The Way Forward

by Baker Lutgens

Part 11 of 12

Avon was tucking into a large breakfast from the hotel buffet with Dase. "How did you come to work for Jenna?" he asked.

"I met her a couple of years ago through Avalon's group." She responded to Avon's sharp look, "Oh, I'm not a rebel—a sympathizer, but not a rebel. When my father defected, I had to get out of the Federation pretty smartly."

"Whom were you working for?"

"The Federation."

Avon looked up again quickly.

"Not officially," she smiled. "I was just about to graduate from the Federation Space Academy. My field was drive engineering and maintenance."

"Seems odd that you would be a Federationist when your father was a rebel."

"He wasn't. And the FSA was a good way to get an education; it was expected of me. No, my father was never a rebel, not even a sympathizer. He just suddenly found himself in need of a job outside the Federation's reach. You've met him: General Wrell."

General Wrell? "Yes, I've met him." Avon was saved from searching for insincere compliments by the arrival of Tarrant and Task.

"Good morning, Mister Dastor, Wendy," Task greeted. "What's the breakfast like here?"

"The buffet's very good," Dase/Wendy answered. "I don't think anything's reconstituted although I can't imagine where they could be getting the ingredients from."

Avon/Dastor suggested, "Probably brought in flash frozen. I don't think there is enough large-scale farming left on Gauda Prime to be a reliable resource. Why don't you enjoy the buffet? Charge it to the room."

Tarrant nudged Task. "Let's go, Dent. You hold the plates, and I'll fill them up." They headed towards the buffet. Avon watched Tarrant a little anxiously.

"He does okay," Dase said.

"What?"

"Tarrant. He gets along very well with one arm."

"I don't know what you mean."

Dase smiled at him indulgently. "Yes, you do. He's learned to apply his brain to a task before starting it."

"He never did before."

"Maybe he's growing up. Jenna said he had a pretty nasty attitude before he reported to the ship. I was expecting a snarling, sneering jerk when I met him, but he was charming and personable. We've all enjoyed spacing with him. Good dancer too," she added to mystify Avon.

Tarrant and Task returned, setting down overflowing plates. Tarrant inhaled appreciatively, "Smells wonderful." He pulled his napkin down into his lap and up righted his coffee cup in the universal signal.

"You keep eating like that, and we'll have to squash you with the flightdeck door to get you skinny again," Dase observed. "Here, the sausage really can't be fork cut." She reached over and quickly cut up his sausage. "Want jam on your rolls?"

"Yes, thank you." Tarrant looked around and caught the eye of a waiter. "Anyone else need more coffee?" he asked around the table.

Avon was impressed with the easy way Tarrant had accepted Dase's assistance. He would have bet the young man's pride wouldn't have allowed it, and he would have been right, at one time. But Tarrant had been surprising him since their encounter on the Lady the day before. He had easily forgiven Avon's role in his maiming, something Avon couldn't do yet. Avon kept struggling with wondering when he should offer assistance and how he should do it. Dase had simply done it.

"Eat up, boys, I'm anxious to get going," Dase urged.

"Hang on, I've barely started," Tarrant protested.

"Sorry."

Task asked, "What are Captain Stannis' plans after we get off Gauda Prime, Dase?"

"The original plan, before we knew you had come here, was to get Avon, Vila, and the Brin and Devril families off Horizon. Being chased from Xaranar convinced us the base might soon be compromised. Then Dayna told Cap about your coming here and that Avon wasn't very confident about the mission personnel. Cap decided the mission might have been compromised. She said Tarrant was trying to figure out how to come for you by himself. I think he planned on working his passage here and mounting a one man rescue mission." Tarrant's face reddened, and he fixed his eyes on his plate.

"Cap decided to leave the families in place a little longer and come here. But the Devrils and the Brins wanted out right away, and I saw some suspicious dockworkers. We realized the base was probably compromised already. We were going to take the families directly to UP Teal, then find you fellas. If the recovery ship had made it back to Horizon, we would have picked you up there. If not, we would have found you here.

"But once we got everyone on the ship, Cap got nervous. She felt we'd be too far away if you needed help and we were in the Teal system. So we changed course for Lylas, where we picked up a cover cargo for Gauda Prime. And here we are. Our next stop is UP Teal, unless you need to get to medical treatment sooner, Avon."

"I'm fine."

"Uh-huh. Well, I hope between you, Vila, Dayna, and Task, two of you are good at communications and navigation. I have a feeling the Devrils and the Brins are going to opt to stay in UP Teal."

"As they should," Avon said. "Tracking down Jenna's mysterious enemy will get too dangerous for families, particularly the children."

