Everyone in the pool hall who wasn't afraid of Vicious seemed to be awed by him. Spike found that funny.

Not that he blamed them. Even when they were boys, Vicious had always carried a dark aura, a feeling of danger about him. Now, like the sword always at his side, that edge had been honed to a bright sharpness that the local bullies, usually so quick to pick on newcomers, instinctively avoided. The more peaceful sorts, unaware of the Vicious' dangerous side, were still quick to notice the excellent cut and expensive material of his clothes, the gold on the hilt of the sword, and the casual, unassuming way he dropped the woolongs.

Vicious himself seemed sublimely unimpressed by the attention he was drawing. He was from Mars; he had all the money he needed; he could take care of himself in any situation. He ignored everyone but Spike, except to absently thank the eager waitress who was keeping their whiskey glasses full, and he seemed to accept it as natural that he and Spike never had to wait for a pool table.

Though Spike was already respected as a racer, having a friend like this wasn't going to hurt his status in town. In fact, he'd own it. But somehow, watching Vicious cue up with the easy confidence of a winner ö which he wasn't, at least not at pool ö Spike knew that being king of this town wasn't much. Just as when they were boys, Vicious didn't talk much, but his talk was casually littered with the things that Spike and his friends in the District had once daydreamed about having and doing. It made the place feel even smaller and, if possible, more insignificant.

Doohan had given him the whole day off, and he'd spent it with Vicious. They'd flown out to the desert, and Vicious let Spike do some target practice with his treasured Colt, telling him about Black Rafe, who'd given it to him, and coaching him until he could hit his target every time. "You're a natural," Vicious had told him, which made Spike grin with pride. From Vicious, it wasn't a compliment, just a statement of fact. They did some sparring, and Vicious told him anecdotes about the trainer who kept him fit and taught him how to use the sword, which made Spike even more envious than hearing about the view from Vicious' apartment, about the parties and the women, about the danger and excitement of working for important men in the syndicate.

Then there was Crys. She'd been waiting for them at the hotel when they'd come back from the desert, sitting at the hotel bar, sipping whiskey straight. When she'd uncurled from the bar stool and come to them, Spike had to work to keep his jaw from dropping. She had a figure that made all the other girls in town look, well, like... girls. She was so tall that, in her high-heeled boots, she stood eye to eye with him. Her hip-length hair was red ö not carroty, not auburn, not even Titian, but red, the same color as the Swordfish. She extended a hand on which the long nails were painted bronze, as Vicious said simply, "This is Crys. She's a friend of mine."

"I wish I had friends like you," Spike said, keeping her hand.

The green eyes twinkled at him, and when she spoke, it was with a sexy-husky voice that made him release her hand before his own began to sweat. "We're practically friends already, Spike."

"You know me?"

She gave Vicious a quick, fondly exasperated look. "I helped him look for you when you disappeared, so I got to know a little about you."

So, Vicious really had been looking for him. Pleased, Spike said, "Well, I don't know anything about you, so we should do some catching up."

He thought he was being daring, flirting with Vicious' woman, but Vicious seemed merely amused.

Now Crys sat at the bar, laughing with the bartender and adding to Vicious' aura while he and Vicious played pool. Nobody here at the butt-end of the universe had ever seen anyone like her, and Spike, who had swiftly gotten on easy terms with her, found that another source of amusement.

Vicious broke, then went after the balls with intense concentration. Spike, relaxed and smiling, chalked his cue and waited his turn, knowing that here, if nowhere else, he was Vicious' superior. Before Vicious had sunk the first ball, however, his phone went off. He stopped, straightened, and answered it, holding it to his ear without triggering the video. He said nothing except his name, then "yes" twice, and otherwise just listened. When he hung up, he turned to Spike and drew close to talk privately.

"I have to go. I won't be long, but it's important. Orders from Mao Yenrai." He dropped the famous name as if talking about a local mayor, and went on without reacting to Spike's widened eyes. "Can you give me, say, half an hour or so, then bring Crys back to the hotel?"

"Uh... Sure."

"Thanks. See you there." He strode out, the crowd separating to let him pass.

Crys appeared beside him, observing, "If he stays here too long, we'll have to do something to deflate his ego. Is he abandoning me?"

"Only for half an hour. I'm supposed to entertain you."

"Oh? With what? Magic tricks and juggling?"

"I can do that, if you want."

She laughed. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. Just a little thing I picked up when I lived on Mars." Smiling, he picked up six of the billiard balls, put them into a circle in the air for a few moments, then sent them smoothly down the table into the side pockets. He then pulled his chalk cube out of her ear and flipped it over his shoulder, where it seemed to disappear. "See?"

"Way too much excitement for me," she purred. She slid an arm through his. "To tell you the truth, I'd rather you entertained me with some stories. Want to go for a walk?"

