Loyalty

Paige tried to walk gracefully in the long, full skirt, but it was difficult; she hadn't worn a skirt since childhood. She'd had some time to practice on board, but she was afraid she still didn't look natural. She tried to forget all about it and to concentrate on the scenery. Fiorinal did look like a lovely world, warm and sunny. Just the place you'd expect to be the playground of the privileged Alpha grades. Much to Vila's regret, however, they weren't there on holiday. Fiorinal was one of the few places where one could purchase jewelry made with Dynamon, and they needed Dynamon to complete the teleport system.

She nearly tripped on her skirts and decided to ignore the scenery, preferring instead to rehearse her role as a new bride. Playing Avon's wife was doing strange things to her respiratory system. Avon was walking next to her with his hand lightly touching her back. Varel and Silira were along as personal guards, wearing nondescript dark blue uniforms. The four of them had come down to the port town of Polymor in the shuttle, and Loren was on alert to take off again at a second's notice. Fortunately for their plans, the jewelers they planned to patronize had an establishment near the shuttle port.

They reached the shadowed door of the jewelers, and Silira moved forward to open it. After giving the interior of the shop a quick glance, she allowed Avon and Paige to enter. Varel entered as well, but remained near the door.

The shop was cluttered with display cases, and dark with wall hangings. It looked considerably smaller than it was. There was a credit register discretely placed in the rear of the shop, next to a door that must lead to the back room. As the entered the shop, an older gentleman moved forward. As was the fashion, his clothes were voluminous, but even without them he must have been huge.

"Good morning, sir and madam. May I help you?"

Avon looked around the shop lazily and eventually his eyes reached the proprietor. He inspected the man insolently, and finally spoke.

"I wish to purchase a necklace for my wife." He drawled. "My name is Anfi, Tor Anfi. This is my wife, Rojaine." He gestured languidly towards Paige, who was peering into display cases with complete absorption.

The shopkeeper had evidently heard of Tor Anfi, one of the richer men on Earth. One who also, coincidentally, seldom left the planet of his birth. "Ah, yes," he murmured. "Delighted to serve you. What may I suggest?"

"I want something unique." Avon's usual clipped tones were mellowed unpleasantly, and Paige almost didn't recognize his voice. "Something I can be sure that no one else will have. My wife would be displeased to find that anyone else possessed the same jewelry that she does. And I'm sure you wouldn't want that to happen." His slow smile threatened retribution for such an insult.

The shopkeeper drew back slightly, then continued with forced pleasantry, "I may have just what you need. There's a new crystal becoming popular. It was found on an obscure little planet in the outer systems. It's just beginning to circulate, and I have the largest intact crystal found yet. It's naturally a blue-white, but of course, any hue is possible. Let me get it for you. Please, make yourselves comfortable." He scurried into the back room, and Silira stationed herself at that exit.

Avon helped Paige to a low cushioned seat, but remained standing. "How are you feeling, my dear?" Avon inquired in a gentler voice. Paige knew he was only acting for the inevitable security monitors, but it was affecting her all the same.

"I'll be fine, I'm sure, Tor. It's just the heat, in this dress . . ." her voice trailed off. She must lay a proper groundwork for the scene to come.

"I suggested a lighter fabric, if you recall," he scolded her lightly, almost affectionately.

She smiled at him, about to reply when the storeowner hurried back in. This time he was accompanied by two of his own guards, who took up positions in opposite corners of the shop, watching Silira and Varel.

"If the lady would care to inspect this," he offered, as he carefully handed her the crystal. It was a smooth, clear stone that filled her palm.

Paige made a show of inspecting it, crying out delightedly, "Why, it's huge. And so pretty. Could it be made into a necklace, do you think?"

She stood and handed the stone to Avon. He weighed it for a moment and nodded slightly. That meant there was enough to provide them all with teleport bracelets. Good. Now for the final act of the play.

"Yes, indeed," the merchant was answering eagerly. "Properly cut, that will give you not only a necklace, but also earrings, an armband, anything you'd like."

"Well then, we'll take it." Avon returned the stone to Paige and flashed an impressive looking credit chip at the merchant. It looked just like the real thing; unfortunately, however, they hadn't the proper materials to create a functional chip. As soon as it was processed, therefore, it would be discovered as a forgery, and a bad forgery at that. Avon asked the man with an oily smile, "How much would you like for it?"

At that moment, Paige began to totter. "Oh, my, I don't feel well. It's the heat, it must be. Tor . . ." her voice faded away as she fainted, falling into a display case on her way down. Shards of glass and jewelry scattered everywhere, and there was momentary pandemonium as her "husband" and two guards raced to reach her, damaging some of the other cases. Varel reached her seconds before the others, and she passed him the crystal.

Silira was the next to get to her, and once she was there, Varel backed off, the crystal safely in his inner garments. Avon had thrown the credit chip at the merchant in his haste to get to his wife's side, and now, he proclaimed in alarm, "She's fainted! The baby! We must get her to the doctor's immediately. This could be serious." He helped Silira pick her up, and they immediately started for the door. He turned at the last minute to instruct the shopowner, "Charge whatever you need to against that credit chip. I'll pay damages, of course."

The merchant, dazed, watched them leave without protest. His mind quickly turned from the customers to the credit chip, and he began to process the sale.

Avon carried Paige until they turned the first corner, and were out of sight of the shop, then he gently set her down. Paige quickly stripped out of the heavy skirts, revealing one of her familiar coveralls. The dress had protected her from the fall, so that only her hands were scraped. They then began to run for the shuttle.

They were three-quarters of the way there when the shop's guards burst around the corner and started firing on them. Silira and Varel returned the fire, covering Paige and Avon as they ran.

