Reunion

In the overcrowded capital city on Earth, amid the crowded jumble of houses and highrises, one dwelling stood aloof. It was not immediately conspicuous, but if it caught the casual observer's eye, some interesting details could be discerned. The yard was tiny in proportion to the house, but both were slightly larger than the surrounding houses. The yard was enclosed by a surprisingly sturdy fence, with a gate that seemed designed only to keep people out . . . or perhaps to keep them in.

The house was unremarkable otherwise, unless the observer was knowledgeable enough to recognize the extremely complex magnetic lock securing the front and only door. The windows were few, and on the small side, but that could have been the whim of the owner, who didn't seem too fond of his or her neighbors. The designer had in fact been under strict orders. The house was not merely a house; it was a political prison, for the Empress's favorite political prisoner.

***

Inside the house, in a basement that looked like a rather advanced laboratory, a man stood before a workbench, studying some sort of complex gadgetry. He seemed lost in thought, turning the piece over and over in long slender fingers. He was dressed in featureless black tunic and pants, and his brown hair was cut short. His face hinted that he might be in his late thirties, but his eyes seemed far older.

Another man appeared in the doorway. He was much younger than the first, in his mid twenties. His black uniform marked him as a Federation officer, but he had an open, friendly face and blond hair. He stood for a moment surveying the workshop and then queried softly.

"Avon?"

"Go away, Varel." Avon replied absently, his attention never leaving the contraption in his hands. His eyes narrowed as he came close to solving the riddle it posed. Then he remembered for whom he was working, and why he didn't want to fix the unit. He lowered it and looked up, seeing Varel still in the doorway.

Varel, seeing that he had the other man's attention, continued, "Avon, dinner's ready. Do you want to come and eat?"

The computer genius released the gadget and smiled a tired, humorless smile. "Why not."

***

Elsewhere in the galaxy, a smaller man was sitting in a featureless room that closely resembled a cell. He seemed unhappy. He began to talk to himself.

"Easy to escape and meet him, he said. Sure, it was easy enough to crack out. But when I get to the meeting point, was anybody there? I ask myself." He directed an angry glance towards the ceiling. "Well, whatever your name is, that's your last chance." He lapsed into silence again, staring glumly at the wall. After a moment, he walked over to the cell door, in which was set a small metal grille, large enough to see a face through. "Can I have a bit to eat? I haven't done anything you know." Vila Restal had never been innocent in his life, but he liked to keep pretending. "Is anyone there?" He turned and started pacing, bouncing a little as he walked.

Behind him, a woman’s face appeared at the grille. It was a pretty face, but the expression was tense. "Hist. Vila"

The thief spun around and ran to the door, and then stopped suddenly. "Who are you?"

"I'm here to get you out. Can you open this door?"

Vila drew himself up with injured pride, "Of course I can. Only reason I didn't is all those guards. Unfriendly fellows."

"They've been taken care of. Open it, will you."

"Already done." He proclaimed loftily, and the door swung inward as he stepped out of its way.

The girl looked even prettier in full view. She was a fairly tall blond with large blue eyes. She was wearing a serviceable green jumpsuit.

Vila looked appreciative, and asked again, "Who are you?"

"I've come to get you out. Now, do you want to spend the next five years of your life on this planet, or are you coming. I can only tell you that I'm one of Blake's people."

"What!" The thief looked stunned, then disbelieving. "You can't be. Blake's dead, I saw it myself. He died six years ago."

"If you want to find out anything more, you'll have to come with me. Blake will explain it to you. Hurry, we've got a shuttle waiting near here."

Vila looked uneasy, "I'm not too keen on shuttles. Haven't you got teleport?"

"No." The girl was visibly impatient, watching the corridor closely. "We've got to go now. I should mention that the Terra Nostra have tracked you down -- they'll kill you if no one else beats them to it."

Vila shrunk back into himself, and asked, "How do I know you're not from the Nostra?"

"Because I haven't killed you yet?" she offered sweetly, still watching the corridors. "Come on, they'll be waking up soon."

Vila hesitated another second, then moved out of his cell. Whatever she wanted probably would be better than staying in jail waiting for the Terra Nostra to kill him. Or so he hoped.

"All right, all right. Lead on."

It took less than ten minutes for them to get clear of the small prison. Then they were running for a clump of trees, dark in the twilight. A shot whistled by Vila's ear, but the girl swiveled and returned the fire almost before he could yell. They continued running and soon were boarding a small shuttlecraft through the hold doors. Once they were inside, the girl hit a control to shut the doors, then used her communicator. "We're safe aboard, Loren, take us up." She pushed Vila into an acceleration couch and then fell into one herself. After a few minutes of shaking, the shuttle stabilized and Vila guessed that orbit had been achieved.

