The Way Forward
by Baker Lutgens
Part 5 of 12
Avon instinctively began getting up to help Dayna lift the heavy lid of a crate when she stopped him. "Don't, Avon, just stay there; we can't risk your back. I can get it." He settled back in his mobile chair, ego slightly deflated. They'd been checking guns and recording the results for two days. Dayna and Feld were working sixteen hour shifts. Avon couldn't do that; he tired too soon. But his work went faster, so there was little point getting ahead of the others.
Vila had been popping in frequently, ostensibly to see if they needed anything—food, help opening a crate, anything. "Hello, Dayna, Avon," Vila greeted as he came through the door. "Made any progress?" He handed each of them a concentrated food pak.
"Thanks, Vila. We've gotten through all the shipments brought from Pelson, Rabern, and Kale," Dayna reported.
"And I don't like what I'm seeing so far." Avon rubbed his eyes. "Three sources isn't really enough, but I don't think it will change. All the shipments Jenna brought from those planets since the beginning of the eighth month have had significant failure rates. Shipments from those planets brought by other persons have not."
Vila protested, "Surely you're not suggesting Jenna really is betraying Avalon, Avon?"
Avon looked disgusted. "Of course I'm not. It ought to be apparent even to you, Vila: Jenna's been set up. Now we have to discover the motive. And before you say it, Dayna and Vila, it's not to sabotage the Rebellion. That's nothing more than a 'fortunate' side effect."
"If someone wanted to sabotage the Rebellion, they'd have arranged defective weapons in all the shipments, or only in random shipments," Vila said.
"Exactly. We don't need to waste our time checking shipments brought in by anyone but Jenna yet. We can check the others later, and that should save time now. But we need to find every source world for the defective weapons. Jenna will know who she dealt with on those worlds, and that is the only way we can stop whoever is behind this."
Dayna asked, "But why Jenna? A personal grudge? A rival? Someone in her crew?"
"All of the above?" suggested Vila.
"Well, we'd better get back to work." Avon turned back to the computer console.
Dayna raised her eyebrows at Vila and nodded slightly towards Avon.
"No," corrected Vila, "Dayna will get started. You need to take a break, Avon. I'll come back and enter data in the programme. Come on, I'll take you back to the medical unit." He began guiding the mobile chair through the door.
As they passed along the corridor, Avon asked, "Vila, I wonder if you could put your considerable talents to use and find us something a little more satisfying than a concentrate pak? Not the engine lubricant and plastifoam from the base mess hall; they make it from concentrates. There's a reason they call it 'mess.' I think they just extract the flavour from the concentrates and present the remains as food."
"You didn't think it was so bad a few days ago."
"I was starving and doped up on drugs a few days ago." A thought occurred to him: "You don't mean you like it, Vila? That food isn't fit for human consumption." After a pause he added, "Though it's probably gourmet eating to a Delta."
"Very funny, Avon. I'll have you know I've enjoyed some of the finest food available in the Alpha Levels of London Dome," he bragged.
"You? No-one would invite you to the upper levels. You would probably swill drain cleaner thinking it was the finest wine."
"I never said I was invited."
They continued in silence for a few moments. At length Avon ventured, "Vila . . ."
"Should I issue myself an invitation to the off-base food vendors' stores?"
"If you would be so kind."
"Sure, Avon," Vila agreed as he navigated through the pedestrians in the cavernous commons. "Anything in particular?"
"No, so long as it's different from the concentrates."
"I'll go get us both something as soon as—Oh, look! Here's Task!" Vila said cheerily. "And he's all ready to start your therapy." Departing at a run, Vila failed to see the doom settling over Avon's face.
"I won't be long, no more than an hour," Vila told the guards at the base exit.
"Don't stay much longer than that. We go off shift in two hours," one of the guards instructed.
Security was fairly simple. The doors couldn't be opened from the outside. They fit flush with the walls and had no handles or locking mechanisms. Inside, there were simple bars across the doors, nothing you could finesse from the outside. Unless someone was inside to let you back in, you didn't get in. There were always two guards at the door, and they were adept at remembering people and their exits and entrances. If they didn't know you, they wouldn't let you in. If they didn't see you leave, they wouldn't let you in. The pairings were always different and random, so you'd have to be in collusion with several guards to violate those rules. It was more foolproof than a computerized system. It reminded Vila of something he'd read about an old method for detecting contraband: dogs. The fancy machines often made mistakes, but the dogs never did. Indeed, the dogs and their handlers were more valuable than machines and carefully protected—just like these men. It was no problem for Vila; he could get what he needed pretty quickly.
He strolled casually down the wide path between the merchant's stalls, stopping from time-to-time to take a closer look at the merchandise. It wasn't quite as frightening here in the marketplace as other outdoor places had been. There were lots of people and familiar objects around. Vila's other experiences outside—and they were rare—had taught him that Outside was filled with big, hungry beasts, both animal and human. And all of them wanted to kill him.
