I wrote this for this lovely picture of Vila
in the park which Minnie did for me. Click on the thumbnail to see it in its full glory. (There's a bigger one
further down in the text too.) Thanks, Minnie.
Vila Restal materialised beside a busy street. "Oh, thanks a lot, Orac," he said resentfully, looking around to see if anyone had noticed the teleport flash. Someone had—a man was staring at him with wide-eyed shock.
"Where the hell did you come from?"
Vila recognised the pasty face and shadowed eyes of a dreamhead. "Earth," he said innocently. "Look, I know I'm a tourist, but is it that obvious?"
"You weren't here a second ago."
"What d'you mean? I've been here all the time." The man looked disbelieving, and Vila, who had never been very good at lying, felt compelled to cover his tracks with confusion, something he was rather better at. "You know," he said confidingly, "I've always been here if you want to look at it that way. I mean, wherever I go, I'm here, because 'here' is always where I am. Same for you. It's just that right now our two heres are in the same place."
The addict shook his head as if to clear it. "I need a drink." He stumbled off.
"Me too," Vila said feelingly, going to sit at a table outside a nearby bar. He tried to look inconspicuous and as little like his wanted poster as possible while watching the passers-by nervously. The place was crowded, noisy and colourful, just like the markets back in the Delta levels on Earth, and if this had been anywhere else, Vila would have plunged in with joyful abandon. This place however, for all its pretence of neutrality, was run by the mob.
What the hell was he doing here? What had got into him back there on the Liberator to go on and on about wanting to come here? Even after they'd all looked at him with varying degrees of disgust, something had compelled him to keep on digging himself into a deeper hole with all those stupid remarks about sin, entertainment, and grubby graffiti, even though it was plain they were going down like a lead balloon with that lot. That was bad enough—Vila winced, remembering the way Jenna had looked at him—but even worse, here he was, in Space bloody City, private property of the Terra Nostra. Terror Nostra more like. This was not the action of a sensibly cautious thief who planned to live forever.
Vila raised his bracelet to ask Cally for teleport, then he thought of how angry she'd be. What did pissed-off Aurons do? Yell at you inside your head so you couldn't get away from them? Blake would be angry too, and even worse, disappointed, and somehow, that bothered Vila even more. Perhaps he'd have that drink after all while he thought about what to do. He looked around for a waiter, and froze in astonishment.
The woman walking down the street would have drawn his eyes even if he hadn't recognised her. She was taller and wider than anyone else and cut her stately way through the crowd like a passenger cruiser through planet-hoppers. Her round, beautifully-made-up face was topped with a towering mass of copper curls, and she was dressed in a flamboyant floor-length gown patterned in bright pink and lime-green swirls.
"Ronda!" Forgetting all his caution, Vila leapt up. "Ronda!" He pushed eagerly through the crowd and grabbed her arm, grinning with delight. "Hello, Ronda."
Ronda reared back and looked down at him in outrage. "It may be flattering to be accosted in public by strange and attractive young men—but do I know you?"
Vila's face fell. "It's me, Ronda, Vila. Vila Restal, remember? CF1?"
"Vila!" A smile almost buried Ronda's eyes in her cheeks. "Of course it is! You were just a wee scrap, but look at you! You've grown—"
So have you, Vila thought. Ronda had been at least 150kg when he'd met her on the prison transport to CF1, but he bet she topped 200 now.
"—but I should have recognised those innocent brown eyes anywhere. Let me look at you." Ronda held Vila away at arms' length. "Ah, I said you'd be a charmer when you grew up, and I was right. Come here, Vila-lad." She crushed Vila to her, and he almost disappeared into the folds of her dress, his head held captive between her enormous breasts.
At first, engulfed in warm flesh, Vila revelled in the unaccustomed physical contact. It was a long time since someone had hugged him like that. Doty it had been, big warm comfortable 'Aunt' Doty who had been family to him, but gone more than five years now. Vila closed his eyes and leaned into her, but soon, stifled by the heat, lack of air, and Ronda's sweet perfume, he panicked and struggled free, gasping and red-faced. Rhonda pinched his cheek fondly.
