DISCLAIMER: There is no intention of infringement of copyright to any of the legal owners of the characters etc., contained in this story.  No money has been made; this is purely for fun.

IN SHADOW'S REALM

BY MAGGIE

'... and this physical, social and cultural evolution is only a symbol of man's real, spiritual evolution.

The material world, a shadowy dream mostly; at best a cellar window through which one catches glimpses of the light outside.

God is love, they say. What then is Love?

And what is it that can be perhaps sensed sometimes, that sleeps in the Darkness?

What, before God ...?'

The spirit moving in the pages, stringing the words into some arcane spell, lingered long moments after Vincent closed the book that he held before his weary eyes; held his breath so that he did not notice. The shadow of the thoughts imparted to him sat heavy and cold upon him like a drenched cloak; he shivered before drawing a long shuddering breath, blinked his eyes and raised his head and wondered suddenly what time it was. He listened for the almost perpetual soft chatter of the pipes ... slowly he focused on it and heard the daily call to dinner, the main meal of the tunnel dwellers' day.

How long had he sat here on the bridge of the whispering gallery? Even more slowly the sounds that filtered down from the world Above registered in his ears. He shivered once more, he was cold, and a draught across his back had made his shoulders stiffen as he hunched over the book ...

That book; what was it that felt so dark and heavy? Where had the darkness hidden in what he'd read? He felt frightened, and for one unthinking moment was tempted to hurl the heavy volume into the depths beneath him, but the very act of raising his arm to hurl its burden away from him made him feel foolish. Turning his face towards the soft light of the Tunnels, he shrugged away his introspective mood and, crossing the bridge, left the echoing chamber to its secret whispers.

He was hungry and already could smell the spicy aroma of William's special soup. Vincent frowned to himself a little; William only made that particular recipe on special occasions as the ingredients were hard for the helpers to get. There were getting too many people Below now for him to cook it for birthdays, and yet it was not a feast day. What could the reason be?

Of course! Father's birthday! One birthday that was always a special celebration because he was their leader. How could he have forgotten it? Had he been so withdrawn these last few days that it could have entirely slipped his mind?

He hurried to his chamber to collect the special present that Catherine had been able to acquire for him from her world, Above; a special limited edition of the life and work of Marie Curie, the discoverer of radium, which Father had longed to possess for as long as Vincent could recall. And Catherine had finally found a copy and, having bought it, had rushed Below with it a fortnight since so that Vincent could give it to Father as a present from both of them.

Catherine ...

He wished she could be with them at this time to share the celebration and Father's happiness when he received that special present; it had taken him a long time to accept Catherine's love for Vincent, if only because he feared that that love would bring his beloved son pain.

But Catherine was spending this special weekend out of town doing some research for her latest case. Vincent knew that her work was very important to her; it was one of the reasons that he loved her, if reasons could be told.

He was the last into the dining hall, but made his way to the head of the table to give Father the gift wrapped package before he took his seat. On glancing at the title on the spine, Father's eyes lit up and his brief glance of gratitude made Vincent feel a warm glow inside, for himself and for Catherine.

"There is a message inside", he said.

The few words on the flyleaf were simple enough, but revealed much under Father's gaze.

"Catherine found this?"

"Yes. She remembered that you mentioned it once."

"Did she? Did she ...?"

The thoughtfully appreciative tone of Father's voice warmed Vincent's heart even more than the glance had done, and he smiled to himself as the community's celebration meal began. *

At that moment, up Above, Catherine had just finished her own early dinner in the restaurant of the hotel where she was staying, and was making her way back to her room to correlate the information that she'd managed to prise from the man she'd gone to Boston to see.

Jackson Browne was the manager of the hotel where she was staying, a hotel that was that weekend host to a science fiction convention. He was also the former business partner to the man who Catherine was prosecuting. She thought she now had enough information to make her case against Kyle Prendergast solid enough for her to take him to trial with a damn good chance of winning. Prendergast had defrauded many people who could ill afford it, out of nearly eight million dollars over the years; people who were vulnerable and easily led, and Catherine meant to see that they got their money back. With Browne's help, she was sure she could. She'd been working on the sheaf of notes for perhaps half an hour when she felt suddenly dizzy and sick. She'd been feeling a little off colour all day, but the atmosphere as she wandered around the convention stands with Jackson talking to her had cheered her up a lot. The sheer exuberant enthusiasm of the fans for the shows they'd congregated to support was a joyous, crazy thing which touched everyone in its vicinity; looking at some of the costumes being worn she thought wryly to herself that Vincent would not look at all out of place among these people ...!

She managed to shuffle the papers together and put them away in her briefcase, and called down to reception for some aspirin, but when she got up from her chair to go over to the bed, her legs turned suddenly to jelly, and the lights went out.

When the porter could get no answer from her room, he rang down on a corridor phone to check the number.

"Definitely 327," the girl on the desk told him. "Mind you, she sounded real groggy. Maybe you'd better check."

He found Catherine collapsed on the floor next to the desk. She'd hit her head on the chair on the way down; there was a small trickle of blood coming from a gash on her temple.

Not knowing what might be wrong with her, the porter left her where she was to phone down to reception for the attendant medical officer, Joe Kowalski, then he just covered her with a quilt and waited nervously for assistance.

*

"It's this damned 'flu," Kowalski announced, glancing at her temperature reading with a sad shake of his head. "Over a hundred already, and it'll get worse. We're gonna have to isolate her, and hospitalise her if she gets much worse .."

Catherine, all this time only semi-conscious, heard snatches of this conversation through a vague cotton-wool haze. She thought she was down in the tunnels but instead of feeling a slight airborne chill, although she was shivering, she wondered where the terrible heat was coming from.

"Father ..." she rasped, her throat like sandpaper. "Where ... where's Vincent?"

"Is she delirious?" asked the porter.

"Maybe," Joe replied. "Maybe ..." He stopped and thought for a moment, then made a decision. "I think it might be better if we get her to a hospital right away. If she's like this now ... I'll make the arrangements. Stay here and keep an eye on her."

The porter nodded, and as Kowalski left he pulled the quilt up closer around the young woman and went to the bathroom to wet a facecloth to put across her forehead.

The epidemic of a particularly virulent strain of influenza had been sweeping down from the border for a couple of months now, and some people had died.

Laying the cloth across her brow, he smoothed the hair - already wringing wet - away from her face. Such a nice looking young woman; he hoped she'd be alright.

*

The meal was scarcely over when Vincent felt a sudden faintness sweep over him. Catherine's face rose unbidden to his mind; as he pushed himself up from the table he swayed and crashed to the floor, suddenly too weak to stop himself falling.

"Vincent!" Father rushed from his place, and Mouse, who'd been sitting next to Vincent, was already on the floor next to him, tightly grasping his hand. Father laid a hand on Vincent's forehead and declared that his temperature was normal. "Nevertheless it would be better if we keep him isolated, just in case it's something contagious."

"He doesn't take proper care of himself," said Mary softly, worried as they all were. "I hope it's just a chill or something."

Joseph, one of the helpers who had come to join the celebrations, stepped forward with a suggestion which worried Mary even further. "There's a real bad flu epidemic spreading around up top right now. From the way he just keeled over it could be that he's caught it. One of the guys at work just collapsed right over his signalboard with it not two days ago; no warning. He could have caught it from one of us," meaning the helpers. "Who's been down recently?"

"Well, are you sure it isn't you?" Father asked.

"I feel o.k."

"From what you've told me, that means nothing at all. You ... or any one of us ... could simply be a carrier."

"Catherine ...!" Vincent's strangled gasp distracted them. He was moving weakly, hardly conscious, as if in a fever.

"But he has no temperature ..." mused Father, puzzled. "Let's get him to his room; Mary go with him. I must consult my books." And with this he departed, hurrying off to consult the copious medical journals that filled his ramshackle library, anxiously seeking a plausible explanation for Vincent's collapse.

For a full seven days, Catherine's fever raged. It was the worst case that the staff at the hospital could remember ... they were even afraid that they might lose her.

Catherine moved in a trance within herself, and where Catherine went, Vincent was led, irresistibly. Of their shared illness they knew nothing; of each other, everything, for their empathic bond was strong, and this time she met him half way.

She had seen many things at the hotel with its convention; some of the programmes being celebrated had impressed themselves on her mind through the sheer enthusiasm of the assembled fans ... and something had happened between them then; they shared something like a dream; a strange dream which led them from one set of characters to another, from being Vincent and Catherine to ...

* THE FIRST *

"Cally! CALLY! Wake up! What's the recharge time on banks five, six and seven?"

Catherine, as is the way of dreams sometimes, knew exactly what to do; she looked at the bank of information displays and read off the relevant data. "According to this, ten hours. No, wait ... thirty hours. No ... I don't understand this. The estimated time keeps changing."

Catherine wasn't surprised to hear herself speak with Cally's voice. She identified the voice as hers. She looked up; it was Tarrant who had spoken to her.

Where was Avon? Avon, the beloved Vincent? She knew that. Knew that he was there with her in her dream, knew just how he would look. A little taller than her, dark and at times devastatingly handsome, dressed in dark leather and studs. Catherine didn't think about the differences in their respective personalities; not about the differences between herself and Cally. It did not occur to her. This was her dream.

There he was, coming up onto the flight deck now.

He saw her, would have gone to her, but he was stopped by the girl Dayna, who drew his attention to the problem with their life support systems.

"It's all shutting down, Avon! I know this is a big ship and there's plenty of air at the moment, but we can't make it last that much longer without recycling it."

"I know that."

Avon's voice ... somehow it didn't jar like it should have done. The voice was pleasing to Cally, so Catherine could accept it as being the voice she loved. It was strange and unthinkable this; being Cally and Avon and yet knowing themselves to be Catherine and Vincent. Neither did she question him being here, really sharing her dream; and it was him, not just an image of him in her mind. This much she knew.

"Well ... Avon," she finally spoke to him. "What are we going to do?"

"It's something outside the ship. As far as I can tell, it's a natural emission coming from the gas cloud we came past a while ago. Orac tells me that it's blocking the Liberator energy output."

"Well, we'd better find out how to unblock it and quick," retorted Tarrant. "Even if we keep moving around different parts of the ship, our air is going to be pretty unbreathable in about twenty hours from now."

"Has Orac got any suggestions?" put in Vila, trying to be helpful.

He was hovering around, a glass of adrenalin and soma in his hand and trying, as he did sometimes, to look as if he were about to do something useful any minute now.

"Just one," replied Avon. "Get out of the immediate vicinity, and fast."

"But we can't move the ship, Avon!" said Dayna, rather unnecessarily, Catherine thought.

Vincent could feel that the others were beginning to feel panic; all except Catherine.

"Avon, is there nothing you can come up with that Orac hasn't the imagination for?"

"No Cally, there isn't. If there was we'd be doing it."

That last remark, as far as Catherine knew, was pure Avon. She longed to get him on his own, seeing suddenly the possibilities inherent in their situation. She knew too that Vincent was aware of these possibilities; his now by virtue of Avon's normal, human form: lent by the dream. Her dream.

But there were rules even to this dream which they must not break.

They couldn't ignore their situation which left little or no time for leisure - they could not stop the passage of time, even in a dream - and something had to be done to solve the problem in a logical way.

So they had to get on and do it.

"We have to set up an SOS," she told him.

"And risk having every Federation pursuit ship in the quadrant close in on us?" Tarrant gave voice to Avon's all too obvious thought.

"This far out from galactic centre?" Cally pointed out. "Federation pursuit ships?" repeated Vila, seeming a little slow on the uptake. But he wasn't. "The Terra Nostra own this quadrant, practically. Nearly all of the planets in the two systems are either supply depots or storage space for them. The Federation has to be seen to steer clear of this place."

"Vila, the Federation owns the Terra Nostra," put in Tarrant. "Yes, but they can't be seen to," Avon told him with exaggerated patience. "There are too many people who could make things too uncomfortable for Madame President if that little fact ever became common knowledge."

"We could tell everybody," suggested Vila cheerfully.

"Evidence, Vila?" Cally retorted.

Catherine found that she'd been thinking only as Cally, and was beginning to lose herself, drawn in by the other characters and their surroundings. The dream seemed to be getting the upper hand. This worried her and she felt the sudden need to withdraw and be on her own; but she couldn't just walk out, not without a plausible explanation.

"Vila does have a point though, Avon. Whoever might come to help us it won't be the Federation. I'm going down to Subtronics to see if I can set up a 'click'."

