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: Miracle of miracles but I have another chapter ready. Three in four days – must be some kind of record. I considered waiting to post this, but what the hell, chapter 10 is coming along nicely...
Massive thanks to Orion who turned the beta-ing of this around in less than twelve hours - I'm sure she was supposed to be asleep then!
Needless to say feedback, good or bad, is always welcome. Thanks for reading...
Twisted Logic
Avon stepped back silently from the entrance of the teleport bay into the shadowy safety of the corridor. He deserved the epitaph of a fool. He'd achieved what he had set out to do: to distance himself from the crew, and, most painfully, from Vila. The thought of all the lies he had told the Delta coalesced to form a physical ache in his chest, making him fight for breath. But those thoughts and feelings had been expected and prepared for. Rhiannon had been something else entirely. An unexpected attack on his weakened defences. She had pushed through, breaking them wide open, filling him with longing for a life he knew could never be his. And with the longing had come confusion, his love for Vila and Rhiannon hopelessly tangled together with a nagging sense that in loving them both he had also betrayed them.
His thoughts were threatening to overwhelm him. What he needed was noise, people, anything to drown out the sound of Vila's words to Rhiannon, echoing accusingly in his ears, growing louder and louder. He fled to the flight deck.
The bright lights of the room were glaring after the shadowy depths of the corridor. Avon stumbled to a halt in the doorway, willing his heart to slow. For several seconds he stood motionless, blinking while his eyes adjusted to the change in light. If anyone on the flight deck had noticed him in those first seconds they would hardly have recognised the man before them. Every feature of his face contorted with pain and confusion, and, underlying it all, guilt. But no-one did. By the time Dayna caught sight of him from the corner of her eye he had managed to school his features back into a calm sneer.
"Dayna, what is the current position of the transport ships?" he asked briskly, not a trace of emotion evident in his tone. He swiftly descended the stairs, taking care not to make eye contact, and took his place behind the main flight console, leaning back stiffly onto the chair. His eyes scanned the readouts, absorbing the information they displayed.
Dayna quickly checked the readings on her own console display.
"Orac has intercepted their computer transmissions. They are on course as scheduled and expect to make planet-fall in approximately 36 hours."
"36 HOURS, FIFTEEN POINT TWO TWO THREE SECONDS, TO BE PRECISE," Orac corrected.
"Thank you, Orac," Avon said dryly. "How long before the modified Narox is ready?"
"About thirty hours. There's plenty of time, Avon," Tarrant commented from the pilot's position. "Why are you so jumpy anyway? With Servalan dead you can't be worried about the Federation finding out, surely. Blake has practically won already."
"You are as big a fool as Blake if you believe it is that easy," Avon returned bitterly. "He could still get us all killed."
"Never mind, Avon, I'm sure you will save us," Tarrant quipped.
Not a trace of humour was evident when Avon replied, almost under his breath, "I wouldn't count on it."
A string of profanities emanating from the corridor behind him prevented Tarrant from retaliating. Less than a second later Vila's ruddy, angry face appeared around the corner. He stumbled down the steps and came to a halt in the middle of the floor, swaying slightly.
"What's wrong, Vila? Has the Adrenalin and Soma run out already?" Soolin joked lightly.
It was the wrong thing to say.
Vila swung round to face her, eyes blazing, his mouth twisted in a scowl. He took one step towards her, his hands balled fists by his side. "Do the world a favour and shut the hell up, Soolin. I've had enough of your digs at my expense. Pick on somebody else and leave me alone," Vila said, his tone low and menacing.
Stunned, Soolin took an unsteady step backward, knocking painfully into a bank of computers behind her. "I...Vila...I...didn't mean..." she stammered.
Tarrant leapt forward, angry and indignant. "That's enough, Vila," he warned, stepping between them. "Apologise."