"And you have other activities planned as well, don't you, Avon?" Tarrant said with certainty.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, come on, Avon, I know you. You're not going to retire to a lazy little backwater and eke out a living doing computer programming. Not when you have Orac and Vila to help you. You couldn't stand the boredom."

Using his newly acquired peacemaking skills, Task interrupted the threatened argument. "I can help with communications. After you've had to take over for adolescent officers who've gotten themselves killed or otherwise put out of action—the Academy apparently doesn't teach them how to duck—you get very good with communications. No offense meant, Tarrant."

"None taken. The FSA doesn't teach you to duck. It's something you learn on the job."


Avon leaned back against the flyer beside Tarrant. They were waiting for their "escort" and Task, who the hotel management was convinced was a bodyguard hired by Dase's company to make sure their potential business partners didn't get waylaid by some unemployed bounty hunters. Both had enjoyed playing their roles. Dase, tottering around in absurdly high heels and a very short skirt, had centred her attentions on Avon whenever other people were around, convincing management that Avon was the money man. Task had enjoyed darting his eyes about and generally looking dangerous, his hand frequently hovering near a suspicious bulge under his jacket. Tarrant had performed well as the vacuous assistant, probably Avon's otherwise unemployable nephew. And Avon—well, he was doing what he always did naturally: looking arrogant and expecting to be waited on and deferred to.

"Did you know Dase is General Wrell's daughter?" Avon asked.

"Yes, and it caused me a few sweaty moments. I was frantically searching my memory for any derogatory remarks I may have made about him," Tarrant answered.

"You met him on Horizon?"

"No, I heard about him before I left the Federation."

"He doesn't strike me as a very competent commander for Avalon."

"He's not; he never had any combat experience. I heard his rise through the ranks was largely due to his wife's influence. Apparently she was someone important. But he didn't have any talent for warfare, so he wound up organizing supply lines. He did have talent for that. Still, he was what the field officers referred to as an R-E-M-F."

"R-E-M-F?"

"Rear echelon mother f—"

"Miss Dahl! Mr. Wells! Over here!" Avon waved.

"—faker," Tarrant amended hastily.

Task and Dase arrived, Task carrying their bags. "Sorry it took so long," Dase apologized. "Something was wrong with the water in my room, and I had to brush my teeth in your room. What's with the over bright lights in there? Nobody looks good with that much light. Makes you want to smear lubricant all over the mirror to soften the image."

"I think I've got spots permanently burned into my retinas," Avon agreed, shooting a look at his "nephew." "Tarrant forgot to shut the bathroom door before turning on the lights last night."

Task wondered who had performed the role of peacemaker before he was assigned the duty. Once everybody got back together again for a while, it was going to be interesting to study the dynamics. He threw the bags in the speeder and asked, "Who's piloting first?"

"I am," Tarrant replied, getting into the operator's seat. "And Dase will navigate." He'd had several good looks at Avon's limp and noticed the severity was directly proportional to his energy levels. He wanted Avon rested as much as possible.

Avon assisted the tottering Dase into the flyer. "Put us down about four hours from now, and we'll change into mission gear. Did Task explain the restrictions on food and drink?" he asked Dase and Tarrant.

"Yes," Dase answered. "Nothing that has an odour unless we're prepared to leave immediately. Don't worry; we've got plenty of concentrate cubes."

"Yum yum," Tarrant smacked his lips. "Now you know why I ate so much at breakfast."


"Heard anything, Vila?" Jenna asked as she stepped into his cabin.

"Just that they've left the hotel and didn't have any problems. I should have gone with them," he added miserably.

"They'll be fine. You couldn't have added anything. I couldn't have added anything either," she said ruefully. "Avon was right to make us stay here, but it's not easy being out of the action."

"Yeah, you always did enjoy the action stuff back on the Liberator. I hated it, and now I want in on it. I must be getting senile."

"I think maybe we just go through phases, Vila. After cutting my ties with Blake, I just wanted to stay away from action. Now I find I'm ready for it. Maybe it's because I've met up with you and Avon again. You know: old times."

"What did happen between you and Blake? I mean, why did you quit his organization?"

Jenna smiled, "Nothing ever happened between us, Vila. As for working with him, I started noticing that some of the rebels he 'helped' got captured by the Feds immediately after he helped them. And he always seemed flush with funds when that happened. I told myself it was someone in his organization." She looked thoughtful. "But now that you bring it up, Blake actually started making overtures to me about that time. I guess he realized I was getting uneasy and was stringing me along. Dayna thinks I was next on the list. If I hadn't been so nervous, I might have fallen for it."

Vila shuddered. It was awful to think that someone they'd lived so close to for so long could blithely sell them to the Federation. He knew Blake had never really considered Vila a friend, but still you don't sell out your mates—especially not Avon and Jenna, who were the closest to him. "When do you think he began acting against us, Jenna?"

