2.1

The cellar was dimly lit, suffused with the stench of mould and stale air. Servalan's hand sought and found the small gun. She turned, training it on the kneeling figure.

"Avon."

His attention remained completely on his embrace of death. He cradled in his arms the death of his past and future, seasoned with the bitterness of knowing that nothing had been what it seemed. Aware of the threat, he answered in a hollow voice.

"You really think I care?"

Servalan held his teleport bracelet in her other hand. She pointed the gun at it and fired; sparks flew around Avon's head, landing near Anna's body. The top half of the teleport bracelet shrivelled and blackened.

"Sula! Sula!"

Servalan whirled quickly, instincts true to her training and self-interest as she shot the man calling his dead commander. The adrenaline drain when he fell left her slightly breathless. She smiled and she waited. She had heard the broadcasts; knew her troops had surrounded the building and would soon secure it. This little coup was already at an end, its leaders dead, and its primary result the shattering of personal illusions, both hers and Avon's.

Servalan raised her eyes as she heard the steady pounding of boots in the passageway above. She inhaled, quickly composing herself and donning the mask of command. The rapid thumping of boots on the stairway was her cue.

"It's about time! Do I have to do everything myself?"

The senior member of the small squad, a 1st Lieutenant, immediately came alert. His men followed, their faces more horrified than if they were facing battle.

"This man is my prisoner. I want him secured. Dispose of the bodies."

She fought the urge to glance at Avon and Anna before she swept up the stairs to resume her rightful place at the head of the government.

2.2

Avon fought as the troopers pulled him from Anna's body. With not much left for which to fight, he was willing to suffer a few thrown punches or kicks. Finally, with three troopers grabbing him and another trooper pulling Anna's body, he was forced facedown on the ground. Face pressed to the damp, cold cellar floor, his hands were pulled roughly behind him and bound. It all seemed rather pointless.

He was aware of a trooper in front of him and one behind as he was herded up the staircase. Marched down an endless series of hallways, he collided with shoulders of countless soldiers. Voices shouted across the hall; pounding footfalls echoed through the empty rooms, above his head as they ran floor-to-floor, ferreting out resisters. Finally, Avon arrived at an outside door. The night was rather misty, lending an appropriate edge to the dullness of his feelings. It softened the edges of the building, the soldiers' helmets and the transport into which he was forced. Numb as he was, he idly noted the amount of Federation personnel gathered around the transport. His two guards from the cellar remained with him and eventually two other men, probably officers, joined them in the transport and sealed the hatch.

2.3

"Vila, I promise you…"

Vila's entire body twitched, even without Dayna's threats. "I know, I know Dayna."

"Just another few seconds…" Cally's attention was completely on the teleport co-ordinates. "All right, that's it." She leapt from behind the console, battling Tarrant and Dayna to be first to the teleport pad. "Vila, put us down and be ready to bring us – all of us – right back up."

Vila threw the switches, trembling as he sat down behind the teleport console.

The cellar was crowded. They stood shoulders touching, facing outward, in a semblance of a triangle. Cally saw the troopers first. Two were carrying Hob; another two were carrying Anna. Others were poking about throughout the cellar. A quick exchange of fire along with three searching glances was enough.

"Vila! Teleport!"

Vila's face mirrored Cally's own rising fear, but in his case it was mixed with guilt.

"What now?" Dayna's voice was firm as if she was still expecting someone to come up with a plan of action.

Tarrant opened his mouth, "I, ah…" His voice trailed off and he shook his head as he walked to the console.

Cally dropped her teleport bracelet in bracelet rack.

"The building's been retaken. Servalan's gone. He's probably her prisoner as we didn't see his body with the others." She closed her eyes, the only outward sign that she had had to force the last few words from a suddenly constricted throat.

Dayna looked from Tarrant to Cally rapidly. "So what do we do? We can't just leave him there!"

At their expressions of helpless frustration, she stalked back to the teleport pad.

