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Stella NovaDreamSpace OneA Party For Daynaby Maree Sole |
It had been quiet all watch. Cally, while keeping an eye on the routine running reports flitting across her console, was frankly bored. She allowed her gaze to wander, for the umpteenth time, over to where Vila was poking about, suspiciously, near a box Avon had left to the right of Zen's screen. Vila would have it open in a minute, Cally frowned. Then she relaxed. Avon was one step ahead as usual, he knew that Vila was spoiling for practice. Still, she could tell Vila was wary. Avon might have played on his inclinations to give him the practice, but the box could still contain a thoughtful offering.
Finally, Vila overcame his mental objections and bent over the box. Cally couldn't see what he was doing, but, seconds later, as Dayna came running in, she heard the lid crack open. Then all was confusion; Vila staggered back, arms flailing, sneezing violently, Dayna tried to halt her forward momentum, but slipped and skidded into the back-pedalling thief, they crashed down, and Cally heard the sickening crunch as Dayna's harp gave up the struggle beneath them. She left her station in a rush, and as Tarrant appeared, helped the crestfallen figures to their feet. Tarrant lifted a splinter of harp.
"Well, Vila, you're no music lover."
Dayna froze in brushing herself down. Vila raised stricken eyes from the debris. "Oh, Dayna, I'm sorry. I'm a blundering fool."
But Dayna had gone leaving Cally and Villa soberly staring at each other.
"What's the matter?" Tarrant wanted to know.
Cally shook herself. "Sometimes Tarrant, you have all the tact of a damaged circuit board."
"Why?"
"Dayna was very attached to that harp, it reminded her of home, family - let's face it, she is the only one of us who has pleasant memories of either."
"None of us brought much with us."
"Dayna's young, she's never had to be so emotionally self-reliant," Cally sighed. "We've all been under strain lately, it's a wonder we're not all showing ragged around the edges, or maybe we just hide it better. Vila crunching Dayna's harp was the last thing she needed."
Vila had been stacking the pieces on the couch. He straightening indignantly. "I didn't do it deliberately!"
"I know, it was just unfortunate." Cally sat beside him. Tarrant lowered himself onto the cushions opposite.
"We need a break, something..."
Vila jumped in. "Like a holiday..."
Cally kicked him in the ankle, but she wasn't quite fast enough. Tarrant looked at the floor between his boots, then jumping the conversation forward, said evenly, "I don't think there's anything within range."
"A party," said Cally suddenly.
"Yes!" whooped Vila. "You know, Cally, I think you and I should get together on this. We obviously think alike."
"You'll never get Avon to agree," said Tarrant, playing devil's advocate.
Cally had a determined spark in her eye now. "He'll agree. Crews need a break from routine, Avon understands that."
"But Avon likes routine. And he expects everyone else to like it too." Vila was having doubts now.
"We'll make it a party for Dayna," Cally ignored the interjection. As she hurried out she tossed over her shoulder, "Get busy! Tarrant, you're on watch. Vila, I'll need some of that wood later, to synthesize more."
Vila sighed. It was all go. Still, he had opened that pest of a lock. Pity he hadn't noticed the sneezing powder capsule attached to the outside. Unusual though, for Avon to booby-trap it in such a way, even... He gave up on that line of thought. Who'd want to understand Avon?
Cally set her lips in a firmer line and tried again. This was proving frustratingly elusive. Avon came up behind her, making her jump as his form was suddenly reflected in her console screen. In answer to his quizzical look she sighed. "I'm trying to get Zen to synthesize more material from the sample of what's left of Dayna's harp. But the quality remains uneven."
Avon leaned past her, tapping in a few more commands. After a moment he straightened. "You need more organic input. Zen could do with a larger sample of real wood. We'll be passing close to Dykon Five soon, we can pick some up there." He turned to go.
Cally spoke quietly, "I'm glad you let this go ahead."
"I didn't have any reason not to."
"Well, it is partly because of your sneeze-powder booby-trap..."
Avon's voice was mild. "Not my booby-trap."
"Cally stared. "Then..."
"Tarrant," they both said together.
One of Avon's rare smiles lit his eyes. "I think Tarrant should be the one to go down to Dykon Five. I understand it's known colloquially as 'The Mudball'."
He left Cally laughing softly.
Villa and Cally met Tarrant as he materialized from his visit to the surface, such as it was, of Dykon Five. His poise and baring were soldier straight as he presented, rather too forcefully, the collected sample, and marched out. The effect was spoilt however, by his squelching footfalls, and the globs of mud that clung to him and trailed behind, making him appear to be decomposing as he walked. Villa and Cally studiously avoided looking at each other.
Later:
"Tune it."
"But..."
"You can figure out a tonal lock, can't you?"
The crew often ran little projects of their own, to occupy the hours off watch and between altercations, so Dayna had noticed nothing unusual. When Avon's clipped tones summoned her to the flight deck, she came promptly, only to pull up short as Vila's cheesy grin gave the game away. The harp was perfect. Dayna was speechless. The others looked surprised when Avon said, "Your music is a gift to us all." Dayna just smiled brilliantly.
After, when all the food and unlikely beverages Vila had coaxed out of the food synthesizers had been consumed, and the atmosphere was sated enough for the occasional burp to go unremarked, Cally began one of her stories, a spine-tingling legend from Auron. Avon leaned back, half asleep, listening to her warm voice.
He opened his eyes when Vila took over, relating a tale nobody believed for a moment. Cally's gaze was on him, and characteristically she did not look away as their eyes met. He sensed approval, maybe for unbending a little? He smiled inwardly. Tarrant still wasn't sure if his muddy excursion had been a veiled way of getting back at him for his practical joke. Let him stew. Keep him guessing. You didn't have to be as open as Blake to manage a crew - which in his case was just as well.
This party was fine, but all too soon it would, no doubt, be business as usual. And for the crew of the Liberator, that would be no party.
THE END