"I don't know. Every time I try to figure it out, my mind just goes around in circles. It must have happened very gradually. Maybe it's easier to work it backwards. I do believe if the Andromedan War hadn't intervened he would certainly have turned us over to the Federation about that time. And I think he was actually on Terminal too."

"But Servalan said that was just an illusion made up to convince Avon."

"Do you really think Avon could have been taken in by an illusion, a machine-induced dream of Blake?"

Vila considered. "No, I don't think they could have gotten all the details right enough that Avon wouldn't have spotted something, even exhausted as he was. Avon's always been good with details and remembering things."

"Of course he is; he's got an eidetic memory."

"A what?"

"Eidetic memory. He remembers everything—literally. It's rare, but some people are like that. I think it's because they utilize more of their brain capacity than everyone else. Eidetic people really do remember everything, accurately too."

Oh, that was why . . . Vila realized. "Jenna, now I know why he nearly fell apart when he learned there were some things he remembered so wrongly," Vila said.

"What things? What are you talking about?"

"He completely misremembered some things that happened to us in the last couple of years. I kept telling him it was nothing, that people do it all the time, even him. But he doesn't forget, does he?"

"No, he doesn't. It must have been terrifying for him, like losing his mind. That's probably what he fears most: losing his intellect. What in the world could have caused it?"

Vila thought hard. Avon had told him something about it, something to do with Doctor Naylor. It was right after Vila corrected him about the events at Malodar. "I think he said Doctor Naylor told him he'd been under too much stress, that the drugs Servalan gave him had messed him up, and that he'd been hit on the head too many times. Well, and I guess killing Blake didn't help either."

"Hit on the head? When did that happen?"

"When didn't it? I think he became a magnet for it. Seems like hardly a month went by without someone or something knocking him silly. Do you think he's permanently damaged, Jenna?" Vila looked horrified.

"Let's hope not. He'd certainly be aware of it, and that would be terrible."

"Now I'm sure I should have gone with him. I've been telling him he can't take care of himself. If he'd listened to me all along, he wouldn't have been hurt so many times."

"Maybe he just wanted to be sure you didn't get hurt. Come to think of it, that's not really like Avon, not the way he used to be," Jenna said thoughtfully.

"He's been awfully nice to me. And did you see him shaking Tarrant's hand? In the past he would have been shaking Tarrant's neck."

"I didn't know Tarrant before. Did he need his neck shaken?"

"Yes. He was an arrogant, snotnosed bastard."

"That's what you call Avon."

"Oh, do I? I guess I do. Tarrant seems to have changed too. Everybody seems to have changed." He shook his head. "I can't figure it out."

"Maybe we're all growing up, Vila. Maybe there's nothing to figure out."


As soon as the flyer landed, Dase tottered several paces away and removed the offending shoes. She threw them as far as she could.

Task observed, "You might need those if we go back to the hotel."

"They were killing my toes. I've got other shoes—sensible shoes—if I need them.

"They might not fit your 'business perks' image."

"No-one will notice; I'll just drape myself all over Avon. They won't be looking at my feet." She winked at Avon, "As long as you play your part."

Avon couldn't suppress a slight smile. "I think I can play my part. But I don't know what you are complaining about. Servalan always wore shoes like that."

"Crazy woman," Dase pronounced.

Tarrant joined them, looking at a pocket comp and pressing buttons with his thumb. "We saved a lot of time with this flyer, and since we've overflown part of the projected crash site already, we may find the Scorpio in the next couple of hours. I haven't seen anything familiar yet, though."

"It's all forest," Avon said.

"But to a pilot there would be differences. Besides, there has to be debris along the crash path: downed trees, that sort of thing."

"Maybe we can get started on the salvage today," Dase suggested eagerly. "Let's get changed." She padded barefoot back to the flyer and bent over to reach inside, pulling out bags. Behind her, three male faces displayed appreciation for her short skirt.

Twisting around, Dase studied the men for a moment and carried her bag around to the other side of the flyer. She peeked over the top, "Gentlemen?" The smiles were replaced by disappointment, and the men turned their backs to the flyer as they began changing.

After a couple of minutes, Dase called out, "Are you decent?"

"Not yet!" Tarrant shouted as he remembered the worn state of his underwear and tripped over the legs of his flightsuit in panic.

"And men always accuse women of taking too much time," Dase replied.

Avon and Task finished dressing quickly and reached to steady Tarrant as he struggled with his flightsuit. "Almost done!" he called out. He thought he heard snickering from the other side of the flyer. "Okay, you can come out now!"

Dase's expression was suspiciously innocent as she joined them. "Let's break out the concentrates and stop wasting time, shall we?"


"I don't see any movement, do you?" Avon asked Task.