If it were only the two shop guards, they might have made it. Before they reached the sanctuary of the shuttle, however, the port guards joined the fray. One of the shots hit Paige in her right shoulder, and with a little whimper, she fell down on the hard surface. Silira and Varel were past her before they realized what had happened. They saw guards emerging from all over the port, and kept running. Avon was already in the shuttle when they arrived. He looked around at their entrance, and caught sight of Paige's body lying on the ground. He started back out of the shuttle, but Varel restrained him as the doors began closing. His last glimpse of her as the shuttle prepared for takeoff was of one of the guards kicking her in the side.

***

Space Commander Darren arrived back at the Empress's main offices even wearier than usual. The rebellion at Takma had been successful, at least so far. Servalan would have to invest more than a small squadron to recapture that system, and she wouldn't like going to the effort; it would look bad. The non-aligned systems were starting to form treaties amongst themselves, something that had been unheard of, even five years ago.

The guards at the Empress's door let him through at once. She was sitting in her chair, watching her personal vidlink. At his entrance, she switched it off. He sensed a suppressed eagerness in her that he didn't understand. "What did you find?"

"We searched the planet thoroughly, ma'am. A ship had put down there not long ago, but we couldn't determine what type of ship. It might have been the rebel's ship, or it might have been a merchant cruiser." He paused. No one liked informing Servalan that they had failed.

"Were there any signs in the underground base?" She asked, sounding mildly curious.

"Yes, there were, but all inconclusive, I'm afraid."

"Very well." She dismissed his report with one elegant hand. "Let us assume that Blake had been on Aristo." She forestalled his protest by explaining languidly, "Blake has Avon, and Avon would want Orac. So, they would go to Aristo. I doubt they would gain any advantage there. But," she raised one scarlet tipped finger, "it shows a pattern. They are trying to regain their former powers. Roj Blake had only three advantages, besides luck. Orac, the Liberator, and the teleport." She smiled lazily.

Darren looked at her uncomprehending, and she continued, her patience beginning to thin.

"Liberator was destroyed, and we have Orac. The only thing they can possibly regain is the teleport. A teleport needs a peculiar sort of crystal, or alloy. Both are rare. Therefore, we need only watch a few places, and wait for them to come to us." She smiled, pleased with herself.

***

The shuttle ride from the surface of Fiorinal to the Scalia seemed like the longest Silira had ever endured. The reality of Paige's death hadn't sunk in yet, but it was working its way towards her consciousness like a slow poison. She couldn't tell what Varel was thinking, but she could feel the fury rolling off of Avon. He was sitting stiffly on the acceleration couch, staring at the floor, and he seethed with tension. She could see that he was struggling to control himself, but nevertheless, she was suddenly frightened of him. She tried to keep still and quiet, and was relieved to see that Varel did the same. Of course, she thought wryly, with him, that was normal.

They docked inside Scalia with a less than skillful thump that reminded the three in the shuttle that they were being pursued. Loren barely remembered to open the shuttle hatch before she bolted for the flight deck. Vision could pilot the ship given coordinates and a speed, but more talent was needed for battles.

Silira was the first out of the hatch, followed by Varel. In unspoken agreement, they waited for Avon, and the three of them walked silently towards the flight deck.

Once Loren reached her pilots controls, her face lit with an unusual happy glow. Nothing else in her life compared to the thrill of ordering a fast battle cruiser, and the chase was likely to be exhilarating. She played with her pursuers at first, and then kicked in the photon drive. The inertial dampers screamed at the sudden acceleration, but held steady. The pursuit ships dwindled in the viewscreens like pebbles down a well.

The thrill of that victory was infectious, and by the time the landing party reached the flight deck, Loren, Blake and Rusk were grinning like children. Vila was the first to notice the arrival of the others.

"Three cheers for the heros," he started, coming towards them. Then he saw Avon's face and flinched. He'd only seen Avon look this bad once before, and that thought was enough to send him crawling into a hole. He compromised by wedging himself into a corner of the flight deck.

Blake was the next to notice that something was wrong. He started towards them, worried. "What's the matter? Did you get the crystal? Is everyone all right?" He scanned their faces until Silira answered.

"Paige was shot. She fell and we didn't have time to get her." Her tone was curt, in an effort to shield her pain.

Varel spoke up then, in a cutting voice, "But yes, we did get the crystal." He extracted it from his garments and nearly threw it at Blake. The rebel leader caught it deftly, and stood weighing it.

"Don't throw it, please," Silira begged, with a catch in her voice. "Paige d-died for that stone, and we don't want to waste that."

Throughout the whole scene, Avon had said nothing, and now he simply turned and left the flight deck. The world had an eerie unreality, and he wondered in a detached part of his brain if he were finally going mad. Perhaps it would help. Perhaps, he thought with a grimace, he was mad already. Why else would he be having such a strong reaction to what was after all, inevitable? Anyone who was foolish enough to follow Blake could expect nothing better, he told himself brutally, and Paige meant nothing to him. So why did this feeling of loss persist? He had thought himself dead to emotion, but instead, he found a persistent thread of it, pulsing in his mind, disturbing his concentration. He headed for the converted storage hold that now housed the teleport. There was much more work to do.

***

Commander Darren had just sat down to his supper when he received the summons from the Empress. Uncomplaining, he rose again and nodded farewell to his fellow officers at the table. They saluted him and returned to their food.

Servalan was standing when he entered her office. Her gown was one of the more outrageous ones he'd seen, with splashes of red and purple on a silver-white gauze. It was cleverly fashioned to show off a woman's curves, while also concealing their true dimensions. Not that Servalan had many extra pounds. Her appetite for power was so large it left little room for food. She swept around at his entrance, and the dancing lights off the glitter in the gown startled him. It seemed a fitting complement to the glitter in her eyes. Darren felt a tremor of worry about her. "You needed me, ma'am?"

"Yes," she answered decisively, with an edge of excitement. "I have a trip to make, and while I am gone, you will administer the base, and the home fleet. Sassic will administer the domestic issues. Delay all important decisions, don't make my absence known, and I will be in contact with you frequently."

Darren was slightly stunned at the sudden increase of responsibility. "But, Empress, where, if I may ask, are you going?"