"Am I glad to see you, sweetie. You're exactly what I've been waiting for."
"Oh?" Vila gulped, remembering what she'd said to the shy 14-year-old he'd been, that she hoped she'd be around when he was a few years older.
"Come to the park with me, love, and I'll put my proposition to you."
"Proposition?" That came out in a higher register than Vila had intended.
"Of course." Ronda draped her arm across Vila's shoulders, and it wasn't just the weight that made his knees sag. "You were good back then, but now they say you're one of the best in the galaxy."
Vila blinked at her, then got it. "Oh!"
As did Ronda. "Vila! You didn't think...why, aren't you an absolute darling! That's very flattering, little one, but I do have Barker." She put back her head and roared with laughter. Vila, embarrassed, attempted an escape, but Ronda pulled him closer, tucking his head under her arm as they walked.
Barker? Vila remembered the fussy balding little accountant who had been convicted of fraud. Skinny little Barker with Ronda? Vila's mind (and eyes) boggled, then he grinned with sudden delight, absurdly glad that those two were happy together.
Ronda suddenly stopped and looked at Vila, puzzled. "But surely you're here about the job. I put out word I was looking for a thief, and why else would you be waiting for me? Everyone knows I go to the park each day at this time."
"Didn't even know you were here, Ronda."
"Then what are you doing?"
"Came with Blake. I'm a rebel hero these days." Vila stole a sideways glance at her. "Oh all right, still a thief, really. Getting him into dangerous places that give me the willies, that's what I do."
"I've heard. You have an impressive reputation, Vila-lad. And an equally impressive price on your head."
Vila, who had never been sure whether to be proud or terrified about that, opted for the former. "Yeah, a cool mill. Not many of us at the top of the league. I'm right up there with Bayban these days," he said happily, swaggering a little.
Ronda laughed. They turned a corner, and Vila could see a sign pointing towards 'City Park'. He supposed it would be like those sterile little enclaves on the Alpha levels with a few small potted trees, a couple of white plastic benches, and perhaps a fountain.
"You would tell me, wouldn't you, if your Blake was planning to blow this place up," Ronda said with elaborate casualness.
"Oh, we don't do things like that!" Vila said, shocked. "Well, only to military targets. Blake's here to cut a deal with the Terra Nostra."
"You're joking!"
"Nope, wants to use them to infiltrate Earth."
"I hope you told him what a dangerous game he's playing."
"Course I did, but they don't listen to me, not even when I know what I'm talking about. They wouldn't even let me go with them. I'm meant to be waiting for them on the ship like a good little boy." Was that why he had disobeyed Blake, out of injured pride?
"Good? You?" Ronda smiled fondly down at the top of Vila's head. "Here we are," she said, pushing open a door labelled 'Space City Park'.
Vila gaped in astonishment.
"Didn't expect that, did you?" Ronda grinned and led him forwards into the trees.
"But it's not real, is it? How do they do it, with holograms?" Vila reached out to touch a trunk and pulled his hand back, surprised at its solid roughness.
"No, no, it's all real. They designed it when the city was built, to make people feel more at home. We even have seasons."
As they walked, Vila stared about himself in wonder at the autumnal splendour, then looked behind. The grey metal door they had come in was now hidden behind golden foliage. He was about to ask if the birdsong was recorded when he saw a parrot swoop across in front of him. He looked up at the vast grey metal dome far above, squinting at the brightness of the artificial sun, somewhat off centre.
"Does that move?"
"Of course. Standard Earth day. It's early afternoon now." Ronda took him arm. "Down here." She led him off the main path and into a stand of evergreens. The chatter and shouts of the others in the park were quickly muffled and they walked in a cool dark silence, broken only by the soft chirp of insects and the distant bell-like call of a bird. Ronda sighed. "In summer I come and just lie here, looking up at the trees."
