"All right, Vila, what's wrong?" Soolin sized up Vila's rattled expression, and pushed him firmly back into the room so that she could get through the door.

"Have a look at that!"" He pointed to the screen beside the bed, and backed off nervously, getting behind her as she turned to look. "Then tell me I'm imagining it!"

"Imagining what?" She pressed a touchkey to acknowledge the report and stop the text flashing.

When Sethi edged in to read it with her, she took Orac from him, putting it on the shelf below the display, and pressed in its key.

"Orac, tap into the ship's medical computer and give me your assessment of anything you find regarding Avon. We need implications, urgently from the looks of this." She glanced at him, then over her shoulder at Vila. "How long has he been unconscious?"

"Just a few minutes—no, wait a minute!" He waved a hand in protest. "That isn't part of it, Soolin. That's because of the stabilizer I gave him."

"Soma?" asked Sethi.

"Three‑quarters." Vila ran a hand back through his hair. "One‑quarter adrenaline,"

"Near enough standard." The younger man looked up at the vital signs monitor. "That shouldn't hurt him. It'll help him sleep, for a while."

"Mmhm." Soolin rested a hand on Orac's case. "Orac, what are you finding?"

"My analysis is not complete!" it snapped back at her. "This is quite interesting."

"Preliminary analysis, then."

"You can get that from the medical computer directly!"

"In Standard, Orac. None of us are medics." She favoured the machine with an irritated look. "Get on with it! I don't like the looks of this."

"Oh, very well." The computer paused. "Analysis of proteins in Avon's bloodstream indicates a multiple viral infection, three strains of an unstable Type A influenza, composition H1N1, H2N3, H7N2, all three single‑strand RNA‑based, mutating at a projected rate of slightly over five thousand viable point mutations per standard day."

"In Standard, Orac." Soolin sighed. "What about the part saying 'no material immune response'? I know this is a respiratory infection, so it has to have taken a while for the virus to reach his bloodstream."

"Approximately two days," Orac said crisply.

"During which time," said Sethi, "one should see a strong, nonspecific immune response. Fever, aches, light‑sensitivity, sore throat, that sort of thing."

"There is extremely limited evidence of macrophage activity," Orac continued. "Similarly, a limited level of leukocyte pyrogens. Barely enough to explain the 1.06 degrees of fever he is presenting.

"I estimate by percentage analysis of variations already present that two of these pathogens have been incubating in his system for at least three days, so this absence of activity suggests extreme immunosuppression, possibly related to abnormally high levels of stress hormones and fatigue poisons in his blood.

"In an immunosuppressed host, emergence of symptoms related to both nonspecific and cell‑mediated T‑lymphocyte response—fever, inflammation, pain, proliferation of toxins in the bloodstream may be substantially delayed."

"Meaning what?" Soolin's frown deepened. "Orac, are any of these infections communicable?"

"Naturally!" The machine was back to its normally astringent tone. "However, unless you are also immunosuppressed, only the H7N2 variant or an H7N1 recombinant should have any potential to produce more than mild illness. Standard antiviral shots should provide significant protection, since the current package contains elements recognising H1N2, H1N3, and H2N3 strains."

"Then you're saying this isn't serious, that we don't have to worry about it?" Vila said anxiously.

"I am saying nothing of the sort!" the machine snapped. "For Avon, it is likely to be quite serious, since he can offer no effective resistance either to the original pathogens or their recombinants. Depending on the form of recombinants, it could be extremely dangerous for all of you."

"Explain!" said Soolin.

"A mixing vessel," said Sethi. "It makes him a human mixing vessel."

"A what?" Vila turned to him.

"It's a problem of immune suppression," Sethi told him. "Say someone's had an organ transplant. To prevent rejection, they go on drugs to suppress their natural immune reactions. The problem is that immunosuppressed, they easily pick up infections, either in the usual way, or from the transplanted tissues themselves. If you expose them to a variety of pathogens, they can develop multiple infections, and if the viruses are highly mutable, it's easy for them to reassort into new strains. "

"New and lethal strains!" Orac said enthusiastically. "It is a fascinating process! Normally it takes place in animals, with most viable mutations being pathogenic only for their species of origin. The unique quality of a human mixing vessel is that viable mutants can be readily transmitted to other humans, who have no basis for resisting them."

