"Forget it, Blake," Avon snarled angrily with a defiant glare at Roj Blake. "We seem to be trapped here."

"I don't know about you, Avon, but I don't like giving up," Blake returned. "Maybe we're trapped and maybe not, but I won't stop looking until I'm sure of it. It would help if you'd stop sitting there with that fatalistic glare and put some effort into getting us out of here."

Avon rose to his feet and looked around the cavern. It had grown dark outside and only the light of the campfire within brightened the vast chamber. As night crept on, a damp and bitter cold filtered into the cave and seeped into their bones, doing nothing for either man's temper. Avon turned his eyes pointedly to his wrist, which was bare of a teleport bracelet and swept a comprehensive stare around the expansive, echoing room, most of which was in darkness beyond the reach of their campfire.

"Where would you have me look, Blake?" he demanded. "Under every rock, down each side passage? Or perhaps out there." He gestured to the small circle of brighter darkness that led to the outside world where a wall of snow swept past the opening to their cave. nor shall I brave the storm for you?"

Blake wrapped his arms around his chest in a futile effort to get properly warm. "At least the natives won't be out in the storm."

"No, they will be in their hogans, which are insulated against this weather. What could have prompted you to imagine that anyone here would be interested in the concept of rebellion, Blake?"

Blake paced back and forth, stamping his booted feet on the rocky floor of the cave. "You know very well the report we picked up was misleading."

"Deliberately so, I should imagine," the computer expert replied. He was frequently disgusted with Blake's campaign against the Federation, all the more so now when they were stranded on a backwater planet with the Liberator out of reach and their teleport bracelets appropriated by the natives before they had managed to escape them and seek shelter in the teeth of the storm. The message Zen had picked up insisted that Supreme Commander Servalan was coming to Azinda to investigate reports of a special ore which, when used in conjunction with the detector shields on pursuit ships, would render them invisible to all but visual sightings. Blake could not let such a development take place or they might just as well hand the Liberator over to Space Command gift-wrapped. But even better, Blake meant to determine that Servalan and her people did not enslave the Azindans in the process. Avon might have approved of the first mission, but the last one was too idealistic to interest him, especially when they arrived to find no evidence that the Federation had ever been here.

"It was only bait, Blake," Avon insisted now, glaring at him. "We've been lured here."

"Why have we been lured here? Because Servalan wishes to see us perish in a snowbank or enjoy the spectacle of our heads stuck on pikes on the wall around the Azindans' camp? She isn't here. Maybe she's coming later. If she meant to decoy us here, surely she would have been here to take us prisoner."

"Did it ever occur to you that it might be because she did not want us somewhere else?" Avon suggested, rubbing his shoulder surreptitiously. In the escape from the natives' camp, a rock had struck him there and he suspected he now boasted a multicoloured bruise. It was no stoicism that prevented him from admitting the wound to Blake, but a desire to avoid Blake's nauseating and overdone concern.

"Yes, it's occurred to me, Avon," Blake replied, his eyes narrowing slightly. Avon dropped his hand to his side, but Blake said nothing about his actions. "The thing is that I can't imagine what she would do that would be so tempting to us that she would need to decoy us away from it. I think we might have come early to the trap. If we can rendezvous with the others and get away from here before she comes down, we might at least escape this with our lives."

"You have no way of knowing if Cally and Vila teleported safely," Avon disagreed. "And even if they did, they have no way of knowing we're still alive. Should they be able to find human readings in this storm, they might be able to reach us. Assuming they haven't left us here."

"They wouldn't do that, Avon."

"I am glad one of us has confidence in that fact. If Servalan has arrived, they might have gone off station to avoid detection. We can't go out in that storm or we will surely die. Stranded in here without food, the same fate will eventually overtake us. Zen says these storms can last for weeks at a time."

"What do you suggest we do, then?" Blake asked reasonably. "Sit down and wait to die? I wonder if we might not find food cached here. The natives are canny about the weather. They'd know to be cut off in a week-long storm could be fatal. That's why we found the wood supply here. If we look a little harder we might find some food to go with it."

That was rather better reasoned than Avon had allowed himself to expect from Blake, so he nodded shortly. "Very well, though I imagine their food will be less appealing than anything I have tried to date. Even prison food," he added as an afterthought.

Blake laughed. "You're probably right. I'll go this way, shall I? You check over there."

Avon felt the urge to protest the arbitrary direction, but it was not worth the effort. Fighting Blake over important things was difficult enough; why waste his energy when it didn't matter? He caught up the end of a burning stick from the fire and held it aloft like a torch. This place was huge. It might take hours to search this chamber alone, and he'd seen darker shadows set here and there along the walls which might indicate tunnels or smaller rooms. This huge outer chamber was almost big enough to accommodate the Liberator it self. But it was damp and cold and it gave off a strange and eerie sensation of eyes upon his back that Avon didn't care for.

He told himself that it was absurd to dwell upon such thoughts. If someone had been in the cave, he would have jumped the two rebels already in the three hours they'd been here, and if something was here and had not yet pounced, perhaps it meant no harm. It might only be a small cave creature too weak to be a threat to them, or it could even be his imagination. Avon was not fond of underground places; though not actually claustrophobic, he did not like them much and he suspected it was the immense size of this place that prevented him from feeling even more uneasy than he already was.

Blake took another brand from the fire and set off in the opposite direction, striding out boldly as if to conquer a whole new world. How could the man be such a damned optimist in the face of the vicious tricks that life had already played on him? Avon suspected if he had been mind-wiped and later learned of it, he would have made a determined effort to avoid any entanglements in future, knowing how easy it was to lose people important to him. Avon had not lost anyone through a mind-wipe, but a loss was a loss, and how Blake could plunge eagerly into life after what he had been through mystified Avon. In a strange way, he rather envied Blake even as he thought him a fool. If he had ever possessed that quality, he had lost it entirely now, and he did not want it back. Better to hold himself aloof from others, keep his nice, safe distance, stand back and observe the rest of the world with a cynical detachment.

But Blake disturbed him as no one had done in a long time. In recent years, only Anna had been such a threat to his isolation--and Anna was dead for his sake. He sealed the memory of her away again and turned his thoughts in an entirely new direction. Enough of this nonsense. He had better things to do than woolgathering.

Blake was whistling to himself as he worked his way toward the far wall of the cave, and Avon could hear the sound faintly as the vastness swallowed most of it up. It was an oddly comforting sound and a part of Avon listened for it as he looked behind boulders and poked the torch into small holes in the wall, seeking a hidden cache of food. When the sound stopped abruptly, Avon had already half-turned before Blake let out a startled and outraged yell that broke off sharply.

Blake was gone. There was a faint suggestion of light across from Avon beyond the fire, but no sign of a burning torch, no evidence of a body. With a muttered curse, Avon paused only long enough to pick up a good sized rock as a weapon, then went to see what had happened to Blake.

It proved to be no very great mystery after all. The closer he got, the brighter the light, but instead of coming from the wall of the cavern, it shone out of a hole in the floor. Blake must have walked right into it, or perhaps a thin layer of stone had given way under his weight and pitched him down. It must not have been very deep, for his torch had not gone out and Avon could see the light distinctly.

He approached the hole cautiously, afraid that more of the cave floor would give way, but it seemed solid enough, and he reached the hole without difficulty, kneeling to peer into the opening. Blake lay unmoving some three meters below him, the torch right beside him. As Avon stared, Blake's vest began to smoulder and suddenly it was burning.

