"Steed, it's absolutely beautiful up here! Look at the earth! It seems so small and inconsequential, yet massive and never-ending all at the same time." Tara and Steed were strapped in their chairs again, gazing out the window at the amazing void and a small sphere that was earth.

Miss King pointed at what appeared to be a long line right in the middle of Asia. "Is that formation mountains?"

Steed peered at it closely before replying, "It looks like it's the Great Wall of China!"

"I never would have imagined that out of all the man made structures in the world, the Great Wall of China would be the only one visible from space."

"It's quite the geography lesson, isn't it?"

Tara leaned her head on his shoulder, her piled hair brushing his face. "I'm glad I could share this moment with you . . . John."

So it was down to John. With a slight tremor in her voice and a gleam in her eye, Tara had forgone British propriety to use his Christian name. Steed was taken aback by this personal addressing, and he had no clue why. He had called her Tara almost from the beginning. After Tara had proven herself quite capable as a spy during the unsavoury business with the maniacs trying to get to outer space, Steed had subtly stopped addressing her as "Miss King," and had called her "Tara." So why did it matter that she had just called him "John"? It seemed only fair and natural; they were friends and partners, partners in business and pleasure.

*It's because she didn't call you that,* he thought. Lovely, witty, sexy, smart Emma Peel, how he missed her. "I will never find another you, John Steed,"*** was the one time when she had addressed him as "John." How he longed for her, how he-

Steed was jolted from his thoughts by Tara, who was playing with his suit coat. She kept murmuring how he must be as hot as she was. Quickly, Steed tried to jump to his feet only to be dragged down by his safety belt. He choked slightly and managed to spurt out, "I've been thinking . . ."

*What the devil am I supposed to say I was thinking about? That I was dreaming of Mrs. Peel?* Steed groped for the right words. "I've been thinking about-about . . ." An inspiration hit him and he continued, "I've been wondering why Mother stopped talking to us over the intercom. He was very loud up to the point when the rough turbulence set in. Then I didn't hear him anymore."

Tara shrugged nonchalantly, indicating she didn't care if Mother had spontaneously combusted. "Maybe he shouted himself hoarse." She leaned forward for a kiss, but Steed suddenly unbuckled himself. Sighing in frustration, Tara leaned back in her chair in defeat.

"I just remembered something," Steed said as he floated to one of the numerous panels with buttons and dials. "When I rammed into this control panel I must have switched off the communication device." After several manoeuvres, the intercom was working again. "Steed to Mother, Steed to Mother, can you hear me?"

There was silence, and then Mother's voice came over the intercom, very relieved and tired. "Steed, old boy, I was about to give up hope on you."

"Don't be such a pessimist!" Steed jokingly upbraided his superior.

"I had a talk with Father and Grandma. They don't like this new predicament at all, Steed. They think you and Tara are giving the ministry a bad name! Your lift-off is all over the news for every rival agency to see! The whole of Great Britain thinks you're the enemy!" Steed's merriment dissolved, and even Tara stopped pouting long enough to listen. "They think it's a Communistic plot, and the government is going to do something drastic if you don't talk to the men at the space station."

"But I can't talk to them; this communication system is not connected to England's space programme," Steed protested.

"What does that mean?" Mother demanded.

"It means only the person with the intercom box, namely you, can talk to the persons on the rocket, namely Tara and I."

"But they think your not responding is a direct insult and disobedience to the Crown!"

Tara spoke, "Mother, couldn't you talk to the scientists and astronauts and assure them that we mean no harm, and that we'd gladly come down if we knew how."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO GET DOWN!" Mother bellowed. "You mean you're stuck up there permanently?"

"We are unless someone instructs us on to how to land this thing," Tara snapped. To Steed she asked, "Can a person land a rocket?"

"I don't think so, but I'll have to consult the owner's guide to make sure." Steed searched the air for any floating object that resembled a pamphlet. He spotted it, drifted over to the booklet, and began perusing it with the greatest of interest.

Mother began to use imprecations, and Tara shut him off with an emphatic "click." "Is it just me, or did that conversation accomplished nothing?"

Steed smiled but continued reading while floating through the air. At that moment he was absentmindedly bouncing up and down. First his feet would hit the floor, only to have his body soar up again. It was like a trampoline . . . except there was no way to get off.

************

Emma strode up the door of a stately penthouse and knocked incessantly until a middle-aged man, slightly balding and wearing glasses, opened it. "Mrs. Peel, how lovely to see you again!" said Dr. Hughes, a well known astrophysicist and acquaintance of Emma Peel.

"Dr. Hughes, I heard you were getting your book published."

"Finally! For a while it seemed no one wanted to know about the physical properties of celestial beings and the interaction between matter and radiation." He gestured for her to enter his abode.

