His thoughts and pacing were interrupted by a bell boy offering a piece of paper.  Chris took it and tipped the kid generously.  The note read for him to meet with the local resistance at the usual place.  Faber shook his head.  The 'headquarters' which had been chosen were nothing short of a death trap, but it didn't matter.  The Canadian Resistance was really just for show:  they had noting to worry about this far up.  In fact, a lot of the fighters from LA used the headquarters, a small 'health club' owned by the group leader, as a R&R centre, a place where they could recuperate after injuries or mental fatigue.

When Chris arrived, however, the usually laid-back resistance leader was tense.  He wasted no time on formalities.

"Chris, there's been a Visitor force land in Canada.  We've just had word from a reliable source that a squad of about 15 landed in farmland during the night."  Chris nodded.  The leader, Peter D'Bec, looked faintly irritated that the news should not shock the big man.  He went on, "It's still hazy, but we know they were there for several hours, then their shuttle blew up at about 8am..."

"... or was blown up," Chris corrected, smelling Ham's hand in things strongly, and allowed himself to feel a little comforted.

"Yes.  Yes, that's possible."

"Any surviving Visitors?"

"No, at least none reported.  There were no bodies around the site and none in the immediate area."  He paused.  "They wouldn't survive long anyhow.  Chris, do you think it was the toxin they were after?"

"'Course it was.  Damn lucky they didn't get it, too.  Or if they did, they didn't get away with it.  Can you contact the inventor?"

"The phone system's still chaotic.  No chance.  Anyone who has phones these days uses them more as decorations up here.  That'd be one advantage of the Open City, I guess."

"Yeah.  One."

"I've sent enquiries out via the usual routes.  We'll know if she's all right in a few days."

"A few days?!"

"Best we can do."

"Damn woman.  Why didn't she want to come to the city where she could get protection?"

"You know what farm people are like, and the vets who service them are almost as bad.  Anyway, would YOU want to get caught up in something like this if you had a nice, secure practice tucked away where the Visitors can't get you?"

"Well, they can now."  The big man started to move off.  "I'm going to try and contact LA.  Mike and Julie must know about this."

Pete nodded glumly.  "If she's alive, our people will bring her in."
 
 

He pushed himself up the bed with his good arm as the vet entered the room and approached the double bed with a mug of soup.

"Fighting fit already, huh?  I didn't know what to make for a person who's been shot but I figured you can't go wrong with Cup-a-Soup."

Ham snorted, but looked far more at ease than the last time she'd encountered him with no clothes on.  He accepted the soup gingerly with his good arm.  Alex sat beside him on the bed and inspected her handiwork with the bandaging and had to admit to a pretty fair job.  Well, it wasn't so different to a horse, or a goat...

"Not bad," she commented.  "Don't think there's a risk of infection, and I've put some fast-healing cream on it, too."

"What's that?"

"Just what the name says -- fast healing cream.  Something I cooked up.  Comes in quite handy in this climate."

"Mind if I ask where you learned to shoot like that?"

"Rounding up 140 goats to be inoculated on Jean-Paul Carpenter's farm.  Do you know how cold it can get when you spend 4 hours out in the snow doing it the hard way?  Dart guns are the only way to go."  Tyler half-smiled, something Alex regarded as a major achievement, although she attributed most of his more relaxed attitude to the injection of pethidine she'd given him while unconscious.

"You're some lady," Tyler said at length.

"And you," the vet replied, seemingly oblivious to the magnitude of the compliment she'd just been paid, "could give a few hairdressers I know a run for their money.  Where do you get off killing 11 Visitors like that?"

"Lucky shot?"

"Uh uh.  Try again."

"Okay."  Tyler met her eyes.  "I'm working with the resistance out of LA."

"Resistance, huh?  Now THAT I can believe."

"You can?"  Tyler again wondered just how obvious his manner was, and made a mental note to be more approachable next time he was travelling anywhere.  Alex nodded.

"Well, it's a step in the right direction, anyway."  She got to her feet.  "Listen, I've got rounds to do.  You going to be OK?  No, don't answer that -- silly question."  She deepened her voice and pulled a face to imitate Tyler, " 'I'm in the Resistance, and I'm tough enough to handle ANYthing', right?"