"Blake!" Avon cried warningly, lowering himself through the hole without hesitation as Blake failed to move. It was only as he let go and dropped with a jar that he realized there was no way to climb up to the main cave again.

But there was no time for that. Cursing, he kicked the burning stick away from Blake and, pulling off his jacket, he began to beat out the flames with it. Blake didn't stir when, the fire out, Avon pulled away the vest and his shirt to look for a trace of injury. He found it quickly, a raw, reddened area on Blake's side the size of a dinner plate. Avon rather thought it would blister. Wonderful. Trapped down here in this tiny room with no water, one burning stick, which will soon burn itself out, and an unconscious, injured Blake. He was thoroughly annoyed with both Blake and the situation.

But annoyance was non-productive. Instead, he checked Blake's pulse and found it, if not normal, at least not very different from normal. When he lifted the lid of Blake's left eye and studied the pupil, it seemed normal, too.

Avon ran his hands over Blake's arms and legs, checking for evidence of fractures, but he found none. No swellings in the joints, either. The only injury he discovered besides the burn was a small knot behind Blake's left ear, which was probably what had stunned him.

Turning his attention back to the burn, Avon prodded at it tentatively. Maybe it was only a first degree burn after all. That would be painful, but not incapacitating, though any kind of a wound would be doubly enervating in this damp cold that sucked the strength from one's limbs. Blake had shed his coat while making the fire, and now it lay in the upper chamber out of reach.

Avon looked up at the opening above him. The small cavern was shaped like an upside down brandy snifter without the stem, and the opening could not be reached by climbing the walls. Naturally. The day was getting worse and worse by the minute.

As Avon prodded the wound, Blake moaned faintly and opened his eyes. For a moment, he looked confused, staring up at Avon blankly, then his face cleared a little.

"I fell, didn't I?" he asked.

"Of course you did, Blake. I should have expected it. Even better, you managed to fall on your torch. You have a nasty burn on your side, and I expect your head feels little better."

Blake half sat up, twisting around to stare at the burn. "That looks nasty."

"What did you expect? A Liberator pad over it?" Avon shook his head. "I have nothing with which to make a dressing."

Blake looked at his scorched shirt. "Might as well tear something off this. It's ruined, anyway."

"You'll need it for warmth."

"I'm not as cold as I was," Blake countered, and Avon frowned.

"We are more sheltered here, Blake," he said flatly. "And you could be feverish."

"No, it's warmer. Can't you feel it? Heat is coming from somewhere."

Avon thought about it and realized Blake was right. He'd removed his jacket to beat out the fire, but he wasn't any colder than he had been above.

He picked up the coat, but didn't put it on. Instead, he stood there, concentrating, and finally, pointed to one corner of their cave. In the dim and flickering light from the burning stick, he could see a darker shadow there, and the smoke from the torch drifted in the opposite direction before rising to the overhead opening.

"It could be a tunnel," he said. "I'll investigate."

Retrieving the torch, he went toward the darker opening and discovered that it was too small to enter upright, a tunnel which twisted away from him in a slightly downward direction. Kneeling to look into the entrance, he could feel a distinct if slight warmth and knew that their survival might depend upon it. The dark maw of the passage made him uneasy and he knew it would take all his willpower to enter it, but Blake would need the warmth if he were to survive. He couldn't guess the heat source, but it might be hot springs deeper underground. If they stayed near enough to the surface for the Liberator's sensors to locate them, and deep enough for the warmth, they just might survive the experience.

"Can you move, Blake?" Avon demanded. "I think we must investigate this passage."

"Why, what's in there?"

"Warmth, for one thing. We have no idea how long the storm will last and we can't climb out of here. So we have no choice but to go down this passage. At the very least it will prevent us from freezing."

Blake sat up cautiously, putting a hand to his forehead, his body wavering slightly. "I'm a little lightheaded," he confessed. "But it will pass. You're right, Avon. We have no choice."

In spite of the hint of warmth in the air, Avon was cold, but instead of putting on his jacket again, he held it out to Blake, who looked up at him in some surprise.

"You will need the warmth," Avon said coolly. "I don't want you holding me back."

"Oh, of course not, Avon," Blake returned. He eased himself carefully into the coat. It didn't fasten, for he was larger than Avon, but he hugged it against his chest and his shivering lessened. Cautiously, to prevent jarring his burned side, Blake rose and followed Avon to the opening. If he was suffering from any vertigo, it did not seem to affect his balance for he moved with determination.

The tunnel was too small for them to stand upright, so Avon went to his knees, holding the torch aloft with one hand. Crawling into the opening, he extended the torch to investigate the narrow passage. It sloped down slightly, and once inside, the temperature seemed higher. Steeling himself for the task, Avon crept forward a little at a time. There was not enough room to turn and check on Blake, so he called back, "Try to let me know if you feel the urge to pass out."

"And you'll do what, Avon?" Blake asked skeptically.

"I shall consider that if the need arises." Avon sincerely hoped it would not.

Blake followed him without further comment or complaint, and Avon could hear him. If the noise of his passage ceased, he would know that Blake had stopped, for all the good it would do him.

But after the first fifty meters, the tunnel widened out into a small room, though the ceiling was still too low for them to stand. Avon called a halt for a rest period and waited for Blake to join him. The bigger man was breathing harshly from the exertion, and in the failing light from Avon's stick, his face looked strained and grey with exhaustion. Avon said shortly, "We rest here, Blake."

Blake didn't reply, lying against the wall and closing his eyes. "It's warmer here," he said.

Avon had not noticed until now, but Blake was right. He was still uncomfortable, though not as cold as he had been in the upper cave or even in the sinkhole. He sat down beside Blake and folded his arms across his chest.

"I could investigate the passage further," he offered tentatively.

There seemed no threat and he'd noticed no droppings or spoor to indicate that animals might come here. The passage seemed natural, and it was dry. He did not expect to be threatened here by anything more severe than the cold, though unknown dangers might still lurk in the darkness. Avon preferred to fear nothing he could not conceptualize, but he knew there might be other risks here, and leaving Blake alone with them required that he offer the man an option.

"Go ahead, Avon," Blake replied sleepily. "I'll catch my breath and follow you."

Avon started down the passage, pausing where it narrowed again to look back at Blake. He had been crawling for a mere two minutes, and the tiny light still illuminated the wider area. He turned and looked back.

Blake was gone.

For a stunned moment, Avon froze, staring in disbelief. There was no sign of Blake and he had heard nothing to indicate that Blake had been dragged away or fallen though another hole. There was nothing in the widened section of the tunnel but a few loose rocks.

"Blake!" Avon bellowed, starting back as fast as he could go. A strange ripple effect made him momentarily dizzy, and then he could see again. Blake was lying against the wall where Avon had left him, staring at Avon as if he'd lost his mind.

"What's the matter, Avon?" he asked in alarm. "You look like you've seen a ghost." He glanced over his shoulder at the tunnel, frowning when he saw nothing that would account for Avon's apprehension.

"You were gone," Avon announced, dumbfounded. "When I shouted, you were back." He rubbed his eyes doubtfully as if something had gone wrong with his vision.

