Archive of Our Own ^beta

A mess, Avon thought as he completed his tour of Xenon Base. Everything could be restored, of course, but there didn't really seem to be much point, not when Servalan surely knew its location by now. He was convinced that she had been involved in Zukan's treachery, which meant this was no longer a safe place to be.

Gauda Prime was unlikely to be much of an improvement, but at least Blake would be there. Orac couldn't be wrong about that, however incomplete the rest of its information was. A bounty hunter? No, he'd have to see that one to believe it. Even then, it would have to be some ruse, and given conditions on that planet it might even be the wisest cover for someone like Blake. Might he even be making use of Federation resources to fund his revolution? Avon wondered, and smiled at the thought. It was the sort of devious-minded scheme Blake could come up with when he really put his mind to it.

Yet, suppose...suppose he wasn't reading it correctly. The Federation might have got at Blake again, played more mind games with him, skewed him around to be their puppet. Orac had no information on that, and Avon hadn't liked to ask for a prediction.

What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him? His smile turned bitter at that, but truth did seem to possess rather sadistic qualities where he was concerned. Blake was different, though, he had to be; even a battered cynic needed a lifeline, and Blake was about the only option left him. If Blake wasn't what he was supposed to be, if he turned out to be as big a fraud as everything else, well, at least it would all finally be over.

Cautious pessimism was, as ever, the order of the day. After all, that was how he'd discovered Blake was alive.

#

Deciding to look for Blake again hadn't been easy for Avon, and he'd kept it completely to himself at first. Really, his only idea had been to confirm the details Servalan had given him at Terminal. He hadn't wanted to believe her, although what she had said had made a great deal of sense. There had been no reliable word of Blake in all this time, absolutely nothing had come of the rumors regarding his whereabouts. So the man probably had died on Jevron, but under what circumstances? What had taken him to the planet in the first place, and how had Servalan been involved?

Sitting in Tarrant's quarters, Avon waited on the pilot's answer.

Tarrant looked skeptical, pointing out, "She said she saw his body burned. There's hardly going to be anything for you to find."

"That's my concern, not yours," Avon said, preferring not to dwell on that particular aspect. "All you have to do is pilot the ship."

"But why not tell the others? Vila at least. They won't be pleased to find we've gone off and left them stranded."

"Well, you'll just have to smooth their feathers, won't you?" Tarrant grimaced. "Why do I get all the fun?"

Avon smiled. "It must be your winsome personality," he said, and got a sharp look from the pilot. Head cocked, Tarrant said, "If I say no, will you go ahead and do it anyway?"

"Yes."

Tarrant sighed, shrugged. "All right then, I'll fly Scorpio for you. At least I'll know where she is then."

Avon had expected any number of things once they got to Jevron: a top secret Federation base; a world oppressed and brutalized--either one would have been irresistible to Blake. Or he may have landed there in his life capsule, or gone to ground with other refugees from the war; he could have come to recruit rabble or scout for a base... The tech had come up with plenty of reasons for Blake to have been there, and until a minute ago Tarrant had thought any one of them really could be viable.

"Repeat that, Orac," Tarrant said, not convinced--and not sure if Avon had heard.

"Kindly pay attention," Orac scolded, before going on to report that Jevron was a scorched and barren world, devoid of any life.

"Could there be some kind of underground installation?" Tarrant asked, remembering what he'd been told about the Star One complex.

"No."

"But if it were shielded in some way--"

"No. There is nothing there."

"And never has been!" Avon yanked Orac's key. "She lied."

Tarrant was well able to believe that, but, "What good does this do us?"

Starting to pace as he worked it out, Avon said, "Servalan assumed we would never leave Terminal--"

"That was a safe bet under the circumstances."

"--and so she wasn't concerned with the consequences of anyone ever checking out her story. She was free to tell me--us--anything."

"Why say anything at all? She'd finally got the Liberator, what more did she have to gain?" Tarrant said, and winced as Avon gave him a rare, unguarded look. Stupid question, of course: she had gained the pleasure of seeing Avon hurt and humbled, of giving the knife one last, exquisite twist. "Well, at least she didn't get to enjoy her triumph for long."

"No," Avon said, and Tarrant thought it another safe bet Avon would have preferred witnessing her death up close and personally and Tarrant couldn't say he blamed him. But that didn't seem to be quite so important now. "Blake's...alive," and something in Avon was rekindling, "and he's still a threat to the Federation, and she didn't know where he was. If she'd gotten control of the Liberator though...."

Yes, Tarrant agreed that was a very nasty thought. She could have gotten up to a great deal, using Liberator as the prototype for a new fleet. Tarrant still hadn't entirely come to terms with Avon for risking Liberator, and yet, given the way things had played out, he could almost be grateful that she had blown up in Servalan's face.

"So where do we go from here?" he asked, as if he couldn't take a wild guess.

"There is nowhere Blake can hide from me," Avon said, speaking so softly Tarrant suspected he wasn't meant to hear. "Not from me and Orac."

And pity poor Blake if he'd only decided to crawl in a hole and stay there. Not that that sounded like anything Roj Blake would ever get up to.

Going back to his position, Tarrant said, "Back to Xenon, then."

"Yes. And, Tarrant, keep this to yourself."

"Avon--"

"To yourself, Tarrant."

Oh, what the hell. "All right, Avon, you have my word." He just hoped the icon of the resistance was worth all this.

#

"What on earth happened to you?" Tarrant asked of the scruffy figure before him. This was what they'd chased across a galaxy, what had driven Avon?

"Most of it wasn't on Earth, Tarrant," Blake said, "not what happened to me."

No, probably not, but Tarrant decided he didn't really care to hear the justifications for all this. When a woman came in, distracting Blake for a few crucial seconds, Tarrant seized the chance, jumping Blake and getting the undignified hell out of there. If Avon had just arrived it was vital he get to him before Blake did; Avon had to be warned he was walking into a trap.

Deva was right, Blake knew: he'd better get after Tarrant before this went too much further. He was pleased, though, at the way things had turned out, that Tarrant had shown his loyalties were to Avon. Maybe it had been excessive, but Blake couldn't risk another base being compromised by lax security; too many lives had been lost last time.

"I'm glad you made it," Avon told Tarrant, and meant it. Watching Scorpio go down, knowing the pilot was still on board, had not been one of his best moments. As it was, Tarrant was looking the worse for wear.

"Avon, I think he's here," Tarrant was saying, even as a dark-haired woman was sounding the alarm for security.

"Dayna!" Avon just sent her a look, and Dayna was across to the other woman, hands seeking out pressure points to render her unconscious.

Even as Dayna lowered the woman to the floor, two other people came into the tracking gallery, coming to a stop at the top of the steps. Avon paid scant attention to the woman at...Blake's side--

"Is it him?" Tarrant said.

And Vila answered, "It's him," even as Avon moved forward.

But Tarrant wasn't done. "He's sold us, Avon. All of us. Even you." He sounded like he believed it too. But.... Avon looked at Blake, really looked. "Is it true?"

"Tarrant doesn't understand," Blake said, as though that should explain everything.

"Neither do I, Blake." And he'd been so sure the bounty hunting was some guise.

"I set all this up," Blake said, moving towards Avon. "I was waiting for you."

Feeling himself pulled every which way, Avon brought up the projectile rifle, as if using it to warn Blake to back off. "Stand still," he commanded, needing to think and knowing there might be precious little time for that. Tarrant had to have misunderstood something, and yet...the price on all their heads could be tempting...but to Blake...? "Have you betrayed us? Have you betrayed me?"

"Of course not! How could you even think such a thing?"

"Because it hasn't been an uncommon occurrence."

"It doesn't apply in this case. Tarrant was...precipitous."

Yes, Tarrant could be that, sometimes. Still, "What proof do you have?"

And Blake stood there, looking suddenly tired...and hurt, saying, "If I have to prove it, Avon, then there's not a hell of a lot of point to any of this." Then, moving with the quickness that always came as a surprise from a man his size, Blake crossed to Avon, carelessly pushing the rifle aside and reaching to grasp Avon by the shoulders, shake him gently, affectionately--completely unfazed by the weapons Soolin and Dayna had trained on him. "Damn it, Avon, if you don't know me better than that after all this time...."

If Avon didn't know better he'd have sworn there was a suspicious sparkle of moisture in Blake's eyes; there seemed to be some odd constriction in his own throat. "Tarrant's got it wrong?"

"Very."

"Oh, now look--" Tarrant began.

"I had to make sure who you were loyal to; I've had a rather unpleasant experience with someone else named Tarrant," Blake told the pilot. "If I've injured your feelings, I apologize; it wasn't meant that way."

"Of course that changes everything," Tarrant said, but his tone was a bit subdued now. He looked at Avon. "Do you believe him?"

"I.... Yes," Avon said, and found he meant it. "Yes, I do, Tarrant."

"I hope you're right," Tarrant said, sounding all worn out as everything began to catch up with him. Going pale, he caught at his side, reaching out for support--which Avon provided, getting an arm around his waist while Blake put an arm up around the pilot's shoulders.

"Come on," Blake said, "the medical center's this way. Arlen, see to Klyn, will you." He paused in the doorway, looking back at the other three. "You are all very welcome here. Deva," another man had just scurried up, "will answer all your questions."

#

"Well," Dayna said as the red-haired man came down to face them, "it's nice to be wanted."

"Easy for you to say," said Vila, feeling left out of everything. (You'd think Blake could spare a, "Hi, Vila. Nice to see you.") "I've been a wanted man all my life."

"Yes, Vila, so you're always saying," said Soolin. "Don't be tiresome." She sized up Deva. "So, you'll answer all our questions, will you?"

Deva got the feeling he'd better be very sure of his answers.

#

"They're all there? And the Orac computer?"

"Yes."

"Very well. Proceed as we discussed."

Pleased that she carried out her orders so satisfactorily, Arlen pocketed her communicator.

#

Chased out of medical by Docholli--and where in the worlds had Blake come across him again?--Avon found himself alone with Blake, and not entirely sure what to say or do next. There was a sort of anticlimactic sense to everything, he'd gotten so used to being primed for disaster, that he almost didn't know how to react to not having the rug yanked out from under him.

Blake touched his shoulder. "What are you thinking?"

"That you took a big risk playing games with Tarrant. You came very close to being shot." Horribly close; Avon decided he didn't even want to think about that right now.

"Did I?" Blake said, clearly not believing a word of it. "And have you reached the point, then, where you shoot first and question afterward?"

"I am supposed to be mad."

"You're supposed to be a lot of things; I've never believed half of it."

"Yes, well, you always have chosen to only believe what suited you."

Blake caught and held his gaze. "I've never been wrong, not about you."

Damn it all to hell: scarcely half an hour had passed, and Blake was doing it to him again; if Blake's personality could be processed it would make Pylene 50 look like so much swamp gas. With an effort, Avon looked away, having a severe need for his bearings. "What happens now?"

"Breakfast?"

"Blake--"

"Well, I'm hungry."

"You're also scruffy as a Space Rat."

"Goes with the role. And where'd you ever meet a Space Rat?"

"Long story." Avon wrinkled his nose. "Really, Blake, the aroma is hardly appetizing."

"No?" Blake shrugged. "It's easily solved. C'mon."

#

"Is space really at this much of a premium?" Avon said, looking around the room Blake was proposing they share.

From the bathroom, Blake said, "Yes, it is. I was sharing this with Jenna."

Was? Avon wondered, and wondered then at the presence of two beds; he had no objection, but surely Jenna had. "Is Jenna--"

"She's dead, Avon. Leave it, for now."

Impossible to tell anything from that tone of voice, and Avon decided he would just let it go for now. Sitting on one of the bunks, he concentrated on releasing the tension that had knotted him up. There were still a hundred things that might go wrong, but he felt a mild, unreasonable niggle of optimism. It would, at least, be a novelty for their luck to change.

Looking up as Blake came back into the main room, showered and shaved and wearing clean clothes, Avon said, "I didn't come here empty-handed, by the way."

"No?" Blake sat on the other bunk, furiously toweling his curls. "I won't pretend to not being interested in whatever you're willing to offer."

"Don't think you've made me a convert to your cause, Blake. I simply prefer to live in a galaxy that isn't out to get me."

"As do we all." Inspecting the breakfast trays that had been delivered, Blake said, "So, what've you got, then?"

Finding he actually had an appetite, Avon spoke between bites, telling Blake everything he knew about Pylene 50, the warlord alliance which he thought might yet be salvaged. "And Orac thinks we could come up with some variation on Egrorian's tachyon funnel."

"What's an Egrorian when it's at home?" Blake wanted to know, and Avon wondered how much he needed to tell him about Malodaar.

#

Now this is a considerable improvement, Tarrant was thinking, resting comfortably in the medical center, his injuries seen to, the pain numbed. As it was not his nature to be ungracious, and Avon was inclined to be magnanimous towards Blake, Tarrant had resolved to extend the rebel a benefit of doubt. He meant to keep a close eye on him, however, check out this operation thoroughly...just as soon as he was mobile.

There was something about Blake, he couldn't deny that; anyone who could affect Avon like that had to be pretty extraordinary. It rankled, though, that the rebel had felt a need to put him to a test; nor was Tarrant sure what that said of Blake's confidence in Avon. Was it likely, given Avon's general outlook, that he would have spent more than two years in the company of someone he didn't trust--given him full access to Liberator and Orac? Mind you, it was possible Blake had been suspicious because of the name "Tarrant," and some of the others who owned the name...for which Del could hardly blame him.

