Alternatives
By: CindyR

A What if...? story.

The earth shook violently, the explosion reverberating through the installation. Blake glanced behind him, and, in that timeless instant that precedes calamity, absorbed the frozen tableau. Gan still supported the steel door on his shoulders, his eyes wide with fear and the knowledge of impending death. The others had gone through to safety, only Blake remaining. Blake raised his eyes slightly as the ceiling began to give way, great cracks like lightning moving across its solid face. Gan was trapped, the steel door weighing too heavily on his shoulders to drop. Were he to release the door, it would fall quickly, catching his legs before he could step away. Step out first and the unbalanced burden would crush his shoulders and torso beneath. His only chance was to come out all at once. Impossible... or was it...

Reflex drove Blake forward to grasp the big man by the belt. Desperation strengthened the tremendous yank which pulled Gan from the steel-jawed trap and catapulted both men backwards at the very instant the ceiling came crashing down

Dust swirled, enveloping two still figures on the floor. Long moments passed before one finally stirred painfully, raising a hand to clear the dust from his face. Brown eyes peered sightlessly for a moment, awareness returning by degrees, and, with the awareness' alarm. Heart pounding, he scrambled to hands and knees, making his way slowly to the other body, shaking him roughly. "Gan! Gan, wake up!" No answer. "Gan?!" Slowly Gan opened his eyes, staring blearily at Blake. He shook his head slightly, propping himself upon one elbow. "Are you all right?

The big man grimaced as a wave of pain washed over him. "I think my arm is broken, and my legs ... I can't feel them at all. What about you?

Blake shifted experimentally. "Just bruised." He peered through the gloom. "We have to get out of here. Can you move at all?

The other man's reply was lost in the clatter of a beam being pushed aside, then the sound of someone struggling through the debris. "Blake! Blake, answer me!" Blake and Gan exchanged an amused look. Panic in the normally stoic computer expert was rare indeed. But then, Avon had shown a great deal more of his "human" side during the past couple of days than he had permitted to show during the previous eighteen months aboard Liberator

"Here, Avon," he called. He waited until the dark-haired man picked his way through the debris and kneeled at his side, "Gan is pinned. We have to free his legs."

Avon, visibly relieved, turned his attention to the trapped man, his mask of non-emotion snapping easily into place. "Can you move your legs? Are they broken?"

"Gan grimaced with the effort of movement, drawing a deep breath of relief. "They're not broken, but I can't move them. The ceiling..," He gestured at the large slab resting across his lower half, pinning him to the floor.

Blake felt under the rubble, locating the great beam that prevented the ceiling's weight from resting directly on the man s legs. "We’ll have to move some of this before we can get the beam off. Where are the others?"

"They were farther down the corridor when the ceiling came down. I told them to wait."

Both men bent to the task of removing the loose rubble from the supporting beam, not looking up when two startled gasps heralded the arrival of Jenna and Vila, the two remaining members of the assault team.

"Vila, help us with this," Blake gasped through the dust. "Jenna, get ready to help Gan

The beam stood revealed at last and Vila joined surprising strength to that of the other two men. The beam groaned slightly, then rose inch by agonizing inch, finally lifting clear of the fragile human limbs beneath. "Hurry, Jenna," Blake urged through gritted teeth. The woman fitted her arms around Gan and pulled with all her strength, assisting the big man to slide himself out. The support beam dropped heavily as the three men fell to their knees, gasping for breath.

Vila, having had the least to do, recovered first. "Gan -- your legs... can you move them?"

"He’s going to have to," Avon snarled. "We have to get out of here." He climbed to his feet, wrapping an arm around the larger man’s chest. "Come on, Gan. Get up."

With help, Gan struggled to unsteady feet, and leaning heavily on the two men, began to move.

The return trip was a nightmare for all of them. Emergency lighting cast an eerie red glow, uncomfortably reminiscent of a medieval hell. Supporting a man of Gan’s stature was difficult at best, nearly impossible under present conditions, yet they managed to assist him across the uneven, rubble-strewn floor, forcibly manhandling him up the ladders leading to the upper world. At last, the final barrier was breached, and Blake and his crew breathed the clear, unpolluted air of the outside world, and finally the relative safety of open space.

***

Gan’s injuries were painful but not serious. A short period in the medical unit knitted the bones in his arm, and the tissue regenerator removed the heavy bruising from his legs. After a brief rest period, the crew assembled themselves on the flight deck for debriefing.

"'What a farce that was, Blake." Avon's cool, mocking tones brought a slight flush to the rebel's cheeks. He had been forced to endure the man’s sarcastic abuse for the past several hours and was rapidly growing tired of it; yet he accepted it with a weary resignation.

Still, even a saint had his breaking point, and Avon was rapidly approaching Blake’s. The stress and disappointments of the past day, combined with Avon's foul mood, threatened to ignite his already volatile temper. "All right, Avon" he retorted it clipped tones, "I was wrong. Does it make you happy to hear me say that?"

The other waved one hand scornfully. "Not being killed makes me happy. Blake, you are a fool if you think you can ask us to continue to risk our lives for your blasted eternal Cause after this debacle of yours."

"No one is asking you to do anything, Avon. Including stay."

Hard brown eyes met glittering black ones in a contest of wills, neither willing to back down, neither willing to bend. Finally, it was Cally who could stand no more. "Enough, both of you!" she snapped. As one, two pairs of eyes turned toward her in stunned surprise, "It is over. We have survived, and gained valuable information."

Avon looked skeptical, but Blake nodded slowly, wearily. "Yes, true. The Federation can no longer use that installation as bait. We’ve notified the Earth-based rebels and they'll spread the word about the truth behind Control Central. That is one trap the Federation will never be able to use again. And we’ve learned that a central computer complex does exist somewhere else. Travis admitted as much to us when he had us trapped. If we can find it...."

"If we can find it, you will be expecting us to go through this all over again. Are you so anxious to spend our lives like that?"

Blake's angry retort died before it was uttered. There was an unfamiliar, almost hesitant quality to Avon's harsh question that Blake had never heard before, and it gave him pause.

Blake's greatest talent had always been an intuitive understanding of the feelings and emotions of those around him. When before an audience, he could play those emotions like an instrument, blending, weaving, shaping the passions of the crowd into a musical harmony he could control and use. Now, that ability activated again, and, in a brilliant flash of perception, Blake suddenly saw — really saw — the man before him in a way he had not before. Saw him stripped of his defensive mechanisms, saw behind the protective walls the man had erected. Blake looked into Avon's eyes and understood.

"You're not a sacrifice, Avon." He looked around, briefly meeting the eyes of every member of his crew - first, Jenna's cool support, then Gan's trusting gaze. He moved on to Cally's warmth and Vila's merry twinkle, finally locking with the puzzled ebon eyes of his computer tech.

"You’re not expendable and I’m not prepared to sacrifice any of you." Blake released Avon's eyes, rose to pace restlessly.

"Years ago I had my first taste of Federation oppression. A friend of mine — a good friend…" He touched Avon with his gaze again, briefly, and a spark flashed between them, disconcerting the other man slightly. "…once made the mistake of falling in love with a Delta-grade woman."

Vila pricked up his ears at that. An Alpha in love with a Delta grade?

"Kirn fell as deeply in love as only the very young can. He wanted to marry her, but Federation policy forbids an Alpha to marry out of his level. Kirn was never one to just accept a bad situation. He began to speak out — loudly -- against the entire caste system. He was beginning to get a following, too — until he… disappeared."

He paused, and Cally, her eyes wide with sympathy, prodded him on. "Did you ever see him again?"

Blake nodded, "About a year later, I was watching a telecast of the coronation of the new President. I saw Kirn among the guards." Bitterly, "My best friend had been turned into a mutoid as an example for the rest of us. That was when I began to take a hard look around me, to see the oppression of thought, the lack of freedom, the abuse of the lower grades. I knew that something had to be done about the government. It was too corrupt, too intrinsically evil, to be allowed to continue as it was. That was when I joined the Freedom Party.

"You know what happened then. My companions died, my memory — my life — was erased. I lost everything — including my family.

"The Federation leaves nothing to chance. The family of a resister is likely to be sympathetic to the Cause, so they simply wipe out everyone: mother, brother, sister, everyone." The words, the memories, were bitter. They matched the expression on Blake's face, on the face of each person on the flight deck. Each had good reason to hate the Federation, to resent its very existence. Each had lost something or someone to the injustice and brutality of the existing government, and a wave of sympathy and anger filled the room. Blake permitted the raw emotions to subside before continuing.

"When I was told finally about my family... The only thing that kept me going was my hatred for the people who did this to me, the desire to destroy, finally and forever, the base corruption that permeates every corner of the Federation." Blake's eyes flashed dangerously and his voice rang with unsuppressed passion.