Vila said nothing, understanding. He felt a peace fall on him which he hadn't known since his illicit forays out from London-dome into the deserted woods around it.
The trees thinned and they emerged into sunlight. A small pond fed by a stream lay in front of them. Ronda pulled Vila off the path and towards a large wooden sturdy bench by the water. Sighing with pleasure, she settled herself on it, and patted the small space left beside her.
"You can see why this is my favourite place," Ronda said, leaning back and making the bench creak. "I come here every day."
"Mm." Vila leaned back too and closed his eyes, enjoying the 'sun' on his face. The Liberator could do with some plants. A couple of nice potted palms in his cabin, a small grove like this in a freight bay perhaps. Nah. Cally would want to grow fruit and veg for their health and guess who'd end up tilling the soil—him and Gan. All right for Gan perhaps, but Vila needed to take care of his hands. That reminded him. He opened his eyes and sat up. "What was this job you wanted a thief for?"
"Ah, yes. Remember Barker?"
"Course I do. How is he?"
"Very well, actually. I've managed to put a little weight on him in the last few years."
Vila, who could think of two ways that could be taken, bit his lip in an attempt to keep his face straight.
"No, the real problem is debts," Ronda went on obliviously. "Barker borrowed rather a lot of money from the Terra Nostra for one of his schemes."
Vila remembered Barker had dabbled unsuccessfully in the galactic stock market using his clients' money. "Got caught again? Bought the wrong stocks?"
"Not quite. Sold the wrong ones I suppose," Ronda said vaguely. "I never followed it much. He was selling kairopan futures and real estate on planets which hadn't been settled, things like that." She shrugged. "Look, I'm an artist."
Vila nodded seriously. Ronda was a forger, but he agreed with her. He considered himself something of an artist too, in his own line of work.
"So we're paying it off, as much as we can each week, and we can barely manage the interest. If we don't come up with the money in a month, we're, well, what they call examples."
"Oh." Vila did not like the sound of this. "You want me to steal the money. Knock off a bank."
"No, no, nothing like that. As I said, I'm an artist. We do this right, no one knows." Ronda loomed over Vila, putting him in shadow, and lowered her voice. "The top Terra Nostra man here is Gulis Largo. He's done very well for himself. A nasty reptilian little man, but he has good taste in art. He has a Chagall, a Prentis, and a Kawumba, and a lot of other rather nice pieces." She wagged a finger at him. "I've got a buyer for the Kawumba."
"Ah," Vila said brightly. "And you have an original Ronda which looks just like it."
Ronda smiled. "Of course."
"And that'll pay your debt?"
"More than twice over."
The implications hit Vila. "And you want me to break in and do the swap." He licked his lips. "Look, this is the Terra Nostra, and, um—you did say Largo, didn't you?"
Ronda nodded.
"But that's who Blake's seeing." Wonderful. If anything went wrong, it wouldn't be just the Terra Nostra he annoyed.
"All the better. He'll be tied up with them in his office. The painting's in his living quarters. What are you worried about anyway, a clever boy like you?"
Vila put his head on one side and considered it. He'd done that sort of thing before. Private art theft was generally a lot easier than banks, though there had been that time back on Earth when... "Um, the buyer. It's not someone called Servalan, is it?"
Ronda looked puzzled. "The Supreme Commander? No, it's a warlord who wants to buy himself some culture. Why?"
"Well, there've been enough coincidences already." Something bothered Vila at the back of his mind, something he ought to remember. He pushed the thought away, and looked at Ronda. She had been kind to the shy scared boy he'd been, and included him in her group. They'd looked after him, been his friends. He owed Ronda and Barker. He deliberately took his teleport bracelet off and put it in his pocket. "All right. I'll do it."
He was immediately smothered with gratitude. "You darling!"
Vila fought free. "Yeah, well, let's just hope I've got somewhere to go back to after this."