She chuckled all the way out the door, leaving Tyler to see nothing funny in her actions, but with the definite feeling that he was being laughed at...
 
 

Now Alex shrugged off her sheepskin jacket, it being heavy with snow.  She was cursing snow and all things 'winter' as she threw down her keys and black bag and, with a grateful sigh, sank into her favourite leather chair.

"Hard day?" Tyler's voice asked out of the gloom.  Alex jumped.

"Damnit!"

"Sorry."  Tyler emerged from the shadows into her field of view.  He was dressed in the pyjama bottoms she'd found in the barn: when Dennis had left he'd neglected to take a large part of his wardrobe, which Alex had then bundled up and stuck in the furtherest corner she could think of, hoping they might mould.  No such luck.  She'd brought the box out now, seeing as this person before her was going through his own clothes so rapidly.  He bent down with some effort to light the fire.  It was obviously hurting him to do so, but Alex saw the stubborn set to his shoulders and did not interfere.  She'd had more than enough experience with stubborn creatures in one species or another, and had formed the opinion that they were best left to their own devices until they either collapsed (when medical aid could then be administered) or submitted of their own free will.

She yawned, stretching back against the chair and observed him out of the corner of her eye.

"How are you feeling?"

"Lousy," was the immediate response.

"Then why are you out of bed?"

It was a good question.  He got painfully to his feet, the fire well alight, and eased himself into the chair opposite.  When he didn't answer, Alex shrugged, knowing that a point had been scored anyway.  She pushed herself out of the comfortable seat and headed for the kitchen, muttering something about seeing what damage she could do to a defenceless vegetable tonight.

Tyler grimaced, and followed her with effort.  he stopped at the doorway, trying to look casual as he leaned against it for support.

"Why didn't you tell me about the toxin?"

"Tell you what about it?"

"That you were the inventor."

Alex raised an eyebrow at him, and regarded the injured man over the top of her glasses.  "What purpose would it have served?  Your friends in Vancouver have the formula, I saw to that.  And anyway..."  She turned back to peeling potatoes, "It's not the sort of thing I usually discuss with hairdressers..."

Tyler did not rise to the bait, but acknowledged 2nd round points with a wry nod of the head.

"Ms. Bailey..."

"That's DR. Bailey to you," she said sharply.  "But anyone who commandeers my bed can call me Alex."

Tyler inclined his head.  "Alex..."

"Mmmm?"

"I've got to get you to Vancouver as quickly as possible."

In complete exasperation, Alex dropped the knife she was using to peel the potatoes and swung round to face him.

"I hate to tell you this, Superman, but you're not going anywhere for a while with a wound like that.  Are you all this gung-ho in the resistance?"

"There are a few who are worse," Tyler admitted, thinking of Donovan.  "But the lizards have been here once.  If they're that desperate to get this toxin, they'll send in as many as it takes to get you.  In a few weeks your life's not going to be worth a pair of lizard-skin boots."  Tyler paused, ostensibly to let the implication of his words sink in, but really to gather enough strength to force the next words out.  "Look, I don't know where you've been hiding all this war, but that's the way it is.  We leave for Vancouver tomorrow, all right?"

"You want to travel 500 kilometres -- tomorrow..."

"I'll be fine," Tyler said, and actually meant it.  He was remembering all the injuries and situations he'd been in which had been much worse.  Even though his shoulder was giving him severe pain, it should be controllable.

"Tyler," Alex was saying, "you macho-types are all the same, running around with a semi-automatic, a deep voice and a God-complex."  The mercenary's eyebrows rose as she advanced upon him.  Her professional eye had been gauging his condition throughout the conversation, and she knew it wouldn't take much to prove a final point.  "Okay, I can handle that.  You walk from here to the lounge room and we'll leave first thing tomorrow morning."

"What are you trying to prove?"

"Simply that I know more about medicine that you do.  Go on."

Her advance made him back up a few steps, and, finding himself without a door as support, promptly collapsed.  The two shepherds, padding in to find out what all the noise was about, nudged the unconscious man with wet noses, then happily began licking Tyler's face.  Alex grinned and shook her head.

"Men," she muttered, and hurried off in search of more pethidine.
 
 

"We're leaving.  Get your things."

