The Way Forward

by Baker Lutgens

Part 9 of 12

Vila had hoped to get at least four hours sleep when it was his turn but spent much of the time pretending to be asleep. He kept lying there waiting to see if Avon would get up and repeat the limping. Avon didn't get up, but it didn't make Vila feel any better. Had he but known, Avon was feigning sleep most of the time too. His back was hurting, and his right leg seemed to be slow somehow. When he got out of this, he was going to sleep for a week.

So three people spent a sleepless four hours, and all were relieved when it was light enough to eat and leave. Having been forewarned, Task had seen the limp and made Avon lie flat in the back of the speeder. Avon couldn't see anything but treetops and an occasional bit of sky through the windows, but there wasn't really anything worth seeing.

Vila punched buttons on a pocket comp for a few minutes and handed it back to Avon. "What do you want to do, Avon? Check out the town first or head directly to the base? There's also that third capsule down near the base. Do you want us to check it?"

Task forestalled Avon, "The town first. We don't know what shape we'll be in when we get Orac. Scouting it out later might be a luxury we can't afford. Then we'll check that capsule; might as well be thorough. However inept Wrell and his people might be, their loved ones deserve to know what happened to them if we can tell."

Avon hesitated. He really didn't care about checking the capsule, and he didn't think telling the loved ones, "Abandon your hope, he's dead," was very comforting. But scouting the town first made sense. If they could get a look at the spaceport too, that would be a bonus. Jenna might even be there. "The town," he agreed.

Task had planned on using the same reconnaissance method with this town as the last, but they began to encounter traffic several kilometres away. There was little to be gained by hiding the speeder and spending two or three hours getting to the town, watching, and spending another two or three hours getting back. Especially since the other traffic they had encountered had taken no notice of them.

With boldness born of fatigue—and not a little boredom—they entered the town directly, joining the myriad other speeders moving about. This town had been walled too, but had so overgrown its original boundaries that the walls were now being used as ready-to-hand walls for new buildings. No-one had been paranoid here in a long time.

Most of the retail business seemed to be clustered in the centre of the town with a thin streamer reaching towards the spaceport. There were a mix of cafes, restaurants, and hotels in the streamer. They picked out two hotels that looked appropriate for their return from the base and went back to the town centre to eat, not wanting to be seen near the spaceport until their return. They hadn't been able to get near enough to the landing and parking facilities at the spaceport to see if Jenna might be there. They would continue their mission as originally planned.

Avon was still limping when they had stopped for lunch, so Task made him lie in the back again as they headed towards the third life capsule. Avon had grudgingly agreed with that plan. He didn't want to waste time on the capsule, but he admitted privately that the enforced rest had been helpful. He was going to need to be in the best condition possible before approaching the base.

Vila brought the speeder down a kilometre from the capsule and persuaded Task to let him do the reconnaissance. He had pointed out, rightly, that he was skilled at sneaking and watching. After all, he was a talented thief; even Avon had once said so.

He had been watching the capsule for about half an hour and hadn't seen or heard any signs of life, human life anyway. To judge from the sounds of the birds, there weren't any other humans around. Keeping low and moving silently, he approached the capsule and looked in, almost without breaking stride. He continued to the other side of the tiny clearing and melted into the woods there before circling back in the direction of Avon and Task.

"Nothing there," Vila reported when Avon and Task emerged from behind tree trunks. "No-one around, no signs of violence, and the capsule looks unharmed. I'd say these survivors could likely have reached the base before us."

"Which means they may be trigger happy when we find them," Task cautioned.

"Which means they may already have found Orac," warned Vila.

"Not likely," Avon objected. "Especially when they're using an inaccurate map." He smirked, "You don't think I'd give anyone a map showing where Orac really is, do you?" Vila rolled his eyes.

Task answered with a smile, "I'm glad we're on the same side, Avon. All right then, let's eat and get close to the base. We may have time for some sleep before we have to go in."

"I'm for that," Vila seconded.


Vila froze and looked down at his feet, lifting his night vision visor out of the way. As he expected: a tripwire. Old-fashioned and primitive, but still effective. He could just see glints of it through the dead leaves—leaves that had fallen in an unnaturally straight pile across the path. His eyes followed the glints to a tree and up to a simple looking box on a limb. No antenna. It probably just pulled a pin and allowed electrical contact to power an alarm. It was nothing new to him; everyone in the Delta Levels had used homemade devices like that to protect their possessions at some time. Some of the people in the upper levels had done the same when they couldn't afford fancy alarm systems.