"You're looking pensive, little brother. What's on your mind?"

When his heart started up again, Tarrant looked towards the source of that voice, a voice he hadn't expected to ever hear anywhere again. "Deeta...." he whispered, blue eyes wide as his brother emerged into full light, a brilliant smile lighting his usually sober features. "But... but...."

"I'm supposed to be dead?" Deeta said, crossing to the bed, sitting on the edge facing Del. "Reports of my demise were somewhat premature."

Half convinced this was a side effect of medication, Tarrant reached out to touch his brother, finding no spirit but firm, warm flesh under his fingers. "But I was there... I felt you die."

"I know." Deeta's smile vanished. "I wish I could have spared you that, Del. If it's any consolation, it felt awfully real to me at the time."

"But what happened?" Oh, this wasn't fair, how many shocks to the system was a man supposed to take in the span of a few hours?

A worried frown creasing his brow, Deeta said, "Are you sure you're up to this? You look about done in."

"If you think you can waltz in here, announce you're not dead after all, then waltz on out again without any sort of explanation--"

"All right, all right," Deeta held up a hand to forestall any further verbal outrage. "Well, I was dead actually, clinically. It's because of Servalan and dear Uncle Dev that I'm here today."

As Deeta explained how Servalan had had his body spirited away to a trauma unit, where surgeons had been standing by, Tarrant recalled how concerned Max had been about a mix-up in paperwork that had misplaced Deeta's body. It had bothered Del, but there hadn't been anything to do about it right then. Now it appeared the whole thing had been another plot dreamed up by Servalan and Dev. Seems Dev'd had visions of using his nephews as he had once used their father--disposing of them afterwards, as he'd done with their father.

"The idea," Deeta was saying, "was to condition me, turn me into the perfect, albeit unknowing, Federation agent, then use me to get at you--at the whole resistance movement."

Giving his brother a wary look, Tarrant said, "That's not what this is all about, is it, Deeta?"

Smiling, Deeta patted his shoulder gently. "No, Del. I had a bit of luck left me. I was being held on Danarad, at the military base there, and guess who showed up one day, leading a raid on the base?"

"Blake?"

"In the legendary flesh. Right then I was only someone being abused by the Federation, but when he heard my last name he took a very personal interest. Seems he'd had his own run-in with Dev; that was who helped get him sent to Cygnus Alpha."

Tarrant hadn't known that; small wonder, then, that the rebel was careful of Tarrants. "Was Dev at the base?"

"Yes, but he got away."

"Pity about that."

Deeta's smile had a merciless quality now. "I have hopes of that condition being remedied."

Docholli chose that moment to come over and start fussing about Del needing his rest, shooing Deeta away. Deeta promised he wouldn't be far away, and with some reluctance Tarrant finally closed his eyes--half afraid he'd awaken to find this had all been a dream, but also beginning to feel a little better about life in general.

Scary to think how close it had come to being the biggest mistake any of them had ever made, though. For a few seconds there he'd really believed Avon was going to shoot Blake; space knew what that would have done to Avon, given his reaction to killing his Anna, and that Blake might be even more important to him. But unless Roj Blake turned out to be the most consummate liar to come along since Servalan had been hatched, it looked like someone from Avon's past wasn't a fraud. That made a change.

#

Blake was certain that Avon hadn't told him quite everything yet--he had been especially vague about that Malodaar business--but this wasn't the time to press for details. There was a lot of relearning to be done, for both of them, and it looked like it wasn't going to be impossible. So many times he had been tempted to get in touch with Avon; so much regret when he'd believed them all dead at Terminal--for things said in haste and anger, for things left unsaid. For what could have been.

Hard to believe they had been handed this second chance, and Blake meant to take full advantage of the opportunity. This time everything would be better, this time they were going to get it right.

At the moment, though... "When did you sleep last?" he asked Avon. The tech looked about done in, Blake thought, and hoped showing such concern for him wasn't already overstepping the bounds of their reforming friendship.

But Avon only gave him a wryly tolerant look, shoulders lifted in a shrug. "It hasn't been top priority."

"It should be. Burning ourselves out doesn't help anyone."

"Are you speaking from personal experience?"

"Oh, yes." More than he'd like to admit. There had been times, since Jenna's death especially, when he had felt as though he was running on empty--fired by the cause, and not much else. Not despairing, never doubting the worth of what he was pursuing but feeling ever more isolated, haunted by too many ghosts. It wore at a man's spirit as much as the flesh, and he'd begun to wonder how much more he had to give. Now, though...now he felt rejuvenated, ready to take on anything.

All the same, a few hours' rest mightn't come amiss; it had been a long night, and quite an eventful morning.

"Go on," he told Avon, "get some sleep."

Avon was about to protest, only to be betrayed by a jaw-cracking yawn. Looking a bit sheepish, he said, "Perhaps I will just close my eyes." Barely stifling another yawn, he conceded defeat and shrugged out of his jacket before unbuckling his boots, stretching out on the bunk just as Vila bustled in, noisily setting up a cot in another corner of the room.

Eyebrow quirked, Blake shared a look with Avon, then said, "Couldn't Deva find you a room, Vila?"

Oh, fine," Vila said. "You don't want me either. I'll just wander off into the woods, shall I? Get captured by bounty hunters or eaten by wolves--"

"There aren't any wolves, Vila," said Avon.

"And you're perfectly welcome," said Blake. "But it's going to be a bit crowded."

"You call this crowded?" Vila busied himself getting his bedding just right. "Anyway, at least I know you two; that dogsbody of yours wanted to put me in with some stranger, and Soolin and Dayna wouldn't have me--"

"Yes, Vila, we get the picture." Well, if Avon didn't mind--and he looked more surprised than anything--then Blake had no objections. "It'll be like the first time we all met, on the London."

"Let us hope not," said Avon. "As I recall, the hygiene facilities left a great deal to be desired." He looked at Blake, shook his head. "You're quite pleased with yourself, aren't you?"

Grinning, the rebel nodded. "More than you know. Sleep well, you two."

Yawning enormously, Vila said, "Where're you off to, then?"

"I need to check with Deva and Deeta. I'll see you both later."

Vila snuggled down on his cot as Blake went out, then cracked an eye open, looking over at Avon. "Did he say, 'Deeta'?"

"Yes."

"You don't suppose...? Nah, couldn't be, could it; just someone with the same name."

"It's a long story, Vila."

"I like stories."

"Go to sleep."

The thief was quiet for a few seconds, then, "Avon?"

Avon sighed. "Yes?"

"Things're gonna be okay now, aren't they?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do."

"Go to sleep."

"Hmmph...'night."

"Morning." But Avon was smiling as he closed his own eyes.

Maybe a little cautious optimism might be in order now.

#

Meeting with Deva and Deeta in the council room, Blake asked after Tarrant.

"Docholli says he'll be all right, with some rest," Deeta said. "He needs to stay off his feet for at least twenty-four hours, though." The ex-gunfighter favored Blake with a censuring look. "He'd been running around with cracked ribs, and one of them broke when Griffin tackled him--it nearly punctured a lung."

"I am sorry about that," Blake said, and meant it. "You know why I thought it was necessary." Deeta nodded. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"And you think I do?"

Hesitating a long moment, Deeta finally said, "No, but he's my little brother."

"I know, and I'm looking forward to getting to know him. I'm more than grateful Del's not your uncle's cat's-paw, but even you weren't completely sure of him."

Deeta had to concede the truth of that "It did strike me, in light of my own experience, that his being on Liberator was quite a coincidence."

"Extraordinary things do happen by chance," said Deva.

"So it would seem," Blake said, and got a sharp look from Deeta.

"You still have doubts?"

"No. Not about you or Del, that is." Rubbing his neck, Blake said, "The coincidence of Avon and his crew showing up at this precise moment is one I can't quite swallow." Mind you, it could well be nothing but that, there did not have to be any sinister undertones. From what Avon had told him, it sounded like he and his crew had been pushed into ever more desperate circumstances, with ever-shrinking options. Odd, though, that Avon would suddenly discover Roj Blake could be found on Gauda Prime. Presumably--unquestionably--Avon had thoroughly quizzed Orac as to what evidence had allowed the computer to trace his path through infinity, but Blake wouldn't mind speaking with Orac himself. Especially since he had taken pains to not be easily located.

"You've been talking about contacting Avon," Deva said, "ever since you found out he was still alive."

"That's true," said Deeta. "But he hadn't actually got around to doing it." Leaning forward a little, he asked, "What's on your mind now, Blake?"

Elbows on the table, Blake shook his head. "I'm not sure yet, just...." He shrugged. "Maybe I'm getting too cautious."

Deva's inelegant snort expressed his opinion of that.

"Yes, Deva, I know--and you know my reasons better than anyone."

"It's over now, though, isn't it?" Deva looked at him hopefully, and shared a look of relief with Deeta when the rebel nodded.

"Yes. We'll still need to bring in more people, but there are other ways to go about it."

"Oh, yes, now he says there are other ways," Deva's voice and expression were a mix of humor and exasperation. Pushing his hair out of his eyes, he added, "Is Orac really that good?"

Grinning, Blake said, "He thinks so."

"And your Avon?" asked Deeta.

"He's not my Avon, but, yes, he also has a high opinion of himself. It's generally warranted." Blake suspected Deva and Deeta were anticipating being relegated to the background, now he was reunited with Avon, and he wanted to show them that would not be the case. Listening to a mix of ideas, opinions, being aided by a variety of skills and knowledge, was the point of this whole operation. Space might be somewhat limited, but of everything else there was plenty to go around--including Roj Blake. The last thing he wanted to see was friction developing between any of these people, egos bruised or charges made of favoritism. There was bound to be some shifting around, but Blake was convinced it would all work out

"Where is Orac?" Deeta wanted to know, and right on cue Klyn walked in, carrying a box of twinkle lights and saying she'd found this in one of the flyer silos, and did anyone know what it was?

#

So this is the fabled box of delights, Deeta thought--not impressed by either its appearance or personality. "Does it ever just give a straight answer?" he said to Blake, who was trying to get the computer to detail exactly how it had tracked him to Gauda Prime.

Orac answered before Blake could. "I see you share your brother's need for answers consisting of one syllable."

Nonplused for a moment, Deeta muttered, "I'll bet Del loves this thing," and Blake advised him not to take it personally.

"I'm not sure I care for a computer that demands obeisance," said Deva, pushing at his hair again. "It sounds as if Orac can't answer, Blake. Perhaps Avon placed that information under special code?"

Blake nodded, appearing to find that very likely. "Going by the way his crew reacted to me, it looked like they weren't too sure what to expect--and Avon didn't have all the crucial details either." Deactivating Orac, the rebel added, "We'll have to get Avon's help on this."

Deva was watching Blake thoughtfully. "Do you really think it's that important?"

"I think it would be helpful to know if anyone else is likely to pay us a visit."

"Doesn't seem likely," Deeta said. "Not with this Commissioner Sleer scheduled to make this inspection tour."

"I'd feel better if we knew more about Sleer," said Deva, and reached over to tap Orac's casing. "Could this thing be any help there?"

"That's a thought," Blake said, and slipped the key back in place. "Orac, I want you to locate any information available on a Commissioner Sleer, and relay it to--"

Before the rebel could finish, Orac said, "Commissioner Sleer is an alias that was adopted by former President and Supreme Commander Servalan after the coup that--"

"What?" Blake was gawping at the box, and Deeta suspected he looked just as dumbfounded. "But she's dead."

"She is not. The Scorpio crew have had numerous encounters with her."

Looking at Blake, Deeta said, "Avon didn't mention that?"

Blake shook his head, sitting back. "No, we didn't talk that extensively." Sighing, he looked at Deva and Deeta. "This makes a difference."

"I'd say so." Deva pushed back from the table. "I take it she would recognize you on sight, Blake?"

"She would. Avon and his crew as well, it seems."

"And me," Deeta added, and had to wonder something else: if Servalan was operating covertly, could Uncle Dev be far away? "This cocks up everything, doesn't it?"

Gnawing his thumb, Blake had an introspective look as he gazed at Orac's flashing innards. "Maybe not, Deeta, maybe not."

"What's on your mind, Blake?" Deeta wanted to know, and began to smile in appreciation of Blake's devious turn of mind, as the rebel outlined a plan.

#

"Avon." Reluctantly, the tech stirred, blinking up at Blake. Who apologized for waking him, but, "We need to talk about Commissioner Sleer--or should I say Servalan?"

"Oh." Yes, Avon had rather thought they would need to talk about that. Gathering his wits, and annoyed at feeling so sluggish, he said, "What do you need to know?"

"Just how gullible is she?"

#

Tarrant was picking at a dinner tray when Deeta came in, and it was still something of a shock to see him. He'd never really had a chance to mourn his brother's death, to come to any real terms with what had happened--what he believed had happened--but he had been able to get past it. To leave it in the past. Resurrections, he was finding, took some getting used to.

"How are you feeling?" Deeta asked.

"Better."

"That's good."

Watching his brother stand there looking kind of awkward, Tarrant realized that Deeta was also having some trouble with this turn of events. Neither of them knowing quite what to say or do, hampered by being apart for so long, and then not being all that demonstrative in the first place.

Unable to think of anything else, Tarrant voiced a question that had been on his mind for a long time. "When you were getting ready to face Vinni, why didn't you want to see me?" That had stung a little, that Deeta hadn't wanted to spare a few minutes for him.