Alex wandered in from the surgery, stethoscope around her neck, paperwork (and a few animals) bulging from her lab coat, and ran an assessing eye over him.  She nodded.

"Hmmm.  OK."  And wandered out again.

Tyler followed her, suspicious that it should be so easy.  In his fever-ridden mind he had been unconsciously comparing this woman to his old sergeant-major.  The fever had only broken a couple of hours ago, and all was not yet right with his senses.

"At least the fever's broken," she called out, packing a few essential veterinary items from her shelves, "And I didn't like the idea of waiting much longer, anyway."  She smiled faintly as he appeared in the surgery.  "I just hope you make it."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Tyler's head was swimming again.  He realized that he'd badly misjudged his nursemaid/sergeant-major, or maybe it had all been the fault of the fever.  He felt grateful and disgruntled at the same time: he appreciated the efficient, almost military way she had dealt with the whole affair, but felt uncomfortable because Alex Bailey was not reacting as most women would.  In fact, he realized in a moment of lucidity, she was treating him exactly as she would an animal patient.  He didn't know whether to be amused or annoyed.  he settled on amused, seeing the humour in the situation, and immediately felt more at ease.

Alex snapped closed her black bag.

"Ready.  Let's go."

They were ready to hit the road 10 minutes later.  Sitting in the cab of her Land Rover watching Tyler make his way gingerly down the few steps off the verandah and across the snow, Alex felt a pang of irritation.  Maybe, she admitted privately, she'd been a little too involved with animals and not enough with people, or maybe he just reminded her too much of her ex-husband for comfort.  Dennis had been a 'military type' too, and she could smell their breed a mile off.  She hadn't broken her resolution to not get involved with anyone in over 4 years, made when her very short marriage had broken up.  So why now?  Why she had felt compelled to give shelter to a man who was stupid enough to be out in a blizzard in the first place quite escaped her.  And then there was having to leave her practice -- that hurt.  Six years of hard study, five working for someone else, and four more to establish a practice: it didn't take a genius to figure that it was 15 years out of her life.  But there was a war going on, and Tyler was right -- she'd been sheltered from it out here in the country.  Alex shook her head as if to clear the jumble of emotions and memories, and, annoyed with herself, leaned forward to start the car.

They had been driving for just past 10 hours when the front right tire blew out.  Alex cursed fluently, fighting to keep control and finally pulled to the side of the road.  Tyler stirred in his seat, pushing himself upright.  Alex glanced over at him in the light of the dash.

"How're you doing?"

"Okay."

"Don't look it."  She peered closer at him.  "In fact, if I didn't know better I'd say you were dead already.  I've never seen anybody with white skin before."  She shuddered.  "Ergh, it makes my hair crawl."

"Where are we?"

"Not too far from Vancouver now.  Maybe another 100 km."  It was pitch black outside, the only light for kilometres streaming out of the Land Rover's headlights and dash.   Alex threw her passenger a smile as she wrenched open the door.  "But we're not going ANYwhere until I change this tire."  She hopped down and slapped the old car affectionately.  "Poor thing, it's the most work it's done in years.  No wonder, really.  C'mon, boys, you might as well get a bit of exercise too."  The shepherds bounded out, and disappeared into the darkness.

Ham sank back into the seat, listening to the vet's grunts and groans as she wrestled with the spare tire.  If the truth be told, he felt terrible.  Soft.  You are definitely getting soft, he told himself.  Memories of basic training and his tours of duty in Vietnam were never far from the surface -- he'd been in dozens of situations worse.  Then again, he couldn't recall a time when he'd lost so much blood and had been without a transfusion.  Even 3 days were not sufficient to replenish it in the quantity and more importantly quality he needed.  Although, there was that time in Warsaw...  Tyler closed his eyes and rubbed them tiredly.  Maybe he'd lost the edge, maybe not.  But he suddenly did know that he needed to throw up, and quickly.

Alex heard the door open, immediately followed by a dull thump and a strangulated oath.  Despite herself, she grinned.

"Tyler, are you...?"

"Leave me alone."

Alex went back to changing the tire, trying to wipe the grin off her face by telling herself how nasty his wounds were.  She chuckled quietly and used both feet to jump on the brace.   It gave with a satisfying crunch.  Still smiling, she jacked up the car and popped off the tire.  As she went round to the back of the car for the spare she glanced around for Tyler.  He was doubled up on the other side of the road, leaning heavily against a tree for support.  Alex dropped the flat tire and walked over to him, putting one arm firmly around his shoulders.