"No, not a thing. Let me circle the wreck. If everything looks good, I'll go inside to make sure."

After several minutes Task's voice came through Avon's commlink, "No-one around and no-one's been here for a long time, if at all. Come on in, but be careful of your footing."

Avon joined him just inside the wreck and looked around to get oriented. "The drive chamber will be through there. Let's see if we can get that door open." Together they pushed at the door until it slid far enough into its pocket to let them squeeze through. They proceeded down the corridor, arms outstretched to the walls to help them balance on the sloping deck.

When they reached the door to the drive chamber, they were unable to get enough purchase to force it open. "We'll need to cut this open. Dase has cutting tools in her bag," Task suggested.

"You call her to come in. I may be able to locate Scorpio's cutting tools. They'll be faster." As Task raised his commlink, Avon worked his way carefully down the passage. He found the storage compartment that held cutting tools. Fortunately the door swung open fairly easily. Even more fortunately the cutting tools were still there, in a jumbled heap on the floor. He selected the largest and started picking his way back, leaning heavily against the wall on the down sloping side of the corridor.

"Here, let me take that," Task lifted the heavy tool from Avon's arms. "Dase is on her way in. Does this need to be levelled?"

"No, only steadied." Avon knelt to extend the base and detach the eye protection. "You turn away while I do this." He pulled the shield over his eyes and started the cutting beam.

Dase joined them, pinching her nostrils shut with her fingers. "Nice that the glycolene tanks ruptured." She quickly turned away from the cutting beam.

"It's pretty foul," Task agreed, "but it won't harm you."

"Speak for yourself. I think my sense of smell is destroyed. That odour will permeate our clothing and hair," she reminded him.

"No problem. You'll stop smelling it after a while," he assured her.

"But will I ever be able to smell anything again? I followed your voices. Is everything okay?" she asked.

"We haven't seen evidence of anyone else," Task answered. "The cutting tool was easy enough to get to. I don't think anyone has been here, or they would have taken the tools."

"Let's hope the stardrive is intact."

Avon switched off the beam. "I've cut some handholds. Let's see if we can force this door back instead of taking time to cut through it." He shifted the cutter out of the way, and Task joined him at the door. They threw their weight behind it, and the door began inching open. Dase sat down near it and began pushing at it with her feet.

After a few moments, Avon stopped and straightened. "That's enough. The stardrive is smaller than we are; it'll fit through the door." He squeezed inside, followed by Dase and Task.

It looked better than he expected, but that made sense. The components in the drive chamber were more firmly affixed to the structure than nonessentials like partitions and seating. And the chamber itself was largely a thick walled, seamless box. Otherwise, stress from the drives would shake it apart. The stardrive wasn't where Avon expected, and he looked instinctively towards the old patch in the hull. It had held, and he didn't see any other breaches.

"It's come loose, but it was never an integral part of the fittings. Look for a rectangular box about this long." He held his palms apart to demonstrate. "It should still be more or less white since nothing appears to have burned in here." Except for Doctor Plaxton, he thought grimly, then shoved that picture aside. Another person who didn't survive contact with Kerr Avon.

"Is this it?" Task called. "Look in under here. Do you see it?"

Avon lay on the deck to peer underneath one of the huge induction tubes. "Yes, that's it. I can't reach it though." He tried to squirm under the tube. "I'm too big. Dase, do you think you can get to it?"

"I'll try." She lay down and begin squeezing under the tube. "I can reach it. There's some sort of handle here. Is it all right if I pull on that?"

"Yes, but it's heavier than you'd expect. You may not be able to pull it out from that position."

"No, I can't. I think it's wedged in. I've got a grip with both hands though. Grab my legs and pull . . . Harder! I think it's coming."

Task and Avon pulled Dase all the way out. She let go the stardrive and sat up, shaking her arms. "I think my arms are two inches longer." She twisted around to look at her treasure. "Does it look intact?"

Avon examined the stardrive. "The casing is intact. Things may have been tumbled around inside though, and the connections have been broken. I guess that saves time disconnecting them."

"I wasn't going to disconnect them." Dase countered. Avon looked puzzled. "Why bother disconnecting them? I was going to cut them off several inches from the sockets and leave the connections intact for study. Connection to the Lady's engines may take a lot longer without the leads to identify the sockets, I'm afraid."

She stood and wiped her hands on her flightsuit legs. "Oh, well, there's nothing for it, I suppose. Do you want to take this back to the flyer, leave it here, or hide it in the woods until we're ready to leave?"

"We'll hide it in the woods until we're ready to leave," Avon answered. "It's going to be dark soon, and I don't want to risk someone spotting our lights."

"Let's get back to Tarrant then. He was itching so badly to come with me he may have leapt out of his skin by now," Dase said.

