The Way Forward

by Baker Lutgens

Part 4 of 12

Dayna peered closely at the triggering mechanism she'd removed from one of the new guns in the rebel armoury. She swung a lighted magnifier over and peered through it for a few moments. "Feld, where did you get these guns? Do you know which shipment they came in?"

He looked at the crate she'd removed it from. "Pelson, I think. Why? Is there something wrong with it?"

"Look through this. Do you see the hairline crack running transversely?" She pointed with a probe.

"Oh, yes." He peered a moment longer before straightening up. "That would either fail to fire at all, or break after the first few shots. Tag that one, and we'll look at some more. I have a feeling we're not going to be happy with this."

They continued for several more hours, methodically checking each gun in the crate. Feld was right: they weren't happy.

Dayna reviewed their tally, "Out of twenty guns, three had a hairline crack in the triggering mechanism, ten had burrs in the focussing chamber, and four were missing their reflecting lenses entirely. That leaves three guns that might be good. I say 'might' because they could have something wrong with them we've overlooked. I wouldn't trust any of these." She kicked the crate in disgust.

"I'll let Avalon know," Feld said. "You check the records and verify their origin. If we've gotten any other weapons from that source, they could all be bad."

"It could hardly be an accident. Somebody wants us killed or captured."

"Or somebody wants to make a larger profit," Feld amended, opening the door.

"If they want to make a bigger profit by running bad guns, think how happy they'd be to get their hands on any of us," Dayna pointed out.

She got up, stretched—she'd really been at this too long—and went over to the computer console. Hooking a stool with her foot and sitting down tiredly, she began scanning crate numbers, muttering to herself. "Crate two four seven, crate two four seven, crate—there it is: Pelson, month 8, day 3. Along with crates two four three, two four five, and two four six. Who brought them . . . oh, oh. Jenna's going to be awfully angry."

She stood again. Nothing for it but to bring those crates in and start looking. It was going to be a long evening.


"Have you learned if any other weapons from the same source are defective?" Avalon asked.

"I found defective guns in every crate from that shipment," Dayna answered. She rubbed at her eyes tiredly.

Feld added, "And I'm having weapons from other shipments collected for examination."

They had been looking at guns all day and most of the night, and it was the same for every Pelson shipment after the seventh month: most of the guns were useless, even dangerous. Jenna had delivered those shipments, and she could probably give them some helpful information, but she wasn't due back for several days.

"Have you checked any weapons from other shipments Jenna Stannis delivered?" Avalon asked wearily.

Feld looked puzzled. "No, I don't . . . You think Stannis is selling us?" he asked incredulously.

"Not Jenna!" protested Dayna. "She wouldn't do anything like that! She really cares about the Rebellion. She was with Blake all those years!"

"Exactly," responded Avalon.

"No," argued Dayna. "That's not even possible. Do you think she could fool Avon? Nobody can fool Avon." But Anna did, she thought. All that time he mourned her, endured torture for her, and he never suspected anything. Dayna grew very quiet, but she still didn't want to believe Jenna could have betrayed them. Surely she would have given herself away somehow. Avon must be attuned to that sort of thing by now. He would know if something was wrong, wouldn't he?

" . . . think you'd better get started on the other weapons," Avalon was saying. "The sooner the better. We don't want anyone hurt or killed by faulty weapons, and maybe some sort of pattern will emerge."

Feld asked, "Can we get any more people to help us with this? It's a big job."

"I don't want it going any further than this room. Send me progress reports—No, give them to me personally. I want to keep this as secure as possible. Don't tell anyone, either of you. This is just too important." She paused briefly, then finished, "Thank you for bringing this to me."

The interview was over. Feld took an unhappy Dayna by the arm and urged her out of Avalon's office. Once they were out in the corridor, he stopped and spoke in a low voice, "Look, Dayna. I don't believe Stannis is involved in this in any way except innocently. I think she's been duped too. But the only way we're going to prove it is to get busy checking those weapons. Let's go."


