Author's note:

After I wrote All But Reason and Unfinished Business, I thought I was finished with this particular series. But one day I got a letter from Suzie Molnar, who was always a Cally fan, and who said that there ought to be a way to save Cally in this universe. My mind went into overdrive and I sat down and dashed off this story in a very short time. I even wrote to Suzie to tell her I'd done it, but when I was looking at her letter, I realized that she had meant she was going to write a story to bring Cally back. Since that had been her plan, I chose not to submit this story anywhere. Suzie's story, Going Home, was printed in Return of the Seven 2. I hadn't thought of this story for years, but over the past six months, I've been collecting all my stories to save on a CD-ROM disk and I found this one at the bottom of my filing cabinet. I thought it wouldn't hurt to share it, so here it is.

Dark...it is so dark...where am I? No, what am I? Do I even exist?

Time passes, drifts, slowly, endlessly, and little pieces of me drift too, floating away, drifting into the blackness--though I do not know what I am, where I am, I feel that I must stay together and I call myself home, pulling together in this strange blackness.

Is this death?

I remember pain. Yes. A long time ago/a second ago/never. Pain and voices.

One voice, speaking a name. My name? I cannot remember the name, but the voice is full of tears.

No, that makes no sense. That voice does not cry/cannot cry/hurts too much to cry.

I cannot cry either. One must have a body for tears, and I do not have anything.

Pieces of me float away and I herd them back to me.

Where is this place. It is so dark, and I am frightened. I do not want to be here.

Should I drift apart and cease? Would that bring peace?

No. The voice should not cry/must not cry. I must find my way home.

I do not know where to go/how to go/must go. The need that pulls at me is enough to hold me together, though the blackness pulls at the edges of my being. Pulls stronger and stronger. I must do it now/soon/never.

Somewhere in the specks of me that drift and flow in this nothingness tide is the pattern. I must build the pattern again.

Where? How?

#

//Child?//

A voice? I cannot see/feel/know. But there is a voice, something not me, but not the voice I seek, drifting to me in the blackness. Here I am. Who are you? What are you? What am I?

//Child, you exist.//

Yes, I do exist. Trapped here in this black tide of nothing. He should not cry. I must go...

//It is your consciousness which lives on. Your body is dead.//

I am dead? I wondered if I were dead. Perhaps I am dead. There was pain/nothingness. Then there was the voice/a touch I could not feel/tears. I must not be dead, but I am dead.

//You may be reborn. You wish it. Why must you live?//

Justification? To justify one's existence? Can this be? To live? For me? No, I can rest. I can drift into the black tide and there will be peace/ nothingness/ending. I would not weep for what had been me.

He would weep. Yes. I will live. How?

//This dimension holds your thoughts, your consciousness. Your thoughts have traveled here many times. Often I have listened to them. You held not ill-will in your thoughts. But to stay here will put an end to your consciousness. You have been here almost too long already. It is not for yourself that you wish to live, but for another. So you may live, and I will help you.//

Who are you?

//I am.//

A god?

//That is a name, a word, nothing more. I exist. I am. Come, draw your thoughts together. Let me find the pattern that is you.//

Pain.

So much pain Why does it hurt?

//It hurts because you remember your death. That is not the proper pattern. Do not hold that memory.//

He should not weep. I will hurt...no, I must remember--before. Yes. A pattern. There. Can you feel it? Can you see?

//Now it is clear, child. Goodbye.//

No, wait. I must ask/understand/know.

#

Coalescence .

The universe turns inside out. The blackness is gone, brilliant light and tangible objects. I scream...

#

"I think the lady is dead, mama."

She heard the voice from a very great distance, and it startled her because it was a sound, a living sound, and not the quiet voice that had filled her head, not the silence of the void. It came from somewhere high above her, a vast height, but when her eyes fluttered open, she saw a child of perhaps five years old bending over her. Not so great a height after all. The child saw her eyes open and smiled. "Where are all your clothes?" she asked.

"I...." It hurt to talk; her throat was dry. She closed her eyes again, only to open them when an adult voice arrived.

"You are hurt?"

"I...do not know. I...cannot remember."

"Jasca, run and fetch your father. We must take her someplace warm and send for the healer. He will be able to tell what is wrong with her."

"Who is she, mama?"

"She will tell us, when she is better. Run quickly, Jasca. Hurry."

The light patter of footsteps faded and took consciousness with it.

#

When she awoke again, she was feeling strangely lethargic, her body heavy and stupid like it did not belong to her at all. She lay quietly in the warm soft bed and tried to wiggle her fingers and toes, and it was hard, as if she had somehow forgotten how to move. When she raised her hand to touch her cheek, she moved jerkily, like a badly strung marionette, and it frightened her. Her hand struck her face lightly, and she pulled it away only to have it flop awkwardly back onto the bed again. Strange. Why did it feel so strange to move? Had she been injured?

"Have I been injured?" she said aloud, and her voice sounded strange and almost unfamiliar, and her tongue felt thick and unruly in her mouth.

"We don't know."

Startled, she opened her eyes. She was in a small windowless room lit with soft white lighting panels where the walls and ceiling met. She lay on a narrow bed, with soft pillows, and there was a small, gnomelike man with white bushy hair and a cheery face bending over her. "I am Bragas," he said. "I am the healer for this community, and you have been asleep for twenty-five days. Physically, you are unharmed, but it is very strange."

"Strange?" It was slightly easier to speak this time, but it still felt unnatural.

"Yes. You have no muscle tone as if you have been paralyzed, but you are not paralyzed. Your body is weak as if you have lost much blood, but you have lost no blood; there are no wounds. You do not appear to be more than a child, but you have the body of an adult woman. You are very beautiful, but as you slept, there was no expression on your face. It is as if there has never been any expression on your face."

She stared at him in alarm. He was frightening her.

"There was expression then," he said. You reacted to my words with normal fear. It is a frightening thing I have described, and you feared it. That is good. A normal reaction." He gave her a very reassuring smile. "I will be very surprised, though, if you can tell me your name."