"Because it would have been a distraction I couldn't afford, Del. When I was getting ready for a duel, all I could think about was the contest. I didn't tend to be very good company, for anyone." Deeta came over now and sat on the edge of the bed, facing his brother. "I heard, much later, that you took Vinni out."

"It was Avon's idea...but I didn't object."

"What was Avon's concern about it?"

"He thought it was a put-up job, some scheme of Servalan's--and he was right. Vinni was an android: there was no way you could have beat him, Deeta, not knowing."

A thoughtful look crossed Deeta's face. "So that's how they did it. I'd wondered why I couldn't get any feel for what he was doing--how he could be so fast." He gave Del a lopsided grin. "Puffs my ego up a bit, Del. I thought I was just getting old and slow."

Tarrant protested, "You're not that much older than me."

Deeta's expression was a little weary and wistful now. "Not in years maybe."

Well, Del knew something about that. There had been times when he'd felt just a little ancient himself. "You never did tell me just what is going on here." If he didn't know better, he'd have sworn this place was a Federation base.

"Officially, this is the Gauda Prime Law Enforcement Center."

"And unofficially?"

Deeta's sudden grin was a match for any of his younger brother's. "We're doing unto the Federation what they would dearly love to do to us."

#

"...But then why didn't you simply get a message to us, after you had recovered from your wound?" Avon was saying, in the council room with Blake now.

"Because I'd had too much time for thinking," Blake said, not missing Avon's temptation to indulge a smart-ass remark; appreciating that he decided to refrain. "Something I'd decided was that you, and the others, would fare a lot better if you were no longer associated with me. And that had seemed to be your particular ambition anyway." Odd, though, how it was looking as though once presented with what he had claimed to want, Avon hadn't known what to do with it. Blake had that filed for future reference.

"So you decided to go underground?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time, and I still think it had certain advantages."

"It didn't keep the rest of us from still being known as Blake's people."

And why did he have this feeling that had been a mite irksome to Avon? Smiling slightly, Blake said, "No, I see that now. When I found out some of the facts about Terminal, I wondered if the decision to operate covertly might have been the worst choice I ever made."

Avon looked down at his hands. "How much do you know about that?"

"That you were lured into some trap, and Liberator was destroyed."

Nodding, Avon looked up at him, appearing to be on the verge of saying something more about that, but, "And had you established this base at that time?"

"No, that was a little later. Avalon and I had been operating out of a planet called Perigor, getting some real coordination started amongst the different rebel factions, planning and carrying out raids on specific targets. The last one was at Danarad, where we picked up Deeta Tarrant."

"And someone else?"

And someone else... "Jenna," Blake said, the memory still so vivid, still so painful.

#

Diving for cover as another strafing run began, Blake hauled out his communicator and tried to get through to the main base again. Still no answer, and the black column of smoke on the horizon was not reassuring. That would have been where the Federation would concentrate its attack--now the Federation ships were only picking off secondary targets, taking out this village on the chance it harbored rebel sympathizers. As always, it was enough to be guilty by association to warrant a death sentence.

And it shouldn't have happened, there should have been no way for the Federation to find them here.

Dropping down beside him, Jenna said, "We're not safe here, Blake. Let's get back to the ship."

"No. I have to get to the base." He had to find out how bad it was, if anyone had survived. The carnage that surrounded them here was bad enough: everything aflame, people in a panicked scramble for safety--a child running past, screaming; a man sitting on a step, stone-faced as he cradled a woman's burnt and bloody body...

Blake knew he ought to be used to this by now, and yet each new revelation of humanity's capacity for brutality struck him afresh. Sometimes he wished he could harden his heart, look upon this with dispassionate acceptance that it was only the nature of the beast. There would be no way then, no reason, to fight against it, to suppose that anything would ever change.

Blake couldn't have said why he resisted giving in to such cold despair, why even this efficient, cold-blooded destruction left his core of optimism untouched.

Sometimes, however, it could be badly dented, and when he and Jenna finally reached what was left of the base--twisted metal, charred and smoking rubble--it took a severe kick. So many of his people were dead.

Making his way to a makeshift aid station, he found a little bit of relief in discovering Klyn and Deva alive and relatively unharmed. Yet even as he was greeting them, trying to find out what had happened, he saw Docholli pulling up a sheet to cover Avalon's face.

Not even given a chance to absorb that, a sonic boom ripped the deathly silence as another squadron tore through the sky, completing their mission. And even as he felt the piece of shrapnel cut into his face, Blake wondered how this seek-locate-destroy mission could have ever come about.

There hadn't been many of them left to relocate to Gauda Prime, and that whole process owed a great deal to Deva and Klyn, their inside knowledge of how a Federation security complex was supposed to operate. Deva had found out about the plan to clean up GP, and had filed it away for further investigation, given the sorts of people the Federation was apt to classify as being of a criminal or deviant nature.

Setting himself up as titular head of the GP base, Deva had also established a false identity for Blake, as a bounty hunter. Only this particular bounty hunter went after a very select quarry: anyone who had sought refuge on GP because their crime against the Federation had been of a dissident nature. After Blake brought them in, alive, Deva performed further computerized chicanery to have the person listed as dead--while the bounty hunter collected a still-substantial reward.

Blake had enjoyed the irony of the Federation helping to finance the resistance, and when Deva had located information that Avon was still alive, his battered spirit had begun to soar even more.

In retrospect, he would always feel that he ought to have known better.

Disturbed by something, Blake rolled over, looking across at Jenna, tossing fitfully in her bunk. Now that was odd, he was usually the one troubled by upsetting dreams. He wondered if he should wake her, or let it run its course, and had just decided to awaken her when she grew very still, sitting up and getting out of bed, going straight for the door.

Something about her movements bothered him, and he turned the lights up, saying, "Jenna? Are you all right?"

She was looking right at him, yet Blake was certain she had not seen him, hadn't heard a word. Walking past him, Jenna left their room, with Blake following. Not suspicious, exactly, not expecting anything, precisely; just...disturbed.

Jenna's destination proved to be the communications center, where she set about transmitting a coded message to a contact who was only identified as Daedalus. When she'd finished, Jenna left as quietly as she'd arrived, and Blake turned off the recorder that had automatically caught and contained the message, one of the security safeguards he had rigged so there would be no repeat of Perigor; and only he had known about it. He had still been concerned about possible programming done to Deeta...he'd never once thought the danger might come from Jenna instead. He'd wanted to believe, had almost convinced himself, that if there had been a traitor at Perigor, then that person had died there.

Resting his head in his hands now, with incontrovertible proof of Jenna's actions, he felt the closest he'd ever come to that dark and bleak despair.

#

"She'd been programmed, of course, while she was held on Danarad," Deeta was telling his brother. An ironic smile skewed his mouth. "Uncle Dev likes to cover all the bases." "How long had they had her?" "She'd been captured during the war, near as we could reconstruct, and they'd had some of the best work on her." Deeta recalled the stunned look on Jenna's face when Blake told her what she'd done, the disbelief--anger--until the evidence was shown her. Then the redirection of that anger at those who had used her as a pawn for destruction; the pain when she'd realized all those lives lost on Perigor had been due to her unwitting collaboration with the Federation. "It wasn't her fault, though," Tarrant said. "No. And none of us held her responsible. But she wasn't so forgiving of herself." "What happened?" "...She had agreed to undergo deprogramming," Blake was telling Avon, "and Deva and Docholli had everything set up. But she had other plans." He sighed, looking off at some distant point. "She took a ship, went right into the midst of a Federation squadron...and hit self-destruct." It had all been so damned unnecessary, another wasted life...and yet sometimes Blake thought he understood what had driven Jenna to such an act. Maybe, in the same circumstances, he would do the same--so he told himself, never sure if he really believed it. A hesitant hand on his arm brought him back, looking up to meet Avon's eyes, seeing understanding there. And he wondered how he could be so certain that this friendship could not be dishonored or profaned. "That's why I felt I had to test Tarrant, why I tried to learn not to take so much on trust," he told Avon. "If I could be wrong about Jenna...." "Do you blame her for what happened?" "Of course not. I know there was nothing she could have done to prevent it. I blame myself for assuming that because it was Jenna, that it was all right; that there was no reason to check her out, to see if there might have been any conditioning." "So of course you merrily welcome me back?" Avon shook his head. "If you have been trying to turn yourself into a hard-hearted bastard, Blake, you're a miserable failure." "I always thought you believed a healthy dose of cynicism would do wonders for me." Astonishment briefly flashed in the dark eyes. "So I could look at you and see my own reflection? Not hardly." Wondering if Avon realized what he'd just admitted, and not daring to make too much of it right now, Blake said, "What, then?" "Perhaps...that you can be mistaken." Blake nodded. "There's something to those old Auron sayings, isn't there?" "So it seems," Avon said, looking at his hands again. "Cally's dead. Did you know?" "No, not for certain. I suspected something must have happened." And whenever Avon felt like telling him about that, or anything else, Blake meant to have a ready ear; this didn't appear to be that time, however. Getting to his feet, Avon began to pace. "To sum up then: after Star One, you engineered some of the rumors regarding you, in order to keep the Federation guessing as to your whereabouts. And when you discovered you were, in fact, believed to be dead, you took advantage of that, the freedom of movement to set up all this," he smiled slightly. "Jenna's message to her Federation contact--this Daedalus--was intercepted and never went out. No one should have been able to trace you to Gauda Prime." "So we had all thought." "And then I show up." "Exactly. And Orac won't say how he tracked me down." Pausing before him, Avon said, "Is it coincidence that Servalan is making this tour of inspection?" "Doesn't seem likely, does it?" "Not in the least." "What, then? She can't know I'm here." Unless Jenna hadn't been the only puppet--which was a degree of paranoia Blake didn't care to get into. Avon was right there: it did not come naturally for him to view everyone with distrust, always considering the potential for betrayal, willful or otherwise. "Orac is the best processor of information currently available," said Avon, "but that does not mean other systems are lacking that ability. Suppose...suppose someone were compiling statistics, and noticed that a certain bounty hunter of Gauda Prime consistently captured individuals whose crimes had been of a political nature--and that the bounty hunter somehow never managed to bring in this quarry alive? Brought to the attention of certain people, that could speak rather loudly." It could indeed, Blake thought, and that was the one thing he had never considered. "It doesn't necessarily identify that bounty hunter as Roj Blake, though." "No. But it could pique sufficient curiosity to warrant sending Commissioner Sleer to investigate." "Well, she's going to find more than she's expecting." Avon's only reply was an unpleasantly predatory smile. # Deva caught Blake and Avon as they were coming out of the council room, saying, "Arlen's come up with a suggestion, Blake. She thinks we might send a team out in the morning to try and salvage Scorpio. What do you think?" "Sounds like a good idea; it wasn't completely destroyed." Blake looked at Avon. "That computer--Slave, is it?--could still be operational. At least it was speaking to Tarrant when I showed up." "I wouldn't mind having Slave," Avon said, "and the teleport system. Who were you thinking of sending?" "Arlen's volunteered herself," said Deva. "And Deeta wants to go; I think Soolin and Dayna are interested as well. It would probably be a good idea to take along someone familiar with the ship." "Perhaps I should accompany them," Avon said, knowing he was most suited to determining what could be of use, but hampered by a reluctance to be away from Blake right now, not with Servalan liable to turn up any time. As though sensing Avon's ambivalence, Blake said, "We've got some good people here, and your girls can make sure nothing is overlooked." Head cocked, Avon said, "I've no doubt...the girls can handle things very efficiently." They'd handle Blake very efficiently if he ever called them that to their faces...although, with Blake, he'd probably get away with it; somehow, coming from him, it didn't really sound patronizing. Actually, it could be interesting to see what sort of influence the rebel would turn out to have with Dayna and Soolin; what sort of integration would occur. At least they were safe now, that was one welcome easing of responsibility for him. # Vila was blessed if he knew how he'd wound up on the salvage party, since having another go at the Gauda Prime Scenic Tour had not been high on his list of things to do. One minute he'd been with Soolin and Dayna, going to visit Tarrant--and trying to get used to Tarrant's brother being alive--and the next thing he knew he was being loaded into this flyer and volunteered for fetch-and-carry service. Not that it was unusual: a Delta's lot was not a happy one, as the saying went. Once they reached the Scorpio crash site, he had to marvel that Tarrant had come through that experience with just a couple of broken ribs. "I knew Tarrant was a good pilot," Dayna said, "but I didn't realize how good until now." Deeta was looking impressed too. "He has his moments, doesn't he?" he said, and came up with one of those eye-blinding smiles his brother went in for. That finally decided Vila that there was a genetic defect in that family because surely no one needed that many teeth. It didn't take long for everyone to get busy, and Vila tagged and carted what he was told to, hoping they would finish up and get back to base before dark--and hoping those weren't rain clouds on the horizon. Feeling the call of nature, he ducked into some bushes--and stayed there, peeking through the leaves as Arlen suddenly said: "Everyone drop your weapons: you're under arrest." And it wasn't any kind of joke because she was backed up by a squad of Federation troopers. # Servalan did not like owing any obligation to Dev Tarrant; it was exceedingly irksome that circumstances had, temporarily, put her in precisely such a position. One day, though, very soon, she meant to see that their roles were reversed. Conducting a tour of inspection on some backwater world like Gauda Prime was not on her agenda, and she did not appreciate having to spend her valuable time with such tasks. Dev thought it important, though; Dev was curious So why the devil couldn't Dev do this himself? she asked silently, looking at the unprepossessing world displayed on the viewscreen. Really, why create such a mystery in the first place? So this bounty hunter--what was the name?--ah, yes, this Rob Jenken had a penchant for going after political criminals. What of it? As far as Servalan was concerned, all that warranted was a special commendation for exceptional service. And in fact, that was what had prompted "Commissioner Sleer" to authorize that this Jenken be given status as a Federation marshal. Zealotry deserved reward, and the fewer troublemakers loose in the galaxy, the better. It was a long time since Servalan had encountered anyone so like-minded, not since Travis, really; looked at that way, meeting this Rob Jenken might actually be fairly interesting. Even advantageous. She'd like another Travis...or a Jarvik: a man with courage and conviction to match her own, with the same views. Such individuals were all too rare, she'd found. Once, she had thought she had a kindred soul in Avon, but he was such an elusive creature, so difficult to fully comprehend. Well, barring one matter: Blake. Where Blake was concerned, Avon was only too predictable. In a way, that even eased some of the irritation at finding the base on Xenon abandoned and destroyed. True, she didn't have Avon and his crew, but if anyone could find Roj Blake in this galaxy, it would be Avon; he might well be en route to a rendezvous with the rebel even now. Which meant it wouldn't be long before she would, finally, have them both. Of course, Dev insisted Blake had been killed on Perigor, but Servalan was reluctant to believe that. The day she witnessed his death was the day she would believe it. It was a day she looked forward to, as that would surely see her restored to her former status. She had it all planned: how she would claim that, out of a deep sense of duty, she had undergone much hardship, been placed in great peril, to assume the guise of Commissioner Sleer that she might track down these political criminals and once and for all bring them to justice. It ought to play very nicely on the viscasts, she thought. And if Dev somehow managed to still be around--and the man did have an uncanny ability to land on his feet--well, then, she'd make certain he was given some reward. A man such as Dev did have his uses provided he was kept under control. "Planetfall in forty-five minutes, Commissioner," the ship's pilot informed her. "Good." Perhaps this visit to Gauda Prime would turn up something of interest. #