Avon was standing beside his bed getting used to controlling his balance again when Dayna came in. Oh good, he thought. Here's a fine picture of a strong leader: skinny white legs sticking out of a ghastly hospital gown. Grateful he hadn't had his back to the door, he reached behind himself quickly to check the status of his gown before sitting back down on the bed.

"Avon, I've got to talk to you." Dayna looked worried. "Something bad has happened, and I'm afraid Jenna could get hurt."

He quickly stood up again. "Jenna? What is it?"

"You know she's been bringing in weapons shipments for Avalon?" When he nodded, she continued, "Well, I've been helping out in the armoury, checking new weapons, repairing old ones, just generally helping. I was checking some new guns and started finding defects—too many defects. So Feld and I—we're usually there at the same times—Feld and I spent hours checking the other crates from the same shipment. Avon, nearly all of them were defective! Then we started checking other shipments, and they had a lot of defects too. Shipments from Pelson were all bad, at least since the beginning of the eighth month."

"And Jenna brought in all those shipments," Avon said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes, so Feld and I went to tell Avalon, and she said—" Dayna bit her lip. "She told us to check all the shipments Jenna had brought, regardless of where they came from."

"You believe she suspects Jenna." That wasn't a question either.

"Yes, Avon. I know Jenna couldn't do anything like that, and Feld agrees with me." Her eyes pleaded with him.

Avon eased back down onto the bed. "Dayna, Avalon was right to suspect Jenna. She doesn't know her like we do. She'll learn differently. That's not the danger to Jenna."

Dayna frowned. "It's not?"

"No, the danger to Jenna is from whomever is passing her the defective weapons. We don't know who it is, and we can't contact her. Worse, she doesn't know what has happened. Oh, she's a good smuggler—freetrader—she knows to be cautious, but somebody could misinterpret something innocent she says, or even something one of her crew says, and think she's found them out. That's the real danger."

"But why can't we contact her?" Dayna asked.

"It would be too dangerous—" Avon began.

"Too dangerous! Avon, anything could happen to her and Tarrant," she protested.

"We can't contact her because that would endanger all of us. All—of—us." He gave each word equal weight. "Avalon wouldn't permit it." He added, "Well, I wouldn't permit it if I was Avalon."

"What else can we do? We have to do something!"

"No, she knows what she's doing, and she's got Tarrant with her. Remember, Dayna, he was a freetrader and mercenary before he joined us. He knows to watch her back."

"Oh sure, with a gun in his wrong hand. He probably couldn't hit the broad side of a battleship left-handed," Dayna complained, not seeing the brief flash of pain on Avon's face.

He chided her, "And what was he doing when we met him? He was exterminating a Federation death squad with their own weapons, by himself. And doing an efficient job of it too. No, we'll have to wait until she gets back to explain it to her. In the meantime, maybe I can help with the computer work on shipment records. We'll need to find the pattern if we're to help Jenna. I'll talk to Avalon. You get some rest and then get busy with the testing again." He looked down at his bare legs. "Oh, and find Vila. Tell him to get me some clothes."


Dayna ran into Vila on her way out of the medical unit—literally. She grabbed his arm and pulled him into a quiet corner.

He grinned, "Dayna, so impetuous! All you have to do is ask; I'm available."

"Oh, shut up, Vila," she scolded from habit. "This is serious."

Alarmed, he asked, "What is it? Did something happen to Avon?" and started down the corridor.

Dayna pulled him back. "No, Avon's all right, but Jenna and Tarrant might not be. I don't have time to explain it to you; Avon will do that. But you're to get him some clothes—fast. He needs to see Avalon, and he needs to get access to the computers." She gave him a push. "Go, Vila!" She turned and fled.

He looked after her briefly. Right. He knew just where to get some clothes. And the owners probably wouldn't mind if he took them. They couldn't. They'd never know what happened to them.


"Here, Avon. I've brought what you wanted," Vila said as he came through the door, looking slightly bulky. He started pulling garments out of hidden pockets and thrusting them at Avon. "Dayna said Jenna and Tarrant might be in some sort of trouble."

"Yes, somebody's been using Jenna to run defective weapons into the base, and we have no idea who or where." Avon started to pull on the garments and stopped. "I appreciate the sweater and the socks, Vila. Does that seem quite adequate to you?"