He remained lying down for a few minutes. After all, he wasn't getting any younger, and he didn't run sprints like that every day. When he was feeling a bit better, he sat up, and looked at the girl next to him. She seemed much more relaxed.

"Look," he began. "You seem to know me, but who are you, and why are you helping me?"

"Simple. My name is Silira, and our pilot is Loren. We're trying to rid the galaxy of the Federation." Vila moaned softly. "Blake thought that you could be helpful, so we're taking you to meet up with him." She smiled and walked towards a console to look at the readouts. "We'll catch up with our ship in less than twenty minutes."

Vila relapsed into gloominess. "And here I thought she was going to get me out of trouble."

***

After their dinner, Avon and Varel relaxed in the lounge. At least Varel relaxed, sprawling in a chair, watching Avon through half closed eyes. Avon walked slowly around the room.

"All that pacing about is bad for you, you know." Varel offered lazily.

Avon impaled the guard with a glance and smiled frostily. "You're so concerned about my health. I didn't know your job included playing nursemaid." His voice had a definite sneer, but the younger man didn't seem to notice.

"Doesn't. I'm to keep you within that fence out there. It might look bad on my record if you died, but that's the extent of it. Anything else is not my problem." He looked directly at Avon as he continued. "I'm not ambitious. This army is just as dirty and corrupt as the rest of the government, and the higher you go, the worse it gets. My goal is to be totally unremarkable, and to get out as quickly as possible. Besides," he smiled, "for some reason, I've come to like you, as a friend. I don't know about you, but I could use a good friend or two. If you don't care for the idea, forget I mentioned it. But I've been here for eight months now. I think you're an excellent judge of character; you must know I mean what I say."

Avon looked at him in mild shock, then turned aside to hide his reaction. It had been a long time since he had spoken to anyone who wasn't a guard, or government worker, or Empress, all trying to use power against him. Those encounters he knew how to handle, how to win. But this was something else. He had realized that Varel was different from some of his former guards. Varel acted more like a houseguest than a jailer. It had sometimes seemed as if the guard respected him, but to be friends? In truth, the idea of a friendship was . . . interesting was the strongest word he allowed himself. As soon as he began to consider the possibilities though, he remembered the last time that he had begun to open himself up to friendship. Years after the fact and only to himself, he admitted that Vila and Tarrant had been his friends, and that Dayna may have been more than just a friend. Now that they were all dead. It was always the same. Once you made yourself vulnerable, it was all over, and he couldn't allow that to happen again.

"All right, I'll forget you mentioned it." His voice was almost as bland as ever, but Varel noted the difference, and the pause that preceded it, and thought he knew the explanation. Avon would think about it. That was enough for now. There was plenty of time.

Silence reclaimed the room until the telescreen beeped. The matte black surface dissolved into the image of a woman with short black hair. She could be described as stunning, but not as beautiful. At her appearance, however, Varel leapt up and stood at attention at one edge of the room. Avon, on the other hand, took the opportunity to sit down facing the screen.

The woman smiled. "Avon, how nice to see you again."

"Is it?" He replied blandly.

"Of course, it is," she pouted slightly, "You never call me."

Avon seemed amused by that. "Why should I? I don't want to talk to you."

"It's too bad you can't always have what you want." She answered maliciously.

He tired of the game. "What do you want, Servalan."

She shrugged elegantly and got down to business. "I want to know how you're doing at improving the photon drive."

He snorted. "It doesn't need improved, it needs redesigned. It will become unstable at speeds higher than Time Distort Six. That's a design flaw, not mechanical, and it's not my field," he lied easily.

"You must be able to do something," Servalan's impatient nature was beginning to show through her languid facade, and Avon began to enjoy the conversation. Varel watched both of them and felt grateful that they ignored him. He didn't want the Empress angry with him; it was too dangerous. It was a mystery to him as to why she had let Avon live this long.

"I'm afraid not," Avon was replying almost graciously. "If I still had Orac, perhaps . . .."

"It's a pity you can't figure out how to put it back together," she snapped acidly.

"It's a pity that you insisted on taking it apart to start with," he replied in the same manner.

Varel didn't know how often they had this argument, but he had been in the house for eight months, and he'd heard it five times.