So much for the joyous homecoming, Soolin was thinking as she marched alongside Deeta Tarrant, quite conscious of the Federation gun at her back. Not that she'd conjured any great expectations about returning to GP. One of the few hopes she had clung to was that she would never have to set foot on this forsaken world again, so long as she lived.

Avon seemed to enjoy this sort of irony. It didn't do a lot for Soolin, however.

One thing, though: if opportunity chanced to present itself, she was taking Arlen with her--that's if Dayna or Deeta didn't beat her to it. Hell, even Vila might want a piece of that action.

And that was the first time Soolin noticed that Vila wasn't with them. It had sort of been at the back of her mind, that something was missing. It did appear there was a certain advantage, for the little thief at least, in being able to blend into the scenery.

So then, assuming Vila hadn't expired of fear on the spot, where was the little mutt, and what was he doing?

#

Well, he'd need a lot more than the picklocks in his shoe to get past the security system here, Vila decided after scouting the area.

The building itself--probably an old farmhouse, he thought--didn't look like much, but it was sure to have been nicely tricked out for Federation occupation. It was for certain that the grounds were monitored. From the way Dayna, Soolin, and Deeta had been escorted to the house, Vila was pretty sure there were sensors planted in the ground--maybe even primed to explode should intruders wander by. Of course, they'd dealt with that before, getting across the Forbidden Zone on Earth, but it hadn't been an experience he looked forward to repeating. Mind you, ever since then he'd given some thought as to alternatives, should such a situation ever occur again, and he'd come up with one or two plausible ideas. To date, there hadn't been any way of checking them out, and he couldn't do it now, not all on his own.

He didn't like leaving, but there wasn't much he could do hanging about out here; it wouldn't help anyone if some patrol came along and spotted him. No, he'd have to get back to the base, get Blake and Avon. At least then there would be some kind of chance.

Casting a look up at the sky, growing darker all the time, Vila decided not to waste any more time, and set about retracing his path.

#

Deeta looked up as the parlor door opened, and experienced a sense of instant comprehension.

"Hello, Uncle."

Smiling, Dev Tarrant said, "Don't say I never warned you about keeping the wrong company, Deeta."

Suspicion plain on her features, Dayna said, "You know each other?

Deeta didn't like owning to it, but, "Yes, Dayna, I'm afraid we do. This is my, and Del's, uncle--Dev Tarrant: Federation witch-hunter extraordinare."

"Someone must preserve order," Dev said. "Desperate times, you know."

"I once met someone who thought the same thing," said Dayna. "His name was Shrinker--a friend of yours?"

"A useful tool. That was to do with Avon, then?" Dev nodded to himself. "There wasn't a great deal of evidence regarding Shrinker's disappearance, and the records relating to the last prisoner he was to interrogate were wiped, but I always believed it had something to do with you people."

"But of course you're different from Shrinker," Deeta said.

Dev smiled. "Demonstrably. I'm still alive."

"For now."

"You're not going to be sensible then, Deeta?"

Deeta bared his teeth in something like a smile. "What do you think?"

"I think this is going to hurt you much more than it hurts me." Dev went to the door, calling, "Arlen, is everything ready?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then we'll begin. Guard, bring that one," he pointed at Dayna.

As the trooper dragged Dayna to her feet, Deeta took a step forward, halting as Arlen's gun leveled at him. Common sense told him he couldn't do anything at all to help Dayna if he got himself killed, but that didn't make it any easier to have to watch the girl be hauled from the room.

Cool as porcelain, outwardly at least, Soolin said, "Will he kill her?"

"No, I don't think so. Not yet anyway."

"Then maybe she can buy us some time."

Giving her an interested look, Deeta said, "For what?" He didn't doubt Blake would send someone looking for them, but not for awhile, not in time to make a difference.

Leaning close, the blonde woman whispered, "Haven't you noticed that a seemingly insignificant member of our party is absent?"

Deeta returned a blank look for an instant, then, "Your thief."

"They missed him."

"But can he do anything?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised what Vila can do when he's motivated."

Deeta hoped she was right.

#

Marching into the council room, Docholli cleared his throat noisily, drawing the attention of Blake and Avon, huddled together over Orac.

"What is it?" Blake said.

"What've you done with the lad?" Docholli wanted to know.

"Which lad is that?"

"Del Tarrant. Where's he got to? It's too soon for you to have him off gadding about."

"I don't have him off gadding about, Docholli. What're you talking about? Have you lost him?"

"He isn't in medical, that's all I know." Pulling out a chair, Docholli sat down, wondering why a man his age kept gadding about with this bunch. It was just too bad when you couldn't even keep track of a patient.

"This is not the best of times to be unaware of Tarrant's whereabouts," Avon told Blake. "Not when he's armed with ignorance."

Docholli looked at him, then Blake. "You two're cooking something up, I can tell that look."

"We are planning something, yes," Blake said, an all-too-familiar light coming into his eyes now. "In fact...." He sent a look at Avon, and Docholli had to marvel at how they appeared to need little else to communicate, for Avon seemed to immediately grasp what was on Blake's mind, saying:

"No. She'd recognize him."

"Would she?"

"Of course. She was looking for him right along with us."

Blake shook his head. "She was following Travis. She didn't even know where Star One was until Jenna sent out that message. If she knew about him, it was only as a name, and not a very significant one at that."

"Excuse me," Docholli interrupted, "but would you mind not talking over my head? Particularly as this seems to concern me?"

With an apologetic smile, Blake said, "Sorry. Is there any reason for us to suppose Servalan would know you?"

"Not that I am aware of, but isn't that academic at the moment? She's dead."

Blake shook his head. "She isn't. She's coming here to inspect the base--that's who Commissioner Sleer is."

"And why we can't have Tarrant wandering about," Avon added. "If he isn't aware of just what is going on, he could act with unfortunate haste again."

Oh, bother. "Then I suggest you see about finding the lad. And he's not the only one who could do with some rather more explicit information." It wasn't that he minded sticking his neck out, only that he'd like to know why.

#

"Hey, you! Are you supposed to be out of bed?" Klyn demanded, walking up to a Del Tarrant dressed in a nondescript white overall, and looking a bit white and wobbly as he came into the tracking gallery.

"I'm fine," he said, joining her at her station. "Are you all right?"

"Why ever not? Getting half-strangled and knocked out's all in a day's work around here," she said, straight-faced but with a smile in her eyes.

"Yes, I'm sorry about that," Tarrant said, with his most gallant smile. "I mistook you for the enemy."

She shrugged. "Just so long as you know whose side I'm on now."

"You don't seem like a wild-eyed revolutionary."

"I'm not--wild-eyed, that is." Although she was intent on her screens, Klyn didn't miss the way Tarrant suddenly swayed and grabbed for a chair. "Look, Docholli will have my head if you have a relapse. Let me get you back to--"

"No, please, not just now. It only hurts when I laugh. Honest."

"Well...." Darned if that hurt puppy look didn't work; Klyn wouldn't have thought a pair of blue eyes could look so pitiful. "All right. Your brother should be back soon, I'll let him sort you out."

"That's right, they went out to salvage Scorpio, didn't they? And they aren't back yet?"

"No." And they should have been. In fact, that was why Klyn was at her post rather than getting some needed rest; with all the increased activity that was going on here lately, she didn't like the idea of friends being out on GP after dark. She'd about decided that if Deeta didn't call in, in another five minutes, she was siccing Blake on him. "It probably turned out to be a little more involved than they antici--"

"Hello? Is anybody there?" came a harried-sounding voice from a speaker.

Klyn reached for a switch, but Tarrant's reflexes were better. "Vila, is that you? Where are you?"

"Where you crashed Scorpio. Is Blake or Avon there?"

"Why do you want them?"

"Oh, I dunno, just thought I'd pass the time of day, chat over old times, you know the sort of thing," Vila said, in an airy-sounding voice. Then in a completely different tone, "What do you think I want them for, you great nit? I'm in trouble--we're all in trouble."

With great patience, Tarrant said, "What sort of trouble, Vila? Let me talk with Deeta."

"I'd love to let you talk with Deeta, I'm eager to let you talk with Deeta--but Deeta isn't here, and that's the trouble. Do you remember that girl who was with Blake? Arlen?"

"What about her?"

"She's training to be the next Servalan's all."

Klyn leaned in now, saying, "What do you mean by that?"

"She's with the Federation. Led us all right into a trap. They've got Dayna and Soolin, and Deeta. Are you gonna let me talk to Blake and Avon, or not?"

"I'll get them--" Klyn started, reaching for another switch on the console only to have Del Tarrant intercept her.

"It might not be wise to let too many people know about this," he said. "Suppose Arlen isn't working on her own? I'll find Blake and Avon and tell them myself."

Well, "All right," Klyn said, knowing he could have a point there, and having no wish to see a repeat of Perigor. Besides, she wasn't sure she was up to seeing Blake's reaction when he found out about Arlen; he was not going to be pleased, especially with himself.

She walked Tarrant to the door, then stood watching him for a moment, to make sure he kept on his feet, before turning to go back to her station. It looks like there still isn't going to be any rest for the weary, she was thinking to herself; that's what you get, woman, for letting your conscience get the best of you. Just think of it, Jo, she told herself, you could have been all snug and cozy back at Space Command Headquarters, if you'd just swallowed the party line and not gotten curious about the truth... And where the hell is he going?

Stepping into the hall again, Klyn looked in the direction Tarrant had gone, realizing that corridor led straight to the flyer silos. "Griffin, find Blake and tell him to get to the silos right away!" she called over her shoulder as she ran after Tarrant.

#

Now what? Blake wondered as he and Avon got to the flyer silo, only to find it completely deserted. Hitting a switch on a wall intercom, he said, "Griffin, are you sure this is where Klyn said to come?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, she isn't here."

"No, sir."

Blake sighed. "Griffin, where is she?"

"With Del Tarrant, sir."

"I don't understand," Blake said, looking at Avon for some enlightenment. Stepping up to the intercom, Avon said, "Well, then, where is Del Tarrant?"

"Gone, sir."

"Gone where?"

"We don't know, sir."

Blake was counting flyers, and coming up short. "They've left the base?"

"Yes, sir. Gone to rescue the salvage party, Klyn says."

Rescue the... "And what exactly has happened to the salvage party?"

A long pause on the other end, then, "Perhaps you ought to come hear for yourself, sir."

Perhaps they had. "Coming?" he said to Avon, who looked about as exasperated as Blake was feeling right now.

#

"You're being paranoid," Klyn pointed out.

That was possible, Tarrant admitted, but not without due cause. "You could have stayed behind."

"Confined to that locker? That's not what I call an option."

Grinning in the dark, Tarrant had to concede that had not been one of his more gentlemanly moments, but he hadn't wanted to risk her giving the alarm. It wasn't as if she would have been in there for long, but he could see her point. The locker had not been without other yield: this Federation trooper's uniform, for instance; designed for someone his height, but with Blake's build, and a vast improvement over those medical overalls. "Anyway," he said, nodding towards the communit from which Avon's peremptory tones issued, "I don't notice you being quick to answer."

"One," Klyn ticked points off on her fingers, "I don't know him, and see no reason to acknowledge any presumed authority; two, you could be right about your suspicions, and we don't know who else might be listening and three...." She shrugged. "Well, we've come this far." She canted a look at him. "I suppose you're expecting me to be a major liability."