"Orac, can you gauge the toxicity of existing mutations?" Soolin asked.

"So far, obviously, they have been non‑lethal."

"Obviously," she muttered, "since Avon's still alive."

"Most mutations have been in the H1N1 strain, which appears to be the residue of a much earlier infection, possibly from childhood. Avon does appear to have some resistance to that variant, which has resulted in the extremely limited immune response observed."

"So you are saying that he isn't reacting at all, to the other strains of the virus?" asked Sethi.

"And that they could recombine into a something new and lethal at any time?!" Vila burst out. "That is what you're saying, isn't it?"

"Theoretically, there is a potential for second and third generation mutant and recombinant strains capable of harming you." The computer paused. "In practical terms, assuming only one significant mutation per thousand, and a shift of at least ten percent in viral composition required to produce a variant against which standard antiviral shots would produce no resistance, it should take at least two days to produce a lethal recombinant, and possibly longer."

"Should?!" Vila shifted uneasily. "You mean you aren't sure?"

"It is impossible to be definite, when issues of probability are involved."

"Computer answer." Soolin looked at Sethi."That's assuming a first generation recombinant doesn't kill him first."

"It could."

"I'd better go tell Tarrant!" Vila pushed past Sethi, darting for the door. She sighed as the other turned to her, surprised, his eyes questioning, and shook her head.

"Don't ask," she said. She looked down at the computer, folded her arms. "Orac, what should we do now? Where can we look for help?"

"I am coming to that!" The computer's lights chain‑lit, pulsing around its core. "I would advise immediate diversion to a suitable virological facility, preferably an indpendent CDC—"

"What's that?"

"A centre for disease control," Sethi said. "There's a network of them, neutrals. They do research, investigate outbreaks, advise on public policy relating to control and treatment of communicable diseases."

"And according to the reference databank, the nearest is in theThird Sector, on Mycenae," Orac finished.

"Federation planet?"

"Neutral, even under the old Federation," it replied. "It was tolerated as such, essentially because of the presence of the CDC facilities on the planet. They appear to be a critical element in its planetary defenses. Its neutrality is accepted for many of the same reasons that that of the Clonemasters' system once was."

"How long to get there?"

"At the maximum speed of which this ship is capable, thirty‑seven hours."

"Not impossible, then." Soolin moved to the intercom, pressed the call button. "Flight deck," she said. "Tarrant, we need a course for Mycenae, at maximum. Before you ask, it's a neutral. Third sector. One of us will be up in a minute, to explain." She pressed the cutoff and looked at Sethi. "Which one of us, will depend on which of us faces up better to starting an IV."

It might just be worth persuading that young man to stay, Soolin thought, glancing back as the doors of the medical unit slid closed behind her a few minutes later. Reasonable to expect that a spy running solo as far from support or backup as Sethi must have done, would have been well trained, but this combination of soldier, technician, and medic was unexpected and convenient. No question they could use him if he were willing.

Though at this stage, she considered, turning towards the flight deck, they could well use anyone. Even allowing for Orac's presence—assuming the AI could be relied on to deliver any degree of crew support, around the clock—they would be stretched to their limits covering the requirements of even a ship this small for more than a few weeks. It could all become too much, very quickly, and then how long could they last?

A problem to hold for later, as Tarrant's frustrated tones carried down the corridor from the flight deck.

"This is nonsense!" he finished, as she entered the lock. "Look, I'll credit that Avon isn't well, but not that his coming down with any sort of minor infection, or even three variations on it at once, stands to kill any of us. Not even him, damnit! He's tougher than any of us!" He turned to her, something like desperation in his expression. "Soolin, just what is going on?"

"Pretty much what Vila's telling you, I expect." She circled behind him, and he twisted to stare at her.