The rest were listening spellbound to his speech, even Avon was entrapped in the web of Blake's conviction. This was a Blake they rarely saw: the charismatic, passionate leader, whose power to sway entire populations had made him one of the most famous — and hunted — men in the galaxy.

He seemed to come back to himself, suddenly remembering the people he was with. "That hatred kept me going for a long time when I thought I had lost everything else. What I didn't realize was that during these last eighteen months I was gaining something even more important to me than revenge."

Again Blake met the eyes of each of his friends, punctuating his next words with projected wealth of emotion. "You have all become very dear to me during this time, and that proved to me that I was still capable of feeling something besides loss and hatred, that I was still capable of caring. I may have lost one family to the Federation, but I have been given more than any man has a right to ask for: another family. And I think it’s time you know how I feel." This statement fell like a raindrop into the pool of emotional tension within the room. The ripples spread slowly, washing over each man and woman, causing a resonance within them.

Cally, always empathically attuned to her friends, stepped forward first, her warmth modifying the charged atmosphere into something more comfortable and tolerable. "My people have rejected me for daring to become involved in the problems of otherworlders. My companions have long been gone, yet I, too, feel that I have gained a new family in the rest of you, and I count myself privileged because of it. Vila squirmed in embarrassment, but looked happy nonetheless, whereas Jenna, not an emotionally demonstrative person, contented herself with a pleased smile.

Only Avon held himself rigid against the circle of emotional light encompassing the others. His voice rang cold and carefully controlled. "Very pretty speeches, both of you. But your pretty words change nothing, Blake." He left the flight deck quickly, leaving behind the oddest impression that he wasn't so much storming out as he was escaping.

Blake stared after him and there, within the warm circle of his friends, felt unaccountably depressed.

***
Blake roused from a light, uneasy sleep. It had been two days since that abortive attempt on Earth's central control computer, and, ever since, he had found himself dwelling on that and on the subsequent discussion on the flight deck, Avon had studiously avoided them all since then, choosing the late-night watch, when the others would be least likely to seek him out. Not that they tended to do so anyway, unless there was a problem with the computers. His mood had deteriorated into a particularly unsocial one, and the others had learned to leave him to his own devices at such times until he felt more amiable.

Blake finally gave up the attempt to go back to sleep. Perhaps a walk around the ship would help him to relax enough to drop off again.

He strolled aimlessly for a while, allowing his thoughts to wander as freely as his steps, until, with some surprise, he found himself before the opening leading to the flight deck. A quick check of his chrono confirmed what he a I ready knew: it was Avon's watch. His aimless wanderings had subconsciously brought him face to face with the primary source of his emotional malaise. Never one to avoid a problem, he squared his shoulders and entered the flight deck.

Blake stopped just inside the entryway, watching the man within. Avon had not noticed his entrance, his attention fixed on the small component he was working on. Blake stood there a long time, lost in thought, until Avon gradually became aware of another presence on the flight deck. He met Blake's fond gaze with an unguarded one of his own, responding despite himself to the warm, albeit slightly blank, contact. Then his habitual mask slipped into place, and his voice came out a harsh snarl, "What are you doing here? It’s not your watch."

Blake strolled across the flight deck, to sit companionably beside the wary computer tech. "Couldn't sleep. What are you doing?"

Avon glanced down to the forgotten object in his hand. Reluctantly, "I’m working on a detector shield for the Liberator."

"What kind of detector shield?"

The other man hefted it thoughtfully. "Theoretically, it will deflect all but an extremely close range scan. Once this is wired into the force screens, we will be functionally invisible down to a range of a few spacials," His voice took on more animation as h e began to speak about his creation, a sparkle lighting the dark eyes. Blake resisted the urge to smile at the uncharacteristic enthusiasm in his normally somber friend, and just concentrated on the complicated technical explanation which followed. Avon finally ran down and gave Blake a slight, sideways glance, surreptitiously checking his reaction.

Blake obligingly nodded. "It's a good idea. We’ll be able to attack their defense perimeters from within long before they even know we’re there."

"It will also protect us from being discovered by their fleet."

Blake noted the slight emphasis on the word Protect and had to restrain another smile.
It would never do for Avon to realize that his streak of protectiveness was obvious Lo anyone who cared to look.

Blake's own protective attitude was all too apparent at the best of times, although it only seemed to irritate the computer expert.

An uncommonly companionable silence fell, and Avon turned his attention back to the small component. Blake watched him work, fascinated by the deft precision in the strong fingers. An electrical engineer himself, Blake was not unacquainted with the components Avon was using, yet the configuration was alien. Avon worked without diagrams, seeming to simply "make up" what he needed as he went along. Blake knew himself to be a more than competent technician, yet here was true genius at work, and the rebel knew himself to be well out of his element.

Time crawled by, and Blake's mind returned to that time on the flight deck, now two days past, and his sudden and unexpected insight into Avon's personality - and his own. The question of Blake's own priorities had been answered - and the answer had surprised Blake even more than it had the others.

He was becoming more and more driven in his quest to defeat the Federation, but this time it had been too close. Can had nearly died, as had the others, and for what? An illusion. "They would all have paid the ultimate price because of his near-fanatical devotion to the Cause.

Blake knew he could never give up - not until the Federation lay in flaming ruins at his feet. Still, he had come near to doing the one thing he had sworn never to do: he had nearly sacrificed innocent lives on the altar of his conquest.

The line between rebel and terrorist was thin indeed, and Blake had long ago sworn never to cross that line.

A terrorist used the civilian population - innocents - as a lever against the established government. Until now, Blake had restricted himself to attacking only soldiers or those who had aligned themselves strictly with the government itself - troops, weapons techs, and those who contributed directly to the oppression and abuse of the people. This time he had been about to sacrifice innocent lives - as well as the lives of his friends - and he didn't like it. He now realized that this act would have driven an immovable wedge between himself and the others. They had forgiven him. Would Avon?

"Avon?" The dark eyes focused blankly on him for a moment - the computer expert had clearly forgotten Blake was there, lost as he was in his own world of circuits and electronics. Then those dark eyes sharpened, instantly wary again. "What do you want?"

"I want to apologize for what happened back on Earth." Blake gazed fully into the eyes of his friend, catching the glint of understanding that was quickly masked behind a feigned ignorance.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Blake. You gambled and lost. That's all there is to it."

"That's not all there is to it and you realize that as well as I do. I meant what I said, Avon, I am not prepared to sacrifice you to defeat the Federation - none of you. Defeating the Federation is important to me, and I don't think I could give up the cause even if I wanted to. I've seen too much brutality, too much suffering, to not fight back. But I've discovered that there are other things important to me as well. I was forgetting that fact - letting my hatred overwhelm me. That is what I am apologizing for - for letting myself get so wrapped up in the need to destroy that I'd forgotten the people I was fighting for. If Central Control had actually been the computer control center for the Federation, we could have killed millions of people on the Class G worlds - the ones that require a pressure dome for the colonists. Or what about the marginal M worlds that depend on the climate-control systems? They would all have died because of me."

Avon regarded him in hesitant silence for a moment. Then, "I did realize that. I thought you didn't care."

"Didn't care?" Blake spoke more forcefully than he had intended to, and was dismayed to see the other man flinch slightly, then steel himself against the anticipated assault, Blake lowered his voice and reached out to touch Avon's shoulder. "I cared, Avon, I just couldn't seem to stop myself. But you know," he softened his tone to a conspiratorial intimacy, "when I saw Gan standing there with that steel door on his shoulder, and the ceiling ready to come down on him, I saw death - really saw it for the first time. We've faced death before, but it was different this time. I saw it as a real possibility for someone I cared about. Before that, we always seemed to invulnerable...." His voice trailed off.

"We've all accepted the risks, Blake, We expect them. It's not your fault." The last words sounded as if they had been almost painfully forced between gritted teeth, yet they had the ring of sincerity, and Blake had absolutely no doubt that Avon meant them.

"Nonetheless, I make you a promise now, Avon, I will not 'manipulate' you or force any of you to risk your lives for my cause ever again. Anything you offer, I'll accept - gratefully - but from now on your lives are your own." He locked warm brown eyes on the suddenly vulnerable black ones before him, and sensed the acceptance without words. "I give you my word on it."

Avon broke the contact, covering the vulnerability with his customary sarcasm, "I'll believe that when I see it, Blake." But the smile had touched his eyes before he turned away, and Blake knew then that he had won,

"Then perhaps I should prove it." A surprised look met this statement. "You look tired, Avon, and I think we could all do with a rest. How about a vacation?"

"Vacation?"

"Why not? I think we’ve earned it. Blake's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Zen, plot a course for Epsilon Zeta IV."