"I hadn't given it a lot of thought, really." And it was a bit late in the day now, but, "Can you shoot a gun?"

"Yes."

"Accurately?"

"On the whole."

"And will you, if called upon?"

"If there's no other way."

"There won't be, I'd guarantee that." Well, he really couldn't expect a lot more from her. This was likely the first time she'd ever been in such a position, but she must have realized that at some point her choice to take part in the resistance might well come down to this. "You'll do fine."

"Yeah... That'll look nice on my gravestone: Here lies Jo Klyn, she did fine."

Smiling again, Tarrant couldn't help thinking she ought to get on well with Vila.

#

There was definitely something out there, Vila decided, hearing twigs snap...something rustle the grass...breathing... Poking his head up, he came face to face with something large, furry, and four-legged, with a muzzle snarled open to snap at him with a lot of very large, sharp teeth. Squeaking, Vila dropped to the deck, banging his head on something, and longing to be able to unleash--loudly--a string of curses at whatever twisted deity had stuck him with these twitchy Alphas, always getting him into situations like this.

#

Giving up on reaching Tarrant, Avon sat back in his chair and gave Blake an eloquent look.

"And just how is this my fault?" Blake said in reply.

Avon shrugged. "You should have spent an hour or two at his bedside, instilling him with trust and confidence. He simply hasn't had the full force of the Blake Effect yet."

Dare he ask? Blake wondered. "The Blake Effect?"

Avon nodded, steepling his fingers. "Characterized by the ability to believe that black is white, because Blake's said so."

Blake hiked a skeptical eyebrow. "Really? How is it I'm unaware of this amazing effect?"

"That I don't know. Although it is one of the least alarming things about you, Blake, that you don't know what you've got; ergo, you cannot abuse it." He sat up a little straighter. "Once Tarrant gets the full dose, however, I have no doubt he'll be one of your more tiresome champions."

"So what does that make you?"

"Unsound of mind, at the very least."

"Because you know all my tricks, and fall for them anyway?" Blake's tone was light, even teasing, drawing a sharp glance from Avon in reply.

Pulling out a chair, Blake sat down beside him. "You know we can't put this on hold until Tarrant and the others get back."

"No. But perhaps we can make use of it...." Avon began, thinking something through. "Their absence might lend credibility to your story."

"And if she asks to see the bodies?"

"There were too many to transport; they were given a decent burial. If she insists on seeing the graves, well, that would mean traipsing through the forest It'll never come to that, though, one way or another."

One way or another...

Deva came in, looking rather more animated than usual. "She's here."

Blake shared a look with Avon. "Guess it's time." Then to Deva, "You know what to do."

Nodding, Deva hesitated, then held out a hand to Blake. "Good luck."

"You too," Blake said, pulling the startled man into a hug. Aware of the skeptical look on Avon's face, Blake waited until Deva had gone, then, "There is nothing wrong with expressing sincere emotion, Avon."

"Even when one, or both, parties may soon be sincerely dead?"

"Especially then." And Blake gave in to a long-denied impulse. Taking Avon in his arms, expecting to embrace a stone, he was surprised when Avon hesitated only a moment before returning the hug.

Not surprisingly, Avon was the first to break away, stepping back to give Blake an unfathomable look. "Do try not to get yourself killed," he said, and left before Blake could reply.

"You too," Blake whispered to an empty room.

#

Well, so far Servalan was favorably impressed with this set up, and could see no reason for it not to be given full, official recognition. From what its administrator, Mikal Deva, had said, it appeared there was already considerable unofficial support; she gathered he was, in fact, a special operative of the Social Services Ministry, sent out here to supervise as the Primies--as he called them--got their house in order.

Relaxing in his office, she said, "My report has to be confidential, you understand, but it's within protocol to let you know it will be largely positive." She took a sip of her tea, regarding the man opposite her. "I must say this is all rather impressive, especially as you had such little time to get it all organized."

Deva gave a modest shrug. "One does what one can, Commissioner. It's only what was necessary."

"You must have quite a passion for justice."

"Yes, Commissioner, I do."

She smiled, wondering if she might acquire yet another ally here. "There was one person I particularly wanted to meet, Deva. Your top bounty hunter--I believe his name is Rob Jenken."

"Ah." Deva shoved at an untidy lock of hair. "Yes, Jenken has had rather more success than others. What struck you particularly, though?"

"His track record regarding political criminals. Does he have a special feeling about them?"

"Very special, Commissioner. In fact, I sometimes think he looks upon it as a personal crusade."

"Commendable, don't you think?"

"Of course, Commissioner. The Federation must maintain order."

"Indeed it must. Well, then, where is this Jenken?"

"He may be out on a job," Deva said. "I'll just check, shall I?" He went to the communit on his desk and asked someone named Griffin if Jenken was at the base. The reply was indistinct to Servalan's ears, but Deva appeared most interested. "I see. Tell Jenken to report to my office at once."

"Has something happened?" Servalan said.

Returning to the chair beside her, Deva said, "Yes. Something rather extraordinary, as a matter of fact. Jenken's just brought in a quarry that is...a bit unexpected."

"Really? Who is it?"

Deva hitched his chair a little closer, voice lowered to a confidential whisper, "Commissioner, does the name Kerr Avon mean anything to you?"

#

"Come now, Dayna, be practical," Dev Tarrant was saying. "All I want are a few names. Tell me who sympathizes and supports your nihilistic cause."

"Nihilistic? That's a new one."

"You think so? But that is your ultimate aim: to tear down the existing structure, totally. Your leaders--Blake, Avon--what do they offer to fill the vacuum? What social structures do they plan to replace what will be lost, what moral values? Because of personal grievances, these men seek to inflict anarchy upon the whole Federation."

"Better anarchy than what you represent," Dayna shot back. This was the weirdest interrogation she had ever experienced; more an attempt at indoctrination than anything else, really.

"I understand your personal sense of vendetta, Dayna, all too well. Of course you became the compatriot of these dissidents, in order to bring your father's murderer to justice. But Servalan's dead, Dayna--"

"You think so?"

"Well, I'd know, wouldn't I?"

"Maybe your spy network isn't as efficient as you think."

Dev stood back, folding his arms. "No system is infallible, of course, and there have been certain rumors...." He moved in on her again. "But don't you see, Dayna: you'll never find the justice you seek, that your father's memory deserves, so long as you remain with these criminals. It's only within the system that that will come about. I give you my word, that if Servalan does still live, she will be captured and brought to trial for all her crimes. There are many who desire that."

"Your word? The word of an admitted traitor?" Did she truly appear that naive?

"Traitor?" Dev shook his head. "Not at all. Whatever I have done, it's been to preserve the Federation; that is where my loyalty lies, and in that I have never wavered."

"And I oppose everything to do with the Federation," Dayna told him, for what she wished would be the last time. She wasn't sure how much real time had passed while they had gone around and around like this, but it felt like forever. Probably that was the idea, to simply wear her out and then wear her down; as long as she was aware of what Dev was trying to do, then it wouldn't work. He couldn't keep this up indefinitely either.

"Dayna," his voice was so reasonable, but his eyes were so cold, "how can you oppose something, hate something, that you don't even know? What do you know of the Federation, from personal experience?"

"I know what they did to my parents, what they've done to my friends."

"And your philosophy is one of stark blacks and whites? Your vision is fired by the conviction that you possess the only true and viable viewpoint?" He shook his head, looking at her with regret. "Dayna, that's fanaticism talking; you're spouting dogmatic ideology that someone else thought up. I don't say there aren't things about the Federation which may need change, but it has to be done with a sense of reality, pragmatism...excised with a scalpel, not blown to a billion bits."

Weary of being so quietly, reasonably jabbered at, Dayna leaned forward in her chair, resting her head in her hands. "What do you want? You want me to betray my friends? I won't. You want me to reveal everything I know about the resistance? I won't do that either. You want me to say I renounce all my beliefs and accept yours? Go to hell." Maybe now he'd just turn her over to the guards for a more traditional "interrogation"; at this point that would be a relief.

Instead, Dev merely told Arlen to take her back to the others; but Dayna shot a glance at him just as she went out the door, surprising a look of utter infuriation on his pale features.

It wasn't important, of course; it had only been a whim. No doubt the girl's defenses could be broken, but it wasn't vital. After all, very soon now he would have Blake and Avon, and the Orac computer. With resources such as those it would be a mere matter of time before he knew everything to be known about the resistance. Crushing them, once and for all, would be almost anti-climactic.

No, what got under his skin was the girl's determination, her sheer stubbornness in defying him. Why were they always like that? Every single one of these people, clinging to their insane convictions as though it were their life's blood. His own brother...Dane had known full well he was going to die if he didn't renounce his association with that rebel group; and he'd just sat there, daring them to go ahead and deliver the lethal injection. A martyr complex, that was all; Dane had actually wanted to die, holding himself to be responsible for the group's betrayal. "I'll atone for my sins quickly, Dev," he'd said. "You'll have a lifetime to pay."

As if he was meant to feel guilty, as if he was the one who'd betrayed the Federation.

Nor was it simply that he only followed orders. No, he relished his work. It was just that, every time he caught one of these poor, deluded maniacs, he was overcome with an intense curiosity as to why they were as they were. But not one of them ever provided sufficient insight, not one of them.

#

"Are you all right?" Soolin asked as Dayna returned.

"Yes, he just...talked at me." The intent must have been to get her to reveal all she knew about the resistance, but Dayna still didn't know what to make of the method Dev Tarrant had employed.

"Talked at you?" Soolin looked as if that made little sense to her, and Dayna could hardly blame her.

"It was as if he was curious, as if he wanted to find out what motivates me--why we oppose the Federation."

"You should have told him to go look in a mirror," Deeta said.

But that wouldn't have worked, Dayna realized, as Dev Tarrant perceived no wrong in what he did; in his mind, he was the righteous upholder of all that was good in the Federation, and she and her friends were an evil force that threatened to rain chaos on everyone. Somehow she had never stopped to think that that could be a widely held belief. But it was only because people didn't know, didn't understand what it was all about; because they were kept in a drug-suppressed stupor, because they were constantly bombarded with propaganda that skewed reality even further.

There was something so insidious about it too, because Dev Tarrant or Servalan, anyone who believed in the Federation, would argue that it was her reality that was skewed; that the rebels were lying and distorting facts in order to manipulate public opinion. A very vicious circle, and one Dayna would as soon stay out of; a good, straightforward fight, that was something concrete, something easily defined. Dueling political dialogues was not at all her cup of tea.

#

"Kerr Avon?" Servalan maintained the appearance of utter nonchalance, but she could scarcely believe what Mikal Deva had just told her. "Yes, the name is familiar. He's one of those militant rebel leaders, isn't he? Wasn't he with Blake, at one time?"

"Yes, he was. Of course, Blake has been rumored to be dead, there was some talk that Avon had been killed as well--their ship...was it the Liberator?--seems to have vanished completely," Deva said, relaxing back in his chair. "But lately there have been some indications that Avon is still active. Supposedly he'd acquired another ship--some old wandered class heap--called Scorpio, and had resumed making raids on Federation installations."

Sipping her tea, Servalan nodded. "Yes. There have been some such reports; I personally investigated a couple of suspicious incidents. But there was no proof this Avon had been involved."

"Perhaps you would like to participate in his interrogation, then?"

"Yes, I believe I would." She set her cup and saucer down. "I assume he is in a condition to be questioned?"

Deva nodded. "So I understand. His associates weren't so fortunate."

"Oh?"

"Apparently they were all killed on impact, when their ship crashed."

All of them dead... "How is it this Avon survived?"

Shoving at his hair again, Deva said, "To be honest, I'm not entirely clear on that. I assume Jenken will be able to explain everything."

At that moment there was a knock on the door, Deva said to come in...and Servalan fought mightily to maintain her insouciance as Deva said, "Commissioner Sleer, this is Rob Jenken," because the man he was introducing to her--scruffy, scarred, with a glint of hard humor in his eyes--was Roj Blake.

With mock gallantry, he gave a little bow, saying, "It's an honor to meet you...Commissioner."

#

Pacing over to the picture window again, Deeta tugged back the lace curtain, looking out at the yard, brightly lit, patrolled in a regular pattern. As far as he could determine, there was only a squad of six troopers, plus Dev and Arlen--and it looked like Arlen was the squad commander. Ordinarily, he would not have regarded three against eight as good odds, but he, Soolin, and Dayna weren't just any three. If only the chance presented itself

He didn't doubt Soolin was right about Vila trying to help, but it was--not unexpectedly--taking the thief a long time to put something together. If Blake's plan had been implemented, and their information had been that Sleer/Servalan was due any moment, any rescue attempt would very likely be second priority at this point. Deeta didn't have a problem with that; he was only frustrated by his own sense of impotence. Sitting around and waiting to be rescued was not his line at all.

"Why so restless, Deeta?" his uncle said, and he turned to find Dev watching him.

"Am I supposed to sit quietly while you plan my execution?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Why else would you capture me?"

"Perhaps I still have hopes of you seeing reason."

Deeta smiled. "Sorry, Uncle. I'm a lost cause."

Looking annoyed, Dev said, "There's no need for any of this. All you and your brother have to do is cooperate."

"Bend to your will, you mean."

"You'd rather die than compromise?"

"Yes," Deeta said, seeing his uncle couldn't begin to comprehend that. It was curious, though, because there were times when he thought Dev would rather die than denounce the policies of the Federation. What Dev didn't get, never would get, is how someone could die in the name of a--to Dev--insane purpose. Irreconcilable viewpoints, and nothing whatever to be done about it.