In the marketplace, he could duck inside a stall if destruction threatened to rain down from the sky. It wouldn't be enough to save him, but it made him feel a little better. If there were any scary animals, they stayed far away. He couldn't hear anything that sounded like an animal.
The only real danger in the marketplace was the people. Not that any of them were big and hungry, but some of them might be small and vicious. With this many people, there had to be some who preyed on others. Vila hadn't heard of any stabbings in the marketplace, but it was a matter of time. Every society had people who were so inept at stealing that they found it easier to kill first.
But Vila was a thief too—a good one. He knew how to get close enough to pick a pocket, and he knew when someone was getting too close to him. When he thought about it, he realized he was probably in less danger than anyone else in the marketplace.
He continued looking at the merchandise and chatting with the merchants, careful to keep his hands where the merchants could see them. It wouldn't do to look like a thief, would it? On his way back into the base, he'd stop and buy one or two items, just for realism. He already knew where he was going, so when he got near some stalls selling garments, he stepped between the stalls as though he was going to attend to nature in the trees behind them.
Slipping quietly to the back of one of the stalls, he listened carefully for a few minutes at the flimsy door. Faint voices. The merchant was in the front. The lock was laughably easy—for him—and he let himself in quietly. Quickly he scanned the stacks of clothing and made his selections, folding everything tightly and tucking it into various pockets. Then he quietly let himself out, relocked the door, and presented himself on the path again.
After two more stops like the first, he'd reached the end of the merchants' stalls and started back towards the base. He'd seen a set of small tools he needed to assist him in his "profession," and they would do nicely for a public purchase. He could pay for them too. Somewhere along his rambles through the marketplace, he'd acquired some money.
Unusually for Vila, he failed to notice a new merchant staring at him as he returned to the base.
Vila was back within an hour, pockets bulging. He popped his head through the door into Avon's room, "Oh, good. All done for the day?"
An exhausted but tidy Avon was lying on the bed. " 'All done' is exactly how I feel, Vila. Come in and shut the door."
Vila walked over to the side of the bed and looked at him critically. "You look a lot better than usual. Smell better too." He earned a glare.
"I'm sure if I had smelled bad, Dayna would have said something."
"Any other time perhaps, but she's being extra nice to you right now—wounded hero syndrome," Vila smirked.
Another glare.
"Sorry." He didn't look sorry. "Did Task clean you up?"
"Yes, after he nearly killed me with therapy. No doubt he wanted my corpse to be presentable. Did you bring the food?" Avon asked.
Vila pulled some packets out of his pockets and presented them to Avon with a flourish. "Here you are, nothing but the finest."
Avon stared at the loathsome objects in his hand. "Vila."
"Yes?"
"These are concentrate paks."
"Yes, they are."
Avon transferred his stare to Vila.
"And if you will look closely," Vila pointed out, "you will see they are of an entirely different brand from the ones here on the base."
They had little pictures of garishly coloured spaceships and planets on them.
Resigned, Avon wrestled the "e-z open" tab into submission, poked the "handi straw" through the hole, and drank. No worse than the base food, but no better.
"Here," said Vila, pulling larger bundles out of his jacket. "I got you something better to wear for the Gauda Prime briefing tomorrow. I can't be seen with you looking like that." He nodded at Avon's mismatched sweater and pyjama trousers. Avon watched in amazement as a shirt, vest, and trousers—real trousers, with a zip in the fly—dropped onto the bed. All black, Avon's favourite colour. "Oh, yes," Vila dropped some trainers on the floor and sat. He pulled off the boots he was wearing—new boots—and thrust them at Avon. "I got you these too. They're your size." Vila put the trainers on.
Avon was nearly speechless. He had always thought Vila was talented, but this was amazing. "Thank you, Vila," he said, meaning it.
Vila stood. "The briefing is first thing in the morning, so you'd better go ahead and get some sleep. I'll take you there, but I don't want to be in the meeting," he explained.
"Why not? You're going too. You should have some input into the plans."
"No, I don't understand military missions and things like that, and I don't want to. I'd rather just go along with whatever you decide. You'll tell me anything I need to know. I don't expect there'll be a need for us to leave the ship; at least I hope not. Gauda Prime wasn't a very friendly place the last time we were there. I'd just as soon stay in the ship—locked in the ship. I'll stay with you—where it's safe."
Avon was startled for a moment, remembering Malodar. That's what Vila had said before they went to Malodar, before Avon tried to kill him. No . . . that was faulty memories.
"Yes, Vila, you're always safe with me." Then he added emphatically, "You have my word on it."
Tarrant was tired; they were all tired. Since the attack shortly after departure from Xaranar, they were on continuous alert. On the Lady, that meant being on duty for twenty hours and asleep for five. Only one crew member could be asleep at a time; the rest were manning their own or someone else's station. Dase had dragged her mattress into the corridor midway between the engine room and the aft gun bay. The others were sharing one in the corridor between the flightdeck and the forward gun. Either Tarrant or Jenna was on the flightdeck at all times.