"What? Oh, sorry." Vila pulled a pair of loose, pyjama-like trousers from inside his jacket. "I guess you'll need these too. Don't want to frighten the ladies." Seeing Avon's face, he got defensive. "It's the best I could do, given the short notice."

Avon felt a touch of guilt. "Sorry, Vila." He pulled on the trousers and stopped to look critically at the sweater and socks. "Not exactly new, are they?" he asked meaningfully.

"I'm a thief. What do you expect?" Vila protested. "It's not like I had time to go off-base and shop the fine merchants. Somebody will just have to wonder why their clothes disappeared during laundering, that's all."

"Shoes."

"Couldn't find your size quickly enough. Wear your slippers. You'll be in the mobile chair anyway." He held it steady while Avon eased himself into it. "Where to?"

"Avalon's office."

"We don't have an appointment."

"We don't need one. She'll see us."


"Kerr Avon and Vila Restal to see you, Avalon."

Whatever for? "Thank you, Riece. Send them in." She came out from behind her desk. "Avon, Vila, how can I—"

"I'll get right to my purpose, Avalon. Something's wrong in the armoury," Avon interrupted her.

Avalon stiffened a little and returned behind her desk. "Yes, we have a serious problem there. Dayna told you?"

"Obviously. What do you plan to do about it?" Avon asked.

"I've asked Dayna and Feld to start checking all of the shipments Jenna's brought in. We need to know if any of them are good. Some of our cells are desperate for guns."

"You don't mean to check just Jenna's shipments, I hope. You are aware, of course, that she would never knowingly bring you defective weapons," he said firmly.

"Of course. But it seemed the best way to start."

"I'll need access to the computers if I'm to help you. We'll need to find the pattern as quickly as possible, for yours and Jenna's sakes," Avon finished.

"Certainly. I'll arrange it immediately. I'll just check with Doctor Tabor—"

"Who will agree with me, I'm sure. In the meantime, I'll go directly to the armoury and get started. Thank you for your time, Avalon," Avon smiled, somewhat insincerely, in Vila's opinion. Had the man never learned to smile genuinely? "Let's go, Vila."


Tarrant was surprised to see the flightdeck door closed; it wasn't normal practice on the Lady. He was even more surprised when it whisked open and then nearly shut on him while he was passing through it.

"Oh, sorry, Tarrant," Dase apologised. "I didn't hear you coming. Good thing it didn't get you; you're already tall and skinny," she said with an impertinent smile. "Cap said it was sticking."

"Is it fixed then? Or is it a trap for new copilots?" He returned her smile good-naturedly while he reset various switches on the flight console.

"Oh, you mean like directing the plebes into the storage compartment on the way to the flightdeck?" she asked innocently.

"That was deliberate? I looked like an idiot!"

"That's the point. It's a test: Performance Under Pressure," she laughed. "You passed."

"I'm glad, I think. Where's Lissa? I'm supposed to relieve her."

"I relieved her early." She saw the question on his face. "It's okay, I'm flightdeck rated on this class. I just don't like to do the flying."

Like someone else I know, thought Tarrant. His face darkened as he thought about Avon for a moment. Then he shook himself and asked, "You prefer engineering, do you?"

"Show me a squeaking TD drive unit and I'll be happy every time," she answered. She dropped tools back into a bag at her feet. "Done." She zipped the bag. "Ever been to Xaranar before?"

"Yes, briefly. We didn't stick around though, just delivered a message. Why? What is it like?"

"It's a good place for shore leave. The folks are nice, and they're not Federationists. There's a merchants' street where you can buy just about anything, and there's plenty of places to eat and drink." She winked, "Want to check some of them out?"

"Will we be there long enough?"

"Oh, yes. Cap likes to let the engines rest for a few hours and take on more fuel. We usually take on some cargo too. We can't really turn a profit if we ship only one way." She straddled the comm chair so she could face him. "Would you like to go with me to a couple of the joints? I know the good ones—the ones where the fistfights are kept to a minimum and the drinks are reasonable. No naked ladies, sorry."