"There has been a robbery on Fiorinal," she began with seeming irrelevance. "A small party tricked a jeweler and ran off with one of his prized stones. The stone is valuable, but the robbers didn't want money. They stole Dynamon, and they will use it to build a teleport, if they can."

"It was Blake's crewmen?" Darren asked, his heart sinking at the thought of another Federation defeat.

"It was," she confirmed, unperturbed by their success. "However, one of them was shot in the escape. And unfortunately for that person," her voice dripped with false sympathy, "the girl did not die. She is a prisoner, and she is being held until I arrive to question her. My ship is leaving within the hour." She smiled, and stretched cat-like. "Either the girl will tell us how to find Blake and Avon, or they will race to her rescue. Either way, we have them."

She dismissed Darren, and he retraced his steps towards the dining hall. He was worried. The Empress was still too . . . concerned with her former prisoner. He would never have thought that she would relinquish her responsibility to the extent that she had just done, and he wondered how strong a hold this Avon had on her. He'd never been much to look at, but even Darren had to admit that there had been a certain strength in him. It only served to make him more dangerous to them all.

***

Avon worked on the teleport almost non-stop for two days. Varel was the only one who dared to approach him, and he was either ignored or cursed at. Vila was glad to let someone else play his part, especially as he tended to spend his time comforting Silira. The rest of the crew seemed barely touched by the tragedy. They all left Orac to sit in silence, until it brought itself to the forefront.

*Attention!* Orac declared imperially on the morning of the third day. Silira regarded it with deep distrust, and Vila, sitting close to her, smiled sadly at the reminder of Zen.

"What is it, you lousy piece of space debris?" Vila insulted the computer out of habit.

*I have received information about a member of Scalia's crew. There is a standing order to report all such information. * The plastic box sounded as smug and arrogant as ever.

Vila looked as if he was going to snarl again, but Silira shushed him. "What information, Orac?"

*Paige Tarrant is being held for questioning on the planet Fiorinal.*

"What?" Vila and Silira exclaimed in chorus.

Orac responded indignantly, but neither of them was listening. "She wasn't killed." Silira nearly whispered. "We have to rescue her."

"Yes, I think we do," Vila agreed grimly, thinking of Avon.

Just then, Blake entered the flight deck for his turn on watch, followed by Loren. Silira jumped up and told them the news. Blake nodded, and looked concerned.

"I was worried about that," he confided, "but it makes no difference. We cannot help her."

"What?" Silira asked, more shocked by this announcement than by the original news. "What are you talking about? We have the photon drive, a teleport. She's a member of this crew. We've got to help her."

"Believe me, we would like to," Loren started, only sounding partially sincere. "But once we show ourselves vulnerable, we lose ground. If they know that we will attempt a rescue of every hostage, then they gain control of our actions. And we cannot allow that."

"What I'm primarily concerned with," Blake continued thoughtfully, "is the information they may pull out of her. We'll need to cut our losses as much as possible."

Silira was upset at that, as well, and continued to argue the point, but Vila slipped off to the teleport section. This was news that Avon needed to hear, and it looked like he would have to be the one to deliver it.

Avon was bending over one of the panels, frowning in concentration when Vila slipped in the door of the small room. The thief had moved very quietly, but at his entrance, Avon stilled his hands and raised his head, managing to project the illusion of moving so fast he seemed still. Vila sensed that the other man was very close to breaking.

"Orac came up with something," he started uncertainly. Would it be better to break the news all at once, or to lead up to it, he wondered uselessly. "Paige is alive."

At that, the tension in Avon eased, and he relaxed every muscle slowly, not releasing his control of himself. He turned back towards the console, and carefully not-asked, "I suppose Blake is insisting on a mad dash to the rescue." He sounded disapproving of the idea, but willing to play along if the others insisted.

"No, he's not." Avon's head snapped around, but he didn't say anything, so Vila was forced to continue. "He and Loren are talking of not showing vulnerability, and keeping the upper hand. Silira is arguing with them."

Avon turned back to the teleport console, his mind in turmoil once more. He hated to admit, even to himself, that Paige mattered to him. He had always scorned heroics, so how could he turn around now and demand them? Besides, a little voice tormented him, it might be better that she's gone, before she has a chance to betray you. He remembered the agony he had suffered thinking Anna was being questioned, but it was mixed and tainted by the humiliation he had suffered when he had discovered how much of a fool he had been about her. He still sometimes woke up with Anna's voice ringing in his ears. "Why didn't you come back for me?" But Anna had betrayed him, and Paige might do so as well.

He had always counted on others to "convince" him to do the things he couldn't bring himself to initiate. He didn't know any other way. Paige would have to be rescued, but it would need to be someone else's suggestion; Avon was too trapped by habit.

He resumed work at a slightly slower pace, and Vila realized that the tech meant to wait for the others to make the first move. He shook his head sadly, and left as quietly as he'd arrived. If not Avon, it would have to be Varel. Vila didn't enjoy taking risks, but he knew that some of them needed to be taken; besides, if Loren succeeded in dumping Paige, could Vila himself be far behind? Now that he had found Silira, he didn't intend to lose her. His jaw set with determination, he headed off to find Varel.

***

Paige woke up slowly, with most of her attention taken up by the pain in her side. Her left arm and hip also ached fiercely, and she wondered vaguely why no one had repaired the damage yet. Modern medicine could banish any symptoms. She began to suspect, with a hideous sinking feeling, that something had gone wrong. She opened her eyes with misgivings, and saw that she was in a bland, white room. It had one door, one bed, and one primitive toilet in a corner. Her mind suddenly presented her with a memory of Vila, on Scalia, proclaiming that his cell on Zephron had been pretty bad, and that he'd seen the lot. She wondered briefly what he'd think of hers.

