Gauda Prime

Avon stood over Blake's body, gun smoking in hand. He made no movement as the troopers surrounded him, just smiled unnervingly and stared into an unseen distance...

"Tarrant was right; you were betrayed."

Avon knew that voice, knew the musky scent of the woman whose voice it was, knew the feel of her hand as it trailed across his back and shoulders. Knew Servalan before she spoke or came into his view.

"Yes, Avon, you were betrayed," Servalan purred as she stalked around him. He still hadn't moved. Only his eyes showed any emotion, and the ones reflected there made the troopers uneasy, even though he was their prisoner; they were a noxious brew of anger, hatred, self-loathing and, they feared, insanity. A dangerous blend. "You were even betrayed by one of your comrades," the former President of the Terran Federation continued, stopping behind Avon. Then she whispered into his ear, four words that nearly killed him. "But it wasn't Blake."

She paused to allow the words to sink in, then stepped away from her prisoner with a throaty laugh as he finally moved, turning to look at her with incredulous fury. "I'll leave you to ponder that, my dear Avon," she said, laying a hand on his arm and pulling him aside as the medics rushed in and began working desperately on Blake. "For now, you and your companions..." She spared a meager glance at the scattered forms lying in various poses of unconsciousness around them, visibly dismissing them as she returned her attention to Avon. The only one she truly cared about. "You are all my prisoners."

Curiosity flared in Avon's eyes before he turned his head away, jerking his arm out of her poisonous grasp. He didn't move very far, just enough to remove the self-styled "Commissioner Sleer" from his line of vision as she added tauntingly: "The soldiers were under orders to shoot at heavy stun. Central Command wants prisoners, not dead bodies." Another dramatic pause as Avon felt the weight of her gaze shift from him to Blake. "A pity you were under no such constraints."

Avon ignored her final taunt, tried to ignore her presence entirely, but Servalan was having none of that. She slipped around until she was dead center of his vision once again, waited until his eyes reluctantly met hers, then smiled and held out her hand. "You may as well it give it to me, Avon. I've already found your hiding place, and I know you have the key." Her voice lowered to a persuasive murmur. "It's so much more dignified this way, don't you think, than having one of the guards search you?" She nodded at the soldiers still surrounding them, just out of range of her lowered voice. "Why put yourself through more humiliation?"

His eyes moved to her hand, then back to her face. She gave a tiny, encouraging nod, her patently false smile no disguise for her eagerness. Orac was her ticket to power, even more than the coup of bringing in Roj Blake and the remaining Liberator crew, or the equally notorious newcomers who had followed Avon on the Scorpio. She would be ruthless in her drive to return to power, and he knew that this was only the first step.

And yet, what did it matter? He wouldn't live to see that rise, or if he did, that would be the last thing he saw, he and the others that were only stunned--no doubt in order to stand trial on Earth. He felt as numb as they were, and in the end that was what decided him. What could it possibly matter, the small piece of plasteel that he was fumbling for in a hidden pocket, while the nervous guards raised their weapons--in case he was reaching for a bomb, he thought with an attempt at a sneer, but the numbness wouldn't allow even his normal defensive emotions full rein. He pulled out the item she wanted, stared at it for a moment, then dropped it into the hand Servalan still extended. He held her eyes briefly, then turned away as her fingers closed covetously around the electronic key.

Avon stood in weary resignation as someone strapped his wrists into binders behind his back, staring straight ahead as he was hustled outside to a waiting transport. He barely registered the fact that the others were bundled on board as well, all but Blake, who was taken elsewhere. Naturally; he'd held himself apart from the others this long, why should he be with them now? It made perfect sense if you just agreed that the universe was insane. Perfect sense.

The guards assigned to the prisoners were not at all happy about their duties, in spite of the fact that they had the advantage. Even the fact that the others were groggily regaining consciousness didn't worry them. No, it was Avon, Avon's eyes and the bitter, self-mocking smile that hovered about his lips, that made them uneasy.

It was a long ride back to the ship.

oOo

Commissioner Sleer was quite satisfied with the way things had turned out on Gauda Prime. She now had a total of seven prisoners--eight if she counted her special hostage--and her return to power was practically guaranteed. More than guaranteed, if she allowed herself to think about Orac--but she couldn't allow herself that luxury, not now. None of the soldiers she'd left behind on the planet knew what she had said to Avon, nor did they realize the significance of what he had handed her. And none of them would know--not them, and certainly not the captain of this transport. But she couldn't allow herself to gloat, not just yet. She forced herself to concentrate on the matter at hand. Later, when she was alone, she would be able to think in longer terms than the immediate future. With an effort of will she focused on the prisoners that assured her of a warm reception on Earth. Seven prisoners, all alive and in good health--well, almost all. She frowned and activated the communications panel on the wall of her quarters. "How is the patient doing?" she asked, seemingly at random.