Tarrant thought for a moment and then wondered why he had to think about it. "Yes, I'd like that. I'll find out what Captain Stannis has scheduled for watches, and we'll find a time to go together."

"Right." Dase picked up her toolbag and watched the door close and open properly. As she stepped through she said, "I'll take good care of you. You won't be touring the local lockup from the inside. Just ask Cap."


Xaranar had been colonised in the twenty-eighth century of the old calendar at a time when Earth and its allies were focussed on exploration instead of exploitation. The first colonists had found it to have a temperature climate, soil fertile enough for easy cultivation, and sufficient mineral resources to support industrialisation. It was far enough away from Earth that its inhabitants were little influenced by society and trends on Earth. Having more than sufficient resources to sustain themselves and no belligerent neighbours, they retained their focus on exploration when Earth and its subjects turned to exploitation.

When political upheavals and dwindling resources on Earth resulted in a drastic change in governance and society, its borders contracted, leaving Xaranar well beyond Earth's practical control or influence. Xaranar remained free and grew stronger. By the third century of the second calendar, it was the only society in the Known Worlds capable of mounting large-scale and long-range explorations. Other planets, both within the Terran Federation and outside of it, contracted with Xaranar for exploration missions.

Tarrant's only previous experience with Xaranar was nearly four years earlier when he and a reluctant Avon had teleported to the family home of a Xaran man they'd met. He had chosen to stay behind on a doomed ship so the crew of the Liberator and others could escape from captivity. He had asked Tarrant and Avon to tell his wife and children they had always stayed in his mind.

Avon had needed coercion to undertake that trip, having little use for sentiment; so Tarrant was incredulous when Avon delivered the message, and a simple account of the man's self-sacrifice, with gentle compassion. For Tarrant, four years of living with Avon was four years of surprises, some of them good.


Tarrant twisted sideways to avoid yet another pedestrian in the crowded merchants' street in Xaranar's main city, Silsk.

"Bag getting heavy, skyman?" Dase teased. She had thoughtfully provided him with a capacious bag to sling across his chest so he could carry her purchases more easily.

Her purchases, Tarrant noted. Was that the only reason she asked me along? "No, I'm fine," he lied. Are you finding everything you wanted?" I shouldn't complain. How long has it been since I had a date? Five years? If this is a date, that is.

"Almost done. Just one more stop." And to prove her point, she stopped in front of a bootmaker's shop. "Here we are."

"You need new boots?"

"No, you do."

"Me?"

"Yes, I've been watching you limp around in those things for days now. Did they ever fit right?"

"They fit fine! Well, they used to fit fine. Either they got smaller, or my feet got bigger."

"That's what I thought. Your feet got bigger. You're going to get new boots."

"I don't have any money."

Dase smiled. "I do." She put up her hand when he opened his mouth to argue. "And don't give me any silly business about not taking money from a lady. What's wrong with that? We're friends. You can pay me back when Cap pays you." She grinned, "I know where to find you if you don't. Now, inside."

Half an hour later the bag didn't seem quite as heavy, not when he could walk in comfort. Shiny new boots with good, thick soles. And zips. How long had he been walking around hurting? Maybe that's what had made him such a pain in the arse to Avon.

Avon. That didn't bear thinking about yet. One of these days he'd go see him, but not just yet.

"Let's dump this stuff back at the Lady and find a café," Dase suggested. "I'm hungry for something better than the concentrates on the ship. They have real food here. Loads better than the base."

In fifteen minutes they were back in the merchants' street, standing in front of a small restaurant. It advertised "Home Cooking," whatever that was. Tarrant's parents hadn't cooked; everything was delivered.

"You'll like it," Dase said. "Nothing to upset your tummy after the shipboard stuff, nothing too exotic, and I'm paying." Again she raised her hand to forestall an argument. "You can pay me back when Cap pays you, and—"

"You know where to find me," Tarrant finished.

"I was going to say, 'You'd do the same for me'." The impudent smile again. "Come on."