Servalan glared at the Avon for a moment, and then glanced away from the screen. Her impatience melted away, and she became again the elegant and slightly malicious Empress Servalan. She turned back to the screen with a sweet, vicious smile and said softly, "I'm terribly sorry, but duty calls. I'll speak to you in a few days." Without waiting for an answer she cut the connection.

Varel relaxed again. "I don't know how you stand her, Avon."

"I have to." He stood again and resumed his slow pacing. Truth be told, Avon was sure he could fix the drive, and improve it, too. And with the correct parts he could have Orac working better than ever. But frustrating Servalan was more satisfying. It was his one source of amusement as he waited for her to kill him; he knew she would kill him eventually, and was, on balance, looking forward to it.

As silence flowed through the room, the guard wondered if he could dare ask some of the questions he had, about Avon, and Blake. It was as good a time as any.

"How did you end up here anyway? I've heard stories, but I don't believe them. Your trial seemed entirely imaginary. What happened?" Varel didn't really expect an answer, but he saw no harm in trying.

Avon glanced at him and then away again. "I fell in with the wrong crowd."

"You mean Blake?" Varel tried to make the question sound casual, but he was aware of the restless tension in the computer genius.

Avon made a small sound that almost sounded like a laugh. "I didn't think anyone remembered us, Blake and the Liberator." He seemed lost in unpleasant thoughts. "They're dead, you know. All of them. Gan, Jenna, Cally, Blake, Dayna, Vila, Tarrant, even Soolin. All dead." His voice also, was dead.

***

Servalan cut the connection and sat for a minute gazing at the blank screen. The last six years had been good for her. After she had found Avon, and Orac, on Gauda Prime, her return to power had been swift. With the propaganda value of a captured rebel and the knowledge Orac had given her, the resumption of her position had been easy. The Zerok gold had helped, of course.

She had found Orac extremely difficult to endure after a while. Its obnoxious manner and constant resistance had grated on the most powerful woman in the Federation. Her computer techs had been unable to modify the programming, and finally in frustration she had ordered Avon to reprogram it. Avon had gotten it open and disassembled easily enough, but then professed himself unable to put it back together again. She hadn't believed him, of course, but after a week of interrogation, she'd had to change her mind. Avon dead was no use to her at all; alive he could be useful, on other projects. If she didn't have the supercomputer, at least no one else did.

She had called Avon from her private office, the main control center of the sprawling Federation. Beyond her taste in clothes, Servalan had never favored opulence; her office was white on white and extremely functional. Her dress for the day showed unusual restraint, a small print of black and silver on a white sheath.

Space Commander Darren arrived while she was in the midst of her call to Avon. He was her current acting Supreme Commander. The life expectancy of a Supreme Commander under Servalan was predictably short, but Darren was proving very capable. He almost reminded her of Travis, back before he became obsessed with Blake. She smiled graciously at him. "What news have you brought me, Space Commander Darren?"

He gave his report at parade rest, studying the wall behind her desk. "Pockets of rebellion are growing again, Empress. Some of the outer worlds are facing internal struggles, and there have been several pursuit ships destroyed without warning. I have sent extra troops to the troubled areas, but as soon as they leave their station, trouble breaks out behind them. It could almost be coordinated."

"I'm quite sure it is. Why haven't I been informed of this?" She asked icily.

Darren thought briefly of how her previous subordinates had died, but dismissed the thought immediately as disloyal. "Until Takma it seemed random, ma'am, nothing out of the ordinary." Darren showed no response to her anger.

"What happened at Takma, then?"

"Two weeks ago, Empress, there was a violent demonstration on Zeta Major. There is only one battalion stationed there, so troops were sent from Takma to assist. As soon as their ship left orbit, there was well-planned attack on the capital, which fell into the hands of the rebels. When the troop ship attempted to return, it exploded. It seems likely that the bomb was planted on the ship while it was refueling on Takma. And that planet has always been quiet before. It has now declared itself independent of the Federation and a haven for rebels."

"You will destroy it, of course," she said smoothly.

"Yes, ma'am, but it will take some time. Takma and Zeta Major are right on the border, with no other systems nearby. And they've taken over the navigation beacons and communications systems. They may be able to hold out a few weeks." He remained staring straight ahead.

"But the news will not get out. No one will know of their pathetic attempt. I rely on you for that." She smiled sweetly, razor sharp. "Is there anything else?"

This was the hard part. Darren seemed to lose his detachment, showing unease for the first time. "Yes, ma'am. Your prisoner, Avon, may be a danger to you."

She laughed lightly at that, "Oh, Commander, I assure you he is not. I never see him in person, and there is a guard inside the house at all times. Besides, he's lost his will to defy me. He can be rather . . . irritating, but never dangerous. He knows that I could kill him at any time."

