Blake, said to him, "I can see what you are thinking, Blake."

"Can you, Avon? Han Solo and Chewbacca rescued us from the Swarm. I think we should have a go at rescuing them."

"We don't even know that they are in danger," Avon objected.

"We have good reason to believe they might be," Leia put in. "Han is a wanted man; there is a reward on him, dead or alive. The bounty hunters will be looking for him."

"What did he do, then?" Vila asked with interest.

"Han's a smuggler," Leia replied, "and the Alliance has kept him too busy to payoff a debt to someone that he did some smuggling for, a powerful crime lord. Every bounty hunter in the galaxy will be looking for him."

"I knew I liked him," Vila said. "Now I know why. He's a crook, just like us."

"Speak for yourself," Tarrant retorted.

"Mercenary," Vila accused. "Blake, what are we going to do about Han and Chewie and Luke?"

"Go to--where was it?--Ord Mantell after him," Blake decided. "What about the rest of you? Do you want to come?"

Tarrant nodded. "Count me in, Blake. You're going to need a pilot, and aside from Wedge and a couple of the techs, I'm the only one really qualified to fly Destiny." It wasn't quite true. In a pinch, either Blake or Avon could manage, but Tarrant would do it better. Blake nodded.

"I'll go," Soolin said. "You'll need someone who's good with a gun."

"Vila?" Blake asked.

"Will it be dangerous?"

"Very probably," Avon told him. "We have no identification, Destiny is not registered in this galaxy, we know nothing of customs and regulations, we're going to be challenging an Empire even more powerful than the Federation and the criminal element as well. Do you still want to come?"

"No," said Vila promptly. "I don't want to come at all. But I'm coming. Why are you?"

"Because I choose to do," Avon said unhelpfully.

"And you pay your debts too," Blake said to him quietly.

Avon looked at him sharply and didn't reply, but Blake was satisfied.

Leia was smiling. "I'm glad," she said. "We honestly can't spare any ships right now while we're so unsettled, but if you like, we can send someone with you."

"It won't be necessary," Blake decided. "Not if you can provide us with the requisite papers to pass inspection. None of us are known here. I think we'll be safe enough. Is there a blockade to run?"

"No. Ord Mantell is a wide open planet. The Empire doesn't do too much there except maintain a small base. They also tax everything heavily. We'll supply you with papers and money and the necessary computations."

"That should be sufficient," Blake decided. "We'll leave as soon as you have them ready."

"Blake," Avon interrupted, "are you certain that you are up to this?"

"I'm much better now."

"You're not well yet. You're tired after an hour's work. If we have to fight, you'll be a liability, and you know it."

"But I don't think we'll have to fight, Avon. I'll stay on the ship if you prefer it, but I'm coming."

"I knew you'd say that," Avon said. "I should have never come looking for you in the first place. I can see how it's going to be."

"I'll see to the papers," Leia offered and took herself off, sensing an argument.

Vila looked after her and said, "She's always going on at Han. You'd think she wouldn't be so worried about him, wouldn't you?"

"Maybe she's worried about Luke," Dayna suggested.

Soolin shook head. "No, it's Han. She's worried about Luke too, but it's Han she cares about. I don't think she knows it yet, but see if I'm not right."

"How very interesting," Avon said cuttingly, but he suspected that Soolin was right, and that the feeling was reciprocated. Han had been very unfriendly ever since he had walked in on Avon and Leia that time. He smiled a little. Other people's romances interested him not at all, but he found that he had somehow become entangled in this one, and it amused him. Had Leia been older, perhaps he would have found her more interesting, but she was too young to appeal to him, and he was perfectly content with the status quo.

Destiny handled smoothly on the run to Ord Mantell; Tarrant piloted the ship with confidence based on the fact that he had had a large share of input into the design modifications, and he welcomed the chance to put the ship through its paces before he had to face the Swarm. It handled far better than he had expected it would when he had begun work, and he was very pleased with the results. Avon, too, was satisfied with his work. Given more time and equipment, he could have provided Blake with a better ship, but this one was the best that he could manage with the time, materials and personnel at hand, and he was content with it.

Blake himself was delighted with everything about Destiny. He realized that the ship was Avon's gift to him, maybe an attempt to make up for what had happened on Gauda Prime, and he was more than a little touched that Avon would go to such extremes for him; the Avon of old would never have been quite so obvious about what he was doing, though he might have done something similar. But before, he would have cloaked his motives in a plethora of logical excuses. This time he did not. Here was the ship, and it was Blake's and that was that; let Blake make of it what he would. Blake was very pleased and said so, but he didn't push it. Avon was still wary around them all, as if he expected them to call attention to any changes in his behaviour. He had not quite realized yet that none of them were going to hurt him, but he was coming to that realization quickly.

