No Allegiance

by Misha

(C) 1999 Misha

Fandom: Blake 7

Rating: G

No Allegiance

By Misha

"Avon, it's me. Blake."

Blake came towards him.

And three shots. Yes, I remember three shots.

And the sky caved in.

Avon's eyes snapped open. Too dark. Some faint flicker of firelight far away. There's probably nothing worth seeing, anyway.

Avon drew in a deep breath and winced. The stench of rotting meat made him close his eyes again. Burnt flesh. Whose?

Avon rolled off onto a patch of bare floor, his breathing quick and shallow, staring wide-eyed at the soft, warm object he had been lying on. Keep your eyes open, dammit. You'll adjust to the light. You have to see.

The cold floor bit into his skin. Uneven? Not metal. Stone? I don't understand.

His skin was raw, as if he had been scrubbed thoroughly, head to toe. And he had no memory of it.

Avon reached out to the softer surface, still not quite able to identify it by sight. Fur. Not a human body. He dropped his head and waited for his breathing to slow.

He was beginning to make out objects. There was a table of some sort near him. He wrapped his fingers around one table leg and gave an experimental tug.

He hauled himself up, unsteady on his feet. Dizzy. He threw his right arm across the table, wrapping his fingers around the edge, dropping almost to his knees, his cheek resting on the cool surface. The walls were spinning, and his brow was drenched with sweat, his moist hair dripping burning droplets into his eyes.

He supposed it was only a minute or two before the room stopped spinning and he finally made it to his feet, but it seemed like hours. As he brought his queasiness under control, he realized he was parched. There was a pitcher on the table, and a mug. He poured the liquid and swallowed it. Water. He drained the pitcher, but the thirst remained.

A draft of cold air made him shiver. He grabbed the fur and threw it over his shoulders. It cut some of the draft. Marginally more comfortable than nothing. Hell must be on an austerity drive.

He turned toward the firelight. There was a faint sound from the same direction. Running water; a river, perhaps.

There was a gun on the table. It appeared to be functional. Too dangerous to test until he knew if he was alone. I'll find out if it works if and when I use it.

He almost fell the first time he tried to walk away from the table. He composed himself and tried again. There. Better. Someday you'll be a veritable biped.

His cave was an offshoot of a larger tunnel. At the junction he could see a passage which appeared to lead up to the surface. In the opposite direction was the fire he had seen, and the river he had heard.

He heard something else. A person.

Someone drawing water from the river and pouring it back again. Not an animal; someone using a pitcher.

Avon pressed his back against the wall and craned his neck to look, the muzzle of the gun an inch from his cheek, as if he were giving it a peek as well.

There was a woman by the river, alone. Unclothed, having just finished bathing. Pale skin tinted orange by the firelight. She was currently washing her long, blond hair, her body stooped over in a graceful curve, rump to back to bare neck, her hair hanging down in front of her.

Avon moved closer, gun at the ready. Then she turned, too fast for him, a gun in her hand, a fiery burning in his own as he dropped his gun. He stared at his bloodied palm, felt a rush of cold travel through his body, and lost consciousness.

"Wake up, Avon."

Avon was lying on the flight deck couch, Tarrant standing over him.

Avon started. The Liberator flight deck. Like Terminal never happened. Like Gauda Prime never happened.

"Tarrant?"

"About time you woke up. Cally's waiting for you on the cargo deck."

"Cally?"

"Yes, now get a move on."

Avon staggered to his feet. He turned back at the stairs, one finger raised, and opened his mouth to speak, but no questions came to him. He turned back to the corridor.

The cargo deck was overgrown with vines. Huge clusters of plump, purple grapes were everywhere.

"There you are!"

Cally was wearing a long white gown, covered from neck to toe. And, incongruously, a black leather glove. One of mine. Avon held his hands in front of him, one encased in the glove's mate, the other bare.

"Cally?"

"Oh, I needed the glove, Avon. See?"

There was a falcon perched on her arm, its talons gripping the thick leather. It was wearing a leather hood.

"Falconry?"

"You must be thirsty. Drink."

She handed him a crystal goblet of purple wine. He drained it, but felt more parched. He tried to speak, but the only result was a painful croak.

"Oh, dear. Perhaps the raw material would be better."

She gestured towards a bunch of grapes hanging near him. He reached for it with his gloveless hand. Then the vine whipped around his wrist, holding him tight, hissing like a snake.

He turned his eyes toward Cally. Please.

"This will help."

She removed the hood from the falcon's head. It turned to look at him with a single eye in a decidedly human face.

"Blake!"

Avon sat bolt upright, but someone was holding him.

"It's okay, Avon. Blake can't find us here."

He was sitting on the fur blanket, another one in his lap, exposing his torso to the draft. He had been covered when he was lying down. Was he hot or cold? It felt like both at once.

"Can you hear me, Avon?"

He turned his head to face her. A moment of dizziness, followed by what seemed a disturbingly long time for his brain to remember how to process vision. Then, like the last piece of a probability square, everything clicked into place, a name and a history to attach to the face.

"Soolin?"

"Yes, Avon, it's Soolin."

She released her hold on him and wrapped him in the blankets. "We have no pain killers, I'm afraid. You were better off unconscious."

"I'm surprised to be experiencing the alternative." He shook his head slowly from side to side, trying to clear his head without bringing on the dizziness, then looked back at Soolin. "I gather I should be thanking you for the opportunity."

"Not necessary. I wasn't doing you any favors."

"Where are we?"

"A miner's bolt-hole. Finding a lode doesn't give you any legal rights to it on a lawless world. A miner needed to have places he could live in for long periods if he thought someone had caught his scent. Neither he nor his mine would be safe otherwise."

"And is this miner a friend of yours, or are we sub-letting against his will?"

"My guess is that he's dead. There's too much here for him to have willingly abandoned it, but it's been left to rot. Someone must have caught up with him, but never found this place."

She stood up, walked to the table, and poured water from the pitcher. Her flight-suit was gone, also; she wore nothing but two lengths of cloth wrapped around herself and knotted in place. Avon shook his head. I must be getting old. My powers of observation are going.