"I haven't gone anywhere," Blake contradicted. "I watched you crawl away and you were in my vision the whole time. When you turned, you looked shocked and I thought something was wrong, something in the tunnel. But--"

"You were gone," Avon persisted. "I didn't imagine it, Blake. You are the one who struck his head, not I." He could hardly start hallucinating as the result of a bruised shoulder.

Cautiously, he touched Blake's arm, only partially reassured to find it solid beneath his fingers. "The natives gave us a drink," he remembered. "Perhaps there was something in it, something that would make us see things that were not there."

"Or fail to see things that were?" Blake heaved himself up from his supine position. "I don't think we should separate again, Avon. Something's going on here and I don't like it."

"Neither do I, Blake." Avon stiffened suddenly. "Servalan!"

"You think she had something to do with this?"

"We came to this world because of a Federation report, Blake. Knowing the Federation, it's entirely possible that Servalan or Travis are behind this and that we were lured here deliberately."

"That would imply the cooperation of the natives," Blake returned thoughtfully. "But I don't think the supreme commander would be happy with them for losing us in the blizzard, do you?"

Avon shook his head. "If either of them chose to rely on those natives, then they would have had to accept the risk that we might escape them." He sat down beside Blake and leaned back against the wall, bracing the faltering torch beside him. It wouldn't last much longer. "But that does not explain your disappearance, Blake."

"I didn't disappear. It was made to seem that way."

"How?" Avon frowned. "The bait that lured us here was something to do with detector shields. Maybe there is something intrinsic in the chemical structure of the rock formations which blocks normal vision."

"That's pushing it a little, isn't it, Avon?"

"I presume you have a better explanation."

The torch made a sizzling sound and went out. Suddenly darkness swooped down on them, touched only by the faint glow at the end of the stick.

"Wonderful," Avon muttered, though he had been expecting it.

There was a sudden pressure on his arm and he jumped involuntarily before he realized that it was Blake, groping to find him in the gloom. Instead of pulling away, Avon settled back into position and considered their options without enthusiasm.

"It feels colder," Blake said after a few moments.

"That's your imagination, Blake," Avon snapped. He suspected the effect was largely psychological, and when he considered it, he felt no colder than before, and certainly no warmer than he had done in the original cavern, but Blake was wearing his jacket and should have felt the cold less. It made him suspect that Blake's wound was causing it; possibly he was going into shock.

Blake shifted closer so that they were sitting shoulder to shoulder and Avon didn't try to brush him off. "What do you suggest now, Avon?" the rebel asked.

"You didn't listen to my suggestions while we were on the Liberator," he reminded Blake. "I fail to see why you should do so now."

"You never know, I might surprise you."

"Then I suggest we continue down the tunnel. It should be difficult to lose our way, and the tunnel does get warmer as we go. If there are underground hot springs or volcanic activity, at least we will not freeze while we wait."

"And if the Federation is out there..."

"Then we'll try to get back to the surface later and see if the blizzard has let up."

So they went on. The journey was difficult. Avon suspected Blake's side was paining him more than he wanted to admit. Making allowances for it would help neither of them, so Avon made Blake take the lead and followed him in the tunnel, prodding him on when he wavered, nagging and mocking him when he would have quit. Gradually, the passage grew warmer and Avon noticed a faint greyness in the dark ahead of them, not as if he were seeing light, but as if they would find it if they kept going. He didn't say anything to Blake about it, for it could have been his imagination, but he made certain they went toward it.

"Avon, I see a light."

Blake's voice was weaker than it had been when they'd started and Avon resented it. Blake's injury would cause him problems and he didn't want to be slowed down by the other man. Though he often found fault with Blake's obsession with his cause, neither did he want Blake to suffer needlessly.

"Yes, Blake," he replied. "I noticed it some time ago."

"What is it?"

"Our destination."

Blake had stopped when he saw the light, but now he heaved himself up and started forward again. "All right, Avon. Let's go."

* * *

The light, when they reached it, was disappointing. The tunnel widened out into a large room into which pale light trickled from a thin slit along one wall. Somewhere down below, there was fire, but the opening was too small for a man to enter and the tunnel went no further. Blake looked around the tiny room and felt despair wash over him, enhanced by the pain in his side and his head.

"Charming," Avon muttered. He looked relieved to be able to see again, though the view was short of spectacular, and his eyes locked on Blake. "Suppose I have a look at your side again," he suggested.

Blake agreed, freeing himself with effort from Avon's jacket and pulling up the scorched remnants of his shirt. The wound looked worse with a number of large blisters forming. Some of them had broken in the exertion of climbing through the tunnel and Blake knew that without water or medicine, the wound would quickly become infected. They had no water and no way to get any, and neither of them carried a medical kit. He made a note to remind himself that it would be wise to bring the healing pads the ship carried when they went on missions of doubtful safety. It was always easy to be wise after the fact.

Avon's eyes narrowed. "That does not look good, Blake."

He nodded. "Any suggestions?"

For once, Avon looked at a loss. "No. Except that, should we succeed in returning to the Liberator, you permit the rest of us more of a say in choosing our missions."

"You never give up, do you, Avon?" Blake returned sharply. "You know you have a choice. You weren't forced down at gunpoint."

Avon's face hardened. It was true, but he didn't like to admit it. "I was interested in the potential of an effective detector shield. I have considered the possibility of designing one for use on the Liberator, though as yet I have made little progress. If the Federation is to be so equipped, then we must at least match their ability to cloak themselves. Whatever is down here would be useful to us."

"And evidently something is down here," Blake returned. "Whatever it was made you think I had vanished."

"Indeed. That does not match the reports we got. If there is something here which alters one's perceptions, then its use might be even more limited than I had imagined. Or, at least, more risky. Unless we understood its properties, using it could be more trouble than it is worth. How could it be selective? Equip a Federation flotilla and it might be impossible for one vessel to see another. I resent the thought of something which influences my mind. I have never trusted any mind-altering substance."

"Neither have I," Blake returned, wondering how many different mind-altering substances had been used on himself to take his memory away and give him a comfortable illusion in its place. The suppressants he had been fed afterwards had even made him unable to question gaps in logic that might have followed the mind-wipe. The more he thought of Avon's words, the more he disliked the whole idea of something in the air of this place, which interfered with a person's perceptions. Some of the natives had seemed strangely distracted, as if their minds had not been on what was going on, and Avon had observed that the members of the tribe who seemed to be on their religious council had been more alert than the average spear carrier. So the natives knew and understood the substance, probably manipulating it for their own personal gain. If a Federation assessment team had come here, they would have noticed and the word would have gone back that something valuable could be found here. But to regulate it as precisely as would be needed for cloaking vessels would require a great deal of study before it could be safely managed.

Avon nodded. "In any case, there has been no repetition of the incident," he observed. "I suggest you sleep, Blake."

"And what will you do, Avon?"

"Without equipment, there is little I can do," Avon replied sharply. He did not like to be helpless and Blake could appreciate his frustration.

"Then you sleep, too," Blake urged. "You've been favoring that shoulder for some time. What have you done to it?"

"One of the natives was more accurate with a rock than I could have wished," Avon confessed. "It's nothing."

"Let me take a look at it."

"I told you it's nothing," Avon repeated flatly and moved out of range, sitting down across the chamber from Blake and folding his arms across his chest as if defying Blake to press the issue.