Catherine left the flight deck, taking some tools that she would need with her. None of the others tried to stop her.

"Anything the rest of us can do in the meantime?" asked Tarrant impatiently.

"Yes. Stop talking," Avon retorted swiftly. "It uses up too much air."

"What about ideas?" A tentative if rather sarcastic query from Dayna.

"Write them down," replied Avon wearily. Vincent too was being taken over by the character that he, in the dream, had adopted. He didn't think it was so much the influence of the others as the desire to be something other than he normally was. He was enjoying being Avon, perhaps too much. It is only a dream, he thought soberly; even if I cannot escape it, it is still like running away, somehow.

"I'm going to help Cally," he said finally, turning to leave. "That uses up a lot of oxygen too," muttered Tarrant, just loud enough for Vincent to hear him.

From behind Tarrant there came a snarl. A real snarl. Something from the throat of a wild animal. He turned rapidly, but all he saw was Avon staring at him. Then suddenly he saw it, the animal he had heard; it was lodged behind Avon's eyes. Tarrant took an involuntary step backward; then, slowly, the baleful light was gone, and Avon closed his eyes.

"Don't be foolish, Tarrant," Vincent told him. Then he turned on his heel and left to go and find Catherine.

He knew where to go and what she was doing. A 'click' was an intermittent jamming signal which interfered with the normal radio waves of space. Anyone picking up anything on any frequency within the quadrant would hear their transmission only as this jamming signal would allow them to. It was a recognised practice in certain quadrants, and this was one of them. The code pattern of the interference was standard, and it shouldn't take very long for someone to pick up their Mayday. Vincent could only hope that someone out there would be either kindly enough or curious enough to actually investigate.

*

"He seems delirious," said Mary. "Muttering things ... names ... that I've never heard before."

"And yet I can't find out what could be wrong with him."

Father was worried, but only because he could find no logical reason for being so; there was still no fever. He had Vincent hooked up on a nutrient drip because they had been unable to wake him to take solid nourishment. He didn't need any other form of life support; he wasn't in a coma. His sleep seemed otherwise normal. It was just that they couldn't wake him.

Finally it was Mouse who supplied the answer; an answer which had been staring them all in the face since Vincent collapsed. In fact, Mouse had been trying to get to talk to Father all day, but had been brushed off with "Later Mouse, later! Not now!"

Now at last he managed to corner Father in Vincent's room, when they both went to see how the patient was getting on.

"Vincent o.k.?"

"Oh Mouse, how can he be ... oh, I'm sorry. It's just that I'm worried. There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with him."

"He said 'Catherine' when he went funny, he said 'Catherine'. Maybe ..."

"Of course!" Mary caught on to what Mouse was trying to say as she changed the drip hanging over Vincent's bed. "It could be Catherine who's ill."

"I see what you mean," said Father. "If that's the case then there's not much we can do except wait it out."

"Couldn't one of the helpers go and see if she's alright?" Mary suggested. "If it is this 'flu ..."

"Not possible," Father replied. "Vincent told me that Catherine is away in Boston this weekend. That's why she wasn't at the feast."

"Well, couldn't they find out where she's staying? Get in touch? See what's happened?"

"Yes, I suppose so. I'll go and ask Joseph ... is he still here, Mouse?"

Mouse nodded. "I'll go."

"Yes, alright. Ask him to see what he can find out."

Mouse ran out, and Father turned back to Mary who was now sat by Vincent on the edge of the bed.

"Father ... look."

Although pale and still deeply unconscious, there was a faint smile playing about the corners of Vincent's mouth.

"Hmmm. He seems to be sharing something apart from the illness with her."

*

Vincent found Catherine down in the bowels of the ship, sitting on the floor of the auxiliary communications room, in front of an open circuit board, tapping the fingers of her left hand absent-mindedly on the casing of a hand generator, whilst she stared into space, obviously deep in thought.

"Catherine?"

She breathed out a deep sigh.

"How's it going?"

After a moment she looked up at him, with hopes, wishes and dreams deep in her eyes. Unavoidably, he shared them with her for a long moment, then looking away, asked how she was doing with the click. "Can you make it work? The 'click'?"

"What? ... On, no. There isn't enough power in this generator to amplify the signal," she replied.

"There are parts in Orac that will cover that."

"But you'll have to dismantle him ... it."

"And he won't like that," he replied, a wry smile spreading across those different but familiar features. "Nevertheless ..." "Vincent; do you think that when we get ourselves out of this -" "If."

"WHEN, Vincent, not IF," she told him, encouraging him to think positively. "D'you think all this will disappear," she said, meaning the dream, "leaving no time for us?"

"There will be time." He seemed very sure. "I think that is what all this is about."

He went over to her, reached out his hand, and pulled her up off the floor. She moved close to him, put her arms round him, wanting more than anything to kiss him as, for a moment, instead of Avon's eyes - dark brown and mysterious - she saw the china blue eyes which had so often gazed at her, sometimes with unbearable longing. She bent her head, leaning upwards, to press her mouth to his, but he ever so gently evaded her; instead he hugged her to him, lightly resting his cheek on her hair and ruffled the dark curls with newly discovered fingers.

No claws to scratch her with without meaning to.

There had been times when his longing for her had been so strong that he'd been afraid that it would overpower him, and then ...

But now, here, there was no danger. And there WOULD be time. "Cally," he said, deliberately, to re-focus the situation for both of them, "the signal."

She sighed again, and slowly drew away from him, nodding wearily. She drew in a sharp breath, holding it a moment before letting it out, then looked up at him, straight, more in control of herself again. She nodded once to indicate that she was alright.

"I'll go and get started on Orac," and so saying, he left without a backward glance.

*

"You've what?"

Vincent, feeling a little more like himself after his talk with Catherine, just let Tarrant boil, until his impetuous anger frittered away under Avon's hooded glance.

"You do want to come out of this alive, I take it?"

"Orac could've been analysing that whatever-it-is out there, and finding a way to neutralize it, Avon!"

"He's also the only one with the particular parts necessary of the right size to link with the generator. The click is working perfectly and should be picked up anywhere within the two systems."

"What if nobody answers it?" asked Dayna.

"They can't afford not to," put in Vila. The couldn't know that it isn't one of 'theirs' in trouble."

"One of 'theirs'?"

"A supply ship choc-a-bloc with 'Noir et Vert', for instance. They have supplies of those coming in all the time, Dayna," Vila replied.

"Nwoir ... what?"

"It's a new drug, developed secretly by Federation scientists to rebuild the market the Terra Nostra lost when we deprived them of their sole supply of 'Shadow', said Vila. "They're black and green pills, Dayna, that's why they're called -"

"Noir et vert; I see. And what happens when they find out that we're not a supply ship?"

Vila, having run out of inspiration, looked hopefully over at Avon, who obliged with an indulgent smile.

"We're freelance smugglers, and we've picked up a load of their little happiness pills that someone else had to dump fast at our last port of call."

"And when they board us, as we'll have to let them, and they find out that we're lying?" asked Catherine, who'd just come back onto the flight deck. "What do we do then, Avon?"

"We refuse to let them off unless they agree to help us. Unless they want to suffocate, they'll have to."

"Oh, VERY nice!" Vila chimed in. "And then we'll have the Terra Nostra on our backs for the rest of our naturals, which won't be very long actually, considering who'll be after us!"

"On our backs for what, Vila?" Avon pointed out. "We've taken nothing that belongs to them -"

"Except their time, energy and pride, Avon," Tarrant pointed out. "They're going to want retribution at least."

"But at least we'll still be alive to make sure that they don't get it," Avon growled, his patience growing thin.

Catherine looked over at Vincent at this remark, thinking 'it's a good job this is only a dream'.

Vincent continued to voice Avon's intentions. "Now, before we use up any more air in here, I suggest that the rest of you split up and each hole up in separate parts of the ship, taking whatever you might need with you. I'll stay here as a ... welcoming committee."

"But, Avon, why -"

"All we can do is wait, Tarrant," Catherine interrupted him. "Avon, you'll need a hand generator to open the airlock; I'll fetch you one."

Cally's disappearance from the flight deck was the signal for the others to disperse with a flurry of groans and complaints.

Ten minutes later, Catherine returned with the generator, which she handed over to Vincent, with a wry smile on her face. She also brought him a survival suit and two oxygen tanks. "It shouldn't take long enough for you to need these ... but just in case ... And do try not to bury yourself in this 'part' too much. Avon is rather different from you."

Vincent gave her a wry grin of his own.

"You are enjoying this, aren't you?"

He nodded. "Mmmm."

"Tarrant and Dayna have gone down to the hold," she said. "Vila's in main Rec."

"Drinking himself into a stupor, I suppose."

"Vincent!"

A moment's silence. Then

"Catherine! I'm sorry. But all this is rather ..."

The mixture of confused humour, delight and, also, regret, she knew as pure Vincent this time. She put her hands up to his face gently and this time, she kissed him. He gathered her to him, enfolding her in his arms. She revelled in the strength and comfort that she found there, she ...

"Tarrant's right. It uses up too much oxygen."

"How did you know that?" he asked her, puzzled.

"Vincent ..." she smiled good-naturedly up at him. "This is a dream."

"Ah, yes. Only a dream," he said, sadly.

'Me and my big mouth' she thought. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid this seems to be the best we can do."

"We must make the best of what we have," he whispered.

She hugged him tight, then, releasing him, gave him another big smile and turned to leave the flight deck again.

"Catherine!" She turned. "Where will you be?"

"Subtronics. I'll try and set up a receiver."

"Need anything?"

"No. I don't think so," but her eyes said, 'only you'. Then she was gone.

He sighed. Then, turning around to survey his new kingdom, empty of people now, he suddenly realised something; if this WAS a dream, why had she needed parts from Orac? Perhaps she had something against him ... it.

'The sound of his voice', he knew from her, suddenly.

Anyway, he was free. She had freed him, again.

"What will I do if I SHOULD lose her?" he whispered to the empty air.

No, not empty; filling with carbon dioxide, slowly but surely. The rules of the dream demanded that he save himself from its effects, so, with a reluctant sigh, he began to climb into the survival suit.

*

The children sat around Father's chair as he tried valiantly to concentrate on reading them a story.

But, sensing his lack of enthusiasm, his audience shuffled around and distracted him from his task at every other paragraph. Finally he admonished them, more sternly than he'd meant to, then realising the reason for their unease, slowly closed the book and apologised to them for his harshness.

"I'm sorry, all of you. I'm afraid my heart's just not in this right now."

"You worried about Vincent?" asked Jamie.

"And about Catherine, yes. There's a great possibility that she is ill and that it has affected Vincent."

"Will they be alright?" piped up Kipper.

"I hope so, yes. I am waiting for news from our helpers above, even now. But don't you worry, any of you. I'm sure, yes; I'm sure they'll be alright, given time. Now run along all of you. It's nearly time for bed for most of you, anyway."

One by one, amidst some groans of reluctance, the children said goodnight to Father and to Mary who'd been sitting on the steps leading up to the gallery of books in Father's room, then they left in a trickle of ones and twos, leaving the two adults alone with their thoughts.

"Who is with Vincent at the moment?" Father asked finally, as much to put an end to the silence as anything else.

"Elizabeth, I think."

"I'll go and relieve her."

"You should get some sleep;" said Mary, "you sound tired."

"No, no; I couldn't sleep."

He got up from his chair, left the storybook on his desk and was nearly through the cave chamber's door when he suddenly stopped and turned back to Mary. His next words came out all in a rush; his way of dealing with his fear of them.

"You know, it's strange. I can see no reason why they shouldn't come out of this; even a virulent strain of influenza very rarely kills one of Catherine's age and fitness. And yet I feel ..."

"What?" Mary asked.

"I ... I feel that something terrible is going to happen."

"Oh, you're getting as bad as Vincent with his premonitions," she replied soothingly.

"Mary; they usually prove true."

Father turned and exited the chamber ...

And left Mary with nothing to say.

"'Oh, let him be wrong,' she thought, suddenly anxious. 'What could go wrong?'

*

Father, having replaced Elizabeth at Vincent's bedside, placed his hand on his best-loved son's brow; he saw only one in some sweet dream of sleep, for the smile was still there, resting lightly on his noble features.

And yet still the doom-laden feeling would not leave him ...

*

They were down to six hours of oxygen and Vila was already onto his first tank of oxygen, complaining that he'd been about to expire on the spot, when the call came through on Cally's makeshift receiver.

