2 Weeks Later

The days ticked by with agonising slowness for Avon, being dragged repetitively between his freezing cell and the Interrogation room, but with each one gone, he knew he lost just a little more hope of rescue. Not that there had really been much to begin with. He never saw any other part of the base and his sessions with Tarrat remained much the same each day, a mixture of sonic probes and more conventional torture interspersed with agonising doses of Saranax. Avon had a feeling his torturer would use it every time if he had the chance but administering more than one or two doses spread out over a day would likely prove fatal rather more quickly than he had in mind.

Though the pain of the drug itself had been excruciating he had not felt its long-term effects at first, but after a few days they began to make themselves known... with a vengeance. After each session he felt weaker, more exhausted than he had the time before. His hands began to shake, spells of dizziness and nausea frequently overtaking him without any real warning and even the smallest exertion was becoming an effort. Avon doubted Servalan would let Tarrat kill him, unless she had grown tired of waiting for his unforthcoming cooperation. She would probably make him stop the treatments just before they reached that stage but either way, he needed to make his escape, and soon. If he waited much longer, he would not have the strength left to even attempt it.

He had managed to snatch a wrist watch off one of his guards well over a week ago and a few small makeshift tools from a fortuitously placed work detachment a few days after that, deliberately feigning collapse right beside them. It had looked believable enough to avoid suspicion as he quickly swiped the tools, and the way Avon both felt and appeared it had not been hard to fake. With them he had started work on a small, simple device to deactivate the locking system but that had now come to a standstill. He needed another wire or thin piece of metal in order to finish the job but, so far, he had been unable to get his hands on one. Without it, the device was useless and he was as trapped as ever.

He had just fallen into a fitful sleep, not long back from his latest 'interrogation session' with Tarrat, that the cell door was pulled open once again and two masked, dispassionate troopers came in, waking him abruptly by roughly yanking him to his feet. They hardly gave him a chance to wake up, half dragging, half carrying him from his cell into the corridor beyond. Much to his surprise, despite his weariness, it did not take Avon long to realize wherever they were going, it was not the interrogation room. Infact, instead they seemed to be leading him in entirely the opposite direction, out of the detention centre entirely and into the administrative part of the base, the locked cell doors of earlier giving way to laboratories and then the far more open layout of administrative work cubicles. At the end of these there was a large door, presumably leading to whoever passed for the base commander's office. It was to here they were apparently heading as one of the troopers stopped and knocked politely on the door before it was opened from within and Avon was ushered inside.

Compared to the cold, stark efficiency of the rest of the base, the commander's office was surprisingly luxurious. A large white desk took up much of the centre, several stylish padded chairs dotted strategically around while in the most luxuriant of them all, behind the massive desk, the woman who had summoned him lounged seductively. Avon had expected the base commander, whoever that might be, but he found he was not really surprised at who he did see, staring back at him with that alluring, predatory smile... Servalan. She was wearing along slender dress of the purest white, the high, wide collar richly embellished with fine wire ornamentation.

''Ah, Avon'' she greeted as he was marched in, her tone more apt for addressing an old friend or acquaintance than a guarded prisoner.

''Servalan'' he responded simply, his voice cold, his eyes unreadable as they held her gaze unflinchingly.

She did not say anything for a moment as she studied him, taking in how much he had changed since she last saw him. He was much thinner and dirtier than before, several deep purple bruises and the dark rings under his bloodshot eyes standing out starkly against his overly pale skin. He swayed slightly as a spell of dizziness overcame him, despite his attempts to hide it, and Servalan magnanimously gestured to one of the seats opposite her desk.

''Please, sit'' she instructed; her provocative voice sickly-sweet and full of mock concern. ''You don't look at all well.''

Avon would rather have ignored her command and remained standing, but he did not. Though he did not want to grant her the satisfaction of showing either weakness or obedience, even after all this time, it would have been far worse to unintentionally fall at her feet. A scenario that, at that moment, seemed a strong possibility. Instead, he walked deliberately to the nearest chair and fell gratefully into it, careful to retain as much dignity as was possible given the current circumstances.

He waited a moment for the disorientating light-headedness to pass before he spoke. ''So, why have you brought me here?''