Ronda spoke into a small communicator. "Barker love? This is Ronda. Bring the rug to the park, will you, there's a sweetie." She put her arm back around Vila and hugged him. "You can always come with us, you know."
"With you and Barker?"
"Why not? We'd make a great team—an artist and a thief, and Barker to look after all the boring bits. You'd be amazed at the demand for antiques in the outer worlds."
"Umph," Vila said into Ronda's left breast. It was a nice idea, far away from rebels with more courage than was sane, and Federation troopers with guns. "I'll think about that."
His teleport bracelet chimed. "Vila, this is Cally. Come in please."
Vila pulled it out of his pocket and looked at it with horror. How was he going to explain himself?
"Vila!"
In desperation, Vila put on his drunk act, always a good stand-by and one of the few deceptions he excelled at. "What d'you want, Cally?" he asked woozily.
"I want you back here. Get ready to teleport."
"Wasting your time, Cally. I'm not wearing a bracelet. I'm not going to be snatched away in the middle of..." What? Planning to rob Blake's contact, then bolt? "...in the middle of anything. Sightseeing." He grinned at Ronda. "And you should see some of the sights I'm seeing. No. Perhaps you shouldn't."
Ronda pretended a hurt look and aimed a playful slap at the top of his head, ruffling his hair. "Cheeky boy," she whispered.
"Where is Orac?"
"Promised not to tell. I never break a promise."
"Oh yes, you do."
Vila but his lip and felt guilty. "Almost never. Orac's all right. He can't run away."
"Oh, you fool, Vila."
"Stop worrying, Cally. I'll be back soon. Tell you what, I'll bring you back a present. "What would you like, Cally? Name it and it's yours."
"A necklace, Vila. Made from your teeth!"
Vila winced and switched off. He gave Ronda a mournful look.
"She your girlfriend?"
"Chance'd be a fine thing. I'm not even sure she thinks I'm human." Probably not, now.
"But she matters to you, doesn't she?" Ronda asked shrewdly.
They all did. The real question was whether he mattered to any of them. Vila shrugged. "Yes, but so do you."
***
Vila looked through the railings into Largo's private garden. In contrast to the park it adjoined, it was nature forced into submission—severely clipped trees and flowers in regimented beds, arranged by colour. Vila decided he didn't much like Largo. Knowing that the railings would be alarmed, he put the rolled-up tartan rug Ronda had given him on the ground and examined the lock on the gate. Hand-print activated, very like that door on the London, but in this case there were no guards as only Largo and his closest associates used it. Glad that the others couldn't see how easy it was, Vila quickly opened the lock, put his hand on the pad, diverted the rejection signal, triggered an acceptance, then closed the panel. The gate swung open, and he picked up the rug and went in.
There was another handprint lock on the door set into the solid grey metal wall at the far side of the garden. Vila opened it and peered in cautiously. He was in a dining room with a long table set for one person. The painting on the wall looked like the Chagall Ronda had mentioned—at least so Vila thought, as it showed people floating around in mid-air. He checked the nearest door, and found a hallway. The other door lead into a large living room, austere and expensively tasteful in grey and white, enlivened by splashes of colour from the paintings on the walls. The effect, Vila thought, was somewhat spoiled by laser detectors on the art, and locks on the cabinets containing collections of jade, porcelain and wine. He raised his eyebrows. Tight bastard, Largo. Vila bet he hardly ever looked at the beautiful things locked away; just liked owning them.
For a few moments, Vila stood and admired the paintings, particularly the Kawumba. The vibrant colours of the exuberant dancers were wasted on a man who probably owned it only for its value. He deactivated the lasers for the whole room, then, working quickly, unrolled the rug and removed the fake painting. He took down the real one, flipped it over, carefully removed the backing, swapped the canvases, and rehung it. He rolled up the rug with its half a million credits' worth of masterpiece, and prepared to leave. Art theft to order had been a specialty of his on Earth; not that much in demand, but quick and profitable.