After they seated themselves in a partially hidden booth, Dase plucked up the menu standing on the table. "I heartily recommend the grilled bason stew. It's like beef on New Birmingham, but actually tastes like it. If you'd prefer vegetarian, the mixed garden vegetables are really good."

Tarrant looked at the menu with her. "What's this?" he pointed.

"You don't want that. It's like a blue plate special on New Birmingham." He looked puzzled. "Whatever they couldn't move yesterday is the special today," she explained.

"I'll have whatever you're having." That seemed safe.

He enjoyed the meal. Dase was right: it was much better than what he'd had on the base or ship. Better than what he'd for the last two years. It was a heady experience: good boots, good food, he had handled the ship well enough, he had found an enjoyable shore leave companion . . . life was getting a little brighter that evening.

The club turned out to be better than he'd expected too. It wasn't fancy, but the patrons seemed to be behaving themselves. They were noisy at times, but there didn't seem to be any drunks. The management must hustle them out pretty quickly, Tarrant thought, trying to spot the bouncer.

"They'll have a stage show first," Dase explained. "They'll play ethnic music while wearing traditional costume, and that's pretty good. Then they'll turn the floor over for dancing."

He enjoyed the music. Music was dying out on Earth, perhaps because the people were so doped up from the suppressants in the food and water supplies. The show was a treat for him. The fact that it was live and not a viscast made it even better. When the show was over, the lights lowered on the floor and couples moved onto it to dance.

"Thank you, Dase. This was a really good idea of yours. I can't remember the last time I did anything like this. I really mean that too. It must have been years." He watched the dancing couples and looked around at the other tables.

Some unexpected movement caught his eye, and only reflexes acquired through years of flight from authority made him look away without making eye contact. It was just a glimpse, but there was no doubt. "Dase," he said very softly. "Don't look around, but there's someone at another table who mustn't see me."

"Who is it?" she asked quietly.

"Someone I knew at the Federation Space Academy. He washed out, mainly because he was a nasty character. He'd sell anybody. If he sees me, he'll see a chance to make a profit." Tarrant paused, wondering how much to tell her. "I've got a price on my head."

"I know," Dase said. "I know who you are. Why do you think I haven't used your name where anyone else could hear it? Are you sure he hasn't seen you? It'll make a difference as to what we do next."

"He hasn't."

"Describe him."

"Dirty blond hair, light blue tunic and brown pants. There are two men with him. Both dark," he finished.

"I see him. How are you at dancing?"

"Why?"

She explained, "Because the only way out of here that doesn't go right past his table is behind the dance floor, back where the dressing rooms are."

"How do you want to do it?"

"We're going to join the dancers long enough to dance our way across the floor and into the back."

"Let's go."

"Bend your knees and try to look short," she instructed. He looked puzzled when she put some money on the table. "No sense having management looking for us too."

They casually joined the dancers and put several of them between themselves and Blondie. Soon they were outside in a dark alley.

"Let's get back to the ship quickly." Dase took his arm and led him in a direction away from the street that ran in front of the club.

"What would you have done if he'd seen us?"

"Made a lot of noise, attracted a lot of attention, and gotten the bouncer to put us in a groundcab."

"I think I'll be cutting my hair very short."

"Or growing it very long, but you'll have to do something to change your appearance," she advised.

"Well, it was time for a change anyway," he agreed as they slipped back to safety.


"Lissa, where's Cap?" Dase asked as soon as they boarded the Lady.

"On the flightdeck. Problem?"

"I'll let you know. Come on, Tarrant."

Dase entered the flightdeck at a trot. "Cap, we had some trouble."

"I may have been spotted," added Tarrant, right behind her.

"Who by?" Jenna asked.

Tarrant answered first, "Someone I knew years ago. A slimy character by the name of Linson. He'd know me, and he'd know there's a price on my head."

"It was Pendle, Cap. I saw him."

"And he seems to have two names," Jenna said. "But he shouldn't be here. He stays on Pelson. What's he up to here?"

"What does he do on Pelson?" Tarrant asked.

"Sells us weapons for the Rebellion," Jenna answered. "I suppose there could be an innocent reason for him to be here, but Xaranar's not a resort planet."

