The Way Forward
by Baker Lutgens
Part 3 of 12
Vila was nervous. He was going to see Carnell, the psychostrategist. His previous experience with psyche techs was when they'd tried numerous times to "cure" his thieving. They had always ended up hurting him in some way. Vila had tried to avoid Carnell, but Avalon had asked him to go there. She said they had proofs of Blake's treachery, his betrayals. She said Vila could be vital to Carnell's uncovering of infiltrators in the Rebellion. He had his doubts that anything he knew could be vital to anyone, but Avalon had been very nice and gentle with him. He certainly owed her something. She was letting Avon and him live on her base, taking care of them. Vila Restal knew how to pay his debts.
Besides, he wanted to learn more about Blake, to understand why the man he'd believed in had so callously tried to get him captured or killed. Well, maybe not him specifically, but it still felt personal.
In the beginning he thought it was going to be so exciting. Vila Restal—Revolutionary Hero. That's how he'd secretly styled himself. It had been his chance to be something more than Vila Restal—petty thief. Everyone had daydreams of being something special. Vila was no different from anyone else.
It had been frightening though. Blake had kept putting him in scary situations, denying him choice. And Vila had the right to choose, even if he was a Delta. He remembered Albion. Blake had promised they'd teleport out when the countdown on the solium bomb reached a certain point. When Vila had started to call for teleport, Blake had grabbed his arm and stopped him. While he was restraining Vila's arm, Blake had broken his teleport bracelet so he couldn't possibly leave until someone brought him another bracelet. Vila knew that was deliberate. Blake had squeezed so tightly on the bracelet that he had hurt Vila's wrist.
Vila had been so frightened that he'd gotten sickeningly drunk when he got back to the Liberator. Avon had found him in his cabin. Heaven knows why Avon had come looking for him, but he found Vila in a miserable state. Still scared witless, he'd told Avon everything. Avon hadn't said much, but he gone immediately to Blake and read him the riot act. Vila could hear them shouting at each other all the way into his cabin. That had scared him too.
Carnell was looking forward to interviewing Vila Restal. People underestimated his type. Petty thieves were on the fringes of society, so people treated them as though everything about them was fringe. But people on the fringes were often in the best position to see and hear everything. Blake had probably treated Vila with no more caution than he would have treated a chair. He was there, he served a useful purpose, but he wasn't possessed of a brain. But thieves were observant. They had to be in order to survive. Carnell was going to treat Vila Restal with kid gloves.
"Ah, Vila! Come in, sit down. I was hoping you'd come to see me," Carnell smiled in his most ingratiating manner. "Do you know what I'm working on for Avalon?"
Vila nervously took a seat. "Yes, you're . . . ummm . . . trying to work out what Blake did. I mean, when he shopped us, things like that."
"Yes, so anything you can tell me would be helpful. It's not just figuring out what Blake did though. It's important to determine what he didn't do as well. That could lead us to some more agents. When did you first meet him?"
"On Earth. Well, barely. It was just before they put us on the prison ship to Cygnus Alpha. I tried to steal his watch."
"Only tried? I think you're a better thief than that, Vila," he chided.
"I was nervous. I'd been on a prison ship before, going to the juvenile correction facility. It was a really bad experience in my life."
More than just bad, it had been horrific. They didn't care whom they put together on those ships, and the undersized adolescent thief had been easy prey for bigger boys who had committed violent crimes. The whole three years had been terrible, but it had made him a better thief—one who hadn't been caught again for nearly twenty years. If he hadn't been trying to juggle too many false identities, he wouldn't have been caught and sent to Cygnus Alpha. They didn't give you a second chance, really. That time was supposed to be for life.
"Anyway," he continued, "that's where we met. Blake seemed nice enough. At least he didn't try to bully me as much as some of the other prisoners had done. He was a higher grade than most of us, and I thought I would be safe with him. A funny thing, isn't it? I was leery of Avon—he smelled like trouble all over—but in the end, he was the one who always took care of me." He stopped. He was straying into an area he didn't want to discuss with Carnell. Avon was very private, and their relationship wasn't something Carnell needed to know about. Besides, he had never understood it himself.
"But you attached yourself to Blake, didn't you?"