He thought about how tired he was, and then he thought about how tired the Liberator crew must have been during the War. Comparing his mental pictures of how Avon, Cally, and Vila had looked just after the War when he first met them with how they had looked a few weeks later, the fighting appeared to have temporarily aged them at least ten years. That's why he wasn't sure it was Avon he'd encountered first on the Liberator. The man he found looked so much older than the pictures he'd seen of Avon that he wasn't sure whom he'd caught.
Tarrant had gotten to the Andromedan action late and had lost his ship fairly soon by taking on a much bigger opponent. The opponent was lost too, but that hardly made up for losing his own ship, the only ship he'd ever flown that was truly his. He wondered how the Liberator crew had been able to function for so long before having to abandon ship. Pale, fragile Cally must have had far more strength than she had ever let him see, and Jenna Stannis didn't give the appearance of an Amazon either. How had she done it?
Vila? A fair pilot? He tried to picture Vila at the pilot's console during a battle and couldn't. Avon? A pretty good pilot? He'd kept that hidden from Tarrant, but he would if he hated piloting. And Blake the Hero had turned out to have feet of clay. Tarrant had never been a rebel, but he had always admired Blake. It was disappointing.
He shook himself back to attention and checked Lissa's scans. They hadn't discovered any more stalkers, but Jenna wouldn't risk leading anyone directly back to Horizon. So they flew a somewhat inefficient route to some of the planets they had been scheduled to visit. A legitimate contact wouldn't waste fuel that way and would break off soon. And if they were being followed by an undetectable shadow, she hoped the shadow would break off and look for fuel before she had to do the same. They were heading back to Horizon now and would have little fuel to spare.
Jenna joined him on the flightdeck, relieving Dev for his sleep period. Lissa had gone to help Dase with something in the engine room, so they were alone on the flightdeck. She asked, "Would your friend likely have been alone when he attacked us?"
"He wasn't my friend, but yes, he probably did it on his own. He always overestimated his abilities, thought he was the best, the smartest. He pulled stupid stunts by himself because he wanted to show everyone what a big man he was. He thought he was a real hotshot. His problem was that he was about the least talented flier I've ever seen, barely able to stay in the academy. But when he screwed up, it was always someone else's fault.
"At first the new ones, the ones that didn't know about him, would hang around him, thinking he was as good as he said. Gradually they'd start to figure him out. There were even a couple of the instructors that seemed supportive of him—long beyond the time common sense should have kicked in. I think he was blackmailing them.
"But to answer your real question, he's quite likely to have seen me or the Lady and pursued us without picking up a companion to back him. Since Solar Wind ships don't have weapons," he grinned at Jenna, "—except for a very bright lady freetrader captain—he would have thought he could blow us out of space by himself," he finished.
"Which leads us to the next question: how did he come by a private ship expensively equipped with deflectors and a gun? Blackmail?"
"Why give the little slime a ship? That's a lot of blackmail when you could just kill him. Anyone with that much money could easily afford to hire it done. No, he bought the ship himself, but where did he get the money? Could he make that much running guns for the Rebellion?"
"I don't think so. A small ship, sophisticated enough to travel from Pelson to Xaranar, with deflectors, would take ten years of gun running. And that's only if you saved all your money and nothing ever went wrong. He must have been getting money from something else. But what?" Jenna mused.
"Why go after us in the first place?" Tarrant asked. "If he wanted the bounty on me, he wasn't going to get it by atomizing us. It had to be the Lady, but why?"
"Destroying the evidence? It's not as though we were going to turn him in for gun running."
"He was always suspicious of everyone else's motives, probably because his were always dishonest," offered Tarrant. "Maybe he thought we followed him there to hijack one of his deals. Or maybe he thought we might accidentally foul up a deal."
"Or maybe we just don't know enough yet. But since you're explained his charms, I think I'll ask Avalon to do some serious testing on the weapons we've gotten from him," Jenna finished.
"I came a little early, in case you need help—" Vila broke off as he saw Avon already dressed and standing by the mobile chair. "Has Task been by?"
"No, I took care of everything myself." Avon sat heavily in the chair. Thank the gods these boots have zips, he thought. "It was more tiring than I had expected."
"But you look good. You look like the Avon we all know and love."
Avon glared. "I have no interest in 'looking good,' Vila—"
"Like hell."
"Nor being loveable," he growled.
"You sound like the Avon we all know and love," Vila observed, pulling up a chair. "Who's going to be there?"
"Avalon, naturally; General Wrell; whichever one of his people is leading the mission; the pilot maybe . . . that should do it, I think."
"What about Dayna?"
"What about her?"
"She'll want to go."
"She may not have a choice, Vila. I don't imagine General Wrell will be wanting to take anyone not necessary to the mission. Dayna hasn't trained with his people; they would find themselves looking after her as much as searching for Orac." He stopped Vila before he could start. "I agree she's probably as lethal as any of his people, but they're used to training as a team. There's no need to put unnecessary pressure on them."