"You contact him and tell him we're returning to the flyer. We'll find something to wrap this in and hide it under one of those fallen trees outside."

"I don't suppose there's a chance we could sleep in here somewhere, or possibly the flyer?" Dase asked hopefully.

"Too dangerous," Avon explained. "The 'predators' around here use tracers to look for heat sources and large metal objects. We'll each find a nice fallen tree to sleep under."

Dase groaned, "Lovely. Bugs and rotting leaves; I can hardly wait. You owe me, Avon."

He grinned smarmily, "You wanted to come, Wendy."


Task was standing watch when he heard a faint scuffling noise from Dase's shelter. He quietly slid down from his tree perch and knelt close to the opening of the survival blanket "tent." "Dase," he whispered, "are you all right?"

"No," she answered in a hiss. "Something crawled inside my flightsuit."

"Do you need help?"

"No, it's dead now. Yuck! It's all wet and slimy."

"Are you itching or burning?"

"No, should I be?"

"If you're not in discomfort, I'll take a look at it in the morning."

"Oh, really?" she whispered dryly.

"I'm a nurse. Remember?"

"Oh, sorry. I guess that's all right then. No, I'm okay. It's just cold and disgusting."

"Let me know if anything changes."

"All right. Good night—I guess."

As Task climbed back up on his perch, he heard, "I'll get you for this, Avon."


It was Tarrant's watch when he heard Avon beginning to snore. He wanted to ignore it but decided if he could hear it, so could everyone else. And he was right: it had awakened Task. Kneeling quietly beside Avon's shelter, Tarrant put his gun down and poked his head and shoulders inside.

"Avon?" he whispered. The snoring increased.

Straining to hold his unsupported torso off the ground, he shook Avon's shoulder. "Avon? Roll over, you're snoring." He shook him again.

Avon suddenly rolled over, smacking Tarrant in the eye. Tarrant jerked his head up and hit a small, protruding branch, straining his back at the same time. "Ow!" he hissed. Annoyingly, Avon was still sound asleep.

As Tarrant backed out of the shelter and retrieved his gun, Task heard, "I'll get you for this, Avon."


Avon felt remarkably rested when he crawled out of his shelter in the morning. Dase and Task were emerging too, he saw. Tarrant joined them. For some reason, Tarrant was slightly bent over. All of them were looking at Avon, and Dase and Tarrant were glaring at him. "What?" Avon asked innocently. Tarrant was rubbing at the top of his head. Avon peered at him. "Is that a black eye?"

Dase was plucking at the back of her flightsuit. "Task, it's starting to itch."

"All right. Let me get some things from our supplies." He pulled a small medical kit from a knapsack. "Drop the top of your flightsuit." Dase glared at Avon and Tarrant. "Gentlemen?" Task mimed turning around.

"Oh," Avon acknowledged. He and Tarrant turned and stood in silence, listening to the sounds of Task ministering to Dase. After a few minutes, Avon offered, "The leaves are very green this morning."

"Yes, and the trunks are very brown," Tarrant agreed.

"It looks like it's going to be a dry day."

"Yes, it does. The clouds are very white." Tarrant listened to Dase's 'ouches' for a moment. Both men wanted very badly to look. "What happened to Dase?" Tarrant asked.

"I don't know. Some sort of rash, I guess."

"Oh."

"What happened to your eye?" Avon asked.

"You hit me."

"I did?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I tried to wake you up when you were snoring. You hit me."

"I don't snore," Avon insisted firmly.

"With a beak like that? How could you not?"

"What happened to your head?"

"I hit it when you hit me."

"And your back?"

"Same reason."

"Oh." Avon listened to Dase asking Task if he could clean 'muck' from the inside of her flightsuit. He really, really wanted to look. "Maybe you should ask Task to check you too."

"Probably a good idea."

They heard the sound of a zip and Dase saying, "No, thanks, Task. I don't want to view the remains."

"It's all right to turn around now, gentlemen," Task announced. "Tarrant, let me take a look at you." He looked critically at Tarrant's eye and opened a tube of something. Smearing it gently over the blackened bruise under Tarrant's eye, he said, "This will reduce the pain and the swelling. Let me see your head." He peered at it and opened an antiseptic towel packet. He dabbed at Tarrant's wound. "Messy. I'll clean it up and cover it. I won't shave it—"

"I hope not!"

"Unless the bandage won't stay. Hold still."

"Ouch!"

"That'll do for now." Task turned expectantly towards Avon.

"I'm fine," Avon said.

Task glanced at Dase, who was holding her flightsuit away from her back, and Tarrant, who was gingerly fingering the patch on his head. "Give it a few minutes."


"I heard from Task," Vila called out to Dayna as she passed his doorway.

"What did he say?"