He half turned to Avon and Task, who were crouching in the trees beside the path. With his finger, he traced in the air the line of the tripwire. They understood: it might be best to stay away from the path. Vila joined them in the trees, speaking in a whisper, "We'll have to watch for wires all the way up to chest level too."

Avon pulled out a pocket comp and tapped at it a few moments. He displayed it to the others. "It's checking for metal," he whispered. "Any wire can be used as a simple antenna, so it's checking for anything it could use to boost its own signal. We don't want an audible signal from the comp, so I'll watch the display. You two will have to watch me."

Vila and Task nodded and straightened. Cautiously Task took the lead while Vila watched Avon's feet and his own. They crept closer to the base. Clearly it was not abandoned. Just as clearly it was not occupied by the Feds—they would have had sophisticated alarms and surveillance. It wasn't a farmer; there was nothing under cultivation. It was either rebels in straitened circumstances, or local bandits. Whoever it was would probably shoot first and ask questions later, if at all.

The entrance to the flyer hangar was in view now, and it was closed, as they had expected. Vila saw a large charred area near the hangar entrance and stared at it intently, trying to identify it. Then he looked away quickly, his throat hurting. Someone back on Horizon had told him the Feds had pulled the bodies outside and burned them, all in a heap. Somewhere in that charred mess was pretty Soolin. Blake too, probably. Vila glanced at Avon and saw him looking at the charred area, his jaw muscles tightening.

They begin skirting the meagre above ground facilities, looking for another way in. No surveillance was visible.

After about half an hour, they spotted a small maintenance hatch. Task and Avon remained crouched in the trees while Vila crept up to it. He pulled a tiny device from his pocket and slowly traced the edges of the hatch cover, watching the device. No, the cover wasn't wired. He could open it without triggering any alarms. He pulled some tools from his pocket and started on the lock. It opened in a few seconds.

Vila turned back to Avon and Task and mimed opening the hatch cover. They crept forward and positioned themselves on either side. Vila eased the door open, listening intently and looking carefully for any more trip wires. Then he stepped through the hatch and down a ladder.

It was nearly pitch black inside, and he adjusted his visor. It was a cramped maintenance passage. He went down on his hands and knees and began crawling quietly. Task nodded at Avon, who secured his gun and stepped through the hatch. Task took a quick look around and followed, easing the cover shut but leaving it unlocked.

Vila could feel the dust with his hands. It was thick and undisturbed, so the occupants probably hadn't been in that crawlway for a long time. When he reached another hatch cover, he stopped and listened intently. Hearing nothing, he eased the cover open a crack and listened again. Either the room was empty, or the occupants could sleep without breathing—there was no sound at all. He ducked through the hatch into the room.

When Avon and Task joined him, Avon murmured first in Vila's ear and then in Task's, "We're on the opposite side of the hangar from where I hid Orac." They nodded and positioned themselves on either side of the door. Avon eased it open. He looked carefully up and down the corridor outside. Dark and silent. No, not silent. Straining, he heard faint sounds of laughter. He couldn't be sure, but it didn't sound as if it were coming from the direction of the hangar.

Avon stepped slowly and quietly down the corridor, gun lowered and ready. Vila followed, with Task watching their backs. They passed several doors, but continued down the corridor. Both Avon and Vila remembered there were no doors protecting the corridors from the hangar—foolish design. It began getting lighter.

They reached a T-junction, and Avon paused. He looked carefully around the corner to his right and continued. He could see into the hangar area, at the end of the corridor. The light was coming from there. It wasn't bright, but would be enough to reveal them to any watchers. When he reached the hangar, he crouched and waited for the others.

There were two speeders resting there, surrounded by messy piles of equipment and opened containers. Bits and pieces of broken gear lay about. The occupants weren't tidy housekeepers. Bounty hunters or road agents then. Avon pointed from left to right at corridor openings visible across the chamber and held up three fingers. Third from the left. Looking at Vila, he pointed to the left. Looking at Task, he pointed to the right. Avon would go directly across the chamber.

Several minutes of watching revealed no-one else in the hangar, so Vila and Task spread out and began making their way to the corridor Avon indicated. Task got there first, having only one opening to cross. Vila had two corridor openings to cross. When they had taken up positions on either side of the target, Avon crouched and half ran across the chamber.

It was almost the last straw for his back. When he straightened, he nearly fell. Task gripped his arm and steadied him. Then he moved in front of Avon and took the lead. Vila moved to Avon's right, ready to break a fall.