"Begging your pardon, Empress, but he doesn't seem impressed, from what I've seen."

"Oh, no, he would rather be dead. That's what makes it so amusing to keep him alive." She smiled a predatory smile.

Darren shuddered, but doggedly continued. The Federation was the only civilizing force in the universe, and he meant to keep it safe, whatever it cost him. "That's not exactly what I meant, though. There have been rumors, so vague that they weren't worth reporting. Rumors about a rebellion effort headed by Blake."

Servalan lost her smile and stood up. "Don't be a fool. Blake is dead. Everyone must know Blake is dead, we showed that Gauda Prime footage every day for a year." She walked purposefully over to her side table and poured herself a drink. "Tell me all you know."

Darren looked at her for the first time in the interview. "People are talking about Blake being behind all sorts of things. My men have been investigating, naturally." Actually, Darren had gathered quite a lot of information about the rebel. He had hoped to avoid telling the empress, to avoid her predictable -- and lethal -- reaction. Now, however, Blake was beginning to emerge as a real threat, and she would have to know.

"We've determined that there is a rebel going by the name of Blake. And with the operation on Takma, it looks like someone is starting a full scale rebellion, and that's who most people think it is." He looked straight ahead again. "And that's why Avon might be a danger. He was with Blake. Blake might want him back."

"Nonsense. I tell you Blake is dead; Avon killed him. You are dismissed, Space Commander. I expect you to destroy this Blake, and to wipe out the rebellion on Takma if you have to destroy the entire planet."

She turned her back on him as he left the room, and sat back at her desk. Softly she repeated, "Blake is dead."

***

Somewhere in Federation space, an unremarkable ship was orbiting an unexceptional planet. It was a Horizon class battle cruiser, large enough for a crew of ten. A smaller ship began closing in, and when it got close enough, it slid into an open hangar door, which majestically glided shut once the shuttle was safe aboard.

Inside the hangar, the shuttle landed gently, and a pressurized tube extended from the shuttle to an airlock in the side of the hangar. They locked together, and the shuttle was linked to the ship.

The passageways of the ship were well lit, but they looked a lot like every other hallway in the universe. Silira came around a corner, with Vila close behind.

"Whose ship is this?" He asked curiously.

"Ours. It's called the Scalia. Come on, we're nearly to the flight deck. Blake will answer all your questions."

They entered the flight deck from the rear, and Vila moved forward eagerly to get a look at whomever was there, barely noticing the console positions. He could tell they were similar to Liberator's, but more spread out. He stopped dead half way across the floor.

The man standing in front of the view screen was fairly tall, with straight reddish blond hair. As he turned around, Vila could tell that his eyes were blue and direct.

"You're not Blake." He tried to sound disgusted instead of disappointed.

The man smiled gently. "Well, yes and no. I'm obviously not the Blake you traveled with. But my name is Blake, Talin Blake, and I hold the same goal. To crush the Federation and it's bloated Empress."

Vila perked up at that. "Is she fat now? I never thought she'd get fat."

Talin frowned quickly, then smiled again. "I was being metaphorical, Restal. She is bloated with power and cruelty."

Vila nodded. "It does sound like Servalan."

"Then you do know her?" Silira asked interestedly.

Glad of an appreciative audience, Vila expounded, "Oh, yes, in the old days, anyway. She hasn't come calling in the last few years, but she used to show up everywhere we went. Nasty woman."

Just then another woman entered the flight deck. She was small and of Asian descent, with long silky black hair. She, too, was wearing a jumpsuit. Blake went over to her and led her to Vila.

"Restal, allow me to present our pilot, Loren."

"How do you do," he asked eagerly. "It's a great pleasure to meet you." Loren nodded in his direction but excused herself to move to her station.

Silira rolled her eyes, and Blake frowned slightly. "And here are the rest of the crew." He added, pointing at another entrance. In came a large black man and a young looking girl with brown hair. They both looked interested and moved forward to greet him. "Restal, meet Rusk and Paige." They all smiled, and the new arrivals moved to their battle stations while Blake continued the introductions. "Rusk is our medic; he's saved my life already. He also operates the Scalia's weaponry and communications systems. Paige is the ship’s engineer; she's come up with some valuable modifications. Of all the people in the revolution, this crew is the best." His voice showed his youthful pride in his followers.

His crew must have been used to that kind of speech; none of them showed much reaction.

"Blake," asked Paige, "Have you asked him yet?"