About to reactivate the lasers, Vila hesitated. This would probably be his only chance to rob the Terra Nostra. He opened a door which he supposed lead back to the hallway, and peered out. He was right. There was no one in sight, but he thought he could hear the rumble of Blake's voice. He closed the door again and relieved Largo of three of his jade figurines, the ones which most appealed to him (a horse with mane and tail outstretched, a sleeping cat, and a pensive-looking woman), and a bottle of wine. As an afterthought, he also took three crystal glasses from a side-table—he and Ronda might as well celebrate in style—and slipped them into the large inside pockets of his tunic with the rest of his booty.
He was about to turn away when his eye was caught by some glass bowls. One contained golden globules—shadow. Vila pulled a face. It was worth a lot of money, but that stuff killed, and he had his standards. He looked curiously at the other bowls. Most of the other drugs were unknown to him, but he recognised the little blue pills. Mickeys they were called, for some unknown reason. The drug was a catalyst which could make a man so drunk on one drink he barely knew what he was doing. Vila had occasionally used them on Earth to counteract his resistance and enhance the effect of alcohol. Might come in useful. He grabbed a handful.
Suppressing the urge to whistle, he reactivated the laser detectors, picked up the rug, and left.
***
Vila's exultation wore off while he waited on the park bench for Ronda and Barker to get back. She had greeted him with a bone-crushing hug, and immediately rushed off to contact her buyer and tell Barker the good news.
Vila pulled a little table close to the bench, opened a bottle and poured out three glasses of Shiraz. He knew enough about wines to recognise the name as an earth-strain grape—Largo certainly looked after himself well. He sipped at his glass appreciatively, and closed his eyes with pleasure. Life would be better from now on, with Ronda and Barker. No more Federation pursuit ships firing plasma bolts at him, no more insults from Avon (clever though they were), no more disapproving looks from Cally as she parsimoniously dealt out the adrenaline and soma. Vila took another drink. He wouldn't have to face Cally now. Necklace of his teeth indeed. He wondered if Aurons, uh, extracted such payments from their enemies. He drained his glass and looked at it mournfully. Why did he feel so guilty then? He put the glass down on the bench to his left, and sat back, his ankle across his knee.
Didn't owe them anything, did he? Blake had rescued him, but he'd saved Blake's life. Well, all right, he wouldn't have had to if Blake hadn't come to get him and the others, but then again, he'd got Blake through a lot of locked doors since. And they'd probably be well-pleased to be rid of him after this little escapade.
Rid of him? That was what had been niggling at his mind since he got here. This wasn't the sort of place he'd choose to come to, not with a bounty on his head and the Terra Nostra running things. Yet it was as if he'd been compelled to. Who wanted to get rid of him?
Orac.
That sneaky little plastic bastard. He'd wanted Vila to hide him in return for teleporting him. Vila hadn't even asked why, and that wasn't normal; he liked a good practical joke. No, it started to make sense now. Orac had got at him, made him want to get off the ship, and the cunning little sod had made sure he ended up right where he'd find someone he knew, so he wouldn't come back in a hurry. Not a coincidence at all then, meeting Ronda. So what was Orac up to? Cally was still there. And Cally might be in danger.
"Vila!"
He looked up. It was Ronda and Barker. Ronda was grinning broadly and Barker looked as pleased as the mousy little chap could get.
"We've seen the buyer's agent, been paid, and transferred all the money to Largo's loan sharks," Ronda said, plumping herself down beside Vila. "We're in the clear at last, thanks to you, sweetie."
Barker perched himself on the armrest beside Ronda. "We're free to leave now. Ronda says you're coming with us."
Vila said nothing.
"But you're not, are you?" Ronda said quietly.
"I think there's something wrong on the ship."
Ronda enveloped him in an expansive hug. "I'm not really surprised. All right then, Vila-lad. You go back to your friends."