#

"You're Rob Jenken?" Servalan had to marvel at his audacity in attempting to pull this off--whatever "this" might be.

"That's the name I go by, yes," said Blake.

"Is there some problem, Commissioner?" said Deva, to all appearances only an interested bystander, and Servalan gave him a calculating look. Could it be, she wondered, that Deva didn't know?

Aloud, she said, "No, no problem, Administrator. It's just that... Jenken reminds me of someone."

"Jenken" responded with a maddeningly enigmatic smile.

"I see," said Deva, and had his mouth open to say more, only to be interrupted by a peremptory beep from the communit. Excusing himself, he engaged in another not-quite-decipherable dialogue, then returned, saying, "I'll have to let Jenken report to you on his own, Commissioner. A minor crisis has occurred that I must see to. If that's all right...?"

Servalan had to admit that a part of her was not especially eager to be left alone with Roj Blake...on the other hand, she was not exactly unarmed, and she was terribly curious. Besides, assuming Mikal Deva was an innocent party to this masquerade, she'd as soon not have him know Sleer's true identity--and she had no reason to suppose, for the moment, that Blake would not see fit to give her away. His behavior had always bordered upon incomprehensible, now it seemed to have passed over into inscrutable.

"No, Administrator," she said, "that's perfectly all right. I'm sure that...Jenken and I can find a great deal to talk about."

"Very well. This shouldn't take too long," Deva said, and left.

Waiting for Blake to make the first move, Servalan watched as he walked over to the liquor cabinet, poured himself a generous amount of something amber, then sprawled comfortably in an oversized armchair. The look he turned upon her was composed of equal amounts of insolence, arrogance, and wry amusement.

"You're very cool about this," she said at last.

He quirked an eyebrow. "Should I be alarmed?" he said, taking a healthy swallow of his drink, then setting the glass down.

"You are a wanted criminal."

"Who is supposed to be dead."

"Oh," she waved an airy hand, "hardly anyone believes that. I must say this is all rather clever."

"I'm glad you're pleased."

"You don't really expect me to believe it, though, do you?"

"I don't really care what you believe," Blake said. "I'm not answerable to you--I never was."

"And just how does bounty hunting work into rousing the rabble?" Servalan asked.

"It doesn't. The only one it benefits is me. Well," Blake smiled, not a very pleasant smile either, "in a way, it works to the advantage of the poor half-wits I collect: puts them out of their misery."

Now this was interesting...if it was true. "You seem to go after, almost exclusively, political criminals. Why? I would expect you to seek them out as recruits to your cause."

His mouth twisted with another bitter smile. "My cause? Oh, yes: freedom and justice and equality for the masses." He shifted in his chair, reached for his glass, drained it. "I experienced a prodigious enlightenment, Servalan: the masses are not worth saving--they don't even want it. All they want is to be the ones with power enough to inflict their brand of vicious-minded brutality. The sickness is too far advanced; condition terminal," he finished with another grim smile.

Leaning forward, chin propped on her hand, Servalan could scarcely comprehend what she was hearing. "You gave up?"

"Why not? Why risk my life for scum like that?"

Why indeed? "It took you long enough to see reality."

"Yes, it did. I wasted a great deal of my life tilting at windmills." He stood up, adding, "But there's time enough to make up for all that. When I collect this latest bounty, I can even put Rob Jenken to rest."

Also standing, Servalan said, "Ah, yes, this latest capture of yours...Avon. Somehow I can't quite believe you'd turn him over to the Federation."

There was that unsettling little smile again. "Neither can he. Would you like to see him?"

"I would," she said, and let him lead the way--making sure she was also accompanied by her guards.

As they walked along, Blake explained how he'd come by Avon. It seemed that Avon had had Orac searching for Blake for some time now, and that the computer had finally managed to trace the rebel to Gauda Prime; it had even come up with the information that Blake might be operating as a bounty hunter. Of course, Avon hadn't believed that; no, it had been his assessment that it was all part of some covert operation. And when circumstances had pressed him into a corner, Avon had come running to GP, expecting a grand reunion with Roj Blake.

Blake appeared to find considerable ironic humor in the way Avon had come to play at rebel leader, and at how badly he'd done it. Not that that came as a surprise since he'd seen little evidence that Avon could cope with much of anything--life in general, much less the responsibility of being a leader.

"Mind you, I'd have loved to see him try," Blake said as they walked along. "It must have been hysterical."

Servalan almost felt like defending Avon, but no doubt Blake would find that equally amusing. This was all quite an eye-opener, however, as she had always supposed Avon's loyalty to Blake was fully reciprocated by the rebel. After all, that was why she had used Blake to bait the trap on Terminal, to play on Avon's expectations that Blake would send for him. There had always been conflicting reports, of course, usually about Avon's regard for Blake; but there had been suggestions that the rebel only found Avon a useful tool, nothing more. That was something Servalan could understand, and it pleased her to be proved right at last: Blake was no different from her, from any of them; his idealistic crusade had only ever been a means to an end, to gain power. And he'd been willing to use whatever, or whoever, was to hand...and discard them without a second thought. This business with Avon, though, it did seem to have a more personal quality to it, almost a sense of revenge.

"You really hate Avon, don't you?" she said, and he looked down at her with some surprise.

"Hate him? No, pity him maybe." The broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. "He doesn't matter enough to hate."

Odd--Travis had mentioned Blake once said something like that about him. She had even wondered if that might have been what finally ignited Travis's madness. What might it provoke in Avon? she wondered.

They had reached the detention block and Blake punched in the access code that opened the door, leading her to a particular cell.

"There he is."

Yes, there he was, sitting on a bunk, his very body language radiating dejection: slumped, staring at the floor.

Sweetly, she called his name.

He raised his head, barely spared her a glance, focusing on Blake. "Well, now, you're really going to do it, are you?"

"Yes, Avon, I'm really going to do it." Blake looked at Servalan. "He had some idea this was my very own secret rebel base, and that I was bringing him back here to resume our conspiracy to topple the Federation. He's having a bit of a reality problem at the moment, can't quite believe this is real."

Servalan could see how that might be a problem for Avon. "Disillusionment does that to some people, so I've heard." She moved closer to the security barrier, carefully studying Avon. "He doesn't look as if he's been in a crash."

"That's because he wasn't," Blake said, lounging against the wall. "He ran out on the others, teleported himself off Scorpio with Orac."

Of course, he would. "How very...Avon."

"Yes, I thought so too."

"And you found him...?"

"Quite easily, as it happens. He had Orac send out a distress signal that I picked up and responded to. Wanted criminals don't usually advertise their whereabouts, so it made me curious."

"Was it a touching reunion?"

"Very emotional." Blake trained a bemused look upon Avon. "I could almost believe he was glad to see me."

Actually, Servalan found she could believe that. "What was it like, Avon, when you found out your precious Blake planned to sell you to the Federation?"

Her only reply was a baleful stare, but she could imagine how it had been; she well remembered the expression on his face on Terminal, when she'd told him Blake was dead. That look of utter devastation--the stone facade cracked to pieces. How much more exquisite the pain, the sense of desolation, coming from Blake?

"Well, shall we get on with this?" she said to Blake. "He has some information I want."

Nodding, Blake tapped in the code to open Avon's cell, saying, "Very well. The interrogation room is that way," he pointed down the corridor, just as he stepped into the cell to grasp Avon by the arm.

That instant's distraction was all it took. Avon knocked Blake to the floor, snatching his gun and holding it on Blake as the other man got to his feet.

"Give it up, Avon," Blake said, moving towards him. "You can't escape."

"Neither can you," Avon's voice was purest ice, even as he aimed and fired.

Blake rocked under the impact of the first shot, blood soaking his shirt; the second shot staggered him; the third drove him to his knees, clutching at Avon, looking up at him in disbelief. "Oh...Avon...why didn't you trust me...." His last words came out in a gasp as he toppled to the floor, lifeless eyes still staring at his killer.

Who stood as if frozen in shock, as if he also couldn't believe what he'd just done; oblivious to the guards raising their guns--"No!" Servalan shouted--and firing. Avon's body jerked and collapsed atop Blake.

"You fools!" Servalan wasn't sure who she was most furious with at this outcome, but there was plenty to go around.

Deva came running in just then, demanding to know what had happened, his face blanching at the bloody tableau in the cell.

"What does it look like? I suggest you clean this up. I'll be in your office, trying to salvage this. You'd better hope I can." And she swept off, already turning over the possibilities. What had Blake's last words meant? "Why didn't you trust me...." Had her first conclusion been right, and this had all been an act? Had Blake been playing an elaborate game to get at her? If so, it had badly backfired. Why in the world would he attempt something like that, involving a supposed betrayal of Avon, and keep Avon in the dark?

Well, having Blake and Avon alive would have been useful, but it had to be possible to salvage something from their deaths...their very messy deaths, at each other's hands. Yes...there could be something there, something of great value. She just needed to give it some careful thought.

#

Deva watched until Servalan and the guards were out of sight, then turned back to regard the carnage before him, shaking his head. For a moment, while watching it all play out on a monitor, he'd thought something had gone horribly wrong; it had looked much too real, especially that bit at the end.

"All right, she's gone," he told the corpses, who stirred and helped each other up.

Rubbing his chest, Blake favored Avon with a reproachful look. "Did you have to land right on top of me? I was already sore from your shooting me," he said, eyeing the projectile rifle which had been loaded with shells that would explode harmlessly against Blake--but with enough kick, and enough fake blood, to make it look real. "You're not exactly a featherweight."

Avon was unrepentant. "As you weren't doing a very good job of holding your breath, it seemed the best solution."

"Yes, well, you can critique your performances later," said Deva--he'd almost been convinced, and he knew it had been a set up. "Hadn't we better be getting on with the next phase?"

"Yes, Deva, you're right," Blake said. "Is Orac ready?"

"He seems to resent any suggestion that he wouldn't be." It was going to take a lot of getting used to, dealing with Orac.

"Then get to it," said Avon, rubbing at a spot of Blake's "blood" on his hand.

Deva nodded, turned to go. "Oh, yes, I got a report from the team we sent after the others. They've located the flyers, but found them deserted. Cait thinks she's picked up their trail, though."

"Good," Blake said. "I'll be very curious as to whom Arlen was working for."

Deva looked back, puzzled. "You don't think she's with Servalan?"

"You saw Servalan's reaction when I turned up: she had no idea I was here." Blake shook his head. "No, there's somebody else mixed up in this."

As if they didn't have enough to worry about, Deva thought. "You know, we still don't know who Daedalus is." He looked at Blake and Avon. "Is that who you're expecting to turn up next?"

"It had crossed my mind," Blake admitted. "Somebody is running Arlen, and it seems likely it's the same person who was running Jenna."

All too probable, in Deva's opinion. That was the tragedy of Jenna's death--well, one of them: that she'd died before they could not only undo her conditioning, but before they could learn who had been responsible. "Deeta always thought his uncle had something to do with it."

Avon appeared to find something amusing about that. "It would be fitting, wouldn't it?"

"Would it? Why?"

"You don't know who Daedalus is, or was, rather?"

"No. Should I?"

"Probably not. It's a very old, Earth-based legend. About a man, this Daedalus, who was a brilliant engineer. He angered a king on an island called Crete and had to escape, along with his son, Icarus, so he constructed a set of wings for each of them to fly to safety. Icarus, with the overconfident arrogance of youth, flew too near the sun, his wings melted, and he plunged into the sea."

"And Daedalus?"

"Escaped safely. Given the nature of his nephews it may have amused this Dev Tarrant to identify himself with Daedalus."

"Hmm--Iscariot would work as well," Blake said, and Deva didn't get that reference either, but decided not to pursue it right now. Someday, perhaps, when there was time for more leisurely pursuits, he might delve into some ancient literature of Earth. Who knew, if things worked out he might even see the mother world someday.

First, though, he'd need to get past this next bit with Servalan, and the way she'd torn out of here had him thinking he'd best keep on his toes; he had a feeling that the rumors of her viciousness had not been exaggerated.

#

Pausing before a mirror, Arlen examined her appearance critically, reaching to smear the blood on her cheek a little more, wincing just a bit at the soreness of the cut; dragging a few strands of hair across to stick in the blood, further ripping a sleeve of her coat so it dangled from the shoulder by just a few threads. Yes, this would have to do, she decided. If she had really been captured by a gang of crimos, she would have a lot more than a dirty face and torn clothes, but the idea was to get Blake to come and rescue the others before anyone had a chance to ask a lot of questions; before Docholli could examine her and find that her cuts and bruises were fairly superficial.

That's if this last part went on as scheduled, and that was largely dependent upon locating Vila Restal.

It had not been one of Arlen's proudest moments, discovering only when they had got to this farmhouse, that Restal had somehow got away. Colonel Tarrant hadn't shown any anger, no obvious censure, but Arlen was certain his high opinion of her had slipped a notch or two, and that was not something she could afford to lose. Advancement came with difficulty in the space service, the old dinosaurs never wanted to give way to anyone--especially a woman. If too many small mistakes began piling up, that was enough to put someone's career in limbo; one big mistake could shoot it down in flames. Arlen knew all too well who would bear the blame if this Gauda Prime operation were to go awry.

Of course, the chances that Restal would be able to make it back to Blake's base were so minuscule as to warrant little concern; his file had made it abundantly clear that Restal was a half-wit, with no ability to survive in a noncontrolled environment. If crimos or bounty hunters hadn't gotten him already, the local wildlife would.