"No, not yet." Blake turned back to Vila. "Restal, my goal is to defeat the Federation, as was yours. I have a small organization, with contacts on perhaps a dozen planets. We think we can win, if we move carefully enough. We were hoping to benefit from your experience and expert advice, Restal."

Blake's use of Vila's surname was starting to irritate the thief. It meant that the rebel leader was taking him seriously and regarding him as an equal. Vila was unaccustomed to that, and quickly decided he didn't like it.

"Great commanders, if they are to lead great armies, need great advisors." Gesturing grandly, Blake walked around the couch and put his arm around Vila's shoulders, forcing the smaller man to pace along. "My people here," his free arm fluttered expansively to indicate the others on the flight deck. For the most part, they were ignoring him with practiced skill. "are the best we have. But none of us possess your talents or vast store of experience. You were with Roj Blake, from the beginning. You can teach us many things . . ."

During this speech, Vila had grown more and more uneasy, his eyes darting around the room as though looking for a place to hide. Paige glanced up and smiled sympathetically.

"So, Restal, what do you say? What should we do first?"

"We need to get Avon," Vila blurted out. He had not meant to mention his former friend at all, and was shocked to hear his own voice suggesting it. Being pulled into the midst of another rebellion, however, had reminded him forcibly of the early, invincible days on the Liberator. This Blake couldn't hold a candle to the original; the speeches were good, but he didn't seem very intense about it. Not very convincing. Vila also knew that he wouldn't be half as useful as Blake seemed to expect, and when they found out that opening doors was his main line, they might be less than kind in their disappointment. Avon at least understood him, as well as anyone, and wouldn't expect too much.

Loren spoke up sharply, "Avon killed Blake, we all saw the tapes."

Oh yes, Vila remembered those tapes. He also remembered those last months on Scorpio. Tensions unbearably high, and everyone slowly going mad, with Avon leading the way. The madness must have stuck, because Vila found himself defending Avon. None of these kids could understand, unless they'd been there. He lied rapidly. "I saw those tapes, too, and a load of rubbish I thought them. It was a setup from the beginning. Avon would never have threatened Blake if Blake hadn't gotten so suspicious. While they were in a standoff, the Federation arrived and got all of us. Then they fixed up the tapes to make it look like he'd killed him." The only record of those events had been a single fixed focus security scanner, and the tape was not the very clearest.

"Actually, Restal," Blake said apologetically, "we've investigated the events on Gauda Prime. It seems certain that Avon did shoot Roj Blake. No one else had projectile weapons."

"Well, it looked like Blake had betrayed us. Avon doesn't take well to that sort of thing." Vila explained defensively. A thought struck him. "You said you investigated. Do you know what happened to the others? I was stunned, and I woke up in a cell alone. I couldn't find any of the others, so I left. They hadn't even searched me."

Paige took over the conversation. "As far as we've been able to tell, Vila, the Federation troopers under Arlen were working on their own initiative. Arlen had heard rumors of Blake, and wanted the credit for capturing him. She got herself into his organization. When she heard that the rest of you were coming, she saw it as a nice bonus. During the fighting, though, she was killed; someone hit her on the head. Her troops were left with Blake and their commander dead, and five strangers. It took six of them to bring Avon down. They took Blake's body and then left you to the mercy of the locals.

"Avon was very heavily stunned, and Del Tarrant had internal injuries, so they put them into a hospital. You, they locked up, and you promptly disappeared. Apparently they planned to sell Soolin and Dayna at a local slave auction. Lovely planet. They loaded them on a skimmer and headed towards the main town, but the flyer never got there. A few weeks later, a spaceship was stolen from the 'port. As far as we know, the two of them are still working together, as mercenaries. When Del had recovered a little, he left as well."

Paige's voice gentled "Avon didn't seem to recover. His body healed, but he couldn't seem to concentrate on anything. The local we talked to had helped to guard him. He said that Avon seemed locked into himself. After a month or two, he started to make some progress, but then Commissioner Sleer arrived, and claimed him as her prize."

Vila winced. He didn't exactly like Avon, but he knew what being Servalan's prisoner must have been like for him. "We ought to rescue him. He doesn't deserve that."

"You and Avon are friends, then?" Silira asked.

Vila blinked at that idea. "Well, no, I wouldn't say that, I don't think he has any left. But he is a genius, you know, and a survivor. If you make yourself useful enough to him, he'll ensure that you survive too. You said you wanted my advice; there it is. We need Avon."

"That's what I've been saying all along," Paige pointed out softly, to no one in particular. Blake nodded an acknowledgment of her comment.