"My name?" She looked at him in perplexity. "I must have a name, but I cannot think what it is."

"You don't remember it?"

"No. I did not need it--in the void." That frightened her and she fled behind her eyes.

"The void?" he prompted, interested, curious, non-judgmental.

"It was dark there, and peaceful," she said without opening her eyes. "I remember a bit of it. I was dead, I think."

"You are alive now, and you are healthy, or you will be once you build up your strength and learn to use your body again."

"But I had no body...."She fell silent a moment, realizing somehow that her words would sound very strange to this comforting man. She looked up at him appealingly. "I don't know who I am," she said. "But I do not think that I am mad. Believe me."

"No, I do not think that you are mad," he agreed. "You are a bit confused, but that is natural. Something happened to you, something bad, very bad. We do not yet know what it was, but you have blocked it from your memory until you are strong enough to face it, and until you are stronger, I will not pressure you to recall. Do you feel alert now?"

"Yes. And very curious."

"That is very good. A healthy sign. What may I tell you?"

"Where I am. What world is this?"

He looked at her interestedly. "That is a very intriguing first question. You have visited other planets, or you would not have needed to ask. I do not think that someone who had lived here all his life would have asked me that. Chances are that you are from another planet. This is the world Chemarin. Does it sound familiar to you?"

"I...do not think so."

"No matter. We are in the 9th sector, and this world is ruled by the Federation."

She felt a surge of something, fear or anger, perhaps, at the name, and it showed on her face. Bragas smiled a little. "I see that I did right to conceal your presence here from the officials. I thought perhaps you might be a fugitive, and if that were true, I did not want to turn you over to those who might be your enemies."

"You oppose the Federation?" she asked. "I do not...remember anything about the Federation, only that I felt uneasy when you mentioned it."

"Oppose it?" he asked. "I do not actively support it. Enough of that. Let us see if you can sit up."

She tried, and managed to force herself into a sitting position, jerkily and dizzily, almost toppling over, very frightened because it felt as if she had forgotten how to move, or as if she had never known. "Why is it so difficult if I have not been injured?" she asked.

"You said that you had died and had no body." He did not sound skeptical "I am certain that it felt that way to you. Sometimes it is easier to be reborn than it is to go on with a life that is no longer bearable. You have somehow been reborn--and I would be easier in my mind if I did not suspect that I meant it literally as well as figuratively."

"I was dead," she said. "I am certain that I was dead. Drifting in a void. Dr. Bragas, it is not madness."

"Being reborn is easier sometimes," was all he said.

She saw that he was uncomfortable with her certainty, and she did not want to alienate this man who had helped her and had listened more than she might have expected anyone to. If the physical evidence did not convince him, she could not do so. "It is so very hard to move," she said. "Doctor, will I be all right?"

"Yes. You will have to accustom yourself to your body again; you will have to build up your strength--start to eat solid food, and I will devise a therapy program for you to help you to learn to walk again, to move normally. There is no physical damage; it should not take long. I suspect that you will be properly motivated."

"Yes," she said fiercely. "I do not like to be helpless. I hate it."

"I understand. No one does, but some of us mind it the more. Lie down now, my dear. You will tire very quickly at first."

There was a flurry of sound outside the room, and a child came bursting in, the same one who had found her. "She's awake," she cried reproachfully. "And you didn't tell me, Dr. Bragas."

"She just woke, Jasca. I do not want you to tire her."

"I won't," Jasca replied confidently, with a toss of her long blond "She'll like to talk to me, everyone does. Hello, lady. When we didn't your name, we called you Klyia."

"Kliya?" she echoed. It sounded almost familiar. "What does it mean?"

"It means 'she who was reborn, " Jasca told her. "Dr. Bragas said you were like a child who was born all over again, and it's a very pretty name. Don't you think it's a pretty name? What's your real name, Kliya?"

"I do not remember. But you may call me Kliya if you would like to. It does not feel strange to me."

"It would be funny if it were your real name after all," Jasca said. "Why don't you remember your name? Is it because you're sick? I always know who I am. I thought everybody did. How could you forget your own name? Won't your family miss you?"

"Kliya has been ill, Jasca," Dr. Bragas said hastily, seeing pain flicker across the face of the woman in the bed. "We must let her rest."

"Not yet," Jasca said, hanging back as the doctor tried to shoo her toward the door. "I want to know who the man is first."

"The man?" Kliya asked, growing more confused by the minute. "The man who should not cry."

Kliya looked at the child in perplexity. "I do not understand." Dr. Bragas was the one who answered, sitting on the edge of the bed and resting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You spoke in your dreams sometimes, Klyia. You said the same thing over and over. You said, 'He must

not cry. I must not give him reason to cry. I think that perhaps there was someone very close to you, someone who meant a great deal to you, and you lost him."

She shook her head, "I...cannot remember. But I...he was grieving for me. I was the one who died?" The memory was gone, and she could remember no more than that. Someone had been grieving her death.

Jasca looked frightened and took a quick step backward toward the doorway. Bragas said soothingly, "Kliya is alive, Jasca. She means that she has been sick for so long that it almost feels like she has died. Now run along and tell your mother to prepare some hot broth. I want Kliya to eat a bit before she sleeps."

Jasca did not have to be told twice to go this time. She ran.

"I have frightened her," Kliya said regretfully. "I did not mean to do so."

"No, it's all right. She'll understand presently."

"I hope that I will understand presently too."

"You will. When you are stronger, we will talk about your past, but now, while you are still weak and tire easily, it would not be wise. I am sorry she mentioned the man you spoke of in your dreams."

"No, don't be sorry. I am glad. It means that there is something that I must do. I will need to get well to do it. I remember something. I am alive and I must get strong; and there is someone to whom I owe a responsibility. I will get strong for that. But if you are concealing me here, then might I not be a danger to Jasca and her family?"

"It is a danger they willingly accept, Kliya."

"Why? They do not know me. How could they, when I do not know myself."

