Disclaimer: Blake's 7 doesn't belong me. It was the genius of Terry Nation and belongs to the BBC. I just play in their Universe occasionally.

Author's Note: Apologies for the age this chapter has taken to be posted. Frustratingly, my life is not conducive to writing at the moment. But the good news is that I have a whole day off work to dedicate to writing on Monday and so I hope to have chapter 7 ready to beta then. Originally this chapter and chapter 7 were combined to form a monster chapter, but what with the rewrites it has just got too unwieldy, so I've spilt them up.

Thanks to everyone who is patiently waiting for this story to unfold (I'll try and do better Jay, honest!).

Needless to say feedback, good or bad, is always welcome. Thanks for reading...

Smoke And Mirrors

Servalan swiftly came to realisation that she had little, if any, chance of finding her way out of the maze of tunnels that comprised the underground complex alone. In the dim flickering light of the torches every hewn corridor, cave and heavy wooden door looked indistinguishable from the next. On her initial transfer to her makeshift cell, the corridor had appeared to lead directly to the vast central cave where they had arrived, but in the last few minutes she had tried a dozen branching corridors and the cave was still lost to her. Frustrated, she came to an abrupt halt in the centre of yet another featureless tunnel, panting with the unexpected exertion, and looked left and right into the darkness in desperation. She had no idea where she was or what to do. It was inevitable that Avon would follow her. He would never let her escape so easily and yet, could she really describe herself as free at this moment? Trapped like a rat in a maze, she thought disgustedly. If I don't find a way out soon, it would only be a matter of time before Avon catches up with me. What I really need is a guide.

Servalan contemplated her alternatives, which seemed depressingly few, and finally knocked gently on the nearest door. Maybe if she locked herself in a room she could buy herself some time. Listening intently at the door for a few seconds, she detected no sound of movement or voices. She repeated her knock on the door, this time louder and more insistent. Still there was no sound from within. Satisfied that the room beyond the door was empty, she turned the handle. To her relief, a soft clicking sound indicated the door was unlocked. As it swung open, creaking slightly as the wood warped with the movement, Servalan glanced fearfully up and down the corridor, suddenly aware of other rooms within earshot. When the corridor remained empty, she gratefully slipped inside the room, pushing the door slowly closed behind her, wincing with every creak of the wood. To her further relief, there was a chunky iron key in the lock on this side of the door and she turned it, only breathing easier as she heard the solid clunk of the lock turning. With the door secured behind her, Servalan leant against it, waiting for the staccato rhythm of her heart to slow, and took a leisurely look around her hiding place. The cave seemed very familiar, but that was to be expected; surely all caves looked the same. But there was the low bunk, and the animal skin rug, and the chest, and the table. Not similar to the one she had left behind not ten minutes previously, she realised with a sinking heart, identical. She had run back to her own cell.

A sudden surge of irritation at her own ineptitude engulfed her, but almost immediately the anger was replaced by a wave of unfamiliar hopelessness. She slumped against the door, shoulders drooping, and closed her eyes in an attempt to block out the sight of her gaol. Few people, if anyone had seen her in that moment, would have recognised the usually poised, implacable, haughty figurehead of the Federation, for at that moment she was nothing more than a frightened, desperate, woman.

For a full minute Servalan allowed herself to wallow in self-pity, her fears washing over her. Then she lifted her head, straightening her shoulders and back until she stood, recognisable as the great Commissioner Sleer once more. She was being a fool, she reproached herself. If handled properly, this situation could be used to her advantage. Surely her original cell would be the last place anyone would think of looking for her. Suddenly she remembered an important detail, until now unimportant and forgotten: despite the Rebels' careful monitoring, there were a number of Federation spies in the complex. A calculated smile curved her lips as she recalled the leader's name. She had a guide. All she had to do was find him, or let him find her. He would be looking for her now, eager to help his paymaster. But first she needed patience. Patience to wait until the hue and cry over her escape had died down. Patience to let her spy find her. Patience until Avon had a new distraction to occupy him. Smiling serenely she sat down on the bench and waited, her mind meticulously planning her escape. The game is not finished, she thought savagely, eyes shining with anticipation. I still have my hand to play.