"Where are our clothes?"

"Far away. They were contaminated."

"By what?"

"Maldurite insulation. Do you remember anything about the tracking gallery?"

She handed him the mug of water. He drank it, but still said nothing. She frowned at him, then continued. "After the cave-in I dragged you out. Through a power conduit. The linings were badly damaged; by the time we reached the surface we were covered in maldurite dust. For a techie, you don't seem to have much resistance."

"Maldurite's been banned on earth for decades. I didn't even know people could build up a resistance."

"When GP went lawless there was no incentive for the mining combines not to economize. They were planning to ravage the planet anyway. You can get maldurite for a tenth the cost of anything else on planets where it's still legal to manufacture it." She took a deep breath. "Anyway, you seem to be over the worst of it. Not that we'd have a choice in the matter, as we don't have any med access handy."

Avon closed his eyes. His head was throbbing.

"What now?"

"We figure out what happened. I know Gauda Prime, but my five minutes with Roj Blake weren't very informative. You've known him longer."

"I don't know Roj Blake." His head drooped. Didn't know.

He could sense her eyes scrutinizing him in minute detail. Then she laid her hand on the back of his neck. It felt soothingly cool.

"Your fever's up again. Lie down."

She pulled the blanket over him. Too hot. He tried to push it away.

"Trust me, you'll do better covered. Maldurite fever isn't pleasant."

A fire crackled between them. Not a normal fire-it was shot through with greens and blues from some strange chemical process. Not a fuel source he was familiar with. He couldn't even see her clearly through the flames. And all around was utter blackness.

"So your wanderings bring you back to me."

Her face became visible through the flames, like the sun rising over a mountain.

"Before you came here you had a base, a ship, a crew. Now you have nothing. You've burned it all to the ground."

"I still have this." He raised his gun.

"And does that put you at ease?"

The fire crackled. There was a bird's nest in it. The fledglings burned and died. Anna laughed.

Avon fired.

"Is there anyone left to kill?"

"Why me?"

Soolin turned her head towards him.

"Entirely selfish motives on my part. We have a mystery to solve. We need medicine for maldurite sickness; I'm not eager to take chances with my own resistance. I haven't gone through maldurite fever since I was nine and I don't intend to ever again if I can help it. Therefore we need communications. And you know where Orac is."

"Orac."

"Yes, Avon. I don't know what you plan to do, but I would like to find out what's going on, and we don't have access to communications without Orac."

My plans. "What makes you think there's anything worth knowing about?"

Soolin let out a small laugh. "Where's your curiosity, Avon?" She sounded just like Dayna. Avon closed his eyes.

Soolin must have understood his reaction; her voice hardened. "Look, someone went to a lot of trouble to build this puzzle. The least we can do is attempt to solve it."

"Solve it. Solve what?"

"Don't you think it was strange for the tracking gallery to have collapsed like that? There were explosions."

"We were under Federation attack."

"The assault squads were already inside."

"The Federation has never put a high premium on keeping its troops alive."

"Only when they're losing. They had no reason to bomb the place."

"Then who did?"

"That's a very good question."

Avon pondered that for a moment.

"I'm tired, Soolin. Let me rest."

"Suit yourself. It's not like we have anywhere to go."

Blood seeped from the bandage around Avon's head. He held the wooden staff in both hands and snarled. The Federation soldiers, black figures against the black night, closed on him. He glanced down at Blake's body for an instant.

He had read something like this on one of the outer planets, in an old vid-book from before the Ban. An earth legend about a warrior named Aias, last defender of his fallen comrade, standing alone against an army.

A giant of a man, this Aias, head and shoulders taller than the rest. He had pictured Gan at the time. Just the sort of stupid thing Gan would do. Why protect a dead body?

Of course, Aias wasn't the man who had killed his friend.

There was a sound above him. A flyer. He looked up at it. Surrounded. He held a gun in both hands and fired at it.

And he heard Servalan laughing.

"I eat and also he eats of me," she sang at him, "they eat beneath and over me, tell me then, how can that be?"

She was standing at the door.

"Everybody wants to eat, Avon. Every living thing. Do you ever want to eat again? It is a sensual experience, is it not, the feeling of your body functioning? A place where you can eat is a haven of safety."

Avon said nothing.

"Where is Orac?"

She waited for him to respond.

"Break the rules and you have no one to blame but yourself. Simply accept my authority and no harm will come to you."

Avon opened fire.

"Where is it, Avon?"

Avon looked at Soolin's hands on his shoulders, then up at her face, but said nothing.

"Where is Orac?"

"Not yet. No hurry. We aren't going anywhere, remember?"

Soolin released Avon's shoulders and exhaled out of the corner of her mouth, setting a shower of blond hair in motion. "Avon, you need medical treatment. I thought you would be able to shake it on your own, but you're getting worse."

"Your concern for my health is touching."

"Look, Avon, I don't intend to hide in this cave forever. We need to know what's happening out there. There could be Feds looking for us. Or Blake's people. And the others could be alive."

"No one is alive, Soolin. They're all dead. I saw to that."

"I'm alive, Avon."

He turned to her and offered a sweet, ghastly smile. "And stuck with me. A fate worse than death."

"Avon, you're delirious."

"Am I? In spite of your kind ministrations. And what could help me? Orac, of course. Why should I trust you?"

She cocked her head to one side. "Mutual convenience."

"I appear to be rather inconvenient at the moment."

"Not if you can help me figure out what's going on."

"Or if I give you Orac. Or if you use me to buy your freedom."

"Do you think I would do that?"

"I would."

"Would you?"

After a long pause, Avon replied, "Perhaps."

"I'll chalk that one up to the maldurite. Very well, keep Orac your little secret for now. How about helping me figure out what happened at Blake's base?"

"He betrayed us, remember?"

"And who bombed the gallery?"

Avon sagged. "I need to rest."

Soolin drew in a long breath, then exhaled. Avon raised his head and watched her carefully. Didn't someone once tell me something about counting to ten when you become angry?

"All right, Avon. Get some rest." She stood and turned away from him, took a few steps, then turned back.