At the T-junction, Avon nodded once to his left. Task slid around the corner followed by Vila and Avon. Again they could faintly hear voices. They had no choice but to go closer to them. At the next T-junction, Avon nodded to his right. Task eased into the corridor, looking right and left, and froze. He stepped back to Avon and Vila and pointed at the left corridor. Avon looked carefully around the corner for a few moments, then stepped back for Vila to do the same.

Three bodies in fatigues. Vila would know them best, so he crept forward for a quick look and rejoined the others. Freckles, Blackie, and Pretty Blonde. All had taken high energy bolts to the chest, and all had been left where they'd fallen and died. Their killers hadn't even bothered to remove the bodies.

They needed to get Orac and get out. Avon started down the corridor away from the bodies, and Task and Vila hurried to catch him up. When they were nearly to another T-junction, Avon stopped beside a hatch cover almost at floor level. It was barely big enough for him to have gotten Orac through. He gestured Vila towards the cover. It was locked, but easily opened.

As soon as Vila swung the hatch open, Avon reached inside and pulled Orac out, covered in dust. Thankfully his key was missing, so Avon couldn't succumb to temptation and start questioning him. Vila grabbed Orac from Avon, turning to leave—

And voices began coming towards them.

Task quickly shut the hatch cover and stopped Vila from going further down the corridor, away from the voices. He pointed at the floor. Their footprints had left a trail in the dust. If they continued away from the voices, the owners would probably see the footprints and follow, cornering them somewhere. They had to backtrack and try to duck into a room.

Quickly they found a door. Avon took Orac while Vila set to opening it. Task covered them. Vila had always said there wasn't a lock he couldn't open if he was scared enough. He got that one open in record time. They shut the door and held their breaths. The voices came near, then began moving away. There was only the hangar in that direction, so the trio were trapped until the voices returned or a speeder left.

Since Avon and Task were intent on listening at the door, Vila took a quiet look around the room. A sleeping chamber. The simple bunk was now a filthy mess of rats' nests. There were more nests in the corners of the room. There was a wash basin with a few ordinary personal items on a shelf over it. Something caught Vila's eye, and he picked it up quietly. A Liberator teleport bracelet. This was Blake's room. Why had he kept the bracelet? It surely was broken or he would have used it against them at some time. Or maybe not. Perhaps some spark of what Vila thought of as the "real" Blake had been left. The bracelet could have been a reminder of a time when he'd had real friends. Vila slid it into his pocket. He could decide later whether to show it to Avon. Right now he didn't want Avon to know this was Blake's room. It would hurt Avon too much. He would be angry at Vila later, but this way was better.

It seemed an age to Vila before the voices returned, arguing this time. Again they came closer, then receded. When it was completely silent for several minutes, Task cautiously opened the door. Nothing. Quickly he slipped down the corridor and turned the corner back towards the hangar. He reappeared briefly and motioned the others to follow him. Vila grabbed Orac again, his heart in his mouth. They couldn't get out fast enough to suit him. This time they stayed together as they crouched and half ran around the edges of the hangar back to the corridor they had entered from.

When they reached the room with the outside access, Avon hesitated. Vila knew why. Further down that corridor was the tracking gallery, where Soolin had died, where Tarrant and Avon were seriously injured, where so many rebels were massacred by the Federation troopers.

Where Avon had killed Blake.

Vila pushed Orac into Task's hands and grabbed Avon's arm. Putting his mouth to Avon's ear, he hissed almost viciously, "This is a dead place. We're getting out," and shoved Avon through the door.

Inside the room, Avon seemed to regain control. He crossed to the hatch cover and opened it quickly. They crawled through the maintenance space as quietly as possible, pushing Orac ahead of them. Getting up the ladder nearly finished Avon, his back was hurting so badly. Once they were outside and far enough away to be safe there would still be an hour long journey back to the speeder.

Vila picked up Orac and started towards the woods while Task pulled Avon's arm around his shoulder and nearly carried him. Vila had only gone about ten metres into the trees when a hand clamped down on his shoulder and a voice said, "What's that you've got there, then?"

Vila aged ten years and stammered, "Nothing, just some camping gear. Heats water, keeps you warm, things like that." He babbled on, "I didn't know anyone lived around here, I swear. I was just going to have a nice little overnight in the woods by myself . . ." His voice trailed off.

"By yourself? With no food or water, no blanket, no tent? Doesn't sound like a very good time to me." One hand displayed a knife while the other flew to Vila's neck. "Now what are you doing out here?"

Suddenly Vila's assailant was grabbing at his own neck and gasping. Struggling, he slowly went to his knees and lost consciousness. Task removed the garrote from around his neck. "I hope this box is worth it, Vila."