"CONFIRMED." The computer answered immediately.

Weakly from behind his back, "Epsilon Zeta IV?"

Blake's amusement fairly set the room aglow. "It's one of the Rimworlds, low-level technology and of absolutely no interest to the Federation. I thought it might make a good place to rest awhile."

"How long have you been planning this?"

"Not long." The rich satisfaction was back in Blake's voice, in his eyes, and again Avon found himself responding to it, less unwillingly this time.

Blake again read the other man clearly, and the satisfaction and elation fairly shone as an aura around him. "It’s time to rest. And I've learned something I'm not going to forget. Ever." The aura expanded and, for a while, both men relaxed into the warmth and comfort of each other, and the anticipation of a new beginning.

***


Epsilon Zeta IV was a tranquil, peaceful world orbiting a small, G-class star on the very rim of the galaxy. Although colonists had discovered and settled the lovely, Earthlike planet centuries ago, normal Federation expansion was still many years away. Agriculturally rich, the world had woefully inadequate supplies of the rare elements, or of anything of even remote interest to the Federation. The people grew enough food to support themselves, with a little extra for trade, but nothing more. Thus, their technology was of a high enough level for proper agriculture, but not advanced, by any criteria. White beaches and blue seas completed the lovely picture. A perfect choice, indeed, for a quiet retreat.

Gan, Vila and Cally strolled sedately through the square, enjoying the sights and sounds of market day. Farmers displayed fresh produce and tradesmen hawked their wares in the heat of the noonday sun, while the hearty aroma of roasting meat mixed with the gentle fragrance of spring flowers. A perfect day in every respect,

The trio stopped in front of a small canopy where an old woman displayed handwoven capes.

"These are lovely," Cally said, fingering the strange silk like material. "What are they made of?"

The woman grinned toothlessly. "We call it arlex my lady. The plants we make it from grow abundantly here."

Cally swirled the cape around her slender shoulders, twirling slightly on her toes, "Is it not beautiful! I must own it, old one. What price do you ask?"

In the short time they had spent on this world, the Auron had quickly learned the art of dickering, and took great pleasure in the friendly argument which followed. Vila watched her in open admiration. He had always been attracted to the alien woman, and the opportunity to spend some uncomplicated time with her in this quiet, rustic setting was more than welcome.

Cally was not unaware of the thief's attraction to her, and, to her surprise, she did not reject him out of hand. Since joining the crew on Saurian Major, she had been very careful to avoid the kind of attachments Vila had in mind. Friendship, companionship, even brotherhood — these things she welcomed from the others and returned in kind. Yet, she still found herself an alien among these people; they were not Auronar and could never participate in the sharing of the mind and spirit that only another telepath could truly know. A psion among the psi-null, she was ever conscious of a vast loneliness within.

So she found herself, to her own astonishment, actually welcoming the attentions of the thief. Vila could be quite engaging when he chose to be; he was a charming and delightful companion, and, for the first time in a long, long while, Cally began to feel like a woman again. And an attractive woman at that. She had spend so much time as a warrior — a soldier -that she had quite forgotten how good it felt to be desired. She found herself relaxing and enjoying Vila's gentle attentions and humorous teasing. There was obviously far more to the thief than she had first considered!

Gan, for his part, observed all of this with the amused and gentle tolerance that was so much a part of him. He was glad his two dearest friends found such a measure of comfort and pleasure in each other. He hoped it would develop into something deeper, yet knew that even if time proved otherwise, the bonding that they had experienced — that the entire crew had experienced — would never be broken. It was forged of blood and shared danger and welded them into a team with a friendship that could and would stand any test. This Gan believed with all his heart.

Gan wandered on a bit, leaving Cally, Vila and the old woman arguing enthusiastically over the price of the silken cape. Lost in thought, he wandered forward several paces, directly into the path of a small bundle of lightning. Although barely felt, the impact brought the large man up short, and he found himself staring down at a small, blond child of about three years of age. The boy returned the look without a trace of fear, smiling shyly at the gentle giant before him. Gan returned the smile and stooped down to speak more comfortably to the child.

"You’re not hurt, are you?" he rumbled genially. "That was quite a jolt you took."

The child smiled again, shaking his head, but before he could answer, a small, red-haired woman raced up to grab him by the hand. "Lar! I've been chasing you for ages!" She turned a brilliant smile on Gan. "I hope he wasn't bothering you, sir. He got away from me." Fondly, "Again."

Gan laughed. "Not at all. He's a fine-looking young man, Mrs...?"

"Shel. Call me Shel." She was a slim, pretty woman with a pair of dancing blue eyes that sparkled humorously when she spoke. "You’re a visitor here, are you?"

The large man climbed to his feet. "Yes, we’re just visiting. I’m Olag Gan." He turned to the boy again. "And you're Lar. You shouldn't give your mother such a run. You've got to take care of her when your father's not around."

The child looked puzzled. "No. Just Mum."

At Gan's inquiring look, Shel smiled gently. "My husband is dead. An accident."

"I’m sorry."

"No need. It was a long time ago. I…."

"Shel! I told you to wait for me " A burly, dark man burst from the crowd, glaring belligerently.

"Evan! I was just chasing Lar. He…."

"I don't care what you were doing, I told you to wait!" He grabbed the small woman in a bone-crushing grip, shaking her. "Now get that brat and..."

Gan had waited silently, not wishing to interfere in a lovers' quarrel, but this piece of casual brutality was too much for even his peaceful nature to endure. At Shel’s painful gasp, he was already moving forward, a large hand fastening itself viselike on a beefy shoulder,

"Let her go." The phrase sounded that much more dangerous for all its quiet delivery.

The dark man froze, shock, surprise and anger chasing each other across his features. No one ever grabbed him like that! With a snarl of fury, the one called Evan turned, aiming a meaty fist at the other's jaw. Gan, however, a veteran of many a barroom brawl, was elsewhere when it arrived. He reached out, snagging the other's arm and belt in an iron grip. Seconds later, a clatter announced the man's arrival in the middle of a nearby fruit stand.

Stunned silence greeted this spectacle. Then laughter, growing as more and more of the surrounding throng took in the sight. Pulped fruit wended its way slowly down the dark forehead, landing with audible plops in the man's lap. Melons and citrus had scattered in every direction, but ever the stand owner forgot his righteous indignation in the humor of the moment.

Gan, however, was not amused. A red anger still burned within him, quenched not at all by this one act of violence.

And Evan... Murderous hatred glittered in the man s dark ryes, growing hotter as the good-natured laughter swelled around him. The dark man came painfully to his feet, wincing at the beginning of a spectacular collection of bruises. He stumbled away, but paused long enough to shoot a sullen look in Gan's direction. It was intense with the promise of future retribution.

Gan dismissed it, but it caused Shel to press fearfully against his side; he draped a protective arm around her shoulders and smiled down reassuringly. "Don't be afraid. He won't bother you anymore." Bright blue eyes turned up to meet his, the fear gradually fading to be replaced by concern, then a tentative smile.

"It’s not me I’m afraid for. Evan is a dangerous enemy. He won't forget this."

"Don't you worry about me. I can take care of myself." He loosened the hold, reluctantly, around the woman's shoulders. An awkward silence fell.

Then she asked, "I promised Lar I would show him the musicians in the center square. If you would like to walk along...?"

Gan reached over, taking the shopping basket from her hand, and extending an arm. "It would be my pleasure, madam," he said with friendly formality.

The woman took the proffered arm and tripped along beside him. "If you have time, I’ll show you around our town a little. That is, if you would like me to?"

Gan never stopped to analyze the pleasant lurch his heart gave at this. "Yes, Shel, I think I’d like that. I would like that very much."

***

The day was not being wasted by the rest of the crew, either. After much coaxing, Avon had been persuaded to join Blake and Jenna on a picnic in the countryside. They were sitting on a hill that overlooked the little town, the fertile valley stretching before them in all its beauty.

At first, Jenna had been as cool to Avon as was usual, always on guard against his cutting tongue and argumentative ways. But Avon had surprised her, proving himself amiable company indeed. Jenna had noticed a difference in him lately, particularly in his dealings with Blake. Although still wary with them all, he had begun to relax slightly; the biting sarcasm was muted somehow, less hurtful. A subtle humor had begun to manifest itself in his personality, as well as a lessening of the ice-cold defenses he had maintained against the rebel leader at all costs.

Blake seemed more at peace with himself as well. It was not unusual now to see the two men together, heads bent over a game of chess or laughing over a shared joke. Blake had even begun to actively seek the other man out regarding the future plans of the Liberator and the rebellion, as well as on more personal levels. More surprisingly, Avon was listening to him and applying his own keen mind to the problems of the long fight.