Friends? He supposed they were, as much as anyone was. And he did owe Cally for deserting her like that. Sadly, he let go of Ronda and put on his teleport bracelet.
"Thanks for asking me. Might take you up on it one day." He handed them a glass of wine each and stood up. "Cheers, you two." He popped a blue pill in his mouth—he'd better look as drunk as he'd sounded—and took a swig from the bottle. "Cally? I'm ready to come back now."
Cally sat behind the teleport controls, glaring.
"Are you all right, Cally?" Vila swayed. Wine, a mickey, and teleport stress did not make a good combination.
"You are asking me?"
"Look, there's something wrong. Orac..." Vila paused, puzzled. What had he been going to say? He shook his head, a bad mistake, and reeled forward, grabbing the front of the control panel to stop himself from falling. "...I had something important to tell you...can't remember..."
"Considering the state you are in, I am pleased about that." Cally turned away in disgust and left.
"Cally, listen..." He had to tell her something, had to warn her, but his mind had become fuzzy and his legs unaccountably numb. He slid to the floor.
"All right, Cally. We're ready to come across." Blake said over the teleport communications.
Cally came back and stepped fastidiously over Vila to operate the controls. The rest of the crew appeared, briefly outlined in light.
"What's the matter with Vila?" Blake asked.
Cally's voice dripped with contempt. "He hid Orac, made it teleport him to the city, and got very drunk."
"No," said Vila. That wasn't right. Wrong way round—Orac had made him. He wanted to say so but felt very dizzy. "Not fair, came back to..." Why had he come back? No reason he could think of. Stupid thing to do, look at them all, looking at him like that. Should have stayed with Ronda and Barker. They liked him. A big tear rolled down his face.
"Get up, Vila!" Blake said sharply.
Vila tried to and fell back. "Can't."
"His condition is what I believe is called 'legless'," Avon said, sardonically amused.
Vila looked up at their unsympathetic faces. He'd come back for them. For Cally in particular, but why? Oh, yes. "Cally! Brought them with me. My teeth, jus' like you wanted. Make a lovely necklace for you. Matched set."
Blake looked enquiringly at Cally.
"It was a request which I'm seriously considering taking him up on."
Blake shrugged. "Well, I'm not wasting any of our time on him," he said, "but I know where I can find a couple of nursemaids. Cally, put me back down."
***
Bek sat in the cabin assigned to him, wondering what he was going to do with the rest of his life. Before she died, his mother had told him to look after Hanna and Peety, and he had tried. He should have taken them home with what was left over after he sold their beaten-up salvage ship, but debts had eaten up most of what they'd got for it, and besides, the few memories they had of dirt-side life were hardly an inducement. They'd chosen to stay in Space City, where life was more exciting and the hope of the big score kept them going.
Now Blake wanted him to go back there and fight, be a rebel like him. On his own? For Hanna and Peety, who'd never cared for politics anyway, only for pleasure?
Bek felt numb, though there had been a moment of satisfaction after 'burning the president's garden' as Blake had called it. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt the rotten heart of the Federation much, but at least it would be a while before shadow was killing people again.
"Hello? Can I come in?"
It was Vila, the one that Blake had brought them on board to look after.
"Yeah, why not?"
Vila stood awkwardly in front of Bek, looking down at his hands. Bek could see the burns he had got from Orac while trying to remove its key.
"Look, I'm sorry," Vila said at last.
"What about?"
"Hanna."
"She was dying anyway," Bek said. When Vila did not respond, he added, "At least it was quick. And her death achieved something."
Vila looked up, his face tortured. "It was my fault."
Bek was honestly surprised. "Why? You tried twice, and you didn't know Orac was going do anything worse the next time."
"No, that's true." Vila brightened briefly, then shook his head miserably. "But if I'd come back to the ship earlier instead of...doing what I did, maybe I could have warned Cally. The alien in Orac might not have been strong enough to stop me saying anything then."
