Charley turned over on the couch. Self-sacrifice was all very well, but the couch was a little too hard for her tastes. She punched her pillow into a poofier shape and tried to defy the pale morning light ghosting through the high window. It wasn't hard and she soon slipped back into dreamland.

When she next woke, the light was streaming in and the scent of food was heavy in the air. Curious, Charley sat up, shaking the night-time tangles out of her hair and craning around to look into the kitchen. There were definite clattering sounds in there. The smell she couldn't define, but it wasn't unpleasant. Which meant it probably wasn't Vinnie in there. She walked over to the door and looked in.

Stoker had his back to her and was fiddling with something on the stove. He was only half dressed; wearing his old army pants and gun belt with the holster strapped down.  Charley smiled and hoped her hair wasn't as messy as his, although it probably was. She ran her fingers through it quickly and winced as they caught on some tangles. "Morning, Stoker," she said, stepping into the kitchen.

Stoker turned and smiled at her. "Hey there, Beautiful. Sleep well?"

"Well enough.  How is your head feeling?"

"Good as new." 

Charley peered dubiously into the pot he was stirring. "What is it?"

"Breakfast."

"I didn't know you could cook."

"Bachelors learn to cook, or starve."

Charley smiled and looked around at the clean kitchen. All the implements were piled neatly in the sink. "I didn't know you could clean, either."

Stoker chuckled. "I've lived with enough women to pick up the gist of it. Besides, women tend to get particular about that sort of thing," he teased.

"Someone tell me that's food," said Rimfire from the living room.

"It's food," replied Stoker, opening cupboards at random. "Where are your plates, Beautiful?"

"Sit down, I'll get them" said Charley, retrieving plates from the cupboard.

Rimfire lurched in on his crutches and flopped into a chair.  "Pwoof! Can't wait to get off these things."

"Cramping your style, kid?" teased Stoker.

"You're bright and bushy this morning. How's the head?"

"Working just fine."

"Well, that'll be a change."

Charley smiled at their wrangling and sat down. Stoker dished up a healthy portion of greyish white gloop to each of them and picked up his spoon.

"So what is it?" Charley asked.

"I think the best translation is porridge."

"Porridge?"

"Staple food," said Rimfire, tasting it. "Got any sweetener?"

Charley passed over the sugar bowl and watched, appalled, as both mice covered the mixture with an excessive amount of sugar. She reached into the fridge. "Milk?"

Rimfire took the bottle curiously and sniffed the contents. He poured some over the sugary mass, obviously classifying the white liquid as 'food substance'.

Stoker did the same then passed the bottle back to her. He tasted the contents of his bowl. "Edible."

Charley was much more circumspect with her sugar application, but liberal with the milk. She tasted the resulting mixture warily, but to her surprise, it turned out to have a pleasantly nutty taste. Rimfire had inhaled his serve and Stoker was making decent inroads to his portion. Charley ate steadily and listened to the conversation.

"So what now, coach?" said Rimfire.

"Now we figure out how to get home again."

"What, we can't just…oh," said Rimfire.

Charley nodded to herself. They had no sub-space communications equipment down here; only a receiver. They could hear if someone called, but the modular system that she used to talk to the boys when they were out didn't have the power to reach Mars. Rimfire had obviously reached that conclusion, judging by the look of chagrin on his face.

"Our best bet is either to sneak into Limburger's tower and use his Transporter, or to sneak into Limburger's tower and use his communications equipment." Stoker said. He grinned toothily, suddenly reminding Charley of Vinnie. "Either way should be fun."

The three of them were lingering over coffee when the roar of the bikes shattered the morning peace.

"Hey there doll face! Did'ya miss me?"

Charley rolled her eyes at Vinnie's usual morning greeting.

"Now how could she miss you, punk? Your ego is visible from Mons Olympus, even if your skinny body gets mistaken for a broom handle," interjected Stoker.

Vinnie spluttered into the general laughter.  "Yeah, well, you…," he stuttered.

"Great comeback, bro," sniggered Modo.

"So what's the plan, Coach?" said Throttle, still chuckling.

"The plan is, we sneak into Limburger Tower today and see what he's got that we can use."

"Sneak? SNEAK? Biker mice do NOT sneak," said Vinnie, throwing his head back and posing.

"Well, not with you around, anyway; they'd hear your mouth flapping in the wind be-OOF!" said Stoker, as Vinnie crash-tackled him to the ground.

"What exactly are we looking for?" asked Throttle, turning to Rimfire.

"A way to communicate with Mars. We're a little stranded, in case you hadn't noticed."

Throttle grimaced. "No, really, it had completely escaped my notice before now."

Charley sighed. She knew the boys felt isolated down here. With no way for them to contact Mars, they had to wait for communications from main base, which were few and far between. She could build them a transmitter, no problem, but keeping their transmissions undetected by SETI was beyond her; she didn't have access to Limburger's resources.

"All right, you know what I mean," said Rimfire. "Somehow, we've got to get a message out. I don't know what the coach has planned," they both glanced over at Stoker, still wrestling with an irate Vinnie, "but whatever we need, you can bet Limburger has it."

Charley grunted as she wrestled with the nut holding the PVC valve in place. It felt like it was glued on! She had been struggling with it for five minutes and it hadn't budged an inch. She leaned on the side of the truck for a moment and wiped the sweat from her brow. One more try; if it didn't work it was coffee time. She gritted her teeth and strained hard. Was that...yes, it was moving! Finally! She felt the nut slowly loosen as she worked at it.