Hearing some commotion outside, Arlen opened the door--and let a tiny sigh of relief escape: a trooper was marching a bedraggled Vila Restal across the yard.

#

Vila shot an aggrieved look over his shoulder as the trooper gave him a hard shove, propelling him into the room; he didn't think it was necessary to get quite so enthusiastic about this.

Looking over at the others, Vila couldn't help noticing that no one seemed especially pleased to see him. That was Alpha gratitude for you: slave and toil for them, save their lives, even, and they just looked at you as if you'd just made a rude noise and ought to be put out with the rubbish. Assuming he lived long enough, Vila meant to take up the state of the proletariat with Blake one of these days; this wasn't much of a revolution, in Vila's opinion, if it only concerned itself with the elite.

"What are you doing here, Vila?" Soolin said.

"We thought you'd got away and gone for help," added Dayna.

"I'm sure he did his best," Tarrant's brother put in.

"I did do my best," Vila said, making himself comfy on the loveseat next to Soolin.

"That's not really good enough, though, is it?" Dayna sounded a mite put out with him, which was nothing new; even after all this time he failed to inspire confidence in anyone. He reckoned that wasn't much of a commentary on his life and resolved to start doing something about that too.

"No sense worrying about what hasn't happened yet," was all Vila had to say for the moment, however.

Seeing that the others couldn't make any sense of that--Dayna and Soolin were exchanging extremely skeptical looks--Vila was satisfied that his behavior was nicely enigmatic. He hadn't spent years observing Avon for nothing.

#

Well, things had turned out all right after all, Arlen decided, and there was no reason to delay any longer. She ought to make it to the rebel base by dawn and soon after that it would all be over and she could look forward to her commendation. Maybe even promotion? Yes, Space Major Arlen had a certain ring to it; she had a feeling she could get used to that.

As she made her way across the yard, she suddenly came to a dead stop, having the feeling that something was out of kilter, something she couldn't pin down right away. Taking her time, Arlen went over everything: the farmhouse was secure, three guards watching the prisoners, four more out here on patrol; the vehicles were where they should be, all accounted for... Nothing out of place, everything calm and quiet.

Shaking her head, Arlen could only attribute it to nerves; she'd have to work on that: space majors couldn't go around getting the jitters.

She'd got as far as the gate when it registered.

Seven guards?

Returning to the farmhouse, Arlen hurried upstairs to the room Colonel Tarrant had taken for himself; hand raised to knock on the door--when she was hit, hard, on the back of the neck, and collapsed to the floor.

#

"Sorry about that," said Vila, then, glancing up at Tarrant, "That's one."

"Here's two," the pilot said, trooper's helmet clattering beside Arlen's inert form, his brightest smile in place as he kicked in the door, gun leveled at Dev Tarrant--who froze in a crouch, half risen from his desk chair.

"Small world, isn't it, Uncle?"

#

Cracking the door open, Soolin noted that their guards had also been distracted by the commotion upstairs, whatever it was; she hoped it didn't indicate anything dire for Vila (what did the little mutt think he had up his sleeve?), but this might be the only chance she and the others would have. She looked back at Dayna and Deeta, nodded, and waited for them to come up beside her. One of the guards was starting up the stairs, the other watching him--"Now or never," Soolin whispered, pushing the door all the way open, wincing as its hinges creaked, the guard looking around at them, gun raised--Dayna shoved her out of the line of fire and slammed into the trooper, both of them crashing to the floor.

The gun went off, blasting a light fixture in the ceiling, a shower of sparks cascading around them. Struggling to throw Dayna off, the guard couldn't handle her and the gun--and a blow from Dayna jarred the gun loose, sending it skittering across the floor to be snatched up by Deeta. Who blasted the other guard in mid-step as he came charging back down the steps, the body tumbling the rest of the way to smack into the floor. Darting forward, Soolin grabbed the man's gun, found one of the Scorpio clipguns tucked in his belt and tossed that across to Dayna who had finished with the first guard by then.

At a sound behind her, Soolin whirled, ready to blast the third guard out of his boots--only to check at the last instant at the sight of Vila leaning on the banister, grinning down at her.

"What happened to the other guard? How did you get away?"

"He didn't," came Tarrant's voice, and when he appeared, still in trooper gear, Soolin saw how this rescue had worked. Not a bad operation on the whole, although one or both of them might have given the rest of them some clue as to what was going on.

About to ask what had become of Dev Tarrant and Arlen, Soolin was startled by the sounds of a battle outside.

"I thought you'd counted only four guards outside," she said to Deeta, joining him at a window.

"I did," he said.

"Then what the hell's all that?" She looked back at Vila and Tarrant. "I don't suppose you brought reinforcements?" she said--and didn't at all like the look the pair of them exchanged. "What?"

"Klyn's out there," Vila said, his expression falling.

"We told her we'd handle everything, that she'd be all right," said Tarrant, equally chastened.

"You told her; I said she had no business being out there in the first place--and she agreed with me."

"Yes, well, that was all beside the point at the time."

"Of course it was. I'd already knocked out the sensor net; we could have all gotten safely across if you'd just been patient. But no, you had to come charging to the rescue, and never mind if your heroics get other people killed."

Oh, for--"Shut up," Soolin told them; a stupid argument was the last thing she was in a mood for right now.

"Everybody settle down," said Deeta, looking like a man who'd sussed it all out and found things to be well in hand. "I don't know how they got here, but that's some of our people out there."

Even as he spoke, a dark-haired woman burst through the door, gun drawn and ready, an appropriately fierce expression on her face as she looked around, assessing the situation and getting her bearings.

"It's all right, Klyn," Tarrant told her. "We've got things under control here."

"You sure?"

"Quite sure."

"Right then." Moving back to the door, she called, "All secure, Cait," then sank down on the threshold, back against the doorjamb as she drew an arm across her forehead and exhaled a long breath. "I don't think I'm cut out for this."

There were times when Soolin shared that sentiment.

And the same instant that thought crossed her mind, some sixth sense made Soolin turn, to see Arlen at the top of the stairs, bringing up a rifle with the apparent intent of mowing them all down. Before Arlen's finger even twitched on the trigger, Soolin nailed her, the impact of the shot flinging Arlen off her feet to pitch over the railing and crash to the floor.

"Good shot," Deeta said.

"I know," Soolin replied. One of these days she really ought to present Avon with a bill for services; space knew she'd earned it.

Somehow, though, she had a feeling she never would get around to that.

#

If Arlen had been impelled to attempt one last grandstand play, Dev Tarrant was made of more pragmatic stuff. Del and Deeta found him as he'd been left: shackled to his desk chair. He didn't appear particularly alarmed at this turn of events, but Del supposed such bravado was only to be expected; it wasn't as if the man had a lot of options left. He had to know that all his nephews needed was the slightest provocation.

Tarrant was a little surprised to realize just how much he wished Dev would try something, give him some excuse. A bit startling that, to discover that he really could hate someone that much.

"Well, then," Dev said, "now you have me, what are your plans?"

Pressing the muzzle of his gun to Dev's temple, Del said, "What do you think?"

But Dev only smiled. "I think you're going to take me prisoner because I can be more use to Blake alive."

"Maybe I don't care what Blake wants."

"What about you, then?" Dev addressed Deeta. "Do you care?"

"Funny you should ask that. As it happens, I do care. Oh, it would be immensely satisfying to kill you here and now, but," Deeta leaned in closer, "you see, that's the difference between us. Blake's way may not bring much in the way of visceral gratification, but it does mete out due justice."

"And who will be my judge and jury?"

"Ah, well," Deeta backed off a little, "I grant you it may be difficult to find a jury of your peers--for which we should all be immensely grateful. It will be far more fair than any...jury-rigged justice machine, however," he finished, smiling.

Del supposed his brother was right, that they should hold themselves to a higher standard; it wasn't as if Blake would let Dev go free. But it wasn't what he wanted. And maybe Deeta realized that, maybe he felt the same way, because he looked over at him, saying:

"We're better than him, Del, we have to be. Otherwise there's no point to any of this."

No, that was true; and it was something Tarrant had known for a long time. It was part of why he'd fought so hard to keep Avon from stepping over those boundaries: the only way they could ever truly lose was for them to emulate their enemy. And if that sometimes meant taking a moral high ground that ignored pragmatic justifications and wouldn't recognize personal vengeance, well, then, it was either that or be a hypocrite.

And killing Dev wouldn't undo anything, would not bring back any of those killed at his order.

"Let's get him back to base."

Smiling, Deeta nodded, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. "We won't regret this."

Tarrant hoped he was right.

#

Checking to make sure Dev's restraints were secure and that he couldn't possibly get out of the flyer, Deeta nodded to his brother to take them up. "Let's take an indirect approach, though," he said.

Del canted a look at him. "Why? The sooner--"

"It's best to err on the side of caution sometimes, little brother," he said, and went on to explain about the impending visit of Servalan, and what Blake had planned for her.

"You think she could have got there already?"

Deeta nodded. "I talked to Cait and she had the definite impression something funny, as she put it, was going on at base." Chances were it would all be over by the time they got back there; what wasn't so certain was the outcome. "We need to be prepared for every contingency."

"Was anybody going to tell me about this?" Del asked, and Deeta couldn't help grinning at the peeved note in his brother's voice.

"Actually, at one point there was some discussion of you posing as her devoted paramour," Deeta told him, and wondered why that made Del turn a bit pink.

Had he glanced behind him, Deeta would have noted that his uncle's complexion, by contrast, had taken on a rather greyish caste.

#

Servalan ran a caressing hand over Orac's casing, picked up the activator key, and bestowed a smile upon Deva. His turning up with Orac was a strong point in his favor, and even helped alleviate some of her anger. Losing Avon and Blake, the rest of the Scorpio crew, did still rankle, but finally having possession of Orac made it quite a bit easier to bear.

"Thank you, Administrator Deva. You may go now; I shall let you know if I need anything."

Coolly dismissed from his own office, Deva withdrew, and Servalan sank into the desk chair, gazing at Orac and coining to the conclusion that it really had all been worth it to have reached this moment. Absolutely no one could touch her now; all the power she had ever dreamt of, had so briefly tasted, was hers irrevocably. The first time she'd ever heard of Orac, when Ensor's son came pleading for help for his dying father, she had realized what the computer meant; what possession of it could bring. In a very real sense, it was Orac she had been pursuing all these years, and while sometimes it could be something of a letdown, finally receiving your fondest desire, this was not at all such a case. There was nothing in the least anticlimactic; oh, no, this was a whole new beginning, and she meant to savor every luscious moment.

"Well, Orac, I've waited a long time for this," she said, finally sliding the activator key into place. "Orac, I want you to connect me to Jude Aleczander; he works at the Ministerial Communique Nexus. Can you do that?"

"Of course I can."

"Then be quick about it; I have a great deal to do."

"Very well," Orac said, its working flashing a bit more rapidly, and then, sooner than she had expected, "Communication is relayed to the viewscreen."

Servalan straightened in her chair, composed and regal, watching as the screen lit with the image of Aleczander, gone a little more grey than when she had last seen him, and not looking at all pleased to see her. "Hello, Jude."

"Ser--Commissioner Sleer. To what do I owe this honor?"

"Do you recall that little favor I did you?" And he surely did; even the most depraved of persons couldn't forget being caught in extremely comprising circumstances with such a lovely young boy; and even being a high councillor's son might not have saved him had she not intervened. "I'm calling in the debt."

He'd paled at the reminder of his transgression, and now looked rather wary. "And what would be the nature of this, umm, payback?"

"I wish to make a public address," she told him, and smiled at his expression; now he looked positively flabbergasted.

"You want to appear on an MCN broadcast?"

"I do."

"Is that...is that wise, Commissioner?"

"Oh, Jude, it's quite brilliant. Trust me." As if the little toad had a choice.

He pretended to be checking some schedule, shaking his head, finally saying, "I believe something could be scheduled for--"

"No, Jude, you misunderstand. You're not to schedule anything; I want to go on the Nexus now."

"What-- Right now?"

"Yes, Jude. Immediately." She'd waited quite long enough; even just a few minutes more was intolerable. "You go make whatever arrangements are of absolute necessity--but don't be too long about it." As Aleczander vanished from the viscreen, Servalan relaxed back into the chair. This was going to cause quite a stir.

#

Well, now, this was even better than they had anticipated. Assuming that all had gone as planned, the expectation had been that Servalan would contact a member or more of the High Council, or perhaps the current supreme commander--trust her to be an absolute egomaniac, though. She meant to grab for it all immediately.

"What if this Aleczander can't get her the access she wants?" Deva said.

Avon spared him a glance; really, the man's naivete was a bit frightening. With that sort of back up, it was something of a miracle that Blake had lasted so long. "Very few people have ever said no to Servalan--and most of the ones who did are dead. She'll get her time."

Quitting his chair, Avon glanced over at Blake, wondering what was going through that woolly head right now. Had he fully grasped what this could mean, the opportunity that was about to present itself? There simply wasn't any way of ever being certain with Blake. During their sojourn aboard Liberator, Avon believed he had usually been able to anticipate Blake's actions, deduce his plans; although even then the rebel had produced the occasional surprise. But after this time apart, with both of them changed by some harsh life experiences, Avon was reluctant to make too many assumptions based on prior experience.