"Yes, and he did come back for me on Cygnus Alpha. Well, anyone who would go with him, I guess. Otherwise, I probably wouldn't have survived. There was a maniac high priest of some crazy religion there. You either joined up, or you died. I expect it was very easy to die even if you joined up. Anyway, Blake got me out of there. And Gan too. Gan was my best friend, until he died."
"I believe he died on Earth, didn't he?" Carnell prompted.
"Yes, it was when Blake thought he could take over Federation Central Control, only it wasn't really. Control, I mean. It was all a hoax. Just a big, empty room. Blake was so stunned he just fell to his knees, clutching Avon. And then Travis showed up, laughing about it. He said Control had been moved thirty years before that. You think that's what did it to Blake? Made him start betraying people?"
"Not precisely. What actually drove him to betrayal was the manipulation the Federation did with his mind. You see, when they removed some of his memories, they didn't put in anything to replace them. Then they overlaid his personality with a different personality, that of a loyal Federation citizen who would be appalled at the idea of rebellion. They left him with two mutually exclusive personalities," he explained.
"And you think he started betraying people then?" Vila asked.
"No, not actual betrayals, at least not deliberately. But he may have been subconsciously sabotaging rebel activities—and himself—then. We can't really know about the massacre at the rebel meeting where he was caught because there's no one else still alive who was involved. Do you have any idea how it was that Travis could have been waiting for you on Earth at Control?"
Vila searched his memory and ventured, "Could he have learned it from someone in Kasabi's organization?"
"Possibly. We think the Feds were tipped about two or three weeks before your raid. Do you remember when Blake first presented his plan?"
"Not anything like two or three weeks. I think it was only a couple of days. And even then he said it was only to look at the perimeter defences. He didn't tell us the rest of it until two or three hours before we got there." Vila looked thoughtful. "But Blake never liked to tell us his crazy plans until just before time to do them. I used to think it was because he didn't want Avon to talk him out of them, but now I think it was so Avon couldn't convince the rest of us not to go along." He looked at Carnell. "Funny how your ideas can change, isn't it? I always thought Avon went along with Blake because he was really a follower, like the rest of us, even though he wouldn't admit it. But maybe it was because there wasn't time to change everyone's mind and he was just doing his best to keep us safe. Maybe that's all he ever wanted to do: keep us safe." He was straying again.
Carnell could see Vila was becoming uneasy, and he didn't want to lose the resource. "Why don't you give it some thought? Maybe something will occur to you, more odd circumstances. One or two of Kasabi's people weren't involved in the ambush. We're trying to track them now."
Vila was relieved to end the interview. He needed to spend some time thinking all right. But not about Blake. About Avon.
Carnell wanted to think about Avon too. Vila hadn't told him anything he didn't already know about Blake's absurd plan to take Control, but he had told Carnell a great deal about Avon. He'd better tell Avalon she should talk to Avon soon about finding that computer she wanted, while he was still likely to feel indebted to her.
Dayna was setting Avon's empty dishes on the trolley when she looked up and saw Vila standing at the corridor window with Avalon. He looked uneasy but nodded quickly to her, indicating it was all right for Avalon to enter.
Dayna turned to Avon, "There's someone here to see you, Avon. It's Avalon." She pushed the trolley to one side and left. Vila would tell her about it later.
"Avon." Avalon offered her hand. Avon shook it briefly.
"Avalon, I need to thank—" he began.
"I'll get right to my purpose, Avon. We need your help," she interrupted, taking a chair next to his bed.
"Of course, anything I can do." He looked at his prone body a little helplessly.
"Not out of gratitude, Avon, and only if you really want to do this. There are no strings; you're welcome to stay here as long as you like." Collecting her thoughts, she continued, "I had a very important visitor today. His name is Durkim." She paused for emphasis. "He was Servalan's aide at Space Command Headquarters."
She had his full attention now. "Yes, I thought you might find that interesting. He's going to be able to give us some very detailed information, much more so than he was able to do when he was there. He's going to be working with Carnell. You've heard about him?"
"Yes, he's trying to uncover Federation agents infiltrated into rebel groups," Avon affirmed.