"They found the wreck, and they're working on the salvage. They don't think anyone else has been there, and no-one's bothered them."

"Good! Maybe they can get finished quickly and get back sooner."

"I hope everyone's all right. Task didn't say."

"I'm sure he would have said something if they weren't."

"I should have gone with them."

"I'm glad you didn't." Dayna squeezed Vila's arm. "I'll go tell the others what's happening. Cheer up, Vila. They'll be back soon."

"Yeah," he mumbled at her retreating back, "Whenever someone tells me to 'cheer up,' it means things are going to get worse."


"Oh, my! The glycolene smells worse this morning," Dase said as she and Avon carefully cleared a path across what had been the Scorpio's flightdeck. "This could take hours," she warned as she began picking through debris near the teleport system. "I wish I knew what I was looking for."

"Just sort out anything that doesn't look like a common structural component, and I'll see if it's part of the teleport. In particular, look for any crystals. They're difficult to obtain and necessary to focus the beam. Oh, and anything that looks like you could wear it on your wrist. We were relieved of our teleport bracelets at some point when we were rescued from Blake's base a few weeks ago."

"That's interesting. Who had the sticky fingers, I wonder: undercover agents or Avalon's people?"

"Yes, I thought it was interesting too." Avon began pulling circuit boards out of Slave's housing, looking at them and pitching them away. "Ah!" He peered at a couple of circuit boards and pocketed them. "That should be enough. I'm going to try to find Gambit's circuit board, then I'll be back to help you."

Dase cleared out an area to hold her finds: one side for certainties, and the other for possibilities. The rejects she flung into one of the sleeping bays. She spotted a glint and reached down in the debris to pull it out. It was definitely a crystal, but an unusual shape. She pocketed it; time enough to study it later. Digging in the debris again, she was glad she'd brought thin gloves: rodents had left a mess.

Avon stepped carefully over components from the tiny galley that had taken up an alcove in the wall near the head. Count on Vila to tuck his prize away in a place no-one would want to look: the recycling unit for waste disposal. He knelt in front of the small maintenance hatch and opened it. Shining a pocket light around in the cavity, he was grateful the tank hadn't ruptured. He was rewarded with a flash of reflected light: Gambit's circuit board. He pulled it out and glanced over it. It had a few nicks and scrapes, but the circuits themselves appeared unharmed. Putting it in his pocket, he looked around for a bag of some sort. Ah, medical supplies. He dumped out supplies that were possibly contaminated or otherwise doubtful and put the circuit boards inside. Now there were just a few more things to look for.


It was two hours before Avon rejoined Dase. She had filled one sleeping bay with rejects and was working on a second. The "certainties" heap wasn't very large, but the "possibilities" heap was. "Oh, Avon, good." She reached into her pockets and displayed her most important finds. "I've found two crystals and a bracelet."

Avon smiled with satisfaction. "Better than I'd expected." He pocketed the crystals and put the teleport bracelet in the bag. "What else have you got?"

She indicated the smaller heap, "That pile is things I'm fairly certain belong to the teleport. The other is things I just don't know about. I think we should take the little pile with us and look at it later. Why don't you look at the bigger pile? If I've made any judgement errors, correct me. I'll keep looking."

Avon sorted through the larger heap for a while but didn't find anything belonging to the teleport. He glanced briefly through the smaller heap, throwing out one or two things, but most of it belonged to the teleport. He scooped those pieces into a second bag he'd salvaged. "I think we've found enough. Let's get Task and get out of here. Suddenly I'm not very comfortable."

Dase rose and checked her gun, "You think there's someone around?"

"Nothing concrete, but I'd like to get away from here." They began picking their way to a breach and found Task approaching them.

"I think we should get out of here, Avon. I'm getting uneasy," he said.

"Birds," Dase said. "I can't hear any birds."

Avon thrust his bags at Dase and told her, "Hide this with the stardrive, then find another fallen trunk to hide yourself under. Task and I are going after Tarrant. Have you got your commlink?"

"Yes." She sprinted towards the hiding place, several yards away.

"We'll approach Tarrant's position from the sides," Task said, studying Tarrant's indicator on his pocket comp. Avon nodded and moved off.


Tarrant had been working a large circle around the wreck site as quietly as he could, pausing to listen carefully from time to time. The experience was getting old, and his back was aching. He hadn't heard anything but birds and the occasional rustling of small animals—very small, to judge from the sound. At first he wondered if any of the evicted farmers' animals had escaped and become feral in the woods; he had read about things like that in books. Pigs were supposed to be very dangerous; they were more intelligent than most animals. He had no idea what a pig would look or sound like. Hopefully they didn't sound like birds.