It was coming from a long range shuttle craft hailing from the planet Aberdon Five, and it had been sent up by the Feldon Holding Company. It locked onto the Liberator for boarding, and had a crew of three sent out to affirm the situation that Vincent had outlined to them, and, if necessary, give them a tow to the other side of the system where they wouldn't be affected by the gas cloud emissions.

The crew of three were little more than glorified messenger boys, used to travelling only between the two systems and didn't initially put up much show of resistance when faced with Avon's arrogant and menacing behaviour, and the confidence behind Dayna's gun. The pilot, a man named Koteja, put through the call to his base explaining that they would be towing the 'smugglers' out of the system and would be returning with the cargo specified. When Vincent was satisfied that the man had given no hidden code signal or other such warning during the transmission, he nodded to Dayna who slowly eased the pressure of her blaster away from the back of the man's neck.

"Now then," said Tarrant, taking over for his part of the operation. "I know it only takes one man to work your ship, and I'll be going with him, along with my associate here," indicating Vila who was doing his best to look menacing so as not to be left out, "to make sure that whichever one of you it is doesn't make any false moves. Who's it going to be?"

"Well, I'm the pilot," replied Koteja, regaining some of his more natural cool, "so it might as well -"

"NO!" snapped Vincent. "Not you. You remain here, under guard. One of the others."

"Alright," continued Koteja smoothly. "Lefson here. He's flown the ship before." The man on Koteja's right stepped forward a little.

"Alright, Lefson," said Tarrant, approaching him. "I warn you. I'm a trained pilot and I've flown that class of shuttle myself, so I'll know if you're doing something you shouldn't be. Right; let's get moving. Vila ..."

Vila stepped forward, feeling useful at last, and took the gun offered him by Vincent. Advancing to the airlock, giving the impression of a rather jumpy coiled spring, he turned to Tarrant and said, "Right! Ready when you are!"

Tarrant looked at him for a moment with a disbelieving look on his face, then, waving Lefson towards the airlock, said "Let's ... just get on with it, Vila."

Once they had confirmed getting safely aboard the shuttle, Vincent, Catherine and Dayna returned to the flight deck with their two hostages.

"You won't get away with this, you know," said Koteja.

"Oh, yes, we will," growled Vincent.

He looked round at Catherine to find her staring at him, rather pointedly, but she was only thinking, 'Oh, what the hell! This is a dream. He won't be Avon when he wakes up.' She allowed a small smile to curl up the corner of her mouth and he relaxed again.

"If it's your own skins you're worried about," she told Koteja, "you needn't. There are millions of credits worth of gold and other valuables on board this ship. You won't be returning to your base empty-handed."

This time she noticed Vincent looking at her with Avon's 'Excuse-me-I-don't-remember-THAT-part-of-the-deal' expression, but she just raised an eyebrow at him, presenting that look that was so peculiar to Cally that warned him not to argue with her. As Avon, he would have liked to, as the repartee particular to the two spacers was fascinating to him, but he was pre-empted by Koteja who made an unexpected lightning-fast move towards the upper deck exit.

But he was no match for Dayna's speed who barely moved her hand before firing a blast which stunned him, bringing him crashing to the deck before he'd gone two yards.

The third shuttle crew member, a younger man called Petta, scarcely into his twenties, tensed and went to raise his hands as Dayna swung round on him, threateningly.

"Not me; I'm not going to do anything," he croaked out, obviously frightened.

"Alright," said Vincent finally, having sized him up and decided that he was telling the truth. "Dayna; keep an eye on him. Cally, help me take this idiot," indicating Koteja "down to the medical unit where we can restrain him."

As the two of them left, bearing the unconscious man between them, they heard a message come through on the small receiver from Tarrant, telling them that Liberator was now hooked to the shuttle by tractor beam, and that they were on their way.

They fixed Koteja down onto a bed, fixing him up for connection to the reserve oxygen supply as necessary, then distributed the remaining oxygen tanks amongst themselves and Dayna and Petta. By now they were all wearing survival suits, and would need to use the oxygen soon as it was now thinning out rapidly within the large area of the ship.

"We can't take much more," said Catherine, who was already beginning to look a little blue around the eyes and mouth. They were both sweating from their exertions, and Vincent found that he was beginning to feel a little woolly.

"Take two or three breaths from one tank at regular intervals," he said, "and keep still. We might as well stay here, as we'll probably have to put him out again when he comes to."

"Will the oxygen last out?"

"Well, we might get clear of the gas emission sooner than we thought. I've left all life-support and recharge units switched on up there, so Dayna will know as soon as we're out of it. Until then, Catherine, all we can do is wait."

*

Onboard the shuttle, Vila was getting twitchy.

"D'you think they're alright, Tarrant? I mean d'you think they'll have enough oxygen to last them? You know, even if we get out of the area in time, it's going to take awhile for the ship to recycle the air -"

"Vila, for heaven's sake, stop worrying! They'll be alright! Now shut up and ... don't even think about it, my friend," said Tarrant, switching his attention and levelling his gun at Lefson's ear, as he noticed the man edging his right hand towards the code switch of the communications board.

Lefson withdrew his hand slowly and smoothly and put it back to rest on the drive controls.

"Vila, get round onto this fool's other side, would you?" said Tarrant smoothly.

Vila did so, resting his gun in his right hand. "I wouldn't do anything like that again, if I were you," he said amicably.

*

Back on the Liberator, the situation had just taken a turn for the better.

"Avon! AVON! Life support's just come back on! We've come out of it! We're clear!!"

Dayna had come rushing into the medical unit, carrying her last remaining oxygen tank and pushing Petta in front of her. The communicator on her oxygen mask made her voice sound muffled, but Vincent got the message.

"Have you been in touch with Tarrant?"

"Yes. He's bringing the shuttle back to the airlock now," said Dayna.

"Tell him not to bother. Once the energy level is high enough, he can teleport aboard. Then we transfer the hostages back to the shuttle the same way, and make a quick exit."

Within an hour the air was back almost to normal and there was seventy percent charge level reading across all the energy banks. As soon as the two Liberator crew members were back on board, Vincent dragged them aside, thrust Koteja and Petta into the teleport alcove and Catherine sent the trigger levers home in their slots.

The two Terra Nostra men disappeared. Tarrant ran to the internal transceiver, activated it, and shouted "Dayna! Get us the hell out of here!!"

The Liberator was out of the system and gone before the crew of the shuttle had managed to get through to their base.

*

Catherine smiled, almost unconsciously, as the scenario of the dream faded until it left only her and Vincent -- Cally and Avon -- still standing in the teleport bay; alone. The others were gone.

"Flight deck," said Catherine, as Vincent looked around him. "Where do we go from here?" she whispered, somehow nearer to him than it had, at first, seemed.

"I'm sure Tarrant will find somewhere else exciting and highly dangerous," the sudden throatiness of his voice telling Catherine that the time allowed them only in this dream, was come.

Obeying an internal diurnal clock, the ship's lighting switched over to the night setting, dimming down to forty percent of normal.

Without a word, Catherine turned and walked off into the corridor towards the crew quarters.

Vincent followed her, even though he felt suddenly afraid. The door to Avon's room was the last at the end of the corridor; Catherine activated the door control and entered the darkness of the room. Vincent held back for a long moment, as, when she disappeared from his sight, a vision of Catherine, as herself, came into his mind; stopped him in his tracks:

Standing on her balcony looking up at him as he struggled to tell her of his memories and feelings for his erstwhile love, Lisa. '"You desired her,"' he heard her say. He had only been able to nod, and bow his head.

"!There is no shame in that."

"For me ... there is ..."' echoed back to him.

She'd walked towards him ...

Suddenly gripped by wave after wave of desire for her now, suddenly so attainable, he shook his head, tried to clear it. He saw the door to Avon's room; it was still open, he could vaguely see a shadowy silhouette against the dim light within.

He entered the room, moved towards her, stopped. He looked down at his hands; no claws. He was afraid that he would see them reappear before his eyes, afraid that some clock somewhere would strike midnight and the dream would fade like a fairy story, before they could ...

'Don't be afraid'. He heard her words in his head, looked at her, puzzled. 'Cally is a telepath, remember?'

It seemed strange that he could remember something which Catherine had to be imparting to him in the dream anyway, but he could not think about that now.

His heart seemed to be slamming against his ribcage and a hard burning heat was coiling and spreading in the pit of his stomach. It touched him physically and he shuddered as she reached out her arms to bring him close to her and enfold him.

She reached up to kiss him and as her mouth touched his he felt that he would lose control, and he fought desperately to hold himself still and do nothing. One move, and he felt that he would be lost. His breath was coming short and fast now and he felt himself slipping into the heat of the desire, when she let him go. She touched his hand and he looked into her eyes. 'I'm, sorry,' she telepathed to him. 'Avon has travelled this road before. I forgot that you had not.'

He looked at his hands once more - Still Avon. How? He had forgotten his role as the Liberator's commander almost completely.

He thought of himself as, felt himself to be, only Vincent. He stared at his hands, which were shaking, but could barely see them, his eyes were so blinded by hot tears. He knew his dilemma too well, and Catherine, seeing his torment, stopped up her own feelings of desire and put her arms around him, soothing his back with gentle movements of her hands, until she could feel the tension ebb slowly out of him, and his breathing slow to something more like its normal pace.

She reached up gently until she could kiss him softly in the corner of his jaw, just below his ear, and whispering soothingly to him, she planted little kisses around his face; she felt his arms slowly go around her, pull her more closely to him, and at that moment, she dared to gently kiss his mouth. His breathing halted momentarily, and then his embrace tightened, and he deepened the kiss himself, as a barely-heard moan escaped him.

She felt so close to him; SO close! She could barely believe the intensity of the feelings and the connection between them both; there was nothing outside of them; TRULY nothing.

Control had no meaning, as their love happened around them, inside them, flowing between them; their love growing, building on itself, lived, flourished, exalted, on this plane of existence, hitherto unknown to her, and yet so instantly recognisable. His fur brushing constantly over her skin, the strength and tenderness of his hands, holding her, releasing her soul as they discovered knowledge of her, the sounds he made, more eloquent than any language, expressing the discoveries he made about her; about himself....

The unbearable sweetness of his mouth ....

In the kingdom they inhabited now, there was a single star, bright and unquenchable; did they move towards it, or it towards them? Its fire burned hotter, brighter, moment by moment; they plunged as did the star, into a vast unknown, yet knowing, heart, they bathed in the fire, became the fire, were surprised that they were not consumed.

Perhaps years in the future they might be content to merely sit beside the fire, in companionable silence, warming themselves by the heat of memories. But for now, at this moment, it was their own right to become and know this fire, to claim it as their own, existing only for them, created by them and burning forever in this separate kingdom, requiring only a touch, a look, a thought, for it to pour forth its life and light upon them, and whoever was with them. Before each sank into the timeless peace of oblivion, there was but one thought; 'This is who I am; now I know.' When Catherine came to, slowly, lazily, the first thing she became aware of was Vincent's nose tucked just under her ear. The warmth of his breath washed over her neck, suffusing her whole being with a feeling of comfort, and she hugged the solid, beloved weight of him to her. Neither asleep nor awake, Vincent responded to her embrace in kind, pressing into her shoulder like a child, deeply contented.

His eyes were closed and a sweet smile wreathed his features; one which, had she been able to see it, matched her own.

After a little while, though, he stretched, moving a little onto his side, and he opened his eyes.

"'Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind; And that which governs me to go about Doth part his function and is partly blind, Seems seeing, but effectually is out; For it no form delivers to the heart Of bird, of flower, or shape, which it doth latch; Of his quick objects hath the mind no part, Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch: For if it see the rudest or gentlest sight, The most sweet favour or deformedst creature, The mountain or the sea, the day or night, The crow or dove, it shapes them to your feature: Incapable of more, replete with you, My most true mind thus makes mine eye untrue.'"

Ever afterwards, upon reading or hearing that particular of Shakespeare's sonnets, she could see clearly in her own mind's eye, the clear, new-born fire of his gaze as he looked upon her then, piercing her own sight; thus to share in her soul, the sweet and silent thoughts that were theirs alone.

He kissed her; so tender and lovingly, that when he looked on her once more, he found a single tear like liquid crystal, coursing down her cheek. He kissed it away and, beholding her once more before he slept, saw himself reflected in her eyes.

"Yes. Now I know."

She smiled, all love and knowing of him, then wrapped still in their own joyous lightness of soul, and each others' arms, they slept.

A long sleep, deep, and unneedful of dreams ... to wake to ...

