Spike dragged the crate of dead parts to the road – or what passed for a road out here in the desert – hoisted it up to the top of the bin, and tipped it. The metallic cacophony told him the bin was barely half full, so it would be a long time before he'd get to freight it into town to sell for scrap. He cursed at the thought of another few weeks of just Doohan for company, except for the occasional customer or salesman. He wasn't sure he could make it without trying to kill Doohan. "And that would be ungrateful," he mused aloud, lighting a cigarette, leaning on the bin, and smiling ruefully skyward.

There was nothing to see up there. And nothing on the road, either. There almost never was. Now that racing season was over for the year, his life was back to Doohan, boredom, a lot of hard work, and more boredom. He could almost feel himself petrifying.

He finished the cigarette without hurry, determined to conquer his bad mood before going back inside. Doohan didn't tolerate crankiness in anyone but himself. Spike didn't want to butt heads with him, first because it was useless, since Doohan's head was harder than thermasteel, and second because he knew that, in this mood, he himself could make it ugly. Despite all his failings, Doohan didn't deserve that. It wasn't Doohan's fault that Spike felt he was at the butt-end of the entire universe. Even if this place was the butt-end of the universe, it was still Doohan's home and all Doohan had to offer, and Spike wasn't about to kick him in the face simply because he himself was restless for the life that had ended with the racing season.

"Just a few more months...." he muttered. "Or years. Or centuries."

He ground out the end of the cigarette and lit another, turning his mind toward some excuse to fly into town. He could have said the Swordfish needed some flight time to stay juiced, but these machines, from the smallest zip craft to the enormous antique B747, all talked to Doohan in some language no one else could hear. Trying to fool him with something mechanical was a waste of energy and might even piss him off and earn a few more chores.

Spike was growing tired of the endless, backbreaking chores in this place.

The faintest of vibrations stirred the air. Another person wouldn't have noticed it, perhaps not even felt it, but his time in the stillness of the desert had sharpened Spike's senses. Perking up, he went to the hangar door and called out, "Customer coming, Doohan."

"Well, see what he wants! You've got a mouth, boy. Use it."

"Sure thing."

"And try to get your brain in gear first."

"Sure," he said, waiting for it.

"On second thought, just keep him there until I finish with this."

Doohan was as predictable as the desert weather. Spike smiled and sauntered out to watch the incoming ship as it grew from a fleck of white light to a discernible shape. Recognizing the profile, he pursed his lips in a soundless whistle around the cigarette. A Blackhawk S40. He'd never been close to one, let alone worked on one. Life had just gotten a little less dull.

Whatever the pilot wanted from Doohan, it wasn't an engine overhaul. The Blackhawk came in fast and low, and Spike's ear could detect no anomalies in the smooth roar. The pilot was good, too, braking at the last moment and settling on the landing strip with precision.

The hatch glided up soundlessly, smoothly, and the pilot rose and vaulted out, not bothering with the ladder rungs or handles, landing with athletic grace. Long pale hair settled on the collar of a black duster. The line of the coat was distorted somehow, and when the pilot took his first step, it flapped open to reveal a sheathed sword at the pilot's hip. From out of the cockpit, a huge black bird soared, to land with ungainly grace on the pilot's shoulder.

The cigarette fell unnoticed to the ground as Spike mouthed the name. The rest of the details clicked instantly into place. The stride, the unconscious arrogance, the silvery hair... it could be no one else. "Vicious?"

"What gave it away, genius? The sword?" came the dry response.

Vicious! Spike wanted to jump into the air for joy, and his mind was such a jumble, he wasn't even sure why. He resisted the impulse, and also the urge to run to Vicious, letting Vicious, as always, come along in his own way and his own time. He put a casually bored expression on his face and replied, "Naw, not the sword. Just that air you always have, like you own the place."

Vicious stopped in front of him, and they studied each other for a moment. Then both of them grinned. Vicious glanced around and said, "This isn't a place I'd want to own."

"Do you mean Doohan's place, or Earth in general?"

"Does it matter?"

"Nope. Where'd you get the bird?"

"Christmas present."

"Right."

"I'm serious."

"Uh huh. So, what are you doing all the way out here?"

"I was looking for you."