Spike had met a lot of women and thought he understood them well, but Crys was unlike any of them. The arm and the invitation should have been flirting, but somehow she made it clear, just by the tone of her voice, that a walk and conversation were all she was offering. He wasn't disappointed, since the few hours he'd spent in her company had already made him aware that she belonged to Vicious and regarded him, Spike, as something of a little brother.

"What kind of stories?" he asked her as they stepped out of the bar into the cold desert night.

But she was looking up. "I've never seen so many stars. They're beautiful," she breathed. "What's that, stretching across?"

"The asteroid belt. All the space trash from the Gate accident."

"Funny how it looks so pretty from down here, when it's just trash."

"When you're up there, Earth looks pretty, too. I guess it's all a matter of where you stand."

"The further away, the better?"

"For some things, yeah."

She had a long stride for a woman. He barely had to slow for her. "You miss Mars, don't you?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Sometimes."

"You have some bad memories. I suppose you never really want to go back."

"Are you kidding? Memories never hurt anyone. I'd go back tomorrow, except..."

"Except what?"

"Doohan. He refuses to even go there. Anyway, I wouldn't go back unless I was rich. Living with Doohan isn't luxurious, but it sure beats the District." He shrugged off the wishful thinking. "What stories did you want me to tell you?"

She chuckled. "The first thing you can tell me is what you boys were doing out there in the desert, all that time I was sitting in the bar, sipping cocktails."

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

Vicious sat up on the bed, his back against the headboard, legs stretched out. Crys sat opposite, her back against the footboard, legs extended beside his. They passed a bottle of whiskey back and forth companionably, while the bird watched from the room's only chair.

"Did you learn anything?" Vicious asked.

"Plenty."

When she didn't continue, he pinched her toes. "Come on, tell me. Get that disapproving look off your face."

"Vicious, he's a baby."

Vicious laughed.

"In some ways, he is," she insisted, her lips twitching despite herself. "In some ways, he reminds me a lot of you. But in others, he's so naive."

"Do you like him?"

"He's impossible not to like."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just what I said. There's something about him that just makes me want to like him. In that way, he's completely different from you."

"If you keep complimenting me like that..."

She frowned. "You said this was important. You wanted the truth. That's the truth. As far as getting along with other people goes, Spike has everything you lack." When he nodded acceptance, she smiled and said, "Maybe it will rub off."

He had no trouble picking up on the relevant part of that statement. "Then you think he'll come back to Mars with me?"

"Probably. I see what you meant about him. He's so ready to get off this rock, I think only loyalty to Doohan has kept him from stealing a ship and going. And he thinks you're the greatest thing since Gate technology. If you don't blow it, he'll come with you."

"How could I blow it?" It was a question, not a boast. "Doohan?"

"Doohan is the easier part."

"What, then?"

She pushed her hands through her hair, seeking the right words. "He's unsophisticated, but he's not naive, Vicious. Getting him off Earth won't be hard. You just have to hand him the keys to a ship and give him a minute to say goodbye to Doohan. But getting him to come with you and into the Dragons, that will take a little more convincing."

"What do I say?"

She pointed a toe and dug it into his leg. "I can't think of everything for you."

"I need a key. Something to give me a foot in the door. He's told me about a lot of things he wants, but I don't know which is the most important."

She chuckled. "That one is easy."

"Tell me."

Still smiling, she got up onto her hands and knees and straddled him, dipping her head until they were nose to nose. "What will you give me?"

"We'll discuss that."

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

Spike pushed up the visor of his welding mask, cut off his torch, and wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve. "Sam? Who's Sam?"

"My trainer," said Vicious. "I mentioned him yesterday."

"You didn't tell me his name. What kind of a name is 'Sam' for a martial arts master?"

"I never asked him about it. Neither will you, when you meet him. But here's the address of his dojo. If you ever get to Mars, just tell him you're my friend, and if he can't teach you what you want to learn, he'll know someone who can."

Memories crowded Spike's mind, images of working out with his mother, especially the natural high when mind and body were in such complete accord that there was no space of time between thought and action. Working out here, in this place that was a desert in more than just terrain, had been more frustrating than anything else, a reminder of how much he still had to learn. The piece of paper Vicious had put in his hand felt magical, a siren's call in ink. "If I ever get to Mars...." he grumbled, bringing himself back to reality. Back to Earth.

"Come with me," Vicious said.

He couldn't possibly have heard that right. "... What?"

Vicious was looking out the window, hands in his pockets, as if there was something to see out there besides derelict ships. He didn't say anything for a moment, and Spike's heart settled down. He had heard it wrong.

Then Vicious said, without turning, "I think you have the wrong idea of the kind of life I lead."

