Blake's 7: Return

Rebel base, Gauda Prime

Six months ago

"He sold us, Avon. All of us. Even you."

With those words, what little remained of Kerr Avon's world fell apart. They rendered the spectre of approaching Federation troops irrelevant, almost trivial.

He knew he was about to die, and didn't care. In one sense he never really had, not since losing Anna...and then losing her again. But now...now, his imminent death just didn't matter.

Only one thing did.

"Is it true?!" he demanded, unbelieving, uncomprehending. The Universe had never made less sense to him than it did at this moment.

"Avon, it's me, Blake!" He started to move towards Avon as if in greeting.

"Stand still!" Avon rasped in utter anguish, covering him, and Blake stopped. Avon stared at him, struggling to take it in. Not since his discovery of Anna's true identity had his world been so shaken to its foundations. All that effort to chase him down, all it had cost them, only to be betrayed...

No, surely it was impossible. He would sooner believe the value of pi had been rounded down to exactly three. Blake would never...

"Have you betrayed us?" he demanded. His voice dropped as he almost pleaded, "Have you...betrayed me?!"

"Tarrant doesn't understand!" Blake snapped.

"Neither do I, Blake!"

Indeed, he had never been so bewildered, not since he was a child. No matter how he viewed the problem, this apparent betrayal simply would not fit into any logical pattern - even allowing for the fact that the current situation was entirely illogical in the first place. Even given the vagaries of human nature, it made no sense whatsoever. It was an impossible inconsistency.

Blake began what seemed to be an explanation with "I set all this up!"

But suddenly Avon saw it; his wildly whirling thoughts abruptly seized upon a possible resolution of the paradox and his mental vision snapped into sharp focus once more.

From the moment Orac had begun tracking Blake, his trail gradually converging on Gauda Prime, there was something about the whole affair that, from the very beginning, had made no sense from the viewpoint of pure logic. Becoming a bounty hunter - even as a cover for subversive activities - ran contrary to Blake's naïve principles of decency and honesty.

However, for all Avon's innate cynicism he knew beyond question that Roj Blake truly did subscribe to those principles, naïve or not. If Blake had one redeeming quality, it was integrity. His self-consistency was another - his decision to destroy Star One rather than utilising it proved that, in the sense that the chaos and deaths which would ensue were perhaps better than the alternative of allowing the Federation to continue pursuing its brutal policy of total suppression.

Avon had said at the time, "I never doubted your fanaticism," but he'd since realised he had misjudged Blake - it was a sound strategic move, not a fanatical one, the consequences of which Blake had carefully considered...and accepted as the price of freedom. He recalled Blake mentioning once that an ancient historical politician had once said that the cost of liberty was always high; as a history buff Blake would naturally know such a thing. Then again, that statement actually made logical sense to Avon - that which is precious (as 'liberty', whatever that might actually mean in the modern galaxy, would surely be to idealistic people like Blake) is always expensive.

But this operation on Gauda Prime...the location, the timing, the methodology were all wrong, and Avon had trouble believing it was just a cover - since it would involve the murder of people who by Blake's definition were innocents, uninvolved as they were with formulating or implementing the Federation's tyrannical policies. It just wasn't...

...wasn't Blake.

Now, too late, it did make sense. At last Avon saw it all, the whole plan; the conclusion at which he had now arrived was the only explanation which fit all the facts.

Added to those was the fact that he was surely doomed, that there was no escape. The entire local area was most likely saturated with Federation troops by now - in all probability they now outnumbered the resident population of Gauda Prime. Overkill had always been their way.

But at least he would have the satisfaction, however brief, of taking the architect of his death with him.

"Yes!" he grated hoarsely, as it all became clear.

"Avon," Blake began earnestly, starting towards him again with hands raised in appeal, "I was waiting for you -"

Avon fired. The heavy-duty assault rifle spat a round at Blake, ripping a bloody hole in his chest. Blake staggered, but lurched forward, his one good eye fixed on Avon.

He fired again; Blake gasped in agony, his breath rasping in his throat, but he continued forward.

Avon fired yet again.

And still Blake came. He reached Avon, grasped his arms with the desperate strength of a dying man in an attempt to stay upright, his legs failing him, and managed, "Avon..."

He fell to the floor, clearly dead.

Not that it mattered.

Then there was the firefight, and abruptly Avon was surrounded, the only rebel left standing...most likely, he was the only remaining rebel of any real significance in the whole of the Federation.

So here it ends, he thought, in the way I always knew it would.