Sighing inaudibly, Blake let it go. He felt a little dizzy and the pain in his side was insidious, jarring sharply whenever he moved. Cautiously, he tried to ease into a more comfortable position, but he could find none that didn't irritate the wound. Now that he was still, a number of other aches and pains were making themselves felt as well, bruises and scrapes from his fall and from the natives' attack. If the others didn't find them before very long, Blake knew he could become quite ill from the burn, if not from a lack of food and water.

He glanced over at Avon, then froze. Avon had vanished. Had he reentered the tunnel or was this another instance of the strange property of the planet? "Avon?" he asked tentatively.

"Now what?" Avon's voice came to him sourly, and suddenly Blake could see him again as the room wavered around him momentarily.

"You disappeared," Blake explained.

Avon grimaced. "This is growing wearying," he announced loudly to the room at large as if whatever was causing the disappearances was conscious and alert and could understand him. With a disgruntled look on his face, he rose and recrossed the room, sitting down beside Blake again.

Blake wondered if he feared that they might lose each other if not in direct contact, but in spite of Avon's often voiced criticism of him and his cause, he felt a satisfaction in Avon's presence and welcomed him with a smile.

Avon did not return the smile. If anything, his annoyance seemed to deepen, but he positioned himself carefully so that the two men were sitting side by side, their shoulder barely touching.

"I doubt if they can influence us when we are in close proximity," he said.

"Assuming they don't take it as a challenge," Blake replied, closing his eyes.

"They?" Avon questioned. "They who? The natives? Strange aliens? The rocks themselves? Come, Blake, you sound feverish."

"Perhaps I am feverish, Avon."

Avon threw him a disgusted frown. "There is nothing we can do about that. Suppose you sleep and refrain from prolonging this pointless conversation."

The way his head was throbbing, Blake doubted he could sleep, but gradually the room faded around him and he slumped sideways, vaguely aware of his head coming to rest on Avon's shoulder. The other man shifted position but didn't pull away, and Blake took comfort from that as he dropped into a restless sleep.

"Enemies. They are enemies." The voice was not a human voice, and it was more subliminal than real, but he could feel it and understand it in much the same way he could understand Cally when she used telepathy to communicate with him. This must be telepathy, too, but it felt strange, unlike Cally's communications. It came to him that Cally's messages were couched in Terran so that no mental translation was required, but in this instance, the voice he 'heard' was speaking a totally different language, or else it had no oral equivalent and the thoughts and concepts were translated into language automatically by his mind.

"Not enemies," another 'voice' countered. "Different from savage beings. Only sometimes feel essence of solitude."

"Aware of the One," another presence sent sharply as if in warning, and the green light vanished as if it had never been, leaving Blake stranded in darkness.

He came awake with a start, momentarily confused and disoriented, wondering what had happened. A dream, perhaps? Aliens, talking to each other telepathically? Had Avon heard it? Blake turned his head cautiously and saw that Avon was sleeping. They had slid together in sleep so that Avon's head was pillowed against his chest, giving him some added warmth, though the cavern seemed far warmer than it had before he had slept. Blake suspected he had a fever, for he was uncomfortably hot, and his side throbbed fiercely.

There was nothing he could do about it, though, so he held his position, reluctant to disturb Avon while he slept.

But Avon's sleep was restless, and in a few moments, he jerked awake, sitting up hastily away from Blake and staring around the cavern wildly as if he expected an invasion.

"Easy, Avon," Blake soothed. "I think you had a dream."

Avon turned and stared at him blankly, and for a moment Blake wondered if he were visible to Avon, but then the computer tech relaxed. "Yes, a strange dream," he agreed thoughtfully. "Alien beings, Blake. Do you imagine something in the atmosphere or in these rocks is making us hallucinate?"

"No, I sensed them, too. They were telepathic and they sensed me. I think it surprised them that I was aware of them. Did you feel that, too?"

"It was only a dream, Blake," Avon replied.

"If your dream was the same, then I doubt it." Glancing around the cavern, Blake reached down to pick up a small rock that lay beside him. He had not noticed it earlier, but perhaps that had been an oversight. He preferred that to the thought that rocks could creep up on them without warning. Holding it lightly in his hand, he studied it carefully.

"Rocks, Blake?" Avon asked skeptically. "You are really reaching this time."

"Am I, Avon? Suddenly, Blake put the rock back where he had found it, wiping his hand uncomfortably. He had felt something, though he could not tell what it was.

Avon glanced around and picked up a second rock, holding in both hands and staring at it as if waiting for it to open a conversation. A moment later, he put it back, and though his movements were slow and controlled, Blake suspected he wanted to fling it away. "Perhaps there is something in what you say," he confessed. "I find it unlikely, but there is some force at work here. Perhaps it is nothing more threatening than a case of folie a deux, but something is happening and I do not like it."

"No more do I, Avon. But we're in their world. I think we will have to be careful not to upset them."

"It was hardly our choice to come here," Avon snapped.

"I doubt they will understand that. Perhaps we should try to open communications."

Avon favored him with a skeptical grimace. "What do you suggest? 'Good evening, Rocks, this is Roj Blake. He has come to assist you in your fight against the Federation'?"

Blake smiled faintly. "Why not?"

When nothing happened, Avon grimaced again and leant back against the wall. "Sentient rocks. A novel concept," he observed wryly.

"We've seen stranger things, Avon," Blake replied. "Think of the moon discs. Sometimes I wish I could take the time away from my Cause to explore different planets and discover new life. We're so chauvinistic in the Federation. Strange life forms are often discounted."

"Or butchered," Avon murmured sourly.

"Or butchered," Blake agreed. "Broad-mindedness is hardly a Federation characteristic."

"Not even a human characteristic, Blake," Avon returned, but instead of sounding mocking, he seemed for once faintly sympathetic. If a little impatient with Blake's determination to improve the human condition, it was not because he despised humanity, but because he believed Blake would fail. "You tear yourself up for people who don't care if you do it or not. How long can you go on like that without destroying yourself?"

"I have to try, Avon. They took my memories and gave me tranquilized dreams. They stole me. They'll go on doing it to other people if someone doesn't take a stand."

"I'd resent it if they had done the same to me," Avon admitted. "But just how much do you think one man can do? We strike at the Federation here and there, blow up a power station or a relay link, and within a week repairs are made. We become terrorists, and instead of winning people to your cause, you alienate them. There are some who will follow you and see what you mean to do, but there are others who will miss the point entirely, considering you a blow against order. There are several different types of rebels, Blake. If you mean to succeed, you must let your rabble know which type you are."

"Volunteering to help, Avon?"

"Resistance is not my forte," Avon returned. "On the Liberator, I can scarcely avoid taking part in your resistance, but I do not care for the happiness of your rabble and I do not believe you will win their freedom. If you should do so, they will build themselves another government, little better than the one they have now. How could it be different?"

"I know you're no optimist, Avon, but if you go through life expecting the worst, you're bound to get it."

"Pessimism has its advantages. Fewer disappointments." Avon smiled suddenly, the warm smile that occasionally startled and warmed Blake and made him wish he could find ways to trigger it more often.

"Fewer disappointments seems a small advantage. Don't you see, Avon, that's what I want for people, a life which gives them more than 'fewer disappointments.'"

"Then I wish you luck." The smile broadened. "In any case, the pessimist is granted something else the optimist seldom gets. The odd pleasant surprise. After expecting the worst, when it does not come, it does grant one an occasional moment of pleasure."