No mention of Blake. Perhaps he didn't know yet. Avalon wasn't going to be the one to tell him either. "That's right. Carnell also has another project now. He's going to be working with Durkim to try and find Servalan and—"
"Servalan's dead," Avon interrupted.
"Are you sure?"
"I shot her on Gauda Prime." He wasn't looking at her any longer, just staring into some bleak landscape.
"Did you check her body? It wasn't found."
Now he looked at her. "I shot her . . . I know . . . I shot her." His face grew distressed.
"When, Avon? Exactly when did you shoot her?"
"After I shot . . . after everyone else was shot. There were troopers all around me, and she came in, gloating, smiling that evil cat smile. That's when I did it. I knew she had to die even though her troops would kill me. It was worth it, you see. I told her once before that it might be worth dying if I could take her with me. She didn't believe me." He was almost pleading now.
Gently Avalon said, "Avon, she wasn't there. My people entered the room just before you were shot. They saw your people there, on the floor. You were standing over . . ." She almost said 'Blake's body.' " They saw you standing. But there was no one else down in there except three of . . . three other rebels."
He couldn't speak; he just kept staring, his face looking more bleak. Quickly Avalon went out to Vila.
"I'm sorry, Vila. I've upset him, and I didn't mean to. I'll find Naylor. You stay with him." She walked briskly down the corridor while Vila ran to Avon.
"Avon? What is it? What's wrong? Avon!" Vila pulled Avon's face around and forced him to make eye contact.
"Vila, I killed Servalan at Gauda Prime; I'm sure I did. But Avalon says she wasn't there. I know I remember it, but she wasn't there."
Vila was horrified. Avon looked as though he might cry, the way he looked at Gauda Prime when he realized Blake betrayed him. Vila couldn't deal with that. Avon had to be strong, for him, for all of them.
"Get a hold of yourself, Avon," he said harshly, grabbing Avon's shoulders and shaking him a little. "You just remembered something wrong again, that's all." He shook Avon harder. "Listen to me. Every time you find out the truth about your memories, you'll get better. Do you hear me? Straighten up! I need you to be strong. You owe me. I followed you around and fell in with all your crazy ideas. That's worth something. Avon!"
Unwillingly Avon looked at him. His face began to clear slowly, to grow firmer. "I'm . . . sorry, Vila . . . I . . . It won't happen again. You're right. I owe you."
Naylor came in, nearly running, followed closely by Tabor. "Avon! Vila! What's wrong?" she asked urgently, looking from one to the other.
It was Avon who answered. "It's all right, Doctor. I just . . . remembered something wrongly." His voice grew stronger. "Vila, tell Avalon I'd like to speak with her, but you stay too. Will you?"
"Sure, Avon, anything you say," he smiled encouragingly and went to the door to get Avalon.
Tabor picked up Avon's wrist and checked his pulse. "Your heart rate's a little fast, Avon. How do you feel?"
"I'm all right, Doctor. I feel better now. I was just surprised, that's all. Doctor Naylor, maybe you could stay for a few minutes if Avalon doesn't object."
"I don't object, Avon," Avalon said. "Doctor Tabor, could you stay too? Are you sure you're ready to go on, Avon?"
"Yes. You said you need my help finding Servalan. I need to find her too."
Avalon looked at the faces around her for permission to continue. Vila nodded at her. "Very well," she said. "I was telling Avon that Carnell believes Servalan is alive. She's a dangerous woman, and we need to eliminate that threat. Avon agrees."
Addressing Avon, she asked, "I know you had a computer that could directly access the Federation's computers, didn't you?"
"Yes, Orac."
"If you had that computer, could you use it to search for clues to Servalan's whereabouts?"
Avon looked hesitant. Then, "Yes. Maybe. It wasn't much help when I was searching for Bl—" He began again, "It wasn't much help in another search, but it might be worth trying."
Avalon said, "Where is Orac, Avon? Did you have it with you on Gauda Prime? My people haven't reported finding anything that sounds like a computer to me."
"I hid it on the way into the rebel base there."
"Could you tell us where you hid it? Would we be able to find it?"