"It's nowhere near enough," Vila snarled. "You're very quick to judge, aren't you, all of you?" His eyes scanned contemptuously across the stunned crew, looking at him as though he'd just grown a second head. "Do you never stop to consider that maybe the reason I drink is because if I wasn't in a stupor half the time I wouldn't be able to stand this god-awful existence we laughingly call a life? But no, you know me, don't you? Happy, idiot Vila, who wouldn't get angry at anything. Takes everything in his stride with a joke and a smile and a display of affectionate idiocy..." His voice trailed away. Despite the truth of his words, he knew he was directing his anger at the wrong people. Soolin and Dayna didn't deserve to bear the brunt of it; their teasing had always been good-natured, without any real malice. His thoughts were less generous towards Tarrant. But there was no way he was about to apologise.
He swung around to Avon, who was watching him silently from behind his console. His face was pale but otherwise inscrutable. For a long moment Vila's eyes searched Avon's face for some sign of regret, anything to convince him that Avon had not just callously dismissed the young woman's feelings. There was nothing. Unspeaking he crossed the deck, his eyes challenging Avon's. Finally he came to a stop beside Avon who stepped out from behind the controls and turned to face him.
"Well, Vila, what is wrong now? Why the temper tantrum?" Avon asked eventually, his tone mocking.
Vila's face darkened in fury. His eyes wintry, rivalling those of the man stood before him, he ground out, loud enough for all to hear, "Rhiannon has gone back to Carillion. It seems the poor child has made the fatal mistake of falling in love with our illustrious leader here. And naturally, being the warm and caring human being he is, he just welcomed her admission with open arms."
"Why are you upset, Vila? Are you jealous?" Avon shot back scornfully, his mouth twisting in a cruel sneer.
"Yes!"
As Avon watched, the thief seemed to diminish before his eyes, his shoulders hunching in a defeated gesture. The eyes he levelled at Avon were filled with naked pain. Avon swallowed as a wave of self-loathing washed over him. How could he have flung that accusation at Vila, knowing how cruel it was? He deserved every epithet Vila chose to fling at him. Vila opened his mouth to continue.
"Vila," Avon warned quietly, only too aware of the scrutiny of the rest of the crew.
But Vila was beyond caring. "She gets the chance to be with you. How could I not be jealous of her?"
Avon was dimly aware of Soolin's startled gasp and Tarrant's choking cough as they absorbed the implications of Vila's words, but his attention was focused on Vila's ashen face. Avon placed a hand on Vila's arm, but Vila shook it off.
"No, Avon. I have watched you destroy a lot of people. Most of whom deserved it. I have seen the depths you are willing to sink to, to get what you want, and loved you in spite of it. But I don't understand this. Servalan is dead. There is nothing to stand in the way of you finding some peace and happiness and yet you toss the chance away without a backward glance. All this time you've used me as an excuse but I won't let you use me any longer. I don't understand how you can be capable of destroying the life of a innocent child, one who for some obscure reason decided you were worth giving up everything for. I can't forgive you for that, and I hope to God you never forgive yourself." Vila spat the final sentence into Avon's face, a tendril of spittle flying from the corner of Vila's lips to land glistening on Avon's cheek. At the sight, what little colour remained in Vila's cheeks drained away, leaving him white, a wraith. With a fearful cry he reached his hand across and wiped the moisture away, his eyes, filled with terror, meeting Avon's.
Avon captured his hand and held it tight.
"It's all right, Vila," he said under his breath, his voice soothing.
"You don't know," Vila said frantically his voice trembling with barely suppressed panic.
"I'm fine. I promise." He gave Vila a reassuring smile. "No harm done."
"No harm?" Vila's retort was sour. "I could have..."
"But you didn't," Avon interjected. "But if you had, I'd have deserved it. I'm sorry for what I said." As he spoke, he raised one hand and brushed Vila's cheek gently with one thumb. There seemed little point in pretending now, the secret was out. In a few hours it wouldn't matter anyway.
Vila gave a crooked smile and winced. "They heard that, didn't they?" he groaned softly.