"I'll get the engines online," Dase said quickly and left.

Jenna reached over to the intercom and held the button down. "Dev, Lissa, we're leaving early."

The Emerald Lady had been off Xaranar for nearly a quarter of an hour before Dase was able to join the others on the flightdeck.

"Everything good with the engines, Dase?" Jenna asked.

"They're good. The cargo's secure, and I checked the scatter guns too. They're charged and ready," Dase reported.

"Anything on scans, Lissa?"

"No, but that doesn't mean there's not someone there. They could have deflectors or detector shields. I'm re-tuning the scans every few seconds. Maybe that will show an anomaly," Lissa replied.

"Dev?"

"The force wall has been up since we cleared the atmosphere. I've got several departure courses preprogramed. Your choice, Captain."

"Catalan."

"Ready."

Jenna relaxed a fraction. "Lissa, lock all the intercoms open. Dase, you and Tarrant will man the guns. Dase will take the forward gun. Lissa will relieve her if the engines need help. I'll relieve Tarrant if he needs it." She explained to Tarrant," Dev's not as good as the rest of us on the guns."

Dev tapped his eyepatch. "No depth perception, but I can fly on instruments if I have to. If it gets too dicey, I'll take the engines or communications and Dase can fly," he explained to Tarrant.

Jenna continued, "It may be that Pendle, or 'Linson' as you knew him, Tarrant, didn't see you or any of us in Silsk, but we can't take the chance. He might even have recognized the Lady at the spaceport. We're going to assume he did. Get moving, everyone." Dase and Tarrant pounded off the flightdeck.

"Captain, I've found a text message piggybacked on a squirt from that communications booster we just passed. It decoded on our covert frequency. Plain text, no cipher. It reads, 'Watch your backs.' It's signed 'Gan'." Lissa checked more readouts. "I think it was intended specifically for us, Captain."

"It was," Jenna affirmed. "Avon's been busy. All right everybody, let's expect trouble."

Trouble came a few minutes later when Lissa announced, "I've found an anomaly behind us, Captain. About one seventy degrees, same plane."

Jenna called out, "Look sharp, Tarrant. You probably won't see anything until it fires." She waited. They all waited, some of them holding their breaths.

"They fired!" Tarrant shouted and targeted the flash while still speaking. He began firing at the bolt, tracking it back along its trajectory. The Lady started changing course and orientation, and Tarrant automatically compensated. Jenna was taking advantage of the Solar Wind class's odd, off centre scan signature. The bolt skimmed lightly along the side of the Lady, touching only the force wall and not getting through to the hull.

Tarrant's continuous fire had overloaded the hostile's screens and caused them to collapse. Detector shields would have held up much longer, so it had to be deflectors. And those only worked on very small ships, personal sized craft. And since deflectors frequently shared the same power source as the force wall on small craft, there was a good chance he'd damaged the force wall. He had a clear view through his scans now. Two bolts were coming, sharing a trajectory. He's stupid, Tarrant thought as Jenna rolled the ship. We only had to dodge once while he used up two bolts. The Lady shivered a little from the glancing impact.

Tarrant tried unsuccessfully to hold the firing grip steady with his knee long enough to reach around and narrow the scatter field but couldn't. He grabbed the grip again and concentrated continuous fire at one point on the hostile. It wouldn't matter where that was as long as it overloaded the force wall. There was a minute flare about the time Tarrant calculated the force wall must be gone. He checked his energy reserve.

"His force wall's down! I need to recharge, Captain!" he called out.

"Got it," came Jenna's voice. The ship did an end-for-end, gravity compensators straining, and started baring down on the hostile. Tarrant was just barely able to hold himself in the seat—he hadn't been able to fasten the safety harness with one hand. Now he could hear Dase's gun. He kept one eye on the recharge indicator and the other on the scans. Dase was putting continuous fire into the hostile and compensating for Jenna's course changes even better than he had. He grinned. A girl after my own heart. He frowned. I wonder where she learned that?