* THE SECOND *

"Duck!!"

"Wooo! That was close!"

"Quick, Ace! Down there; see? That little crevice in the rock?" "They'll still follow us!"

"Send them a present, then, Ace - land it short."

The girl gave him a look that said she considered a distraction a waste of good chemicals, but the Doctor was adamant.

"It'll keep them busy for a while," he explained; an admonition almost.

"Okay," she replied reluctantly. She scrabbled about in her back pack, then, laying hand to what she was after, she drew her arm back and chucked the can of nitro-nine accurately, to land two yards in front of where their pursuers were hiding. Without a backward glance the two of them turned and began scrambling down the cliff face to where the Doctor had pointed.

They were in luck. The rock crevice opened out into a cave which led into the tunnel system below the surface. Once in, they had only to orientate themselves and they could soon find their way back to the Tardis.

"We'd better get going, Professor; I can hear them coming up behind us. Listen!"

Ace was right. The Doctor could hear footsteps scuffling about in the cave behind them. Soon they would be followed into the tunnels proper.

"Right:" and tossing a coin which he caught and put back into his pocket without even looking at it, he pronounced, "It's this way. Come on."

... Catherine moved uneasily in her fevered sleep. She was less aware of herself than she had been as Cally; she felt Ace's youthful eagerness and sense of adventure, her enthusiasm for her own chemical baby, nitro-nine, and her 'present moment' sense of time.

Seemingly now, she had no particular preoccupation with the past, or, any but the immediate future. Somewhere in her lurked a sense of herself as Catherine, but it was far more subdued than it had been in the first scenario.

Throughout the ensuing unfolding drama, Vincent was only aware of himself really, at odd moments; things that he would do or say as the Doctor would give him a flash of Father, and then he would remember, and feel either some kind of guilt, or the paradoxical weight of some insight. But the moments didn't last, and he didn't think much about them until long afterwards. He felt caught up mostly in the Time Lord's own unique and humorous sense of adventure; and a certain, almost joyous, protectiveness towards the young Ace.

Daylight flooded down through airholes from the surface, and cast light in a kaleidoscope across their upturned faces as they quested for the right tunnel.

"How far do these tunnels go?" Ace tugged on his sleeve and asked him.

"Nearly all around the planet."

"Well, how do you know this is -"

"Just a minute, Ace; wait; now ... Yes look, there it is, that one there!" and he started off down a right hand fork that didn't seem any different to the left hand one.

"But how d'you know?" she repeated, catching up to him and tugging his sleeve again.

"Because - didn't you see - at the entrance!" he began impatiently.

"See what?"

"The ... oh, come on, I'll show you." He darted back to the entrance and she hurried after him.

He showed her some scratch marks on the rockface, near the opening, and remarked, "I noticed those on our way out. See the triangular shape of them? They were pointers left by an earlier generation of the natives here, before they abandoned the tunnels and -"

"Listen! They're closing in on us. I think we'd better get going."

"Yes, you're right. It's not far from here, now."

They ducked into the tunnel only just in time, as their pursuers came bursting out of a tunnel behind them and then, uncertain which way to go, stood for a while, discussing their reckless venture.

"I'm sure I heard them this way!" said one of them, a tall humanoid, clothed in feathers and not much else.

"Well, I didn't hear them!" replied another, obviously senior to him, for, as well as the feathers, he had a tunic and boots of animal skins and a short cloak of feathers which the other did not possess. "I don't think they came this way, and now we have the chance to get lost even further! They'll probably die of starvation in here anyway, and I have no desire to do the same. I say we go back and leave them to their fate."

For a moment, it seemed that the other man might argue with him, but he seemed to think better of it, and, after a few more moments, the group turned around and went back down the tunnel they had just emerged from.

"I thought there was going to be a fight for a minute there!" Ace exclaimed, sounding a little miffed that there hadn't been.

The Doctor looked reprovingly at her, though only said, "It was a near thing, now come on; if you hang about, you'll catch cold. It's only just above freezing here."

--- Vincent heard Father telling him to wrap up warm. "It's colder in the natural caverns."

He'd been a youngster, he'd resented it, wanted to get going on his expedition with Devin ---

"Is it? I can't tell," Ace replied.

--- something inside Catherine told her the reason for this anomaly of temperature but she took no notice of it; she just wanted to know what was coming next ---

"Where to now?" she enquired, once they were back in the warmth of the console room.

"Oh, I think we'll just cruise around while I try and think up somewhere really spectacular to go to."

"I didn't think this thing could do that."

"Do what?"

"Oh, just 'hang around'."

"You'd be surprised, Ace, what this old girl can get up to; especially when she's left to her own devices."

What she did this time was entirely unexpected.

And rather unpleasant.

Ace was working in the Tardis chemical lab, cooking up a newbatch of nitro-nine, when all the lights went out. She fumbled around inside her backpack for a torch that she always carried with her, but the lights came back on before she could lay handto it. When she looked around her she wished fervently that it had stayed dark.

She was standing in the middle of a brick-lined room which wasdimly lit by oil lamps hanging from a couple of stanchions that were fixed to the walls which ran damp with a steady trickle of water seepage. This was escaping down a drain which was set into a corner of the floor, from which was coming a vague sussuration of sound made by God knew what. The sound was quite soft and far-off, but it seemed always to be about to get closer and grow louder. She backed away from the drain slowly, her heart slamming in her chest, towards a heavy steel door which was in almost the same place as the lab door had been.

For a moment, when she realised there was no handle or release mechanism to the door, she panicked.

... she felt hands catch roughly hold of her with immovable strength, she saw a knife  ...

"Doctor!!"

There was no reply, but the noise from the drain became louderand more menacing. With a cry of panic and frustration she scrabbled at the edge of the door; to her surprise and immense relief it came open and she rushed through, finding herself in the Tardis corridor once more. However, she could find no way to make the door close behind her; it seemed to want to remain permanently ajar.

The sound from within the room was growing louder.

"DOCTOR!!"

"Ace ..."

She heard his voice from around the corner, near the wardrobe room. When he finally appeared near the end of the corridor, his normal apparel was gone, replaced with a joker's outfit in red and green, and instead of his ever-present umbrella, he was playing with a pack of cards all marked with a purple question mark on the back. Suddenly, he leaned against the corridor wal land slid down it, to end up sitting cross-legged on the floor. Ace went over to him.

"Professor! What is -"

"I'd completely forgotten, you know," he exclaimed. "Never been activated since I took ownership. In fact, I was of the understanding that it had been disconnected; one of the reasons why I took her in the first place.  So why, if it hadn't been deactivated, didn't she use it then? Huh, dear old thing," and he trailed his hand down the wall, smiling affectionately.

By she, Ace could only assume he meant the Tardis.

"Look;" and she waited, patiently for her, for him to come outof his reverie, "What is going on?"

"Burglar alarm, Ace," and he gestured for her to sit by him on the floor. Without thinking, she complied.

"Anti-theft device; defence mechanism," he muttered.

"Defence?"

"To keep the Tardis from being taken by unauthorized persons." "You mean someone's got aboard the Tardis?" she asked anxiously.

"YES!! US!!"

"WHAT? What d'you mean, US?"

"Well, you see, the Tardis isn't strictly mine;" he told her. "I stole her."

"Yeah, you told me that."

"Well, when I cracked her shakedown report, the def. mech. showed up as missing, along with one or two other unimportant bits and pieces," said the Doctor. "That was ideal for me; stealing her, I mean."

"How come it's showed up to do its dirty work now, then?"

"I don't know. That's what we've got to find out. But we'll have to be careful. It will keep trying to mislead us."

"But ... can't you just -- go and fix it?"

"Ace ..." sounding as if he was being very patient, "it was supposed to be missing, remember? In other words, I don't know where it is."

"Why're you dressed like that?" she asked him, changing tack for a moment.

"Oh, that's just what I meant to tell you. Go and change into something else, now, right away; you've got to fool it you see."

"What ... oh, well, hang on a minute -" she replied getting up and heading off towards her room.

"No, no, no! Something from the wardrobe room! Something that comes from here!"

Ace changed direction and went down the corridor to where the Doctor had just emerged from, then she stopped and thought for a moment.

"Professor .. just how integral is this anti-theft device?"

"Oh, not very. Just sort of stuck in as an afterthought really. That's why it could be anywhere."

"Well, what's it going to do?" she asked wondering if Nitro-nine would fatally damage any of the Tardis systems. Well if the Tardis was going into Tantrum Mode, she wanted to be able to defend herself if necessary.

"Try and frighten us to death!" he announced melodramatically.

"Well, it's already DONE that!" she exclaimed.

"Has it ..." hardly hearing her.  Then, "Has it? What? Where!!"

He got to his feet and started making his way down the corridor.

"The lab. Don't go in, there's something ... oh, too late! DOCTOR!"

She ran after him gingerly pushing the door open wider, and she peeked into the room. The sound had stopped. The illusion was gone. The Doctor stood in the middle of the Chem lab, hurriedly bleeding off, down a complex series of tubes, a vile-coloured furiously bubbling liquid.

"You know you shouldn't leave this stuff unattended, Ace!! You could've blown us all to smithereens!!"

"By the way, Professor, what is a smithereen? I've always wanted to know that."

For a moment their gazes locked, and Catherine surfaced, to think, 'He would've said that ...'

And Vincent, for an instant emerging from the depths of the Doctor, thought, twinkling and impish, 'I love her SO much ...'

The Doctor had the last word.

"A smithereen, young lady, is what you would've been if I hadn't got to this noxious brew in time. Now where's this thing, whatever-it-is that's frightened you to death?"

"Well, it's not here now, it's changed back."

"Changed back from what?"

"I dunno, just a sort of damp cellar with oil lamps and a horrible drain," she replied. "There was a noise like ... oh, mmm, - something being dragged across the floor. And it was getting louder."

"And you found that frightening?"

"YES!" she replied, indignantly. "Wouldn't you?"

"Alright, Ace."

Relenting from his stern mood of the bubbling nitro-nine, heflung his arm round her shoulders companionably, and said, "Let's go and see what else we can find out there, pardner!"

She grinned. "Do I still have to go and get changed?"

"Oh, yes, you must enter into the spirit of the thing," he said cheerfully.

"I've never had a good look through that clothes room before,"was her enthusiastic reply, although she still felt uneasy at the uncertainty of where all this was going to lead. The Tardis was home to her, and she liked her home at least to feel safe. Recognising Ace's state of mind, the Doctor smiled at her, as if he was taking the whole thing lightly, and only replied, with a "Well, now's your chance ..."

*

A cloud of strangeness passed over the moon, and though Father could know nothing of it, he felt its trailing fingers scratch across his heart. He felt suddenly surrounded by something blacker than night and more fearful than death. He was most afraid and utterly unknowing of why.

He was in Vincent's room again, his son still deeply unconscious and seeming so very far away. This fear, though, had nothing to do with him and the fever-induced semi-coma that he shared with Catherine.

They had had news through, finally, from one of their helpers Above, Dr. Allcott, who, on making casual enquiries, had discovered Catherine's whereabouts and what had happened. All below were a little easier in their minds, now that they knew what had caused Vincent's collapse, though, naturally, they were worried about Catherine.

But Father felt a dread clinging about him; like a nightmare where all looks normal, but one feels terrified.

Mary noticed his nervy preoccupation and tried to get him to talk to her about it, but the feeling seemed so groundless, and, although strong, was very vague, so that Father did not want to harp on it in the hope that it would go away in time

Finally, looking him up and down one more time, she pronounced,

"Vincent was right; you could do with going Above, even if it be only for a few hours. Some sunshine, and the wind on your face; it would do you the world of good."

"Mary that's impossible."

But she was used to his long-suffering exasperation and had decided that she knew the reason for it this time. "Yes; just look at you. You said that even without thinking. It's not impossible and you know it. The others do it all the time. And DON'T give me that old chestnut about setting an example for others to follow; where going above is concerned they don't anyway - even Vincent."

The fact of the matter was, although Mary would never be so tactless as to say this to Father, that those Below - especially the children - would be more likely to follow Vincent's example for one simple reason; he already had more in his life to make him suffer than Father (and it was certain that Vincent felt as  much responsibility for the citizens Below as Father did), and yet he was, or seemed, more cheerful.

If Father was the Leader of their little community, Vincent was it's heart or spirit, Mary couldn't decide which. Father was reason, intellect; and yet, although reason might have told them why they sought shelter Below, it was their hearts or spirits  that had driven them there, what kept them there, some of them. Others, like Ho, Mitch, Devin and others had gone Above again, because their spirits were stifling. And Vincent walked above at night, because even he, taking more risk than any of them, could not stay Below all the time.