"I doubt that. I grew up in the District, remember?"

"Yes. But you had friends. I don't."

"Why not?"

Vicious' lips curved. "You might have noticed I don't make friends easily. Besides, to get to the position I'm in, you have to go over a lot of people. Sooner or later you get to a point where your only friends are the people you can truly trust, and most of the time, that's no one." He looked over his shoulder at Spike. "That's why I want you to come with me. You're a friend I can trust. You don't want my job, and you're not jealous of me."

Spike's heart had leaped right back up again. Lightly, he said, "I'm jealous of that woman you have. Besides, you said she's your friend."

"She is. But she's not part of my life. To put it bluntly, she's not in the syndicate. If you came with me, you would be."

"You could get me a job?"

Vicious turned slowly, staring at him. "I could do better than that. If you came to Mars with me, you'd work for me. I'd teach you, bring you up until we were partners."

"Would you work me to death, or would I have time to visit this Sam guy?" he asked, waving the slip of paper.

"Training with Sam would be part of your job. You have to be the best, to survive in that jungle."

His pulse racing, he grabbed a rag and wiped his hands. "When do we leave?"

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

The only hard part about it was breaking the news to Doohan. Vicious had told Spike he would wait for him at the Blackhawk, assuring him that, if Spike changed his mind and decided to remain with the old man after all, he'd understand. But Vicious didn't understand, Spike thought. There was no question of him staying on Earth when there was an entire world opening before him. He just had to find the words to let Doohan know it was nothing personal.

Doohan was in the main hangar, half-buried in wires, trying to reconstruct an old monosystem for a Shadoram, a zipcraft that pre-dated the Gate. He only grunted when Spike said he wanted to talk to him, and he didn't look up from his work until Spike blurted, "I'm going to Mars with Vicious."

Carefully setting the parts down, Doohan turned around on his stool to face him. "You think I didn't know that?"

"How could you? I didn't, until just now."

"Why else has that spooky criminal friend of yours been staying here? I told you he wanted something, and I figured it was you."

Stung, Spike said, "You didn't think I was going to hang around here forever, did you?"

He regretted his tone the moment the words left his mouth, but Doohan took no offense. "Nope, I never figured that. In fact, you stuck longer than I expected."

He rose, slowly, and Spike was reminded that he was an old man who would now be left with all the work to do alone. "I can wait until you get someone to take my place," he offered, although it hurt him to say it.

Doohan looked into his eyes, giving him the uncomfortable feeling his mind was being read. "That's a good offer. You always were a pain in the backside, but you never really let me down. You don't have to stay. I can replace you in a day."

"I have to stay that long, at least. Vicious will have to get a bigger ship, to bring me out."

"But you're all ready to go anyway," Doohan drawled.

Spike grinned. "Aw, come on, Doohan! Mars!"

Doohan made a noncommittal noise and looked out at the runway. "Tell you what. You're so anxious to go, you can go now. Take the Swordfish."

Spike gaped. "What?"

"You heard me, boy. Take the Swordfish."

"But Doohan! You built her!"

"Yeah, I did, and I can do whatever I damned well please with her. So..." He turned to Spike and gave him a rare smile. "I'm giving her to you. She's yours from now on. Since I'm the only person in the whole system who can fix her when you wreck her ö which you will ö that way I can be sure I'll see you from time to time." He fished in a pocket. "Here. The key."

"You're not kidding. You're really giving her to me."

"I said so, didn't I?"

Spike took the winged key and curled his fingers around it. "You've been planning this all along."

"I may be old, son, but these eyes can read writing that's on a wall."

Spike looked slowly around, suddenly aching at the loss of everything that had become familiar to him. "Damn."

"Better to make it a clean break." Doohan's voice was almost sympathetic. "No sense getting sentimental."

Spike looked down at the key in his hand, then back at Doohan. "Look who's talking, you old softie."

"If you tell anyone that, I'll kick your ass."

"No one would believe me anyway." He took a backward step. Just beyond the door, the Swordfish waited, gleaming in the hot gold sunlight, and further out, Vicious was perched on the wing of the Blackhawk. Before him, Doohan shoved his hands in his pockets, the faded eyes watching him with more kindness than Spike had ever seen in them.

"Go on," Doohan said quietly. Then, in his more usual tone, "What do I have to do, get a broom and sweep you out of here?"

"I wouldn't want to put you to so much trouble." He tried for a wry smile, failed, and dug a boot heel in the dirt. "Well... I'll see you around." Before he had a chance to lose his nerve, he turned and left. For a moment he felt almost sick with regret as he waved to get Vicious' attention and pointed at the Swordfish. But the regret faded and excitement bloomed as he settled into the familiar seat and started her up.

He was going back to Mars. And this time, he wasn't a scared little kid.