Avon slid the door of Vila's cabin closed behind him, smiling in triumph. He had put the fear of God into Vila for doing exactly what he was supposed to. He pondered briefly whether Orac had readjusted the controls of the teleport back to their normal settings, and started to walk back towards his own cabin, running over the next phase of the operation in his mind. He supposed he should feel guilty, both for the deception and the pain he was undoubtedly causing his friend. Of everyone on the Liberator, Vila was really the only one he could trust with the truth, but he had no doubt that, as his friend, Vila would do everything in his power to stop him. And it had to be done. He didn't have a choice.

From the corridor behind him echoed the voices of Dayna and Rhiannon, engaged in a laughing, friendly debate, warning him of their approach. Quickly and silently Avon ran the remaining few yards to his cabin and darted inside, hastily locking the door behind him. Visitors, even the beautiful and disturbing Rhiannon, were the last thing he wanted or needed at the moment. With drawn breath he listened, ear against the metal door. The footsteps halted outside his door, although the murmured sound of conversation continued. After a moment there came the sound of gentle knocking against the metal. He had no doubt that they wanted to confirm that he had not done anything rash to punish Vila for his error. Well, they would have to ask the Delta himself. Avon stilled, unable to believe that they were unable to hear the hammering of his heart against his chest. After several knocks, he heard Dayna mutter something indistinct to Rhiannon, followed by their retreating footsteps.

When he was convinced he was alone, Avon crossed the room to the far wall which jutted out at the base to form the narrow sleeping bunk. Reaching above his head, he carefully removed a panel from above the bunk. Extending his hands into the dark recess beyond, he drew out a glowing perspex box. The glow came from a multitude of transparent cables down which pulses of multi-coloured light flared in rainbow sequence. In addition, a complex series of sequentially flashing lights lit the interior of the box, almost giving the illusion of a beating heart. The box hummed like the frantic buzzing of a trapped insect.

"Orac, disengage from the main intercom link. I want you to contact Blake, using the usual code," Avon ordered in a low voice. "And activate the sound dampening field." Even though he was pretty sure the rest of the crew were safely out of earshot, he didn't want to take any chances that he would be overheard.

"AS YOU WISH." Orac's petulant reply rang through the cabin. Avon grimaced. Orac's tone irritated him. He had much preferred the whining subservience of Slave, but there was no arguing with Orac's superior capabilities, and for those Avon was willing to put up with a little impertinence. For several seconds, Orac's insistent drone was the only sound to be heard, then Blake's clipped tones filtered through the wall speakers.

"Avon, this is Blake. How are things going?" The voice was practically a whisper. Secrecy was obviously high on Blake's list of priorities too.

"Everything is going according to plan, although we are a little ahead of schedule," Avon replied briskly, keeping his voice low for Blake's sake. "I haven't made the trace yet. I thought I would let our friend stretch her legs for a bit." He barked a short laugh.

Blake chuckled. "That's what I've always liked about you Avon, your unending generosity."

"You mean there is something about me you like? I must make an effort to curb it."

Avon's reply, although cold and mocking, lacked any real conviction and Blake got the strangest feeling that the dispassionate Avon was secretly quite pleased with his comment. He replied with another gentle laugh, then said seriously, "Avon, I don't like keeping Vila and the others in the dark about this. Surely we can just tell those on board the Liberator."

"Use your head, Blake! You know as well as I do that this won't work if they know the full story. I'll tell them when, and only when, it becomes necessary. For the moment, the only people I trust here are myself and Servalan." And Vila, Avon acknowledged silently, though he would never admit it to Blake, or anyone, including the thief.