With Dayna's scatter gun always in his hand, it was difficult scrambling over the odd fallen tree. Once again, he thought about how he needed a prosthetic arm. It wouldn't be the same as his own arm, he thought with regret. It wouldn't have sensation, and it probably wouldn't be capable of the same delicacy of movement. He wondered if he would always have to watch it and visually guide it to a goal, or if movement would become instinctive again.

Of course it wouldn't look like a real arm either. Oh, it would have the same general shape and size, but it would probably be constructed of some sort of white, impact-resistant plastic. Maybe they could match your skin colour, or perhaps it would have some sort of glove that covered the hand.

And what would a lover think about it? Would his touch be repulsive? Would it be cold and hard, incapable of delicacy?

With the backing of Space Command and their resources, Travis had a laseron weapon implanted in his arm. Vila had told him about it. That would be useful but completely out of reach for someone like Tarrant. Even a prosthesis that did nothing more than provide a useful grip might be out of his reach. How much would an arm like that cost? What about finding a surgeon? A hospital? Captain Stannis couldn't afford to pay him much. What were his chances of saving enough money? Come to that, he still owed Dase for his boots. He looked down at them ruefully.

He sat down on a fallen tree, putting down his gun to thumb open the cap on his water bottle. Even that was a difficulty: he could only do one thing at a time. Avon hadn't trusted his abilities enough to let him help with the salvaging; and he was right. What could Tarrant have done with one hand? Avon was probably afraid Tarrant would hurt himself, thereby depleting their resources and using up valuable salvage time.

He put the bottle down to take out his pocket comp, punching up maps with his thumb. Might as well familiarise himself with their location, he thought for the hundredth time.

Had Tarrant not been so immersed in his brown studies, he would have noticed the complete absence of animal sounds, something completely unnatural . . .


Avon slipped quietly through the woods for several minutes until he could hear faint voices. Drawing nearer, he listened intently. He heard Tarrant saying, "Look, friend, I told you I'm not a bounty hunter or road agent. Do I look like one?"

"Whoever you are, you don't belong here. This is my land," a strange voice answered.

A second strange voice added, "And if you're not a bounty hunter or road agent, that just leaves mining company geologist. That's no better."

"We happen to think it is," Task's voice challenged. He stepped into their view and moved to stand beside Tarrant, both hands in the air. Tarrant glanced at Task quickly and saw a handgun tucked into the back of his belt. He could reach it if he had to. Task had positioned himself with that in mind. "And the Company's going to be very unhappy about this, not to mention local law enforcement," Task finished.

"Is this the whole survey team then?" the first man asked.

"Not quite," Avon said from behind him. "Don't move! Put your guns down slowly, gentlemen." Tarrant picked up his gun while Task backpedalled to the tree that hid his rifle.

Avon moved fully into the strangers' view, still holding his rifle pointed at them. "Keep our friends covered while I call Company Central." He pulled out his commlink and keyed in Dase's linkcode with his thumb, "Ryder to Central."

"Central here," Dase's voice responded.

"We've had a little trouble out here." He carelessly let his rifle barrel swing down. "Two of the locals—"

The 'locals' recognised opportunity and grabbed it. Abandoning their guns, they ran as fast as they could. Avon could hear them crashing through undergrowth for quite some distance.

"Right," he said, leaving the commlink open for Dase to hear. "Let's get the salvage and get out of here."

"Avon," Tarrant began.

"Forget it. It could have happened to any of us. I'm just glad you're all right."


Avon scrambled out from under the flyer's control panel."It would seem that our local friends were very busy before they found you, Tarrant. They got the steering gyros. This flyer is going nowhere."

Dase wriggled out from the other side. "Somehow that fits nicely with marauding bugs and homicidal tree branches. Hope it breaks on them while they're using it."

"Without the seats it wouldn't have been a very comfortable ride anyway," Tarrant added. "I guess there's nothing for it but to contact the Lady and see if they can mount a rescue party."

"But not today," Task warned.

"He's right," Avon agreed. "It will be dark before they could pick us up and get back to the ship, and this planet is particularly unhealthy in the dark. We'll let them know what's happened, and they can come for us tomorrow."

Dase began poking around in the back of flyer. "Nope, nothing that could be used as ground cover."

"Anything else?" Tarrant asked.

"Not unless you want the maps of the local shopping attractions and restaurants." She studied a brochure briefly. "Nice. They've got a mining museum. Bet it doesn't have dioramas showing how they murdered the farmers for their land."

Avon was playing around with his pocket comp. "The Scorpio is that way," he pointed, then shifted about thirty degrees, "and our friends went that way. That's lucky. We can go in that direction," he pointed away from the Scorpio, "and get as far away from both as possible and still be getting closer to Briggston. That should save time tomorrow." He knelt beside his bag and began throwing toiletries and other personal items out of it. "The rest of you throw out your nonessentials. We'll make it look like we were robbed and taken away."