"I want more for you than occasional pleasure, Avon," Blake burst out. He was surprised to find Avon talking so freely to him and thought that perhaps Avon wouldn't resent it.

If he did, he didn't show it.

"I wish you luck," the computer tech repeated after a moment. "Not just in granting me more than pessimism. Unfortunately, the optimist has several disadvantages, constant disappointments being a major one."

"I'll risk it," Blake returned with a grin. "You would."

"That's the difference between us, Avon."

Avon nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps my task then would be to insure your continued survival in spite of constant disappointments, Blake. Not an easy feat, I fear."

"But one which you'd accept?" Blake asked, his voice steady thought he felt a surge of elation that Avon would even wish to try.

"Well, now, I might consider it--under the right circumstances," the computer tech conceded.

Blake smiled at him. But his satisfaction was tempered by the ill effects of his condition; his head pounded and he was far too hot. He wondered if he were even thinking clearly--perhaps he was imagining this unlikely sympathy from Avon. He'd known his health was worsening, but as they talked he'd managed to hold awareness of it at bay. Now that he let it seep through to his consciousness, he found it harder to think than he had expected.

"I'll hold you to that," he insisted, reaching out and clasping Avon's arm in a comradely fashion. When Avon stiffened slightly, but did not pull away, Blake couldn't help wondering if he would have attempted the gesture if his mind had been clear.

Something peripheral caught his attention and he stiffened. "Avon! The tunnel is gone!" The place where they had entered the chamber had become a solid rock wall, impenetrable and permanent, as if it had never contained an opening.

Avon jerked around and stared. "No, it's still there," he insisted in the tones of one who is trying to convince himself of the fact. "This is simply another illusion, like the others."

"A joint illusion, Avon?" Blake asked. "We're trapped here! We'll never get out." He heard the edge of hysteria in his voice and couldn't control it, though his mind was clear enough. It was another illusion. It had to be. But his worsening condition made him feel sharp panic. They were trapped! They would die here! He tightened his grip on Avon's arm, the one positive, tangible thing left to him. "The cave will grow smaller and smaller and we'll be crushed."

Avon looked hard at him for a startled moment, then grasped Blake's forearms and shook him slightly. "Blake, listen to me. You're feverish. Control yourself. It's only the fever. We'll get out of here. Watch this." He freed Blake and crawled forward with enough determination to challenge Servalan and all of Space Command. As he neared the place where the opening had been, a momentary distortion rippled the cave before them and the opening was there again, just as before. Avon stopped, evidently reluctant to approach the transformation effect and turned back with some satisfaction. "There you are, Blake. You see that?"

The question was tentative. Out of concern? Perhaps Blake was imagining that as well, but it warmed him through and he smiled easily. "I see it, Avon. Thank you."

"Whatever causes this effect might prefer it if we didn't get too close," Avon observed.

"I wonder why?" Ordinarily, Blake might have had a theory or two, but it was growing harder to think. The cave was moving a little now, spinning around in a slow and stately dance, making him feel he should grab onto something to keep from spinning with it. His head throbbed and he swayed a little.

Avon was there in an instant. "Blake?"

"Dizzy, Avon," he admitted. "The room keeps...moving."

Avon looked alarmed. "Perhaps you should lie down, Blake. I have nothing with which to help you." Blake was still wearing Avon's jacket, but now the computer tech removed his outer tunic, stripping down to the black polo-neck shirt he wore underneath. Folding up the tunic to make a pillow, he helped Blake lie down, his face inscrutable, his hands gentle. He was not very good at this, but that didn't stop him.

Once again, Blake was surprised by Kerr Avon. The man had a knack of doing that. He would not be pigeonholed and he would not allow himself to seem committed to anything, not to Blake, not to his Cause. But now, as the fever pulled Blake deeper into its toils, Avon was there for him, a silent support, ready to give Blake what aid he could, though if pushed, he would probably claim that Blake's survival would benefit him in some as yet unannounced way. Blake felt a frequent urge to push Avon into admitting a commitment to him, if not to his Cause--he had a good idea that the latter was bound to fail, but the former was not quite beyond the realm of possibility. He usually resisted the urge, suspecting nothing would be more guaranteed to drive Avon away than to push too far. The man had evidently been hurt too often to risk lowering his guard once more. But now, in the grip of the fever, Blake reached out for Avon's arm again and said, "Avon...don't go away."

"Where do you imagine I could go, Blake," Avon returned shortly with a scornful look. But he pulled the jacket as tightly around Blake as possible and didn't move out of range when he had finished. That was as close as Blake was likely to get to a declaration of support.

Still clinging to Avon's arm, Blake felt himself drifting into sleep.

* * *

As he watched Blake drop off, Avon struggled to quell the rising sense of panic that transfixed him. He could do nothing to effect their escape, nothing to help Blake. Avon had long pretended that he cared for nothing or no one and that his own survival was his dominant motivation. Most of the time he believed it--but he had never been very good at kicking a person when he was down. Servalan, perhaps, though he had not had much contact with the treacherous bitch, or some of the people who had betrayed him, but Blake was helpless, dependent upon Avon now, and Avon prided himself on keeping his word. He wasn't sure exactly how he had given his word, but his assumption of responsibility was as good as doing that. He might not be able to save Blake--and it seemed likely he wouldn't--but until he was sure of that, he would accept the responsibility. In his normal state, Roj Blake was about as helpless as a neutron blaster, but he was hurt now. Avon found caring for the sick one of life's less pleasant chores, but short of standing back and watching Blake die, he had no choice. Other methods of assistance denied him, he would keep Blake as warm as possible. He knew it would not be enough.

He discovered he was angry. He didn't like being drawn to Blake and fought it with scorn and criticism and refusal to name himself a follower, but Blake could see past that, which made him doubly dangerous. But that wasn't why he was angry, because Blake could read him better than anyone had for a long time--maybe even since Anna. He was angry because Blake was going to die and Avon hated being helpless. And because he had let another person get past the guard that should have been as hard as Herculaneum. Most of the time it was, but there were a few cracks in the facade and Blake had found them. Typical.

Dwelling on the subject was pointless, so Avon shrugged and mentally turned his back on Blake. Better to investigate the problem that led them to imagine things had disappeared. Some property in the rocks that could be useful in detector shielding had drawn the Federation here. Fine, but there had been no evidence of refined metals here; they had encountered only raw materials. Keeping it out of Federation hands would be Blake's prime motivation and this time, Avon tended to agree with him. He wanted no invisible Federation ships waiting to spring a trap on him.

So, he turned his mind to investigation of the problem, picking up a handy rock and scrutinizing it with wary interest. He tried to convince himself that it had been a contagious form of hysteria that had made the rocks feel strange before, but he wasn't very good at it, especially when he got a strong sensation of being watched the minute he touched the rock. Instead of flinging it away as he would prefer to do, he made himself study it thoroughly. He even tried to direct a thought or two at it, feeling foolish for the effort.

Nothing happened--at least, nothing more dramatic than a sudden sensation that someone was laughing at him. He didn't like it.

"What do you expect from me?" he muttered, not quite sure if he was speaking to the rock or to Blake himself. Nothing answered him and in a fit of impatience, he tossed the rock across the chamber. Blake stirred restlessly at the sound and Avon muttered, "Go to sleep, Blake."