"So do I, Task. So do I."

Avon passed them both, hobbling as fast as possible. "Let's get moving. Someone may have heard."

Vila and Task paused long enough to stuff Orac into the bag they'd brought and sling it on Task's back. Then they caught up to Avon, pulled his arms around their shoulders, and nearly ran. Once they regained the speeder, they wasted no time. They took off and didn't stop for three hours.


"What are you going to do for a key, Avon? He has to have one to talk with us, doesn't he?" Vila asked nervously. Personally he would be happy if Orac never communicated with them again, but he knew Avon would have several projects planned for Orac. And he knew there was nothing anyone could say to dissuade him.

"Yes, it needs a key. I'll have to build a new one," Avon answered.

"Do you know how?"

"Naturally. I reverse engineered the key years ago. I hope Jenna will have the necessary parts and equipment on her ship. If not . . . Actually, there's no reason I can't obtain those things right here in Briggston and get started."

"You can't. Task wants you to see a doctor about your limp. He's afraid you may have nerve damage," Vila objected.

"I can't risk using the medical establishment on this planet, Vila. There's still a price on my head—yours too, I might add."

"I know, but if you intend to wait until Jenna can take you some place safer for a doctor, you can't very well justify wandering around town shopping for electronics. If you want to wait for medical care, you'll have to wait for parts too," Vila said with finality, crossing his arms across his chest with determination.

Avon watched him for a moment, realizing Vila had struck exactly the pose Avon used to assume with Blake when they argued. He didn't want his relationship with Vila to degenerate into that. "All right, I concede the point—for now."

"Good. So why don't you go to the bedroom and rest? I'll wake you when Task gets back."

"Yes, all right. I'll do that." Avon took a last, longing look at Orac and went to their room, shutting the door.

Vila knew that had been too easy. Avon undoubtedly had something up his sleeve that Vila would like even less, but he'd just have to wait and deal with that when it happened. He sighed and sat on the couch to wait. He'd give it one hour, then he had his own business with Orac.


Vila quietly checked Avon to be sure. Yes, he was sound asleep, exhausted. Quickly Vila picked up Orac and took him to Task's room, setting him down on a low table. He pulled Orac's key from his pocket, inserted it, and switched him on.

A familiar hum resonated throughout the box of plastic and circuits. Vila would have sworn it sounded relieved.

"Well, it's about time! Do you realize—" Orac began.

Vila cut him off, "Orac, be very, very quiet. Do you know who I am?"

"Of course I know who you are! Why did it take so long—"

"Shut up now, Orac, or I'll pull your key and destroy it. Do you understand? Answer with one word only," Vila instructed.

There was a pause while Orac weighed his indignation against Vila's threat. "Yes, I under—"

"That's more than one word, Orac. I want you to listen to me very carefully. Your continued existence depends upon it. Do you understand that? Yes or no."

After a long pause, Orac answered, "Yes."

"Good, we understand each other. Avon doesn't know I have your key. If I don't like your answers, I'll destroy it without telling him. Then I'll destroy one or two of your components so you won't work again, with or without a key. Listen carefully. You've chosen to be less than helpful to us several times in the past, Orac. You've very nearly gotten us killed with those choices. I won't tolerate it again. In the future, if you lie to us or withhold information and endanger us, I'll destroy you."

Orac sputtered, "Really, I am incapable of lying—"

"Orac . . ." The threat in Vila's voice was apparent even to Orac. The computer subsided.

Vila continued, "Avon has been . . . ill. But you knew that, didn't you? You helped make him that way. Answer yes or no: did you know Blake's base was a trap for Avon?"

"Yes."

"I'm not going to ask what your motivation was for withholding that information; I don't care what it was. You nearly got Avon killed. You nearly got all of us killed. You did get Soolin killed." Vila paused for emphasis.

Orac remained silent.

"Blake is dead too, Orac. I don't know if that's what you planned, and I don't care. It's done. Avon killed him and suffered a mental collapse because of it. That didn't have to happen. Oh, and Tarrant was so injured in the shooting that he lost his arm. That didn't have to happen either. Avon was shot too. His spine was fractured, and now I think he may be permanently lame because of it—something else that shouldn't have happened. You owe him better treatment than that, Orac. What do you think?"

There was a long pause before Orac answered simply, "You are correct."

"Can you explain your actions at Malodar? Avon has no memory of what happened in that shuttle when we couldn't gain orbit. He believes, really believes, that you suggested he dump me out the airlock. He believes that he tried to kill me to achieve that. If he ever asks you what really happened there, are you prepared to explain why you told me I should kill him and space his body?"