They reached Ord Mantell without any real trouble, the only potential danger occurring when an Imperial Star Destroyer contacted them and asked for registry numbers. Leia's forged papers were completely satisfactory, and the Destiny was allowed to pass unmolested. The fact that the records listed Destiny as a rich man's pleasure yacht didn't hurt either. The wealthy of any system were generally pro-government, and there was always the delightful prospect of bribery. Destiny arrived at Ord Mantell on schedule.

Assigned a docking bay, the crew got their first look at an Imperial world. What they saw surprised most of them, with their background of Earth. Intelligent life forms back home consisted mostly of humans and humanoids, but here, every type of creature imaginable mingled in the crowded streets. Some of them required complete life support systems--Vila saw one purple water breather about the size of a large dog being carried about in a huge tank supported by complex antigrav systems. There were even a few Wookiees about.

It was the Wookiees that gave Vila his idea. He understood Chewie fairly well by now, and it was just possible that these Wookiees might know his friend. "Blake, Chewie told me that there weren't that many Wookiees who ever left Kashyyyk--that's the Wookiee homeworld. Maybe these might know Chewie."

"And how are you going to find out?" Avon asked him skeptically.

"I can understand enough if they don't talk too fast."

Blake gave Vila an approving look. "All right, Vila, give it a try." As he watched the thief walk over and speak to the Wookiees, he turned to Avon with a grin. "I never thought I'd see the day when Vila would be willing to seek out a 'hairy alien'."

Tarrant grinned. "He's probably just wondering if they have anything worth stealing."

Vila was back in a few minutes, frowning. "Blake, it's not good. There are bounty hunters all over the planet, and they know that Han is here. The Falcon is five docking bays down from ours--or maybe it's six--I'm not very good at numbers yet. But there are some nasty types lurking about, and Han and Chewie and Luke have gone to ground someplace."

"They told you all that?" Avon asked. "What makes them think you're not a bounty hunter?"

"Do I look like a bounty hunter?" Vila asked.

"No, you look like an idiot."

"I'm harmless," Vila said. "Wookiees are smart. Maybe they could tell. Anyway, that's as much as they told me. They don't know where Han and Chewie are though, or if they did, they don't trust me enough for that. They only gave me a starting place, a cantina. But I think we can find them."

"So now you're thinking too," Avon commented with mock surprise.

"Somebody has to. You haven't done anything yet, have you?"

Blake laughed. "Very well, Vila, you did a good job. Now let's see what the rest of us can do."

"The rest of us?" Avon asked him skeptically. "I thought you were going to stay with the ship."

"I will, soon. But I've got an idea. Remember the port fees we had to pay when we landed, for docking here. If Han and Chewie have been here longer than they planned, then their payment might have run out. Their ship might be impounded for non-payment. If we could 'buy' it, then one or two of us could fly it back to the base and no one would suspect us. Then the rest of us could bring the three of them back on Destiny. The bounty hunters won't have connected us with Han and none of us have been seen with him before."

"Fine," Avon said. "You're supposed to be a wealthy tourist, Blake. What would a wealthy man want with a run-down ship like the Falcon?"

"Tarrant's posing as my son, remember? The sons of wealthy men have been interested in decrepit spaceships before. He could say he wanted to see if it was worth rebuilding."

"That might work, Blake," Tarrant agreed. "I could fly the Falcon, I think. Han gave me a rundown when we went to the original base. It wasn't complicated except for the navicomp, and I've had time to look that over since then."

"Leia is hardly likely to be pleased to have Alliance money used to 'buy' a ship that they already own," Avon pointed out. "However, since it is not our money, it does not concern me. If it works, that is. And if the ship is indeed for sale."

"We can find out soon enough," Blake said. "Tarrant and I will walk along and see the ship. Soolin, you'd better come with us."

"I should be playing my part," Soolin agreed. Her papers listed her as Tarrant's wife. She slipped an arm through his.

"And the rest of us?" Avon asked.

"It's your job to find Han, Chewie and Luke," Blake decided.

"Only if you return to the ship," Avon countered. "Tarrant is perfectly capable of buying a ship without your assistance."

"He's right, Blake," Tarrant agreed. "We might need you more later, and it won't do you any good to get overtired now."

Blake conceded reluctantly. He returned to the Destiny while the others split up to put their plan into operation.

Tarrant and Soolin were fortunate. Blake's idea had been right. The Falcon's landing fee had indeed expired, and the docking bay was sealed. Tarrant went in search of the portmaster to make enquiries about the freighter in bay 37,with Soolin still hanging on his arm.

That left Avon, Vila and Dayna to continue the search. While their papers could be in their own names with no problems