"Honestly it would have been difficult to miss. They were riveted," Avon said dryly, though his face was creased in a fond smile. Then his brow furrowed. "Vila, about Rhiannon..."
Vila's face turned stony. "I meant what I said," he began, but Avon raised a hand to stay his words.
"It was for the best." His eyes were bleak, showing the pain he felt. He was begging for compassion, even forgiveness. Vila, the only one privileged to see, nodded slowly and, brushing one hand down the length of Avon's face in a comforting gesture, stepped past Avon, silently crossing to his own flight console, where he began to check the long range scanners. Sensing the moment had passed, Tarrant coughed and pointedly examined the communications console. Dayna and Tarrant stared wordlessly at Avon, their mouths agape.
Cocking his head to one side, Avon regarded his crew with interest. Finally he said pointedly, "Show's over. Just so we are clear: yes, Vila and I were once involved; no, we aren't involved any more and haven't been for some time; no, there is no chance we are going to pick up where we left off; and the subject is not open to speculation or discussion." He continued staring at the women until Soolin flushed slightly and turned away. Dayna held his stare for a moment longer and gave a chuckle.
"I'm glad you find it so amusing," Avon said in clipped tones.
"It's just that a whole load of things make a lot more sense now. Vila, my respects, you're a brave man."
Vila raised one finger to his forelock in mock salute, breaking the tension. From the corner of his eye he saw Avon's shoulders relax imperceptibly.
"Orac," Avon commanded, his voice now calm and collected, betraying nothing. "Open a link to Blake."
"AS YOU WISH."
After a few seconds, Blake's disembodied voice began to echo around the flight deck.
"Liberator, this is Blake. What's our status?"
"Everything is going according to schedule, Blake. The modified Narox will be ready and loaded onto the transports, ready for departure in just over thirty-six hours. According to the Federation schedules we've obtained, delivery to all the planets involved in the operation will take a maximum of forty-eight hours after the departure of the transport fleet. I estimate that the assault on the Federation can begin within ninety hours of now." Avon informed him. "Are the instigators in position?"
There was a crackle of static before Blake replied. "We've had confirmation from all one hundred and sixteen key planets. Avon, you had better brief the others in their role in the operation now. They have to be clear what they are going to do. Contact me again when the transports have been dispatched. Good luck everyone." The crisp crackle of static returned, then fell silent, signalling the link had been broken.
"It sounds like we are going to need it," Tarrant said dryly. "What have you neglected to tell us, Avon? How are you going to try to kill us this time?"
"Yes, Avon, what is our role in all this? Are we going to be decoys again?" Soolin echoed. She had the uneasy feeling that their survival was not going to be very high on the list of priorities on this mission. She hated the Federation as much as anyone, but her loyalty to survival was as great, if not greater than her loyalty to Blake, a man she had only met in passing. Unlike Avon or Vila, she wasn't prepared to sacrifice herself on the word of this one man.
"No," Avon answered. "Blake needs trusted people on the most strategically important planets to oversee the rebellion once the modified Pylene 50 has been released. These happen to be in this quadrant, because the raw materials for Pylene 50 are found here. There is going to be a lot of confusion as people start coming out from under Federation control. Blake wants people who are already identified with the rebellion to be there to step in and take charge. That means you three. When the transports leave here, you will each be despatched to one of the designated planets under Federation control to help coordinate the assault forces. Once control has been achieved you will escort the delegated leaders back to Gauda Prime to see Blake and set up a unified council to rule."
"Sounds a bit risky," Vila pointed out worriedly, reverting to form.
Avon smiled, "I knew you would feel that way, Vila. Blake assigned you Carillion. It will have minimal expected resistance, and, once the Narox has been dispatched, it should be a relatively safe place."
Vila shuffled uncomfortably, but his relief was obvious.
"And what are you going to be doing while we are fighting for freedom?" Tarrant asked sarcastically.
"Watching your back Tarrant, what else?" Avon countered.
"Now why doesn't that make me feel any better?" Tarrant wondered out loud.