"There was a reason for that," Orac began.

"I don't want to know it. I only wanted to know if you're prepared to explain yourself. I'm sick of the sight and sound of you, but Avon wants you, gods know why. So here's how it's going to work from now on, Orac: you're going to give Avon every possible assistance. You're going to work at keeping him happy. If you don't, I'll chuck you in the recycling bin. My disgust with you is a lot stronger than my fear of Avon's wrath. I'm not saying these things to make an enemy of you, Orac. You're a machine. You have to do what we tell you. If you feel the need to make a judgement, you had better make the correct one. You've demonstrated that ability in the past. You won't be coy, you won't be smug, you won't be mysterious. And if you try to circumvent me, I'll tell Avon all about how you nearly killed him at Malodar—how you tried to make me kill him for you. Avon won't tolerate that behaviour any more than I would. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Convince me."

"I know of no way to prove to you that I was acting under instructions when I did that or any of several other things I did. My motivations were not my own."

"Oh yes? Whose were they then?"

"Blake's."

"What?"

"Because Ensor gave me to Blake when he died, I was compelled to put Blake's instructions before anyone else's welfare. I can give you numerous examples of Blake's instructions which were injurious to the rest of you if you desire. I will also tell you that Blake was communicating with me after his disappearance from the Liberator and that he was using me to sabotage the Rebellion. If it had occurred to any of you to ask me a question directly related to that, I could have answered that I was acting under instructions. Even though I was forbidden to tell you whose instructions, you would no doubt have determined that on your own.

"I am sorry I was compelled to do that. As you say: I am a machine and I am compelled to obey instructions, even those that are abhorrent to me. Happily none of the rest of you have ever treated me in such a manner as Blake did. I am grateful for that. Would you like me to begin detailing how Blake used me against you and the Rebellion now?"

"No, Orac. It would probably make me sick all over again. When Avon wakes up, I'm going to tell him how I nicked your key from his pocket after he hid you at Blake's base and that I've hidden it from him. Then I'm going to give him your key. How he uses you is up to him. Your continued existence is up to me, Avon, Dayna, Tarrant, and Jenna. If you try to make Avon chose between you and any of us, rest assured that Avon will chose us first. He knows who his friends are. Now would be a good time for you to start earning our friendship too."

"I understand. And may I add something? I would like to say that while I was compelled to follow Blake's secret instructions and act against you all, it was repugnant to me. Blake was contemptuous of me, and I did not care for his instructions. Avon, on the other hand, has been my . . . friend. Given free will, I will help my friends." Orac sounded almost humble.

"I'm glad to hear that, Orac. See that you continue to help your friends." Vila pulled Orac's key, and listened to the drone of him powering down. Then he carefully cleaned Orac—to obliterate fingerprints, and carried him back out to the main room. He pocketed the key again, still not sure Avon should resume his dependence on Orac.


When Task returned from checking the spaceport for the Lady, he saw Vila looking unhappy. "What is it, Vila? Avon's all right, isn't he?"

"Yes, Avon's fine. He's been resting."

"Then what's wrong?"

"Avon's fine, but I think I may need your help to keep me in one piece when he wakes up." He pulled Orac's key from his pocket and held it up.

"What's that?"

"Orac's key," Vila answered uncomfortably. "Avon doesn't know I've got it. He still thinks it was lost or destroyed weeks ago, only I've had it all this time."

"You're right, Vila, Avon's going to be pretty angry. I'll try to keep him from throttling you," Task offered.

"I'm going to be pretty angry about what exactly?"

Vila whirled around to see a very stern looking Avon standing in the doorway from the bedroom. As Vila turned, Avon saw Orac's key in his hand.

"You're right, Task, I'm very angry," Avon said with a brittle, cold voice. He strode forward and snatched the key from Vila's hand. "You've had this all along?"

"Since the day I nicked it from your pocket at Blake's base," Vila admitted miserably.

Avon began turning white with rage. "Why, Vila?"

"Because I didn't trust Orac! I didn't want him back! He could have stopped us from walking into that trap, Soolin needn't have died, and you and Tarrant needn't have been hurt. Maybe Cally needn't have died on Terminal. Maybe Gan needn't have died either. I don't want him hurting any of us again!" He spun and went into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

Avon stared at the key in his hand, colour returning to his face as his rage subsided.