Jenna took in the vista surrounding them and sighed. The peace around them was soothing, soporific. Avon unbent enough to stretch out on the soft grass; soon, the gentle rise and fall of his chest testified to a deep, restful sleep.

Blake looked down at him with an affectionate smile that Jenna found herself echoing. "You really have grown fond of him, haven't you, Blake?" she said softly, wonderingly.

The affectionate smile turned in her direction, "I suppose I have," he replied as softly. "Surprised?"

"Astounded!" They shared a laugh. "Honestly, though, when I first saw you two together on the London, I laid odds you would end up killing each other, not becoming friends,"

"It got close more than once." Blake leaned back comfortably. "We've all changed a lot since the London, haven't we? Become closer, learned to trust each other, work together."

"That's not easy, you know, learning to trust, I don't think I've trusted anyone since I was eight."

Blake took her hand, "What happened?"

Jenna's eyes took on a faraway look. "A … friend of my mother. He was her partner on Alpha Tryon. A big man, red haired, bearded — and always kind to me. He brought me presents. Told me stories. And my mother was in love with him."

The clipped sentences stopped abruptly, the faraway look turning inward and grim, Blake prodded her gently. "And…?"

"When my mother was off-planet on business, she left me with him. One day he got drunk and raped me."

Blake straightened, his face reflecting shock and sympathy, "Jenna…."

"No, Blake, it's all right." The response was automatic, harsh. She turned slightly to face him, softening at the expression she found there, "It really is all right, Blake, It was a long time ago, and I’ve learned to cope with my past."

Blake tightened his grip on her hand. "I can see you have, You're a strong woman, Jenna, perhaps the strongest woman I’ve ever met."

"You have to be strong to survive. When I was smuggling I had to deal with all kinds -- most of them would sooner cut your throat than pay for your services. I learned to deal with them — had to. I don’t have Gan’s stolidity or even Vila's adaptability."

"Vila," Blake chuckled a bit, "I don't think I’ll ever understand Vila. He seems to simply blend in wherever he is."

"Protective camouflage. It's a survival gift- If no one notices you or perceives you as a threat, you are in no danger. Vila is actually much stronger — more resilient — than you could imagine, growing up as an Alpha grade."

"I haven't always lived on the Alpha levels," Blake protested. "I’ve spent time on the other levels, worked with them…."

Jenna gave a derisive little snort. "You grew up in a privileged and protected environment, Blake. You've got no concept of what it's like, growing up on the lower levels, both on and off Earth. You've never had to fight for every scrap of food or watch your back every day of your life. You either learn to fight back like I did, or to adapt and 'recover' like Vila. You wouldn't have lasted a week. Neither would Avon."

Blake smiled at that. "Don’t count me out so quickly, Jenna. And I wouldn't mention that to Avon."

Jenna tossed her golden head. "Avon likes to think he's a hard man — likes us to think so. I know better — and I think you do, too." She looked from Blake to Avon and back again with a wry smile at Blake's expression. "He's strong, I'll give him that. I can even admire him for that. But he's never learned to recover, Blake. Oh, very little gets through those emotional barriers of his, but when something does, I don't think he can handle it at all."

"I’ve gotten that impression, myself. I think something - or someone — hurt him very badly in the pnst and I don' t think he ever learned to deal with it. I think those walls are to prevent him from getting hurt again."

Jenna nodded. "He's strong but he's not..." she paused, searching for the proper word.

"Invulnerable?" Blake supplied.

"If you will. He likes to believe he is, but if he was, he wouldn't need those ice-cold defenses of his."

They both looked down at the peacefully sleeping man, then Blake’s eyes drifted back to his still awake companion. Jenna was much the opposite of the subject of their discussion. A vulnerable, beautiful woman with a core of tensile steel. In a showdown between the two, Blake would have to put his money on Jenna coming out on top.

And where do I fit in, he thought in a moment of introspection. Jenna answered as if she had read his mind. "You're different from all of us, Blake. More... Oh, I don't know, just more." At Blake's quizzical look, she stumbled on, looking for the right words. "Your strength is different from ours. We tend to concentrate on ourselves — on how we are reacting or being reacted to. You Just seem to... radiate. People are drawn to that, Blake, susceptible to it. The strength of your ideals seems to carry you along as well as anyone you're in contact with. I know I'm not putting this well, but that is how I see you."

Blake looked at her a very long time before speaking. "You're very perceptive, Jenna. More so than I ever realized."

"Surprised?"

"Astounded."

The shared laughter broke the pall of solemnity that had fallen over them.
Avon stirred at the sound and opened his eyes wide. "What’s going on?"

Blake turned a warm smile o n him. "Time to head back, Avon. It's getting late and we have quite a walk ahead."

The computer expert stretched, then straightened his black tunic with one hand. "We don't have to walk, Blake. We can just call Orac for teleport."

"Come on, Avon," Blake teased. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

"I must have left it with Vila. he snapped back, then relented before the laughter in Blake's brown eyes. "Oh, very well. I suppose it is supposed to be restful."

"More than just restful," Blake replied cryptically. "Let¹s head back. We’ve got a lot more vacationing to do before we’re through."

***

Festival Day occurred twice a year on Epsilon Zeta — once at the spring sowing season and again at the harvests. This was the spring festival, held directly after the young plants were put into the ground. There was never a shortage of food on Epsilon Zeta, so the festivities included a bountiful table — fruits and vegetables all making up a simple but delicious banquet.

A hospitable people, the populace welcomed Blake and his crew as their own, drawing them into the celebrations. The day had brought jugglers, clowns, musicians and amusements of every kind. Now, the night was filled with music, and couples dancing in the torch-lit square. Feelings ran high this night — joy and contentment in a job well done, as well as optimism for the coming season.

Blake and his crew had joined in the festivities along with the natives. Now, Blake found himself alone at one of the small tables scattered throughout the plaza, and surveyed the happy scene.

Jenna was in the arms of a large trader, awkwardly learning the steps of some ancient folk dance. Cally and Vila were also dancing; Vila was a far better dancer than Blake would have credited, and Cally looked happy and more contented than she had been in a long time. He wondered briefly at the growing relationship between the two. Blake was glad she had found comfort — a kindred spirit if you will — to help fill her need.

Avon sat a little apart from the others. He was watching the dancers with an open air of amused tolerance. Avon had spent rather more time on the planet than he had expected to do, walking the wooded paths, wandering the marketplace or just sitting by the pond.

Although he was still most at ease with his own solitude, he’d found himself accepting more invitations for company, with Blake and even Vila began to seek him out more now, including him in conversations and, once, even convincing him to share several large bottles of the strong local wine. Avon had gamely — and stubbornly — tried to keep up with the thief, and had found out, much too late, that the Delta had an amazing capacity for alcohol that he couldn't hope to match.

Things had turned hazy and uncertain after the second bottle, but Avon had the uncomfortably vivid memory of Vila, laughter in his eyes, half carrying him to a bed in the small local inn, and literally pouring him into it. As if from a great distance, he heard a voice he only later identified as his own mumbling, "You really are a fool, Vila."

And Vila, without the slightest trace of a slur (blast him!), retorting, "Maybe so, but I m not the one with my foot stuck in the flower pot!"

Things had gone mercifully black at that point, but for days afterward, Vila had had the most annoying tendency to burst into laughter every time he saw a fern. Avon had no clear memory of the reality of the incident and considered it prudent not to ask. Some things he didn't want to know!

Avon lifted his head slightly, meeting a pair of brown eyes aimed affectionately in his direction. He turned away quickly, in confusion. Although he kept watching the swirling dancers, in his mind, Avon's eyes were still locked with Blake's brown ones. How could Blake cause such a weakness in the defenses he had spent long years constructing? What was this man, that he should cause Avon to feel anything at all, much less the frightening and confusing friendship that surged behind the carefully controlled mask?

Relaxed as he was, from two glasses of the strong red wine (blast Vila anyway!) and the easy laughter around him, Avon allowed himself a rare moment of honest introspection. He lifted his head again, surreptitiously studying the profile of the other man. Even in repose, the latent force within that powerful frame seemed to extend outward beyond the boundaries of his own aura to include all those in the immediate vicinity.

That Blake cared for him as a human being rather than a tool was something that the computer tech was only now beginning to believe. Why Blake would show any inclination to like him, Avon was at a loss to comprehend.

This type of caring was so familiar; an uncomfortable subject, yet under the mellowing influence of the wine, Avon did not feel inclined to shy away from it this time.

As a young child, Avon had learned to recognize the protective instincts that all 'big brothers' seemed to possess, and being a younger brother himself, had picked out this trait immediately in Blake, and had been astonished — and annoyed — when Blake had directed his 'big-brother' instincts toward Avon himself. Still, the computer tech had to admit to himself (after another glass of wine) that sometimes such caring and unasked-for affection was...well, comforting. Not that it would do to admit that to Blake! It might give the man ideas. Make him think that the friendship and affection was... returned?