"Servalan!" Blake nearly choked in disbelief. "You have to be joking, surely," he exclaimed, forgetting to whisper. The whole cabin seemed to ring with the echoes.

"Keep your voice down," Avon hissed, fearing Blake's discovery. "Servalan may be the most vicious, devious and calculating woman alive, but I understand her, therefore I can trust her."

"I often wonder what your true feelings on the subject of that woman really are. You're so alike it's frightening," Blake replied. "God help all of us if you ever join forces." The last comment was thoughtful, aimed more at himself than Avon.

"You had better pray that this works then," Avon retorted sharply, "otherwise you might just get the opportunity to find out. I'll contact you at the end of phase two. Orac, end transmission."

Once more the low sound of Orac's hum swelled to fill the cabin. Avon released a long breath. So far, so good.

"Orac, do you have the trace yet?" he asked urgently.

"OF COURSE I HAVE. THE LOCATION OF SERVALAN HAS BEEN IN MY POSSESSION FOR SOME TIME. I FIND IT HARD TO UNDERSTAND WHY IT HAS TAKEN YOU THIS LONG TO ENQUIRE."

Avon huffed in annoyance. The only problem with Orac, as Dayna had once pointed out, was that he was too useful to destroy.

"Just tell me where she is," he said irritably.

"SERVALAN IS CURRENTLY LOCATED IN THE ROOM IN WHICH SHE WAS PREVIOUSLY BEING HELD. ANALYSES OF HER MOVEMENTS DURING HER TIME AWAY FROM THIS LOCATION SUGGEST THAT SHE DID NOT RETURN TO THIS ROOM ON PURPOSE, BUT THAT SHE WAS LOST IN THE MAZE OF TUNNELS FOR SOME MINUTES."

Avon grinned in triumph and nodded. "She will have decided that since she cannot escape without help, she will be safest in the last place anyone would look. Anyone except me, of course. Orac, set the teleport coordinates to match Servalan's position and prepare to teleport me down on my signal. After that, keep monitoring and be ready to teleport if required. And Orac, find something to keep the crew amused. I don't want them becoming too inquisitive."

Taking hold of Orac, Avon opened his cabin door and checked the corridors in either direction. After establishing that they were empty, he darted out of the cabin, only pausing to close and lock the door, and down one of the corridors in the direction of the store rooms. As he had expected, he met no one. On reaching the first, as yet unused, storeroom, he ducked inside, securing the door behind him. Quickly, he removed one of the wall panels and carefully wedged Orac in the cavity created between two bulkhead girders running horizontally behind the wall. Returning the panel to its original position, he slipped out of the room once more, into the deserted corridor. Glancing around furtively he made his way to the back to the teleport, his booted feet making no sound on the hard metallic surface.

At the entrance to the teleport bay, Avon stopped. Leaning against the wall, he poked his head around the corner to survey the teleport bay. To his relief he found that the bay was empty save for Vila, who had evidently returned to his post, now the threat of imminent death had passed. Clearly his encounter with Avon had not overly disconcerted him as he now appeared to be sat at the controls, head down and resting on his hands, snoring gently. Avon gave a wry smile. Somehow Vila's ability to sleep, despite the dangerous events surrounding them, was quite endearing, even though it was also intensely annoying. Avon couldn't remember the last time he had slept naturally, not induced by a powerful sedative, the only thing that seemed to effectively drive away his insomnia for a few too-short hours.

Avon crept warily across the bay. Although Vila's ability to sleep was legendary, it was also true that the thief had uncommonly sharp hearing, able to wake at the slightest of sounds. To Avon's relief, the gentle snores continued as he eased a teleport bracelet from the rack and clasped it on his wrist. After a second's deliberation, he added a second bracelet to join it. Drawing his gun, he moved noiselessly into the boundaries of the teleport and whispered the command signal to Orac. There was a wild buzzing sound and a burst of green shimmering light as Avon vanished.