She lay still and tried to evaluate her situation. She was wearing an unfamiliar set of light colored coveralls, probably prison issue, and her feet were bare. She remembered being hit in the right shoulder, but there wasn't a wound, so it must have been a stun blast. She wondered how long she'd been unconscious. She also wondered where the Scalia was. She hoped that they'd gotten away safely, but it didn't really make much difference. Unlike Silira, she had heard Blake's views on hostages, and she didn't expect him to change his mind on her account. She was just a poor substitute for an uncle she'd never known. The rest of her life, she reflected gloomily, was likely to be messy and very short. She'd tried to prepare herself for this prospect, but she realized she hadn't done very well. However much she'd told herself that these things could happen, she'd never really expected them to. Not to her.

She tried to shake herself out of that depression. Her dignity was all she had, at a time like this, and she was determined that no one would steal it from her. She got up and started stretching her aching muscles. She doubted that they'd ever get the chance to heal, but if they would just hurt less, she'd be grateful. Pain was something that could be dealt with, or so she hoped.

She heard the clunk-clunk of boots coming down the corridor, and was frozen with sudden panic. She wanted to kick and scream and demand a chance to live, but her habit of self control won out, barely. When her cell door was opened, she was sitting on the bed, facing the door, arms wrapped around herself. Two guards entered, and one of them motioned for her to move forward.

***

Vila managed to persuade Varel to talk with him in his cabin, and Silira, who was baffled and infuriated by her inability to change Blake's mind, joined them.

"Varel, you've heard the news about Paige?" Vila started out.

The former Federation officer snorted. "How could I miss it? Silira, Blake and Loren were not being discrete."

That didn't tell Vila what he wanted to know, so he tried again. "Do you agree with Blake? Do you think we'd be making things worse by going after Paige?"

Varel studied him for a minute, then answered slowly. "From a purely tactical view, he's got a good point. We would be granting them control of our actions, and walking in exactly where they expect us. But, if that's the way he's running this rebellion, then I don't see the point. Why should we fight to support him if he isn't any different than the Federation? They are supposed to be the callous types to whom lives are unimportant. If we can't improve on that . . .." He shrugged. "So, no, I don't agree with him. We need to rescue Paige. Even if she weren't a valuable crewmember, and our friend, we can't let it be seen that we are so heartless as to abandon her."

Silira groaned. "I tried explaining that to them, but they wouldn't listen. I thought maybe it would help, but Loren is obsessed with appearing strong. She can't seem to consider any other way."

Vila nodded, reminded of someone else he knew like that. "And without her, we can't do anything, because she's the only skilled pilot."

Varel coughed apologetically. "Actually, I'm a pilot. I haven't said anything because Loren guards her territory well, but, I believe I could fly this ship."

Vila nodded, satisfied. A plan was taking shape, but it depended on Avon. "Varel, are you heading down to see Avon at some point today?"

"I might drop by at some point, if only to take him food. He's really quite fascinating to watch when he's denying reality."

Vila quirked a smile at that. "Right. See if you could work it into the conversation that you're a pilot and that some of us would like to rescue Paige." And pray that he can respond before it's too late for her, he added silently.

***

Later that evening, Vila was in his cabin alone, waiting for Silira to get off the watch she shared with Rusk. They were arguing about the way Blake was handling the situation; Rusk maintained that policy wasn't his strong point, and that if Blake thought it too dangerous to attempt a rescue, he would agree. Vila had slipped away after the discussion had started. Silira didn't need his assistance.

Vila heard a perfunctory knock before his cabin door before it slid open to reveal Avon. He hesitated slightly, and Vila said warily, "Come in." It was the first time Avon had left the teleport area in three days.

The computer tech entered the cabin, and sat on the unused bunk. For once, he seemed unsure of how to begin. "Vila, I--" The words were being pulled out of him, reluctantly. "I . . . need to help Paige. It isn't right, what Blake's doing." The words came quicker now, and he stood, and began to pace in the confines of Vila's small cabin. "Too many people have died. Or nearly died." His eyes slid sideways towards Vila, and the thief realized with a shock of remembered terror that he was referring to that nightmare ride over Malodaar. "I can't change that. But I don't want it to happen again. Do you believe me?"

Avon stared hard at him, and Vila had the oddest feeling that he was asking for forgiveness, saying that he regretted that shuttle ride. He'd never imagined that Avon would regret anything, and the realization that he did helped ease the sting of that betrayal. With that in mind, his voice was almost steady. "Yes, I believe you."

Avon wasn't finished, although he went back to inspecting the floor as he paced. "Vila, I don't know how she'll face the interrogation. She might tell them everything. But I have to know, Vila. I can't handle another Anna." His voice died away on the last word, but he had said everything that Vila needed to hear.

Vila waited a few seconds and then spoke in a normal voice, pretending he hadn't heard the last sentence. "Well, Varel can pilot the ship. Is the teleport completed?"

Avon visibly pulled himself together and answered, "Yes, as far as Orac and I can tell. I didn't have the tools to build bracelets, but I've made some crude necklaces which should serve the purpose. Plus, they can be easily hidden under the clothes. No communicators yet -- I'll work on those later. First we need to get Paige back. I've got an idea that may work."

***

Paige was shoved roughly back into her cell after two or three hours of interrogation. She sprawled on the floor, grateful for the opportunity to lie still and untouched. They had told her that she'd been on Fiorinal for over two days . Scalia had gotten clean away, and hadn't been heard from since, which confirmed her suspicion that Blake wasn't coming back for her. She struggled up and managed to lie down on the bed. It wasn't soft but it was better than the floor. In the midst of her pains, she was growing hungry.

She did cherish a faint feeling of victory, though. She hadn't betrayed Scalia yet. It was assumed that all people under Federation interrogation broke sooner or later, but Paige was determined to hold out as long as she could. She did have one advantage. Unlike most pampered and sedated Federation citizens, Paige was used to pain. There were no pain-killing drugs on Cygnus Alpha, so she had learned to function in spite of discomfort.