"And you don't want her going," Vila smiled.
"It's not a question of what I want."
"You want her out of danger for a while."
"Nonsense. She's simply not vital to recovering Orac. You, on the other hand, will be very useful. Just hand me that glass of water, would you?"
Vila guided Avon's chair into Avalon's office and positioned him at the place the others had left for him at the large conference table. There were more people than Avon had expected. In addition to the General, there were four of his people: the mission commander, the pilot, and two section leaders. Avon was also surprised to see Doctors Naylor and Tabor, and Task. Task's presence began to worry him.
Vila leaned down near Avon's ear and murmured, "I'll wait outside, Avon." He straightened up to leave, but Avon caught his arm in an iron grip. Avon's been overdoing it with those weights, Vila thought.
"Would someone please bring a chair for Vila?" Avon requested. There was some poorly concealed surprise. Avalon's aide brought a chair and placed it next to Avon. Vila sat nervously but didn't speak.
Avalon stood briefly. "Let's get started on this. General, would you tell us your plan?"
Wrell took the floor. "All of you are aware that Kerr Avon and his associates were last on Gauda Prime before they were brought here. Sub-Commander Chelsin," he nodded to his right, "participated in the operation that neutralized the attacking Federation troopers, so he has some experience with both Gauda Prime and the base itself.
"He will lead the mission to enter the base and recover the computer Orac. Mister Avon has provided us with drawings of what this device looks like and its dimensions. We understand it to be hidden inside the base, is that correct, sir?" He turned to Avon for elaboration.
"Yes, we separated briefly for reconnaissance when we first entered. The base flyer hangar appeared unattended and unsecured, and we took that to mean there was something very wrong happening there.
"While I was separated from the others, I hid Orac behind a maintenance hatch in a deserted corridor. All of the corridors we initially searched were deserted, and that wasn't credible. There should have been people moving throughout those areas. We expected a trap of some sort.
"After that, I rejoined the others and sought out Blake," he finished abruptly.
There's the understatement of the century, thought Vila. Everything went to hell then.
Wrell continued, "Sub-Commander Chelsin's group will enter the base in the same way, through the flyer hangar, if possible. This will give Mister Avon the best possible orientation for directing the search. All of the team will be wearing helmet cams with A/V links. Mister Avon will remain on the ship and watch their movements from screens there. Mister Avon, Miss Mellanby, and Mister Restal have provided us with diagrams drawn from memory of how they proceeded there, coded to indicate degree of confidence.
"We haven't had any intelligence from that area since the incident from which we recovered Mister Avon and his group, and we don't know what to expect. We hope the area has been abandoned so we can spend hours there if necessary. If it is occupied by anyone—and it could be, buildings being at a premium on GP—we will pull back and send an individual inside covertly.
"It may be that the facility can no longer be entered; it could have been destroyed. If so, Sub-Commander Chelsin's team will determine if it might be possible to tunnel into any debris and make the search.
"Sub-Commander Chelsin will be the one making decisions about the mission as soon as the lift off from base. He will decide what course of action to take or, indeed, whether to take action or not. If he is unable to direct the mission for any reason, Section Leaders Klessen," the woman nodded, "and Wilker," the man nodded, "will do so." Wrell turned to Avon, "Will Miss Mellanby be coming with us?"
"No, Miss Mellanby will remain here," Avon answered firmly.
"Thank you, General Wrell," said Avalon. "Doctor Tabor, would you explain the arrangements for attending to Avon?"Avon stiffened with annoyance.
"As General Wrell told you, Avon will remain on the ship during the mission, along with Vila Restal. He's not yet fit to leave the mobile chair entirely, so Task will accompany him to provide appropriate therapy and contain any medical problems that may arise," Tabor explained. Avon slumped fractionally, gloom flashing briefly across his face. Task.
"Thank you, Doctor," said Avalon. "Does anyone have any questions or need to add anything?"
Vila cleared his throat. Every face turned to him expectantly, Avon's expression warning Vila not to embarrass him. "I was wondering," he began hesitantly, "how long will we be gone?"
"How long will we be gone? Really, Vila, did you have some dates lined up? No, never mind; you wouldn't know what one is," Avon said disgustedly, as Vila guided the chair back to the medical unit. "At least you know you'll need to bring a change of underwear, assuming a Delta grade social misfit knows what underwear is."
"Yeah, Mister I-Know-It-All-Alpha? Well, you didn't know how long we'd be gone, did you?" Vila challenged.
Avon quickly cast about for a safer subject and remembered: "Task."
"Stop complaining, Avon. You didn't really think you could leave off the therapy so soon, did you? Besides, Task could be a real useful fellow to have around. Suppose somebody gets hurt? It was Task who treated us at Gauda Prime and brought us back in Jenna's ship."
"Really?" Avon grew thoughtful. "You're right, Vila. Task is a very useful fellow . . . Well, hurry up. He'll probably be waiting for me, chortling with glee."