The green light had faded into invisibility when Vila jerked his head up, looking around him in bewilderment. He could have sworn that he had heard the teleport activate. Quickly he checked the console, looking at the incoming and outgoing co-ordinates for some sign that the teleport had been activated. They were identical. Something wasn't right, but in his befuddled state he couldn't remember what it was. Convincing himself that if it had been important he would have remembered, he shrugged and returned to his watch position. After less than a minute, his head slumped onto his hands once more and the gentle snores resumed.

An uncharacteristically garrulous Tarrant was conducting Rhiannon on a tour of the flight deck, explaining the workings of even the most minor function controls in an eager voice, each sentence laced with heavy-handed compliments. Dayna and Soolin, sprawled leisurely across the white leather couch, exchanged wry glances at Tarrant's obvious and rather juvenile behaviour. Despite Soolin's anxious message to Avon on the planet earlier, the Federation patrol ships had passed out of even the long range scanners some time ago without any sign that they had detected the Liberator. Consequently the mood on the flight deck was, for the first time in weeks, relaxed and could even be described as jovial.

Only Servalan's escape cast a shadow over their rare moment of relaxation, but Dayna consoled herself with the thought that there was little any of them could do about it. Rhiannon's people were making a thorough sweep of the complex below and they knew its winding corridors and hidey-holes far better than she, Soolin or Tarrant ever would. Besides, it wasn't even as though Avon was stirring himself into action. He'd been closeted in his cabin for the best part of four hours now. Despite the fact that there had been no response to either Rhiannon or her knocks, she had no doubt that he had been inside, plotting his next move, trying to stay one step ahead of his nemesis. And, she reasoned, if Avon wasn't worried, there seemed little point in the rest of the crew getting worked up.

Vila too had ignored her entreaty for entry but had assured her that he was undamaged. A curious choice of words, she had thought at the time, but, on seeing his pale face and shaking hands when he had emerged a short time later, neither she nor the others had had the heart to vent their own anger at him. Clearly the punishment Avon had inflicted on Vila had been mental rather than physical. With an understanding nod, she had ordered him to man the teleport and he had returned a grateful smile, glad that he did not have to face the inevitable questions which a stint on the flight deck would bring.

"A SERIOUS MALFUNCTION HAS DEVELOPED IN ONE OF THE LONG RANGE SCANNER CIRCUITS." Orac's condescending and superior tones suddenly rang through the flight deck. "A FULL MANUAL DIAGNOSTIC CHECK WILL BE REQUIRED TO LOCATE THE SOURCE OF THE PROBLEM."

"Can't you locate it, Orac?" Dayna complained, picturing hours filled with crawling through low, cramped conduits. "I thought auto-repair could handle that sort of thing."

"UNFORTUNATELY THE AUTO-REPAIR CIRCUITS OF THIS SHIP ARE ONLY AVAILABLE FOR A NUMBER OF PRIORITY SYSTEMS. THE LONG RANGE SCANNERS HAVE NOT BEEN GIVEN A PRIORITY CLASSIFICATION AND THEREFORE REQUIRE HUMAN INVOLVEMENT FOR REPAIR AND MAINTENANCE." If anything Orac's tone became even more superior. It was almost as if he were gloating, Dayna thought with disgust.

By her side Soolin nodded wearily, accepting the inevitable, and slowly pulled herself upright. Holding out one hand, she forcefully dragged Dayna to her feet.

"You have to come too. I have no idea where to start looking for a long range scanner unit." She shot an arch look over at Tarrant, who was still fawning over Rhiannon. "Tarrant, are you going to help or not? I am sure that by now Rhiannon is an expert on the piloting and maintenance of the Liberator. I think explaining the release of the docking mechanism is going a little too far, don't you?"

Rhiannon gave a trilling laugh as Tarrant flushed and retorted defensively, "Someone ought to look after our guest...and monitor the close range scanners, if that's all we have to rely on at the moment. Anyway, Avon should be doing this; he knows this ship better than anyone. He invented the damn thing, didn't he?"