Thinking of her adolescence on the prison planet brought back more memories. Although her mother had kept her secluded to protect her, Paige had occasionally managed to overhear conversations between her fellow convicts. One of them had claimed to know the secret of beating an interrogation team. What you did, he'd explained at great length, was to lie. Not a single lie, which was easily discredited. Lie continuously, be certain to contradict yourself, and make as many ridiculous claims as you could think of. That would give them too much information to be able to sift through easily, and if the truth did slip out in a weak moment, they wouldn't recognize it. Paige had suspected at the time that the theory was merely drunken rambling, but now it didn't sound too bad. It might be easier than not saying anything, and after all, what did she have to lose? Her weary mind started playing with the possibilities, and before long she fell into a deep sleep.

***

Darren spent the day sitting at the Empress's desk, familiarizing himself with the details of his new responsibilities. Servalan had always insisted on handling everything herself, making sure that none of her subordinates knew everything that was happening. Darren was more than a little surprised by some of the projects in progress. He wanted to do his best at this assignment, but he had a dismal feeling that nothing he did would be right. He knew that his time as acting Supreme Commander was running out. Even before the Blake affair, he had been slowly drifting out of favor. Darren disapproved of the constant turnover of top personnel on principle; he'd seen the chaos it created. Barring treason, however, there was nothing he could do about it.

The door chimed for his attention, and he could see from the vid that Administrator Sassic was waiting to enter the Empress's office. Sassic was a plain, no-nonsense woman in her fifties. She succeeded because she was very efficient, quiet and no competition for the Empress. He opened the door and she entered. He stood; she had as valid a claim to the desk as he, and he had no wish to start any power struggles.

"Greetings, Sassic. How goes your day?" He was on civil terms with the administrator, although he didn't know her well.

"Not as well as I could wish, Darren," she replied bluntly. "Is this office monitored?"

His eyebrows shot up at the question. "Only by me." There was a recording device in the desk, but he had switched it off.

"Very well. I do not want to be accused of treason. But I am very disturbed by what I have found." Her gray eyes mirrored the concern in her voice. "You know that the Empress insists on handling everything herself. If the files I've seen today are any indication, she is ruining us."

"Ruining?" Darren repeated in a skeptical tone. He found it hard to credit, although Sassic didn't usually make mistakes.

"I do not say so lightly. Our economy has been bad, and is getting worse. Our products are mediocre, and there have been instances of food shortages. Producing the food is not the problem, but transport taxes have made companies very reluctant to distribute it. Other areas are in similar disarray. I fear a collapse if we continue in this direction." She paused, watching him closely. "I am loyal to the Federation, as you know. But the Federation is being used up, and may ultimately destroyed, I fear, unless something changes."

Darren sighed heavily, and considered his answer carefully before he gave it. "There are similar problems in the military. We have all the funds we need, yet the ships and equipment are often poorly made. There is a certain amount of corruption at all levels. We have some bad officers, and therefore bad morale. I do not see how it could be changed."

They regarded one another somberly. They were each aware of the next step, but reluctant to voice it.

***

The mutiny aboard the Scalia went off with surprising ease. Silira waited until Blake and Loren were both in their cabin before jamming the door lock. Avon confronted Rusk, and when he refused to cooperate, locked him in his cabin too. Varel took the helm and began a straight-line course back to Fiorinal. Vila took care of most of the worrying, while Avon worked out his plans.

***

Paige was awakened by the rough shove of a guard. She took a tumble to the floor, which set all her aches off again. They took her back to the same dreary room she'd endured for three hours yesterday. Before they had a chance to begin hurting her, she announced that she wished to talk. They listened intently at first, and then with growing disgust, as her lies grew more far-fetched. The head torturer made a note of all the plausible things she'd said, and left to investigate them. Paige's satisfaction in her small victory was quickly overwhelmed by pain as the remaining guards resumed their work, angry at her defiance.

She had almost reached her limit when the interrogation chief returned and put a stop to the proceedings. As she was escorted back to her cell, she overheard a portion of the conversation. It sounded as if the Empress was coming here, to see her, but that couldn't be right. She very rarely left Earth anymore. She puzzled over it briefly, and then gave it up, finding concentration difficult. This time they did feed her, and she managed to eat every bite before collapsing onto the bed.

***

By the time Scalia was approaching the Fiorinal system, Avon had worked out a plan, which while risky, minimized the risk as much as possible. Scalia would teleport Avon to the surface of Fiorinal, somewhere near to the prison that was holding Paige. Since they had no communicators, there was no purpose in remaining in orbit, so Scalia would head back out towards deep space. Four hours later, they would close back in on the planet and teleport Avon, and hopefully Paige, back to the ship.

As they neared orbit, Avon stood waiting in the teleport bay. He was wearing a teleport necklace hidden in his shirt, and was carrying another, as well as a snub nosed handgun. He had painstakingly demonstrated the controls, and had set the destination coordinates himself. Vila sat through the fussing patiently, and waited for the moment of truth. They had a direct voice link-up with the bridge, courtesy of Vision, and when they reached the calculated coordinates, he heard Varel say loudly, "Now, Vila!"

Vila pressed the correct sequence of buttons, and looked up to see Avon fade slowly from sight. It was at least a five-second process. "Orac," he demanded anxiously, "did everything work correctly?"

*Of course it did,* the computer huffed, as if insulted by the slight to it's work. *Avon is well and at the desired coordinates.*

"We'll see you in four hours, then, Avon," Vila murmured, and rose to join the other two on the flight deck.

***

Avon appeared in a small grove of trees, and vowed to correct that five-second lag. But that was work for later. He started making his way towards the prison.

For a prison, it was only lightly guarded. Fiorinal was, after all, a luxury planet, and didn't suffer much in the way of crime. Avon waited until one of the guards stepped around a corner, and hit him on the back of the neck with the handgun. The guard folded limply, and Avon dragged him back into the trees. Five minutes later, Avon emerged wearing the guard's uniform. After that, getting inside the building was easy. He flashed a pass at the bored sentry inside the door and proceeded into the heart of the prison.