Servalan opened her arms wide in an expressive shrug. ''Well, I did have a few ideas but from the look of you, I don't imagine you'd be up to them'' she told him with a wickedly shameless grin as she poured herself a glass of sparkling white wine. ''Would you like some?'' she added after a moment, offering Avon a glass, but he refused. He had not had alcohol for some time and he did not know what effect it might have on his current state, mental or physical. It was something he was more than willing to do without. Anyway, he had no intention of accepting anything from Servalan.

''Verry well, Avon'' Servalan responded, sounding just a little disappointed, before getting elegantly to her feet and strolling leisurely around the desk to stand directly in front of him. ''We shall get straight to the point. My men tell me you have been far from cooperative during your time here.''

Now it was Avon's turn to smile, his own, scornful and sardonic. ''Well, if that's what they say'' he replied, his insolence earning him an impatient scowl from his 'host'.

''I want the Liberator and I want it now!'' she continued impatiently.

Avon's insolent smile grew at her obvious frustration. '' Well, we don't always get what we want, now do we Servalan?'' he pointed out dryly.

''Be careful Avon'' Servalan warned, her voice deadly serious. ''You may be important to me, but you are not that important. My patience is not boundless.''

There was very little Avon could say to that so he did not bother to waste the effort responding at all. Instead, he fixed his concentration on the silver embroidery at Servalan's neck. If he could somehow get hold of just one piece of that wire, it could be exactly what he needed.

Servalan for her part had not noticed his careful scrutiny and continued oblivious, her voice betraying her sadistic pleasure at the hurt she rightfully guessed her next words would inflict. ''You're no stranger to torture though, are you Avon'' she purred, stepping closer and running her hand slowly and seductively across his right shoulder to the base of his neck as she circled around him. ''you've endured it before as have many of your, acquaintances. One in particular springs to mind. What was her name again?'' she paused a moment for effect. ''Oh yes, Anna Grant.''

Avon froze instantly at the mention of her name, thrown suddenly off guard. Servalan felt him stiffen beneath her touch before she pulled away, smiling evilly in satisfaction.

Anna... Avon had tried hard not of think of her during his torture and confinement, but it had brought back memories from that last imprisonment by the federation, long before he ever met Blake, or was drawn into his crusade. And thoughts of what had happened to Anna, not so long before that. Grant had told him exactly what happened to her only weeks before his capture and he knew that everything they did to him now, they could have done to her as well. It was not a wise train of thought to go down and certainly not now, but of course, Servalan would know just what to say to inflict more pain than any torturer ever could.

Avon looked up sharply, anger and, barely hidden beneath that, grimly controlled pain betraying themselves in his usually unreadable dark eyes. ''What do you know about Anna?'' he asked, his voice tight as he held her jubilant gaze.

Servalan oozed malicious charm as she spoke, taking great pleasure in the effect her words had on her frustratingly recalcitrant prisoner. ''Oh, everything of course Avon, it's all in your file after all'' she explained smoothly. ''I'm told she never broke either, whatever agonies her torturers inflicted, she never told them where you were. Some might call that brave; I would call it foolish.'' Her voice suddenly became deadly cold as her words became a threat. ''Be careful Avon. If you don't wish to share the same fate then you had better start cooperating. I am only willing to waste my resources on you for so long. ''

After a moment's silence he shrugged wearily. ''I believe you'' he told her simply, this time staring straight ahead as she looked down at him.

''Then you will do as I ask?'' she questioned, reaching down to him again.

''Not exactly'' he replied, a slight, grim smile creasing his face.

Without warning Avon forced himself to his feet, his hand closing tightly around Servalan's neck while the other grasped the wide collar of her dress. They locked gazes for a moment, the startled surprise in Servalan's turning to one of anger almost immediately but it was all over in just a few seconds. A sharp pain at the base of his skull sent Avon reeling as the world began to spin, darkness closing in at the edges of his vision. The trooper who had hit him gave his knees an expert kick from behind, making sure he went down, and he hit the ground hard, the breath knocked roughly out of him.

His vision began to blur and there was just enough time to stash the wire threads he had snatched into the folded hem of his sleeve before Avon passed out, Servalan's shouted orders to have him returned to his cell ringing distantly in his ears before everything went dark.

