Winning Is The Only Safety (part 3)

They went back to Vila's flyer, and Avon started working on Orac, while Vila went and negotiated another passage to Bucol-2 on Kidd's ship.

"He's already seen you, so the risk is already there," Avon said when Vila complained. "If I were to go, that would be another face he might link up with the Federation's Most Wanted notices. Go."

Avon was still working on Orac when Vila returned, unscathed. Vila's lock-picking tools had proven somewhat inadequate for computer repair, and Avon had done more damage than he'd thought. Finally Orac was working. Avon described to him what had happened.

"Am I hallucinating, Orac? Am I - " dead? His outburst of that morning seemed quite ridiculous now. The work on Orac had served to steady his nerves, and Vila had brought some food, which settled his stomach. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, not even himself, but it was good to have Vila there, good that Vila had survived, good that he wasn't alone.

As for Vila, he kept on staring at Avon, as if to make sure he wouldn't vanish while the thief wasn't looking.

"You are clearly not hallucinating, and neither is Vila," Orac replied. "Therefore we must conclude that these events did occur. Most fascinating."

"But why, Orac?" Avon asked impatiently. "Why can't I die?"

"To say you cannot die is jumping to a hasty and premature conclusion," the computer said fussily. "The only facts of the case are that you have sustained wounds which would normally be considered fatal, and have healed amazingly quickly and completely. There is no evidence that you cannot be poisoned, beheaded, vapourized, or die of disease."

"Well don't start experimenting now!" squeaked Vila.

"I was not intending to," Avon said dryly. "Keep working on the problem, Orac."

The computer prevaricated, "I require more data - a full physical examination -"

"Is not something we have the time nor facilities for," Avon interrupted. "If you want an examination, you will have to find us somewhere safe to do it in, as well as the wherewithal to do it. At the moment you will have to make do with finding other similar cases in the records." He paused. "Speaking of safety, find out everything you can about this Ricardo Kidd. I don't want to find out Vila's booked passage with a Federation agent."

"I'm a very good judge of character!" Vila protested.

"You're a very good judge of locks," Avon returned, "at least that's what you keep telling us."

There was a brief uncomfortable silence, as they both remembered yet again that the others were dead, cut down by Federation troopers guns in that underground base that had, too briefly, been Blake's rebel headquarters.

"Ricardo Kidd is the owner of Ryan's Pride, a modified Mark 12 scoutship registered out of Arrakesh," Orac informed them.

"What's he doing on Gauda Prime?"

"His ship was damaged in a meteor storm. He set down here for repairs."

"Why would he be taking passengers? If he could afford to buy a scoutship, he wouldn't need passengers - if the ship is really his."

"The ship is indeed his. He bought it five years ago."

"With what?"

"I am checking..." Orac said. "He inherited a great deal from one Tan Gordon."

"A great deal? You can say that again," Vila said. "Gordon's old money - I mean old old money."

"But if he's that rich, why would he want passengers?"

"Most reputable banking establishments do not have branches on Gauda Prime," Orac pointed out. "I would surmise that he is short of viable currency."

"What else do you have, Orac?"

"Further information will require more time to gather," Orac said. "It will proceed faster if I am not interrupted."

The next morning Avon asked Orac again.

"Regarding your condition, the closest references would be in the records of a secret society whose name translates as 'those who watch'."

"Those who watch what?" Vila asked. "What's this got to do with Avon?"

"They watch those they believe to be immortals, who cannot die, and do not age. The only way they can be killed is by beheading."

"I'm sure this is a fascinating source of sociological research." Avon drawled, "but your description doesn't really match my condition."

"If you will allow me to finish," the computer said testily, "these immortals are supposed to live normal lives until they 'die' by violent means, after which they stop aging, and exhibit other peculiarities."

"So how many are they watching, Orac?" Vila asked.