Another dangerous subject. Best to drop it altogether and have another glass of this excellent wine.

***

Gan and Shel wound their way hand-in-hand through the crowd to Blake's table. Shel had taken immediately to Gan’s friends, as had they to her. She was a lively, quick-witted woman, whose sense of humor had even brought a smile to Avon's lips (much to Gan's relief!). Gan had grown to love his friends aboard the Liberator; he’d even become fond of Avon, despite the man s sharp tongue. He was pleased his friends were growing fond of Shel. It would make easier what he had to do.

Blake greeted the couple with a bright smile. "Gan, Shel. I was wondering if you two were going to dance all night.

"Shel laughed merrily. "I probably could, as long as I was dancing with my Olag!"

"I don't think I could keep up with her much longer." The big man wiped his face with a handkerchief, "I’m not quite as young as I used to be."

"Young enough for me!" Shel reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Oh, there is Jimna and Arlo. Darling, I really have to go say hello. Do you mind?"

Gan wiped his face again. "You go ahead. I want to talk with Blake, anyway."

Shel directed another sunny smile Blake's way. "I expect you to ask me to dance at least once before the evening is out, Roj. You look like you'd be a wonderful dancer."

He rose and bowed formally. "You may not think so after we dance, but it will be my pleasure."

She skipped away. Gan nodded in the direction of the garden adjoining the plaza. "How about a walk? The garden is nice and quiet."

The two men strolled casually from the plaza, passing the bench on which Avon was sittings "Not dancing tonight, Avon?" Gan asked.

Bright black eyes met his briefly, then turned back to the dancers. "I've had enough 'celebration' for one day," he replied coolly, "I prefer to watch."

The big man shrugged genially. "Enjoy yourself, then." As they moved away, he murmured sotto voce "I almost feel sorry for him sometimes. I don't think he even knows how to enjoy himself."

They walked a way companionably, listening to the soft sounds of music that drifted through the still night air. "What was it you wanted to talk to me about, Gan?"

Gan hesitated, picking his words carefully. "Blake, I've been … seeing quite a bit of Shel lately."

Blake smiled at him. "We have rather noticed that. You're very fond of her, aren't you?"

"More than that, Blake," he blurted, "I'm going to marry
her!"

"Well, now," Blake began, "I won't say it's unexpected." He clapped the larger man on the shoulder. "Congratulations! She's a wonderful woman."

Gan grinned back sheepishly. "You're not angry that I'm leaving the crew? I know you'll be shorthanded, but..."

"Angry?" Blake turned serious. "How can I be angry, Gan, when you're only doing what each one of us dream of? You're a good man — a good friend. You deserve all the happiness you can find. And don't worry about us being shorthanded/' he went on mischievously. "It just means that Vila is going to have to do some work for a change."

"He'll hate that!" They laughed together, sharing the joy of the occasion. Then Gan sobered, "I’m going to have to tell Vila sometime, I suppose. I'm going to miss the little guy."

"Are you so sure he won't stay here with you?" the other asked, reaching down to pick a pink blossom.

Gan looked surprised. "I hadn't thought of that. That would leave you very shorthanded, wouldn't it?"

"We'll manage, don't you worry about that. Right now, why don't we head back to the party. You've got an announcement to make, and I've got a pretty little redhead waiting to dance with me!"

***

Elsewhere, Vila and Cally were attempting to catch their breaths after a particularly energetic folk dance. Enjoying the cool night air, Vila tugged the girl a small distance from the other dancers. Cally followed, then rested her back against a stout tree, "I did not know you were such a good dancer, Vila," she gasped,

The professional thief-cum-rebel wiped sweat from his face with one sleeve. "I used to do a lot of dancing back on Earth, Learned from an old thief named Blackwell, He always considered dancing a social necessity."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. He was the best. We used to attend those very fancy balls on the Alpha levels. Had the devil of a time getting in, but we'd always manage somehow. We'd mix for a while, and come away with our pockets just brimming with jewelry and wallets."

Cally laughed, "You really are incorrigible, aren't you?"

The thief leaned one arm against the tree, bringing his face very close to Cally's. Tension crackled in the air for an instant, then Vila followed his impulses, bending closer, brushing her lips lightly with his own. His arms moved around the girl, pulling her closer to his body. Cally responded for a moment that would live in Vila's dreams for the rest of his lift. Then she stiffened, pushing him gently away, "No, Vila, I am...sorry."

Vila straightened up, away from her, "What is it? Whales wrong?"

"I just ... can't."

"Cally," Vila grasped her gently by the shoulders, turning her toward him, "I know you like me. We've been friends for a long time. We've enjoyed each other's company during the time we've spent together here on Epsilon Zeta — haven't we?"

She dropped her eyes, fixing them on the grass. "Oh, yes, Vila, When I am with you, I no longer feel the great loneliness I live with, cut off as I am from my people,"

Vila regarded her speculatively, "I've known a few telepaths on Earth, They don't seem to suffer from the kind of loneliness you talk about, Cally,"

"They did not grow up as part of the Soul of Auron,"

"The what?"

"The Soul of Auron," Cally repeated wistfully brushing away a tear. "But how could you possibly understand what it means to be a part and function of the very soul of your people? Feeling what they feel, knowing what they know, united in mind and spirit,"

Vila thought back. "One of those psychiatric books mentioned a term for that. Ge.. egos…"

"Gestalt. Yes, the Auronar are a gestalt race, though we have never relinquished the individuality of self — simply joined with the others, not completely one, never truly apart. This total sharing make the Auronar a very strong race."

"Then, when you left Auron..."

"It was the first time in my life I had ever been a completely separate entity. The loneliness..." Another involuntary tear slid down her cheek, was brushed quickly away. "The loneliness was almost more than I could bear."

Vila pulled her close again, not passionately as before, but with the warm sympathy of a friend. This time, Cally returned the embrace, grateful for the human contact.

"You have helped me so much, Vila," she broke away form his embrace. "But I don't..." She looked at him helplessly, unable to go on and not understanding why she could not.

Vila stared back for a long moment, his face a study in warmth and affection. "It was my fault, Cally. I just moved too quickly, that's all."

Cally looked uncertain. "I don't really understand how I feel, Vila. You are comfort and strength to me, and I care about you very much. It's just that..."

It's all right." Vila touched her shoulder again. "We're friends now and I know we 'II be more than friends in the future. You'll see, if we give it time."

"I can promise you nothing, Vila." Cally managed to look comforted and distressed, both at once. "But I will try."

"That's all I'm asking for, Cally." Vila grinned and offered his arm. "Would you care to dance, lovely lady?"

The merriment returned to Cally's green eyes. "How could I possibly refuse?"

***

"Your pardon, Supreme Commander,"

Supreme Commander Servalan turned from the viewport, large eyes widening slightly. The boy was young and quite beautiful. How had she let him escape notice until now? She approached him slowly, the sensuous swing of her hips only serving to punctuate the undeniable interest beginning to flair in the amber eyes. Yes, quite nice, indeed,

The boy colored under the scrutiny, struggling not to squirm. So this was why his mates had smirked so when he'd been ordered to convey his report to the Supreme Commander's office!

The boy had the oddest sensation of being — stalked. Yes, that was it — stalked by a very slender, and very hungry, cat — hunted. And those eyes! Smoldering, direct — frightening. And exciting. He took a deep breath, locking into 'attention' stance as the woman reached him.

"You are new here?" Her voice, throaty, husky, seductive,

"Y-yes. Supreme Commander." Fool! he told himself.

She seemed not to notice the stumbling hesitation. One hand stroked the boy's taut arm, moving to caress the broad chest. "What is your name?"

"Patar, Supreme Commander." He gulped; the room seemed to be getting warmer.

"Patar." A feline smile. "Sit down, Patar. Tell me what you have been sent for."

The youth sat on the couch, Servalan very close to him, still stroking his arm. She had long ago learned to take what — and who -- she wanted. She smiled again as the boy began to respond despite himself. "Kiss me, Patar, then tell me what you want." The kiss was hungry, full of desire. Servalan smiled to herself again. The boy might go far in the military, after all. "Now, why are you here?"

The boy brought himself back under control by an effort of will he never knew he possessed, "It is Roj Blake, Supreme Commander."

"Blake." Passion evaporated. "What about him?"

"Liberator is in orbit around the planet Epsilon Zeta IV, in the ninth quadrant. Blake and his crew are reported to be on shore leave on the planet's surface."

She ran long fingers through her short-cropped hair thoughtfully. "We have forces on Epsilon Zeta?"