"Ohhh, no you don't," she said, replacing her arm as he shrugged it off.  She half guided, half supported him back to the Land Rover.  "I know you don't like to admit you're human, Tyler, and personally, I'd be the first to agree with you, but I'm going to break this gently to you:  if you don't show one smart move and let me help you, you are going to DIE.  Got it?"

"Yes SIR, Sergeant-major," Tyler saluted weakly, unable to stifle another comparison.

She laughed, almost lifting him into the back seat of the Land Rover.  "I didn't know you had a sense of humour.   That's cute, or should I chalk it up to fever-induced personality aberrations?"

"Suit yourself."

She threw him a blanket, then relented and drew it over him properly.  For once, he didn't object.  Her sheepskin jacket served as a pillow.  "I'd rather like to think you've got a sense of humour... somewhere down there.  When you get better, don't disappoint me, Okay?"

"Okay."

She grinned and jumped back down to the ground.  "Don't go away."

It took a further 20 minutes to get the spare tire pumped up and on the car and to round up the dogs, both of which now sat in the front seat next to Alex.

"Okay, let's go."  In the dimly lit cabin the motor turned over sluggishly and died.  "Oh, shit."
 
 

"Stop that," he muttered into the darkness.  The dog whines, shuffling closer to Tyler's head, and gave him another lick, followed by a soft nudge.

Tyler was drifting closer to consciousness, becoming aware now of real pain in his shoulder.  He deliberately ignored it.  There was also a stiffness in his neck and... and... a weight on his legs.  He lifted his head slightly and fell back with a grunt of pain.

"Solomon, get off my feet," he muttered, no great conviction in his voice.  Homer nuzzled him again and Tyler sighed quietly, wondering why they weren't bothering their owner like this.  Tyler, he told himself, you are a sucker.  "All right, all right."

He lifted the edge of the heavy blanket, and the dog dived eagerly into the warmth.  He couldn't suppress a grunt of pain as Homer's enthusiasm got the better of him.  "Damnit!"

"Tyler...?  You all right?"

"Fine."

From the front seat of the Land Rover, a sleepy yawn was followed by sounds of movement.  "I take it you're in considerable pain, then.   I've got some pethidine here.  Wait a minute."

"I don't need that stuff."

"You don't, huh.  What're you gonna do -- meditate the pain away?"

Like most vets, Alex did not communicate extremely well in the early hours of the morning, and years of practise had merely worsened her already sharp tongue.  She clicked on the interior light, and leaned over the front seat, resting her chin in her hands.

"What's so funny?" Tyler demanded, when all she could do was grin broadly.  She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and turned back to rummage about in the glovebox.

"Nothing.  I always do that at ... 3:15 am? ... God, is that the time?  Oh heck."

She climbed into the back section and began drawing a syringe full of pethidine from a large bottle.

"I said I didn't want any."

Alex sat back on her heels, eyeing Tyler's supine form.  "Why?"

His look said it was none of her business.

"Tyler, I don't like seeing anything in pain, even people.  Even you.  Is this some sort of macho routine again.  Should I sit here and hold your hand till you pass out, or something?"  She sighed when he didn't answer.  "C'mon, I'm not going to be able to sleep until YOU'RE asleep.  And how're you gonna do that when you're hurting?"

She reached for his arm to inject the painkiller.  He seemed to tense, then jerked his arm free as the needle touched his skin, his voice deepening with anger.

"NO!!"  He held the arm to his side, his face contorted in pain.  "Damn," he muttered.  Homer had shrunk down to the doors of the Land Rover, and even Solomon looked distressed.  The big dog whined and moved closer to Tyler, who pushed him away.  "Damn," he muttered again.  Alex was becoming adept at interpreting Tyler's concise form of communication.  'Damn' usually meant 'gee, I'm angry about that', or, in this case, Alex guessed, 'it hurts a great deal, and I'm too Tonka-tuff to admit it'.