"I have been as yet unable to ascertain more than a few." Orac answered. "They do not appear to keep their records continually available. Even though I can tap into any computer with a Tarriel Cell, I cannot read records if they are not accessible by such a computer," it said with the testiness of one belabouring the obvious. "Their beliefs are quite interesting, however. The similarity in some respects to the vampire legend -"

"Skip the legends Orac," Avon said impatiently. "Do you have anything more recent?"

"A Dr. Grace Wilder was working on tissue regeneration before she was seconded to the group which later became the Clone Masters. Their records were destroyed at the time of the Andromedan War. The only chance of recovering that knowledge would be if Wilder escaped the destruction."

"If Wilder escaped? Surely she'd be dead by now?"

"The original Wilder, doubtless. But the Clone Masters customarily cloned themselves and taught everything they knew to their own clones, so as to perpetuate the original group. If Wilder's clone survived, she may have the expertise required."

"Rather a long shot," Avon remarked. "What about Kidd?"

"Ricardo Kidd does not appear to be a Federation agent," Orac said. "However there is a possibility that this is an alias. The data on Kidd becomes scarce before ten years ago. His university records are full, but before that there is very little."

"He went to university ten years ago?" Vila queried. "How old is he?"

"His birth record indicates he is twenty-eight," Orac replied.

"He doesn't look it," Vila muttered.

"It is probable that his birth record was faked," Orac re-iterated. "Further research... interesting." Orac remarked.

"What is it Orac?"

"Ricardo Kidd bears an exact resemblance to his benefactor, Tan Gordon."

"You mean he may be a clone of Gordon?" Avon surmised.

"Well, that's one way of keeping the wealth in the family," Vila remarked wryly.

"Should we go with him, Orac, or should we try to find another way off Gauda Prime?" Avon asked.

"Going with Kidd is the optimum course of action at this time," the computer said evasively.

"Then let's go."

Vila grumbled at the weather - grey skies and drizzle. "I'm a human being, not a plant!" he complained as they made their way to bay nine, where Ryan's Pride was docked.

Avon felt uneasy as they approached the ship; a shiver as if he were too cold even with all his leather on, a queasiness in the stomach. If I were Vila, he thought, I'd think I was coming down with something, and tell the world.

But as they arrived near the bottom of the entry ramp, the sensation became worse. He could feel his hair standing on end. He told his stomach to be quiet. Thunder rolled. Avon put down what he was carrying. A figure appeared at the top of the ramp, stripped to the waist, as if he had been working out. In his hand he held a naked sword, with the ease of one who knows how to use it.

"I am Richard Ryan," he said. "Do you want to keep your head, or are you looking for trouble?"

"There is enough trouble without fools looking for it," Avon growled, hand on his blaster. There was no doubt which of them he thought the fool. "I was hoping to find Ricardo Kidd."

"What did you want him for?" the man said cautiously, coming closer. The rain started pelting down in earnest.

"Ren Perera and Del Green are going with him to Bucol-2," Avon said, indicating himself and Vila.

"So you're Ren Perera. No wonder you sent your associate. If I'd known you were one of us, I might not have agreed to take you," Ryan said.

"But you did," Avon countered.

Ryan glanced cautiously at the miserable figure of Vila, who was hoping not to be noticed. "I was not aware that I might have to consider my head when I made that agreement," he said elliptically.

"Well now," Avon drawled, not willing to be evasive, "I'm not in the habit of killing those I do business with - unless they double-cross me."

They stared at each other. Lightening flashed, taking an instant snapshot of the two men, rendering them as statues in marble and bronze. Upon the ramp stood Youth, impetuous, muscled like a Greek god, bearing a sword, his pale curls not yet flattened by the rain. Facing him, impassive, dark of hair and pale of face, handsome as Lucifer, was Death in the modern mode, bearing a blaster instead of a scythe.

Ryan finally lowered his sword and nodded. "Neither am I," he said, turning to go. "Don't just stand there getting soaked," he said over his shoulder, "come on up," and bounded back up the ramp.

Avon and Vila followed.

------------------ end of part 3 -------------------