A/N: This story comes after CRY IN THE DARKNESS and follows Avon's healing on Darkover, a planet and culture belonging entirely to Marion Zimmer Bradley, as Avon and Vila belong to Terry Nation and BBC.
If you haven't explored Bradley's world of Darkover, run, don't walk, to your nearest library! Go ahead, I'll wait.
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The ship was on automatics, thankfully, for Vila and Cally both had their hands full caring for the almost helpless Avon. Oh, he could and would eat if prodded, did see to his personal needs, such as they were, and would even nod or murmur a yes or no if questioned. But he would do little else. True, Cally had brought him back from the deep prison of his mind, but he refused to accept his freedom and she had steadfastly refused to force it on him by linking with his psyche a third time.
Vila sat now on a shipping crate he was using as a chair, beside Avon's bed, watching him sleep. Even in repose, there was no peace on his face. A frown of pain creased his forehead, his hands alternately bunched then loosed their grip on the covers. It was all Vila could do to keep from pulling him into his arms, holding him close and, hopefully, soothing whatever inner torments pursued him. Cally, however, had counseled against it, saying it might make Avon uncomfortable. Vila had agreed, though it was one of the most difficult things he ever remembered having to do.
"Vila?" Cally called softly from the doorway. "We'll be entering Cottman airspace in a little over two hours. Are your belongings packed?"
He turned, a wry grimace on his face. "That took me all of five minutes, Cally. All we have is ORAC and the clothes on our backs." He sighed. "Has ORAC made contact with the planet's computers yet?"
"No. Their technology doesn't use tarriel cells so the capacity for communication is very limited. He was able to gather some information on the culture of the world however, if you're interested."
The thief stood, looking back at Avon. "I suppose he'll be all right for a little while."
"He should be, Vila. The sedative I gave him will keep him asleep until we land."
"Well then, I guess I'd better learn all I can about this place that's to be our home for however long it takes for Avon to get well." Running a nervous hand through his thinning sandy hair, he followed Cally back to the flight deck, taking an unoccupied chair. He thought it was navigation or comm, but didn't really know or care. "ORAC, tell me about the planet we're headed for," he asked politely. It wouldn't do to alienate the irascible supercomputer at this stage. Soon, it might be his only contact with the outside world and Cally.
+It is the fourth planet orbiting Cottman's Star. Average mean temperature at the equator is ten degrees Celsius during the summer months and minus 50 during the winter season. It is habitable with some vegetation but life is difficult even for the natives.+
Vila frowned. It didn't sound at all appealing. "Well, they must have evolved a technology or we couldn't land there."
+From my research, I have discovered that the world quite probably was colonized may centuries ago by travelers from Earth. Their legends tell of the settlement at that time, as well as their possible interbreeding with a native sentient species, which produced a race of telepaths.+
"Telepaths?" he asked, startled, casting a quick glance at Cally, busy with the flight controls. She'd been listening, though, meeting his eyes with a raised eyebrow. "You mean like Cally?"
+No. The telepathy there takes many forms. Some are senders such as the Auronar, some receptors. There are other unspecified gifts as well.+
"I'm not so sure I like this, ORAC," Vila said hesitantly. "But then again, I don't have much of a choice, do I?"
+Not if the survival of Avon is to be considered…and mine.+
"All right, ORAC, anything else we need to know?"
+From my research, I have also determined that the political situation of this world is precarious at times.+
Vila drug one hand down his face. "Great. I suppose they're in the midst of their own rebellion." Frying pan into the fire, that's all he needed.
+On the contrary, Vila. It is just that their culture is clan based and periodically erupts into small uprisings. There are six major groups that vie for power and each one has its own ideas of how their world should be governed.+
He looked over at Cally. "Are you sure coming here was a good idea?"
"Yes, Vila, I am positive. I've done some investigation on my own and, while what ORAC says is true, basically the planet is a good place for Avon to recover. You'll just have to be careful and learn to fit in."
"I've never had a problem fitting in anywhere," he admitted, "but what about Avon?"