"They will turn no one over to the Federation."

"I still do not wish to be a source of danger to someone else. I must get strong."

"Yes, my child. You will."

//I thank you.//

He stiffened in surprise. "I had not realized," he said. "You are a telepath."

"Telepath?" she echoed, startled.

"Yes. You spoke directly into my mind."

There was a long pause while she considered that. //I am a telepath// she sent to him. Then she added aloud, tragically, "But I cannot receive your thoughts."

"I'm no telepath, child, though I could wish for it sometimes. Let me see. There are telepathic races. And some humans have the power as well."

"But I am so alone," she protested, feeling more lost than she had since she woke up without an identity. "There are no answers in my mind. Are there no other telepaths here?"

"I do not know," he said simply. "I wish I did. I will ask Arno if he knows of others. It could be a comfort and a security to you."

"Arno?"

"Arno Daller. Jasca's father. He and his wife Sella have taken you in. Sella and Jasca found you while out walking."

"Found me?" She tried to sit up again, only to have the doctor restrain her.

"No, not yet, child, Yes. They were out for a walk and they found you lying naked and alone in a field. There was no trace of how you might have come here."

"I...found the pattern," she whispered. "I...coalesced."

"What does that mean?"

Her voice was barely audible. "I don't know."

"Well, it isn't important yet. We will find out, and without the Federation knowing it. You can be easy, you know. This is a secret room, shielded, Even a sensor scan could not find it once it is sealed. Arno hides rebels here sometimes. You have had company three times."

"I do not remember."

"No. You slept through it all."

"Are you tiring her, Garo, after warning Jasca not to?" asked a warm female voice from the doorway, and Sella Daller came in bearing a tray of food; a bowl of steaming soup and a glass of pale blue liquid. "Hello," she said to Kliya. "I'm Sella, and I'm glad you're awake. You've been a bit harder to feed than Jasca when she was a baby."

"I did not mean to be a bother."

Sella smiled and came forward with the tray. "Oh, don't worry, you aren't. We're very interested in you. Strangers don't materialize in our' fields as a rule. Arno is convinced that you've escaped from the Federation That they were trying to wipe your mind or use supressants on you. So far, we've not been treated so on Chemarin, but we know all about it. Do you think you could sit up long enough to eat?"

"I will try, but it is it easy for me to move."

Garo Bragas reached to help her, and soon Kliya was sitting propped with pillows, while Sella arranged the tray on her lap. "Do you want to try to feed yourself?" she asked.

"I will try." Kliya reached for the spoon, her fingers curling around it awkwardly. She dipped it. into the bowl, fumbled it, dropped it.

Sella reached out to help her, hesitated. Kliya tried again, this time succeeding in raising a spoonful of soup to her mouth. A bit of it trickled down her chin, and she flushed in embarrassment. "I am sorry. I am a trouble to you, but I am not yet accustomed to this body."

Sella cocked an eyebrow at her. "Garo says it may well feel that way."

"You do not believe me either." Kliya lowered the spoon, tried again in dogged determination.

"It is not that I don't believe you...Kliya. I would like to. I know there are many strange things in the galaxy." She cast a worried glance at Dr. Bragas.

He shook his head slightly. "Don't worry, Sella. Kliya is getting well. I think in a few weeks we will see tier back to normal."

#

It took longer than a few weeks; even the physical therapy that the doctor designed. At first, Kliya could not stand unaided, not only because of the physical weakness, but because she did not seem to remember how to walk. It took training; everyone helped. Arno and Sella took turns walking with her at first, and Kliya was grateful for their steady support. She did not see Jasca again--she learned that Jasca had been sent away for a bit to visit Sella's sister in the city, and she felt bad that it might have been because of her, but as time passed, and she began to detect under-currents in the dialog between Arno and the doctor, she realized that Jasca had been sent away because of some upcoming rebel activity. Kliya was excluded from such discussions, and frankly, she did not wish to be permitted into the inner circle; she did not even know who she was--better not to know too much in case she would inadvertently betray these people later. So she pretended ignorance of any possible rebel motivations and kept her mind firmly on the therapy program that the doctor had developed and concentrated on learning to walk unaided. She was clumsy at first, even when she no longer needed someone to keep her from falling down. Gradually she trained herself to move more smoothly, in a long legged stride that began to feel comfortable and right as time went on. Fine motor control took longer, but that was working too. Dr. Bragas was fascinated. He said it had been like training a child, a baby at first, taking its first steps; and Kliya's first steps were like those of a baby. It took weeks before she could eat properly, using the utensils with any kind of grace, and longer to learn how to use tools and computers. Her memory of things seemed unaltered. She remembered the names of various planets, her language seemed unimpaired, but anything that had to be learned physically was all new to her.

"I must admit, Kliya," Dr. Bragas told her one day after she had been on the Daller farm for about six weeks, "That everything you've faced in retraining yourself is what would be expected of someone who suddenly found herself in a brand new body."

"I know," she said. "But it's mine. When I look at my reflection, I am not looking at a stranger. This is the way I look. The way I looked before. Can that be?"

"I don't know. The mind is a strange thing, and it forms its own internal consistencies. You believe yourself reborn. Perhaps that logic would carry over so completely that you would believe that you do not know how to use your own body."

"And of course my mind would affect my muscle tone as well?" she asked.

"That's what puzzles me."

"Perhaps I really am reborn somehow."

"The dead do not come back to life."

She considered it. "Perhaps I am a clone,"

He thought that over. "I have considered that, Kliya. It is a possibility; you must admit that it is. But I have never heard of a telepathic clone."

"Why not? If the original were telepathic, might not the clone be as well?"

"I don't know. Would a mental gift reproduce?"

"But telepathy can have a physical base as well?"

"We can't be certain of that." He sat down across from her, as she perched cross-legged on the bed. "Kliya, do you really believe that you were dead, physically?"

She did not even hesitate. "Yes."

"Can you remember anything to substantiate it? You are stronger now, but your memory has not returned. I think it is time we began to deal with that fact."