He found an empty office, and accessed the desk computer to locate Paige. She was in a third floor cell, and was currently waiting to be questioned. A guard had been stationed inside her cell, which indicated special treatment, and Avon was intrigued. He took note of the guard's name, and started to make his way towards the third floor. Fortunately, the guards were in the habit of keeping their helmets on at all times, so Avon could move in relative safety.

***

Paige didn't sleep well; her welts and bruises protested any movement. After a while she gave up, and opened her eyes. She saw with a shock that she was no longer alone in the cell -- a masked guard was standing by the door, as if she could do anything to harm it. She felt a pang at the loss of her privacy, even as she realized that she'd had none before. Hidden cameras seemed easier to deal with, though.

Determined to ignore the new addition, she sat up slowly, and discovered that her hands had been tied in front of her. 'Just how dangerous do they think I am?' she wondered with grim humor. Other than that, she was more or less okay. Her questioners hadn't broken any of her bones yet, at least. She understood it was one of their favorite methods. Gingerly, she drew her knees up to her chest, and looped her arms around them. It was not a comfortable position, but it provided some slight sense of protection.

Having nothing else to look at, she began covertly studying the guard. He was dressed in a dark green and black uniform, and he wore a variation of the ever-popular Federation helmet. It completely hid his face; she couldn't even tell if he was looking at her or not. That began to unnerve her, so she closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind.

Her mind however, refused to empty. She found herself wishing desperately that someone would rescue her, and she tried to quell that hope. Emotion would only betray her.

Her eyes flew open at the sound of the door opening. There was another guard in the hallway, but he didn't seem to want her; he motioned for the other guard to join him outside. The door shut behind them, and Paige relaxed, trembling. A few minutes later, the door opened again, and a guard rejoined her in her prison. She wondered briefly if it was the same guard, but knew that it made no difference, and closed her eyes again.

After Avon had deposited the guard into a nearby closet, he entered Paige's cell with some trepidation. He hadn't expected things to go this easily, and there were still two more hours before Scalia would return. It might be difficult to evade capture for that length of time.

He was tempted to reveal himself to Paige, but residual caution stopped him. After all, he reminded himself grimly, he didn't know yet what they had gotten from her. She had been under interrogation for three days.

He studied her under the helmet's protective cover. She looked small and defenseless, huddled on the bed, and he could tell that her hands were tied too tightly. She was keeping her calm, though.

They remained like that for perhaps twenty-five minutes, when the cell door opened once again, to admit the Empress Servalan. Avon made a quick salute, and stayed as still as the grave. She paid him less attention than she would a piece of furniture, keeping her eyes fixed on Paige, who straightened up and put her chin out.

Servalan inspected her prize critically for a moment, walking from one side of the cell to the other. "Well, what have we here?" she asked, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "A jewel thief, excuse me, a failed jewel thief. What have they been doing to you?"

"Teaching me how to play cards, of course." Paige responded levelly.

Servalan smiled at the retort. "Of course. It doesn't look as if you've been winning, does it?"

"That depends on your definition of winning, doesn't it?" Paige responded, mimicking Servalan's tone.

The Empress's smile grew tighter at that. "Come now, let's get down to business. You have information I want. Namely, information leading to the capture of the rebel ship Scalia and her crew. I might have something you want. Perhaps, a trade?" she inquired delicately.

Paige appeared to consider it, and Avon felt his heart rate increase, glad now that he hadn't revealed his presence.

"That's very kind of you," Paige answered at last, "but I don't think you would have anything I need or want."

"You might be surprised," suggested Servalan through daintily clenched teeth.

"I certainly would be surprised," Paige agreed with more spirit than she'd displayed so far, "I'd be amazed if you could offer me any sort of honor or self-respect in return for my friends lives."

"Your so-called friends," Servalan hissed, losing her temper, "have abandoned you here. What do you owe them? Nothing. You are going to die here, alone and in pain, make no mistake. They don't care for you, why should you care for them?"

Paige untangled herself and sat forward, trembling with anger. "I never expected them to rescue me -- there are more important things at stake here than my life. Of course you wouldn't understand that, would you? And if you expect me to beg for my life," she finished scathingly, "I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you." She regained her temper and sat back against the wall. "It's so undignified, don't you agree? And so rarely effective." Avon found himself grinning at the setdown.

Servalan trembled with rage. She raised her arm and snapped her fingers. "Guard, I need you to break this young woman's arm for me."

Paige blanched, but didn't turn away as the guard started forward. She set her teeth and hoped like hell that she didn't humiliate herself. He walked slowly across the room and positioned himself between her and Servalan. Paige forced herself to stare straight at him, and was very surprised when he began to untie her. Then she cursed herself for hoping. Of course, her arm would be easier to break that way. She just hoped that her high pain tolerance would hold true.

Avon untied Paige's arms slowly, watching her reactions. She appeared very calm, but he noted that her chin was trembling. Almost involuntarily, he reached out and stroked her jawline lightly. She jerked away, a new fear reflected in her eyes.

"Well? What are you waiting for, fool?" Servalan interrupted impatiently. "Break her arm."

"I think not, Servalan." Avon replied, turning to face her and removing the helmet.

Paige had turned her head towards the Empress, and therefore was privileged to watch her reaction to Avon's voice. She emitted a strangled gasp and swayed ever so slightly before grabbing on to her composure. She took a deep breath and purred, "So, Blake didn't abandon his companion. I thought he would not. I am surprised at you, though, Avon. Risking your life? For Blake's cause? I had thought you'd gotten over that." She smiled and shook her head at his stupidity.

"You persist in misjudging me, Servalan." Avon's tone held no rancor, just a slight edge of amusement. "I'm not here for Blake's cause."

That seemed to disturb the Empress. Her eyes narrowed as she studied his face, and then her gaze turned to Paige. Paige scrambled to stand up, and stood close to Avon's side. He slowly raised his arm and placed it around her shoulders. She didn't understand what he was doing until she noticed how infuriated the Empress was becoming.