But a sudden rumble echoed through the place and Avon stiffened as the floor began to tremble. The ceiling overhead began to trickle dust down on their heads, and with a cry of warning, Avon flung himself over Blake as it collapsed on top of them.

* * *

"Still nothing." Cally looked up from yet another scan of the planet's surface. "The blizzard may be interfering with the readings."

Jenna turned to face her. "Something is distorting all the readings," she reminded the Auron. "Ever since you teleported back, we haven't got anything reliable. I think the Federation was right about the metallic properties they were hoping to exploit."

"How will we find them?" asked Vila uneasily, the nearness of his and Cally's escape still lingering in his eyes.

"We'll go down and look for them," Can replied.

"In that?" Vila gestured at the main screen, which displayed an image of driving snow and howling wind, obscuring any recognizable landmarks. "We'd freeze. It was bad enough before when there were just nasty natives after us, but now it must be minus 100 degrees. We'd freeze, I tell you."

"Which is what Blake and Avon must be doing right now," Jenna reminded him.

"It won't help them if we freeze, too," Vila countered. "We shouldn't go down until we know where they are."

Jenna flung him a contemptuous look. "You're right, but for the wrong reasons, Vila. The only thing we know is that they're not with the natives any longer."

"Might've been caught again, then, mightn't they?"

"If they had been recaptured, Vila, the natives would not have sent out so many patrols," Cally explained. "Even after the storm began, they were still searching. If Avon and Blake had been recaptured, they would have withdrawn into their village and sealed themselves in to wait out the storm."

"If we don't find them quickly, they could be in serious trouble," Gan reminded them. "They weren't wearing thermal coats. I think we should see where the distortion is the highest. It's blocking something. We can scan everywhere else and Blake and Avon aren't there."

Jenna turned to Gan in considerable astonishment. "He's right. If they're down there, that's where they'd have to be. Zen, concentrate on the area we can't penetrate. What is down there?"

+A series of interlocking caverns,+ Zen replied. +The mineral properties block appropriate readings at this moment, but at the time of our arrival, readings were still possible and a series of caverns were registered there.+

"Then they could still be alive," Cally exclaimed eagerly. "Zen, pinpoint the coordinates of the caves."

+Confirmed.+ A brief delay while the computer worked, then it gave them coordinates.

"That doesn't mean they're in the caves," Jenna said flatly in the tones of someone who is reluctant to risk hope.

"But we must investigate," Cally replied. "The natives are unlikely to locate us in this weather. We must hurry before the blizzard ends."

Vila grimaced. "I'll man the teleport," he offered hastily.

"I'll get kitted up," Gan volunteered. "And I'll bring warm clothing for Avon and Blake."

"We'll teleport up immediately when we find them," Jenna reminded him.

"If we can," Cally returned. "We have no way of knowing if this distortion will affect teleport functions. We might be stranded down there until it clears up. It seems to work on a periodic basis. We cannot even be certain we can teleport down."

"Zen, will the mineral distortions registered on the surface influence teleport functions?" Jenna asked practically. .

+That information is not available.+

"Will we be in danger if we teleport down there?"

+Danger is a factor in all planetary excursions,+ Zen replied unhelpfully. +Teleport to the surface is practical. Teleport back to the ship could be delayed depending on the distortion factors in existence in that area.+

Vila grimaced. "I don't like the sound of that."

"Surprising, since you're staying up here where it's safe," Jenna accused him scornfully.

"I don't want to be up here all alone, then, do I?" Vila asked. "I might have to come down and rescue you."

"I won't hold my breath."

Gan left the flight deck, apparently unconcerned about the threat, and Jenna took out a gun. "You'd better arm yourself, Cally. We don't know what we'll be facing down there."

They met in the teleport section, fastening their coats. "Adjust the temperature control," Jenna instructed, turning the knob that would warm the coat and give the necessary protection against the storm. Cally and Gan complied while Vila took his place at the console and began to set the coordinates.

"Right," Jenna said bracingly. "Put us down, Vila."

They materialized into the middle of a howling white fury that took their breaths away. Icy flakes stung their faces and even the thermal jacket didn't entirely shut out the savage bite of the wind. Jenna glanced around, shocked to realize just how limited their vision was. Finding the caverns might be harder than she had expected, let alone finding Blake and Avon.

"I think it's this way," Gan bawled to be heard above the wind's wail. He pointed and Jenna realized she could see a rocky cliff face through the driving snow.

"Stay together," she instructed and started in that direction.

In the direct shelter of the cliff, the wind's force was slightly reduced, making it possible to speak to each other without shouting. They stayed close together, moving along the face of the cliff, seeking an opening, but at first there was nothing. Their thermal suits kept the worst of the cold at bay, but it was insidious and Jenna suspected it would eventually sap them.

"There!" cried Cally abruptly, pointing toward a darker circle against the dark stone. "The cave."

"A cave, anyway," Jenna conceded. "Let's get in there."

Gan led the way inside, taking a torch from his belt and turning the power on. Cally and Jenna followed suit as they found themselves in a vast, dark cavern. It was huge, but it was not deserted, for there was a small fire burning. At the sight of it, Jenna drew her gun. "Someone's here," she cautioned.

Guns at the ready, they approached the fire, but no one sprang up to confront them. No one was here at all, though an enemy might hide and get their measure before approaching. Natives could be lurking behind the boulders, ready to spring as they came within range. But they reached the fire without being attacked. Spying something, Can cried out and bent to pick it up.

"Blake's coat!"

Jenna snatched it from his hands. "They're here," she burst out. "Blake! Avon!"

Only echoes replied. At once she regretted the cry. Perhaps the natives had found them, after all.

"We'll have a look around." Can managed to sound reassuring. "Should we split up?"

"They may have split up," Cally cautioned. "I think we should stay together. They might have found a passage."

"Exploring should be the last thing on their minds," Jenna disagreed.

True, but even with the fire it is not warm in here. Perhaps they were seeking a more sheltered spot."

"Then we must explore," Jenna concurred. "At least there's no evidence of violence."

No one disagreed with her and they began to quarter the cavern systematically, marking potential side passages. When they had finished the preliminary check, they would decide which was the most likely. It could be a long search.

When they called to report to Vila, their transmission was garbled.

Through the static and periodic drop outs, he sounded alarmed, prophesying all sorts of dire consequences if they weren't careful, but he agreed to stand by.

* * *

Avon roused slowly, aware of pain throughout his body and a heavy weight pressing him down. There was warmth beneath him, and after a puzzled moment, he remembered throwing himself over Blake to shield him from the rockfall. Impossible to tell if Blake still lived. Feeling trapped, he panicked, struggling wildly. He could resist claustrophobia in the open cave and could even withstand it in the tunnel, but buried alive was another story.

Air was coming from somewhere. He was alert and there seemed to be no broken bones, a fact which cut through the sharp edge of his panic and made him stop and think. The rocks had shifted around him as he'd struggled; with a colossal effort, he stilled his frantic efforts and concentrated on raising himself up as if swimming backward through the rock. Beneath him, Blake uttered a fretful sound of pain.

Alive, then.

Abruptly, he was clear. The rocks that had covered him were only a thin layer between himself and freedom, and he burst from his prison, at last able to move.

The relief was overwhelming. Gasping in great breaths of air as if he had been suffocating, Avon shivered and forced himself to relax before he bent to free Blake, checking the other man for injuries. The rebel leader seemed relatively unscathed. Avon himself was bruised up and down his back, and a hard lump was rising on the back of his head. That must have been what had stunned him.