"Of course," she said, but fear flashed in her eyes.

"If you believe that you did die, then it is understandable that you would block that out. I would think that one's death would be such a trauma that one could not face it again."

She said, "Maybe. But I do not remember. Sometimes I dream. I dream I am in a huge dark void, and that I am not alive, but a sort of drifting consciousness. I cannot take it any further, but I remember what Jasca said that I talked about a man, someone who should not weep. When I try to think of that, it only becomes harder." She looked at him helplessly. "I don't like to admit fear, Doctor, but I am afraid."

"It would be very surprising if you were not."

She stiffened her shoulders. "There are ways to help a person recall lost memory," she said. "Such as drugs and hypnosis."

"Yes, I know there are. I hesitate to use them, not yet. I would like to see it come back to you on your own."

"And if it does not? I cannot stay here and impose on the Dallers forever, no matter how kind they are to me. Besides, I know that I am in the way. Something is brewing; I do not know what it is, and I am not certain I want to know, but I can see it in your faces, and I can sense it."

"Yes, you're right, of course. Chemarin is a planet that is ready for revolt. You chose a dangerous place to be reborn, Kliya. We have tried to keep you out of it, but we can't, not entirely. You see, sometimes the Dallers have to hide rebels here. Cheff City is ripe for revolt, and Arno and some of the others are meeting with a rebel coordinator from offworld, even now as we talk. If things get too hectic, there might be companions in your sealed room tonight."

"And you trust me to know this?"

"I do not think you would betray Sella and Arno."

"But if my memory should return and I should prove to be pro-Federation?"

"I would doubt that very much."

She got to her feet and began to pace about the room. "I could help you," she said. "I can handle weapons, I think. I believe I have fought the Federation before."

"No, child. You are not completely recovered yet. You may stay here, and if anyone is hurt, I will recruit you for the nursing. I think you might have a knack for it."

She smiled at him. "I will help you, of course."

#

There proved to be trouble after all, though it did not really touch the Daller farm until later. It turned out, though Kliya did mt know it at the time, that there had been a plan to take over the local Federation base, aided by an outside rebel group. What no one knew, or could have known, was that the day chosen for the raid was also the day chosen for a surprise inspection of the base, and there proved to be heavy fighting. Kliya realized that things had gone wrong when Sella got a communication and came to find her, looking stricken. "It failed," she said. "We're going to be hiding a few people for tonight--and Garo's bringing back a patient."

"Surely there were more wounded than that," Kliya said. She did not know the details, but she would have expected heavy fighting, which could result in many casualties.

"Of course," Sella said tiredly. "But this is one of the people from the Venture--that's the ship that's been helping us. Oh, I know I haven't talked to you much about any of this, but you'll have to know now. They're going to sneak back and pick up their people later; apparently three of them are still here, and we're to hide them."

"And your own people?"

"We hope that most of them aren't knows as rebels. They can go home and hope they're not found out." She sighed. "Arno's all right, and I can't help being glad--but I shouldn't be so happy when others have lost family and friends

"It's natural that you should be happy that Arno is safe," Kliya said. "What may I do to help?"

"Garo said he might use you as a nurse?"

Kliya nodded.

"Well, until they arrive there's nothing we can do. Would you make up the bed in preparation, and I'll see about getting his tools ready."

The two women worked together, and presently Arno returned, accompanied by a young blond woman that Kliya had never met. One of the people from the ship, perhaps. Sella spared her no more than a glance before she ran across the compound to fling herself into her husband's arms. Kliya emerged from the house to speak to the woman. "I'm Kliya. Would you like to come in?"

"The doctor is bringing the others," she said. "I'll wait."

The others turned out to be two of the local men that Kliya had seen before, helping a third man oat of their flyer, then lying him on a stretcher that Garo Bragas had ready. Kliya stepped back out of the way while they carried the patient through into the secret room. At least the man did not seem to be seriously hurt. Kliya had not got a proper look at him, but it had looked like an arm injury. She followed the blond woman as far as the doorway to the secret room and waited there. The blonde went in and Kliya hesitated in the doorway.

"It's not serious at all," Bragas said as he removed the makeshift bandage. "Little more than a scratch."

Kliya couldn't see the patient from where she stood, but she could hear him. "It feels serious," the man complained promptly. "Let me tell you that. Just a scratch? You want to try it and see what it feels like, then."

The blond woman smiled at him, reached out to tousle his hair and left the doctor to it. "You'll live," she said.

"I'd better."

"My hero," she said sarcastically, but with a smile that held no malice. She came out to join Kliya, who stood rooted in the doorway. "Don't mind him," she said. "He likes to complain."

Kliya suddenly was aware of being spoken to. Somehow she had gone into a trance without realizing it; now she stared at the woman in surprise. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"I said that Vila likes to complain."

"Vila!" Without knowing why, Kliya began to shake. Something tugged at the edges of her consciousness, something frightening. She would have run away but her feel seemed to have grown to the floor.

The blonde stared. "Yes, do you know him?"

"I...no. I don't believe so. Just...for a minute, it sounded familiar." She shrugged her shoulders and pushed the clouds away. "I'm sorry. You weren't hurt were you, in the fighting?"

"No. I duck faster than Vila does. My name's Soolin. We won't disturb you long. We're due to be picked up as soon as it's safe for our ship to come back for us. We've been told we'll be well hidden here."

"You will be. Come, I'll find you something to drink, and something for Vila. He'll be wanting something soon, I'm sure."

Trailed by Soolin, she headed for the kitchen and began to make up drinks. After a moment, she held out a glass. "Here. You might take this to Vila."

"What is it?" Soolin asked. "Medicine? Are you a nurse?"

"No, I'm just staying here. It's only adrenalin and soma. It should make him--"

"Adrenalin and soma?" Soolin echoed in astonishment. "However did you know...."

"Know what?" Kliya asked, made uneasy by the sudden suspicion in Soolin's voice.

"Know that's just what Vila would like most."