"Until he's recovered, at least partially, I don't think you'll have to worry about him."
"So how are we supposed to go about finding a healer on this world?"
"From what ORAC has told me," she replied, "when we land, we'll just have to make our needs known to their authorities." She seemed confident of that, though Vila thought she was being a bit naïve; this was, after all, an alien planet, peopled by telepaths and who knew what else? At least it was non-Federation. They were far, far from the borders of Federation space, for which Vila was extremely grateful.
"I hate authorities," Vila muttered, "but I guess I'll manage." He was staring, empty-minded, at the forward screen, when he was jolted back to reality by a strange voice.
UNRECOGNIZED CRAFT, YOU ARE ENTERING RESTRICTED AIRSPACE. PLEASE IDENTIFY. The stern voice issued from the ship's speaker, making even Cally jump and hastily reach for the comm switch.
Projecting a calm she hadn't yet managed to put in place, she replied, "This is the Auron shuttle PAXON requesting permission to land at your spaceport."
STATE YOUR PURPOSE, PAXON.
"We are seeking medical attention for a member of our crew." Vila held his breath. This was where things could go wrong. They could be rejected out of hand, leaving them with no idea where to get help for Avon. He bit his lip and leaned forward in his chair, as though trying to prove their peaceful intent to the comm speaker.
WHAT IS THE NATURE OF THE CONDITION, PAXON?
"Physical and mental trauma only. There is no danger of contamination." She tried to put as much innocence and urgency as she could into her reply.
After a few moments, while both Cally and Vila forgot to breathe, the voice came back: PERMISSION GRANTED. DO YOU REQUIRE FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS?
"Just a landing beacon," Cally responded with relief. "We'll follow it in, if that's allowed."
IT IS. PLEASE STAND BY TO RECEIVE.
Vila reached up and switched the ship's onboard computer to receive mode, then heard a faint 'beep beep', growing louder as they drew closer to the port.
"Switching to manual," Cally said as she took the controls. "Man the secondary guidance, please, Vila."
He moved to the third seat on the flight deck and dropped into it. "I'm no pilot under the best circumstances, Cally," he protested plaintively.
"I know, Vila, but I want you here just in case. This is unfamiliar territory and back-up is always appreciated."
Her reassuring smile eased his worry a trifle, but failed to banish it completely. Vila looked over the controls, picking out the ones he thought he knew, but he didn't dare to touch any of them. "I should see to Avon," he fretted.
"He will be all right, Vila," she said, never taking her eyes off the control panel and its flashing lights and readouts.
Vila watched tensely as Cally guided the ship into the atmosphere.
ON FINAL APPROACH, PAXON. BE PREPARED FOR BOARDING UPON TOUCHDOWN.
"Why do you suppose they said that?" Vila wondered fearfully. "Don't they trust us?"
"Standard procedure, probably," she assured him absently. "After all, they have no idea who or even what we are. I would have been more worried if they'd allowed us to land unchallenged."
"Yeah, I suppose you're right," he conceded. "Still. I assume you have an adequate supply of hand weapons on board."
"Under your seat, Vila," she said with amusement, gesturing with her head. "There are two complete rigs. Get them out, if you'll be happier."
He reached down and pulled out two gunbelts, blasters and extra power packs for both of them. Fastening his own about his waist, he took the controls gingerly while Cally donned hers, relinquishing the controls with a sigh of relief when she was done.
"Just above surface now," she informed him shortly. "Touchdown in approximately thirty seconds."
They settled easily on the landing platform. Cally glanced out the viewport, seeing a group of uniformed security waiting just outside blast range. Behind them, she saw several fairly standard, grey featureless buildings that wouldn't have been out of place in any fringe Federation spaceport.
"Well, at least they aren't holding guns on us…yet," Vila sniffed, looking over her shoulder. He left to check on Avon as Cally triggered the main hatch and waited for their reception committee.
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A/N: What sort of reception will they get? Is this really the place where they can make Avon whole again?