"You don't trust me, do you, Avon?"

"You're the one who said you don't give your allegiance, Soolin. You sell your services. I'm not very well funded at the moment."

"I see."

"I trust no one, Soolin."

The grass was soft against his back, the breeze warm. Clouds passed slowly across the sky, like hovering winged angels. Avon closed his eyes and let the sun warm him.

A gentle hand stroked a lock of hair from his forehead. "Thinking?" Anna asked.

He turned his head slightly in the cradle of his fingers. "Always."

"About what?"

"Nothing important. An old poem."

She traced the outline of his lips with a fingertip.

"Going to keep it a secret from me?"

"Would I keep secrets from you, Anna? It was a song, I think, but I've no idea what the melody was."

"So make one up."

Avon turned his head skyward, thinking, then began to sing:

Close the door, keep out society.

Anna considered for a moment. "Rather an odd song. It seems ... antisocial. What do you think it means?"

"I have no idea. Change. Change arising out of night, darkness, stillness. Like a stag suddenly appearing out of the woods, as if from nowhere, and vanishing away again just as fast."

Anna nuzzled against him. "Things don't have to change."

"Don't they?"

"Not if you do as you ought."

"Follow the rules, don't raise a ruckus? I wonder."

"Not if you're lucky, then."

"Not," smiled Avon, "if you are prepared."

Avon awoke alone, to darkness, his fingers still laced behind his head. He unweaved them and stretched out his arms. Sore. His whole body ached. Even breathing felt difficult.

He stood up, with difficulty, biting down the pain. He felt dizzy while rising. There was a rushing sound in his ears, like water, but drowning out the underground stream. Not water. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. Voices. 'Wait,' they tell me.

No. After standing still for a moment he felt better. His eyes focused on the objects on the table: the pitcher, the mug, the gun.

He picked up the gun. Or she knows as well as I do that I can't out-shoot her even when I'm healthy. A gun is the safest thing she could mistrust me with. He put it back on the table.

In one corner of the room were the miner's hoard of cloth and tanned leather moccasins. He put on a pair and wrapped a cloth around his waist. He threw another across his shoulders, then tossed it off. Too hot. Like burning hemp. Like a burning kiss.

He stood again, bracing himself against the wall, and waited for the dizziness to subside. He considered the gun for a moment. I wouldn't want to disappoint her. He picked it up and made his way towards the cave entrance.

Outside it was cooler, the air fresher. Avon took in a deep breath; to his dismay it resulted in a fit of coughing.

Then a gunshot.

He dove for the shelter of the rocks. The weapon fire halted his coughing, but his position was already exposed.

He waited, searching the terrain for movement. He must realize that he knows my position, but I don't know his. Splendid.

He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Take your time. No need to rush. He isn't hurrying.

There! The glint of light on a gun-barrel. Avon fired. But how did he get there?

The bounty hunter fell even as another shot rang out. More than one. I wonder how many?

There were two more gunshots. Neither struck anywhere near him.

And a long silence. Avon decided not to break cover; too risky. He could wait.

"Out for a stroll?"

He whirled on Soolin. She was right behind him.

"I took care of the others. You look like death warmed over."

"At least I'm warm."

"Not if you walk around like that. If you don't feel the cold your fever must be up again."

"Sending me back to bed, doc?"

"Unfortunately, no. Those hunters will only be the first. Time to move on. I've been watching them for hours. The woman is about your size, and one of the men is mine. Let's hope their boots fit us well enough for a long trek."

"How long?"

Soolin smiled at him. "Depends if I have to carry you."

Jenna's voice echoed in the close confines of the pylon. Avon didn't turn to look, but he could see her out of the corner of his eye, perched on the gantry, her palms flat on the lateral support she was using as a seat. She was rocking back and forth slightly, her legs dangling, like a child on a porch-swing.

"You've been up here for hours."

He ran his finger down the wiring chart and touched the tip of the laser probe to one of the exposed contacts. It fused with a satisfying pop, wisps of blue smoke rising slowly in the still, recycled air.

"I've been busy."

"Busy avoiding having to speak to anyone."

"One of the many benefits of this particular wiring junction. You have to climb to get here." He turned to her and smiled. "Generally none of you bother."

"So only Zen can interrupt you."

He turned back to the wiring diagram. "Zen is a computer. It doesn't bother me with pointless babbling. I ask a question; Zen answers."

"Oh, really? I recall your telling me quite recently that Zen can be as bad as Blake." She aped the rhythm of his debating voice, spitting out the key words in a sharp staccato. "They both have a disturbing tendency to take unilateral action for no discernible reason, to avoid answering questions, and to fall back on meaningless drivel when the facts become inconvenient."

He melted another contact. "All the more reason to spend my time on Zen's wiring."

Jenna was silent for some time, but Avon refused to look in her direction.

"All right, Avon. Let's stop beating around the bush. Are you jealous of Zen because he's in my head and you aren't? Or are you jealous of me because I understand Zen in a way that you can't?"

Avon turned his head slowly toward her. "Zen is a machine. If I have to rip out every wire in every crawlspace on this ship, I will correct its eccentricities. And as for you..." He turned back to the access panel. "...what goes on in your mind is none of my concern."

She was right behind him. He could feel her breath on his neck. Even without touching him, her skin gave off a warmth he could feel through his clothing. A warmth he had long since abandoned.

"Avon, don't think I haven't noticed what's going on. I know how you think. I didn't expect it to last forever. But I'm trying to protect you, not wash my hands of you. If you think it was bad having Zen come between us, you're crazy to get involved with Blake. It doesn't matter how he feels. His cause will always come first. And if by some miracle we should win, he'll just find another one."

He turned on her. Too quickly; he lost his balance. She reached for him, but it wasn't possible; he was falling, tumbling head over heels, watching the black organometallic walls circling around him.

Soolin's face formed out of the haze. "Avon!"

Avon shivered. His heartbeat began to steady. He drew his face into a smile.

"Something I can do for you?"

"You're not listening, Avon. I need your help."

"My condolences."