"We considered that, but he's not easy to get to. He's imprisoned on Earth. They say the Empress keeps close tabs on him."

"She would. We've got to get him out of there. If she hasn't ruined him already," he added with a worried frown. "No, she couldn't do that to Avon. And if she did, she'd probably kill him. No, if he's still alive, he's our best shot." A pained look crossed Blake's face. "I mean, our best bet."

They promised to discuss it and Vila gratefully escaped to his cabin, also with a lot to think about. He craved something to drink, but they said they had none on board. Vila was not suited for and did not want the responsibility Blake was trying to give him, but at the same time, he was afraid of meeting Avon again. It had been six years since Avon had tried to kill him, but that wasn't something one forgot about. For the first time, Vila determined to think rationally about that shuttle trip. His fear was real, but his cowardice was pretence; he deliberately focused on that short shuttle ride, trying to put himself in Avon's place, trying desperately to understand why his friend would try to kill him.

***

Avon was staring into the past with a grim look on his face when Varel offered him a drink. He became aware of the present once more and accepted it. He drained the glass in one swallow.

Varel sat down again and tried to act as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. After a moment though, Avon began speaking again. "We were caught on Gauda Prime. It was a trap from the beginning, but we all fell in on schedule. The others were shot, and I was captured. The funny thing is, they didn't know who I was. Their inside man was killed. It was Blake they were after, and he was dead. I was in a prison for nearly six months. Then Servalan heard rumors about Orac, and about me. She claimed us both as spoils and used me, and it, to make herself empress. There was a trial, but not for any of the crimes I had committed. I was sentenced to stay here, where she could gloat over her prize. She also wanted me to invent things for her." He smiled suddenly.

Varel considered that, still relaxed in the chair. "Well, it hasn't done her a lot of good, has it. I mean, Orac's broken and you haven't come up with anything else. What's the point?"

Avon moved faster than he had in years, rounding on Varel and picking him up by the shoulders. He pinned the guard to the wall and spoke very carefully. "The point is, I have not done one thing to help that woman and I will not ever assist her. She was able to use me to regain political power, but that is the last benefit she will enjoy. If she were less arrogant, she would kill me now, because while I live, I am determined to kill her. This has nothing to do with politics, it is intensely personal." He released Varel suddenly and brushed off the man's uniform with a small smile. "Repeating that will do you no good, of course."

Varel recovered his breath. "You needn't worry. I won't repeat it."

As Avon turned away, he slid a sideways glance at Varel, but the guard was already resuming his relaxed position.

***

Vila had been in his cabin for about three hours when he heard a knock on the door. He sat up on the bed and called "Who is it?"

A woman's voice answered. "It's Loren. May I ask you a few questions?"

"Come in"

The door gave a soft whoosh and she entered, sitting on the other bed. "Vila, I want to know why we need Avon," she stated calmly. "What's he good at?"

Sarcasm, contempt, and killing people were the answers that sprang into Vila's mind, but he restrained himself. "He's good at survival. He's also good with computers, and gadgets. He made us a long-range detector shield once, and he can build a teleport system. Teleport's very handy. I'm not faulting your piloting, but shuttles are slow." Vila had decided during these last few hours of thought that if he were going to risk his life in the pursuit of liberty, he'd need someone he could trust to help him. These kids were all very well, but they didn't seem very experienced to him. On the other hand, Avon he knew, and knew exactly how far to trust him and under which circumstances. Besides, he really did miss teleportation as a mode of transport. Shuttles always made him nervous, somehow.

Loren nodded agreement to his last statement. "Shuttle flying isn't my favorite occupation. Teleport would be an advantage, I suppose. Assuming we could get to him, would he come with us?"

"No doubt about it. He hates being locked up, and he hates Servalan." Vila answered with complete conviction.

"All right, then," Loren replied, getting up from her chair. "We'll get him out. We've been heading for Earth anyway; there are some stolen security codes we've been wanting to test. Be ready in three hours; you'll need to talk to him."

"That's it? You don't need to discuss it with the others, or convince Blake?" Vila couldn't help asking.

She smiled, but her voice was firm. "You'll soon realize, Vila, that Blake does whatever I want him to. Three hours, Vila." She left, still smiling.

***

Servalan terminated her call and sat for a minute pondering the information she'd just received. With a delicate frown, she pressed a button to open a channel to her communications center. When they responded, she ordered them to connect her to Space Commander Darren.

Within seconds the screen lit up and revealed Darren. "Yes, Empress?"