"You're joking."

"I never joke."

Spike smiled. "I see you still haven't developed a sense of humor."

"And you still babble nonsense."

"I guess we never change."

"You've gotten taller. You're as tall as I am, now."

He straightened. "You're right," he said, ridiculously pleased. "I guess you can't look down your nose at me any more."

"Not literally, no. Unless I knock you down first."

Spike shifted smoothly into a defensive stance, balanced, hands ready. "No chance of that."

Vicious just smiled.

Doohan strode out, wiping his hands on a rag. He checked when he saw Vicious and scowled. " What are you doing here?"

Spike could feel the sudden tension in the air, like waves of cold from Vicious and heat from Doohan, clashing where their eyes met. Vicious said quietly, "Looking for Spike. You lied to me, old man."

Doohan didn't flinch. "No, I did not. I didn't know where the kid was, when you asked me. Didn't find him until later."

"But you didn't tell me when you did find him."

"You were looking for me?" Spike interjected, startled.

Both ignored him. Doohan said, "I didn't owe you anything."

"I would have liked to know he was safe."

Doohan snorted. "You didn't exactly come across as the caring type, now did you? Someone killed the boy's mother. For all I knew, you and your syndicate buddies were out to do the same thing to Spike."

Spike flung his cigarette aside, furious. "You're wrong, Doohan. Vicious wouldn't have hurt me."

Vicious held up a hand to check him. "No, the old man has a point, Spike. I never told him why I wanted to find you. There was no way he could have known I wasn't going to harm you."

The tension fell away, slowly, like water draining into dry ground. Doohan growled a wordless assent. "You have to admit, you don't look or act like someone filled with love and caring."

Vicious bared his teeth. "I'm not. But Spike's my friend."

For a moment, the two tried to stare each other down. Then Doohan grabbed Spike's shoulder and dragged him aside. When they were out of Vicious' earshot, he said, "Spike, you're old enough to be making up your own mind, but I'll give you some free advice. Advice from an old desert rat, who can smell a snake from a long way off. You should turn your back on that guy. He's trouble. Some guys just carry trouble around with them – hell, you're one of them – but him, the kind of trouble he carries is really bad. Nothing you want to get mixed up with."

"He's just my friend," Spike snarled back. "And I've known him a lot longer than I've known you. He'd never..."

Doohan interrupted, "I can see that. He's not here to shoot you or stab you with that pig-sticker he's carrying. He may even be here just for old time's sake, although I doubt that. Look at him. He wants something."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Maybe he just wants to still be my friend, Doohan. I know, that's something you'd have a hard time understanding, since you don't have any."

"See? He's here five minutes, and already you're giving me mouth."

"Just back off."

"I've said my piece. You do what you want. I'm going back in the hangar. I've got work to do. And get that look off your face – you can have an hour or two off, to have a chat with your criminal buddy."

In spite of himself, Spike relaxed and grinned. "You know, you are one loony old man."

"Yeah, so you've told me," Doohan grumbled, and stalked off.

Spike returned to Vicious, who hadn't moved at all since they'd left him. Neither had the bird, which was a little creepy. "Don't mind him," he began.

"I don't. He's right. I was stupid, back then. All I wanted was to find you, and I didn't care how I did it. If I'd treated him right, he might have told me."

"You don't know Doohan. There's no way to treat him right. Come on in and sit down, and I'll see if I can get you a drink. So, how did you find me? From the races?"

"I don't pay any attention to those."

"You're still a snob."

"Yes."

Spike led him into the office and offered him the better chair. "How did you do it, then? It's not like I'm in the register."

"Your friend Roach." At Spike's baffled reaction, he explained, "We work for the same company, and he knew I'd been looking for you."

"He didn't say anything to me about you," said Spike. "He didn't even say he knew you."

"He doesn't know me. He just knew how to contact me. As to why he didn't mention me to you, I think he was like your Mr. Doohan, suspicious of my motives. He wanted to check me out first."

"Hard to imagine Roach being careful." Spike shrugged it off and poured them both a few fingers of Doohan's private whiskey. "Stupid, too. He knows you and I were friends."

Vicious dismissed the subject of Roach with a noncommittal sound and looked over the wall of photographs. "Is this what you've been doing, the whole time since you left Mars?"