"I could draw you a diagram, I think. But I'd like to go too." He added hastily, "Oh, I could stay on the ship; you wouldn't have to cart me around with you. Can't I do that, Tabor? I can sit up in the mobile chair for more time now. And Vila might be willing to help me. Or someone might."
"Of course I'll help," Vila assured him. "But can't we wait a little longer? I think you ought to be stronger before you go on a ship."
"I agree," interposed Tabor. "I don't want him trying anything that strenuous yet. It takes a long time for spinal damage to heal, and I don't want to risk leaving him in a permanently damaged state. It will just have to wait, or you'll have to try it without him." It sounded final.
Avalon considered for a moment. "Very well. We'll wait. Let me know when you agree he might be able to try. I need to get back to my office now. Thank you, Avon."
Tabor moved to the door. "Don't stay too long," he told the others.
Naylor asked, "Avon, do you need to discuss any of this?"
"No, Doctor, not right now. I'll call you later if I could."
"Very well. Later then." She left.
"Vila, would you stay for a while?" Avon asked.
"Sure, Avon, anything for you."
"Really?"
"No, not really. It just sounded good."
Wrell's aide rapped sharply on the door and entered. "Avalon to see you, Sir."
"Ask her to come in, Partel." He pushed some papers out of the way on his desk.
"General Wrell, I have something I think you'll be very interested in." Avalon took a chair in front of his desk. "Something that might give us a useful tool against the Federation, or at least deprive them of a useful tool."
"What is it?"
"A computer." She smiled. "A computer that can read their computers and even use them for our purposes."
"It can get us information on ship movements, troop deployment, things like that?"
"Yes, if the owner will let us use it for that. If not, we'll want to make sure the Feds don't get it and use it to read our computers," she explained.
"Why wouldn't the owner let us use it? Who is the owner?"
"Kerr Avon. We need him—and his computer. I don't want to antagonize him by trying to take it away from him. As valuable as the computer is, he's even more valuable. And we can't let ourselves use Federation methods, no matter how much advantage it would give us."
Wrell frowned. "Kerr Avon? Didn't he steal five million from the Federation Banking System? Not reluctant about taking what he wants, is he?"
"I heard it was closer to five hundred million, from the Cartel," she smiled.
"Maybe it was both. The Cartel's not likely to pursue a prosecution—too embarrassing. They would probably have offered him a job if the federal system hadn't convicted him. I wonder if he has access to any of that money now? We could surely use it for the Rebellion." Wrell was envisioning more ships, better equipment for his fighters.
Avalon speculated, "Maybe he never got anything. I spent some time with Blake's people a few years ago after they rescued me from Travis. Avon talked as though he's a very selfish person, but his actions were anything but. He's a very private person, and somehow I came away wondering if he might have been covering for someone else when he was convicted." She shook her head. "I don't know. The man's a maze of contradictions, and it's none of my business. I should think if he had the money, he would never have followed Blake. What matters here is that he can help us if he wishes, if we make him feel comfortable."
Wrell asked, "So where is this computer? I assume there's some significant risk to getting it, or you wouldn't be here."
"Back on Gauda Prime."
Wrell groaned, "That worthless planet!"
"The mining interests don't think it's worthless. The Federation doesn't either." She held up her hand before he could speak. "Yes, I know what you mean. It was always a bad choice for a rebel base. But that's where it is. Avon says he hid it before entering the base. We need to get there and find it before anyone else does."
"When?"
"I'm not sure. Avon says he can draw a diagram of where he hid it, but he wants to come along," she said.
"I hadn't heard he was out of the medical unit."
"He's not. And Tabor doesn't want him going anywhere in his current condition; he's still not able to move about on his own. But I believe we need to do this as soon as possible. I may be able to talk Tabor into letting Avon go in another week, but he still won't be in any state to go leading your people around. Any suggestions?" she asked.
Wrell thought for a few moments. "Yes. He needn't leave the ship if my team is equipped with helmet cams. We'll give them A/V linkage, and Avon can see what they're seeing. He can direct them remotely." He looked at Avalon. "That's the best I can think of. And if he's that important to you, it's probably best not to haul him all over that miserable planet."
"It sounds good," she agreed. "Would you be ready in a week?"