Orac's supercilious voice interrupted before Avon could reply. "THERE IS AN URGENT TRANSMISSION BEING RECEIVED FROM CARILLION."
"Put it on main speakers," Avon ordered. Part of him hoped that it would be Rhiannon. It wasn't.
The sound of muffled sirens and klaxons filled the flight deck, a sudden volley of laser fire echoed, accompanied by a number of screams. Suddenly a gruff anxious voice rose over the commotion.
"Liberator, do you copy? This is Carillion. King Hefeydd has been assassinated by a Federation spy and the complex is under attack from Federation infiltrators. We require urgent assistance. I repeat, we require urgent assistance. Liberator, do you copy?" The voice ended on a rising note of panic. There was another round of firing. Avon ran to the communication console, pushing Tarrant roughly out of the way.
"Carillion, this is Avon on the Liberator," Avon transmitted rapidly. "We have received your message. Prepare for immediate teleport of personnel for your assistance. Can you estimate the number of Federation? Has Hefyedd's heir been located and secured?" The fear in his voice as he asked about Rhiannon was plain for all to hear.
"There is no way of telling," the unknown voice replied. "The attack has been undertaken from several key locations at once, internal communications are down..." Suddenly a piercing scream rang through the flight deck and the communicator fell silent.
Avon grimaced and turned to the crew. "Do I have any volunteers? Dayna and Vila, I need you here. Vila, you man the teleport."
Without a word, Tarrant and Soolin grabbed a gun each from the rack and ran towards the teleport. Vila scurried after them, white-faced.
"I thought you said it would be safe. If that is your idea of safe I'd..." he wailed, as he disappeared from view, the last of his sentence lost in Avon's answering shout.
"I lied. Find out if the Federation know about the altered Narox. Servalan may have contacted some of them before I caught up with her."
"Good Luck," Dayna added.
"FEDERATION PURSUIT SHIPS DETECTED ON THE LONG RANGE SCANNER, ESTIMATED THREE THOUSAND SPACIALS," interrupted Orac.
"They must be coming as backup for the troops on Carillion," Dayna said. "They will have us in detector range in three minutes forty."
Avon shook his head. "If the Federation had transmitted a call for arms, Orac would have picked it up. I'm betting they make a routine sweep this way every so often to see whether the Federation spy has made a move against Hefyedd. They'll come in close, wait for a signal, and if they don't get one, they'll go away again. Orac, I want you to block any signals coming from the planet Carillion except those of Tarrant and Soolin. There is no point in letting the Federation on the planet inform the Federation up here of our presence. Dayna, move us into a new orbit. Two thousand spacials out on the far side of the planet. We should be shielded from their scanners," Avon instructed.
"Not if they come looking for us," Dayna pointed out.
"Then you'll have to hope they don't. They don't have any reason to think we are here. Vila," he continued, pushing the intercom button. "Come back to the flight deck when you've finished putting them down. I want the main blasters ready for firing, just in case."
Then, without a word or backward glance, he climbed the steps and strode quickly in the direction of his cabin. Dayna looked after him in confusion. Where the hell was he going now? The blinking icons representing the Federation ships on the main screen reclaimed her attention, and she turned back to the flight controls forcing herself to concentrate on changing their orbit.
Warily Avon entered the cabin, his gun drawn. He wasn't enough of a fool to trust Servalan, despite their supposed alliance. He glanced around him with surprise, the stark room appeared to be empty. Keeping his eyes forward, he reached behind him with one hand and closed the door, remaining motionless until he heard it lock behind him.
Moving further into the room, he quickly scanned each shadowy corner. She had to be here, the cabin door had been locked by a personal code known only to him, and the secondary teleport required voice print access. A scuffling noise from under the bed drew his attention. Kneeling next to the bunk he peered under, directing the point of his gun into the darkness. At the far side, next to the wall, Servalan's pale face stared back at him, streaked with grime and the remains of the fake blood. Avon gave a short laugh, this was Servalan as he had never seen her before. He rather liked it.