"Darren, I have received a report from one of your sources. It confirms what you suspected, that Avon may be a danger. I want you to arrange an accident for him." She said calmly, breaking the connection. Then she smiled, and added softly, "Good-bye, Avon. It has been . . ." her eyes searched the room delicately for the proper word. "Amusing."

***

Hours later, it was dark, and most of the city slept peacefully. Avon, however, tossed restlessly. As he slept, a shadowy figure of a man entered his room. The figure entered cautiously and crossed the foot of the bed to reach the side closest to the windows. He reached out and gently shook Avon's shoulder. Avon stirred, but didn't wake.

"Avon . . . wake up, it's me." Vila said softly.

Not yet awake, Avon nevertheless recognized that voice. It set off a chain of nightmare images. First, as always, Avon saw Blake's body, lying at his feet. Then he remembered seeing Dayna shot, and Vila, and Tarrant, even Soolin. His memory telescoped backwards again until he was once more on Egrorian's shuttle, searching for Vila. It was urgent that he find Vila, or else he'd be lost. Out of long practice, Avon terminated the nightmare sequence, and opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a dark shape looming over him. Out of instinct, he lunged.

His weight toppled the intruder, and they fell to the floor. A small patch of moonlight illuminated Vila's face, and Avon froze, stunned. After a second he released his grip and rolled into a sitting position, a disbelieving expression on his face. It couldn't be.

Vila moaned softly. "I didn't expect you to be happy to see me, Avon, but why try to kill me this time?"

Well, perhaps it could.

"An instinctive reaction," he explained distractedly, still staring as Vila sat up. "Vila, what are you doing here? I thought . . . they told me you were dead." He brushed distractedly at his forehead, trying to clear his mind.

"So did I, think it, I mean, but I wasn't. When I couldn't find any of you, though, I had to get out by myself. Now, I'm here to rescue you. Shall we go?"

Avon had relaxed slightly, but at that question he snorted. "Is there anywhere to go?" he asked bitterly.

"Of course. There's a shuttle, but if we don't get there soon, it will leave without us. I'll explain later, but we've got some new friends."

"Well now," Avon mused, "Anything's better than staying here."

"Alright, then, let's go. Silira's waiting by the gate."

Avon held out a hand to restrain the thief. "We need to visit my workshop, in the basement. There are a few things I need."

They stood up and made their way towards the workshop, being careful not to wake the guard. Once inside, Avon tossed the drive unit to Vila and opened a cabinet to reveal the scattered pieces of Orac, now nothing more than a clear box crammed full of unconnected components. Predictably, Vila complained about having to carry an old pile of junk, but Avon just smiled slightly and ignored him.

Once they got outside the house, they were met by Silira. Vila introduced them quickly, and she handed out guns. "The patrols are everywhere. We'll need to be very lucky."

"And a lot quieter than you have been," said Varel, emerging from the shadows with a gun drawn. Avon's gun was pointed directly at his head.

"Avon, I don't want to kill you."

"Why not? I thought it didn't matter to you if I were alive or dead."

"I want to come with you," Varel insisted, holding his gun steady. Vila and Silira watched, waiting for a chance. "Avon, that woman murdered my family. You can confirm what I say once you get Orac going again. I want a chance to kill her."

After a moment's pause, he spoke again. "Avon, I know you don't like taking risks and trusting people. Alright, I'll take the first risk." Very slowly, and without taking his gaze from Avon, he lowered his gun and reholstered it.

A weapon fired, barely missing Avon. It came from on top of the wall, where a small squad of troopers was pouring in. Avon and Varel whirled away from each other and both began firing at the troopers. Silira joined the firefight while Vila concentrated on opening the gate and not getting shot. The troopers didn't seem prepared for the kind of resistance they were getting, and drew back. As soon as Vila got the gate open, they slipped out. Vila went first, carrying Orac. Silira carried the photon drive while Avon and Varel covered the rear. As they reached a corner, a troop transport came into view, but before they could fire, Silira recognized Rusk. "That's our ride, come on, get in." She and Vila climbed in first, followed by Avon and Varel. Rusk handed out troop helmets that must have come with the transport. "Put these on. In the darkness, we might pass for Federation."

The ruse worked well enough to fool most of the patrols, and the ones that weren't fooled were shot. It seemed like forever, but only twenty long minutes passed before they arrived at the shuttle. Loren executed another emergency launch, barely giving them time to sit down before she lifted off at high gravity. As soon as they docked with the Scalia, it pulled out of Earth orbit, a few minutes ahead of the nearest pursuit ship. When the shuttle came to rest, Blake's crew bailed out to assist on the flight deck, leaving Vila to lead the others. As he was leaving the shuttle, Avon grabbed his arm.

