Jean Graham

Blake's face revealed the depth of his disappointment. "But Avon..."

"Don't `but Avon' me!" The enraged computer expert stormed to the door of Blake's quarters. "How many times do I have to say it? I haven't the remotest interest in fulfilling your every desire. Zero. Zip. Zilch. Nada. Do you begin to get the drift here? Big curly-headed berks are not my type!"

"But Avon," the other man pleaded. "All I want to do is cover you in chocolate fudge sauce and lick it off again..."

"Don't say it! I don't want to hear about it! It's not bad enough I have a perennially-possessed Auron chasing me all over this ship, I have to contend with your doe-eyed glances as well. Well I've had enough, do you hear? I want it finished!"

"But Avon..."

Blake's litany was stifled by the closing door as Avon marched into the corridor, heading resolutely for the flight deck and a long-overdue chance at solitude. Perhaps he could get in a little game of Star Maidens with Orac...

"Oh Avon..."

Cally's honeyed tones stopped him in his tracks midway down the passageway. She came out of her own cabin, dressed... no, make that not the filmiest negligee this side of the Veil Nebula.

"Avon," she cooed, "wouldn't you like to come inside and show me what you keep under all that leather..."

"No! I wouldn't!" he interrupted before she say anything more. He had to perform a thoroughly demoralizing duck-and-dodge minuet before he could manoeuvre his way around her in the close-walled hexagonal corridor. "Why don't you try a cold shower? I'm told they're very good for that sort of thing."

"But Avon..."

He didn't hear the rest. He'd turned into a junction, heading again for the flight deck. There were three more crew quarters along his route, but surely none of the rest would...


No. It couldn't be. Fate could not possibly be so cruel.

A pyjama-clad Vila stumbled into the hall to block his path, the familiar shape of a soma bottle cradled in his arms.

"Care for a little nightcap?" he queried with a distinctly leering undertone. "With half the female population of the galaxy lusting after you, you ought to be able to spare a little time for me..."

Avon silenced him with a withering glare and a solitary word.


The thief recoiled from the verbal blast, shrugged, and turned back into his cabin still hugging the bottle. "Better company than you are anyway," he was heard to mutter as Avon continued on his way.

Perhaps now he would be able to reach the flight deck unmolested. Didn't anyone on this ship ever think about anything else anymore?

Continued in Star Two

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