"Do you mind giving me a hand out, Avon?" Servalan asked sharply. "This kind of thing is ruinous to a girl's reputation, not to mention her looks,"
"You don't have a reputation to lose, Servalan, and you know it," Avon retorted, unceremoniously pulling her ankles to extricate her from under the bunk. Servalan gave an exclamation of protest which was almost a squeal but was hauled to her feet and into Avon's arms before she could retaliate.
"You know how much I enjoy being embraced by you but I am a little dirty and I think you suddenly becoming covered in blood might give the game away," she contented herself with saying. Avon pulled away abruptly, and laughing, Servalan began to brush herself down.
"No amount of brushing will improve that dress, Servalan," Avon said practically. Crossing the cabin, he located and opened a wall locker. From inside he pulled a long gown, two narrow panels of matt-black silk separated by an inverted V-shaped panel of white. The three panels were repeated on the back, but cut low to expose a smooth expense of skin from the shoulders almost down to the waist. At the front, the three panels were connected by a white silk halter neck encrusted with uncut, polished semi-precious stones, their rough facets glinting in the subdued lighting.
Servalan gave a sigh of pure pleasure. Clothes had always been one of the few passions she had which was not power related.
"Avon, it's beautiful," she breathed.
"I wanted you to look your best when you arrived at the headquarters of our new empire," Avon replied silkily, crossing the room to her side and throwing the gown down on the bunk. "You deserve the very best."
"I know I do." Servalan manoeuvred herself back into the circle of Avon's waiting arms, heedless of the blood staining her gown. She slid her arms around his neck, allowing her long fingers to entwine in the short hair at the nape of his neck. Avon bent his head and kissed her gently on one exposed shoulder. Then, with a sudden powerful movement, he grabbed her wrists and twisted her arms behind her back.
"Why didn't you tell me about the Federation assault on Carillion? I thought we had a deal," he growled into her ear. "What were you planning to do, lull me into letting you go to rejoin your troops and then turn round and destroy me?"
"It had crossed my mind," Servalan admitted, smiling seductively. Then she grimaced. "You're hurting me, Avon."
"Good. If we are going to carry this off, Servalan, we can't have any secrets from each other. You should have told me," Avon replied stonily, keeping his grip tight around her wrists.
Servalan bit her lip, her arms were in agony, but she forced herself to remain cool. "I didn't trust you then."
"And now you do?"
"Let's just say I am becoming more amenable to the idea," she replied coyly.
"Is there anything else you should be telling me?" Avon asked pointedly.
"Only that I find you incredibly fascinating, Avon." Servalan purred.
Avon rolled his eyes towards the ceiling in exasperation. Giving way to his baser instincts, he kissed Servalan harshly, his lips bruising hers.
As he slowly released his grip on her wrists, distracted by the kiss, Servalan reached up around his back and dug her long sculptured fingernails into his shoulders. As he lifted his head in surprise and pain, she murmured, "Just confirming who's the boss."
"Don't worry, I won't forget," he reassured her. Over her shoulder, Avon smiled. It was a cruel, cold little smile. He had waited a long time for this. He remembered an earth phrase his mother had taught him when he very young: Revenge was a dish best served cold. Well, Avon thought with satisfaction, the ice age had arrived.
"What do you suggest we do?" he asked after a moment.
"About what?" Servalan answered disinterestedly, her attention firmly fixed on fingering the dark supple leather of his jacket.
"The pursuit ships. If you haven't worked it out yet, their being here hardly helps our situation; in fact it could well jeopardize it. We can't risk them picking up the Liberator here, as it is not supposed to exist," Avon pointed out sharply. As he spoke, images of his well laid plans seemed to crumble before his eyes. "You'll have to call them off."
"And just how do you suggest we do that?" Servalan asked sarcastically. "Open a channel and ask them politely to leave? Hardly subtle, Avon, even for you."
Avon shook his head in exasperation. "We send your distress message earlier than planned. A message on that scale will send them scurrying off before they even check the sector."