Vila had detoured only long enough to grab a couple of concentrate paks from the mess hall before going to the armoury. Dayna and Feld were still working double shifts to test suspect guns, and Vila wanted to get as much of the information as possible into Avon's programme before leaving the next day. Dayna was alone. Good. He handed her a pak as soon as he came through the door.
"How far have you gotten?" he asked.
"We've finished Aber—all were Jenna's shipments, and all were defective. I've tagged the crates so you can put the data in. We're just starting on Halfrin. I'll be glad when Jenna gets back so she can look at the data. I don't want Avalon to keep thinking Jenna's arranging this somehow."
"I doubt she thinks that anymore, Dayna. Did she say something else about it?"
"No, I haven't talked with her. In fact, I get the impression she's not very happy with me right now. It's probably because I told Avon when she said not to tell anyone, don't you think?" she asked.
"Probably."
"Well, she'll just have to get over it. I had to tell Avon; how could I not? He always knows what to do," she finished. "I guess you'll be leaving for Gauda Prime right away?"
"Tomorrow morning. I'm not looking forward to it, I can tell you. The last time we were there they kept trying to kill me. It won't be any better this time."
"They weren't trying to kill you personally, Vila; they were trying to kill all of us," she corrected.
"It would have been the same result."
She put down the gun she'd been examining and attached a tag to it. "Just like the others: hairline fractures in the trigger mechanisms, burrs in the focussing chambers, or missing reflecting lenses. Somebody didn't have much imagination." She turned to him. "How is it going to work on Gauda Prime? Avon's not fit to go hunting around in that base, assuming it's still there."
"We're going to stay on the ship. The search team will have A/V links so Avon can direct them. I hope that will be adequate." His face grew worried. "Unless the Feds got Orac before us."
"Relax, Vila. If Avon hid him, he'll stay hidden until Avon wants him. But there's another reason I'm glad Avon won't be going in—two, really."
"Soolin and Blake."
"Have you told him about Blake?" Dayna asked.
"No, but I guess I'd better do that tonight. If he's going to have problems with it, better here with Doctor Naylor than on the ship with just me."
"I miss Soolin."
"Yeah."
After several moments, Dayna asked, "Has he said anything about her?"
"No. But he wouldn't talk about Cally after she died either. I guess it's just his way."
Dayna understood. It still hurt too much to talk about her sister and father. She squeezed his arm. "I know. I miss Cally too, Vila. I'm glad we have Jenna now."
"Then I'd better get busy putting this data in the programme. We've got to help each other. We're the only family we have," he said as he settled in front of the computer.
Dayna smiled. You're right, Vila. We are family.
Avon wondered if Task was determined to kill him before he could get on the ship the next morning. It was the most gruelling session yet, and Avon was exhausted. He would have taken advantage of that exhaustion and slept, but Vila had come in bringing more of those disgusting concentrate paks. There was no alternative; it was apparently the only food available, and Avon's appetite was coming back with his strength. He'd once dreamed of being so rich no-one could touch him. Now he'd settle for real food.
They'd had real food on the Liberator after the War. Before that they had to content themselves with the reconstituted foods provided by the ship. It was made from a nutrient mix like the concentrates on Avalon's base, but tasted a lot better. It even resembled real food. But it was the best Blake would allow. No supply runs to friendly planets; that would have been a waste of time and resources that should be devoted to his Cause.
After the War, they sometimes visited neutral planets and purchased local products. Most of it was quite good. Vila was surprisingly talented at selecting potables. He would have thought Vila's tastes would be limited to—what were those old terms he'd once read? Rotgut? Bathtub gin?
One thing you could say for the Liberator's reconstituted food: you didn't gain any weight from it.
He finished his concentrate pak and set it aside.
"You want another, Avon? I can get one for you."
"No."
"Worried about Jenna, are you?"
"I am not worried about Jenna. She's more experienced than we are in the smuggling trade. It won't be the first time she's been deceived. She's probably already suspicious of her contacts. And if she's not, she's always ready for trouble. It's her way of life. Besides, she's got Tarrant with her. He was a smuggler too."
"Oh, yes, and he'll be great with a gun in the wrong hand. The idiot will probably shoot his foot." Unusually, Vila failed to notice the effects of his words. Avon had flinched.
Finally Avon said, "She'll be all right, Vila."
"And what about us? Going back to Gauda Prime? Do you think you can really direct Wrell's people to Orac?" he asked.
"I don't know, Vila. That might be one of the things I remember wrongly," Avon said quietly.
"Oh, gods, I'm sorry, Avon."
"So am I."
They sat in silence for several minutes before Vila dredged up courage. "Avon, there's some things you need to know. Things about Blake."
"What sorts of things?" Avon began staring at something beyond the walls of the room.
Vila considered how best to start. "Have you noticed how people look at you when you're out of this room?"
"Yes. They're staring at the man who killed their hero." Flat, no inflection in his voice.
"No, they're not." Vila took a deep breath and continued, "They're staring at a hero."