She fought the temptation to become angry.  Tyler must surely have graduated from the same "Macho Technique 101" class as good old do-or-die-Dennis, her ex-husband, and she'd known him to be as fake as a lizard's skin.  Tyler, subsequently, did not gain much of her sympathy.

He was obviously in pain, however, and that was one thing she couldn't abide.  Alex rocked back on her heels and regarded her human patient silently.  All of what she knew about Mr. Ham Tyler could safely be written on eh average stamp:  he was a mercenary, then a resistance fighter, and he was after her formula.  End data.  Other things she'd picked up included the incredible number of scars, new and old, she'd noticed when dressing his shoulder.  That jelled with the mercenary/resistance fighter story, but why the violent reaction to an injection of painkiller that would help him?  If the pain was bad enough, most people would waive their fear of needles, and Tyler did not seem the sort to tremble at a shot anyway.

As she watched him, her mind went back to her ex-husband again.  Dennis had been a drill instructor who managed to stay out of the way of Vietnam quite nicely until the closing days of the war.  And then, when finally commissioned to active duty, it was an incredible stroke of luck that he'd been 'accidentally' shot in the foot a few days before leaving.  He then served out his tour as a medic in the hospitals, and had some gruesome tales to tell about being in a 'war zone' when he finally arrived home.  Amongst the stories of triple amputations, shrapnel wounds, and psychological damage, one thing he mentioned rang a familiar bell.  Drugs.  Morphine was used, and other, strong analgesic and sedative drugs, a lot of them having the narcotic properties of morphine and heroin.  The accounts of withdrawal she'd heard were not pleasant.

She put two and two together.

"Tyler, pethidine is not addictive."

His sharp glance told her everything, and she said more gently,

"Take my word for it, pethidine is only a medium-strength analgesic.   And anyway, there's no chance of addiction when you really NEED the painkiller."  A pause, then quietly, "Is that what's bothering you?"

Very slightly, Tyler nodded.

"Then will you let me give you a shot?"

When he nodded again, she reached for his arm.  She had the impression that if Tyler ever found out that the drug she was about to inject him with was mildly addictive, she would be in deep water and sinking fast.  But in his condition, the chances of immediate addiction were slim to none, even given a previous dependency.  Still, Tyler noticed her shaking hand as she brought the needle up, and smiled thinly.

"I won't bite."

"You'd have to peel me off the ceiling if you did," she muttered, and slid the needle under the skin.

"I'm... sorry."

"Bad experience?"

Tyler sighed as the drug took effect.  "Yeah.  A long time ago."

Seeing that this was the extent of the revelation, Alex drew down the sleeve of the sweater and replaced Tyler's arms under the blankets.

"Your hands are cold," he said, already sleepy.

"I don't often make house calls at 3 in the morning -- except in the lambing season," she quipped, "and the patients I inject don't usually mind."

"I didn't mean that."

"What then?"

"Are you cold?"

"Of course.  It must be 20 degrees outside."

"Take a blanket.  And your jacket..."

"You need those more than I do.  I'm fine."

Tyler grinned.  "Who's being macho now?"

Alex's expression of surprise turned into an answering grin.  "It must be catching", she agreed.  "But I'd still have a tough time explaining to the local police how a sick man froze to death in my car."  In the dim light of the cabin, she crossed her legs and sat down beside Tyler, calling her dogs back to their original positions.  Homer wasted no time in snuggling back under Tyler's blankets, while Alex studied her patient intently, watching the drug take effect.

"Feeling better now?"

"Mmmm."

"Good.  Maybe I can get some sleep."

She moved to climb back into the front seat, and found Tyler's hand on her arm.

"Stay."

She bit off the wise-crack that rose to her lips when she saw the expression on his face.

"Please."

She re-seated herself without a word.  Tyler's eyes closed, and his hand slid off her arm.  she replaced it under the covers again, then sat back to study its owner.

"You're a strange one, Tyler."

"My name's Ham."

Tyler's eyes remained closed, but a faint smiled played across his lips.  Alex correctly supposed that being invited onto a first-name basis was an accomplishment of some magnitude, and a brief vision of how a dose of pethidine here and there would improve her relations with the human race in general made her smile.

"Okay... Ham."
 
 

Alex jerked awake and squinted in the sunlight.  Simultaneously, the dogs started barking, bringing Ham awake also.  He shook his head, and immediately decided that that was a mistake.  He recognized the voices all too well, and groaned inwardly:  why these two?  He feigned sleep as the door was wrenched open.