Servalan breathed hard for a few moments, and then rejoined the fight. "You risked your life for her? I would not have thought you'd be so foolish, especially," she emphasized her words with venom, "especially after that little incident with Bartolomew."

Paige darted a glance upwards at Avon's face; she didn't understand the reference, but it was obviously meant to hurt him. A fleeting grimace passed over his face, but then a new expression took its place, an expression akin to peace.

"Perhaps, Servalan, it was because of Anna. Because Paige is not like her." He gave Paige's shoulders a tiny squeeze, but at that sign of affection, Servalan's pent-up wrath exploded, and her iron control vanished. Yelling something incoherent, she launched herself at Paige. Avon easily intercepted the lunge and dealt her a sharp blow to the base of the neck. She went limp, and fell to the floor.

Avon turned to Paige "We have to get out of here, but Scalia won't be back in range for another hour or so. We'll have to hide. Stay on the bed until I take care of the guards." She nodded and sat back on the bunk, grateful for the chance to sit down, while he put the concealing helmet back on. Then he turned and beat on the door. "The Empress has collapsed!"

The door opened to admit two more guards. They rushed in to kneel by the woman on the floor, and Avon pulled his gun on them. "Kindly don't move," he instructed them, and motioned for Paige to join him.

They emerged into an empty hallway, and Avon sealed the cell door. He took Paige's hand into his own and led her towards a little used sector of the prison. The building had apparently not been built as a prison, and the conversion was not complete. During his earlier prowls, Avon had discovered an unused nook that seemed perfect for the purpose.

As they walked, Paige began to feel the effects of the adrenaline rush. She wished she could stop trembling. She had to clutch Avon's uniform to keep herself upright. He helped her to move as quickly as she could. They only had to stop twice for Avon to open locked doors.

They reached the hiding place just about the time that the alarm went off. Paige tugged Avon's sleeve to get his attention, and when he looked down at her, she said quite seriously, "If it comes to that, Avon, I don't want to be recaptured. I'd much prefer a clean, quick death. Could you arrange that for me?" Avon looked into her eyes, found something he recognized, and nodded.

He opened the door and nudged Paige into the small, dark room, locking them both in. She stumbled over some of the junk littering the floor, emitting a small cry. Avon reached for her, and caught her by her coverall, barely saving her from a fall.

"We're going to be in here for over an hour, if all goes well. Let's sit down," Avon suggested.

Paige agreed eagerly. He sat down first, facing the door, and made her sit down in front of him, so that she was reclining on his chest. He fished something out of a pocket, and draped it around her neck, explaining softly, "This will enable you to teleport when Scalia returns."

They sat companionably in the dark, listening for sounds of a search. Alarms were going off all over the building, but no footsteps had come near them. Paige was stiff in his embrace at first, but relaxed slowly, and soon felt bold enough to ask softly, "Why isn't Scalia in orbit?"

"We didn't have the security codes necessary to convince the planet's computers that we had legitimate business. Perhaps you've forgotten that we recently pulled a robbery here." His customary sarcasm had returned, comforting Paige. "They wouldn't be glad to see us."

"True, but I thought Loren had lots of bogus codes. She more or less collects them. Scalia can signal in as any number of ships. Why couldn't you use one of those?"

Avon grinned ruefully, and wished he'd thought of it. "Loren wasn't feeling very cooperative. Blake had decided that it wouldn't be worth the effort to rescue you, so Silira locked him into his cabin and Varel flew the ship back here. Vila worked the teleport for me. You'll have to forgive the delay. We had thought you were dead, until Orac told us otherwise."

Paige was moved to the point of tears by the evidence of her friends' feelings, and angrily wiped the tears away. She hated the weakness in herself, but it had been an exhausting three days, and before long, she dropped off to a fitful sleep.

Avon held her as she dozed, and kept listening for footsteps in the corridor. He'd done considerable damage to their electronic monitoring system, so they'd have to search in person. He wished he could tell how much longer they had to wait.

He spent his time, sitting in that closet, in evaluating his own life. For once, there was no technical problem to hide behind, and his ability to be brutally practical was finally applied to his own feelings. He had spent enormous amounts of energy on suppressing and ignoring his emotions, in an attempt to avoid pain. Evaluated honestly, his efforts were ineffectual at best, counter-productive at worst. He had denied himself the pleasures of friendship, but he hadn't escaped the pain of losing friends. He had spent six years on Earth missing Vila's inane chatter, Tarrant's proud posturing, and Dayna's bright smile.

It was true that friends were not always reliable, but neither did they always betray him. Vila had never betrayed him, or at least not intentionally, Avon amended with a grim smile. Paige had not betrayed him either, it seemed. He prided himself on being a pragmatist, yet he had been ignoring the evidence. Perhaps, he thought cautiously, it was time to change, although he wasn't sure how to go about it. Trust was a difficult thing to recapture, and he'd been fortifying his defenses for years.

Avon had become too preoccupied with his self-examination to listen for the search, and so he was taken by surprise when the door to the closet was kicked open, and three guards charged in, weapons drawn. He shut his eyes against the sudden light, and felt Paige start to wakefulness.

The guards arranged themselves in a rough semicircle with weapons drawn. "Alright, you. On your feet," the middle one ordered with a jerk of his gun.

Avon stood slowly. Paige tried to stand, but was still too weak, and started to collapse. Avon caught her, and picked her up. He stood facing the guards with her cradled in his arms.

They stood in those positions for an endless time, which consisted of three or four minutes, until Servalan glided onto the scene. She had regained her composure, but was obviously livid.

She surveyed Avon and Paige with disgust for a moment, and then essayed a sigh. "Avon, I had such hopes . . ." She shook her head gently, and then turned her attention to the girl in his arms. "As for you," her voice turned ugly. "You will live just long enough to regret the day you were born. You will never have him!" Servalan began ranting, but it seemed to Paige as if she was receding into a mist. At first she thought she was fainting, but then she began to see Vila and Silira coming into focus, and it dawned on her that the teleport was operational.