"Vila! Put me back down!"

Vila shook his head in misery and Tarrant reached out a hand, to delay and to comfort her.

"Dayna, you don't know where they've taken him. Getting yourself killed or captured won't help him."

Dayna was enraged. "I can't leave him there. She has him!"

"No," Tarrant whispered, smoothly pulling Dayna from the teleport pad. "Of course, we won't leave him. We'll regroup, find out where he is, and go back. Right now though, all we'll do is get ourselves in trouble and that won't help Avon, will it, Dayna?"

Before she realised it, Dayna had been guided from the teleport pad, and gently directed toward the flight deck. Tarrant escorted her, one hand gripping Dayna's left wrist, the other arm draped around her shoulders. Cally and Vila watched as the pilot led Dayna away from the teleport, speaking soothingly to her as if she were in need of comfort.

"Much good Tarrant's doing. He's holding up Dayna, who is perfectly capable of beating him to a pulp, while you're ready to fall over."

Cally was astonished that Vila's arm was around her waist, gently guiding her to the seating area behind the teleport console. They sat there in stunned silence, each struggling to comprehend what had happened, wrapped in individual states of misery.

Cally sat up suddenly as she felt the engines shift. She glanced quickly at Vila in alarm.

"Tarrant's taking us out of orbit!"

"Cally, they know we're here. Sitting here and getting blown up won't help Avon."

Cally lay back, closing her eyes. "He's gone, Vila," she said desolately. "She has him." The cold pushed past her jumper and settled in her bones, sinking into the very marrow.

2.4

The transport rose and travelled at a fast clip. Its engines provided a pleasant droning sound upon which Avon fixated his limited attention. It was soothing, white noise drowning out the irritating chatter of the two Federation officers who stared at him as if he were an exotic animal. The thought that they might have opposed each other in battle or during a Liberator attack floated across his mind but he let it float out again, deeming it irrelevant. Finally he sank into himself, completely unaware of the soldiers, the transport, or even the lovely droning noise of the engines.

Indifferent to his surroundings, he was startled when one of his guards slapped him to break the reverie. They had landed; based on a quick glance, they were inside a large hangar. Pushed from the transport, the two guards bracketed him as they followed the officers across the lengthy building. Avon could see other Federation personnel emerging from a doorway, striding toward his little party. The guards held him at a distance so that he could not hear any of the words passed between the officers from the transport and those who came to meet them.

I'm a prisoner, he reminded himself dully, Servalan's prisoner. Interrogation will be first; this must be Central Security. He almost laughed as he remembered that he had left their hands that same morning with his own prisoner: Shrinker. Hours ago? No, that did not even occur in my lifetime. That was someone else.

His cellar guards escorted him forward, turning him over to two other guards, dressed identically. He was marched through the rest of the hangar and through the double doors which opened onto a long passageway. Painted a rather institutional green, it was notable only in that Avon had never before seen it. There were doors set into the walls on each side every five metres, and corridors that branched off to the right every thirty metres. Finally, near the end of the hallway, his escort party turned down one of those corridors. Each of the doors set into the wall on the left was barred. Most of them were empty and Avon was given time enough to note only that some were occupied.

His escort party stopped in front of a cell and he walked forward co-operatively as the barred door opened. He stood waiting in the cell, expecting one of the guards to remove his restraints, but the door quickly closed and most of the escort party departed. One guard remained, stationed outside his door.

Avon smiled very slightly. I am an honoured prisoner to warrant my own guard.

Sighing in what he hoped wasn't complete pathos, Avon knelt on the sole bed in the cell. It was attached to the wall and its mattress was set solidly into the frame. It wasn't easy to lie down naturally with his hands behind his back; Avon shifted into a sitting position and then settled for a roll onto his side. After all, it had been an incredibly long five, now six, days and apparently his luck had not changed in the least. At least the cell was dim. Perhaps he'd even sleep.

"