"You're serious."

"And what I'm telling you is, get moving!" Facing him across the navs station, Vila pressed his advantage. "We've got to do something! Get a course laid in for somewhere we can get help, Tarrant, in time to get us there before our fearless leader manages to come up with the latest thing in viruses, fit to kill all of us!"

"With a 'flu bug?!" Tarrant looked back at him, frankly incredulous. "Oh, come on, Vila! We've all had our antivirals!"

"Avon hasn't." Soolin said. "Not recently, at any rate." She sighed at his surprise, "I had my shots updated last year, so I may be in a better position than the rest of you, but none of us are current. With the possible exception of Sethi," she added, looking over her shoulder as he appeared in the doorway.

"That may not be much help." His face serious, Sethi came to stand between Tarrant's station and the seat over which Vila still hung facing him belligerently. "The danger here, is of a recombinant against which even current antivirals may be ineffective." He looked from the one to the other. "Might not even make the difference between life and death."

"That isn't much protection," Tarrant said.

"Influenza is a highly mutable organism—unstable A‑types more so than most." The other met his gaze steadily. "In a population with no resistance, they're the pandemic killers. They can take a healthy adult from initial infection to death in a matter of hours. Cellular breakdown in the respiratory system can be so rapid that the essence of it is, you drown in your own fluids before your immune system can mount a response." He paused. "The best an antiviral package can do, is anticipate a few of the more likely mutations, based on known proteins...and there's at least one of the six involved here, that isn't covered by the current spectrum."

"Then we don't have a choice."

"Too right!" said Vila. "So get on finding somewhere we can get help!"

"But where?" asked Dayna. "We'll need a neutral—"

"Nice to know someone was paying attention," Soolin said. She sighed as they looked at her. "According to Orac, it's Mycenae we want. Neutral, astral .572 Third sector, thirty‑seven hours at maximum." Tarrant gave her a sceptical look, and she shrugged. "Also according to Orac."

"Assuming a safe course and that we can sustain that long a run at maximum." He swung the nav monitor towards him. "All right! We still have to complete our run into the nebula, to be sure of confusing Federation pursuit. That'll take another three hours." He entered co‑ordinates, rubbed his chin thoughtfully as a small white light began to pulse, towards the near edge of the tank. "This is going to take some working out."

"Some?" Dropping into the navigator's seat, Vila followed the light as well. "That's going to take us back the way we came!"

"That's what I mean." Tarrant's tone sharpened. "So shut up and let me work it out."

"In the meantime..." Dayna craned her neck to look up at Sethi, as he crossed behind her seat and lowered himself into the one beside her. "Not to be too inquisitive, Sethi, you seem to know a lot about this. You said your father was a doctor, but it sounds as though you know more about virology, than that really explains."

"He was—is—an epidemiologist." His expression was reserved. "With an interest in emerging viruses."

"Biological warfare?"

"Does it matter?" Vila asked. "We've got another problem, now—what are we going to tell the people on Mycenae?"

"What are we going to tell them?" Dayna stared at him. "If they're neutrals, why not start with the truth?"

"The truth?!" he exclaimed. "Oh, yes, certainly!" He folded his arms, then unfolded them, threw his hands in the air. "Hello! We're escaped Federation prisoners, except for Sethi, who's a deserter. Two of us just happen to be the last of Blake's Seven— eight, if you count Orac. We've just got away from Commissioner Sleer, head of the Federation's pacification program, also known to us as ex‑President Servalan, and chances are that they still want us as badly as they wanted her. Not to mention her new ship. You can probably get a damned good price for us, if we're still alive." He folded his arms again, scowling. "Or even if we aren't, for that matter."

Dayna sighed and gave him a disparaging look. "Oh, give it up, Vila. How much choice have we got?" She pushed aside her dismantled sidearm, pulled the console keypad from its slot and touched the screen to activate it. "We'll have to tell them the truth about Avon, at least."

"Take that as given," Tarrant said. "But as little as possible past that, even if they are neutrals."