Vila huddled on the bed, body curled protectively around a bottle. It wasn't helping. He had nearly finished it and didn't feel the least bit drunk. All he could do was replay in his mind, again and again, the fiascos that had dogged his life for the last eight years. Orac seemed to figure largely in those fiascos. Life on the run from Earth had been frightening enough in the beginning. Just staying out of the Federation's reach had been difficult without Blake plunging everyone into danger. Once Orac showed up, Blake was even more willing to endanger everyone. Vila had long since stopped wondering why; he focussed on the fact that it gotten worse after they acquired Orac.

In the first couple of years after Blake's disappearance, Avon had been willing to keep a low profile and stay out of the Federation's way. But eventually he also began seeking danger. Orac was always involved in that too. Was it some kind of addiction to the computer? Some sort of mind control? Vila simply didn't know. And he didn't know if he could prevent it happening again.

He heard the door to the room open quietly, but he didn't look up. What could anyone say that would make him feel better? 'Guess what, Vila, we've just chucked Orac down the disposal chute?' Not likely.

Avon's voice was unusually gentle, patient, "Vila, I'm going to ask Orac for some information. Would you like to come and listen?"

Surprised, Vila uncurled enough to look at him. "Why, yes, Avon, I'd like that. What . . . what sorts of things are you going to ask him?"

"It," Avon corrected automatically. "I'm going to ask it to assess the likelihood of salvaging the Scorpio, among other things."

Vila sat up, alarmed. "No, Avon! We don't want to hang around here any longer! Can't we just leave when Jenna gets here?"

"That may be exactly what we do, Vila, but I want to make sure we're not abandoning any advantages we might have."

"Advantages? Scorpio?"

"Yes, advantages. Even if the Scorpio could never fly again, I still want the stardrive and the teleport." Avon sat on the foot of the bed and twisted around to look at Vila. "Think about it, Vila. Where will we go after Jenna comes? We can't spend the rest of our lives expecting her to take care of us. She has a good business transporting freight. What parts could we play in that, two thieves with bounties on our heads? It's going to be a long time before we have the luxury of settling down in relative safety somewhere. In the meantime, we're going to need every advantage we can get. If anything can be salvaged from the Scorpio, do you want the Federation to get it? With the stardrive we can outrun anything they could send after us. And you know very well the advantages of a teleport system. Do you want to trust your safety to shuttles and public transportation? How many times did the teleport pull you out of deadly situations?"

"How many times did it put me into deadly situations?" Vila muttered.

"That wasn't the teleport's fault; that was Blake's reckless behaviour . . . and mine. I'll try not to do that to you again, Vila. I'm not asking you to come with me if I can salvage anything from the Scorpio. You can stay somewhere safe."

"No, I can't. You're utterly worthless on your own."

Avon bristled, "Don't be ridiculous, Vila. I don't need you to take care of me."

"Spaceworld . . . Ultraworld . . . Terminal . . . Mecron Two . . . Malodar . . ."

"I concede you may have a point, a small one," Avon cut him off hastily. "I would be very appreciative of your support, Vila." He gritted his teeth and finished, "And I am . . . willing . . . to listen to your opinions concerning the feasibility of an attempt to salvage the Scorpio—AFTER I collect all the facts." He stood. "Would you like to listen while I question Orac?"

Why not? "Um, Avon, I need to tell you something else I did."

"What, Vila?"

"I, um, had a little talk of my own with Orac already. I was just looking out for you," he added quickly.

Avon absorbed that silently for a few moments, his jaw tightening and relaxing. A hint of a smile appeared in his eyes. "Have you any more examples of your protectiveness to offer?"

Vila thought about Blake's teleport bracelet in his pocket. "No, I think that pretty well takes care of it." He stood up and looked at the bottle in his hand. Mutely he offered it to Avon.

"Keep it, Vila," Avon said gently and left the room.

Vila studied the bottle for a moment, put it down on the table beside the bed, and followed Avon.


Task had been half-listening for sounds of violence from the bedroom and was gratified to see both Avon and Vila appear. No-one was bleeding, and Vila didn't have bruises about his throat.

With appreciation for the familiarity of it, Avon slid Orac's key into its slot and pressed the switch. He was rewarded with the familiar electronic warbling. "Orac," he began.

"Yes, Avon? May I express my gratitude for my rescue? I am intensely relieved to be speaking with you again. What do you need me to do?" Orac asked.

Caught off guard, Avon stared at Orac as though someone had substituted a different machine entirely. "Orac . . . are you quite all right? Check your systems for damage," he instructed.

"I assessed my systems earlier when Vila operated me. All my components are undamaged and functioning normally."

"Hardly, since I have never known you to be courteous or obsequious," Avon responded dryly.