"I wonder why our 'friends' haven't looted the Scorpio?" Tarrant asked.

Avon suggested, "Probably waiting for the glycolene odour to dissipate."

"I wish them the joy of it," Dase said.

Avon picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. "Let's get going. Spread out a little. Dase, you walk with me."

When Tarrant and Task had gotten a little ahead of them, Avon murmured to Dase, "I'm sorry about your back. If you like, you can share my shelter and use yours as a ground cover. I promise I won't disturb you, except," he smiled briefly, "Tarrant pretends I snore; I don't know why."

Dase smiled back at him. "Thanks, Avon, I appreciate that. And don't worry, I won't 'disturb' you either," she promised.


It was a good plan too, Tarrant admitted during his watch. Anytime Avon snored, a rustling sound came from his shelter—the sound of someone rolling over—or being pushed over—and all was quiet again.


"You see? I told you I should have gone with them," Vila insisted to Dayna. "Avon can't take care of himself."

"I don't think it's a matter of Avon being helpless, Vila. It was bad luck for all of them," Dayna countered. She checked the charge on the next gun. "We'll get them back all right; you'll see."

"Oh, yeah? If they'd had me, no-one would have been able to strip the flyer."

"What? You would have stayed behind to guard it? Yes, I guess that would have been a good idea." She handed him another gun to check.

"No, I would have rigged it so anyone tampering with it would have been stunned—or worse. And besides, Tarrant isn't exactly combat ready, if you know what I mean." He set aside the gun he'd just double checked and picked up the next.

"Tarrant does okay, considering he's had to learn to use his left arm for everything. He doesn't get into any trouble, and besides, he knows when to ask for help."

"That's fine on the ship, Dayna, but what about in a fight?"

"I guess you're right, but he hasn't said anything about a prosthetic arm. At least not to me. It must be very expensive to get something really useful. Where would we go for that?"

"Not Teal, I guess. They may decide he should be their First Champion again, arm or no arm. And not anywhere in the Federation. It'll have to be somewhere where we can spend a lot of time safely."

"How much time? Why?"

"Think about it, Dayna. There'll be operations to the amputation site, recovery time, rehabilitation time . . . We can't just bung him into a hospital and say, 'See you later'."

"Oh." Dayna thought about it. "Somebody—a 'family member?'—will have to stay with him. And somebody will have to come up with a lot of money, I suppose."

"Avon can get the money, and Orac can probably find a good surgeon wherever we decide to go. I guess Avon would be the best choice to stay with Tarrant; he's the trickiest."

"That's very good, Vila."

"What? That Avon's tricky? Everybody knows that."

"No, I mean about Orac. Maybe we could get him started working on a list of facilities and surgeons."

"Yeah," he smiled. "Orac?"

"Yes, Vila?"

"You're been listening to what we've been saying about Tarrant?"

"Of course, it is one of my responsibilities to—"

"Yes, fine. Can you work on that list of facilities and surgeons? In your spare time, I mean; your first priority is still to stay in contact with the others."

Orac sounded slightly offended, "I am well aware of my priorities. I can work on both activities at the same time. Do you wish me to discuss my progress with Tarrant?"

"No, I think we'd better keep this between ourselves for the time being. Tarrant might not appreciate our tinkering with his life without asking him first."

"Tinkering with whose life?" Jenna asked as she stepped through the door, wiping her hands on a cloth. "The speeder's nearly ready to go. Whose life?"

Orac answered first. "Tarrant's life."

Vila looked disgusted. "That's really good, Orac. I thought I just told you to keep this between the three of us."

"You did not specify who was to know about this activity except to say Tarrant was not. If you cannot be more specific, I cannot be held responsible."

Jenna looked from Orac to Vila. "What about Tarrant?"

"I cannot say," Orac answered. Dayna rolled her eyes and exchanged a look with Vila.

"You can talk about it with Jenna now, Plastic Brain," Vila said. "You've already told her." He turned to Jenna. "We asked Orac to start compiling a list of suitable facilities and surgeons to fit Tarrant with a prosthetic arm."

"You're right, Vila, he might not appreciate the tinkering if you haven't asked him first. But I understand," Jenna said. "We'd all like Tarrant to be whole again. He's going to need two arms if he's to be good enough to take a ship through combat manoeuvres, and I have a feeling he'll be needing to do that eventually."

"Why do you say that, Jenna?" Dayna asked.

"Because I don't believe he'll be able to settle for a quiet life. He's too much like Avon."

Vila looked thoughtful. "Yeah, you're right, Jenna. Tarrant's not safe on his own either. It was hard enough to nursemaid one of them, let alone two," he finished with resignation.