Avon regarded him. "Vila, have you lost your mind?"
"No, Avon, and you haven't either; at least not anymore. Since we came here, I've learned some things about Blake, things we didn't know when he was with us. And things we didn't know later either.
"Carnell explained it to me. He said when they messed with Blake's mind, they tried to put a different personality over his real one. You remember how I can't be conditioned, don't you?"
"What are you saying? That Blake was or wasn't conditioned?" Avon asked.
"He was, but it didn't take right. It worked all right for a while, then I guess it stopped working when he saw all those people massacred that night on Earth. That's why they had to send him to a penal colony, I guess: because the conditioning stopped working and they wanted him out of the way.
"But it wasn't really gone, and that's why he acted the way he did. You know, really nice and caring one day, and mean the next."
In spite of the awkward presentation, Avon knew what Vila was talking about. It had driven him wild trying to figure out how to relate to Blake. He thought about the many times Blake had reversed his treatment of him from day to day. He never knew when the man was going to smile at him or curse him, and he couldn't pin down what he was doing to precipitate it. "Yes, I do know, Vila. Go on."
Vila wanted to get this right. "Carnell says after Blake disappeared, you know, after the Andromedan War—"
"Yes, Vila, I was there, remember?" Avon said drily.
"Yeah, well, after that he became the nasty Blake all the time, the one that supported the Federation. He started joining rebel groups and betraying them to the Feds."
Avon stared at him. "That's not possible."
"Yes, it is, Avon. They know that. They have proofs apparently."
"Ridiculous."
"Carnell said it probably started even while Blake was with us, though he might not have known he was doing it."
"Make sense, Vila. How could he betray some rebel group and not know?"
"Remember those times when he'd seem sort of lost?"
"Thinking up suicidal plans for us to carry out for his beloved Cause."
"No, I think he was trying to figure out what was happening in gaps in his memory. I don't mean the memories he lost when they conditioned him; I mean on the Liberator. You know, like finding himself sitting in a room and not remembering how he came there, or when.
"You know how we used to find him sitting on the flightdeck couch looking like he was puzzling something out? Maybe it was because the other Blake had been off contacting the Federation about some rebels we had contact with. Maybe the nice Blake didn't know about that. When we'd find him like that, he was usually pretty nice, wasn't he?" Vila paused. He once had a gap like that himself, when one of the "reform" treatments almost worked. It had wrecked his nerves for days until he remembered what happened during the gap.
"Go on, I'm listening."
"Carnell said he's pretty sure it had already started about the time of the conference on Atlay. You know, when Ven Glynd had that box thing that was beaming the conditioning signal to Blake's brain. Remember?"
"Yes, I remember, since I'm the one who had to figure out how to destroy the blasted thing," Avon replied impatiently. "Keep going."
"He also said it could have started sooner. He might have given away Kasabi's people on Earth. Maybe that's why Servalan and Travis were already there, waiting, and killed them all.
"Then I got to thinking about some things. Remember when all those pursuit ships found us near Brindle's World? Does that make sense to you? Twenty-nine pursuit ships just happened to be hanging around that forgotten part of space with everyone twiddling their thumbs? Nine flotillas with a couple of extra ships thrown in? They knew we would be passing there, Avon. They knew."
Avon was thinking furiously. Vila was right. The near-massacre at Brindle's World couldn't have been a coincidence. And how had Travis found them so easily over that misbegotten, nameless planet where Blake and Jenna had been forced to fight with Travis and his mutoid? Space was too big for that. How had Travis known how to contact them with his ridiculous proposal to join forces at Exbar? Avon's mind was going round and round.
"Avon," Vila said gently. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, Vila. What else?" he said slowly. He was staring through the wall again, but with purpose this time.
"I think—" He cleared his throat. "I think Blake sold us out at Gauda Prime. It's a stupid place for a rebel base. Soolin said no self-respecting idealist would be found dead there." I wish I hadn't said that. "I don't think it was really a rebel base at all. I think it really was a set up. I think Blake set you up." There. It's out. "So you see why I said people think you're a hero? They knew, Avon. They knew Blake was working for the Feds."
Avon never heard the last. He was thinking too hard about how the pieces were starting to fit into place. "Vila, I need to do some thinking. Alone, Vila."
Vila hesitated. He didn't want to leave Avon alone.
"Really, Vila. It's all right. I'm not going to do anything foolish. I just need to come to terms with some of this," he said. "You can go. Go help Dayna, and then get some sleep. I'll be all right. In fact, I'll be just fine."
Early the next morning—too early for Vila's taste—he staggered into Avon's room under the weight of two very large, very heavy duffel bags and dropped them beside the bed. "Avon?" he called. No Avon. He peeked into the minuscule washroom. Not there either. Vila looked around for some clue and touched the bed. It was cold. Something bad must have happened to Avon. In near panic he ran to the door and nearly fell into Avon's lap as Dayna guided his chair into the room.
"You've been out early. Where have you been?" Vila asked accusingly.