"You're delirious, Avon."

"Then I am probably doing my best thinking."

Soolin tossed her head and stood up, blowing a stray strand of hair away from her face with an angry puff of breath. She turned her back to him.

Avon said nothing. Her shadow has something planned.

She turned to face him. "Avon, enough is enough. The tracking gallery."

"I'm tired."

"No you aren't, Avon. I've let you get by on that line before, but no more. We need to talk about the tracking gallery."

"I don't remember."

"You're a lousy liar, Avon. Talk."

He looked up at her. "I led you into a trap. Despite all my best efforts, two of us made it out alive."

"Stop it, Avon. This is not about blame. This is about what happened and why."

"Blake betrayed us."

"But what caused the tracking gallery to collapse? It doesn't make sense."

What does? He looked down at the ground. "Dammit, Soolin, I don't remember!"

She kneeled in front of him, grabbed his chin in her right hand and his hair in her left, and tilted his head up until she was looking directly into his eyes. "You remember. Talk."

"I killed him."

"We all knew the risks, Avon. We took our chances. They didn't make it. It isn't your fault. You didn't kill them."

"Not them. Him."

Soolin released his hair, but was still staring into his eyes. "You mean Vila? Is this about Malodaar? He told me..."

Avon's face tightened into a snarl. "No, not them. Him. Blake."

Soolin released his chin and leaned back, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"What do you think I mean! I killed Blake!"

"Not unless you bombed the base, and I don't think you have the connections."

"Whatever you say."

"Concentrate, Avon! Why do you say you killed Blake?"

He stared at her. "Because I shot him."

"No, Avon, you didn't."

Avon bared his teeth again. "I shot him three times."

"You never fired, Avon."

His eyes narrowed. "You're lying."

Soolin grabbed his shoulders. "I'm not lying, Avon. You never fired."

"Of course I fired. What's your game, Soolin? If you are Soolin."

"Avon, what are you talking about?"

"You're lying, that's what I'm talking about. Don't play the maligned innocent with me. You don't give your allegiance, Soolin, you told me that."

"I said I sell my skills, and that's what I did. You wanted the fastest gun-hand around and you got it. That's what I'm telling you. You didn't fire the first shot."

Avon spat three words through clenched teeth. "Then ... who ... did?"

Soolin shook him. "I did."

Avon was face down on the ground, with a sharp object against his back, directly behind his heart.

"Don't even think of it. Put your hands behind your head and turn over slowly."

Avon did as he was told.

"Avon?"

Dayna pointed her spear away from Avon. She was wearing the remains of her flight-suit-both sleeves and legs had been torn off. There was a long black scar running up the outside of her left thigh, and a horizontal one two inches below her left knee. From the width and extent of the scarring, Avon gathered that they must have been deep, wide, and bloody gashes.

Dayna's look of confusion turned into a smile. "Avon, I thought you were dead!"

And I know that you are.

"Close enough for Betas. You look well fed."

"I'm used to foraging. There's more than enough flora and fauna here..." Her smile changed to a look of concern. "Avon, are you all right? You're so pale."

"I'm not surprised. But not to worry." He smiled. "I feel worse than I look. Care to help me up?"

She took his proffered hand and pulled him to his feet. He stumbled against her and held on, his head spinning.

"Avon, you're burning up. You need medical care."

She carried him to a stump and sat him down. Medical care. There's something I'm missing.

Aha! "Dayna, your leg. You have medical supplies?"

She looked away. "Sorry, no. We had to make do with what we had. Fortunately we found uncontaminated water, the wound didn't become infected, and the bleeding stopped before we ran out of scraps of cloth."

"We?"

"Vila and I. He's not a bad medic, when he's not complaining."

"Vila? He's alive?"

"Trust me, that man becomes very competent when the roof caves in on him. He's done construction work. Never would have thought he had ever had a real job, but there you are. He knows buildings, and he said the complex was built well. He managed to find his way out."

"And what about Tarrant?" He considered. "And Soolin?"

Her face darkened. "I'm afraid I don't know. We thought we were the only ones who made it out." Suddenly she brightened. "But you made it. Maybe they did, too."

"Dayna, I'm exhausted. Let me rest."

"Hungry, Avon? You must be famished."

Blake waved at the table, covered with plates and cups made of gold, laden with all manner of food. "Everyone, eat!"

Blake was seated in a velvet chair, a purple cloak over his shoulders, trimmed in white fur. He was wearing a gold crown.

"Now, I have a game for us all. To celebrate our capture of Servalan's headquarters, I want each of you to tell me which of you had the most important job. Go on, Avon, you first."

Avon leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "Very simple. I was the one who tracked her communications, decoded her protocols, and closed down her computers. We would never have even found her otherwise."

"I beg to differ, Avon," came Tarrant's response, simultaneously casual and precise. "You closed down all the computers, including the transport web. I had to fly us in blind. Without me you would have been an oily smear on the tarmac."

"You gentlemen seem to be forgetting," said Soolin, "who it was who shot Servalan's guards. Without me, there wouldn't even have been an oily smear left."

"Hey, what about me?" asked Vila. "You would've looked right fools standing about outside the door, with no way in."

They began bickering, but were silenced by a knock at the door.

"Enter," Blake called out.

The door opened and Dayna walked in. "Let us not forget who it was who designed all your weapons and made all your tools. None of you could have done your jobs without me."

"The lady has a point," bellowed Blake. "Come, sit here, next to me. Try some of this, it's delicious."

Avon watched him feed her like a favorite child.

It was a long covered bridge, dilapidated, winding into the darkness of the night. Avon could see neither the other end of the tunnel, nor the bottom of the chasm below it.

Which was more welcoming? Which led to safety, which to peril?

And a siren call from across the sea: "Avon, come to me."

"Anna?" He kneeled by the cliff's edge and peered into the darkness beneath the bridge, but saw nothing.

"Come to me, Avon." He whirled suddenly at that. "Servalan."

"Don't listen to her." Tarrant's voice, but still he saw nothing.

"And what right have you to say, Del Tarrant?"

"You have cast me out, naked."