"I didn't. It seemed something sensible to give him." But Kliya could not help sounding uncertain. She had not consciously planned to make the drink; her hands had done it without conscious thought, and that had frightened her. She was beginning to suspect that she did indeed know Vila from before--but what would that mean? She could not remember him. His name had sounded familiar, but it had not recalled anything else to her. And there was a growing fear--to remember might cause pain. Bragas had said she was blocking out some hurt, something too traumatic to face. She did not know if she were ready to face it yet.

Soolin studied her face carefully, then she said, "Would you take it to him, please? I'm a bit tired. I'll just have a drink here, if that is all right with you."

Kliya had the sense of being manipulated into something that she did not want to do yet, but there seemed little chose. Soolin didn't look tired to her; she seemed possessed of considerable energy. But there was no way to refuse without appearing churlish, and oddly enough, in spite of the fear, she felt drawn to the room. So she nodded. Soolin seemed to have no memory of her, and she was Vila's companion, but that could mean nothing. If she had known Vila, it could have been a long time ago. Or perhaps she was wrong entirely and he was a stranger to her.

Comforted by that thought, she went to the doorway of the secret room. "Garo, I've brought him some adrenalin and soma. Would that be all right?"

"Adrenalin and soma?" Vila echoed, perking up. "Good for Soolin. I can't believe she'd actually...." And then, as he sat up, he saw Kliya there in the doorway, the glass carefully balanced in both hands, and every trace of color fled from his face. His eyes widened in pure shock and he collapsed back on the bed.

"Easy there," Bragas said quickly, thinking that he had become dizzy from the hasty move. "Don't try to get up yet. The weakness will pass."

Vila ignored him. He had completely forgotten about his arm; that wasn't important right now. "Cally?" he said in a voice that hardly made a sound. Then he shook himself like a dog coming out of water. "No, that's stupid. Cally's dead." He lowered his eyes, afraid of revealing too much. "You must be from Auron, then," he said. "Otherwise you wouldn't look so much like her."

"Auron," Bragas exclaimed loudly. "Kliya, that's it. We wondered about your telepathy. You must be an Auron."

But Kliya simply stood there, staring at Vila. Surely she knew this man--but the memory was overlaid with fear; explosions, darkness and pain. She did not want to remember the pain or the darkness. For a moment, she simply stood there staring at him in blank dismay, then the glass slid from her fingers and shattered on the floor, and she ran from the room.

"Damn," Bragas muttered. "I shouldn't have said that. Maybe that's what she's blocking out."

"Eh?" Vila still wasn't thinking clearly. It wasn't fair that he should meet someone who was obviously one of Cally's clone sisters, or at least close enough to her for there to be such a strong resemblance. He said, "I hope it wasn't me. But she looks exactly like someone I used to know."

He sounded so sad that Bragas said gently, "Someone important to you?"

"Yes," Vila said. "Very important. An old friend of ours. But she's dead. I know she's dead." He heaved a sigh. "I shouldn't have mentioned Auron. She will have minded. Stupid of me. I always put my foot in it."

"No, I don't think it will do any harm," Bragas reassured him. "You see, Kliya's an amnesiac. We didn't know what caused her memory loss, but perhaps what happened to Auron had something to do with it . It would make sense. I knew she was telepathic, but nothing more." He frowned. "I don't understand though. She looked upset before you even mentioned Auron."

"She did, didn't she?" Vila shoot his head. "It's just...well, she looked so much like Cally." He sat up again, then climbed to his feet and began to pace about the room. "Avon shouldn't see her," he decided. "He'll be here soon; he was in the flyer right behind us, wasn't he? He shouldn't see her. It won't do him any good to remember...."

Bragas remembered Avon from the attack. "He knew this Cally too?"

"Yes. But she's dead. Avon checked; he went back in after the explosion. I should have got her out, but I didn't. I couldn't, but still...."

"There was nothing you could have done," Bragas said reassuringly.

"Try telling Avon that." Vila shrugged. "No, that's not fair; Avon didn't blame me--he blamed himself. Cally was...." His voice trailed off as Soolin appeared in the doorway.

"Vila?" She asked. "What is it? Why did that woman know your name? How did she know to bring you adrenalin and soma? Why did she go running out of here crying? I know it's probably none of my business, but is she someone you used to know?"

"She knew my name?" Vila echoed. "She made the...." His voice trailed off, and he looked even paler than before. "Soolin, she's...she looks exactly like Cally."

"Like Cally!" Of all the things that Vila might have said, that was the most unexpected. She realized that she had never seen a holo of Cally or a likeness of any kind; there had been no reason to do so. "But, Vila--"

"I know. Cally's dead." He didn't meet her eyes. "We all know that. She's dead."

"Is she?" Soolin asked ominously, her mind working furiously. "We've only got Avon's word for that."

"Eh?" He goggled at her stupidly. "What're you saying, Soolin? That she was still alive when Avon found her? She couldn't have been? You didn't see the explosions...." He frowned. "Anyway, if she'd been alive, Avon would have rescued her as well as Orac, wouldn't he, then?"

"Would he?"

"Course he would. He liked Cally, after all."

"He was already a bit mad," she said thoughtfully. "You know perfectly well that when Servalan told him Blake was dead...."

"I don't care. Avon wouldn't have done that. He just wouldn't."

"You wouldn't have thought he'd try to kill you on that shuttle either, Vila."

Vila winced away from that--he'd long ago come to tents with that; he'd forgiven Avon, knowing that Avon at that point had not been in his right mind, but there were times when it still hurt a little. He'd trusted Avon, always. And Avon had tried to kill him. But even more than the pain of that had been the pain of being forced to accept Avon's madness for what it was. Until then, Vila had managed to pretend that he was imagining the whole thing. After that, he couldn't any more. It had been a sort of loss of innocence. Vila would have done anything to get Avon back well again after that, and had in fact done more than anyone else who knew them would have believed possible. He'd covered all his hurt for Avon's sake, but things could remind him--and there were too many memories in this room right now.