"Yes, I know the area, and a couple of my people were there during the fight. I can have everything in place by then. You see what you can do with Tabor." Wrell stood, eager to start planning the operation.
Avalon stood and extended her hand to him. "Thank you, General. I think you may be our greatest asset."
Durkim stepped into Carnell's office with interest. He'd heard of the psychostrategist at Space Command Headquarters but had never seen him. Servalan was said to have spent a great deal of time closeted with Carnell not long before a lunatic weapons designer named Coser killed most of his coworkers at the Federation Weapons Development Base and fled with some sort of new weapon. The whole thing must have been a dead loss. After a brief absence from headquarters, Servalan had come back with Travis in tow, and both of them were in a foul mood. Perhaps Carnell would enlighten him.
"Sit down. You are Jahn Durkim, are you not? My name is Carnell." He smiled charmingly at Durkim and offered a chair.
"Thank you. I've been looking forward to meeting you. Avalon thought we might advance the analysis of Blake's actions and possibly discover Servalan's whereabouts."
"When did you begin working at SCH?" Carnell asked.
"Just after Space Commander Travis went missing the first time. There was some general shakeup of the staff then. Nearly all of us were brought in new at the same time. I heard most of the staff we replaced had been sent to a penal colony for treason, but I found it a little difficult to believe so many loyal Federation officers would suddenly develop a conscience and decide to do something about it. I also found it hard to believe that they would all engage in such gross stupidity as to give themselves away en masse."
"And you were correct to do so. As you've guessed, they were all sacrificed to hide an . . . irregularity . . . at SCH," Carnell explained. "That probably drew more attention than the problem it was intended to conceal, but Servalan was desperate. She could never think clearly enough when she was under pressure."
Durkim smiled. "As I witnessed many times. When the central control computer at Star One began failing, she was frantic. She was shrieking at everyone and accusing them of treason. There were armed guards in her office searching everyone who came in. Computer controlled climate and navigation systems were failing on some of the outer worlds, but treason? It didn't make sense. She was raving about plots too, and she used that as an excuse to depose or execute the President and Council. I thought that was surely a serious mistake on her part."
"Oh, it was," Carnell agreed. "That single act was probably the most important cause of her downfall later. Add to it the way she absented herself while chasing around looking for Kerr Avon, and it was sure to backfire. She was obsessed with power, and he stood to take it away from her."
"She knew about Blake?"
"Not at first, I don't think. That's one of the things I hope to find out. But Avon was enough by himself to bring her down, had he wanted to." Carnell mused aloud, "I've often wondered why he didn't do it."
"What does he say about it?"
"I haven't had the pleasure of talking with him yet. I'm sure it will be very profitable when I do." Carnell urged, "But let's get busy on our current assignments: what exactly were Blake's betrayals, and where could Servalan be?"
"I remember her receiving an anonymous message not long before Central Control on Earth was attacked," Durkim said and hastened to add, "but that might not have been from Blake. It could have been one of Kasabi's people willing to sell her out. I doubt it was a Central Intelligence mole in Kasabi's group. CI seemed not to be under Servalan's control. They must have possessed some very powerful information about her to escape her grip. They rarely reported anything to SCH.
"As far as I know, none of Kasabi's people escaped that ambush save her daughter. If they didn't die in the initial attack, they were executed almost immediately thereafter, in secret. I understand Veron Kasabi is still a thorn in the side of the Federation on Earth. Have you had contact with her?"
"No, we haven't. I don't think anyone we're in contact with has either. She must have learned the secrecy lesson well to still be operating all this time—if she's still operating. She would only be about nineteen or twenty years old now. One wonders what it has done to her." Carnell smiled that charming smile again. "But I digress. Can you tell me about any tips that might have been received just before any of the incidents where Federation ships nearly caught up with the Liberator?"
"Yes, we actually knew when the Liberator was going to be in the vicinity of Brindle's World. That message was interesting in that it came from somewhere in the area around Albian. Do you know what happened there?" Durkim asked.
"Wasn't that where the population finally overcame the elite troops at the Federation Defence Complex? There was a solium radiation bomb nearly set off there. I believe it was actually Kerr Avon who disarmed it."