His recharge light glowed green. "I'm ready when you need me!" he shouted. Too late. The hostile disappeared from his scan as Dase called out, "Got him, Cap!" Tarrant waited a few moments to be sure, then nodded to himself, You made the same stupid mistake at the academy, Linson. You always underestimated your opponent. Tarrant smiled with satisfaction.

He pried his hand off the targeting grip with difficulty. The gun was designed to be used with two hands. Having only one, he had been forced to grip so tightly his arm was cramping. And he couldn't even rub it.


"Thank you for coming, doctors," Avalon greeted Naylor and Tabor. "Please sit down."

Tabor preempted Avalon, "You want to know if Avon will be able to go to Gauda Prime."

"Yes, Jorn, although I expect it won't really matter what we want. Ready or not, he'll go. I don't see how we could stop him, short of denying him access to a ship. Do you agree, Anda?"

"I do. Avon's a strong willed and determined person, and he's adept at imposing his will on others," Naylor agreed. She frowned briefly. Vila told her of an incident when Avon had used a gun to impose his will on his companions. "If you prevent him going to Gauda Prime, you should count on losing his cooperation in the future."

"What is his physical state, Jorn?" Avalon asked.

"Satisfactory enough for someone recovering from major tissue damage, a fractured spine, and severe exhaustion," he said dryly. "You know I would prefer he not exert himself so soon, but I agree we couldn't stop him if he insisted. We couldn't stop anyone really. It would be the patient's right. But I don't think he would respond to any of our arguments." He sighed, "The real question now is what Anda and I can do to contain the situation." He exchanged a glance with Naylor. "It would be safest if he had a physician along with him."

"No, Jorn. I can't allow it. You already knew that, didn't you? We can't risk the resource that way. I'm sorry, I don't mean that to sound cold; you're my friends, and valued ones too. But for the good of everyone here, I can't risk you that way. This isn't the Avon Rebellion, and he can't have everything," Avalon finished. "Can you suggest something else?" She waited.

Finally Tabor offered, "Task. He's not a physician, but he's a damn fine nurse and therapist. If something happens to Avon, he would be the one best able to contain the situation."

"Would he agree?"

"Yes. He's very committed to his patients. He'd risk his life for them. Before he became a nurse/therapist, he was a master sergeant in the Federation ground forces. He's tough and not afraid of danger, and he takes his responsibilities very seriously. The Feds lost a fine man there."

"The Feds lost a fine physician too, Jorn,"

The intercom clicked, "Avalon, General Wrell is here."

"Thank you, Riece. Please send him in." She stood. "General, thank you for coming to my office. Please sit down. Anda and Jorn were just reporting on Kerr Avon's condition. To summerize, Jorn would prefer Avon not go on any missions for quite some time but recognizes Avon will exercise his free will in this and insist on going. Anda agrees. He will not be in a very fit state yet, so Jorn has suggested Task accompany him. He believes Task will be agreeable. How will that impact your plans?" she asked.

"I don't wish to take anyone who isn't fully fit. At the same time, I'm anxious to recover Avon's computer before the Federation has an opportunity to find it and use it against us. I believe no matter how good the diagrams he could provide to us, it won't be possible to find this computer in a reasonable period of time without his being available for consultation. I don't want to spend even so much as a day on Gauda Prime if possible."

He turned to Naylor and Tabor. "It's my plan to equip the recovery team with A/V links so Avon can remain on the ship and guide them. This would be preferable to trying to transport him in conditions we know nothing about at this time. It would be safer for him and safer for my team."

Turning back to Avalon, he was startled by Naylor's interruption: "And safer for Avon's psyche." The others looked at her for an explanation.

"Blake was his friend, yet Avon was compelled by circumstances to kill him. He also lost a member of his team there. Those were the last in a long string of traumatic events for him."

She addressed Wrell directly, "He's been suffering from traumatic stress for three, possibly four years. And still he's managed to lead his people effectively. He accepted responsibility for those people voluntarily—he needn't have done so. He could have walked away any time and lived the high life on any number of planets.

"But bear in mind he was able to cope purely because of the need to survive. His time here has relieved the pressure. He's had time to think, to reflect, to regret. I don't know what returning him to Gauda Prime might do to him," she concluded.