"Hey, need some help there, babe?"

A white-furred hand came into her view and flipped the wrench easily, sending the nut spinning into the corner of the garage. The sudden lack of tension sent her off balance and she banged her knuckles on the carburettor. Her feeling of triumph vanished in a second.

"Vinnie!" she snapped, tearing off her glove and rubbing her bruised knuckles.

"What?" he said, looking innocent. "Just helpin' ya, babe. You would have been there all day if it weren't for me." He grinned broadly, waiting for praise. "I'm always ready to help a lady in distress."

"Well that's just great, but I wasn't IN distress! I had that nut almost off!"

Vinnie snickered, his expression plainly disbelieving.  "Just ask next time, babe," he said casually.

Charley's temper rose. She brandished the wrench in front of him.  "Vinnie, I..."

"Hey, thanks! That's the one I was looking for!" Vinnie snatched the wrench from her hand. "And if you find a three-eighths socket, let me know."

"Rrrrrrrr!" growled Charley. Suitable words just wouldn't come to mind. Vinnie appeared completely oblivious to her rage, as usual. She gave up, and went in to get a coffee.

One steaming brew later, she was still seething. Maybe coffee hadn't been such a good idea, after all. She sighed. She loved her Martian friends, but they just had a knack of making her feel like a helpless woman. Especially a certain white-furred...her thoughts spiralled off again. She banged a clenched fist on the table. If only he wasn't so...so....

"Is this a bad time, Beautiful?"

"Yes," snapped Charley, then turned to apologise. "Sorry, Stoke. I'm just...well, I mean..." she fumbled, not knowing how to explain her frustration. Stoker looked at her blankly and she sighed. He was, after all, just another Martian male. He wouldn't understand.

"Don't worry about it," she said, smiling. "What did you want?"

"I came in to tell you that we've got a plan. Well, almost a plan," he said. He pulled out the chair beside her and dropped into it. His gaze wandered from her eyes to her hair and Charley felt a blush rise to her cheeks.

"So what is it?" she said casually, to distract him from his scrutiny.

"Hmm? Oh, we're going to ride in and see what Limburger's got lying around in the lab that we can use."

Charley stared at him, her jaw drooping. "Are you serious? That's your plan?"

"I did say almost," he said, eyes twinkling. "Some of the best plans are all improvisation."

Charley threw her hands in the air. "Where have I heard that before? Let me guess; improvisation is standard operating procedure?"

"I see you're well versed in FF tactics."

"I've had a little exposure to them, yes," she said dryly. "Well, good luck."

Stoker looked surprised. "You're not coming?"  Stoker leaned forward and took her hand in his. "Charley, we need you.  You're the genius with circuitry. You have to tell us what to take.  I just assumed you would be coming. But if you don't want to, we can set up a radio link..."

"No, no, it's not that," said Charley, smiling. We need you, he said. "I'm ready and willing."

"Thanks, Beautiful," Stoker said, leaning back in his chair and looking relieved. "We couldn't pull this one off without you."

Charley noted that he still held her hand in his. Her fingers twitched.

Stoker glanced down at her hand. Smiling, he brought Charley's hand to his lips, but at the last minute, turned it over. He kissed her palm softly. Startled, Charley looked into a pair of red-brown eyes shining with mischief. Butterflies danced in her stomach as her fingers brushed his whiskers before he slowly drew her hand away. Stoker squeezed her fingers gently before releasing her hand, never once taking his eyes from hers. Still smiling, he stood and walked out of the kitchen.

Charley placed her fingers over her mouth, heart fluttering, still feeling his lips on her palm and his soft fur under her fingers.  "You rogue," she thought, grinning to herself. Still grinning, she stood, placed her coffee cup in the sink and walked into the garage where Modo and Stoker were arguing with Rimfire.

"No, you CAN'T come!" snapped Modo.

"Hey, I can still ride! I'll be fine!"

"Yeah, but you can't WALK," said Stoker. "You'd be great, lurching down the corridors on those things," he pointed at the crutches. "You're staying here and that's an order."

"Damn it!" Rimfire snapped.

"Language!" said Modo, clipping him across the ear. "There's a lady present."

Everyone looked at Charley and she felt, again, like a penguin in a pack of polar bears.

"Just stay here, kid," said Stoker, patting Rimfire's shoulder. "If we get into trouble, we'll radio and you can hear our last, agonised screams."

Rimfire gave him a dirty look. "Oh, that really makes me feel better."

Stoker turned away, grinning, and looked at the bikes. "Okay, how are we going to organise this?"

"You can take my bike, Stoke," Charley said as the boys dashed for their rides.

"Only if you ride with me, Beautiful." Stoker hopped on the bike and held out a courteous hand for Charley as she slid in behind him.

Vinnie groaned and rolled his eyes. "Oh please," he muttered.

"Whoa, hang on," Throttle said, frowning. "I don't know about this. It's dangerous in there. A fight's no place for a w-- a civilian."

Stoker leaned across, grabbed Throttle's bandana and jerked the tan mouse close.  "I'd like to hear you say that in front of Carbine and live to tell the tale."

"Yeah, but, uh..." stuttered Throttle.

Stoker released him and wrapped his metal tail firmly around Charley's waist.  "Ready, Beautiful?"

"Let's go," said Charley.