"Clothes for him, then. A Federation uniform. Make him a Captain."

"Clothes are nothing, Servalan. I have no family, no lover, no comrades."

Avon could see Servalan now, appearing out of the darkness with a Cheshire-cat grin.

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of leaving you in such a state, poor boy. Who will it be, Tarrant? Deeta is dead, and Zeeona, and Dayna. Choose, then, who you wish to have back. Which one shall it be, Tarrant?"

"If I should live, Servalan, I shall have other lovers, and other comrades. But my parents are gone. I will never have another brother."

"Oh, good show." Servalan turned to face Avon eye-to-eye. "And whose life do you want, Avon?"

But they insisted, and Avon didn't have the energy to argue.

They had camped against a hillside-it was sheltered, defensible, and obscured the light of their fire. Avon would have preferred to do without the blankets, to move away from the fire, to let the cool night air reach him. But Soolin wouldn't have it, and Dayna backed her up, and Vila was no help at all.

"They're called controlled implosions," Dayna said, punctuating her explanation with an occasional descriptive gesture. "I've designed them myself. It's the only way to bring a building down safely. It takes months of planning-you need to consider the placement of each charge, magnitude, timing. You need to know exactly where the building's structural elements will fracture, where the pressurized air will go, where each piece will fall. And then it takes weeks to set all the charges. And after all that it's all over in ten seconds, fifteen tops.

"But it's all planned for a reason. Blake's people knew exactly where to be, how to get out safely. I managed to get out, and all I had to go on was visual observation of the charges as they were going off and guesses about the building structure."

"And how about you, Vila?"

They all turned to Avon; he had been silent for hours.

"What about it, Vila? Dayna's told us how she got out. And Soolin, marvel that she is, not only escaped herself, she also carried me out with her. And she even managed to avoid Maldurite poisoning herself. Now tell us, Vila, about your miraculous escape."

Vila began to fidget. "Don't know, really," he stammered. "I guess I just sort of followed Dayna."

Soolin stood up and put a hand on Vila's shoulder. "Just what are you implying, Avon?"

Avon smiled and spread his hands out, palms upward. "I am simply making an observation. According to Dayna, an elaborate scheme was constructed to destroy the base but allow Blake's people to escape. Why? And why did Blake set it off when we were there? And after all their planning, we four managed to escape. You're the expert, Dayna; surely the intention was to bury anyone in the complex who didn't know the escape routes? Yet Vila's mighty intellect saved him."

Dayna was standing now, wagging a finger in Avon's face. "Avon, you know better than that. Vila has a knack for wriggling out of things. And he knows something about building construction."

"I could see Dayna's face," Vila chimed in, pleadingly. "She was following the pattern of the explosions. I figured she knew what was going on, and I followed her. That's all."

Soolin sat down, her eyes focused on the fire. "They must have known the Federation was on to the location of the base. This way they could abandon it and leave everyone thinking they were all dead. And take out a few Federation assault teams in the process."

"Not to mention us," Avon spat out.

"Blake wouldn't have done that deliberately," said Vila. "Not to us." The worried edge to his voice increased. "Would he?"

Avon smiled. "He wasn't in any condition to do so, now was he?"

"It must have been the stray gunfire," said Soolin, looking up at Dayna. "There were three shots, and two hit the walls. Could that have done it?"

Dayna turned to her. "I suppose so. Once one of the firing triggers was activated, it would set off all the rest in the pre-determined sequence."

"Three shots?"

They turned to look at Avon again. "Yes, three, Avon," said Dayna. "I think that's how many I heard."

"Yes," said Soolin. "Three."

Avon looked down at his hands. His voice was gravelly. "I fired three shots. None of them went astray. They all hit their target, and I wasn't aiming for the walls."

There was silence, filled only by the crackling of the fire. Avon looked up. Dayna and Soolin were staring at each other.

Soolin took a deep breath and looked at Avon. "You didn't fire at all, Avon."

His voice was a growl now. "What are you talking about?"

Soolin stood again. "Damn it, Avon, I know my business. You told Blake to stay where he was. He started towards you, so I fired a warning shot over his head. Then Arlen pulled her gun, so I shot her. Her gun fired and the shot went wild."

Avon pressed his back against the rock face. "You're lying," he snarled.

"Avon, I don't know what you think happened, but I'm telling the truth."

Avon was half standing now, and had his gun out. "Not a move, any of you. And especially not you, Soolin. Hands behind your heads."

"Avon, what are you ..."

"Shut up, Dayna, or whoever you are. You two, on the ground, face down. Vila, stand over there and don't move a muscle. Now!"

He was silent as he tied Dayna and Soolin and gathered supplies.

"Vila, carry this. You're coming with me."

"Avon, why are you doing this? Shouldn't we ..."

"Move, Vila!" He found himself smiling again. "If you ever want to move again."

He turned back toward the camp just before the trail took it out of sight. "That cloth has some give. You should be able to work yourself free in an hour or so. Don't try to follow us."

He nudged Vila onward with the gun muzzle. He smiled.

Avon leaned back against the stone, cool and soothing on the back of his neck. Vila sat on the ground, near the fire and wrapped in two blankets; Avon hadn't wanted his. Occasionally, the Delta picked up twigs or blades of grass and began fingering them, tying knots and twisting them into amusing shapes.

Unless he happened to look at Avon. There was an attentiveness to Vila's every move on Avon's face that unsettled him. And Vila knew exactly why. He recognized that look, or rather the feel of facial muscles contorted into that expression. He had worn that face looking at Avon ever since Malodaar.

Vila tossed another of his creations into the fire, watching it burn intently as he gathered his courage. He drew in a deep breath before looking up at Avon.

"Avon, please. Let's go find Dayna and Soolin."

Vila shook visibly in the long silence before Avon's response.

"No."

"They'll be worried. They'll be looking for us."

"Let them look."

Vila looked down at his hands and took another deep breath. This time he spoke without looking up. "Why me?"

"Because I know you."

Vila looked up. "What does that mean?"