"Neutrality can cover a lot of attitudes, some of them not very friendly," Vila said softly. "Something Blake said, once."

"Sounded too intelligent to be you," Dayna replied. She considered the screen as it filled with data. "This sounds all right, though. The original colonists were LeGuin anarchists who settled the planet about a century before the Federation became an issue. When it expanded to take in the frontier worlds around them...according to this, they've maintained their neutrality through a partnership with an independent foundation engaged in infectious disease research and control."

"The CDC network," Sethi put in.

"I don't follow," she said.

"It originated on Earth, pre‑Federation, as an agency under the world government—went independent later," he said. "There are two or three CDC planets in each sector. They do a standard deal with the people who shelter them: in return for places to build, and tax‑exempt status, they provide free infectious disease monitoring and control services, and an element of planetary defense. Biological and virological warfare. Violate one of their installations, and you're guaranteed to release pathogens you won't be able to handle. Attack the planet, and it's no certainty you'll get away with claiming your new territory. Any survivor you meet could be a carrier for anything."

"Not bad," said Tarrant, " as long as claiming the territory is part of the plan. If all you wanted was to destroy it, that wouldn't stop you."

"It works even then," Sethi moved to the navigation seat. "Then you have the same problem with the rest of the network."

"Ah." Dayna rocked back and considered her screen. "Well, it seems to have appealed to the Mycenaens. This says they've hosted upwards of fifty facilities, spread all over. It doesn't look as though they have much more, in the way of planetary defenses."

Sethi nodded. "A neutral organization hired to defend a neutral planet in a nonviolent way."

"Which should add up to our not running into too many Federation sympathizers," said Dayna.

"We'd only need one to give us away," Tarrant said. "They're bound to have infiltrated at least a few observers."

"So what do we tell them?" she asked. "We have to be straight with them about Avon's condition."

"That'll be the least of it. They're bound to want bioscan data on all of us."

"So much for that, then!" said Vila. "We may as well tell them the truth, they'll have us nailed in no time, anyway!"

"Not necessarily." Sethi shook his head. "Bioscans don't include fingerprints or retina scans, and no one is likely to be looking for those."

"So it's a question of how long we have until the Federation prompts them to look," A chime sounded from the computer, and Tarrant punched in a command. "First correction. The drive's out, now. We've stopped making tracks in space." He folded his arms on the edge of the console. "So how is Avon taking this?"

"He doesn't know, yet. I asked Orac not to tell him." She met the question in his eyes. "He should at least hear the bad news from a human, when he wakes up."

"And you're volunteering." His lips set, as she pulled herself up to go. "If he's asleep, Soolin, it could be a long night."

"Then I'll stay the night." She sighed. "There's a second bed in his room, and under the circumstances—I won't expect him to appreciate it, but I think that consideration is the least we owe him."

Or the least I owe him, she could have said, in the wordless time she stood beside him, before dimming the light to a shadow and turning away. Going to sit down on the second bed, she swung around carefully and eased down on her side. After all the things I could owe you for, Avon, in the end it becomes a matter of loyalty. To common humanity if nothing else.

Or, she thought, watching him in that half‑light, to the way the lines of his face and body softened in sleep, into an unaccustomed gentleness.

Nothing so much unfamiliar in it, from rare times she'd seen him quiet, as unresisting. Open to the touch, in his loose white shirt, and warm when she had touched him. He had no more than sighed and turned aside on the pillow, his face distantly troubled, as she brushed her fingers down the soft line of his throat and slipped her hand briefly under his collar, gauging that warmth before deciding not to tuck him in.

More than likely he'd expected her to hurt him. No question Sethi's setting the i.v. in his hand had done, earlier. Even drugged, he'd felt that. Though, oddly, he hadn't responded past a slight flinch and a sharp breath...almost a cry, cut short as though denied, as though it would be useless. Then he had relaxed as Sethi held his arm for a moment, touched his face and reassured him, and taken the rest quietly, letting them splint hand and wrist to stabilize the line, and wrap a restraint over his arm to prevent his moving it.