Though he had indeed been treated cruelly, more than once, when he'd been caught whilst wandering the city, even these experiences had not caused him to lose his sense of wonder. Looking down at Father now, that was one thing that, in him, Marycould find no trace of; not at present, anyway.

"Look," she continued quietly, "why don't you just go up to the park and walk around for a while; no-one's going to stop you, question you. You NEED it."

"You make it sound as if I'm suffocating down here."

"You ARE! Slowly but surely. You perhaps don't notice it, but everyone else does. Vincent's not the only one who's mentioned it. Both Regan and William have said something to me at different times. Just a few hours," she suggested, seeing hemight be beginning to weaken. "How would that make you any different from one of the helpers?"

"Mary, I ..."

"It's been so long since you went above, dire emergency or not; maybe you're a bit afraid?" Father bit off whatever stock phrase he'd been about to repeat, as if he realised that he had to think about what she'd been saying, then continued, more slowly, "D'you know, I don't know. Perhaps I am. But I still can't take the risk. What if something happens with Catherine and ... I'm not here?"

"You don't mean she could die?" gasped Mary.

"Peter said that he was informed that hers was a very bad case. People HAVE died, Mary, before now. The link they have,"(nodding towards Vincent) "is very strong."

"You think he might ... what ... will himself to die?"

"I don't know,"Father replied, "but I can't go Above, not now."

"Then when they recover?" Mary urged.

"If."

"You see what I mean? The strongest example we have to follow from you is one of pessimistic fatalism. You know how important it is to keep morale high down here. You're not a machine, Jacob- nobody expects you to be except yourself; and you are responsible for what happens down here. That's a lot to take on. YOU need a change more than all the others. You're part of this community, too; You have to take responsibility for yourself."

Father could see that what she was saying was right, but being Above had only ever brought him trouble, eventually. She was right; the prospect, for however short a time, for whatever reason, made him nervous. Nevertheless, perhaps ...

"Alright, Mary. When they're better I'll take a short - a SHORT- break, away from all this." Father had a sudden thought. "Why don't you come with me?"

"And who could take charge down here?"

"William or Pascal I expect. Mary, as you pointed out, it WOULD only be for a few hours."

"Well ... yes, very well then; I believe I will," said Mary. "It's been so long ..."

"Do you miss it very much, still?" Father asked her.

"Oh, only at certain times, in a certain way; as I've mentioned before, I wouldn't want to go back to it now."

"I know."

"I'll go and get Mouse to relieve you." She got up to leave. "Alright. What time is it?" Father looked at the old, battered Rolex watch which he kept on him and realised that the main meal would have finished some time ago. "Is there anything to eat? I'm starving."

"William's saved you something," she told him.  "Would you like it in your room?"

"Yes, please, Mary, and ... thank you. I feel better for what you've said."

"That's alright. Oh, here's Mouse. I'll go get your dinner."

With that, she left Father with Mouse, to go and get Father something to eat.

"Vincent woke up yet?"

"No, Mouse, no. He's still unconscious," Father told him wearily.

"Long time ... too long. Not going to ... to die?"

Father looked up at him, for a moment unsure of what to say, then recollecting Mary's words, he crossed his fingers figuratively, and gave Mouse his answer.

"No, I don't think so; I believe they will both be alright."

Father must have been convincing enough, for Mouse's face brightened.

"Okay good; okay better. When will they be alright?" asked the young man, settling himself on the edge of Vincent's bed.

"I don't know Mouse; but they will be. You've come to sit with him?"

The young man nodded. "Mouse sit with Vincent; you eat. Then everything okay."

"Alright, Mouse, I'll leave it to you. If you see any change, anything at all, you will fetch me?"

Mouse nodded and was already laying out bits and pieces of the latest machine that he was tinkering with. As Father left him, Mouse was sitting on Vincent's bed, fitting together the pieces of circuit board and copper wiring that he had in his hands, and was telling the unconscious Vincent all about it; what the machine was for, what it would do once he'd finished it, where he'd got the parts.

"As if he could hear him;" Father mused wryly. "Well, maybe he can - I don't know. I hope ... Vincent, come back to us!!"

The sense of foreboding returned to him, like a chill draught, whispering across his shoulder blades, and he shivered. It felt closer now, as if it was hiding somewhere just behind him.

Hiding close somewhere, and laughing.

*

They seemed to have crawled around inside the Tardis console for hours; shrunken until (like Alice in Wonderland) the console innards towered around them; huge plates of metal and circuitry, insulated wire like thick ropes, all around them.

"Shades of the Master," muttered the Doctor. Ace just looked at him, puzzled.

"Very shady character, the Master," he said.

This had been going on for what seemed like days, going from one illusion to another. The last three had been bizarre; surrounded by giant birthday cards which opened and shut, creating a wind that threatened to blow them away - a forest of what looked like telegraph poles which bent and swayed, trying to knock them over- then being pursued by a bow and arrow that wanted to shoot them, down tunnels cut entirely from flashing crystal - for a moment Vincent had come to himself again and saw before him the crystal he had given Catherine to mark the first anniversary of their meeting.

He'd seen a face in the crystal, a child's face, and he felt pain explode somewhere deep in his heart which made him gasp with the power of it. Then it was gone, and the crystal with it, and he forgot the moment and was submerged back into the depths of the Doctor.

But now, trying to find a way out of the Tardis console, as it seemed, Ace asked him a question.

"Hey, are we actually looking for something?"

"A way out."

"Not that, I mean, in general? I mean, what are we doing?"

The Doctor stopped stock still on his hands and knees for a moment, then he just sat down on the floor exclaiming, "Ofcourse, of COURSE!! What a fool!" and he clapped a hand to hisforehead. "If we don't DO anything, it'll stop!"

So they sat, amongst metal struts and fallen rivets, and by a dimlight which perpetually filtered through from somewhere, they played cards, using a pack that the Doctor found in a pocket somewhere.

Within half an hour the illusion had faded and they found themselves back in the corridor by the Chem Lab; this time further down the corridor.

"What happened? Did we beat it?"

"Later, Ace; it's here, look," and he was removing one of the roundels in the wall behind him and examining a key coded switch set in a deep recess.

"What's that, Professor?"

But he was ignoring her completely for the moment, an occurrence which she'd had occasion to get used to over the months she'd travelled with him, and was heard to mutter, "Now what code, whatcode? And the sequence? Oh, a personal code, of course," and reaching into the recess only to withdraw his hand abruptly, he continued, "Not mine, no definitely not. Whose? Doesn't it matter? No; well His then. That should do."

This time he punched in a series of numbers, then, holding hisbreath, pulled the switch into the off position.

Nothing happened. Ace looked disappointed for a moment, and then she realised that something was different, or rather that something was back that had been missing; the subliminal background hum that was usually to be heard, however softly, throughout the Tardis.

The Doctor was grinning.

"Good old girl!" he enthused, slapping the wall in a friendly manner. "Well that's alright then. Come on, Ace; we'll be in flight again now. Let's see where we're going, shall we?"

"Hang on, Professor ..."

"What is it?" He was obviously impatient to be off, full once more with the thrill of wanderlust.

"Look; you've made me face up to a lot of things in myself; you know a hell of a lot about me, but I still know hardly anything about you. There's something I want to show you."

"Oh, what?" he asked, just a trifle impatiently.

"It's important; in here," she said, walking into the Chemistry Lab again. She didn't come out again, so, out of curiosity he went in after her.

She was waiting behind the door, and as soon as he had passed through she shut the door, locked it and took the key in her hand.

"Right. Now you're not leaving this room until we have evened the score up. I've helped you out of a lot of scrapes before now and I think you owe me something."

She hadn't meant to sound that selfish or abrupt, but she knew he might not listen to any softer argument. And besides; sheDIDN'T think it was fair that he should make her face up to her past when he seemed to be perpetually running away from his own.

He made a dive for the key, but she was too quick for him, and she popped it into her mouth and promptly swallowed it.

"ACE! That key is ... well, it'll dissolve in your digestive tract. We can't get out now, you silly girl."

"Oh, yes we can.  I took the duplicate key from the key box to keep you from dismantling my stuff all the time.  I've hidden it in here; somewhere ..."

The Doctor looked around; there were hundreds of drawers and cupboards and complicated pieces of equipment in the Lab; it could have been anywhere.

Ace smiled. "You'll get out of here a lot quicker if you just tell me, Professor."

"Ace ... I thought we were friends."

"We are! That's what all this is about! You don't trust me."

"That's not true," he told her nervously. "But there are things I don't like to talk to anyone about."

"And that's ditto for me too," she returned hotly, "but I've had to all the same. How can I watch your back when you don't trust me like I've had to trust you?"

"Ace, this isn't something I need to share as you did. It doesn't need to 'come out' in the open," he told her evasively.

"You refusing to talk about it says it DOES. You told me once that every secret I refused to face - ran away from - would one day come looking for retribution. Yeah, that's exactly what you said."

Defeated by his own logic, the Doctor stuttered "But I... Ace... I don't run away from it; you don't understand. And for your information the retribution has been paid," he replied grimly, thinking of uncomfortable recent dealings with his own people.

"Then why are you afraid to share it?" she pressed him.

"I'm NOT afraid! It's just that ... I'm ... not very proud of my past, that's all."

"Can you tell me about your Father?" she said, diving in, though gently, because she thought she could sense a chink in his armour.

If she could just make it wider ...

"Oh, well, yes ... alright. No harm in that, I s'pose."

"Attaboy, Doc. Waytogo."

"Really, Ace, such an expression -"

"Stop stalling."

"Oh ... "

He came out of his dither and looked at her. 'Actually, she's quite right,' he thought.  'In a way, I have ... run away.  Oh well, here goes ...'

"My Father was a dear, sweet old man, much as I used to be some lifetimes ago, who was an excellent tinkerer, and a much travelled man, though only on Gallifrey - that's my home planet, where the Time Lords live - oh, yes, he used to boast to me and to others that he knew every inch of the place, and I'm sure he almost did ..."

This paternal statement went on for quite some time; stories his father had told him of the present times, and the past; encounters he'd had when using his Tardis to journey into Gallifrey's past. 'History is so fascinating,' he used to say to me, but it's much better to experience it as something present than to read about it in books!' And it was. He did take me back to some fascinating periods of Gallifrey's history, quite illegally, of course. Even though I was 36 counting by your years, I was still considered a child by Time Lord standards."

"Eh?!"

"Oh, yes! Legally and technically speaking no-one is considered adult until about their third regeneration, sometimes fourth. And they're not allowed near a Tardis until then."

"Phaw! That's a bit off," exclaimed Ace, sitting herself comfortably on one of the worktops and juggling with a couple of steel plas-beakers.

"Er - yes, quite, that's what I thought. So one day after his death, I ... hmmm .. I stole one."

"This one," she stated looking around her and grinning.

"Yes. Oh, I know all her in's and out's - well, most of them - cos I'd tinkered with her for years (I get that from my Father,I s'pose) and I just ... got bored I suppose, and off I went, you see. And that's it," he said rather hurriedly and beginning to fidget again.

"Oh, no, Prof. That's NOT it. There's something you're not telling me."

"Oh, Ace, that's enough. Come on, let us out of here, where's the key?"

"So there IS more."

The Doctor was feeling quite naturally vulnerable at that point, and the triumphant expression on his companion's face rather stung him.

"Well, of course there's more!" he exclaimed harshly. "There's always more; what d'you want - a catalogue of all my adventures since the year dot?"

But Ace wasn't to be put off so easily.  "You said once that you had a grand-daughter; so you must have been married, or something, once."

His fidgeting was definitely getting worse.

"Ace! We're all allowed some secrets! No, you're not getting anymore! Where's that key?"

"You know all my secrets," she replied, brushing aside his plea. "Things I've never talked about to anyone ... my Mother ..."

"Well, that was -"

"What? Different?" she returned pointedly. "You're not being fair - to me or to yourself. You're still running away."

There was reproach in her eyes but she put the beakers down, and sliding off the worktop she went over to a lit bunsen burner and turned it off. Removing the container of liquid that she'd been heating, she reached a pair of tongs into the bowl and removed the key. It was on a piece of string and holding it by this she went over to the door and pressed it home in the lock-slot.

The Doctor walked out but not without a slightly embarrassed backward glance.

For a moment it was Catherine who beheld that glance, and she thought 'I've seen that look before ... Lisa.'

