Winning Is The Only Safety (part 4)

Richie Ryan piloted the ship off Gauda Prime as soon as he could get clearance. His passengers were settled in their cabins, his sword was in its rack, and he'd changed his wet clothes. No fear of being attacked in space - it was against the Rules. Oh, not the old Rules, but then, there hadn't been space travel in the old days. And as for Holy Ground, you'd have to be a diviner to find Holy Ground in Federation-held space. The New Calendar...

... said Sunday 15th July, 2660.

"Nothing you can do will make me untrue to my God (my God, my God) Nothing you can say can tear me away from my God..."

Richie smiled. Christian neo-rock. Lovely Wynn had taken his suggestion and run with it, teaching the choir these new-old songs as soon as he'd unearthed the recording and translated it. Whoopie Goldberg wouldn't mind; she'd been centuries dead. Amazing what a beautiful woman does for ones taste in music, he grinned to himself, looking at Wynn as she directed the singers. At least one thing was going right in these politically unsettled times. The new government was too revolutionary for his taste.

The great double doors at the back opened with a crash. The singers kept on going, but some of the more distractible of the congregation craned their heads to see what caused the disturbance. They didn't have to wait long to know.

"You are all under arrest!" an amplified voice declared. "Remain seated or you will be charged with resisting arrest."

The singers faltered in confusion as black-clad troopers trotted up the aisles and stood in readiness.

The leader came up the front and continued, "All those present are guilty of illegal assembly, incitement to superstition, possession of seditious materials, and failing to adhere to the New Calendar. Therefore, in accordance with the powers vested in me by the government of the Federated Worlds, I impound this property and its contents, to be used by the Administration as it sees fit."

A whisper of song greeted this pronouncement. "There's not a man today who can take me away from my God."

"Be silent!" The captain slapped Wynn so hard she staggered.

Richie surged forward. "Don't you know that hurts!" he said, and slapped the captain across the face.

"Ritchee, don't!" she cried at the same moment.

The captain glowered at him, lip bleeding. "I shall have to make an example of you," he said, took out his blaster and shot Richie in the chest.

The last thing he heard before darkness claimed him was Wynn's scream.

When he awoke, the church was on fire. He sat up coughing, eyes streaming with the smoke. He looked around wildly and wobbled to his feet, clutching at the lectern at the front. No one was there. They had all gone, except, perhaps, those who had set the blaze, waiting for their handiwork to be done. But maybe they had no reason to be particularly thorough.

He looked around again, and his eyes set on the book open on the lectern, leather bound, gilt-edged. He was never sure afterwards what guided his impulse - an antique dealer's eye for what might gain in value, an idealistic impulse to save what some considered sacred, or merely because he imagined Wynn would want him to do it - but he picked up the book, cradled it in his jacket, broke a window, and jumped...

... up to Time-Distort 12. Not a bad ship, his Ryan's Pride.

"Next stop - Bucol-2," Vila announced, holding a bottle of some alcoholic beverage native to Gauda Prime. He had carefully refrained from asking what was in it when he bought it. Just so long as it had a kick, he was happy.

"Unless Ryan plans on some detours," Avon frowned. His encounter on the ramp had left him feeling uneasy. He would have to corner Orac and get more information about their mysterious host.

"Detours aren't the kind of thing you plan ," Vila said, determined to be cheerful.

"This whole fiasco wasn't planned," Avon frowned.

"Oh, stop being so gloomy. At least they think we're dead," Vila declared. "No more Servalan to worry about."

"Ah, but she'll soon have some ghosts to worry about," Avon said with a feral smile.

"I knew I should have run a mile as soon as I saw you," the thief grumbled.

Commissioner Sleer, once known as Servalan, regarded the report with a frown. She ought to have been feeling triumphant, but something was nagging at her. She looked at the pictures again. Blake's base wiped out, and an unexpected bonus - Avon's crew as well. Of course she would have liked them taken alive, but she remembered her own maxim: while there's life there's threat. Avon had proven that time and again - with the Liberator destroyed (she blanked off the memory of it disintegrating around her, her winning hand crumbling into dust) with the Liberator destroyed, he had evaded her booby-trap on Terminal and merely acquired another ship, Scorpio, to harass with. With the Liberator he had been aimless - Blake had been the driving force then. When she had destroyed Avon's dreams on Terminal, a twist of the knife with a little lie, she had given him a goal to work for; the Federation's destruction, and her own.

And now he was dead. She felt a little pang, quickly suppressed. What she had felt for Avon was no more than lust - that and respect for a worthy opponent with a mind as devious and intelligent as her own. A pity they had been on opposite sides. Avon was dead, black leather sprawled beside the bloody but blasted Blake. She surveyed the pictures taken by the clean-up squad, mentally ticking off names. Dayna Mellanby, the black girl who thought she was an amazon. No more chances for vengeance over her father's death. Del Tarrant, all curly hair and flashing teeth. Soolin, the ice-queen assassin. Vila Restal, the cowardly thief.

She stopped. Where was Vila? She paged through the report, looking at the descriptions of the bodies. No-one matching Vila Restal. So the thief had gotten away. But maybe he had never been on the base - maybe he had stayed on the Scorpio. The report had indicated that a planet-hopper had been shot down by the blockade, but maybe it had not been the Scorpio. Maybe it was whole and hiding, with Vila - and Orac. If they had not abandoned ship, then Avon would have had no reason to take the computer with him. But leaving Vila behind on the ship would be an uncharacteristic move on Avon's part - he would prefer someone a little more reliable as backup.

There was a mystery here. What did she know? Vila was missing, Orac was missing, and Scorpio might be missing. If Scorpio had been shot down, it might be that both Vila and Orac were scattered very thinly across Gauda Prime - or it might not. She had not risen to the Presidency, lost it and started her rise again as Sleer, by underestimating the odds, and this was a risk she could not take. Vila by himself was no threat - except to people's valuables - but Vila might have Orac, and it was Orac she wanted. With Orac, she could rule the Federation. Its ability to tap into other computers would be invaluable. Find Vila, and she might find Orac.

Very well. Cancel the bounties on the others - they were dead and she didn't want any false claims - and double the price for Vila alive. He couldn't tell her anything if he was dead. But his life-expectancy, well, that would be short. Very short. He knew too much altogether.

Vila Restal's days were numbered.

finis