"KERR AVON IS REQUIRED FOR OTHER, MORE CRITICAL TASKS. HE IS WORKING IN HIS CABIN AND REQUESTS NOT TO BE DISTURBED," Orac said smoothly. Dayna looked sharply at the flashing lights which modulated in time to Orac's words. There was something about his reply which disturbed her. She couldn't shake the feeling that Orac was hiding something. And if Orac was hiding something, that meant Avon was up to something, something he didn't want them to be involved in. In the past, such schemes of Avon had rarely ended well.

Her worried train of thought was brought to a halt as Rhiannon interjected, "Orac, what about the silver shipments? We should be unloading now, if we are going to meet our deadline."

"I WOULD HAVE THOUGHT THE SOLUTION WAS OBVIOUS. THE SILVER CAN BE TRANSPORTED DOWN BY VILA RESTAL. IT SHOULD BE WITHIN HIS LIMITED CAPABILITIES. I SHALL OPERATE THE TELEPORT ON HIS INSTRUCTIONS."

"That was unnecessarily rude, Orac," Rhiannon spluttered, taken aback by the computer's cutting words.

"MY ASSESSMENT OF VILA RESTAL'S CAPABILITIES IS ACCURATE. RUDENESS IS A HUMAN ATTRIBUTE. IT IS ILLOGICAL TO APPLY SUCH ATTRIBUTES TO A MACHINE SUCH AS MYSELF."

All Rhiannon could do was stare.

Leaving Tarrant and Rhiannon on the flight deck to monitor what few scanners appeared to be functioning, Soolin and Dayna made their way to the teleport bay and gave Vila his instructions. As Dayna had expected, it took several minutes of gentle cajoling and a considerable amount of reassurance that there was no danger involved in the exercise before Vila agreed to the task. Even then Dayna was sure it was only the fear of Avon's wrath that forced the Delta to agree. Muttering irritably under his breath, he rose to his feet and set off unenthusiastically in search of the store room containing the silver. Dayna and Soolin, equally unenthusiastic, followed Vila out of the teleport before branching off down another corridor leading to the hold, the location of the main circuits for the scanner in the original ship. To Dayna's relief, the scanner circuits proved to occupy the same position in the new Liberator. A search of the whole ship, even with Orac's grudging assistance, was not an experience she had been looking forward to.

"Orac is up to something," Dayna said, deciding it was time to share her concerns. She removed the circuit housing to expose a tangle of wires and components. "Which means Avon is up to something. Avon has been so cold and aloof recently it's getting hard to tell them apart. They could almost be merging into a single entity. I don't trust either of them to be honest with us right now. And whatever scheme Avon is plotting, you can bet it isn't going to take our safety into account." She paused and stood up, heading for the corridor. "I'll be back in a minute."

"Where are you going?"

"To see Avon. I want some answers." Dayna handed Soolin the wallet of circuit tools, spun on one heel and strode off towards Avon's quarters. Soolin looked up at the exposed scanner circuits and sighed. Extracting a metal probe from the wallet, she cautiously began to prod the complex circuitry.

Avon's door was closed. Not that she'd really expected it to be open. Standing in front of the metal door, Dayna listened for movement inside but the only sound was the familiar background hum of the Liberator. After a moment, she knocked gently on the door. There was no reply. She knocked again, harder and more urgently.

"Go away. I asked not to be disturbed." Avon's angry words came through the door, muffled but undeniably his.

"I want some answers, Avon. I'm not leaving until you open this door," Dayna called back loudly.

"Leave now." Avon's words were dripping with undisguised menace. Then, to Dayna's incredulous horror, she heard the faint but very distinct sound of a laser pistol being primed. He was clearly insane! If that door opened now, she would be dead.

With a gasp of fear, she fled back towards the hold.

Just how far is Avon prepared to go? Find out in Chapter 7 - Point Of No Return...