But Ace, as Ace, over-rode her thoughts again and was determined that she wouldn't let this go so easily.

*

The Tardis was drifting in space, though out of temporal mode, so the Doctor set a course for Equerna, a planet he claimed tohave had the honour of discovering himself, and he had named it after the beautiful horse-like beasts which were its oldest inhabitants.

They spent the next few hours not speaking unless necessary, and generally staying out of each other's way whenever possible.

Left to her own devices for too long, Ace tended to brood; and her set-to with the Doctor was definitely still bugging her. Eventually, she could stand it no longer. She confronted him in the console room, which was where he was spending most of his time.

"Look, Doc," she began, addressed him by his preferred title. "I'm sorry I nagged you, but -"

"I killed someone, Ace. I didn't mean to, I mean it was an accident, a faulty piece of equipment, but I should've checked it before I let her use it, and I didn't, and ... she was killed."

Ace took this hurried statement open mouthed and silent. Then; "You mean your grand-daughter?"

"No. Not Susan ... someone else."

Ace was about to ask him who but the Doctor forestalled her by carrying on almost oblivious to her presence, obviously lost in memory. There were questions, many questions, but she couldn't ask them, not now.

"There were others who couldn't understand - or forgive. They took Susan, left Gallifrey and went to Earth. Vanished into anonymity."

"But you found them again?"

"One day ... yes. Quite by chance .... Well, I found Susan anyway." He took a deep breath, sighed, then continued, "They were dead." His tone of voice was equally dead. "A house fire. I suppose they hadn't realised how inflammable 1960's furniture could be. Susan was staying at a friend's at the time. I found her with a group of youngsters down in the London docks. Just timewasting. So I just took her off with me. And the rest, my dear Ace, is history which you can look up in the memory banks if you can get them to work."

He tried smiling wickedly at her, but it didn't work.

"I'm sorry," she said, wondering whether she should've left well alone after all.

"I'm not. You're right; skeletons in the cupboard can get a bit heavy to carry around after a while. I should thank you really for letting them out."

He smiled again, but he looked so vulnerable that she really did feel as if she should've 'kept my big mouth shut'.

"I'm sorry," she said again. That vulnerable look, which she'd never seen before was something she never wanted to see again,and she wished she could wash it away; by a funny story, or something stupid.

'Even something fairly catastrophic', she thought. "I wonder if I could blow up the console without doing too much damage ...damage ... damage ...

The world faded to white, so bright for a moment, she closed her eyes. When she could see again ...

*The Third*

She was alone. Terribly alone. There was no-one, she knew that. And the white was everywhere; it even lay on her skin like a silk shroud ...

'Vincent!', she wanted to scream, but she had no voice; so she screamed it in her heart and for a moment, she felt him near, reaching out to her, but then there was only whiteness and her senses faded ...]

*

It was Thursday night. Catherine had been in hospital nearly four days and was still critically ill. Peter Allcott sat by her bedside, having only just arrived in Boston a half hour ago, and having taken a cab straight from the airport.

She should have been at least semi-conscious some of the time; the resident doctor in charge of her case was worried that her symptoms in some ways varied from those of other patients with the same virus.

"It's more like a coma than a bad fever," he said. "No physical movement, totally unconscious on a surface level. But the encephalograph shows there's plenty of brain activity. There's something epic going on inside that pretty head of hers."

"So you think the coma could be, what? Self-induced?" asked Peter. "Rather than a result of the illness."

"Perhaps an off-shoot of it. But I think she's the one who's perpetuating it."

"Yes, I see. Is there a phone I can use?"

"Come through to my office, you won't be disturbed there."

The doctor showed Peter through to what was obviously the man's second home as it had a functional hospital cot in one corner. Peter silently approved. He had no time for someone not willing to spend extra hours over if it was necessary; as far as he was concerned it was part of a hospital consultant's job description.

Peter called one of the helpers so that the news could be relayed to Father.

"Yes; I think, according to what the Doctor here thinks, she's going through some kind of self-induced dream sequence; she and Vincent do seem to be sharing something."

*

The dust plain stretched out around him in endless waves of heat as he trudged on, the sweat running off him, sticking the fur to his body and limbs, running down the long straggles of his hair and down his face, trickling down the back of his neck. He knew he must find water soon or he would dehydrate. But the forest ahead of him offered hope of that, in fact, now that he focused on it, he could already smell the water, lots of it, there would be a stream not far in, and it would be much cooler once underthe shade of the trees.

The Silver Forest; here he would find Crow, an Elf bowman of undoubtable renown, a hero amongst his own people, and friend to the Lord Hawk; another hero of sterling reputation. He must find them, both of them, to help him in his quest, if they would consent. For he must find the Lady Catherine who had been torn from him by some malign force, and who, somewhere, was in danger. He could not feel her presence with him and he feared greatly as to what might have happened to her.

Once into the trees he soon found the pool he'd scented, and, stripping off his outer garments, he plunged headfirst into it, his discomfort immediately forgotten in the delicious coolnessof the water against his skin. But he did not stay in the water long, for he begrudged every moment wasted, and soon he was out and shaking the excess moisture from him. He gathered wood and lit a fire to cook by, whilst waiting for the light, thin shirt and the thicker wool britches he still wore, to dry.

"Do I know you, Sir?" asked a curious voice behind him.

He turned. Sitting on a branch, halfway up a tall beech tree, was an elfen boy, clad in a green and brown jerkin and flowing pantaloons. Vincent noticed long beech nut-coloured locks and a small curled harp dangling from one hand.

"Are you not the hero, 'Vincent the Unbeaten', of whom I have heard many tales?"

"That is certainly my name, but as to the tales, I cannot vouch."

"I would delight to sing you some, so that you may verify the reputation which precedes you," the youth answered.

"More than my modesty precludes you," replied Vincent. "I but stop to partake of viands that I have brought with me, for I know I may kill nothing in this forest without permission, and then I must be on my way.

"And where does your journey take you, Sir?" asked the elf courteously. "May I accompany you?"

"I seek Crow, whom I know dwells among you, and his friend, Lord Hawk."

"Why, they are at our Hall of Pillars this very night. I will take you there, if that is your fancy."

"I would be grateful," replied Vincent.

"I might tell you a tale or two on the way?"

Vincent shook his head doubtfully.

"I must hurry. My need for their help is great."

"Whichever direction they take on the morrow, they will not stir until morning," the elf told him with certainty. "Come, Sir, eat; and I will tell you a short tale, as you do so."

Vincent finally acquiesced and sat down to eat. He offered some to his companion, but the elf refused.

"Thank you, I am not hungry. I hardly ever am except on feast days. The wine of this forest assuages every empty place in me."

"You are blessed," said Vincent with a glint of sad irony in his eyes.

"Indeed," murmured the elf, looking around him and drinking inthe sweet scented air. "And you?"

"There is an empty place in me that I cannot fill until I have accomplished my quest."

"A lady?"

"The Lady Catherine," breathed Vincent, the memory of her loveliness ever with him.

"Ah, yes. I have heard mention of her in some of the tales. More than passing fair, I'm told."

"Catherine is ... Catherine. Everything. I must find her."

"That is why you need Crow's help?"

"And that of the Lord Hawk, yes."

"This quest will make a worthy song, I fancy."

"I pray we will all survive to hear it," replied Vincent, biting into an oat cake which was baked enough to eat, and washing it down with a thin ale which he had developed a taste for.

The tale told by the elf lad, whose name was Wren, was indeed a short one, about how he, Vincent the Unbeaten, had saved an unsuccessful cutpurse from the gallows. When the story was done, Wren asked "Is that how it happened?"

Vincent dryly answered, "Probably."

"You do not remember?"  The elf lad seemed amazed.

"There is only now; only the quest, and my Lady, knowing that I MUST find her," Vincent told him, gazing off into the shadowed air beneath the trees.

"Well, Sir," began the elf, at length, "if you are finished eating, we will on to the Hall to meet more heroes."

Vincent chuckled deep in his throat; gave a soft, wry smile at the lad's enthusiasm, as he put out the fire and gathered his belongings.

The grass beneath the trees was a lush green carpet decorated in blues, yellow, deep pinks and purples, and the wild flowers grew abundantly everywhere he looked. The air was sweet with the scent of them; the only sounds, birdsongs and the humming of bees and winged insects about their work. The overwhelming peace pervaded his being, revived him and he breathed deeply as theywalked.

"Breathe not too deeply of this sweet air, Sir," Wren advised him, "or it will send you to sleep."

Already Vincent thought he perhaps dreamed; such places as this he had heard tell of, but had never seen. It was as well that Wren told him stories as they went, for his eyelids did indeed feel heavy enough to drop him gently into sleep, but he made an effort to stay awake, as much to hear out the stories as anything else, for they were gallant tales, well told.

At last, they approached the hall; it was formed of a glen of wondrous beauty: there were beech and larch trees forming a rough circle around the banks which enclosed a small valley, and a stand of tall poplars leaning into a huge old oak, beneath which there was a throne carved of some ancient unknown wood. Upon it there was a man with long hair of a deep chestnut colour and wearing long robes of green and white, trimmed with brown and gold.

As they entered the 'Hall' and were greeted by others of the elven race dressed mostly in browns, greens and greys, the man arose from his seat and walked slowly towards them. When he was near enough to discern it, Vincent could see that his eyes were the colour of old oak and held a lively wisdom.

"Welcome! Welcome, Vincent; you are expected here."

The man held out his hands to him. When Vincent took them in greeting he noticed that their grip seemed light but firm. He was also somewhat surprised to find that he was not only known, but ... expected?

"How did you know?" he asked.

"Vincent, this is Laurelin, our King," Wren informed him. "He knows much beyond the knowledge of man."

"And do you know of my quest, King Laurelin?"

"I do; you have come to our court seeking help," replied the Elven King kindly.

"I come to ask aid of one here named Crow; and his friend, the Lord Hawk. I have been told they are here."

"We are indeed," said a man's voice behind him.

Vincent spun on his heel.  He saw a tall man, brooding good looks, dark hair which spoke of youthful wisdom; well-built, well, though simply, dressed, and the great sword at his side spoke volumes.

This must be Hawk, Vincent instantly decided. 'So, that is the Mindsword,' he observed.

As if able to read his thoughts Hawk nodded slowly, fingering thebronze hand on the hilt, which encased the egg-shaped Mindstone. Because of its magic power it meant that the sword could only be used by Hawk and not against him, and it would always return to him.

"And by your appearance you must be 'The-one-who-is-unbeaten'" replied Hawk, taking in Vincent with one long look.

"I have been called that," replied Vincent slowly.

By now, some of the elvish children had noticed him and, fascinated by his appearance, had approached and surrounded him, reaching up to touch the fur on his hands, and stroke the long, sharp claws. Some even hung from the long branches of the tree they stood under and played with strands of his mane.

He smiled ruefully at their fascination.

"They see someone who seems to have stepped straight out of even our legends," smiled Laurelin, who waved Vincent and Hawk to a long table, off to the side, which was laden with food, where Crow was already sitting, waiting for them. Dressed simply in a tunic and trousers of light brown, cut of a fabric Vincent could not immediately identify, he was playing with one of the children who was hanging from a tree limb and throwing berries at him. Crow was simply retrieving the berries, throwing them up and batting them back with unerring accuracy. "I see your reputation for speed and accuracy is not unfounded," commented Vincent, observing the berry stains in a small cluster near the child's left shoulder. Crow smiled, then after a moment or two, abruptly stopped the game, and swung his legs back over the bench he was sitting on and leaned his forearms on the table,all in one swift, compact movement.

"You did not come here to play games," he observed, his voice light and almost a monotone; matter-of-fact but with a tinge of sadness that Vincent wondered at.

"I did not."

"You need our help, my friend," said Hawk, putting a friendly hand to Vincent's shoulder.

"There is someone I must find; someone very dear to me. I know she is in danger, but I do not know the nature of it, nor where she is."

"These questions we can answer," replied Laurelin, "for we have received news of the activities of a certain witch who is said to hold hostage the most fair maiden, in heart as weel as looks, in all the land.  The Lady Catherine's beauty and generosity of spirit are known everywhere. We knew it must be her being held prisoner when we heard that you were abroad."

"But how did you know I would come to you for help?"

"Leaflock saw it in the pool," said Crow, indicating a small boy, seeming perhaps ten years old, who was sitting quietly to one side of the general activities of the other children, looking up into the many-layered roof of beech leaves, listening.

