Exchange
Servalan and Travis made their way to the rendezvous site, a rocky stretch of land reminiscent of the bottom of a quarry. Travis wondered how exactly all that dust knew to cling to him while leaving Servalan's white patent leather boots and ankle length gown pristine. He glanced at the small digital display embedded in his prosthetic hand.
"They're late," he proclaimed.
It was at that moment that Avon materialized just a few feet distant, carrying a large, Plexiglas box.
"Your arm is fast," he replied, sardonically.
"Where's Blake?" Travis demanded.
"I'm afraid he couldn't make it. You'll have to make do with the two of us," Avon answered, carefully setting the box down on the ground in front of him.
"I think the two of you will be quite sufficient," Servalan, assured him, smiling graciously.
"I assume everything is in order for our trade?" Avon asked her.
"Just as soon as I assure myself that you've held up your end of the bargain," she answered, delicately.
"By all means." Avon took a step back from the Plexiglas box. Travis wondered what exactly the two were planning. All she'd told his was that Blake would be there, and as it turned out not even that was true.
"Orac," Servalan asked, "What will be the outcome of the Election on Orus Prime next month?"
"Your petty quibbling are much too trivial to concern my vast intellect!" the box objected.
"Splendid," Servalan said, lifting the heavy box and balancing it carefully on her hip. Travis wondered why he hadn't been ordered to do the heavy lifting.
"I trust you've disarmed him?" Avon asked, enigmatically.
"Of course," Servalan answered. "I don't suppose it's any of my business what you want him for?"
"None what so ever," Avon answered, a rather menacing smile stretching across his face.
To Travis's immense surprise, Avon took him by the hand and slapped a transport bracelet around his wrist. In a moment he found himself standing on the Liberator.
"Me?" he asked, flabbergasted, "You traded her Orac for me?"
"Of course not," Avon assured him. "What I traded for you was a box full of fairy lights programmed to evade any question asked of it in a typically Orac-like fashion."
"I for one am amazed at her gullibility!" the real Orac intoned. "Though I don't know why I should be surprised. Humanity's stupidity is one of the few constants in the universe!"
"But won't she realize?" Travis asked, still confused.
"Hopefully not before it explodes and kills her. Which reminds me," Avon explained, "give me your hand."
Travis, knowing full well the fate of prisoners that don't do as they're told, reluctantly offered his right hand.
"Not that hand, the other one." Avon demanded, urgently.
With a snap Travis detached his prosthetic and handed it to Avon, who threw it unceremoniously onto the trans-mat pad, still wearing it's teleport bracelet. He pushed a few buttons on the console in front of him and the arm disappeared. A few seconds later the ship was shaken by the nearby explosion.
"How predictable," Avon opined. "Still, great minds, as they say."
Travis just stood there, as confused as ever.
"Don't look so sad," Avon admonished him. "I'll make you a new one. That vibrates."