"Correct. After receiving the message, Servalan sent thirty specially-fitted pursuit ships to Brindle's World to wait for the Liberator. They were very fast and fitted with the new detector shields . . ."
Tarrant was struggling to get his boots on. He wanted to go to the galley before taking his watch, and he was beginning to think it was going to take the entire balance of his rest period to get dressed. Back on the base, he hadn't usually bothered putting his boots on, just some soft slippers. But he was a spacer again, or wanted to be, and the boots were just part of that. Unfortunately, he didn't have any other footwear, so he was going to—have—to get—the boots—on! That was one. He needed a rest before the other. What had happened to his feet? It wasn't this hard to get his boots on before he came on board.
The door buzzer sounded. He hobbled over and pressed the release.
"Hello, Tarrant," Jenna greeted him. "I thought you might like to get some coffee with me before you go on shift." She watched him hobble back to his bunk and sit down heavily. "Problem?"
It was embarrassing, but there was no point lying. "I'm having trouble getting my boots on with only one hand," he admitted.
"Let me help you." She started forward, but stopped when she saw a flash of resentment on his face. "Look, there's no point sulking. You need help, and I'm willing to give it." She dropped to one knee in front of him and picked up the boot. "Point your toes. Now wiggle." She pushed and twisted. "Maybe if you pull in the front while I—oof!" The boot finally surrendered.
"Well!" She stood. "You're going to have to make a choice."
Here it comes, he thought. 'You'll have to have a prosthetic arm, Tarrant.' He looked bitter.
"You can get some zips put into your boots, you can stop wearing boots, or you can get some bigger boots," she said. "Those must be two sizes too small. How can you stand to wear them?"
"Listen, if you had feet as big as mine, you'd wear smaller boots too."
"Listen, if I was as tall as you, I'd expect to have feet to match." She grinned. "Let's get some coffee."
In the galley, she took two mugs from a latched cabinet and unscrewed the top of the coffee carafe enough to pour some into the mugs. Setting them down on the table, she squeezed into the seat across from him. Everything in the galley was small. Everything in the ship was small. It was a cargo ship, and most of the space went to that. The galley and cabins had to make do with what little was left. They were lucky: each crew member had his or her own cabin. That meant a tiny shelf desk, a narrow cabinet for personal belongings, a bunk barely big enough for one person, and one square metre of floor space. If there was a passenger, somebody had to hot bunk.
"How does it feel so far?" Jenna asked.
"Good. No matter how they try to engineer it, artificial gravity feels different from a planet. It's better."
She laughed. "I agree, but it's probably our imaginations. We're vacuum-lovers; probably always will be. Planets are nice, but I always feel confined."
He laughed too, but grew serious. Looking into his mug, he said quietly, "Captain Stannis, I appreciate your letting me come on this run. It was killing me sitting at the base, feeling I could never see space again except as a passenger."
"No thanks needed, Tarrant. This ship is designed to carry a crew of six, and I needed a copilot. I knew you were good; I'd heard about you. You like running blockades, don't you?" It wasn't really a question.
He laughed again. "It's the excitement, the exhilaration of becoming a part of the ship, of the ship becoming an extension of yourself. Even a quiet run like this feels good."
"Don't presume it will stay a quiet run. We could easily run into a Federation patrol."
"Not this first time, I hope. This time I'd like to just get the feel of the ship." He checked the chronometer. "I'd better get up front and relieve Dev. Thanks for your help, Captain." He put his mug away in the autowash and left.
First time? Feel of the ship? Now you're talking like the Tarrant that Vila told me about. And I could use someone like you, Jenna thought with a smile.
In most parts of the civilised galaxy, if a person needed his clothes cleaned, he put them in the autovalet, waited around a while, and his clean clothes were returned to him. The "while" depended on how efficient the machine was. But it didn't matter; he could clean his clothes any time. Even on the prison ship the prisoners could take care of it themselves. But the machines on the base weren't as good as the antiques on the London. And there were only two, which meant no-one could do it himself.