"No, Supreme Commander. Our information comes from a free trader on the planet — a man named Evan."

Servalan left the couch and activated a nearby console. "Nearest forces are twenty-four hours away." She fixed the boy with a piercing glare. "Have them divert to Epsilon Zeta. Tell them to make an approach within the planet's shadow. Liberator's detectors will show nothing before they make planetfall. And tell the Commander to use subtlety; I do not want Blake to escape me this time." The boy flew to the door. "And, Patar..." He froze. "Tell the Subcommander to ready my flyer for immediate departure. Then return. I want you to accompany me on this mission."

"Yes, Supreme Commander," the youth gasped. Then, he flew from the room as if his life depended on it. And at this point, he wasn't entirely sure it did not.

***

The capture was quick and neat,

It was the habit of those members of the crew not on duty to stay at the small inn in the village. This late at night, the entire town was abed, including Blake and his crew. Except for Vila; he was wandering the garden, deep in thought, While it was true that Cally had not openly rejected his tentative advances toward her — even seemed to enjoy them, in face — Vila was still left with the impression that they were operating on two separate levels. Cally wanted — no, needed — companionship right now. He had sensed the extreme loneliness that plagued her as a result of being cut off from her people. She needed the attention, the close contact, that Vila was giving her,

But was that really fair? Vila had asked that question of himself over and over these past several days. Was he taking an unfair advantage of the Auron’s need for companionship? Would Cally have shown any interest beyond a sisterly affection in him under any other conditions?

Vila was honest enough to admit that the answer was probably no. While not selling his own charm short (and Vila never sold himself short), his honest affection for the alien woman led him to a course of serious introspection — particularly regarding his relationship with her. With a sigh, Vila realized that he and Cally would have to have a long, serious talk on the matter, and he was reasonably sure which direction it would take.

This not-entirely pleasant train of thought was interrupted by a flash of movement that was so quick that Vila was unsure whether he had seen it at all. Instinct kicked in, and Vila automatically flattened himself in the shadows of a conveniently placed tree, trusting in his superb gift of camouflage to keep him from sight. Was it an illusion? No, there it was again.

A man’s form came briefly into view, silhouetted against the white plank of the inn, then vanished through the door. More men, all silent as ghosts, followed.

An ambush? Vila raised his arm, intent on calling Liberator, and was dismayed to find his bracelet missing. No way to warn them, then, he thought with a trace of panic. Cally — No, Cally was on duty aboard the ship. Vila silently blessed the caution that had made them decide to leave at least one person aboard Liberator at all times.

Blake, Jenna, Avon. He had seen them all preparing to retire scant hours ago. They would be asleep — helpless. And Gan?

Vila struggled to recall. Gan had mentioned planning to spend time with Shel tonight. He should still be with her. And Gan would have his teleport bracelet handy. He had to reach Shel’s house at once.

Stealth gained through years of being one of the best thieves on Earth now came to the fore. Vila literally blended into the landscape, silently moving from shadow to shadow until he had safely attained the boundaries of the garden. When beyond it’s perimeter, he finally gave in at last to that heart-pounding, mind-numbing panic that hovered just on the edge of his senses. Vila began to run. Intuition alone carried him in the direction of Shells little home, but Vila never faltered, never slowed. He knew that the lives of his friends depended on him reaching that little vine covered cottage, and, for their sakes, he would not fail.

***

Some instinct prevented Blake from moving a single muscle save for slowly opening his eyes. Once opened, he wanted nothing so much as to simply shut them again. A leering, black-clad figure stood over him, casually poking his midsection with a Federation-issue blaster. "Get out of bed, Blake. Slowly. Try anything and you're all dead."

All? Obediently he sat, then rose. The blaster poked him again, harder, and he allowed himself to be prodded into the sitting room, taking a good look around. Two more guards kept careful watch at the doorway and window. Blake took only brief notice of them; his attention was wholly focused on the other prisoners.

Jenna stood quietly against the wall, hands raised. She looked so feminine, so helpless in that long, pink nightgown, that Blake longed to take her protectively into his arms. One look at the hellfire raging in her eyes dispelled that illusion instantly. If there was one thing in this galaxy that he had never known Jenna Stannis to be, it was helpless.

But that thought was a purely secondary one. Blake's attention locked in on Avon, who was sitting on the floor, shaking his head dazedly. Blood matted the dark hair, dripping rapidly to the floor. The guards made no effort to stop him kneeling at his companion's side. Rather, they seemed to enjoy the spectacle of Blake's concern --- the gloating of victor over the vanquished.

"Avon?" Blake dropped one arm around the man’s back, supporting him, while gentle fingers probed beneath the dark hair. Avon flinched when Blake encountered the bloody bruise, then pulled away from the other's grip.

"I’m all right." The dark eyes were slightly unfocused, but Avon seemed to be recovering his wits rapidly. Blake squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, released him, and turned his attention to their captor.

Brown eyes hardened, stone and steel, met the mocking ones of the troop commander, and it was the commander who felt his confidence dwindle under their twin onslaught. Blake straightened slowly, and the commander had to resist an instinctive urge to step back, away from the inherent threat — the sheer power — radiating from the man. The smirk vanished, replaced by a faint unease, the first traces of real fear. This man, Blake, was not one to be underestimated.

Blake spared Jenna a sideways glance. "What happened?"

"They took us one at a time. I woke up with that one's —"~ she glared at the again-smirking commander, "--sweaty paw over my mouth and a gun in my face"

"And Avon?"

"He made a try for his gun. He didn't have a chance."

A fourth trooper came in and saluted briskly. "We've searched the house, Commander Mozz. Except for the caretaker and his wife, there is no one else here,"

"Question them, then dispose of them." He turned his attention back to Blake. "You are going to tell me where the rest of your crew is. Then you will call your ship and have myself and my men transported up."

The steel never left Blake's eyes, but his mouth quirked with amusement. "And just why would I want to do something like that?"

The smirk faded, tinged now with deliberate cruelty. "You'll do as I say, Blake," Mozz said confidently. "Maybe not for yourself, but you do have a woman and a wounded man to think of."

Mozz paced restlessly, coming to a stop before Jenna and the still-kneeling Avon. A quick glance at Blake's rigid form confirmed that he was on the right track, at least for a start.

He glanced from Jenna to Avon to Blake and back again. The Supreme Commander had left orders that none of Blake's crew were to be harmed — seriously — but Blake had no way of knowing that. Perhaps pressure could be put to bear on the man — or more likely, the woman. She looked weak — soft. Yes, probably the woman would break without much trouble.

Mozz aimed a vicious kick at the man on the floor, connecting squarely with his rib section. Avon gasped, unsuccessfully biting back a cry. He doubled over again, fighting down the blackness that threatened to overwhelm him. Reality tilled for a second, then re-established itself as the darkness lifted. Black eyes glittering, Avon lifted his head, squarely meeting the amused smirk of the trooper, and Mozz again felt that slight apprehension. No fear there. Another dangerous man.

For his part, Blake barely damped the explosive response which leapt to his muscles. His strongest desires at this point were to protect his friends and to smash a fist into that leering grin, but he restrained himself. He couldn't help them — not yet. Jenna’s face was a study of stoicism.

Blake's, and especially Jenna's, lack of reaction puzzled Mozz. Blake's control he could understand. Blake was a leader, a commander. He would understand the principle of sacrifice. But the woman... The frail, beautiful blonde had shown even less reaction to the abuse of her comrade than had Blake. She must be strong — far stronger than she looked. Mozz made a hasty re-evaluation of the man and his crew.

He moved again, to stand deliberately provocative, in front of Jenna. "It would be a great shame to damage such a beautiful face." Jenna’s lips tightened as he began to stroke her, but she did not otherwise react. The smuggling world had taught her many things, including patience and the sweetness of a planned revenge. She would personally kill this one — slowly.

Blake again held himself under rigid control. He kept remembering Jenna’s admission to him on the little hillside, and silently prayed that she wouldn't have to go through that particular kind of hell again.

Mozz soon tired of his game. The Supreme Commander would be pleased enough to have the infamous Roj Blake. He would leave her the privilege of breaking them. Twin shots, muffled but unmistakable, cut short this pleasant notion. Within moments the fourth guard reappeared. "The innkeeper confessed that a fourth member of Blake's party has a woman on the edge of town. The fifth is has visited this establishment but is presently unaccounted for."

The Subcommander nodded curtly. "Take a scouting party and check it out. Report when you find them." Blake and Jenna exchanged a saddened look. The old innkeeper and his wife had been good, gentle people. They had not deserved to die this way. "We'll take these three back to the ship," the leader continued. "Notify the others."

Two troopers bent to pull Avon to his feet, but Mozz halted them with a gesture. "Let him walk himself," he snapped. "I don’t want you too close."