"Dayna's been helping me collect some things for the trip." Avon took two knapsacks from his lap and thrust them at Vila. "Take these."
"What am I supposed to do with them?"
"Carry them."
"Put them in those duffel bags, Vila," Dayna instructed and parked Avon's chair.
Avon got up and walked over to the duffel bags. "What are these?"
"Just some things I thought we'd need for the trip."
"Such as?"
"Extra socks, some soap, some credit chits, some shampoo, some lotion, a couple of guns, a few snacks, a bookscreen, a couple of knives, some clean shirts, some extra pairs of trousers, a deck of cards . . ."
"Credit chits, guns, and knives?" Avon asked.
"I thought they might come in handy," Vila explained.
Dayna rolled her eyes. "What were you planning on doing? Engaging Wrell's people in a poker game and shooting or stabbing them if they didn't pay up?"
"Get rid of them, Vila," Avon instructed.
"Why?"
"Because I've already put credit chits, guns, knives, and false identity cards in the knapsacks."
"Oh." Vila knelt and started rummaging around in a duffel bag, pulling things out. "That it then?"
"No. One extra pair of socks, one extra shirt, one extra trousers, and the soap. The rest stays here," Avon finished.
Dayna had been pawing through the debris and held up the deck of cards. "Marked?" She displayed a pair of dice in the other hand. "Loaded?"
Vila looked affronted. "Of course. A fellow has to make an honest living." He began stuffing the permitted items into one duffel. At least now he wouldn't have to carry so much. He zipped it shut. "Are we ready to go now?"
Avon sat back down in the chair. "Any questions about my instructions, Dayna?"
"No, I've got it all. I'll be there to meet Jenna when she comes in."
"Let's go then. Vila, pick up the bag."
They arrived at the docking bay a few minutes later. Dock workers were loading containers of supplies onto the ship and closing and fastening maintenance hatches on the hull. Wrell stood over to one side with Sub-Commander Chelsin. Wrell's people, seven of them, were checking their weapons and going over the contents of their bags.
Vila had just turned to Avon when he saw him start and then stare intently. Vila followed Avon's eyes with his own. "Oh, no, Avon." Dayna looked up too.
One of Wrell's people was a young woman with long, blond hair. For a moment, she looked like Soolin. Thankfully the spell was broken when she turned around. Her face was very different from Soolin's. Avon forced his eyes around to the others. They all looked very young to Avon. It was disquieting.
Dayna leaned close to his ear, "Avon, I don't see any crew besides the man coming towards us. Nobody's supervising the dockworkers. Is that normal?"
"Vila, get the knapsacks out," Avon said.
Vila dropped the duffel at his feet and knelt to remove the knapsacks. The pilot came over to Avon's group. "That your only bag, sir? Put this tag on it and it'll be taken to your cabin. You can board when you're ready. Your cabin is the third one on the left. Task is already there with his equipment." He went to join Wrell and Chelsin.
Task.
Vila attached the tag to the duffel and stood up, the knapsacks slung over his shoulder. "Well, I guess we'd better go ahead and board, Avon." He moved around to guide Avon's chair.
Avon said to Dayna, "If all goes well, we'll be back here in five days with Orac. If not, you know what you're supposed to do."
She nodded, "Yes. Take care of yourselves. Look after him, Vila." She headed for the observation room to watch the ship depart.
Vila guided the chair up the ramp and found the cabin after nearly propelling Avon's mobile chair into a storage compartment. Avon was glad no-one had seen that. "Third door" and "third cabin" weren't the same thing.
Their cabin was big enough for four, but Task's bulky equipment took up most of one of the bunks. He was stowing a duffel in a cabinet under the bunk when they entered. "Good morning," he greeted. "There's room for your bags in those cabinets under there," he paused as a crew member set Avon and Vila's duffel inside the doorway. "Travel light, don't you?"
"You don't," Vila observed. "What's all that?" He nodded at the laden bunk.
"Some of it is equipment for Avon's therapy, and the rest is medical and other emergency supplies."
Avon got out of the chair and sat on the other lower bunk experimentally, bouncing up and down slightly. Not too bad. He swung his legs up and leaned back against the pillow, his head resting on hands. He looked up at the bottom of the bunk over his. "What is that?"
"You've never been on one of these old military craft before, have you?" Task asked. "That's a safety web. If you things get rough, you pull on these tabs to lower the web and clamp it into place. It keeps you from getting thrown about the cabin."
Vila looked alarmed. "We're not likely to need them, are we?"
"I hope not. It's just standard on these tubs because the gravity compensators aren't very responsive. Our chief problem is going to be what to occupy our time with, aside from Avon's therapy." He grinned. Avon grimaced. "This might help." Task pulled a deck of cards from his pocket. "Six card Lindo, five credit ante, jacks are wild."
The pilot signalled readiness to Chelsin, who turned back to Wrell. "Anything else, sir?"
"If you have to drag Kerr Avon all over that benighted planet to get that computer, do it."