It was cold and dark as Avon stepped soundlessly into the deathly silence of the room beyond. He did not know how he got there or why he came but right then, none of that seemed to matter. All that did was the still, fragile figure lying motionless on the hard ground before him, her dark blond hair tangled and unkempt, partly obscuring her face. When he saw her at first, he could do nothing, he just stared, frozen in shock, unable to move. Then he was moving forwards and she was in his arms, resting weakly against his chest as he knelt carefully beside her.

She looked up at him, the pain of the movement jolting her awake but her eyes softened as they focused on his face. ''Avon...'' she murmured faintly in recognition.

Avon gazed down at her sadly. ''Anna... I...'' He found he did not know what to say, how to comfort her as she lay dying in his arms. ''I'm sorry Anna, you should have told them, told them where I was, told them how to find me.''

She smiled weakly up at him, gently shaking her head. ''No... if I had... they would have killed you...''

Then, with a slight shudder she went limp in his arms and for a moment, he just held her, close to his chest. ''My life was a pour exchange for your own'' he told her softly, slowly lowering her to the ground.

It was at that moment as he sat quietly, staring straight ahead, eyes focussed on nothing, that he heard someone behind him.

A harsh, cruel laugh, by now familiar, pulled his attention back to the world around him as Prell Tarrat stepped into view. There was a large grin on his coldly evil face as he looked contemptuously down at them. ''I see you can appreciate my handiwork'' he concluded with no small amount of pleasure.

Avon looked up slowly, raw hatred burning in his eyes. ''You did this?'' he asked, his bitter anger barely contained.

''No, but I might as well have done'' Tarrat replied with a wide sadistic grin. ''It just so happens someone else got the job.''

Then the torturer grabbed Avon and hauled him to his feet and for some reason he found he could not fight back as he was dragged helplessly to the metal interrogation chair. ''Anyway. Now, it's your turn...''

Avon woke with a start, heart pounding and a cold sweat beading on his brow as the lingering images from his nightmare gradually began to fade. Anna... Damn Servalan! Damn her for making him think... He stopped. Servalan... Suddenly his disjointed thoughts began to reassemble themselves and he remembered exactly what had happened. He checked the sleeve of his jumpsuit and finding, to his relief, it was still there, he pulled the wire from the hem with a slight smile. If he was going to escape, to contact Blake somehow, then now was the time. He knew as things stood; he may not get another chance. With some effort he pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, swaying slightly as a wave of nausea and dizziness overtook him. Waiting a moment for it to pass, or at least abate enough for him to get to work, he headed over to the door. Avon's makeshift device was almost complete and it was the work of just a few moments to fit the wire he had taken from Servalan into place before it could be activated.

When it was ready, he pressed it closely to wall, the exact place where the locking pad would be on the opposite side. There were a few seconds wait as it scrambled the delicate system before a barely audible click from the door indicated its success. A single guard stood watch outside, as Avon had known he would, but a quick blow to the back of the neck knocked him unconscious before he had even seen the danger, let alone been able to call it in. The guard seemed unnaturally heavy but Avon managed to drag him into his old cell before anyone oould see him. The man would be missed, of course, but most likely not until someone came to replace him or to take Avon away for his next interrogation session. Either way, that would give him some time.

Locking the door once again behind him, Avon headed for the communications centre, the weight of the guards stolen blaster feeling good in his hands after such a long time spent as a prisoner. There were very few people about in that area of the base but as he drew nearer his target on the higher levels, he had to be more and more careful to keep out of site. He did not know where he was headed exactly, having never been in this part of the complex, but most federation bases had a fairly standard layout, in their command areas at least, and this one, it seemed, was no different.

When he finally reached the communications room, there were two troopers standing guard outside, forcing Avon to duck back into the empty corridor, out of sight. He needed to get inside, and soon if it was to be before his absence was observed, but how? He had little hope of getting in through the main door without the alarm being raised but he had noticed an access hatch not far behind him, leading into what he imagined was the ducting system for the complexes life support. By rights, it should have access into every room on this level, communications and computer control being no exception.