Curious, though, how so much about Blake was still familiar. But then that dichotomy--paradox even--so often characterized their dealings, particularly on his part. He approached Blake with certain expectations that the rebel either contradicted or surpassed. Perhaps his mistake was in wanting to slot Blake into some tidy niche, classified and reduced to a few key phrases that were instantly comprehensible and never varied. That would surely make life with Blake much easier, if not nearly as interesting.

On the screen, Servalan was composing herself, elegant as always. Which was another fascinating contradiction: how could such an immaculate facade conceal so much corruption?

She leaned forward, hands clasped before her, an intently sincere expression in her eyes as she began speaking. Avon had to admit he admired her performance; she was very good at this.

#

"We interrupt this broadcast for a special announcement from...Commissioner Sleer of the Ministry of Justice," Aleczander said, his image superseded by Servalan's warmly smiling face.

"Citizens of Earth, it gives me great pleasure to appear before you today for it means that a dangerous task I undertook has come to a successful completion. Mr. Aleczander erred, you see, in my introduction; as is no doubt obvious to many of you, I am in fact your president, Servalan." Yes, that ought to have got a few pulses racing on the High Council. "Many of you will recall that as supreme commander I had the duty to pursue a dangerous political criminal named Roj Blake, who, with the band of malcontents and social outcasts he had collected, waged a war of ruthless terrorism upon the citizens of the Federation. To my great regret, neither Blake nor his immediate cadre were ever captured and brought to trial; it was a miscarriage of justice that vexed me greatly during my time as your president.

"Some time ago, a plan was devised that would have resulted in the capture of Blake's closest associate, Kerr Avon; it required my personal supervision, to assure that all was handled with fairness. In my absence, enemies of the state conspired to depose me, and succeeded to such a degree that many of our finest leaders have been removed from power; I fear some may have even been killed by these power-mad conspirators.

"Indeed, I even suspected the terrorists could have had a hand in the coup, and so with the help of a few allies left me, I assumed the guise of Commissioner Sleer in order to finally root out those who secretly support the likes of Blake and Avon." And by the time Orac was through, everyone who had plotted against her would have incriminating evidence against them on file; she meant to see a great many heads roll before she was satisfied.

"This difficult, frequently extremely dangerous task is done now. All the necessary evidence will soon be in the hands of the Ministry of Justice. And I can further assure everyone that there is nothing more to fear from Blake or Avon. There is an old saying that those who live by the sword, perish by the sword, and we may find there is indeed much truth in some ancient wisdom. For this very day, on a world called Gauda Prime, in a vicious struggle for power, Roj Blake has been assassinated by his erstwhile compatriot, Kerr Avon--who then turned his gun upon himself, rather than face capture and trial.

"This does not, of course, end the danger posed to a decent society by the likes of such maladjusted individuals as...." Distracted by the sound of the door opening, Servalan glanced towards the noise.

No.... No, that was impossible. Impossible...

Blake and Avon stood there, alive and unbloodied, watching her.

"Very pretty speech, Servalan," said Blake, coming into full view of the viscreen. "Pity hardly any of it's true."

Avon moved towards her as well, saying, "I told you she couldn't be trusted, Blake."

"Yes, I know, but it seemed worth the risk," Blake told him, then looked at her with regret. "Servalan, why did you betray us?"

"Because she's greedy, because she's scared to believe anyone," said another man that Servalan hadn't noticed. He was an older man, grey-haired and bearded, coming to her side and taking her hand. "She can't help herself, Blake; it's just her nature."

"And you're blinded by your infatuation with her," Avon told the old man. "All she understands is treachery. Even if we had put her back in power, do you honestly believe she would have kept her promises?"

Looking from face to face, trying to make sense of what was going on, Servalan felt an increasing sense of desperation. Where were her guards? Who was this old man, fawning over her? What was all this? "Orac, close down transmission. Immediately," she ordered, in a voice that was accustomed to having every whim obeyed on the instant.

This time, though, nothing happened; and when she reached to yank Orac's key, a painful jolt of electricity made her jerk her hand away. She looked at Avon, and read it all in his eyes. "Damn you."

Avon felt he had no cause to apologize for the pleasure it gave him, watching her face as she realized her world had crumbled beneath her. That stricken look, the spark of panic in her eyes as it dawned on her what Orac was really transmitting; the look she turned upon him that would have surely scorched him where he stood, had such power been at her disposal.

This finally made it all worthwhile.

#

Torn between the drama being played out on one screen, and the amazing--one might even say appalling--data scrolling across another monitor, Jude Aleczander sat in the MCN studio, fascinated. Having had personal experience of Servalan, he wasn't entirely surprised at the list of her crimes; anyone possessed of such a finely honed vicious cunning had to have had some bodies buried somewhere. But so many? An entire race, the Auron people, wiped out because she desired to clone herself? And this latest scheme, to pretend an alliance with the rebels in order to put herself back in power--after which she would have surely stabbed this Blake in the back, literally.

It was quite clear to Aleczander that that Avon fellow had been absolutely correct not to trust her for one instant, and to have set up this program that would be triggered if ever she attempted to use the Orac computer for her own ends.

And was that really the supercomputer there, that box of flashing lights? Hard to believe, too, that Roj Blake and Kerr Avon were actually appearing on viscreens all over the planet, throughout the Federated Worlds perhaps. He would dearly love to line up some interviews.

First things first, however, and top of the list would no doubt be an obituary for Servalan; he'd done one already, but it appeared it would need a few revisions. Perhaps that old fellow would be good for a few comments; from what was being said, it seemed he'd been her paramour for quite some time, and was privy to many of her secrets.

Amazing, really, how the mighty tumbled, tripped up by their own greedy egos usually. Might be a bit of a commentary in there, he thought.

And the really lovely thing was that there was nothing anyone could do to stop this going out. He could see some technicians frantically searching for a way to shut down this broadcast, and he was certain a great many higher-ups were on the verge of apoplexy, but that eccentric-looking computer just kept jamming all the communications lines.

The fallout from this ought to prove most interesting.

#

Deciding that this had gone far enough, Blake reached over to pull Orac's key, and the viscreen went blank. "We've accomplished what was necessary." Possibly far more than anticipated; had he realized just how much real evidence Avon had compiled against Servalan, they could have foregone the charade with Docholli. At the time it had seemed necessary to have someone pose as part of Servalan's inner circle, to provide backup support for the charges made against her, it had been Avon's suggestion that such a person would have to present himself as Servalan's lover, as he doubted she would take anyone else into her confidence in such a way.

It was rather surprising, really, that she had done such a poor job of covering her tracks; that she would go to the trouble of committing so many murders to protect her identity as Sleer, yet make it so easy for Orac to find proof that she had committed the crimes. Some of this information almost looked as if it had been lifted directly from an already existing file on Servalan/Sleer, and that Orac had simply tapped the information. Turning at the sound of the door opening, Blake saw Del and Deeta Tarrant come in, accompanied by a man he'd only seen twice, but had never forgotten. "Dev Tarrant... So it was you after all."

At the name, Servalan looked up, staring across the room at Dev. "I trusted you!"

"And I trusted you--to create a catastrophe." Dev looked around the room, his gaze coming to rest on Orac, on the printout resting atop it. He nodded. "My compliments. I see you discovered my files; I didn't believe even Orac would be able to do that. It appears I miscalculated."

He looked at Servalan and gave a slight shrug; she gazed back at him, at a true loss for words as it hit her.

Dev looked at his nephews, then at Blake. "I'm prepared to make a full statement; I'll tell you everything you want to know."

Servalan just continued to stare wordlessly, knocked for a complete loop--and Blake couldn't help noticing the look of triumph on Avon's face as he took in her reaction.

As the miller told his tale,
That her face, at first just ghostly,
Turned a whiter shade of pale.

--Procol Harum

EPILOGUE... THREE YEARS LATER

Leaving the others to watch the vistapes of yesterday's ceremonies, Blake went in search of Avon, locating him out on the terrace, leaning against a tree as he looked up at the stars.

"Penny for them," Blake said.

Avon cast a look at him. "My thoughts are worth quite a bit more than that."

"Yes. I had noticed, actually. What do you intend turning them to now?"

A faintly mischievous smile played at Avon's mouth and eyes. "Well, now, I've discovered a number of mysterious, unrecorded accounts in the old banking system. They could prove rather rewarding." He paused just long enough to appreciate Blake's dismay, then added, "And Sarkoff was quite right that this new government needs revenue; all these programs and reforms won't come free of charge, you know."

"Very altruistic of you."

"If you're going to insult me, I'll leave."

Laughing, Blake said, "Sorry; mustn't besmirch your reputation, must we?"

Avon preferred to change the subject. "Why aren't you watching the pomp and circumstance?"

"Because it's rather embarrassing." He supposed Sarkoff knew best about these matters, and after the upheavals of the last few years maybe everyone did need a bit of a party. But it couldn't help striking him as a little frivolous under the circumstances. Granted that there was a great deal worth celebrating, but there were still problems ahead; the transition to the new Terran Commonwealth had gone fairly smoothly in most respects, but there were some bumpy spots coming.

It wasn't a brand new realization for him; despite Avon's jabs, Blake believed he had always considered the consequences, had looked ahead to what was to follow the Federation. No, it was just that, as head of Sarkoff's transition team, he was beginning to feel a bit inundated.

"Leading a revolution's ever so much easier than winning one, is that it?" Avon said, enjoying this.

Trust him to be perverse, Blake thought--and correct. "It presents a new set of challenges, is all."

Blast him, he wasn't going to make this the least bit easy, was he? "I've spoken with the others, and they've agreed to stay on and assist." There, let him chew on that.

Mind you, it hadn't been easy, and he still half expected Vila to bolt and run at any moment; as it was, he kept going on about how if the best of the Federation "mind adjusters" couldn't turn him into a respectable citizen, where did Blake get off thinking his methods were going to work? Still, Vila would no sooner start an "everybody's getting at me" binge of complaints, when he would come up with some idea on how to improve the lot of the former Delta grades.

Soolin and Dayna had been drawn into Tyce Sarkoff's social crowd and had had a particularly good time during all these inaugural galas of the last few days; although sometimes it seemed as if they were putting on an expected persona and just going through the motions--when transition topics came up, they usually had something worthwhile to contribute.

Deva and Klyn had chosen to take their abilities to the private sector, for which no one could blame them; even after all the turmoil of the last years, maybe because of it, they never had quite found their niche in the core group.

As for the Tarrants, Blake had been convinced they would cut out on their own at the earliest opportunity; certainly they had passed a great deal of time talking of starting up a merchant trading business. And maybe they did intend to pursue that someday, but for the moment the brothers seemed comfortable remaining as team players--sometimes Blake thought Del's decision to stay or go was hinging upon whatever Avon chose to do next.

Come to that, Avon's decision might influence the rest of them as well, and even account for why everything felt so tentative these days. It made Blake wonder if Avon had yet to realize what a vital catalyst he was for all of them.

After a long silence, Avon finally said, "One thing about the Federation: they knew how to eradicate a bad habit."

And what was that supposed to mean? Blake wondered. "You see our association as a bad habit that ought to be curtailed?"

"I once knew someone who called it a gestalt."

"And that's bad?" Although, to Avon, even after everything, maybe it was--Blake wanted to believe otherwise, though, that there had been a great deal of positive progress made.

"No, not bad, just...unsettling, at times."

"Because it means relying on other people."

"Or them relying on me."

"It's worked pretty well so far."

Avon smiled, shaking his head. "You know what this really is, don't you?"

"Do I?"

"Your need to fight a lost cause, against all the odds, in the teeth of all good sense and wisdom."

"But we did win."

"Did we? It's still too fragile; it could all come undone so easily."

"Then we need all the strength we can find to hold it together."

"Suppose some of our old enemies come back to haunt us?"

"Most of them are dead."

"Two aren't."

"Vila says he couldn't break out of that prison on Onkanda--Dev Tarrant's certainly not going anywhere. And you seemed pretty certain Servalan wouldn't be going anywhere either. Who else is there?" He waited for Avon to tell him that he was being incredibly naive, but Avon failed to rise to the bait.

"Perhaps you're right."

"It's going to work."

Grinning suddenly, Avon nodded. "Well, of course: Blake's said so."

Recalling the reference, Blake laughed in response. "See that you remember that." He started to turn, to go back to the apartment. "You'll stay then?"

"Evidently."

"Even if it's the foolish thing to do?"

"Really, Blake, when has that ever stopped us?"

Laughing again, Blake slung an arm around Avon's shoulders and propelled him back inside to join the others.

They were going to make it work; they'd held the darkness off this long, they could go a few more rounds.

#

Just looking at the food made her nauseous, and Servalan pushed the tray away, resting back in the chair, trying to focus on a still point as the room seemed to spin.

All she had to do was call for assistance, and the doctor would come--and tell her again that he couldn't find anything wrong with her. That it was all in her head.

And those mutoid guards would watch her every movement, never allowing her the smallest chance to get away. She had tried, and it was after the last attempt that she had begun feeling so ill. These days she barely had enough strength to get out of bed.

Feeling a little better, she took a sip of water, then got unsteadily to her feet, walking over to look out a window at the world that had been her prison these last three years. Bleak, inhospitable; if she ever set foot outside these walls, all on her own, she would die of asphyxiation. Avon had made certain she fully understood what the future had in store for her, what she hadn't understood was why he hadn't simply killed her outright.

That, and the name he'd given the planet: St. Helena. It had seemed to amuse him, but she was damned if she ever got the joke.

the end