Avon shifted his weight off the cliffside, walked toward the fire, and kneeled next to Vila. "I know full well my perceptions are not currently reliable. I have yet to be convinced of the reason for this. Under these circumstances I cannot take chances."

He clapped a hand on Vila's shoulder, causing the Delta to flinch. Then he changed his mind, stood, and turned his back on the fire and the man. He wove his fingers together behind his back.

"Servalan has fooled me with illusions of familiar faces before. I won't be fooled again. A fake Dayna might be able to deceive me for weeks. Soolin even longer. But not a fake Vila."

"I'm not a fake, Avon, I swear."

Avon turned, his hands still behind his back, and smiled.

"Then you have nothing to worry about."

"W-worry?"

"Yes. Because if you were a fake, I'd kill you."

There was a sound of water. Avon cupped a hand to his ear to isolate the direction.

Avon approached the sound, cautiously.

The fountain was a tableau in stone, an intricate creation of smooth black rock. On the right side a heavily built man raised a pitcher over his head with his left hand and poured water into a basin held in his right. To the left of the basin was the figure of a woman, with three dying children beside her, kneeling at the man's feet, begging for water. As Avon drew closer, the textured planes of the figure caught the light from different angles, so that different parts alternately flickered from black to white and back again.

He cupped his hands in the basin and drank, one deep draught after another, stopping not from satiation but from weariness with the repetitive motion. The ripples across the surface of the water dissipated without his hands to stir them up.

Then the water became still, and he saw another face reflected beside his own.

He turned.

"Cally."

"Hello, Avon."

"Why are you here?"

She walked around him and ran her fingers across the stone. The woman's hair was much like Cally's. So was her build. He hadn't noticed that before.

And the faces of the children ...

Avon felt queasy. Don't drink the water.

He didn't look up at the face of the final figure.

"Is this some advice for me, Cally? I hear neither your words nor your thoughts. If you have something to say, then say it. I have always trusted your advice."

The Auron whirled on him. "Have you? Have you trusted anyone? How many times do you have to be shown that it doesn't work?"

Avon's lips curled back into a snarl. "It was trusting an illusion that got you killed."

"And refusing to trust is going to get you killed. You're ill, Avon. You need help."

"I will worry about helping myself."

"You will fail."

"I will watch by day and take care by night. I will be ready."

"You cannot be on constant vigil. A bow-string must sometimes be relaxed."

"Relaxation is a luxury I cannot afford."

"First you said they were right, and now you say I am. Which is it, Vila?"

Vila attempted to back further, to no avail. The past three times he had cringed from Avon's glare had expended every iota of space between his body and the rock wall.

"Well, I'm not sure. It all happened so fast. Please, Avon, I don't know!"

"Were there gunshots?"

"Yes, I think so."

"How many?"

"Uh ... three?"

"Is that what you remember, or is that what Soolin told you?"

"Well, she would know!"

"But would she tell us the truth?"

"Why wouldn't she?"

Avon's features suddenly softened, and he backed away from Vila. The delta drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. When Avon spoke again, he was barely audible.

"Because she wanted me to think I didn't kill Blake."

"But you didn't."

Avon glared at Vila again. "Didn't I? Are you sure?"

"Um, well, I don't know," Vila muttered, backing into the crevices of the wall again.

Avon closed in on him and grabbed his collar in a fist. "End of the road, Vila. I don't know what Dayna, or Soolin, or whoever is running this show threatened you with, but you don't have to worry about them any more."

"I ... don't?"

"No. Because they aren't here and I am, and I'm going to kill you now." He punctuated the statement by placing the muzzle of a gun against Vila's Adam's apple.

"Please, Avon ..."

"Tell me the truth." He cocked the gun.

"I have told you, Avon."

"You've told me three different stories. Which one?"

"I ... I don't know!" Vila closed his eyes. Time seemed to stretch out endlessly as he waited. Waited.

No gunshot. Avon drew the gun away from his throat.

"Congratulations, Vila. I know that you, at least, are authentic. No one could possibly imitate your pathetic whimpering so convincingly. The marks of your cowardice are as unique as the facets of a cut diamond."

Bright sunlight. Everything was bathed in it, and everything was the same yellow-beige color; the rocky hills, the sand at his feet, even the sky. The wind was yellow-beige.

The wind, also, carried a song.

A stringed instrument of some sort, although Avon could identify neither the instrument nor the tune. He began working his way toward it, sticking close to the rocky slope, inching his way around the ledge, staying perfectly quiet.

The music was stronger now, and there was a voice accompanying it.

Avon rounded the corner, his left heel dislodging some stones, which rolled down the slope, kicking up dust. The singer, sitting on a ledge above Avon's head, turned at the sound. Seeing Avon, he smiled.

He was Avon as well.

Abruptly the music stopped.

"You're late."

"Am I? I wasn't aware that I was expected anywhere."

"No?" asked the singer. "You knew that sooner or later you would end up here."

"And where is here?"

"Face-to-face with yourself. This is, after all, all about you."

"Is it really? I wasn't aware that the other players were so ... irrelevant."

"Not irrelevant. What happened in the tracking gallery?"

"That is what I'm trying to find out."

"Then this is your chance." He plucked at the strings absently. "You're a logical man, Avon. Figure it out."

"I shot Blake. The complex collapsed. Soolin dragged me out. Vila and Dayna escaped as well." Even as he said it, Avon felt dubious about the whole affair.

"What is the problem?"

Avon inhaled deeply and sighed. "I know the complex collapsed. As for how I came to be outside, I have only Soolin's word that she pulled me out. Dayna's explanation of the deliberate destruction of the base is plausible. And Vila has a talent for slipping through cracks and getting out of things."

"And ..."

There was a long pause.

"Soolin claimed I did not shoot Blake. She said I didn't fire at all."

"And do you believe her?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I shot Blake. I killed him."

"What if someone else killed him?"

"No one else could have killed him."

"He could have been crushed in the collapse of the building."

Avon smiled. "That would be ironic, killed by his own machinations. Appropriate. He always did seem to be headed in that direction." He paused. "Soolin said she fired the first shot. She could have shot Blake. She could have killed him."