As she stepped inside, Emma smiled gregariously, trying to feel as sympathetic as she looked. At the moment, though, she just wanted to discuss Steed's predicament. "Have you heard the news about the unidentified spacecraft?"

"Yes, I did! What is your opinion on this subject, Mrs. Peel? Do you think it is a Communistic plot?"

Emma shook her mane of perfectly flipped hair. "No; in fact, I have reason to believe that the owner of that rocket is my old friend, John Steed."

"I remember meeting that chap once." Dr. Hughes sighed before he asked, "What makes you suspect him? Is he an astronaut, and you just neglected to tell me?"

"Actually, Steed is just very wealthy and very . . . eccentric. I think he always wanted a rocket and decided one day to buy one."

Hughes surveyed his guest with a condescending sneer. "My dear, you can't just buy a rocket like you buy a car. Special scientists design and construct the spacecrafts, and specially trained men pilot them. You can just ask my friend, the acclaimed astronaut-"

"Oh good, you're still in touch with Mr. Whelan? Perhaps he will listen to my story and tell his superiors at the space programme that it is not the enemy up in that rocket but my-"

"Mrs. Peel, you *are* dead serious, aren't you?" Hughes appeared to be quite shocked.

Emma stared at him, holding his gaze for several seconds. "Yes, Dr. Hughes, and I would be forever indebted to you if you could get me to see the officials at the space station. They need to know that Steed would never hurt England."

Dr. Hughes began pacing back and forth nervously. "We need proof that your friend is the man up in that rocket."

"Perhaps Steed left something of importance at his flat. In fact, I'm very surprise that nobody has searched that whole apartment complex for Communists." Emma nodded in the direction of the front door, her chin jutting out in determination. "Shall we go then, doctor?"

"Uh, you go to your friend's home, and if you find anything, just come back for me."

Mrs. Peel rolled her eyes, and it took all of her patience to thank Dr. Hughes for his hospitality. Once outside, she climbed into her Lotus Élan and sat there for several minutes. She was going to Steed's flat. She hadn't been there for a year and several months.

Had the apartment changed any, or were the furnishings still rustic and manly? Was Steed still using his tuba to as a vase, or had he thrown the battered metal instrument out? Did it look like a woman had been spending too much time there? It had always been evident when Emma had been visiting, for she would do the neglected chores to make certain his flat was the tidiest in Great Britain. Had Steed's new partner taken over that job as well? Had she taken over everything Emma had held dear?

"There's only one way to find out," Emma began doggedly. She drove her car as fast as was legal down the streets to 3 Stable Mews.

***********

Mother puffed on a foul-smelling cigar and gulped down another brandy. He eyed the television as if it was an enemy agent that was ready to engage him in a fierce battle. He was back at Steed's flat, having claimed it his office for the week.

A news reporter was updating the fantastic story of Steed and the rocket. "Bystanders who witnessed the rocket's takeoff two hours ago are now declaring that there was a third person involved in this amazing Communistic scheme! A fat man with a moustache was sitting in a wheelchair and is reported as saying, "They'll be back; you can depend on it! They're unchaperoned up there!' Then the man seemingly vanished!

"If you have seen anyone that fits this description, please contact your local police."

"Turn it off, Rhonda!" Mother barked furiously. "How dare they accuse me of being a traitor to the Crown!" He was about to continue his tirade when he heard a sound that would be imperceptible to the normal human ear. Fortunately, Mother had acute hearing, one of the reasons why he often preferred silence to any noise. "Someone's coming down the corridor!"

Emma Peel approached Steed's apartment with a pounding heart. She had tried to compose herself on the trip to his place, but it hadn't worked. As silent and slinky as a cat, she crept up to the door. Once she was assured that no one was watching, she tried the door knob. The door eased open, and she let herself in.

She was astounded when she saw Mother and a tall blonde woman in the middle of the living area. Mother was equally surprised to behold Mrs. Emma Peel, attired in a becoming navy blue dress coat with a white turtleneck underneath and an orange skirt.

"Mrs.-Mrs. Peel, I never thought I would see you again!" Mother exclaimed.

"I could say the same thing about you, Mother," Mrs. Emma retorted smartly. "I suppose you could tell me if the man in the rocket is Steed, or not."

Mother glanced askance at Mrs. Peel as he reluctantly admitted that the man up in space was indeed John Steed. "The confounded man bought this do it yourself kit from the Spies Catalogue of Unique and Expensive Objects. I didn't think he'd really build it; after all, when was he going to have time to take a trip into outer space?"

"So you didn't stop Steed from buying or building the rocket," Emma interrupted his prattling. "And now the mischievous man has left all his responsibilities to dally with a twenty-two year old!" She sighed in exasperation before asking, "Do you have any ideas when he is coming down?"