Blake's eyes opened, clear once more. He looked up at Avon. "Thank you."

Avon pretended to misunderstand, eyeing Blake skeptically. "Blake, I--"

"Another instinctive reaction?" Blake asked gently.

"Perhaps," Avon grimaced. Now Blake would believe that he had heroically risked his life for him and the man would be unbearably smug as a result. "In any case, the rockfall was minor."

Blake eased himself up a little, wincing as he jarred his side. When he was in a more comfortable position, he turned his eyes upon Avon intently. "How badly are you hurt?"

"I shall survive. Perhaps it will teach me to disregard my instincts in future."

Blake grinned comfortably, refusing to take offense. "I doubt you'll succeed. I'm sure you'll keep trying, but I hope you never quite manage it."

"Sentiment, Blake?"

"Perhaps." Blake tried to disguise a tremor that rippled through his body, folding his arms across his chest to hold Avon's too-small coat more firmly in place.

Avon gave an exasperated snort and dug under the rubble until he found his discarded jacket, which he used to cover Blake. "Still feverish," he discovered, feeling Blake's forehead carefully. The skin was hot to the touch. "You are cold, are you not?"

"There's nothing we can do about it, Avon."

The computer tech heaved a sigh, then with a throwaway gesture, he began shoving the rocks aside to make a clear place for them to sit. If nothing else fell on them, this place was as safe as any. When he had prepared a space, he helped Blake get comfortable, then sat beside him and drew Blake's body against his own, wrapping his arms around the other man. He had nothing left to offer but his own body heat.

Blake was silent a moment as the blessed warmth seeped into his bones, then he said in an attempt at lightness, "Why, Avon, I didn't know you cared."

"I'm warning you, Blake..." Avon began in a threatening tone, but the other man laughed.

"I was only teasing, Avon."

"Teasing?" Avon asked in the tones of one who has discovered something nasty beneath a rock.

"Yes. It's something friends do."

"Something pointless," Avon insisted.

"What else is there, Avon? I'm surprised I'm so clearheaded. I know as well as you do how sick I am. If the others don't find us soon, I'll probably die here."

"I forbid it," Avon shot back at him, disturbed to discover how much he hated the idea of anything happening to Blake. The last thing he wanted to do was to admit that concern to Blake--or to himself. But if Blake was going to die here, perhaps he deserved more than a lie from the only person present. Avon tensed a little, relaxing only when Blake made a faint protesting sound at the movement, as if it had hurt his side.

"There is nothing I can do to prevent it," Avon admitted reluctantly. "But I am willing to try to make it back to the surface to look for help."

"No." Blake clutched at him, surely a sign of his weakness. "Don't go."

"If I stay, we could both die."

This time, it was Blake who stiffened. "Forgive me, Avon. I didn't mean to hold you here against your will." He tried to disguise the hurt in his voice, but he was not strong enough for deception.

"That is not what I meant," Avon returned. "If you wish me to wait here, I will do so. It is a pity our friends, the rocks, have chosen to attack rather than help us. At this point, I should be content with their neutrality."

"They're trying to understand us, Avon," Blake muttered, his voice a little more relaxed. "I don't wonder at their confusion. I don't understand us, either. I've never understood why you've stayed, though I'm glad of it."

"I'm not entirely certainly I understand it, myself," Avon confessed. "I refuse to accept your Cause and I think you take unacceptable risks, but there is a part of me that could wish you would succeed."

"Don't tell me there's a little of the optimist left under all that deliberate pessimism?" Blake asked lightly.

"Perhaps not optimism," Avon replied. "I am too much the cynic to expect human nature to improve, no matter how hard one works at it. Yet, I feel a need for someone to try. While I think you a fool for taking the risk, a part of me respects the attempt. You honor your beliefs. It is not often one meets an honorable man."

"No," said Blake deliberately, turning his head so he could see Avon's face. "It isn't. Don't you see, Avon, that's one of the reasons I want you with me in this fight. I can trust you."

Avon stiffened, avoiding Blake's eyes. "Then you are a fool."

"I never trust anyone blindly, Avon. I know you'll come on missions kicking and screaming all the way. I've learned you won't promised me anything you don't mean. If you refuse to go along with something, you don't lie to me about it. You tell me to my face." When Avon turned back to Blake in some disbelief, his smile widened into an affectionate grin. "Then you often come anyway."

"There being so many options on Liberator," Avon sarcastically defended himself, rather embarrassed at this topic of discussion.

"When you back me, you mean it," Blake said, settling down again, his head against Avon's shoulder. The computer tech told himself it was the warmth that pleased him and kept him from pulling away.

"The one thing I do believe in is the giving of my word," Avon admitted. He suspected, given the right circumstances, he could believe in something else, in Roj Blake. While he would not give himself over to the betterment of humanity, a dubious cause at best, he was content with the status quo, at least for now. Blake might be beating his head against a wall for all the good he might ever achieve, but he went forward with banners flying.

"You believe in more than that," Blake said, his voice starting to go muzzy again. "I can feel it, even when you're at your most cold and distant."

"Oh, go to sleep," Avon snorted, though he half suspected Blake could read amusement in his voice.

For a long time, there was a comfortable silence, broken only by the steady sound of their breathing and by the scrape against the rocks from time to time as one of them shifted position. The longer he sat there, the more Avon became aware of his thirst. The heat of this deep cavern was much drier than the cold above, and he suspected that both of them were on the verge of dehydration. It was not the way he had planned to die.

Why have you come here?

Avon jerked his head up, startling a surprised cry from Blake as he looked around wildly. "What...?" he began. Was he becoming delirious now? Blake muttered at his abortive question and then settled back against him, his arms tightening reflexively around Avon's body. He was not quite awake, yet.

Why have you come here? The alien voice was not for the ears, but for the mind, rather as Cally communicated without speaking aloud. But it was far more alien than Cally's telepathy. It sounded like many voices in concert, as if they had rehearsed their parts well or as if one being was speaking with many voices.

The rocks. It was the only solution. Either they were sentient, after all, or Avon was losing his mind.

"Survival," he replied aloud.

That is a lie.

"The survival of myself and my companion is why we have come to this particular cavern," Avon replied.

"Then you will need to make your question more explicit."

"Avon.. ." mumbled Blake, half sitting up. "Whazzit. ..?"

"Be quiet, Blake," Avon said sharply, pulling Blake back against him. He needed the warmth now as much as Blake did. "We have been contacted."

He felt Blake's body stiffen into consciousness, but he didn't relinquish his hold on the other man.

Why have you come to our world?

"Because our fearless leader suspected the Federation meant to come here and exploit you and your people." Was that the right answer?

We are all one. All of us communicate with you now. Are you colony creatures or are you solitary like the warmbloods?

"We are solitary," Avon said. "We did not know that there was a colony life form on this world until now, though we suspected something was at work here. You tested us. You came into our dreams and you made us imagine the other had disappeared."

"Some of us do," Avon agreed. "We didn't know you were intelligent. As you must use minerals and perhaps oxygen to sustain your life, we use what we can, too. The minerals you use are not alive. Generally, on other planets, rocks are not alive."