"That's it. Pretty much."

"You like it?"

"I thought you didn't joke. Don't get me wrong, Doohan took me in when I was desperate and really needed some help. But what's to like about this place?"

Vicious leaned back, propped his feet up on the desk, and flicked his fingers across a photo of Spike in front of the Swordfish. "You like the racing, though, don't you?"

Spike settled into the other chair and propped his feet on the desk, too, ready to have the first decent conversation he'd had in a long time.

 

~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ :~

 

"How's the hotel?"

Lying on his back on the bed, a vid-phone on his chest and Crys' face on the screen, Vicious opened a handful of seed for the bird and said, "A dump."

"You're not in cognito. I thought you'd put up in the best place in town."

"This is the best place in town."

Her laughter pealed out. "That's Earth for you. What did you two boys do?"

"Had a meal. Played some pool. I'm developing more respect for Doohan. Spike's so thin, I thought he was being starved, but if he is, it's a matter of economics. I've never seen anyone eat so much in one sitting." From his palm, the bird greedily picked one seed after another.

"He's only 17. Boys are like that. Weren't you?"

"I conserved my energy better. Spike still hops around like a kid."

"You had fun, didn't you?" she asked shrewdly.

He thought it over. "In a way. I have to polish up my pool skills."

Crys laughed. "He beat you."

"Five games out of six."

"It's a good thing your ego's invested in things other than pool. Do you bring him back to Mars tomorrow?"

After a moment, he said, "It's not that simple."

Crys had never been stupid. Her brow furrowed, then cleared. "Doohan?"

"Yes. There's some loyalty there. And the old man has my number."

"I doubt that."

"He knows why I'm here."

"And he'll fight you?"

"Not in the way you mean. He'll tell Spike the truth, and let Spike make up his own mind. It's up to me to make Mars more attractive than Earth. And that won't be as easy as it sounds. I have to build up Mars without putting down Doohan."

"I'm sure you have a plan."

"Already begun. I undercut him by admitting he was right not to tell me he'd found Spike."

"Nice move. I keep underestimating you. Did it work?"

"Beautifully. I'm sure Doohan's warning him about me, but by being polite to the old badger, I make it look like he's got a case of sour grapes."

She was silent a moment, so he knew she didn't want to say what came next. "Vicious... are you sure you want to do this? Are you sure Spike belongs in the Dragons? Wouldn't it be better for him to stay where he is? Doohan obviously cares about him."

"He won't stay here, Crys. No matter what. He's ready to move on. I could feel it, as if I held this bird in my hands with its wings pinned."

"Wouldn't it be better if he moved on somewhere safer? Somewhere legal?"

"Neither of those things mean anything to him." She was still frowning, and he said, "I'm just going to show him what I can do for him, and what he can do in the syndicate. After that, it'll be his choice."

"No it won't. You'll lead him and tempt him, like the Devil, and he'll just follow along."

"If I'm lucky."

"You don't believe in luck. You have it all planned out."

"Not the details, but the general idea," he admitted with a smile. "First, I have to find out what he really wants."

"Racing?"

"No. He's already bored with that."

"Bored with zip racing? Maybe you're right. Maybe he does belong in the syndicate."

She wasn't convinced, but he knew that was because her last image of Spike had been of a kid. "Why don't you come down?" he said. "Meet him. Tell me what you think."

Her eyes lit. "I'd love to. How do I dress? Flash or trash?"

"However you feel comfortable."

She chuckled. "I'll come naked."

"Not that comfortable."

When he hung up, he scattered the remaining seed across the bedspread, then lay staring at the ceiling, thinking, his thoughts accompanied by the scritch-scritch of the bird's talons as it pursued its meal.

Trust no one and nothing, Rafe had once said. No man, no woman, no gun, no knife. A gun and a knife are only as good as they're made. A man and a woman are only as good as the strength of their heart. You can't trust them not to fail you. You can only know their limits. And you'd better not be wrong about those, boy.

But the assassination of Ferro had proven one thing to Vicious. He needed someone he could trust to watch his back, not just once in a while, but all the time. That person couldn't be Crys, for many reasons. But it could be Spike.

---

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