The panel was clearly old and rarely used, the latches stiff and rusted as he forced them laboriously aside. Inside it was quite a squeeze, the effort of pulling himself along making him light headed, his overly laboured breaths filling his ears as he crawled. It was not far but by the time he arrived he was exhausted. Allowing himself a moment to recover, Avon opened the other hatch and dropped down silently into the communications room below.

He looked round instantly, blaster at the ready in case of unexpected danger, but for now it seemed there was no one about. Deta 8's command centre had the same air of extensive age as the rest of the complex, the computer banks in use, however, were top of the range, brand new prototypes. This was clearly an important base, if somewhat secretive. It seemed likely these computers held high clearance access to much of the federation's archives, information Blake would be only too glad of if he were here Avon realised, smiling wryly at the irony. For now though, what mattered was contacting the Liberator and letting them know he was still alive. If, that is, they actually believed him.

With his skills it was simple enough, sending a message directly to the Liberator in a code only him or Orac should be able to decipher. It would be necessatively short and to the point but it should, at least, be enough to let Blake know that he was alive and where to find him. It took some time to programme the computer and while it was loading his instructions, Avon took the time to search the computer banks for anything that might prove useful in the future, presuming of course, Blake actually came back to find him. Finally, the system finished inputting his instructions and the message began to send.

''You had better be listening Blake,'' Avon muttered dryly under his breath, ''because I doubt that even I can hold out for ever.''

The message was almost through, most of it already sent, when he felt a strong hand grab him from behind, hauling him to his feet. He had not heard them come in, his senses and reflexes dulled by the debilitating effects of the drug he had been repeatedly exposed to. He had let himself be taken by surprise.

Avon was thrown hard to the ground, cracking his head on the side of the console as he went down, a blinding pain lancing through his skull. His vision spun, black orbs forming at its edges as everything blurred. He tried to crawl away, reaching for his gun where it had fallen just a few feet to his left but before he could reach it a heavy boot came down viciously against his ribs. Gasping raggedly as the breath was knocked out of him, a sharp, stabbing pain radiating from his bruised side, it was all he could do to turn and look his attacker in the eye before the man's boot came down yet again and everything went black.

On board the Liberator things had finally started to get back to normal, at least on the surface. After the first week, Blake had started to direct his anger where it really belonged, at the federation. Cally could tell he still blamed himself for what had happened to Avon, probably he always would to some extent, just like he did Gan, but now he was using that anger and hate as a weapon. He wanted to strike a proper blow against the federation, for Avon, one they would remember for many months to come, but he wanted to strike now, not months down the line, so for the moment the search for star one had been put on hold while they found themselves another target. That in itself had been harder than expected. There had been many suggestions, different ideas bandied around from person to person such as the computer relay station on Thraxis 9 or the miitary supply base on Xandar, but none of them got past the initial discussion. There always seemed to be some reason it could not be done and usually, that reason had something to do with a lack of technical computer skills.

Even Caly had not quite realised how much they relied on Avon's expertise until they had to do without them. Even the long-range detector shield had malfunctioned after sustaining heavy damage in a skirmish when 3 pursuit ships attacked them. So far, they had had no luck repairing it and Blake, wary as he was now after losing two of his crew, had insisted at least two crewmembers be on the flight deck at all times to monitor the scanners and ensure any federation ships were detected early and suitably delt with.

That was why Vila and Cally both found themselves on duty on the flight deck late one evening when something important happened.

''Oh, this a waste of time,'' Vila grumbled, moving a counter in the game he and Cally were playing. ''I don't know why Blake has us doing this you know, there's nothing out there.''

Cally disagreed. It was a sensible precaution when their detector shield was down, if a little over cautious. However, before she could answer him, Orac piped up from his place on the trolly beside them.

''That is an incorrect statement.''

Cally and Vila both looked round in surprise.

''Huh? What do you mean by that?'' Vila asked, utterly confused.

''By what?'' Orac responded haughtily. ''Please be more specific.''

Cally stepped in, frowning slightly at the possible implications of Orac's statement. ''That Vila's statement was incorrect'' she clarified. Was there something their scanners had not detected?

''Vila's statement was incorrect. The entire galaxy is, as you say, out there''.

The two of them relaxed visibly, Vila giving Cally a relieved smile.