He said stoutly, "That's different. Say what you will, Soolin, but Avon would never...."

"Avon would never what?" asked an ominous voice from the doorway.

Vila jumped a foot. "There you go, sneaking up on me again," he complained. "Very bad for me heart, it is." He shot a warning glance at Soolin. "What are you doing here, Avon?"

"Where else would I be? Or were you hoping I'd been left behind."

"Course not," Vila said promptly. "After all, you know what a masochist I am--what ever would I do without you?"

Avon grimaced at Vila's weak attempt at humor--Vila didn't sound very convincing that time. He cast a glance at Soolin who was giving him a hard stare and said, "I repeat, Avon would never what?"

"Forget to duck," Soolin said quickly, with a gesture at Vila' s bandaged an. "We didn't expect you this soon, Avon. Is it all over?"

"Before it even began," he said. "Blake seems to have an unerring knack sometimes for bungling."

"It's not Blake's fault," Vila objected. "When's the ship coming, do you know?"

"Soon enough. Half an hour, an hour at most." He looked from Vila to Soolin and back again, and said, "You two are hiding something. What feat of idiocy have you managed to perform now?"

"We didn't do a thing," Vila said, the very picture of offended honor. "I got shot, that's all. I've been sitting here having it fixed up, is all, and Soolin hasn't done anything either. What could we be hiding?"

Avon looked around the room, at the doctor who had been listening to the entire discussion with great interest, to Vila's obviously guilty face, to the broken glass at his feet. He considered for a moment, then he turned to Bragas. "I would appreciate knowing what is going on here?" he said coldly.

Bragas hesitated, not quite sure what to do or say. "I think I should stay out of it," he said, "And I have a patient to attend to."

"She's your patient?" Vila asked involuntarily, obviously concerned. "What's wrong with her?"

"I told you already. She's lost her memory."

"Who are we discussing?" Avon wanted to know. He was convinced that Vila and Soolin were up to something that he was not going to like.

"It's a girl called Kliya," Soolin put in placatingly. "She's been ill, Avon. I don't think you should disturb her."

"Why not? What do you imagine I would do to her?" Avon demanded. "The two of you couldn't keep a secret from a blind man. Vila, I want to know what is going on here, and I want to know right now."

"Nothing, Avon." He hesitated, suddenly afraid that the miracle might somehow have happened and that it was Cally after all, and that they would go away and never know the truth. He shrugged helplessly and gave up. "Nothing. "It's just...well, she looked a bit like...."

"A bit like what?" Avon asked.

"Like Cally."

Avon stiffened as if Vila had struck him, but his face, very carefully, did not change at all. "Is that it?" he asked with every evidence of impatience, but his voice was cold. "I think it's time to get out of here before you let your fantasies overcome you completely."

"Vila said she looked exactly like Cally," Soolin said. "And what's more, she knew his name, Avon. She knew enough about him to make him adrenalin and soma. What I'd like to know is this; was Cally really dead?"

Avon spun around and glared at her. For a moment, he did not say anything at all, then his voice became very very quiet. "Is that it, then? You think I left her still alive?"

"No, of course we don't," Vila said. "I don't anyway. Avon, you know I wouldn't think that."

Avon's face softened slightly. "No, Vila. You don't have the imagination." He turned to Soolin. "Although it is none of your business, and you do not even deserve an answer, I will give you one. I found Cally. She was dead." His face was suddenly bleak, and there was a hint of the alarming blankness that had characterized his illness lurking very close behind his eyes.

Vila glared at Soolin and took a step forward, reached out and touched Avon on the arm. "I know you wouldn't have left her, Avon," he said softly. "Blake will know it too."

"Then how do you explain this double who evidently has her memories?" Avon demanded.

"I...don't know. Maybe it's racial memory or something."

Dr. Bragas said, "I think that the best thing to do would be for you to see Kliya and talk to her."

Avon turned and looked at him. "What would that accomplish?" he demanded and walked out of the room.

After a moment, Bragas followed him.

#

"Now you've done it," Vila said to Soolin. "Accusing him of practically killing Cally--you don't know what he went through over her death."

"Guilt, maybe?"

"Of course it was guilt. He blamed himself for taking us all to Terminal, He wouldn't have left her. He might have left Tarrant there, maybe even me." He sighed. "But never Cally. I think maybe he loved her."

"How would you know?" Soolin asked scornfully. Vila met her gaze levelly, "Because I did too," he said. Soolin had no answer for that.

#

"Avon?"

Avon turned and regarded the doctor without enthusiasm. "And what do you want?" he demanded coldly.

Bragas hesitated, growling more certain of his conclusions by the minute. "To ask you a question that may win me a punch in the nose," he said frankly.

Avon's eyes narrowed, but he didn't walk away. "Ask it," he said. "Do not expect an answer."

"Very well." Bragas hesitated. "When you found Cally's body, did you cry?"

Of all the questions the man might have asked him, that one was the least expected, and Avon just stared at him blankly. He said, "What business is that of yours? Cally has been dead for a long time."

"Humor me," Bragas said gently. "Just for a moment. I think it might be important."

Avon glared at him as if he wished he had never seen him before and did not deign to reply. But Bragas must have read something in his face because he nodded suddenly. "Come with me."

"Where are you taking him?" That was Vila, from the doorway. He looked worried and miserable. "Avon, I don't think it's a good idea for you to see her."

Avon spun around and favored him with an unfriendly look. "Stay out of this, Vila."

"Oh, that's fine, that is. 'Stay out of this, Vila.' After all I've done for you, you're just going to go asking for trouble like this. Don't, Avon. It won't do you any good to see her. They're clones from Auron, remember? Some of them look alike. I'll go."

Bragas shook his head at Vila. "Let it be," he said, and to Avon, "She has dreams, Avon. She says in her dreams, over and over, she says, 'He should not cry.' Will you come with me?"