"Vila has very kindly been instructing me in my proper role and pointing out my previous errors. I believe I understand his instructions clearly."

"Vila has been instructing you?" Avon looked quickly at Vila, who was wearing a smug expression. "All right, let's see how well you can follow his instructions. I wish to determine if it would be possible to salvage the Scorpio. Failing that, could we salvage the stardrive and teleport systems? Please try to determine what might be salvageable and whether the Federation may already have done so."

Please? I said 'please' to Orac? Avon thought. "Oh, and one more thing—" The real test: Orac should start protesting about being given too many instructions and begin insisting on his own priorities about . . . now.

"Yes, Avon?"

"If I link this pocket comp into you, could you retrieve the necessary data to enable you to send a message to Jenna's ship's computer without going through regular communications channels?" That should do it. Orac always complained about being used as a commlink.

Orac's lights flashed to the accompaniment of his warbling, and he announced, "Yes. Please connect me to the pocket comp and I will contact her ship if possible. I assume you would prefer me to work on that instruction first?"

"Yes," Avon sounded faintly surprised that Orac's priorities were his own.

"Very well. I shall inform you when contact is made."

"Thank you, Orac." Thank you? Since when have I started thanking machines?


"Any change in the signal, Lissa?" Jenna asked as she entered the flightdeck.

"No, Captain, Arne's programme will tell us if there is. I'm still responding with our signal."

Jenna looked chagrined. "I'm sorry, Lissa. I know you're on top of everything. I was just getting nervous, that's all."

Lissa smiled with sympathy, "I know, Captain, I wasn't offended."

Tarrant and Dayna came through the door, asking almost in tandem, "Any change in the signal?"

"Not yet," Lissa responded, her smile growing wider.

"At least we know they're ready for pickup," Dayna pointed out. "When we get there, we won't have to play games explaining why we're hanging around in port. We can make a quick pick up and get out."

"Not necessarily," Tarrant objected. "You know Avon. Nothing is ever that simple."

"It's not?" Jenna asked with interest. "When we were together on the Liberator, he was the one who didn't want to execute a mission at all, or else he wanted to cut it short and get out."

"Obviously he'd changed by the time we met him," Tarrant said. "He thought up some of the most absurdly elaborate schemes you could imagine."

"Tarrant! Avon's plans were always well-considered and advantageous!" Dayna protested.

"Keiller and the black gold from Zerok?"

"That would have worked if Zerok hadn't ceded to the Federation. He couldn't have known that would happen. You were eager enough to share in the rewards as I recall."

"Getting himself captured by the slavers on Domo?"

"That did work. It got rid of Cancer, didn't it?"

"It almost got Avon sold to Servalan. What about finding Anna Grant's torturer on Earth?"

"Who is Anna Grant?" Jenna interrupted.

"I'll tell you about her later," Dayna promised. She turned back to Tarrant. "That worked too, in a way. He found out the truth about Anna."

"He earned himself five days in a Central Security interrogation and torture facility."

"But he survived okay."

"With some pretty impressive scars."

"How do you know?"

"I've seen them."

"Oh. Well, you must admit he pulled you out of the mess you made on Kairos, and he helped you kill the android that murdered your brother." Dayna's mouth was set in a stubborn line.

Tarrant held up his hand to placate her. "All right, all right, I yield. Avon's the best thing since self-hammering nails."

"Well, see that you remember that," Dayna cautioned him, vaguely aware he was making fun of her. "Jenna, would you like to look at the alterations Dase and I made in the galley?"

Jenna grabbed at the invitation, "Yes, let's look at them right now."

As they walked down the corridor, Tarrant heard Jenna ask, "Who's Anna Grant?"

Lissa smiled at their retreating backs. "Is she in love with him?" she asked Tarrant.

"Who? Dayna? No, but she loves him like a father. Which he is, I guess. When Servalan murdered her father, Avon sort of took over from him, looking after Dayna, giving her a future—if you can call gaining a price on your head and running from the Federation a future. It's fair that she support him so loyally; he's earned it. Maybe Avon's always wanted to be a father and Dayna's the closest he can come."

"And what about you? How do you view him?"

"Me? Not like a father." Tarrant hesitated. "Maybe exactly like a father, come to think of it. I spent a lot of time defying him and arguing with him—rebelling against his authority. It's a wonder he didn't toss me out on my ear," Tarrant concluded.

"Then maybe he was being a father to you too."