Again, Blake flashed defiance. "He can’t walk--" His words were cut off by the Sub-Commander’s vicious blow to his stomach. Blake doubled over in red agony.

"Listen to me, criminal." The blaster dug painfully into Blake's throat. "I don't need three of you; I only need you. He either walks or I kill him now. Your choice." An agonized rasp and half-nod were the only answers Blake could manage. He cast a worried glance at his fellow prisoner but needn’t have worried. Chance at freedom momentarily annulled, Avon grunted, then straightened, fully able to walk on his own.

Mozz stepped forward with three pair of plastic cuffs and bound their wrists tightly. After Jenna's hands had also been bound, the party started out for the short trip to the Federation ship. Again, Mozz had covered his chances by sending only a small scouting party to locate Shel’s cottage. First priority was given to getting these three most important prisoners to a place of safety.

It was now that Blake allowed the first traces of despair to tinge his normally optimistic spirit. A man with a limiter and a cowardly thief; neither of them exactly inspired confidence in him for rescue. Maybe Cally — but Cally was on the Liberator and had no way of knowing what was happening to them.

It was not in Blake's nature to give up hope, but the fear and despair settled heavily on his shoulders, resolution did not end. He would find a way to survive, for his friends to survive. And Mozz would pay. This thought sustained him all the way to the ship.

***

"Gan!"

Vila pounded frantically on the door. The run had helped burn some of the panic-response adrenalin out of his system, but fear had a firm grip on him still. What if Gan had returned to the ship? Or even to the inn? What if…? "GAN "

A tousled-looking Gan pulled open the door, precipitating Vila into his arms. "Vila? What?"

The smaller man snagged a handful of his t-shirt and pulled, literally dragging him toward the door. "They've got them! We have to do something!"

"Vila!" Gan firmly shook the other, bringing a halt to the unintelligible babbling. Gan waited another moment as Vila sucked air into his tortured lungs before shaking him again, but more gently, "Now, Vila, Slowly, What happened?"

A final shuddering gasp as Vila found his voice, "Federation troopers at the inn. Blake, Avon and Jenna captured. We have to do something!"

Gan's eyes sharpened. Nowhere near as slow-thinking as the others considered him to be, his mind was already running through plans and options. "We have to return to the Liberator and arm ourselves. How many are there?"

"I don't know." Vila's breathing was rapidly returning to normal now that the responsibility for decision was removed. "I saw four or five. There's probably a lot more."

Gan picked up his teleport bracelet from a nearby table. "Liberator, this is Gan. Orac?"

"What do you want?"

The curt words sounded welcome to both men; they meant Liberator was still in orbit and undamaged, "Orac, teleport..."

Gan was interrupted by a sleepy voice at his elbow, "Olag? What is it?"

"Orac, stand by" Gan turned to the small, frightened form beside him. "Trouble, Shel. The Federation has got my friends. They may know about you and Lar."

"Oh no " Startled hands to mouth, Shel could only regard him in wide-eyed fear, "What can we do?"

Gan gave her a quick, reassuring squeeze, "Don't worry. Everything will be fine. Vila, get three more bracelets. We'll teleport Shel and Lar to safety. Then we'll find a way to get the others back."

The resolution in his voice was so strong that even Vila, who knew Gan better than anyone else, was taken aback. This was not the normally easy-going giant that he had known. This was a determined and dynamic man that seemed to inspire instant confidence. For the first time, Vila found himself relaxing — with Gan in control, rescue suddenly seemed quite possible,

***

Blake paced the cell with quick, restless strides. With an agility rare in so large a man, he had managed to work his tightly manacled hands over his legs, bringing them around in front of him. This gave him enough freedom of movement to examine the cell and door. Unfortunately, a magno-lock was far beyond the small amount of training that Vila had been able to impart to him, and he had to give up quickly on that route of escape.

Avon was more familiar with the electronics involved in the locking mechanism, but Avon was sitting down, leaning his head against the wall. It had been a long walk back to the ship, and he had made it that far only by dint of Blake's added support. Now, stamina sapped and head aching, he could only sit quietly, regathering his strength and fighting down the dizziness and nausea that plagued him. He sensed rather than saw Blake drop to one knee beside him, then felt Blake's hand on his shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

Stupid question. "About like you would expect me to feel." Then, gruffly, "What do you want?"

"There’s a magno-lock on the door. I want you to take a look at it."

Avon cracked open one eye. "And what good is that going to do? In case you haven't noticed, my hands are bound behind me."

Blake went on patiently. "I have use of my hands. You may be able to talk me through the procedure. I’ve checked the room and we are not being monitored."

"Not monitored?" Jenna spoke up for the first time since they had been put into the cell. "Are you sure?"

The big man nodded. "This doesn't look like a conventional holding cell. I think this room was used for storage."

"Storage!" Avon exploded. "They shoved us in here like sacks of grain." He turned a vitriolic gaze on Blake. "Just wonderful, Blake. A vacation." He practically spat the word. "I should have known better than to trust one of your bright ideas." He trailed off, energy and fire fading simultaneously. Avon closed his eyes again, and leaned back. Although some part of him recognized the unfairness of his words, he made no effort to retrieve them. His head ached abominably and he was in no mood to be fair.

Blake withstood the diatribe with remarkable restraint for a man with so volatile a temper himself. He realized Avon was frustrated and in pain, and simply lashing out at any available target. Still, the words hurt. Reigning in his own temper, Blake returned through gritted teeth, "Are you well enough to look over the locking mechanism?"

This elicited another glare, but Avon began to struggle to his feet, a task made more difficult by his hands being tightly bound behind his back. Blake locked a strong hand around his arm and hauled him up, then released him immediately. A few minutes later found both men again dispiritedly sitting against the wall. "I can’t do it, Blake," Avon said wearily. "Vila might be able to open it without a sonic lance, but I can't."

Blake absently patted him on the leg, earning him another glare, and a smirk from Jenna, He ignored them both, "It’s all right, Avon, As long as Cally, Gan and Vila are free, we’ve still got a chance."

"An alien, a coward and a fool, ~ Avon said with a derisive snort, "That’s not much of a chance,"

At Blake's disapproving look, Jenna spoke up, "He’s right, Blake," she admitted reluctantly, hating to agree with Avon about anything. "We can't rely on any of that group to get us out of this. We have a better chance by relying on ourselves."

"I hope you're wrong, Jenna, Blake sighed, "because as it stands, we don't seem to have any chance at all without them."

***

On Liberator, a three-man council of war was leaking place.

"Scanners have picked up a Federation scout ship at grid coordinates 4-2-4-8," Cally was saying. "According to Zen, it must have slipped in low, under our scanners. It has been identified as the scout ship Blackhawk."

"But are you sure that that's where they were taken?" Vila asked, "They could be anywhere on the planet."

"Zen also reports the teleport bracelets are at that location."

"I thought we couldn't get a fix on the bracelets unless they were being worn."

Cally smiled grimly. "Someone must hhave tried one on. The signal lasted only a moments but it was long enough for Zen to get a fix on the location."

Gan looked thoughtful. "That could have been a fortunate mistake. If these troops don’t know about our teleporter..."

"Or if they do know, it could be a trap," Vila finished grimly.

"Space Command has kept the secret of the teloport well guarded." This was Cally again, who stood hands on hips staring into Zen’s glowing fascia. "The odds are that these men are unaware of our teleport capabilities."

Gan seemed to come to a decision. "I take the chance. Vila, you and I will go get them out. Cally, do you think you can damage that ship without blowing it up?"

"Of course. A shot to the maneuvering thrusters will prevent her from becoming airborne, but the Blackhawk has her protective shields up. You cannot teleport through them, and I cannot penetrate them without destroying the ship.

"There's still a chance." Gan inserted Graces activator key. "Orac, I need the computer command code for the Federation scoutship Blackhawk.. Can you get it?"

"Of course I can," the irascible computer in a box returned curtly, "but I have better things to do."

Vila leaned close to the box. "Lives are at stake, Orac" he purred as he had seen Avon do previously. "Including your own."

There was a moment of silence. "Oh, very well. I shall inform you when I am ready to transmit."

"INFORMATION." Zen's booming voice caused them all to start. "LONC-RANGE SENSORS SHOW A FLEET OF TEN FEDERATION PURSUIT SHIPS ON INTERSECT COURSE WITH THIS PLANETARY SYSTEM. TIME OF ARRIVAL IS 54 MINUTES."

The three exchanged looks of dismay. "We can't do it," Vila protested loudly. "We have to get out of here!"

"Orac. Where's that command code?" Gan roared, cutting him off.

"Coming through in two minutes, 14 seconds."