If a resident of the base needed his clothes cleaned, he took them to the autovalet check-in, where one of four workers tagged them with his name, dropped them in a bin, and told him when they would be ready, usually inaccurately. If a person was smart, he watched while they were tagged, just to be sure it was his name on the tag. After the clothes went into the bin, they were at the mercy of the gods. Clothes were returned to the wrong person all the time; and clothes being at a premium, the new owners didn't often point out the error. Missing clothing was a way of life. It usually balanced out though, except for socks. Socks had never balanced at any time in history. But the major garments balanced.
Used to balance. For some reason, unexplainable by the autovalet workers, major garments hadn't been balancing for the last three or four weeks. They'd opened up every part of the machines that could be opened and hunted for the missing garments, several times. Oh, well. It must mean that the laws of physics had been rewritten and now included major garments as well as socks.
Vila dawdled at a corridor intersection where he could see both the patrons entering the facility, and the side door to the facility. Any moment now the laws of physics would demand that a cluster of patrons would storm the check-in counter, bringing both on-duty workers to the front for check-in activities.
When the moment arrived, Vila was busy at the side door. The lock was cheap—who would waste a good lock on a rebel laundry?—and he was inside within three seconds. He quickly scanned the stacks of cleaned garments waiting to be tucked into plastic sacks for pickup until he found some things in his and Dayna's sizes. Then he nipped back out, thoughtfully locking the door behind him. It had taken a total of forty-five seconds.
Vila had helped Avon roll onto his side so Tabor could peel the paralytic patch off his back. It wasn't difficult; Avon had been working with the weights Task had left for him and had strengthened his arms. He'd done most of the rolling part himself, gripping the rail and pulling his torso over. Now he was looking forward to regaining the strength in his legs.
"Just a moment longer while I wipe away any residue. Then I'll give you an injection to help clear the drug from your system. In a few minutes, you should be able to start flexing your feet." Tabor applied the injector. "Done. Just roll onto your back and give it a few minutes. You should feel some tingling now."
"Yes, I feel it. It's spreading downwards from the small of my back," Avon acknowledged. Vila watched him anxiously, quiet for once.
"I'm sure you're looking forward to getting up onto your feet again," Tabor said. "I've assigned Task to help you with that. Don't look like that, Avon. He did a fine job on your arm."
"He nearly killed me."
Tabor chuckled. "Task Master. That's what they call him."
"So I've been told," Avon said grimly.
"Are your toes tingling yet?" Tabor asked.
"They are, yes. I assume the tingling will be replaced with more normal sensation sometime soon?"
"In a few more minutes."
Having exhausted the conversation temporarily, they waited in silence. Then Vila, unable to bear the silence and the waiting, asked, "What about my hand, doc? When can I get the bandages off?"
"I can do that right now if you like. I'll go get something to cut the bandages," Tabor said and left.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Avon said gloomily, "Task."
"That's all right, "Vila said. "He did a great job on your arm. And it'll be nice when you can move to quarters of your own. Although, around here they're more like closets than quarters. Still, you'll enjoy the privacy. Just think: you won't have me all the time." He added the last nervously and a little anxiously. Avon had never tolerated a steady diet of Vila before.
"True. It would be nice to have some real peace and quiet. You do babble, Vila." Vila's face fell. "But on the other hand, you've had your uses." Vila's face lit up again. "Just hand me that urinal, would you?"
Resigned, Vila handed him the requested object. "I'll be glad when you're up and about again. Vila Restal—Urinal Bearer. Not my first career choice." Then he looked serious. "I'm sorry, Avon. I know I babble. It's probably gotten on your nerves. I just don't know any other way to be."
Avon returned the urinal to him. "I know, Vila. Listen carefully because I'm not likely to say something like this again: I have never wanted friends, but you have been my friend. I appreciate what you've done."
Vila was saved from formulating an awkward response by Tabor's return. "Here we go, Vila. Put your hand down here and hold steady. Just set the urinal over there first." Tabor began cutting at the bandages. "I warn you, I don't have anything valuable in my pockets."
"Oh, now that's not fair, Doc. Friends don't steal from friends. Besides, I know you don't have anything valuable. I've already checked." He added defensively, "There wasn't anything wrong with my other hand. A thief who isn't ambidextrous can't be successful."