"And if I can only get one of them out, which one do you want, sir?"
"Which one do you think?"
Jenna cut the main engines and sighed with relief. Scrubbing her face with her hands, she spoke into the intercom, "Everybody secure your stations and go see your families. But stay ready. We may have to leave in a hurry."
She released the comm switch and turned to Tarrant, "Sometimes I wish detector shields had never been invented. Life used to be so much easier: you could always pinpoint your opponent."
"I wish we had Scorpio's stardrive," he said. Jenna gave him a quizzical look. He explained, "Neat little box of tricks we picked up on Caspar. Could go up to TD fifteen."
"Whew! That could come in handy. But I'll settle for my own detector shields whenever I can afford them."
"And more guns."
"And bigger engines."
"And a better force wall."
"And bigger cabins."
"And longer bunks."
They grinned at each other.
"We don't want much, do we?" Jenna stood and stretched. "I'd better go let Avalon know she needs to do some serious testing on those weapons. You're free to stay here on the ship or go back to your base quarters, whichever you'd prefer. Just be sure you've got your locator with you. We might need to leave in a hurry, and we might not be able to come back for a while if anybody followed us." She left.
Free to stay on the ship, thought Tarrant. I guess that means I'm hired. He stood up and stretched. It wouldn't take him more than half an hour to clear out his quarters and put his few belongings in his shipboard cabin. After that, he was going to catch a nap. Later he'd find Dayna and see if she could set him up with a practice target and a gun. He'd better start learning how to shoot all over again.
Jenna saw only Dayna when she came down the ramp. I guess Avon's not up to leaving the medical unit yet, she thought with regret. "We had a little trouble," Jenna told the younger woman.
"I'm not surprised. I'll bet I know what it was," Dayna replied.
"You found defective guns?"
Dayna nodded.
Jenna sighed. "I guess I'd better go talk to Avalon."
"Don't bother; she knows," explained Dayna. "Come to the armoury and I'll show you what we've been working on." They walked briskly towards the corridor to the armoury.
"Where are Avon and Vila?" Jenna asked.
"Gone to Gauda Prime, to get Orac."
"What? Is Avon fit enough for that?"
"No, but you know Avon when he wants something."
Jenna gave a brief laugh. "Don't I ever!" Then she asked, "What did you find with the weapons?"
"Too many defectives. Only two or three guns out of each crate are any good—the ones stacked at the top of the crate. Burrs in the focussing chambers, missing reflecting lenses, and hairline fractures in the triggering mechanisms. We can cobble together some usable guns out of the parts, but not enough. What happened to you?"
"We were chased, just out from Xaranar. We recognized the chaser as someone I've been buying weapons from, but he had no reason to come after us except perhaps to conceal his presence on Xaranar. He worked out of Pelson," Jenna explained.
"Not surprising. Those were the first defectives I found." Dayna palmed the armoury door open. "I'll show you the results in Avon's programme. We're still testing shipments, but it looks like you're the specific target." She punched some buttons on the computer console.
Jenna leaned over and studied the display. "Yes, I see. Well, how can I help?"
Dayna smiled sympathetically. "You can get some rest and food. When you're ready, come back here and you can help with the inspections or feed results into the programme."
"Thanks," she smiled and stifled a yawn. "I'll see you later."
"Avalon, Jenna Stannis is here to see you."
"Thank you, Reice. Send her in."
Jenna dropped into a chair without invitation, exhausted. "I know about the defective weapons, Avalon. I've seen Dayna."
Avalon frowned fleetingly. Dayna again. "I appreciate her getting you into the loop so quickly," she said with slight annoyance. "Now we have to determine who is behind the defective guns and contain the problem."
"I already know one person who was behind it. A slimy character named Pendle, or Linson, as Tarrant knew him. He operated out of Pelson, "Jenna explained.
"Past tense?"
"He chased us from Xaranar. We blasted him."
"Is that the end of the problem then?"
"No, he had to be working for someone else. His craft was too expensive to pay for with only gun running profits. Now I have to find out who financed him."
"It's a pity you weren't able to question him," Avalon said with slight criticism.
"Yes, well, we would have enjoyed sweating it out of him, but his blaster bolts persuaded us to go ahead and space the rat."
"I'm sorry. That was rude of me. Have you any suggestions?"
"Dayna's going to keep on checking shipments, and I'll help her after I've had some rest. We can pull Tarrant in too. But I don't want to spend much time here, Avalon. I don't think we were followed, but I'd rather steer clear of Horizon for a while. I've still got to make a living, and I don't want to risk leading anyone to the base," Jenna explained.
"Of course. I'll arrange payment for the last shipment—"Avalon began.
"No," Jenna interrupted. "You don't have to pay for bad goods, Avalon. I'm a businesswoman, and that's just part of doing business." And I don't want to be in your debt, she added to herself.
"If you prefer, Jenna. Let me know if there's anything you need."
"Thanks, I just need my bed now."