"Two plausible explanations."

"No."

"Why not?"

Avon looked up at his twin. "I have no idea."

"I always knew our deaths would be linked."

"What?"

"That's what you told him on Terminal. No one else could kill him, unless they killed you as well. Only you could do it. Isn't that right?"

"Superstitious twaddle."

"But you believe it."

Avon was silent, his eyes cast down, the fingers of his right hand closing into a fist and opening again. "Yes, it appears that I do."

"Then the building didn't kill him, and Soolin didn't kill him. Either you did, or he is still alive."

"He isn't alive. I know I killed him."

"Then why would Soolin lie?"

"Because she wanted me to think I hadn't killed him."

"Why?"

"She knows what happened on Terminal. She has surely talked with the others. She might be under the impression that I would respond badly to the truth of the matter." He looked up at the singer and smiled. "She would be incorrect, of course. Nevertheless, she might feel that lying to me would be prudent."

Vila had calmed down considerably since Avon began acting normal again. Just the fact that Avon was sitting by the fire instead of pacing was reassuring. However, Avon's latest concerns made him edgy again.

"You don't really think they're impostors, do you?"

Avon rested his hands on his knees and smiled. "Your tranquil demeanor is a great reassurance, Vila. And, in the current circumstances, I think it prudent to doubt everyone. You can stop quivering, Vila. I've told you I'm convinced of your authenticity."

"But you're not sure of the others?"

"Soolin is a secretive individual. Do we really know her well enough to be able to detect a well-informed impostor? And even if it really is Soolin, our best interests may not coincide with hers."

"She wouldn't betray us." Vila looked beseechingly at Avon. "Would she?"

"If it was in her best interests. I consider that one of her most impressive characteristics."

"I'd rather not be impressed. But Dayna wouldn't betray us."

"Yes, I would agree with you on that point. However, that might not really be Dayna."

"No. I've been with her since the, um, you know. She's real."

"How can you be sure?"

"Believe me, I'm sure. Absolutely. No question."

Avon cocked his head to one side, scrutinizing the strange expression on Vila's face.

"You aren't serious?"

Vila looked uncomfortable again. "Well, um ..."

Avon began to laugh. "So we have solid evidence that she was not in her right mind, at least."

"Avon!"

"You have always been a clever little thief, haven't you, taking advantage of the young and innocent..."

"Avon, that's not funny! She was hurt, and I had to stop the bleeding. And there were no painkillers, so I rubbed her back. And she couldn't walk, and she got bored. And it was all her idea."

"Of course, Vila. I think it's time to bring them back into the fold."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, I've been leading us in a pattern that Dayna has surely picked up on by now. You are going to head up onto that ridge. I'm sure they'll show up within the hour. Then you can lead them back here."

"Go up there all alone? Maybe we should both go."

"Vila..."

"But what if they are impostors? Or Soolin decides I'm not useful?"

"Your being not useful hasn't led her to shoot you yet. And if Dayna is an impostor, you can reflect on the pleasure you've had at her expense."

"Lovely. You know, there's something to be said for having the last laugh. If you're the last one laughing, you're probably the last one breathing, too."

Avon leaned against the door into Basslevon Mining Station #24, ostensibly to peer inside and verify that it was unoccupied, but in actuality just an excuse for him to rest. He had made far too much noise getting this far; if there was someone inside who hadn't heard his wheezing as he dragged Orac up the slope, they must be brain-dead.

The lighting systems were inoperable, and dusk was approaching, but there was enough light for Avon to see that the place was empty. There was no power for the doors, either, which made the task of defeating the locking mechanism harder rather than easier: forcing the computer to open it for him would have simple. Instead, Avon was forced to use purely mechanical means and pry the door open. It would have been even more difficult if the door had not been forced by numerous scavengers before him; there was even an easily-accessible crowbar for him to use.

The door swung open suddenly and Avon tumbled onto the floor. He was sorely tempted to just lie there, but he had to get Orac inside. Besides, Dayna would catch his scent eventually; his three alleged crewmates would surely have realized by now that he had tricked Vila into delaying them.

He dragged Orac into the complex and pushed the door back into place. He had been dragging rather than carrying the Plexiglas box for at least the last two miles of his trek, across rough terrain; a little more could hardly make things worse, and he knew he would collapse if he tried to support its entire weight.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw exactly what Orac had described to him. The place had been ransacked; everything of value had been removed, largely by brute force. Avon slipped Orac's key into its slot and sunk to the floor.

*It is about time, Kerr Avon.*

"Shut up, Orac. I'm not in the mood. Will it do or not?"

*The underground level has backup power. Most of its systems are still functioning.*

"Good. Only the surface level has been ransacked."

*Of course. The lifts have been frozen at sub-levels since main power failed. Since I am the only computer which is capable of activating them from the surface, no one has had access to the lower levels.*

"Fine, Orac. You are a technological marvel. Just do it and get me to the med bay."

The medical lab was crude, but it did have basic diagnostic and treatment capabilities. Since the complex was full of Maldurite insulation, it was equipped for Maldurite poisoning.

Avon read the diagnosis, not sure how to feel about it, or perhaps just too tired to care. Maldurite poisoning. At least that much is true.

Some of the medicinal stock was damaged or expired, but the Maldurite antitoxin seemed to be usable. The computers prescribed a high-dose, attended treatment regimen. Well, there wasn't anyone to attend him. Avon knew he would be dead to the world for at least eight standard hours once he fell asleep, and didn't trust the computers to be able to wake him. He shrugged his shoulders and gave himself three doses at once, then settled onto a bed for the night.

Avon was awakened by colored light falling from a high, vaulted ceiling. The building was made of stone, in an ancient style Avon believed was called Gothic. There were three large stained glass windows in the ceiling, all circular. Two were intact; one had been shattered by some kind of pressure bomb, and only bits of glass around its rim were left.

Avon sat up and looked around. The walls were bare, but there were sconces for torches and statues all the way around-some still holding their resident pieces, some empty, some filled with nests of straw in which birds had lain their eggs.

"Are you ready for the game, Kerr Avon?"