"Will that affect our plans?" Servalan queried.
"It shouldn't. Blake won't be expecting the attack whenever it comes."
"All right then. You set up the link, I'll do the rest."
"Have you prepared what you are going to say?" Avon asked.
"Of course. I always plan everything," Servalan replied, directing a pointed glare in Avon's direction.
"They don't work very often though, do they?" Avon muttered under his breath.
"What did you say?" Servalan said suspiciously, her ears catching the sound of his low muttering.
"Nothing important. Orac, patch in to the Federation emergency channel and prepare to relay our transmission from the communications terminal on Gauda Prime. And hurry up, Orac, I don't have the time to argue with you."
"AS YOU WISH. THE LINK IS CONFIRMED. PLEASE TRANSMIT," Orac snapped sulkily. Avon frowned and in silence waited for Servalan to begin her speech. He hoped to God it was good enough to convince the Federation or the whole thing would be over before it began.
Servalan took a deep breath. "Federation Control, Federation control. This is Commander Sleer." She paused, and said, making her voice weaker and fainter, "My party has been eliminated by Blake's forces on Gauda Prime. I am being held captive. Blake demands the dismantling of the Federation on Earth or I will be executed. He has taken control of the Imipak weapon." She paused for a second. Then in a very weak but urgent and hurried voice continued, "I am badly wounded, dying. Attack with all forces...Attack." She gave a little cry as if she had been violently silenced and fell silent.
"End transmission," Avon ordered quietly.
"TRANSMISSION COMPLETE," Orac informed him.
Avon turned to Servalan with an appreciative smile. "You are a convincing actress, Servalan." Servalan nodded her modest assent.
"But then again," Avon continued, "they don't know you as well as I do."
"As if I could forget," Servalan retorted, her smile fading. "You take great pleasure in reminding me every five minutes."
"Don't sulk, it doesn't suit you," Avon replied soothingly and gave her a brief stinging kiss to placate her.
"Avon, it's Vila. Are you there?" Vila's voice emanated from behind the locked door.
Wordlessly Avon signalled for Servalan to remain quiet and get out of sight of the door. Silently she crossed to the far side of the room and ducked behind the side of the bunk which jutted out, hiding her from the door.
"What do you want, Vila? Couldn't you have contacted me on the communicator?" Avon said, sounding distinctly displeased.
"Orac wouldn't oblige. He said you were busy," Vila explained. "Avon, are you going to open this door? I don't like talking to a piece of metal. Although to be honest some days there isn't much to choose between you," he finished conversationally, leaning against the door.
It slid open, depositing Vila in an untidy heap on the floor.
"Really?" said Avon, towering above him in the doorway. "What do you want, Vila?" he asked curtly. The last thing he needed was a heart-to-heart in Servalan's hearing. His eyes flashed dangerously. Vila needed to leave, and now.
Vila quickly scrambled to his feet and moved a few paces away from Avon's glowering face. "I came to tell you that the Federation pursuit ships have just broken off their approach. They seem to be headed back into deep space. Why do you think they did that?"
"I don't know, and, what is more, I don't care. As long as they aren't coming here," Avon answered. "Vila, contact Tarrant and Soolin. Find out what the status is on the planet. Tell them we need them back here as soon as they can safely leave."
Vila nodded and ran off down the corridor towards the flight deck. When Avon stepped inside and closed the door, Servalan stood up and gave a mocking laugh. "You seem to have your little pet well-trained, Avon. Why didn't you get rid of him years ago? I'm surprised you didn't send him packing after the raid on Tarcan Four. It wasn't as though he was any use to you any more."
Avon fought the surge of violent rage which swelled in his chest, bunching his hands into fists. He forced himself to reply calmly. "You would have liked that, wouldn't you? I wasn't about to give you the satisfaction. Besides, Vila has other uses." Avon's voice was tight. "Who was your spy on Carillion, Servalan? Will he cause us a problem?"