Might not have needed that, she thought, closing her eyes. He could hardly have been more quiet since.

In the distance of sleep she might have missed his waking sigh, mistaken that restive murmur for her own, as she shifted further into her pillow—but in the startled silence of the indrawn breath that followed it, she snapped awake as though an alarm had sounded. Awake, to a startled, frightened gasp, and a sudden, muffled rush of movement in the darkness.

"Avon!" She pushed up, swung her legs around fast across the edge of the bed, and stood, staggering as the floor came up hard under her feet. She reeled forward to fall against the low side‑rail of the bed, caught his shoulder as he struggled to push up on his restrained side, still pulling at the restraint. "Stop! It's all right!" She swept out her free hand to brighten the light, as he twisted to stare at her in confusion, then dodged, as he cried out and struck back at her, hard and fast enough to fan her hair into her face. "Avon, it's all right! Just hold on, I'll let you go!"

"Soolin!" He went down, twisting in front of her as she got his wrist with both hands and drove forward, pinning his arm to the bed. "Soolin, what are you doing here?!"

"Trying to look after you." There was no keeping the irony from her voice, but she softened her grip as he relaxed, head going down. She straightened, sweeping her hair out of her face, and stretched across the bed to pull the restraint free.

"I don't understand." Wincing, he pulled his arm clumsily across his body, took in his bandaged hand, the splint bracing his wrist and the i.v. line wound clumsily around it. "Why?"

"Why not?" she said drily. Eyes dazed, he lifted his head and looked at her in such open anguish that she had to fight back a smile. "Oh, for God's sake, Avon, you're barely awake."

From the blank bewilderment in his face as he looked down at her hand pinning his arm, then up when she gripped his shoulder, that was the limit of it. Enough for her to lean closer, hugging him.

"Save the questions, until you're fit for answers!"

"Soolin, I don't understand." He tensed and tried to catch at her arm as she pushed him back onto the pillow, but he couldn't hold on past the splint blocking his fingers, or keep his eyes open once he was down. He gave it up while she settled him, fluffed his pillow and drew back to straighten the bedclothes. "Unless I'm dreaming..." From his tone as he pulled his good hand up to rub his forehead, it wasn't a welcome idea.

"I'm afraid not." Taking advantage of his movement, Soolin swept the sheets up briskly around him and pulled them straight. "Look, Avon, just give it a few minutes. You'll be clear enough about everything, soon enough."

When he let his hand fall she caught his arm against her own, holding him for a moment, and for a moment he let her, before pulling restlessly away. Not comfortable, that was clear, but trust being no more his strength than hers, there was nothing she could do to help it.

Sighing, she pulled herself up and circled the bed to untangle the IV from his arm. Fortunately, the bandage had held it in place; pulling from the restraint had done no worse than whip the line firmly over his wrist, and when she checked, its connection to the infusion pump was still solid.

He drew a breath in something like exasperation, and she turned to look. "Better?"

"No." He still couldn't keep his eyes open, but there was a hard, familiar set to his mouth, and he sounded stronger. "I want an explanation for this, Soolin, and I hope you have a good one."

"I'll take it, then, that you didn't know you were ill."

"That I was what?" That brought his eyes open, though not to meet hers. "Oh, you'll have to do better than that," he said softly, voice edged, to the ceiling. He forced himself up to lean heavily on his right elbow, and held up his hand, eyes cold. "Especially if you hope to explain this."

"Oh, no, I don't, Avon. Not with you taking that tone." She dropped her hands to her hips. "You can just turn around and read the medical report for yourself."

"Report?" Past the surprise in his tone, it was almost a sneer. "On what?!"

"You—based on that blood test you and Vila ran, six or seven hours ago." He turned as she marched back around the bed, pulled the monitor out on its extending mount so he could see it, and tapped the screen "Right here!" She swung back and folded her arms. "And if you have anything to say afterwards," she said, past the tightening in her gut as he stared at her suspiciously, "I will expect it to be civil."