Wrell cleared his throat. "I appreciate your explanation, Doctor. Thank you. As for the plan to send Task with him, that is acceptable to me. Task is an experienced campaigner, and I have no reservations about including him."

"Doctors, do you have anything more to add?" Avalon asked.

"I'll review Avon's current medical condition with Task and work out what he'll need to care for Avon," Task answered.

"And you'll have to include one more in your party, General," Naylor added. "Vila Restal."

"The thief? No, I can't take him along—" Wrell began.

"Oh, you'll have to. I think you'll find Vila won't let Avon go without him. Besides, you'll need Vila to keep Avon sane."


"We've got another problem, Carnell," Avalon began.

"Yes, something's wrong in the armoury," Carnell agreed.

Avalon looked at him sharply, with not a little annoyance. "How did you know?"

"Kerr Avon's been spending a lot of time there, and the armourers have been working extra shifts. What has happened?"

"Dayna Mellanby found large numbers of defective guns, from several shipments. In fact, it looks as though Jenna Stannis may be involved."

"Jenna Stannis is involved. Oh, not the way you're thinking, Avalon. She's entirely innocent. Someone is setting her up."

"You mean someone is trying to sabotage the Rebellion, don't you?" Avalon suggested.

"No, I mean someone is setting up Jenna Stannis in particular and probably hoping to extend it to Kerr Avon and the others of his group. They're very important targets, Avalon. Someone, somewhere, knows or suspects they may be alive. Someone, somewhere, wants them. And not necessarily dead. Is it their expertise or their considerable bounties, you ask?"

"No, I didn't ask. But since you bring it up, do you have some idea of who it is?"

"Yes, and so do you: Servalan." He smiled. "And Servalan would want them for their expertise and their bounties. They're worth the same bounty dead or alive. Dead would be easier, but alive would be more profitable."

"How do you mean?"

"They have a great deal of information and knowledge she could wring out of them. At least she thinks she could wring it out of them. But her attraction to Avon—oh, yes, I meant 'attraction'—has by now transformed into a need to kill him, probably in the most painful way she can devise. She's always enjoyed inflicting pain."

"What course of action do you suggest, Carnell?"

"Let Avon continue to follow the trail. Let Stannis and the others help him. Between them, they may solve the problem of eliminating the ex-Madame President for you. They certainly want to, especially Dayna Mellanby." Avalon frowned. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Dayna. I made it very clear to her when she and Feld first brought me the information about the defective guns that she was not to tell anyone about it. The first thing she did was tell Avon."

"Of course she did. Avalon, none of those people are rebels, not even Stannis really. And they're not your employees either. They all follow Kerr Avon. Even Stannis will, now that she's met up with him again. They can't help it—Avon's got more charisma in his thumb than Blake ever had in his whole life. And more cunning. It's fortunate Blake didn't learn from him. Those people would follow Avon through hell—for his sake, not theirs." Pleased with his observation, he added, "They've already done so on more than one occasion. Don't try to pit yourself against Kerr Avon—you'll lose. Accept it and use it, Avalon. It's the best you can do with them."

"You admire him," Avalon accused.

"No, he's just another playing piece on a game board. Think of it as chess, but with Avon representing both the king and the queen. The goal of the game is to capture the king, but this king is as powerful as the queen."


It was true; Carnell didn't admire Avon. Carnell didn't admire anyone, except possibly Carnell. But he appreciated Avon. He appreciated the unpredictability of the man. It made Carnell's game so much more interesting.

Avon could be counted on to bind people to him such that they would follow him through hell, just as he told Avalon.

Avon could be counted on to risk his life for those people, even while detailing to them just how worthless their lives were.

Avon could be counted on to defy authority; he was a law unto himself, but he had no desire to impose his personal laws on society.

Avon could be counted on to resist subordination, even violently; but he treated his subordinates with compassion, as long as they didn't resist him.

Avon could be counted on to make soul-destroying decisions, and spare his people the remorse of making those decisions themselves.

But in every other way, Avon was unpredictable; he existed outside the rules governing everyone else. It made him very dangerous, but very interesting . . .