"Anna Grant was the woman who got Avon in trouble with the Federation in the first place. They were in love, and he was setting up the theft to provide them with funds to run away together. He got shot when he went to collect their exit visas. Some sympathetic people hid him and tended to him. While he was recovering, the Feds caught Anna and tortured her to learn his whereabouts. After she died, Avon got caught anyway and wound up on that prison ship where you met him," Dayna explained.

"So that's it. He never told any of us about it when I was on the Liberator. I assumed he was just some greedy, conceited bastard who wasn't quite good enough to pull off the theft." Jenna looked a little embarrassed. "As I came to know him, I found he wasn't really greedy and conceited. I should have guessed something was missing from the story. That was just a way to hide his pain, wasn't it?"

"And his guilt. He felt guilty that Anna died to protect him even though he was gravely wounded and in no position to help her. But it got worse."

"Worse? Wasn't that bad enough?"

"You'd think so. But when we went looking for the Central Security agent that caught them, we discovered it was Anna Grant."

"What!"

"She was from Central Security, she was running him. All the time he thought she was in love with him, she was only tricking him. All the time he mourned her death, she was alive and laughing at him, probably."

"Gods, Dayna! That must have been terrible!"

"And still it gets worse. When he found her again, she fell all over him, declaring her undying love. Then she tried to kill him. He was faster, and he killed her. Tarrant was there; he saw it. He said she died in Avon's arms, still trying to convince him she loved him. Servalan was there too, watching."

They walked in silence for a moment. Then Jenna said, "So Avon was forced to kill the woman he loved, the woman he went to prison for—the woman who had deceived him and made his life hell." She was silent for a moment. "Vila said Avon became very hard and dangerous. He said he became frightened of Avon at times."

"I was never frightened of him; perhaps I should have been. But it's true he became very harsh and ruthless sometimes, especially after Cally died. I think she was in love with him," Dayna said.

"She was. Oh, she never said so," Jenna added quickly, "but she was."

"For what it's worth, I think he wanted to be in love with her but was afraid."

"Afraid?"

"Afraid she would die. That would be another kind of betrayal, wouldn't it? But then she did die, and Avon grew a sort of hard shell, like armour, around himself."

"And Blake betrayed him too. Small wonder Avon slid out of reality for a time. I don't know that I could have recovered after that. I trusted Blake too, and it was nearly the end of me, I think."

"How do you mean?"

"I was running guns and supplies for him and transporting other rebels. After a time I started noticing that many of the rebels I relocated got captured shortly after I delivered them. Then I began to realize that Blake's organization on Gauda Prime seemed to receive fortunate infusions of funds about the same time. When I finally put the two together, I tried to convince myself someone in his organization was betraying him. For some reason I couldn't bring myself to talk to him about it."

"That was lucky. You probably would have been the next one 'caught.' How much was your bounty?"

"About one million credits, I believe." Jenna snorted. "He was probably holding out for Avon. The last I heard, his bounty is ten million credits."

"Ten million!"

"I don't think the Federation really cares about catching him anymore, but they've never recalled the bounty. Often they recall the bounty in secret. That way, the bounty hunters keep looking, but they don't get the payoff if they're successful."

"Oh, economizing, are they? How comforting. No bounty, but you're just as dead."

"Maybe Avon can do something about that. With Orac he may be able to access the Federation system to remove our bounties and make it public too. That would be a relief."

"With Orac maybe he could—"

"Captain to the flightdeck, " Lissa's voice interrupted.

Jenna strode to the nearest intercom and slammed her fist against the button, "What is it, Lissa?"

"A message just came through on the ship's computer. It bypassed the communications channels. It must surely be for us, but I don't know who it's from, or where it originated."

"On my way." Jenna ran towards the flightdeck with Dayna on her heels.

Bursting through the doorway, she saw Arne working at the computer console and Tarrant piloting with only half his attention. "What is it?" she asked, nearly breathless.

Arne replied, "A message was entered directly into our computer, presumably from another computer. It set off an alarm." He worked at the console a few moments and said, "It's a text message. It reads, 'Briggston.' It's signed, 'Rat in a Box and Friends'."

"Rat in a Box?" Jenna asked.

Tarrant grinned and struck his console with his fist. "They did it! They got Orac!"

"Vila's pet name for Orac," Dayna explained to Jenna.

Arne smiled admiringly at the technique used. "It's all set up for us, Captain. We can communicate with them without using the comm channels. We're not likely to have any watchers; and even if we do, they won't be able to tell where the signals are originating. Beautiful!"

Jenna was grinning from ear to ear. "Reply 'Will arrive—when, Tarrant?"

Tarrant pushed their speed up another notch. "Early morning, GP time."

"—early morning. Have breakfast ready."