Avon nodded slightly. Vila made art abortive gesture, then shrugged. "Avon," he said sadly, "It can't be Cally. It can't. It's telepathy or racial memory or something. That's why she knew my name. It can't be her." And then he added in a small voice that was halfway to tears, "Can it?"

"Where is she?" Avon's voice was expressionless, but his body was rigid as if he had braced himself for a blow.

"Let's find her," Bragas said.

#

Kliya had fled out of the house and stood under a tree in the courtyard of the Daller compound, leaning her back against the rough bark, staring unseeingly at the sky. Vila? That meant something to her. It wasn't darkness and pain; it was bright art sparkling like a brook in sunlight, something warm and promising, something safe art sure. Vila. She knew she would have to go back, to try to face him again, to try to remember what it was that she hid from everyone art most of all from herself.

He knew too; he'd spoken to her, called her Cally. Cally, yes. That had sounded right somehow. Cally. Her name was Cally. And she had run away from the knowledge, run like a fool. But Vila...

"Cally?"

The voice was not Vila's voice; it was the voice that filled the dreams, the voice that had somehow bound her to life and kept her from melting away to nothing in the void. It was the voice that had given her the impetus to try to live. And as in the memory, it held tears, tears that should not be there.

She almost fell. A wave of dizziness came over her as she heard her name--yes, her name--spoken, and the sunlight was blotted out, and the darkness came back.

Avon leaped forward and caught her as she fell. Alarmed, he turned to the doctor. "What's the matter with her?"

"She has fainted," Bragas said, examining her briefly. "She'll be all right. Call to her and see if I'm not right."

"Cally?" Avon asked, his voice shaking a little. This could not be real, but she was Cally; he knew it somehow with a certainty that could not be denied, even as he knew that she had been dead down there in the rubble on Terminal. He had no idea how this could be, but even his irrefutable logic could not deny the evidence of his own eyes. "Cally...."

Her eyes fluttered open. She felt the aims holding her securely and she looked up into familiar brown eyes. "Avon!" And everything settled back into their proper places for her. "Avon, how...."

"You were dead. Cally, you were dead back there. I would not have left you there if you had been alive."

She had never heard such urgency in his voice, and though she was shocked and upset and confused, she found the strength to reassure him. "Yes, Avon, I know that. It's all right. I was dead. You must not blame yourself for that."

"She kept saying that she was dead and had come back somehow," Bragas said ruefully. "I didn't believe her, quite. She said she was drifting in a void, held together somehow by her telepathic powers. And then something happened, something that she didn't understand completely, and she was somehow reborn. She's been here for over three months now."

Avon heard him and so did Cally, but they were staring at each other in a kind of stunned surprise. And then Avon did something that surprised her completely, and warmed her through. He pulled her close into his arms and held her tightly against him, one hand stroking tier hair. She let herself lean against him, taking and giving comfort at the same time.

"Cally?" he asked, "Is this real?"

"Of course it is. I don't understand it completely, Avon, I've forgotten most of it. But the pattern for my existence was there in my mind--my consciousness, if you prefer. I was able to recall the pattern, and I was helped to coalesce, to reform...." She raised her head from Avon's shoulder and looked past him to the doctor. "I remember now. Everything about the past, who I am. I remember Terminal. Vila tried to come back for me, Avon. Don't blame him that he could not." She freed herself gently and looked at him. "Avon, don't look like that. It's all right. Please....."

He said abruptly, "I'm all right," as if that weren't important. "Are you?"

"Yes. The doctor will tell you so."

"She's all right," Bragas reassured him. "And I think, if you two will excuse me, I must go in and see to my patient."

"Vila," Cally said, stricken. "I ran away from him. I didn't remember. Tell him I'm all right, Garo, and I'll be in and see him shortly."

He nodded and left. They did not watch him go. Avon stared at her as if he still could not quite believe he was seeing her and talking to her. She realized that he was actually smiling; Avon's smiles had been rare, but this one was warm and delightful--it charmed her. He said, "Cally, you'll come with us? You don't have to stay here. Blake's with us again. We're on his ship now. He'll be glad to see you."

She looked at him and nodded. "Of course I will come. There is so much to catch up on, Avon. I want to hear everything that has happened. I am so glad to hear that Blake is alive. How did you find him again?"

It was not the right thing to say. His face hardened and he let her go and took a few steps away from her. "It's not very pleasant," he said.

"It must have turned out well," she said. "You were concerned for his happiness just a moment ago."

"Cally, I...."

She went forward and took his hands in hers. "I think you must tell me," she said, very gently.

"All right. Here it is." He looked into her eyes and said in a monotonous voice, as if describing something that had happened to someone else in a dream, "I shot Blake, Cally, and very nearly killed him."

She saw the pain in his eyes, and found that it hurt her to see it. "But you are with him now," she said. "It must have been an accident."

"No. I did it deliberately. I was told that he had betrayed us, betrayed me. What choice did I have?" His mouth twisted wryly. "It was only later that I found out that Blake had not betrayed me after all. It was all part of a Federation plot--they had captured him and programmed him. He made me do it, forced me to kill him. He didn't know what he was doing." He shuddered. "We were lucky. My aim was not quite good enough. Even then, even thinking he had sold me, I could not quite do it right. He lived."

"And?" she prompted. The tone of his voice indicated that there had been more to tell.

He looked at her and then away. "I went mad, Cally. Servalan captured me and had me confined in an institution for six months."

She took a step forward and put her arms around him. There had been a time when he would not have permitted such a thing, but she was surprised to find that not only did he not prevent it, he held to her tightly, shaking a little.

She said, "I think you are well now."

"Yes, now. Do you know how long it took? When Vila came to get me out of there, I didn't know him. I didn't recognize Vila. He was undercover there for three months, and I didn't know him." He shook his head. "However, I was rescued by Blake and the others. Blake must be a glutton for punishment to want to save the man who tried to kill him." He shook his head. "No, I know that's not true. Blake understood; he had to. He thinks it was his fault."

It was neither his nor your fault, Avon," she said. "I think you know that. But it is all right now. You are all right now."