"He hears the voices of our ancestors," said Crow, "and he sees things in the pool yonder. He is special among us."

"And he told you I would come?" asked Vincent.

Crow nodded.

"And where is Catherine? Who is this witch and what is her purpose?"

"Her name is Tajunda and her purpose is to twist the beautiful to ugliness," replied Crow. It was not in his nature to be bitter, but even so, there was a barely detectable hint of it in his voice as he said this. "She will use any means within her power," Crow continued. "Innocence and light are anathema to her, and her practices and followers are vile. Her domain is many days journey North-East of here, and her temple not easy to find."

"And will you help me?" asked Vincent, who could put off the question - and their answer - no longer.

Crow looked at him gravely for a moment then glanced over Vincent's shoulder at Hawk.

When Vincent turned around he found Hawk grinning at him. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

"Don't worry, Vincent," said Hawk. "Your case is one we both support; we will gladly help you."

"Tajunda is treacherous," said Crow, "already she sends fiends to destroy the edges of our forest - kill our people when they can be caught. And there are others. Others who know nothing of her, but support her cause just the same."

Crow signed; a sound like a whisper of death slipping its way through the leaves. "Soon it will all be gone. The tide is changing, and the realms of men are in the ascendant, soon we will be crushed - our people all but gone, the Forest burned and blackened ..."

Crow's mood affected all of them, and though the heroes ate heartily enough, they ate in silence, each lost in their own thoughts

*

Catherine could not bear the white-hot burning pain which lanced through her, like tongues of flame which burned but did not consume her; she would've screamed but she had no voice, would've struggled, twisted in agony, but she could not move. Something deep inside her cried out to Vincent to please God save her from this torment ... she couldn't breathe, she would die, yet she did not ... Vincent! VINCENT!

Yes. Call him, my lady; draw him here to me. I want him; he is so ... innocent. I want him ... I WANT him.

The voice beat inside her head and almost suffocated her.

No, no!! You will not have him, I will NOT call him. I will die, but you will ... not ... have ... him ...

Oh, but I will my lady; he will come, call him or not. He comes even now; he comes for you ...

*

The three questing companions were still a good day's journey from Tajunda's temple in the mountains; and they were just preparing a swift breakfast before they journeyed on, when Vincent suddenly collapsed on the ground, and rolled around screaming in agony; he was certainly gasping with pain and his eyes were wild, tormented, though Hawk and Crow could not find the immediate cause. Then, slowly, his movements became less frenetic, he seemed to come back to himself, though he was left breathless and disorientated.

"What happened?" asked Hawk, kneeling beside him.

"Catherine ..." he gasped out, and there was still panic and so much concern in his eyes that for a moment Hawk could not bear to see it and turned his head; there were memories of his own yet too painful inside him, of his own lost love.

"She is in great pain," whispered Vincent, "she was reaching out for me, but then she was gone again. But I felt the pull, I must go to her, I must get there ..." and with that he mounted the horse that Hawk had lent him and was already riding away.

"Vincent!" Hawk yelled after him, "Come back! That's just what she wants! Don't go in unprepared!!"

Crow came up to him, leading the other two horses. "I think we have no choice but to follow him. He will not turn back now."

"Then we'd better hurry," replied Hawk, hurriedly strapping on the Mindsword and leaping to his own horse's back; Crow followed,and they were away, a small fire, still smoking, and the food, untouched.

Vincent steered his horse up the treacherous mountain paths as far as he could, but eventually he could urge the animal no further, and he was forced to abandonn it and take ot climbing up the sheer rock face which confronted him. To this extent he abandoned also the burgundy leather gloves which he'd worn whilst riding, so that he could better avail himself of the nooks and crannies to hang on to.

He was halfway up the cliff by the time Hawk and Crow reached the bottom of it, and judging the climb for difficulty, Hawk observed, "Vincent is better advantaged than myself for such a climb; I don't know that I can manage it. How about you, Crow?"

"Easy enough," replied Crow, "but there is a quicker way in than the path Vincent has chosen. It is more dangerous, but not impossible."

"Dangerous?"

"There will be guardians," Crow told his friend evenly.

"Not for much longer," said Hawk grimly, grasping the hilt of hissword firmly. "Where is this other entrance?"

"Feel along the ledge, hand height to your left. A hidden crevice," Crow replied.

"I have it."

"There is something inside, a small stone."

"Yes," said Hawk, grasping at something.

"Remove it."

Hawk took his hand from the crevice, holding the stone. He looked at it. It was not dissimilar to the one held in the hilt of his sword. Hawk commented on this.

"There are many stones;" said Crow. "Some used for Good, some for Evil, some for neither, such as this one - it is a key. This fortress did not always belong to Tajunda."

Crow took the stone from Hawk and placed it in a small hole in the rock; the hole seemed to have been made for it, for the stone would only go in one way and once in, seemed to fill the space. Crow then pushed against the rock in front of him and it swung away from him. Ahead now, stretching downwards into the dark,was a tunnel.

"After you, friend Hawk," said Crow, gesturing into the darkness. "Thank you, friend Crow," replied Hawk, with a sardonic smile. But soon Hawk discovered the reason for Crow's going last. For after a few moments of trying to light a torch hidden near the entrance, and then following the tunnel down into the Earth, he heard the twanging of Crow's bow. He looked around, but Crow just urged him to keep going. Nevertheless, Hawk had glimpsed figures moving in the shadows behind them, though in the way before him, he had seen nothing. Had they emerged from the very walls?

Hawk drew his sword, keeping a sharper eye out around him, and kept going.

*

Meanwhile, Vincent was nearly to the top of the cliff. His breathing was ragged and uneven and every muscle screamed, but he kept on forging his way upwards, until finally his hand, reaching upwards, closed over the top of a rock wall. Scrabbling with both feet for better purchase, he levered himself upwards another foot or so, and, his eyes coming level with his hand, he found he could almost see over the top of the wall; he raised the level of his gaze and was greeted with blessed sky! He had reached the top!

With one final, supreme effort, he jack-knifed his upper body over the wall, swung his legs over the top of the wall and then collapsed in a heap on the other side. The wall was a mere three feet high and surrounded a courtyard of some sort; an empty courtyard. No building, no temple! Catherine! Where was she?

All that he could see was some sort of dark flagstone, larger than the others, set into the grey floor of the courtyard ... an entrance?

He rushed over to it. There was an iron ring set into one side of it, and levering it from its position against the smooth surface, and using all his strength, he lifted it slowly, so slowly! The muscles in his arms, shoulders and back seemed about to give way, but eventually the stone swung past its balance point and it fell open to rest at a 50 degree angle from its closed position and looking down Vincent could see steps descending into the depths of darkness below him, though as he made his way warily down, and his night-sight took over, he could discern a glow far beneath him, tinted faintly red.

His steps grew more sure as he descended further and his pace quickened; he could feel her now - Catherine - near him, below him. He continued onwards.

*

Catherine's heart beat louder in her chest; she was sure Tajunda must sense her unrest, but the witch showed no sign of it. But Vincent was near! Somewhere near! Her protector had come for her, as she'd known he would.

Oh, Vincent! Be careful!! she tried to think to him, but it was too late. Tajunda was staring at her - she knew. The witch sprang into position and waited.

*

Having slain an ogre, two hobgoblins, six vicious freebooters and a dragon, Hawk and Crow were somewhat the worse for wear when they arrived at the temple gate; what Crow had thought to be the quick way in had, in fact, turned out to be slower, although only because Vincent was stronger than both of them put together and had ascended the cliff face faster than any normal man could. They had in fact not reached to within a hundred yards of the gate when they heard a bellow of rage.

Vincent had entered the cavernous chamber, and seeing Catherine held prisoner on a stone slab, seemingly by the white light which pervaded the far end of the chamber, had run full tilt to try to free her, and had given vent to his anger when the light had repelled him away from her. He bellowed in rage at the witch sat motionless and derisively on her throne. It seemed that the light came from her.

"Vincent!" Catherine cried out to him from the stone slab, "You must kill her to free me! Only that will break the spell!"

"If I can get to her, I will!" he promised her.

He advanced towards the throne. As the stronger light touched him, he felt a tingling on the surface of his skin, changing to a burning sensation as he approached the throne; the pain became worse as he got nearer, until his whole body seemed afire, and he could hardly breathe.

"This is what you feel?" Vincent gasped out. "This pain?"

"YES" screamed Catherine behind him. "For my sake, Vincent, kill her, please, I cannot stand this!"

Somehow, Vincent forced himself to go on until he could almost reach out and touch the witch. She still just sat there silent and implacable. Vincent drew back his clawed hand ready to kill her, when suddenly he stopped.

"Kill her! Aagghh!" screamed Catherine.

It was at this moment that Hawk and Crow entered the room, immediately taking in what was happening. "No! He is going to-" began Crow, but at that moment, Vincent turned and in a flash had fled from the throne and pounced on Catherine on the stone.

He savaged her horribly and there was a terrible scream which echoed around the cavern before cutting off suddenly. The white light disappeared, and suddenly, what was left of the body on the stone was not any longer Catherine but a ragged old hag who had certainly been hideous enough when she'd been alive.

And it was Catherine who fell to the ground, freed from her bondage upon the throne, and called weakly to Vincent, who coming back to himself after his savage rage, rushed over to her and picked her up in his arms.

Crow and Hawk ran over to them and Crow indicated that they would have to hurry to get out. "Tajunda has other minions who willtry to prevent our escape."

"We'll go on ahead of you," said Hawk to Vincent.  "In case there are any more of the witch's minions waiting for us."

"No," Crow spoke up once more, "One in front, one behind, my friend. I will take the rear. Now we must go!"

"How did you know it was Catherine on the throne?" Hawk asked Vincent on their way out, but Crow pre-empted a reply.

"No time for questions. Go! And go quietly. There is one I would not draw to us."

But it was too late. They heard him padding down the corridor after them, and there was a sudden striking of steel on steel as swords were drawn.

"Who is it?" whispered Vincent to Crow, who hurried them on.

"It is the blind swordsman; he has great speed, and no prey has ever escaped him. Even as you protect the Lady Catherine, so has he always protected Tajunda. Now that she is dead, he will desire revenge."

But meanwhile, Hawk already had trouble on his hands; ahead of him there were Tajunda's own archers who were already fitting arrows to their bows.

"You say this blind man is a swordsman? asked Hawk, hurriedly. "Then I would change places with you Crow, for I think my task is fitted to you, and yours to me!"

Crow just knelt down, motioned the others to flatten themselves against the tunnel wall and in the blinking of an eye the archers were dead, all with a single perfect white feather through their chests. Nevertheless, he agreed to change places with Hawk, for Crow was no swordsman.

While this was going on, Catherine recovered her senses and, stirring, opened her eyes and looked around her. "Where are we?"she whispered.

"Hush, my Lady, be still," whispered Vincent back to her. "We have yet to escape this dark place. There are still some who would hinder us."

They almost had to run now, and Catherine was still weak from her ordeal; nevertheless she would have taken to her feet if Vincent would have let her, but he would not hear of it.

"You are light, Catherine; I would carry you from hell itself."

"Here he comes," said Hawk behind them.

They all turned and saw the man rushing towards them, blades swirling in the air; Hawk stood his ground, judging distance and accuracy. He had the Mindsword strapped across his back now, and suddenly he dropped to one knee, reaching one hand up and behind his head, and they hardly had time to see the sword flash through the air with a 'whuf, whuf,' sound, before the man fell dead, the sword sticking all the way through him.

Hawk reached out and the sword returned to him, the hilt nestling into his palm. He wiped the blade on his sleeve and then sheathed the sword; the glow of the stone in the bronze hand faded.

"I hear more guards coming," said Crow.

"Then lets get going!" replied Hawk.

"Is it far now?" asked Catherine.

"Not far my Lady," Crow told her softly.

Indeed they could already see a patch of light ahead of them where the 'door' had been left open. In fact, it could not be shut unless the key was present, and Crow had taken the stone with him.

They made one final effort and emerged at last into the daylight, though it was fading fast - had they really spent a whole day in that accursed place? They ran down the mountain path to a small grassy lawn where the horses were cropping the short sweet grass,and they wasted no time in mounting and riding away.

"There will be a feast awaiting us when we return," cried Crow, "but for now, we must ride."

Catherine, sitting behind Vincent, revelled gloriously in the evening sunset, the wind in her face and hair, the motion of the horse beneath, the drum of the hooves ...

... She fell asleep rocking against Vincent's broad comforting back.