Despite himself, Bek was touched. He was glad there was someone besides himself who cared about Hanna's passing, if only out of guilt. "If you hadn't been drunk, Blake would've left us there for Largo to kill. Look, Vila, either way Hanna would be dead, and I would be too if you hadn't stopped me when I tried to get Orac's key."
Vila sighed. "All the same. I feel bad." He fumbled in his pocket and brought out a jade figure of a woman. "I want you to have this. It's worth more than it looks, because it's old. I got Orac to find out. You could get up to twenty thousand credits if you deal with the right person." He handed Bek a note. "Get hold of Ronda Melling. She's a friend of mine, she'll look after you."
Stunned, Bek took the little carving, and turned it in his hand. At the right angle, the face looked a little like Hanna. He looked up at Vila. "Thank you."
***
Cally stopped Vila in the corridor. "How is your hand, Vila?"
"All right." He showed her. He seemed subdued, and Cally had expected him to complain and beg for sympathy and some adrenaline and soma.
"Come with me. I want to talk to you."
Vila looked resigned. "If you want to yell at me, get it over with here. But if it's any help, I feel bad enough already."
"I will not yell at you." Cally took Vila firmly by the elbow and steered him to her cabin. She showed him to a chair, and closed the door. "I wanted to see you in private. I thought you might prefer that."
Vila wriggled uneasily. "I already said it wasn't my fault. I couldn't stop myself."
"I know."
He looked up at her, surprised.
"That creature was able to communicate with me telepathically. And with you, to a much lesser degree."
"So?"
Cally sat down on her bed, facing him. "Vila, you are the only one I receive anything from."
Vila's eyes widened. "What d'you mean? You said you couldn't read anyone's mind who wasn't a telepath!"
"And I cannot. But I do occasionally receive particularly strong emotions and feelings from you. You have a little empathy yourself, but it is at such a low level, you probably do not recognise it."
"Me?"
"Yes. You might think of it as having a hunch, that sort of thing."
"Oh." Vila thought about it. "Well, I usually know if something's wrong, even though you all laugh at me. And I know who to trust."
"With training, you could develop it." Cally regarded him thoughtfully.
"Dunno, not sure I'd like that. Knowing what people think about me?" Vila smiled crookedly. "It's bad enough suspecting it. And they'd all get nervous around me."
"That is why I wanted to speak to you by yourself. It does not concern anyone else. And," Cally added softly, "I wanted to say I am sorry."
"You're sorry?"
"Yes. You tried to tell me what was happening when you got back. I saw into that thing's mind at the end, Vila, and I saw how it took a little desire in your head and made it stronger, and how it made you forget where you put Orac, and stopped you telling me something was wrong." Cally sighed. "And I was unkind."
"That's all right," Vila said awkwardly. "Used to it, aren't I? But how come you didn't know?"
"It left me alone because it was not yet strong enough to control me, and it knew I would have detected an attempt." Cally leaned forward and put her hand on Vila's. "Vila. I received some what you felt when you came back. Worry—and regret. You did not want to, did you?"
Vila shook his head. "I met some people I knew, and they asked me to go with them."
"But you did not."
Vila looked embarrassed. "I knew something was wrong and you were here all alone."
"I thought it was something like that. Thank you, Vila." She hesitated, and said softly, "You are lonely, aren't you?"
Vila shrugged. "Sometimes. Must be worse for you."
That was perceptive, Cally thought. "Yes, and the alien used that against me. I would have been defeated if the moon-discs had not helped me. Come and meet the one I brought back." She went over to her small table and showed Vila the dish of sand containing the moon-disc. Cally wondered if he too would feel the comforting warmth. "They are telepathic, and so are you, a little. Say hello to it."
"How?"
"Just think at it."
Vila's face went still, and the moon-disc moved slowly towards him. Enchanted, he put out his fingers to touch it, and it flowed into his hand. He gasped and turned to Cally, beaming with delight.
"I—I can feel that! It likes me!"
Cally smiled. "And so do we, Vila."
The end