"I doubt it. In fact he is more likely to support us in our takeover. It appears he is willing do anything to impress me, even getting rid of that old fool of a king."
"You ordered that?"
"Of course. Figureheads are dangerous. You know that better than anyone. But he didn't take much persuading. It seems he had his own reasons for wanting the king dead." Servalan's chilling laugh of triumph rang out. "As the betrothed of the next in line to the throne, he believes he would be in a position to take over the throne, should anything happen to Hefyedd and his daughter."
"And you did nothing to disabuse him of that assumption, did you?" Avon put in, trying to ignore the knot of cold fear that had suddenly formed in the pit of his stomach. Kieran was the spy and he had sent Rhiannon back to him.
"I will confess I didn't," Servalan admitted with a sly smile, "but I didn't give him specific instructions regarding Rhiannon. I left that decision to him."
"Of course you did. And you have no doubt what decision he'll make. I thought petty jealousy of a mere child was above you," Avon said flatly. Rhiannon could be dead already. The thought lodged like a blade in his chest. Another crime for Servalan to pay for. Servalan and Kieren. He would find a way to make that bastard pay before this was over. "Get cleaned up and changed," he ordered, his voice sharp. "I'll go and find out just how much this little insurrection of yours is going to cost us."
He stepped from the cabin, making sure the door was secure behind him. As it closed, his shoulders slumped. He wasn't sure how long he could keep this deception going, and now his added fear for Rhiannon's safety threatened to drive the air from his lungs. He could only hope that Tarrant or Soolin would find her and protect her before Kieren had chance to strike. If it wasn't already too late.
He darted down the corridor to the store room where Orac was hidden. Making a quick sweep of the area to check he was alone, he slipped inside and locked the door behind him. In a low voice he ordered Orac to contact Blake on a safe channel as before.
"Avon, this is Blake. What have you got to report?" Blake's voice filled the room.
"We've got a problem. It seems that the Federation have organised a little take over attempt on Carillion which Servalan conveniently neglected to tell me about."
"Damn! A typical Servalan move, always keeping the upper hand. What's the situation on the planet? Are we going to have to abort the mission?" Blake asked urgently, his voice filled with dread.
"No. It's been handled. We can't do anything about the Federation attack on the planet, except fight. But the forces on Carillion are minor, essentially a few troops who managed to infiltrate the resistance. They will be relying on getting back-up from Federation pursuit ships and troop carriers. I've ensured they'll be disappointed. The situation on the planet will soon be under control. I've sent Tarrant and Soolin to oversee; I thought they would enjoy it!"
"You bastard," Blake commented scathingly. "So, if back-up isn't coming, then where the hell is it? You didn't destroy it, I presume. We can't afford for them to have given the alarm."
"I didn't. I had to make sure that they left without suspicion, so I got Servalan to transmit her distress message early. They're heading your way now."
"Jesus Christ, Avon! There's no way we can be ready in time! Without backup from the Liberator, we are as good as dead. We can't proceed with the next phase without you."
"I didn't suggest you could," Avon said drily, his voice tinged with impatience. "Look, Blake, you only have to hold them off until I get there. If you don't show yourself, then they will have nothing to attack. Just wait it out. You've done it before."
"I know," Blake said wearily. "Too many times. How long until you can get under way?"
"Thirty six hours, assuming the cargo transports show up on time."
"It better not be longer. We can't wait forever. Call me when you are en-route. Blake out."
Beneath the surface of Carillion the battle was raging with fierce intensity. The Federation forces, although small in number, were far better equipped than the rebel force outnumbering them. It was a running battle, short forays through dark tunnels to attack Federation positions, defending caves whose only tactical worth was that the corridor on the far side led to a more important place. In the darkness, ambushes left men nowhere to run. Casualties were high, though higher for the rebels because, unlike the Federation men, they had no idea who was friend or foe. In many cases a friend of many years was revealed as the enemy.
After the first few minutes, it became clear what the Federation were after: the communication rooms and the central control room. If they controlled them, they controlled Carillion.