Mike Donovan and Julie Parrish grinned down at the sight of Ham Tyler surrounded by two huge German Shepherds, one snuggled up to his side, the other at his head, and a strange woman in his other arm.  It looked exceedingly cosy.

"Hey, Tyler," Donovan smirked, "look, we can always come back..."  Julie smothered a giggle.

Alex slid out of the Land Rover.

"Who are you?  No, let me guess," she continued as Donovan was about to answer.  "From the jacket, the gloves and the same approximate gung-ho look, you'd have to be Mike Donovan, or at least someone in the Resistance."

Donovan stared at her, for once speechless.  Alex returned his gaze, sticking out her hand.

"Hi, I'm Alex Bailey.  I'm a vet around these parts."  She shook both their hands.

"Gooder, gimme a break," Ham managed at last, raised on one elbow.  Homer took the opportunity to take a generous lick of his cheek, and Julie broke up completely.  Tyler decided that Alex was handling the situation better.  He toyed briefly with the idea of going back to sleep, but instead he pushed himself up further, ignoring a fresh wave of nausea.  "What're you doing here, Gooder?" he began, more by way of diversion from his present predicament of just exactly how to get out of the Land Rover.

"Well in fact we were looking for you.  Chris got word through that you were late for the rendezvous, and since we had to come up here anyway...  Tyler, are you okay?"

"Well, actually... I could... er, now that you mention it..."  He cast Alex a meaningful look, but his pride made him ease himself out of the car before Alex could help, and he immediately crumpled to ground level.

"He's been shot, you see," Alex explained conversationally, deftly catching him on the way down.  They manoeuvred him back into the Land Rover.  "But making a terrific recovery, as you can see."  She smiled sweetly into Ham's disbelieving face.  No, the day was definitely not starting out too well.  He coped with it by passing out.  Again.
 
 

She rose from the bed where Ham Tyler lay, a pale shade of his usual colour, but far from white.  She checked the drip of saline/antibiotic solution and turned to face her audience.

"I must say, you did an excellent job on this wound, Alex.  Really, very professional."

Alex shrugged.  "I knew those 6 years of vet school weren't all wasted."

"Baaaaaaa," a muffled voice bleated from the bed.  Alex shot an amused glance at the bed, but Tyler appeared totally unconscious, and no one else seemed to have heard.  She decided to follow their lead, and asked casually,

"Will he be okay?"

"Anybody else I wouldn't give better than a 50/50 chance with a chest wound of this type," Julie said, "but Tyler's got a hard head.  There have been times he's been wounded and nobody but Chris has known about it.  He'll live."

Alex nodded, profoundly relieved that Tyler was no longer her responsibility.  Now that she could safely leave that problem in the young resistance leader's lap, Alex began to feel the past week catching up on her, and she could see Donovan out of the corner of her eye, itching to know more about the toxin.  Very quickly, she made her excuses and escaped to the sanctuary of her room, falling into a deep and dreamless sleep.
 
 

"I think she's on the level.  She certainly saved Tyler's life."

Donovan didn't look so certain.  "She's so... so... withdrawn.  I don't know what to make of her."

Donovan knew he had an ability to gauge people on their so-called 'vibes', which was really just a combination of the person's body language and his perceptive observations.  It always worried him when he drew a complete blank, and therefore made him suspicious.

"Reminds me a lot of Tyler when I first met him," Julie was saying, and Donovan nodded.  He was only just beginning to understand the way Tyler worked, and was, reluctantly, beginning to find something to like there.  Tyler, too, had been someone who gave out no apparent 'vibes', his body language being carefully controlled.  Donovan would never have thought to compare the apparently friendly and outgoing vet he'd just met to Ham Tyler, but now he thought about it, the comparison didn't seem too far-fetched.  If anything, Alex Bailey was far more controlled, more carefully orchestrated, in her movements than Tyler.

"Well, I think it's cute," Julie went on, clipping her bag together and turning to face Donovan.  "Who'd have thought -- Tyler and Alex Bailey?"

Donovan grinned, the memory of the morning's encounter with the Land Rover still fresh in his mind.  "Yeah."
 

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