Mother squirmed uncomfortably in his wheelchair and replied, "He doesn't know how to get down."

Besides grimacing, Mrs. Peel took the news rather well. "Is there any way to communicate with Steed?"

"Yes, we have this intercom system." Mother held up his end of communication device.

Mrs. Peel's eyes brightened, and she nearly shouted, "I now have the proof my friend wants! Mother, you must come with me! We'll show my acquaintance this intercom system, and then he'll take us to see the men at the space programme." She rushed out of the building before Mother could respond.

Mother was eager to get his top spies down from outer space, so he motioned for Rhonda to wheel him out of the flat after Emma Peel. Soon the trio were on their way to Dr. Hughes' penthouse.

************

John Steed stared at the reposing figure of Miss King. He watched her chest rise and fall with each breath; noticed the demure smile that played on her lips, as if she was dreaming of something wonderful; and saw one of her dark locks tumble out of its wild hairdo.

She had been anxious earlier but had hid it so well that she had almost fooled him. But nothing escaped Steed; that was why he was the best. Now she was calm, ready to face the world, or the moon, whatever they bumped into first.

Why had he bought the infernal rocket? What had possessed him to invite Tara to view the blasted thing? He had known the whole point of building the spacecraft was to ride it, but somehow it hadn't registered until they were blasting off. Now they were stuck in a world-no, not a world, a black void-where they didn't belong.

She was so young-he admitted it for the first time. He had denied it for one year, hoping that by the time he was actually able to think about the age difference she wouldn't be so naïve. Now he was alone with his thoughts, and he could see what an ass he had been to flirt with her, to make her believe he loved her madly. He did love Tara, but not in a romantic way.

Steed remembered when he had first met Tara King. He had fallen head over heels for her . . . literally! The then agent trainee had mistaken him for her "prey," and had attacked him, flipping him over! After she had realised her blunder, Tara had pounced on him again, offering him her phone number. Baffled, Steed had taken it, thinking he'd never have to use it, never have to see her again. That was his error.

The very next day she arrived at his door; Mother had sent her. She was so petrified, looking like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. Was she frightened that he would send her away? Steed tried to recall his emotions at seeing the wide eyed Agent 69, but everything was a jumble. Emma-Mrs. Peel had left seconds before, numbing his heart, soul and mind. He vaguely remembered smiling briefly and calling Miss King by her ridiculous pet name, "Tara rah boom di ay." Then he had drunk some tea and tried to have a normal conversation. As he recollected, the discussion had been flat and uncomfortable, and Tara had left almost in tears.

The next time he saw her was when they were working on her first official case. Tara had gone to all lengths to please him, her idol, and even donned a "disguise," namely her blonde wig. Steed felt a pain in his chest as he remembered how the case had ended. They were at his apartment, performing judo. In a desperate attempt to erase Emma Peel from his mind, Steed had thrown the judo book aside and declared they were going to practise. The "practise" included several serious kisses and holds-not judo holds-that sent Tara King into ecstasy.

Thus Steed had created the vicious cycle in which he lived now. He would treat Tara like a daughter, spoiling her with gifts, taking her out to eat and on picnics, and going to the opera. And when she batted her eyes enough, wore revealing clothes, or talked to him in her most sophisticated voice, he treated her like a grown woman. Then he would snap out of his delusions long enough to act like the doting father again, but he never was satisfied. He always craved the relationship where he treated his partner as an equal, not a daughter. So he acted as if Tara was old enough to be an equal, disregarding the fact that there was twenty-five years difference in their age-a long twenty-five years.

He was sixteen years apart from Emma, but she was a mature woman. She had lost her mother and father by the tender age of twenty-one, and her husband shortly afterwards. Tara, fortunately and unfortunately, had never been through anything that traumatic. Her parents were still prosperous farmers, her true love was alive, and she was becoming a great spy.

Steed shut his eyes, trying to shake his tumultuous feelings. If he didn't stop his musing he would drive himself insane. But it was to no avail, for he could not stop thinking of his foolish behaviour. He needed to tell Tara that he was not in love with her, but he realised that it was not the time nor place to discuss it. Since they were alone in a confined area, it would be best to stay on her good side. If Miss King was angry or hurt, she was liable to do something desperate.

As he gazed at the adorable figure of the sleeping Tara, Steed shook his head in defeat. No, he wouldn't tell her the truth, not now-possibly never. It was cruel enough that he had deceived her; there was no need to break her heart.

Staring out at the black void of space, Steed felt the utter desolation of a man who has lived in lies all his life and has discovered his sins too late. He sunk his head into his hands in despair.

To Be Continued!

***Note: This line is taken from my story, "Last Resort."