He turned and saw a woman seated at a table, facing him. She was small of build, wearing a sheath of black silk. Around her neck was a string of opalescent stones. Her hair was black, cropped short, and circled by a ring of silver.

"I know your name," said Avon.

"Cartimandua. The 'Sleek Pony.' Appropriate, don't you think?"

"Someone has cropped your mane."

"It was unnecessarily long. I prize efficiency. The game?"

"The game." Avon looked at the board. At first he thought of chess, but it wasn't quite right. The name slowly came to him.

"Fidchell."

"Yes. 'Wooden Wisdom.' Come." She proffered a seat with a compact gesture of her fingers.

Avon took the seat. The game pieces were all identical, cut from a polished black stone.

"How do I know which are mine?"

"How do you know? How do you ever know, Kerr Avon?"

She picked up a piece and turned it in the light. It changed from black to white and back again as different facets caught the light. "How do you know if they are turning from you?"

"Enough. I am ready to play."

The game was quite brief. Avon's task was to move his king to one edge and off of the game-board; the woman's task was to prevent its escape. Very quickly, Avon had reached the edge.

The woman smiled. "You have nearly made your escape. Congratulations." She paused. "Until the next game, of course."

"Thirty-six hours?"

*Yes, Kerr Avon. I am not a chronometer. If all that you wish to discuss is how long you have slept, I would prefer to continue my research.*

"Don't start with me, Orac. Medical assessment?"

*Your condition is markedly improved. The excessive dosage of antitoxin resulted in some physiological anomalies for the first eight hours, but they have long since returned to normal. I would, however, refrain from overdosing in the future.*

"Point taken." Avon stroked his chin. "Thirty-six hours." He suddenly directed his gaze at Orac. "What about Vila and the girls?"

*Soolin attempted to access a computer four miles away from here. The visual scanners were inoperative, but there were two other people with her. The minimal information I have is consistent with the theory that they were Dayna and Vila.*

Avon let out a deep breath. "I assumed they could manage on their own. Down to business."

Avon climbed off the medical lab bed and settled into a chair next to Orac. He said nothing for some time. Finally he stood and began pacing the room while he spoke.

"Have you recovered any information from Blake's base?"

*Every computer in the rebel complex was destroyed. Every data globe, as well.*

"Weren't there any data storage vaults?"

*I have examined the blueprints and construction plans of the consortium which constructed the base. There were data storage vaults in the plans, and completion inspection reports confirm that they were built.*

"Could the explosions have destroyed the vaults as well?"

*Negative. The vaults were built to Earth rather than Gauda Prime standards. Shock waves of the intensity necessary to penetrate them would have caused far more extensive damage to the base than reports indicate.*

"In other words, the pieces would have been smaller. All right, could the vaults have been left open?"

*Unopened vaults were designed to trigger an alarm after 45 seconds if no humans were present. This makes it extremely unlikely that all of them would have been open at the time of the explosions.*

"But you located no intact data globes?"

*That is correct.*

Avon was silent for a moment. He folded his arms and took a few paces, then slammed a palm onto Orac's casing.

"They must have deliberately removed them from the vaults. Which only makes sense if they were expecting the base to be destroyed and wanted all records they weren't taking with them destroyed with it. What computing resources would be needed to model a controlled implosion with the precision Dayna has hypothesized?"

*It would be beneath me to perform such a simple task. I would hand the task to a lesser machine.*

"I'm not asking you to do it, Orac. I want to know if the computers in Blake's base could have done it."

*The principles behind controlled implosion are basic to construction and mining operations. Many of the computers on Gauda Prime had the specific purpose of calculating implosion simulations.*

"Then they could have done it."

*No.*

Avon snarled. "Why not?"

*There is a marked difference between blasting mine shafts and demolishing buildings, which these computers were designed for, and performing such a delicate and precise simulation as to allow the rebels to escape safely, the Federation troops to be killed, and everything of value in the base to be rendered worthless. No computer on Gauda Prime had the high-precision algorithms to perform such a simulation, nor the computational power to do so.*

Avon turned his back to Orac. "Then Dayna was incorrect."

*No, Kerr Avon. Dayna's analysis was entirely correct.*

Avon turned. "You just told me their computers couldn't handle it."

*That is correct. The design of the controlled implosion was done off-world by specialized computers. Attempts were made to expunge all evidence of the communications, but I have detected traces.*

Avon leaned over Orac, resting his hands on the computer. "And why didn't you tell me that before?"

*That is not the information you requested.*

Avon sighed and straightened. "All right, Orac. So you have definitive evidence that the destruction of the base was deliberately and carefully planned?"

*That is correct.*

"In that case, now that we know, you had better destroy the evidence."

*As you like.*

"I do like, Orac. Any records of survivors?"

*All Federation records report no survivors detected in six months of search. After that, all search teams were recalled. Federation casualties amounted to six elite special assault teams and support personnel. All rebel forces listed as dead, including Scorpio crew.*

"And non-Federation records?"

*I have discovered none to date. However, keep in mind that there are a great many computers in this sector which are not linked. I will require time to access them all.*

"There must be some survivors. Where could they be?"

*There are no existing facilities on Gauda Prime which could support a sizable rebel force undetected. However, I have located an unusual allotment of supplies from Beritok Major which were ordered through a network of fictional corporations.*

"What sort of supplies?"

*I would estimate that a fleet of six ships could have been constructed.*

"Any record of take-off from Gauda Prime after the destruction of the base?"

*Traffic control facilities have been completely destroyed, along with all records. This makes it highly likely that ship movements occurred which needed to be hidden.*

Avon stood and began to pace, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Very well, Orac. It's time to bring the others in. The next time Soolin attempts computer access, make contact and direct them here."

*Yes, Kerr Avon.*

Avon took in a deep breath. "And keep searching for any trace of Tarrant."

*Understood.*

Avon stopped, turned to Orac, and placed his hands on the Plexiglas shell.

"One other thing, Orac."

*Yes, Kerr Avon?*

Avon found that he could only speak the words with his eyes tightly closed.

"Search for Blake as well."

END