''Well, that's all right then, if that's all you meant'' he told Orac, turning back to the game but Cally wanted to be extra certain.

''So, you mean you have not picked up any incoming ships or signals?'' she checked, wanting conformation before letting her guard down again. She did not get it.

''That assumption is also incorrect.''

Now the two friends exchanged another confused glance. Sometimes getting useful information out of Orac was like getting blood from a stone.

''What do you mean then Orac'' Cally asked. ''What have you picked up?''

''I received a long-distance message from the planet Deta 8 precisely 3 hours and 56 minutes ago'' the computer replied.

''But that was almost 4 hours ago!'' Vila exclaimed perplexed. ''Why didn't you tell us?''

''That is simple'' Orac explained unapologetically. ''You did not ask and I was already occupied with my own, far more important, affairs.''

Cally sounded exasperated when she spoke again. ''Well, we are asking now, it might be important.''

Orac flashed for a moment in silence. ''Asking what exactly?''

''Oh, just tell us about the message you useless piece of junk!' Vila exclaimed, fed up with Orac's constant riddles and evasions.

''Yes,'' Cally agreed with Vila, ''and who sent it. What frequency did they use? ''

''It was not sent on any normal frequency but transmitted directly to my own circuits.''

That got their attention, the revelation in itself coming as something of a surprise.

Vila looked between Caly and Orac. ''What?'' he questioned. ''But who could do a thing like that?''

The telepath just shrugged, just as puzzled as he was. ''I don't know. no one outside of this ship that's for certain, if anyone can.'' She turned expectantly to the computer. ''Orac?''

''That is not a question I can answer'' the computer answered impatiently. ''All I can impart is the name identified by the sender.''

When he did not immediately continue Cally prompted him. ''Well? And who is that? ''

There was a slight pause as Orac checked his data, then he replied. ''Sender identified as Kerr Avon.''

A stunned silence descended on the flight deck as Orac spoke, broken suddenly by a loud crash as Cally accidentally knocked over an empty glass on the table beside her. She and Vila both stared at Orac in shocked surprise before the thief frowned.

''Orac this is no time for practical jokes,'' he chided, his voice tense. ''Especially not about Avon''.

Orac objected to the chastisement, sounding just a little cross at their doubts. ''This is no practical joke'' he assured them. ''Caller identifies themselves as Kerr Avon. The fact is indisputable.''

Cally shook her head, knowing he had to be wrong. ''But Orac, it can't be Avon, you know it can't!''

Avon was dead. They all knew that and had been forced to come to terms with it. How could this be happening now, and what did it mean?

''I do'' Orac agreed, ''but that does not change the facts.''

Cally's expression turned to one of resolve as she spoke, voice resolute and determined. Whatever this message meant, they had to hear it. ''Read us the message'' she instructed, causing Vila to raise an objection.

''Are you sure? Shouldn't we wait for Blake?'' he queried but Cally ignored him.

''Read it Orac.''

''Very well'' the computer agreed. ''The message is in a complex code; it will take even me several moments to decipher it.''

There was silence on the flight deck, Vila pouring a drink for him and Cally as they waited for Orac.

''It can't be Avon'' he muttered, though his voice now held the slightest hint of doubt. '' Not after all this time. We buried him weeks ago... unless he's a ghost'' he added, somewhat less seriously. ''If Avon had the chance, he would come back to haunt me.''

''No, you are right of course Vila, but whatever way you look at this situation it makes no sense'' the Telepath pointed out. ''We know Avon is dead, but we also know no one else could have sent that message. We need to hear it before we can make any assumptions.''

It was that moment that Orac buzzed back to life, making both of them jump. ''I have now deciphered the message'' he informed them. ''Message reads +LIBERATOR. I AM ALIVE. SERVALAN TRICKED YOU. CLONE. BEING HELD FOR INTEROGATION. LOCATION FEDERATION BASE DET+ message ends. It does not, as is usual, repeat the identifying call sign after the message is ended. This means I suggest that it was stopped mid transmission.''

Caly and Vila shared a look before Cally reached hurriedly for the telecom. ''Blake, you need to get down here now'' she stated urgently. ''There's something you need to hear.''