"Well, I hope your recovery won't involve getting your hand into too many pockets, Vila. Some of the folks here have had some pretty rough times. They're likely to flatten you before they ask what you're doing. I don't think 'therapy' will be a good answer. Ah, Task. I want to get Avon up on his feet for a few moments and then into the mobile chair," Tabor explained.
"Right." Task positioned the chair and locked it in place. Avon clasped his arms around Task's shoulders. Task encircled Avon's torso with his arms and pulled him up on his feet. When they were both steady, Task relaxed his hold slightly. Ordinarily he would have pivoted and lowered Avon to the chair, but this time he just held him upright.
Avon clung to him for a few moments, savouring the feel of the floor against his feet. It was cold, but it felt good. Task relaxed slightly again, letting Avon take a little more weight on his legs and feet. When he began to tremble, Task lowered him into the chair. "How did that feel?" he asked.
"Good, very good," Avon said with satisfaction. He experimented a little, flexing his toes. "How long will I need to keep the chair?"
"You'll need it for a while, Avon," Tabor replied. "You can't simply get up and walk around as you did before, not yet. When you get tired, you'll need the chair. Flex your feet some." Avon wiggled his feet. "Good. Try lifting your knees too." Avon's knees shifted a little. "Good. It'll come back. Task will start working with you tomorrow. If your back starts to ache, it's time to stop; don't push beyond that. The fractured areas are healed, but they won't be as strong as the rest of your bones for some time. You could refracture them more easily than you could fracture an unaffected bone right now, so be patient. I'll see you tomorrow. Call me if you have any problems. Bye, Vila. Keep an eye on him."
Task moved to the door also. "I'll be back later to get you back in the bed. You'll want to get plenty of rest before tomorrow; we've got a lot of work to do."
Vila called after him, "He's looking forward to it," he volunteered for Avon. Seeing the exasperated look on Avon's face, he defended himself, "Well, you are."
He pulled a chair up beside Avon and said, "I need to talk seriously, Avon."
"You? Serious? This may be a first, Vila."
"Really, Avon." He looked serious, worried too.
"All right. What is it?"
Vila paused to collect his thoughts and marshal his arguments. "This plan of yours to get Orac back. Do we really need him?"
"It," corrected Avon automatically.
"All right, it. Do we really have to do this? I'd be happy to see that plastic brain out of my life. How much good did having him—it—really do us? It lied as often as it told the truth—more often than it told the truth. Yes, I know, 'computers can't lie.' Well, Orac did—often. Do you really want it back that badly? It probably could have told you a lot more—" he plunged ahead, "more about Blake than it did. Maybe . . . maybe things would have turned out better," he finished lamely. There. It was out. He'd said 'Blake.' Someone had to, and Avon wouldn't.
Avon still wasn't ready to talk about Blake, so he ignored that part of Vila's arguments. "Orac can't lie. We just weren't careful enough what we asked it. But that doesn't matter. We have to get it back even if we don't use it. If the Federation gets it, that'll be the end of the Rebellion."
"I thought you were never a part of the Rebellion," Vila chided gently.
"It seems I am for now, like it or not," Avon replied. "As are you."
"Yeah, I guess I am."
"The difference now is that we're choosing to be part of the Rebellion, at least for the time being. Blake . . . Blake forced us to be part of his Rebellion. He gave us no choice. Look at the people here, Vila. No-one is forcing them. They can leave if they choose, and so can we. But we have to get Orac back to stay free. We have to get Orac back if we're to stay free. The Federation could use it to hunt us. Better to destroy it than let them have it," he finished.
"You'd do that?"
"Yes."
"Well, I guess you're right. You sometimes are." That won a small smile. "But this idea of your going to Gauda Prime is stupid, Avon. And before you say it, I know: that never stopped us before."
"Listen, Vila, they probably couldn't find Orac without me, not in the small amount of time they have to do so. Even if the base is deserted, it'll be a dangerous place to be. I doubt Avalon's military commander would let his people spend much time there."
"All the more reason for you not to go!"
"Leave it, Vila. I'm going. Sitting in this chair if I must, but I'm going." He paused. "I guess the only question I have now is: are you going too?" he asked quietly.
"I'll have to. You can't look after yourself, you big idiot."