When Silira saw the shapes of Avon and Paige appear in the teleport bay, she allowed herself to relax, and to feel a quick rush of joy. Then she returned to her normal efficient self, and spoke into the communicator. "They're here, Varel. Get us outta here."

"No problem," he replied calmly, and Silira felt the ship shift vectors. Meanwhile, Vila had leapt out of his seat to help Avon. Only then did Silira notice with interest that Avon seemed to be holding Paige quite protectively. He refused Vila's offer of assistance. Paige had time to say hello and that she was fine before Avon carried her out of the room towards medical.

***

When they released Blake and Loren, the rebel treated them to a perfunctory lecture on tactics, but the mutineers were too elated by their success to pay much heed. And Blake had some trouble looking Paige in the eye when she emerged from medical, wearing medi-pads on her injuries.

Loren was not so easily abashed; in a loud voice, she demanded to know just what information Paige had surrendered. Paige stiffened and very slowly turned to face the small Asian. They were very similar in size, but at that moment, Paige towered over the pilot. She gazed steadily at Loren, not saying a word until Loren lowered her eyes. "I," Paige began evenly, "endured three days of interrogation and deprivation." She leaned forward to punctuate her words, with every eye upon her. "At no point did I divulge any information. However, sooner or later I would have broken, and then the Federation, your enemies, would know everything that I know. It was in your best interest to either rescue or kill me. I suggest you remember that in future." Having said her piece, she crossed the flight deck to sit on the couch. Silira quickly joined her. Loren remained at her position, but it was quite some time before anyone spoke to her, or even looked in her direction.

***

Darren was in his quarters when he received the call from Sassic. "Supreme Commander," she spoke formally, "you are needed in the Imperial office. We have a communication you need to see."

Within ten minutes he presented himself at the office. Sassic was looking more rumpled than usual, and she invited him to sit down. "This," she explained, punching a few buttons, "is the report we received from the governor of Fiorinal."

The recording began, and Darren watched and listened to Servalan confronting Avon. Avon was holding a girl in his arms, and the Empress was clearly upset. She seemed in control until the figures of the man and the girl started to fade away. At that, she lost every vestige of dignity, and started screaming at the empty air. She seemed completely oblivious to the surrounding guards, and when she looked up, they could see that she was crying.

Darren stopped the tape, deeply disturbed. "I knew that she had some personal interest in the man Avon, but this . . . is more serious than I had thought."

"We must keep in mind that the governor of Fiorinal holds no love for our Empress," Sassic pointed out dispassionately. "It would be disastrous if that tape were to be publicly distributed."

Darren considered that possibility with a shudder. The Federation, in its weakened state, might dissolve altogether under the shock. They had seen the effects of that when Star One had been destroyed, and were still rebuilding. With a heavy heart, Darren realized that in a conflict between the Empress and the Federation, the Empress would have to go.

"We will have to minimize that risk," he said slowly, watching Sassic carefully. She nodded, and he continued, "We may have to take care of Servalan."

"How?" she questioned calmly.

"I have some guards I can trust. If I show them this tape and explain the situation, we can count on their assistance." He paused, trying to consider every contingency.

"No one knows yet that she's gone," Sassic pointed out. "Except for her personal guards, and they're accompanying her. Her ship is unmarked. If something were to happen to her, it would be some time before the news got out."

"The main problem is her replacement. We need a stable government, not another selfish dictator. I have no desire for the power of command; perhaps you would be our best answer."

Sassic bowed her head, flattered. "I have no lust for power, myself, but it seems to me that that may be the best qualification for it. I do think I could ease things for the Federation, so I will accept. On one condition." Darren listened politely. "I do not wish to take on this burden alone. I will require your help. May I suggest a partnership?"

The two conspirators regarded each other squarely. Then Darren extended his right hand in a gesture of agreement. Sassic responded in kind, and gave him a firm handshake.

"Then it is agreed," she stated.

"Yes. I will dispatch a small ship to lay in wait for and ambush the Empress. We cannot afford to keep her alive."

***

As soon as her second session in the sick bay was completed, Paige retreated to the engine room. She spent some time just sitting at the main console, relaxing, back in familiar territory. All the same, she was instantly on edge when Avon stepped in the small room. She turned her chair so that she was facing him, and just looked at him for a second. He looked tired, but somehow younger.

"I want to thank you for rescuing me." Paige was relieved to note that her voice was steady.

"It was a team project." Avon reminded her.

Paige nodded in acknowledgement. "And I have already thanked the other members of the team." Her stomach tensed at the prospect of her next words, but she had to ask. "Avon, why did you say what you did to Servalan?"

Avon thought about it for a moment, then answered softly, "Because, Paige Tarrant, they were true. You have become special to me." The words came out far easier than he'd expected. It helped that he knew Paige was no more comfortable with this attraction than he was.

Paige stood slowly, too restless to sit. "I see. Well, I suppose I should admit, however reluctantly," she flashed a nervous smile, "that I seem to be fond of you, too." She finished in a rush, and kept her eyes fixed on a low section of the wall. "I'm really not sure why."

Afterwards, Paige was never really sure who moved first, but the next thing she knew, she was in his arms, in a warm embrace. They stood motionless for a moment or two, and then she raised her face for a kiss. He kissed her gently, and then released her.

"I'm . . . out of practice at this," he admitted. "But I've spent too much time alone. I used to crave solitude, but it's not what I thought it would be."

Paige could tell that he was still very reserved, but she thought that if she were very careful, and didn't demand too much, she might someday get close to Avon. At the moment, there was nothing she wanted more.

"I've never been in practice. But I'll try to be what you need, Avon. I promise."

He looked at her searchingly, then bent and kissed her quickly once more. Then he left the engine room, in need of some less emotionally charged surroundings. Paige went back to work with a half smile, wondering what she'd gotten herself into. It wouldn't be easy, that was sure. But it might be worth it.

(concluded in Coup D'Etat)