A hushed voice responded. "Dr. Lloyd here, Commissioner. The patient is in stable condition for the moment, but we won't know anything for several more hours. Dr. Ehr is working on him right now. The wounds were severe, and very close to the heart--"

"I am aware of the extent of the damage," Servalan interrupted coldly. "What I wish to know is if he will live to stand trial, or if I will merely be triumphantly parading his corpse around the streets of the Domes."

There was a pause at the other end of the speaker. When the doctor replied, her tone was considerably more icy. "I am sorry, Commissioner, I didn't mean to bore you with such trivial details." Servalan smiled at the resentment she heard in the other woman's voice. "At this point in time, it is impossible to determine if the patient will recover or die. We shall, however, continue to keep you apprised of any changes in his condition."

"Very well, doctor," Servalan purred. "I shall attempt to curb my impatience. It is just that I have waited a long time to bring in this particular group. A very long time. And none of the others are as important as he is." She paused, then added as an apparent afterthought: "By the way, Doctor, how are the others? Recovering from their stun damage with no problems, I hope?"

"They should be conscious by now, Commissioner. Shall I connect you with Detention?" Dr. Lloyd's impatience gave her words an edge.

"No, that won't be necessary," Servalan replied easily. "I trust my staff to know when to give me information I require." She cut off the doctor's response to the implied rebuke, if any was forthcoming. Really, the medical people were so tiresome, always thinking themselves above any type of punishment...she must remember to make an object lesson of an intern or two, to set the rest of the profession straight. It would be so amusing…

oOo

Kerr Avon was not amused. It had all been a set up, as he'd feared, but not one of Blake's doing. Once again, he had acted hastily on insufficient information--or rather, he hadn't acted, he'd reacted. Always dangerous, but that was how he'd been living his life since Blake's disappearance after Star One, careening from one disaster to another, every day feeling a little more of his sanity chipping away even as he tried desperately to hide it from the others and deny it to himself. Not that he felt he'd succeeded; Vila, for one, knew from first-hand experience how narrow a ledge Avon had been walking, even if he'd never said anything. Not even after Malodaar, when Avon most expected to be held accountable, which never failed to astonish him when he allowed himself to think about it. Vila hadn't exactly forgiven him for that ugly incident, but Avon had seen what he believed to be understanding in the thief's eyes when it was all over, an understanding that Avon hadn't been able to acknowledge at the time.

But he could acknowledge it now, no matter if it was too late or not. Now he could acknowledge the reasons behind his erratic behavior, the strain he'd been putting on his sanity by pretending to be someone he was not. The strain of trying to be Blake only to find a Blake that had changed had proven to be too much for him, he admitted with painful honesty. It had almost been enough to push him over the edge he'd been teetering on for so long. But Servalan, of all people, was responsible for pulling him back, though he doubted she knew or cared. In a universe turned upside down, she had come between himself and madness through the simple expediency of acting in a predictable manner, by doing exactly what Avon expected her to do when he expected her to do it. If it wasn't for the hatred he bore her, he could almost feel grateful.

His mind churned as he watched the others, still groggy from the stun beams, being herded into separate cells. Well, as separate as could be allowed under the circumstances. The ship's brig only held three cells; it was never intended for anything more than punishment of the occasional mutinous crewman. He watched wearily as Tarrant and Dayna were pushed into the same doorway, then Vila and Soolin into the next one down. Vila's hands were still tightly bound behind his back, where the others had been released as they were shoved into their cells. It almost made Avon smile; although the discomfort would give the thief endless reasons for complaint, he would be secretly flattered that the Federation considered him such a threat.

There was only one doorway left, and only one person. Himself. He'd seen the medics working on Blake, heard the order given for him to be taken to Sickbay. He should consider himself fortunate that Servalan wanted Blake alive. Avon was surprised to find how relieved he was by this fact. I didn't kill him. At least, not yet.

As he waited for the door to his cell to be opened, the computer expert reviewed his actions up to the point where he allowed emotion to overcome reason and shot Blake. Tarrant had jumped to conclusions--after all, he hadn't known Blake, had never actually met the man before this mess--and he, Avon, had been all too willing to believe those conclusions. Looking for Blake had become an obsession, and, like all obsessions, had gone too far. I've been a fool, he thought with disgust. This is just what I deserve for listening to Tarrant in the first place.

"All right then, let's have those hands." Avon's reverie was interrupted by the guard's brusque demand. He held out his wrists and watched as the guard unlocked the restraints and gestured with his gun toward the dark entrance. For a brief moment Avon entertained the idea of overpowering the trooper, who was obviously nervous about his prisoner. But the thought was rejected almost as soon as it was formed; he was too nervous, looking for something to happen, and besides, where would he run to? Servalan was no doubt waiting for just such a desperate move. In light of this knowledge, Avon merely inclined his head in a mocking half-bow and strode into the cell.