"Yes," he said against her hair. "I'm all right now." And knew that this time it was really true.

#

Vila and Soolin were waiting when they returned to the house. Soolin looked a bit uncomfortable, but Vila gave Cally a huge smile and held out his arms to take her as she came flying across the courtyard and hugged him close. "Oh, Vila, it's good to see you," she cried.

"It's good to see you." He hugged her tightly and freed her. "I still don't believe it, Cally. I mean, all this time and we thought you were dead only you're not dead, and I never thought I'd ever see you again."

"I never thought I'd see any of you either," she said. "Vila, I'm glad that you're together; you and Avon and Blake, and the others. It will be like coming home."

Soolin moved over to stand beside Avon. "I'm sorry, Avon," she said. did not want to think that you'd done what I accused you of, but what else was I to think."

Avon stared at her levelly a moment, then he nodded briefly. The truth was so unbelievable that it was no surprise that she had not thought of it.

Vila was still rambling on. "I can't believe it," he said for perhaps the fifth or sixth time. His eyes lit up. "I can't wait to tell Dayna and Tarrant," he said.

"And Blake," Avon added with satisfaction.

#

The Venture came back into orbit around Chemarin some fifteen minutes later, and Blake contacted the landing party. "Blake. We're ready to teleport. How's Vila?" He glanced over at Tarrant, who was operating the teleport and cocked an eyebrow at him; both of them expecting a long catalog of Vila's symptoms, exaggerated all out of proportion to the truth.

"I'm just fine," Vila replied over the communicator with such a lilt in his voice that Tarrant exchanged a surprised look with Blake. It wasn't in character. But Vila was continuing. "We've recruited a new crew member. Send somebody down with a bracelet, Blake." His voice was brimming with mischief and eager excitement.

"It must be good," Tarrant said. "I'll go. After all, nothing Vila can come up with it likely to surprise me."

"You never know," Blake said and moved to take Tarrant's place at the console while the pilot fetched two bracelets and put one of them on.

"Put me down, Blake."

When he materialized on the surface, he found Vila, arm bandaged, standing with Soolin, grinning broadly, as was she. And Avon, stepped out of the building, smiling too, Avon, smiling? Tarrant blinked at him in surprise, then someone else came out of the building, and Tarrant's jaw rebounded off the ground in surprise. "I don't believe it!"

Cally said, "Hello, Tarrant."

"It is you! It can't be. But how...."

"It's a long story," she said, laughing as Tarrant threw his arms around her and hugged her.

"I can't believe it," he said again.

Cally had said her goodbyes already, so there was nothing left but to fasten on the bracelet. Avon was the one who gave the order, "Ready to teleport, Blake." He was looking forward to Blake's surprise.

It was worth waiting for. They arrived on the ship and Blake simply stared in open mouthed astonishment. For a long moment, no one said anything at all, then Avon laughed. "Blake," he said, his voice holding excitement and pleasure, "we found Cally."

Cally said, "Hello, Blake."

Blake still stared. "She's really Cally, Blake," Vila said. "We don't know quite how it happened yet, but she's alive."

Then Blake was hugging Cally. "Welcome back," he said. "I still don't believe it, but I have to believe it. This is wonderful. Somebody get Dayna down here."

"Better yet, let's go to the flight deck," Avon said.

#

Dayna was completely unsuspecting. When Avon appeared on the flight deck, the others behind him, she looked up, stopped, staring at them. She could not remember. ever seeing such uninhibited happiness on Avon' s face before. "Avon?" she said doubtfully. "Are you all right?"

"What do you think," he said, and gestured for the others to stand aside.

"Cally!" Dayna cried.

#

Chemarin was far behind, and there had been talk, reminiscences and stories to exchange. Now Avon, Blake, Cally and Vila sat on the flight deck, the last of the original crew of the Liberator, and talked. "I still don't know how it could all be possible," Blake said. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you. I just don't understand."

"I think I understand," Vila said.

"You?" Avon asked in astonishment.

"Why not. I'm not stupid, you know."

"I didn't know," Avon retorted.

"Well, then, maybe you're the one that's stupid. In fact, I'm sure of it."

Avon gave him a dirty look, but one that held no real malice. "Then explain it to us, Vila. I'm certain our limited intellects would never be able to resolve it."

"Cally knows," Vila said. "Cally, do you want it explained?"

"If you can explain it, Vila, do." She smiled at him.

"All right then," Vila said. "It's simple. Cally's like me, a masochist. Can't stand to be away from Avon and all this fighting and the like. Even if it means coming back to life again."

"If that is your explanation, Vila, you are quite mad," Avon said.

"But he is right," Cally said. "Avon, it was you."

He looked both uncomfortable and flattered. "In what way, Cally?" he asked, a bit uneasily.

"You came to find me, Avon. I am an Auron, a telepath, and for us, death is not instantaneous. The consciousness may linger, even after the physical body has ended. I was there, aware, when you found me." She looked at him, saw him look away, somewhat embarrassed. She added quickly, "I did not want the blame for my death to be yours, Avon. I did not feel that it was yours, but that of circumstance. Because I would not accept your reasoning, I had to alter it somehow, and it left me with something unfinished. Ordinarily, the consciousness will drift apart, eventually fade, but because I felt uncomfortable over it, I clung to it. Somewhere in the void, I encountered something--someone maybe--I don't know quite what it was, he was. He helped me. I was trying to find a way to recreate the pattern, but he helped me to do it. I was back, but I could remember nothing. It took you and Vila to

bring me back. And now Blake."

"But you're going to stay with us, Cally?" Vila asked, worried. "We couldn't lose you now."

"Yes, Vila. I will stay. I am alive, and as long as I am alive, I will stay, as long as I am wanted." She smiled at him and reached out to touch his cheek.

"Of course you're wanted," Blake insisted. "Isn't she, Avon?"

And Avon, who would once have denied anything of the sort, looked at Cally, smiled at her, and said, "Of course she is."

the end?

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