The big man reached for a gun in a side cabinet and strapped it around his waist. "When you have that code, feed it into Biackhawk s command computers. Then order it to lower shields. Cally, when they go down, blast the maneuvering thrusters. If that ship takes off, we've lost them."

She nodded. "How long will I have?"

"It will only take minutes for them to realize what is going on. You'll have to disable them as soon as the shields go. He raised his voice again. "Orac, as soon as Cally disables the Blackhawk, I want you to put us down at the last reported coordinates of the teleport bracelets. Come on, Vila," he snapped, handing the other a gun, "Let's get to the teleport chamber."

***

The ship rocked under the force of twin neutron blasts, then righted herself on her stabilizer fins. Automatic fire extinguishers kicked into play, dousing the small fires that raged up, but the damage was done. When the smoke finally cleared, the extreme damage to the ship could be seen. Twisted metal had replace both port and starboard thrusters. The little ship would never fly again without extensive repairs in a drydock facility.

Inside the makeshift cell, the three prisoners scrambled to regain their feet.

"What was that?" Jenna asked. "An explosion?"

"Felt like two explosions," Avon put in.

"Or two neutron blasts!" Blake said triumphantly.

A faint sound outside brought him silently to the door. There was a small CliCk as the lock disengaged, and the door began to slowly swing open.

Blake crouched, waiting until a head peered cautiously in before springing into action. He grabbed the head by a handful of hair and, with a tremendous yank, pulled the man the rest of the way into the room.

With a frightened screech, Vila flew head-over-heels into the far wall, then slid down it to sit gazing muzzily up at his attacker.

"Vila!" Blake grinned in welcome. He reached down to give the dazed thief a hand up. "Gan! Are we glad to see you!"

"You’ve got a lousy way of showing it, Blake," Vila retorted peevishly, but accepted the hand. "You could have killed me, you know." He rubbed the top of his head. "Nearly pulled my hair out, you did!"

"Another couple of years and you won t have that problem," Avon said, with laughter in his voice.

Vila reflected enviously on Avon's thick, dark hair, and then on Blake's full, curling locks, and held his peace. He knew when he was at a disadvantage.

He bent instead to the task of unlocking the handcuffs, freeing Blake, and then Jenna, in seconds. He hesitated a moment before starting on Avon, obviously thinking thoughts of sweet revenge, then took a good look at the other man. He noticed, for the first time, the blood soaking Avon's hair, and the set to his pale features. Revenge took a back seat — temporarily. "What happened to you? You look like you tangled with a Denbian."

"Just get these things off me," Avon growled impatiently. Vila freed him without further comment.

Gan waited until each had clipped on a teleport bracelet before raising his own. "Orac — are Blackhawk's shields still down?"

"Shields are being raised now. You have ten seconds."

"Then teleport now!"

A slight disorientation, and five people found themselves standing in the relative safety of the teleport chamber. A collective sigh of relief, then Blake, Avon and Jenna headed for the flight deck at a dead run,

Blake reached the flight deck first. "Zen — status?"

"FEDERATION PURSUIT SHIPS ARE NOW 23 MINUTES, 22 SECONDS FROM FIRING RANGES."

"Get us out of here. Standard by..."

"Belay that, Zen." Avon countermanded the order en route to the weapons console, Jenna a step behind. Blake turned to them, confused.

"What are you doing, Avon? We only have 23 minutes to get out of range,"

Surprisingly, it was Jenna who answered. "We have unfinished business with Mozz. Zen, raise radiation flare shields. Clear the neutron blasters for firing."

Avon's finger hovered over the firing button. "Targeting... Now.'" A faint shudder in the deck bore witness to the fact that the neutron blasters had indeed been fired, "Zen — status of Federation ship?"

"BLACKHAWK HAS BEEN DESTROYED. SENSORS CAN DETECT NO LIFE FORM READINGS."

"Then get us out of here. Speed standard by ten."
"CONFIRMED."

Avon and Jenna exchanged satisfied looks, for once totally in harmony. Then Jenna took the pilot's station and Blake moved to her side. "In cold blood, Jenna?" he asked, sotto voce.

She looked up at him, her jaw grimly determined. "No, Blake, cold revenge"

Blake dropped the subject. He himself felt little pity for the men of the Blackhawk, but he would have preferred that they met their end another way. And it would never do to bring it up with Avon.

Avon. Blake looked over at the other man, concerned to see him swaying slightly. Blake crossed to him, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. "Go to sick bay, Avon. Have someone take a look at your head."

Avon twisted away. "I don't need you to tell me what to do, Blake." He cut off the rest of the upcoming tirade at the hurt look, quickly masked, in Blake's eyes — something he would never have noticed only days ago. The computer tech was surprised to find himself relenting. "All right. I'll go."

Blake kept his voice carefully neutral, his tone light. "Good. You're bleeding all over the weapons console." Avon looked down, startled at the blood on the console, and on his hands, then took off for the medical section, back ramrod straight. Blake had to smile at the retreating figure, Concessions or no, Avon would still never admit he'd needed help. Stubborn fool.

A timid cough alerted the rebel to a presence behind him. Gan? Blake turned around, a grateful smile forming on his lips, but which died stillborn in surprise. Gan was not alone; a familiar woman and child clung tightly to each hand, regarding him with varying degrees of trepidation.

Blake recovered, completing his smile. "I didn't know you were aboard, Shel. When did you teleport up?"

Gan stepped forward apologetically. "The Federation knew about her, Blake," he said. "I had to bring her here."

"I’m not criticizing your decision," Blake hurried to reassure the big man. "We owe you our lives, Gan. I was just surprised." He turned back to the woman. "Welcome aboard Liberator."

She returned his smile nervously, remaining silent. Blake addressed Gan again. "Why don't you show Shel to Number Eight cabin. It has two beds."

"Yes... Fine." Gan seemed curiously hesitant. "But then I need to talk to you."

Cally stood up from her battle station, and smoothed her green tunic before heading for the exit. "It's all right, Gan. I will take Shel to her cabin. I need to go check on Avon, anyway." She smiled warmly at Shel, "You must be exhausted. Come with me and I will show you where you may rest."

The other woman shot Gan an affectionate look, then took her son's hand and followed the Auron, Lar trailing sleepily along. Gan watched them leave, a look of pure love on his face, Then he squared his shoulders and turned to face Blake again, wearily. "She couldn't stay on Epsilon. The Federation would have found her eventually."

Blake nodded wordlessly, his stomach beginning to tighten. He knew what was coming. "I love her, Blake. I still want to marry her." He smiled shyly. "And she loves me."

Blake placed a cautious hand on the big man’s shoulder, "Liberator is a dangerous place for a child. The Federation.…"

He paused, at Gan's upraised hand, "We won t be staying here, Blake, Shel, Lar and I need one of those bolt-holes Avon is always going on about. I had hoped you might give us transportation to one of the free worlds " His eyes took on a faraway look. "Somewhere we can live in peace. Somewhere Lar can grow up safe and free."

The vision persisted a moment, then was replaced by the view of Blake's warm smile, "If that's what you want, Gan, we’ll consult Orac for a good, safe planet for you, I presume you will want an agro-world like Zephron?"

Gan nodded, "Thank you. It will be nice to get back to the ground again."

A decanter of the results of Vila's latest wine-making venture stood on a side table; Blake poured two drinks and handed one to the other man, "I still can't believe the Blackhawk made planetfall without putting up her shields. Was it a malfunction, do you suppose, or just plain stupidity?"

"They had their shields up."

"What?" Blake turned to face the other. "Then how...?"

"We called up the computer command code and forced them to lower their shields."

Blake frankly gaped, "You called up the command code?" This was one surprise on top of another! "How did you know how to do that?"

Gan returned the stare blandly, "Avon was working on overriding Liberator's command code some months ago. I asked him to explain it to me,"

"And he did it?"

Gan grinned, "It was right after Vila mixed up that first batch of berry wine. Avon was feeling very mellow at the time." Blake snorted a laugh. They had a;; felt very mellow that evening. Vila's wine had tasted so mild that even Blake had underestimated its potency, causing much amusement among the crewmates. Of course, he'd just as soon forget the next morning. Come to think of it, the whole two days were pretty fuzzy anyway. Probably just as well, he thought philosophically. "I can't wait to see the expression on Avon's face when he hears you forced Orac to break that command code,"

The bigger man shook his head. "Actually, Vila was the one who did that. Avon’s expression should be an even better sight to see."

Both men smiled companionably. "You will stand up with me at the wedding, won’t you, Blake?"

Blake felt a lump in his throat. "I’d be honored, Gan." He raised his glass. "To a long and peaceful life, Olag Gan."

The other matched the gesture. "And to victory over the Federation."

Blake drank deeply. "Amen, to that, my friend. Amen to that."

Finished