"Vila, I want some answers. Who are these people?"

Vila looked smug, enjoying the rare situation of knowing more than Avon. He knew better than to withhold the information for long, though.

"These people are the new rebellion, apparently. Their leader calls himself Blake." A look of pain crossed Avon's face, and Vila continued quickly. "Obviously, he's not the one we remember, but he is trying to defeat the Federation. He pulled me out of a prison on one of the frontier worlds, or rather, Silira did. Very nice girl, is Silira. And you haven't met Loren or Paige yet."

"It's obvious why you're here. Why get me?"

"They need you. And I thought you'd like the chance to go after Servalan. But who's he?" Vila asked, motioning towards Varel. "He looks like Federation to me."

"Yes, that's what I've been meaning to ask him. Varel, give me one good reason not to kill you." His voice had a razor edge. "Why are you here?"

"For a chance to revenge my family." Varel was more intense than Avon had ever seen him. "My parents were political criminals, executed when I was 16. I had a younger sister; I tried to take care of her. I thought if I was in the service, she'd be safe. But when she was 15, one of the officers saw her. He wanted her, so he took her. I could do nothing. She killed herself, but it was his fault. I stayed in the service hoping to get close to him, and I killed him, but it wasn't enough. He wasn't any worse than any other officer. The whole of the Federation is rotten to the core, and I want to do my damndest to destroy it." He sighed, and relaxed a little. "I don't expect you'll believe me, but there's always Orac."

"That pile of junk?" Vila interrupted. "I thought it was broken."

"It won't take more than a few minutes to fix, once I get the right parts. I'll check your story, Varel, as soon as it's done." Avon turned back to Vila, and paused. "It’s . . . good to see you, Vila." He said slowly.

Vila just nodded, as an artist accepting his due. "I knew you'd miss me. My talent, my charm, not to mention my good looks," he prattled, to cover the emotional moment.

"If you had any, I might have missed you. As it is, I may hit you instead." Avon retorted, in his familiar sarcastic role. "In the meantime, Vila, do you know where the flight deck is?"

"Yes, of course, it's right this way." He started off and then stopped, nearly causing a collision behind him. "No, it's definitely that way." He took a 270-degree turn to the right and set off again. Avon and Varel exchanged glances, and then followed at a safe distance. On the way, they felt the ship rock twice, presumably a gift from the pursuit ships.

The three reached the flight deck just as Loren announced that they had outdistanced the last pursuit ship.

"They were slow," commented Rusk soberly. "We should have had to fight."

"But instead, we're safe away, with our prize," Blake stated proudly, gesturing towards Avon.

Paige started towards him and then stopped. "We seem to have gotten a bonus."

Avon smiled coldly, and walked forward. "How do you do. I'm Kerr Avon, and this is my former guard, Varel. He claims to have reformed. You can make up your own minds about that. I don't know who you are or what you want, but I want only two things: to kill Servalan and to be left alone."

"Just like old times," Vila murmured.

"Well, Avon," Blake smiled genially, "we can certainly work together. I would be most appreciative of your assistance."

"That would be a change." Avon said, at his driest.

"Where should I set a course for, Blake?" asked Loren.

"Oh, somewhere remote. We'll need time to adjust our strategies to include our new crewmembers. Avon, Varel, and of course, Restal, welcome aboard."

***

"What!" The Empress was livid. "You allowed them to take Avon? Right under our noses. You are to consider yourself under arrest, for treason."

Space Commander Darren remained calm. "Empress, it was part of a plan. I'd been working on it for months. I knew Blake was coming, and-" He was not allowed to finish his sentence.

"More details you haven't seen fit to tell me? If you want to live for longer than another day, you will learn to tell me everything you do. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Empress. I've been tracking Blake for months. I've managed to get an agent on board his ship. You will know what Blake is doing before he does. And that will finally crush the rebellion."

Servalan looked at him in grudging respect. "You had better be right, Darren. You know how I reward failure."

"Yes, ma'am. Not to worry. Blake is finished before he's started."

"If you are right, on the other hand, you will be my next Supreme Commander. You may leave me now." Servalan was almost gracious once more. He turned smartly and marched out of her office, while she sat back in her chair and contemplated the stars outside her window. "Go on, Blake. When I want you, I shall have you, and Avon as well. And this time I will kill him. Slowly." Slowly, she smiled.

(continued in Aristo)