He cast a sideways glance at Blake to see if he could receive the apparent telepathy of the rock being. Blake's face had furrowed in concentration. Avon suspected it wouldn't be long before he would pitch in and start selling the Cause to this new being.

"No, we will not," Blake replied, gathering his strength to him for an impassioned declaration. "It is not my way, nor that of my people. I fight against oppression in the Federation, which is the government that rules this part of space."

"That might be best," Blake agreed. "As the priests exploit their people, so would the Federation try to make use of you. They think they could use you to make their spacecraft invisible to their enemies, so that they could defeat them more easily."

"Ah, but that was before we understood you were intelligent," Avon informed them smoothly. "Even should I still wish to try, Blake would never permit it."

"It isn't Avon's way to exploit other peoples," Blake defended him. "He will protect himself and he is willing to fight those who threaten him, but he would never endanger an entire species."

Avon decided to leave Blake with this comfortable belief, though he suspected Blake was more right than he knew. Given a choice between himself and these beings, Avon would try to save himself. But it had not come to that. He decided to allow Blake's rhetoric to carry the day, only hoping Blake could hold out so long. His voice was fervent with his desire to stress his beliefs, but only that drive carried it, for it lacked strength. Blake felt fire-hot against him, as if the fever were consuming him. He spoke urgently, explaining the Federation's plans, what little he understood of the natives above and their priest-class, who dominated the rest of the populace.

To a colony being that existed so that all parts could be one, the thought of exploiting others of the same race must have seemed abhorrent.

"When you brought it down upon us," Avon corrected with a hint of sarcasm. "Another test?"

"We will never return," Blake agreed. "But the Federation might. We don't control them."

"You've been blocking our scanners?" Blake burst out. "I thought they would have found us before now."

"Incurably optimistic, Blake," Avon retorted.

"Not so incurably," Blake replied, his voice weak. "I think I must send you to the surface after all."

No. Companion entities are coming. We will give you warmth until they arrive. Leave our home and never come back.

The voices went away abruptly, and in their place, waves of heat rolled over Blake and Avon, making the temperature almost bearable. For the first time since he had shed his jacket, Avon began to feel comfortable, and beside him, Blake made a faint, contented sound and his body went limp.

"Blake? Blake!"

There was no response.

* * *

"There are just too many passages," Jenna burst out in exasperation. They had sought Avon and Blake for hours, punctuated by static-filled calls from Vila, who demanded to be told of their progress every step of the way.

"He's probably lonely up there," Can suggested when Jenna complained at yet another interruption.

"He could come down. Orac could mind the teleport."

Cally's sharp gasp cut across Jenna's answer. When the others turned toward her in alarm, hoping she had found something, her eyes were wide and staring and her breathing had quickened.

"There is a telepath here," she burst out. "No, that is wrong. There are many telepaths who function as one."

"What do you mean?" asked Jenna involuntarily. It sounded suspicious to her. "Have they hurt Blake and Avon?"

"It is hard to say. Blake is ill, they tell me. We must hurry."

Jenna's teleport bracelet chirped at her.

"Jenna, it's Vila," the thief cried. "All that interference is gone. It went just like that. Orac says Avon and Blake are on a lower level. You need to find a tunnel that goes down."

"We know, Vila," Cally replied.

"You know? And here I went to all the trouble to ask Orac. How do you know? Have you found them?"

"We seem to have acquired a native guide," Jenna told him. "Stay ready to teleport, Vila." She signed off and turned to Cally. "Can you take us there?"

"I know where they are. The Omma will guide me there."

"The Omma?" echoed Cally.

"They are many parts in a single life form, as the cells make up a body. They know the way. Come with me." She set off across the cave so quickly the others had to run to keep up with her.

* * *

"How are they?" Vila asked, poking his head into the medical unit some four hours later. He still remembered his shock when the crew had teleported up, Avon bruised and shaky on his feet, Blake unconscious, breathing stertorously, his face damp and flushed. Though Avon was limping and dirty, he had stayed beside Blake as Gan picked up the rebel and carried him to the medical unit. It was with surprise that Vila realized Blake was wearing Avon's coat and that Avon's tunic had been spread over the rebel leader as well.

There had been no time for explanations then, but after Cally had set to work on Blake's burned side and Gan had taken a healing pad to Avon's more dramatic bruises, Jenna had confided to Vila that they had found their missing men curled up cozily together, Blake either asleep or unconscious, and Avon half dozing himself. When the others had burst into their tiny cave, he had opened his eyes and returned their astonished stares with a cold glare.

"You took your time."

Jenna had chuckled. "He didn't even try to look like he wasn't worried about Blake," she said.

"I think he does worry about him sometimes," Vila put in. "There's more to Avon than you'd think. Mostly he's nasty, but sometimes you can almost like him." He heard himself and added, "Well, Blake can almost like him. And I think Cally might."

"But not you, of course?" she asked with an all too knowing smile.

"Me? Like Avon? Jenna, I ask you..." But she had returned to the medical unit grinning, and Vila had deemed it politic to stay away for a while. But he was too impatient to stay away for long, so his feet took him back there.

Avon was sitting on one of the med tables, his feet dangling. He had shed his shirt, revealing a tracery of scrapes and bruises all down his back. When Vila gasped, he turned abruptly and reached for a robe that lay across the table.

Cally batted his hand away. "Hold still. I want to finish this."

"I confess I would prefer it finished as well. Vila, it is not a spectator sport."

"I only came to see how Blake was," Vila said.

"You'd rather not know," Blake answered, awake, though still flat on his back. He looked rather as if he'd taken a cold down in the caves, but his eyes were clear and alert again.

"He means it was not an experience he would care to repeat," Avon put in hastily. "You were fortunate to teleport back in time. But, then, of course, it is what I should expect of you when danger threatens."

"Cally came, too," Vila defended himself.

"And he's not entirely right," Blake put in. "While falling down holes and setting myself on fire isn't one of my choices for shore leave, I must say the experience had its moments."

Avon threw him a very alarmed look. "For you, perhaps," he retorted coolly.

Blake half-sat up, propping himself up on one elbow. "Yes," he agreed with a sudden smile. "A whole new audience to win over to my Cause."

At that, Avon seemed to relax. "I don't believe you convinced them, Blake," he pointed out, looking surprisingly mellow. Vila wondered if he could contact the rock creatures and see if they could fill him in on the events of the caverns. Surely, there was some good blackmail potential there.

"And yet," Blake replied, stretching out again, favoring his injured side, "we're still alive. Teamwork, Avon, that's what did it."

Avon grimaced, but Vila could read no malice in his expression. "If teamwork impresses you so much, try to remember it when next you want to drag us to some unlikely world." He sucked his breath in sharply as Cally applied the pad to a particularly tender spot. "My only consolation," he added, favoring her with a sour look, "is that Servalan hadn't arrived on Azinda yet. Now that the rock creatures are prepared for her, almost anything's possible."

"There, Avon, I'm finished," Cally announced. "I want you and Blake to rest now."

Vila expected fireworks at that. Avon would insist that, at the very least, he be allowed to return to his cabin. But he didn't say a word. Instead, he glanced over at Blake as if to share a moment of commiseration, and Blake smiled at him without even opening his eyes.

As Cally shooed Vila from the medical unit, the thief was frowning. This would never do! He'd have to see what trouble he could manage and do it as soon as possible. Not that it would last--but an Avon in this frame of mind might be up to anything.

the end

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