*

They rode still. Sleepily she asked him Hawk's question. "How did you know?"

"You forget so easily, Catherine? How deceptive are appearances? ... and I have never known you urge me to kill anyone; not even for your sake ..."

Content, she slept.

*The Fourth*

When she awoke, there were stars above her and the heavy scent of the night flowers. There was no thought, no sensation, just the feeling; she was someone, somewhere, and she was with Vincent.

And something happened.  But who she was, what he looked like, what it was that happened ... she couldn't tell.

There was no sense of time, just a powerful strong feeling that she could not put a name to, except that it was her and it was Vincent ...

It was moving and it was still. It was all one thing; and it was everything there was.

Then there was the pain ...

In her back somewhere, and she was cold, so cold; she opened her eyes.

The face, bending over her was so beautiful, so gentle, the eyes loved her so much ...

"Let me go, Robin,' she thought she heard herself say, 'please let me go ... I must ...

The pain in her back became a blinding light which scattered everywhere from the tears in his eyes ...

She woke up, she woke up ... she woke ...

Conclusion

A hospital; she was in a hospital, there was a nurse nearby, she tried to speak, to move, but she couldn't. Nevertheless, the nurse must have noticed some change, because she turned and saw Catherine, eyes open, looking at her, and she practically ran out of the ward calling for the Sister ...

*

Father was in Vincent's chamber with Peter, who was trying to reassure him, when Vincent's eyes opened, and he gasped, was breathless for a moment.

They turned at the sound, rushed over to him, Father sat on the bed beside him, grasped one of his hands ...

"Father ..." Vincent managed to gasp out.

"Thank GOD you're alright. We've been so worried!"

"I ..." Vincent looked around him, his voice a little uncertain. "I've been with ... Catherine ..."

"We know, we guessed as much; this must mean she's come out of it," Father said to Peter.

""I'll call Boston as soon as I return up top," said Peter, already packing up his bag in preparation to leave.

"Catherine ... what? What's happened to Catherine?"

"She's been very ill Vincent, she's in a hospital in Boston. You seem to have been sharing this with her."

"All I remember are dreams ... wild dreams."

"Well, it's over now,"Father told him soothingly.

"I don't know if I'm glad or not," Vincent replied. "I felt so close to her ..."

"Well, with any luck, she'll be back here soon," said Father. "Now, you must be hungry, I'll get William to make you something. I won't be long. Just rest, you'll feel weak for a while."

"Father ... how long?"

"Nearly eight days."

"Eight days?"

"Don't worry, Vincent. Rest, rest."

He tried.

*

Within a week, Catherine was back in New York and in Vincent's arms.

It was Peter who'd brought her back; she'd insisted on seeing Vincent even before going back to her apartment. He was waiting for her at the junction door. She was supported by Peter but when she saw Vincent, she released her hold on him and made to walk over to him on her own. But she was still weak and, stumbling, would've fallen, but Vincent flew to her side and catching her up in his arms, held her tightly. With a few words of farewell, Peter beat a discreet retreat.

Vincent buried his face in her hair.

"Oh, God, Vincent! I can't tell you ..."

"I know; I was there, Catherine - with you, sharing your strange dreams."

"Yes. What do you remember?" she asked him, her fingers running over his flowing mane.

"Now? Only snatches of things. Where did all those people,those places, come from?"

"Oh, Vincent, I don't ... don't think ..."

"Ssh! No more! You're tired. Come," and he picked her up inhis arms, carried her down to one of the guest chambers where she could rest.

"Vincent ... do you remember ... do you remember Avon?"

"The name ... I remember the name," he told her as he lay her down on the bed and fetched a coverlet for her.

"You don't remember what happened?"

"There was something that reminded me of being trapped in the maze with Father."

'When we were running out of air', she thought.

"Nothing else?" she asked him,pushing herself up on the bed and taking hold of his arms. "Oh, Vincent, we -"

She fell silent, suddenly torn as to whether she should tell him or not.

"Catherine?" He was suddenly worried. What was she keeping from him?

"We ..."

Looking away from him, she whispered, "We loved. You don't remember?"

He looked a little shocked, and a little wonderingly at her. "We did?"

She could see that there was indeed no remembrance of it in his face. "Oh, Vincent, what is it about it that could make you forget?"

"Catherine ... I'm sorry, I ..."

She held him close and tight, and whispered fiercely, "Vincent, there is only you. There only ever has been you; I've realised that. Since the beginning of us, all of our time; only you ... only you."

He felt her yearning, and an immense sadness filled him. Her own beautiful face was so close to his, he felt the pull ...

... but he knew, ironically almost gratefully, that she was too weak for anything to happen between them. He wanted, as he had at times before this, to kiss her, to surrender to their love, but he dared not ... he dared not. He sighed, held her tighter.

His hands had claws, and he knew what passion could do with thoseclaws, but there were other claws; inside him, and sometimes, like now, they did their work ruthlessly, tearing him apart, in his heart, in his gut ...

He knew her soul, and he knew that knowledge helped him to bear the torment, but he also knew, somehow, that the knowledge of ever physically loving her, of experiencing that full expression of tenderness, of giving, was to be forever denied him, and that kept the beast ever close to him, sometimes so close he could almost feel its hot breath on him, in him; and he was afraid ...still afraid.

But Catherine was not; he could feel no fear in her yearning, only that it inexorably grew stronger, the feeling of needing him, to be tender with him, to know him fully, to give him everything of herself; the feeling filled him, flooded into every part of him ...

Again he felt the pull ...

Suddenly he broke free of her embrace and stepped backwards, away from her. He was shaking.

"Vincent ...?"

"Rest ... Catherine ... rest please. I can't ... I'm sorry ..." and so saying he left the chamber hurriedly. Without thinking, he headed for the Mirror Pool. He felt the need to plunge head first into its icy water.

When he got back, after spending a long time swimming around in the depths of the pool to rid himself of the dangerous and confusing desire, he made his way to his room and found Catherine already there, talking earnestly with Father.

"Vincent!" She faltered for a moment, then asked, "Are you alright?"

He went over to her and put an arm round her. "Yes; I'm sorry."

He could see Father hovering near the door, and went over to him, telling him quietly he needed to speak to him.

"I'll ... be in my chamber," Father told him, and left the two of them together.

When she and Vincent were alone, Catherine looking up at him, said, "I'm the one who should be sorry. How could I forget that you share what I feel?"

"Ssh. It's not your fault," he said, "you've been very ill. I ... I lost myself for a moment. It shouldn't have happened."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. I should remember ... your fear."

"Catherine ..." he closed his eyes for a moment, sighing heavily. "I don't want to be afraid. You know I want to give you ... everything."

She sat down in  his chair and he knelt beside her, sitting back on his heels.

He realised that he could no longer put off what he had avoided for so long. She moved to sit on the floor beside him, but he shook his head, motioning for her to stay put, and then drew up the other chair beside her. But he didn't stay in it very long. Soon he was pacing the floor, wrestling with the feelings brought up by what he had to say.

"Catherine; if I should hurt you -"

"You won't," she told him steadily.

"How can you know that? How can I? It is something I have never gone through before. I don't know what it might do to me ... I felt its effects with Lisa -"

"You told me that she was afraid of you. She hurt herself. You were both too young and inexperienced to realise what could happen. But our love, our bond, is stronger than both of us. I believe it would guide us through."

He sensed a certain truth in her words, and feeling a little calmer, he drew close to her, knelt by her again, held her hands.

"But, Catherine, what if there were a child? The chances are that it would be condemned to a life Below; as I have been - never to know the sunlight or the world ..."

"Oh, Vincent!" she leaned forward into his arms, "you've lived with a doctor all these years, and you've never heard of birth control?"

He took her into his arms, lightly resting his chin on top of her head. "It doesn't seem right," he whispered. "The physical act of love is a call to life; to deny that life, I feel, perhaps that might be wrong too. If we were to attempt this ... it would bind us together too closely. That is something that may be ours only after death; when we can be truly together. I can sense that."

Hit by the sudden truth in his words, she felt great pain well up inside her; for him. She knew how much he wanted to be that tender, that giving, with her, for her, and it was breaking her heart that he would be forever denied this. And it was more than that; he needed to be known.

Was there any way? What else was possible?

She made a decision.

"Vincent, do you trust me?"

"Yes; but I don't trust myself," he replied, not sure now of what was going on in her mind.

"You can trust yourself; I know you can."

"What're you thinking?" he asked her warily.

"I can make a kiss show you yourself."

She stood, her hands clasped loosely in front of her, her manner almost professional as if addressing a client. She had to try to make him believe her.

"NO, Catherine."

It was a gut reaction, one that he followed almost out of habit; but inside him, he believed her.

She put her arms tentatively up around his neck. He made no move, but he didn't break away from her.

"Catherine ..." he breathed out raggedly. "Kisses lead to ... other things."

"Only if you believe they have to. A kiss alone can be ... everything," she told him.

"I don't know ..."

"Vincent, trust me."

Shivering, he closed his eyes.

She stroked his hair. "Ssh, ssh. Be calm; be still. Forget yourself; think of me; I'll do the same. Don't be afraid. I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to."

She waited until he seemed more himself, and then she very calmly and gently touched her mouth to his. Not to arouse his desire for her. She thought only of him; his gentleness, his strength of spirit, his kindness, his beauty. She thought of days in the sunshine, of her holidays in childhood, up by the lake in the mountains, of trees and endless swathes of tall green grass moving in a gentle breeze, of wild flowers; of the sky.

Their surroundings fell away from them, leaving them in their own unique circle of silence. For a moment her mind obstinately threw up a picture of the two of them making love on his bed, but knowingly, she just smiled gently, dismissively - though not violently so - at the picture and it faded out, ineffective, and left her feelings unchanged.

Vincent had anticipated some kind of great struggle, but he found that Catherine's feelings - so close and so strong - lent him a great strength and calmness; an incredible feeling of well-being, and, instead of something new (as he had thought it would be), there was an intensifying of the feeling of certainty which he had experienced from her before.

Certainty about him, he realised. He could see her face in his mind; calm, loving and beautiful, getting close and close until ... until he didn't know if he was himself or Catherine.  He felt light and peace deep inside him, and stillness, and a fire ... a fire which pulled him into itself and held him, strong and steady until the moment faded and he came back to awareness again.

They parted and he saw his own fire, his own light, strength and understanding, in her eyes. As he gazed at her, he was unafraid and he bent his head to kiss her once more; a small, gentle kiss of gratitude, and then he held her tight against him, saying nothing.

They held to each other a long time, each consciously appraising what they had learned from the experience.

Then, no words necessary, he went to talk to Father.

Vincent told him what had happened between them, but instead of an outburst of concern, the old man just sat and listened, nodding his head slowly.

"Father; you're not concerned by this?" Vincent asked finally. "I expected you to be ..."

"No. Vincent. Margaret and I ... we shared such experiences between us. It ... was like going through it all again, hearing you speak of it."

"Father, I'm sorry." He moved to Father, to comfort him, but he looked up at Vincent, and was smiling.

"No, Vincent, that's alright. You've made me remember that, even now, she is not far from me, nor was she ever."

He got up from where he was sitting on the bottom steps of the spiral staircase and went to Vincent; hugged him.

Vincent was relieved. Father had suffered enough, one way and another, and the last thing his son wanted was to bring him more pain.

"She should go back Above," he mused quietly. "Her friends will be worried about her."

"She should rest, Vincent, and she'll do that better near you,you know that."

Vincent just looked at him for a moment, then nodded.

"You're not ... still afraid, are you?"

"I don't know Father; there is something ... I feel that thereis still something left to be faced. Perhaps she would be safer down here. I can't explain it. Perhaps it's only a moment, in my mind."

But Father thought back to the feeling of foreboding that he'd had, whilst his son and the love of his heart had been locked in their world of dreams ...

... and he shivered ...

Segue

Some weeks later, Catherine got back from work quite late, but after a quick shower and change of clothes, she felt refreshed and happy and set off for the park for her regular meeting with Vincent.

Elsewhere in the city however, two others prepared for another, less pleasant, rendezvous with Catherine. The uniforms had been supplied by the man who'd hired them; a strange old man who'd got the clothes God only knew how, and they revved up their bikes in anticipation.

"Why cops for God's sake?" asked one.

"Search me," said the other. "That's what the old guy wants, that's what he gets. C'mon, let's go ruin her evening ..."

They opened the garage doors and raced off into the night.

The End ...

RETURN TO ADULT FICTION PAGE