He stood astride Blake's corpse and raised the rifle in a final futile gesture of defiance, not aiming at any particular trooper. What would be the point?

He smiled cynically.

Shots rang out...but nothing happened to him. Instead, the troopers started falling.

He barely had time to register this and react accordingly before a hammer blow took him in his upper back. He too fell; as he did so, more shots rang out. More troopers were cut down.

His last thought before the blackness of death took him was: Well now, that was odd...


Somewhere else

An indeterminate time later

To his surprise, he awoke.

The awakening was not the surprise per se. He had been convinced death had at last claimed him, but apparently not. That was the surprise.

He awoke to darkness, and pain.

There was nothing new to him about either, but experiencing both at once was unsettling.

In fact, there was nothing - only his awareness. The exterior universe appeared to be absent, but if that were the case, how could he still exist? The sensation of pain implied he had a body with which to feel it, though he could not, in fact, feel his body. Perhaps his brain had, for some reason, been extracted and placed in a life support system...

He became aware of - something. It was a strange buzz, which he apparently wasn't hearing with his ears. The buzz resolved into words:

Kerr Avon.

Yes, he tried to reply. Apparently nothing happened, though he noticed with relief that the pain was now diminishing rapidly.

Please try to remain calm, the voice intoned in a gentle contralto.

That's easy for you to say, whoever the hell you are, he attempted. Again, nothing seemed to happen.

This is AutoMed Unit 17-A speaking. You have been critically injured, but you are now out of danger.

Well now, that's good to know, Avon mused.

Your bodily systems were temporarily bypassed and/or shut down to protect your higher brain functions during the radical surgery required to preserve your life processes. Your perceptive senses were - and, for the moment, still are - disabled for the same reason. Apologies for the brief pain you experienced, but it was necessary to awaken your consciousness and was achieved purely by mild stimulation of your pain centre. Unfortunately, pain remains the most effective stimulus for the human species. No lasting harm was incurred, of course.

The voice was artificially generated, that much was instantly clear to a computer expert such as himself, but it was certainly an excellent simulation, the timbre and tone carefully modulated to reassure, like a mother's comforting whisper to a frightened child. Indeed, it was reassuring. Considering recent events and his current situation, he felt remarkably calm. It continued:

In case you are wondering, you are not actually hearing this. Rather, you are receiving this message in the form of modulated electrical micro-pulses applied directly to the language centre of your cortex.

Ah. So that's it. I wonder - can you hear me?

If it could, it was apparently ignoring him; it merely went on speaking.

You are healing well and prognosis for your full and complete recovery is excellent, but you must be put back under for some time to complete your treatment. This is simply an update; medical experience has proven that patients tend to heal more readily if they are kept fully informed, as far as is practicable, during the course of their treatment, even in cases of life-threatening injury. Morale is a significant factor in recovery, and is generally raised when the patient is kept informed as to the progress of said treatment.

Protective coma is now being re-induced, AutoMed Unit 17-A told him gently, reassuringly. Again, please remain calm. All is well.

That, Avon thought as he felt his intellect gently slipping away again, was debatable.


Terran Federation Administration Headquarters, Earth

The day after the Gauda Prime attack

Servalan had temporarily retired to enjoy her newfound wealth, courtesy of - ironically enough - Avon and his crew, only to receive a summons from the Terran Administration...who apparently knew who she really was, as the summons named ‛Servalan' and not ‛Commissioner Sleer'. She found the summons sufficiently intriguing to answer it. She was escorted under discreet guard to the Federation Administration Headquarters, there to meet with the current de facto President pro tem.

"Ah, Servalan," Senior Administrator Tieran Vor greeted her. "May I offer you some refreshment?"

"With respect, sir, an explanation would go down rather better," she replied, but smiled. "Though a snack would be quite welcome at this point." It was seen to, and she attended to the light meal delicately. "Now to business. I was under the impression that I had been declared persona non grata."

"In the past," Vor indicated expansively. "We need people with drive, determination and vision in these trying times, all of which you have shown in abundance. Politically the Federation is undergoing something of an upheaval, given the latest events. The development of a photon drive, for example. The apparent death of Blake and others allied to him." He paused. "Most of all, the subsequent disappearance of said allies."

"It goes without saying that we will locate them shortly," Servalan declared confidently. "With the Federation expanding, there is nowhere they can hide."

Vor had two questions for Servalan: "Where are they, and how did they escape?"

Servalan sighed. "I regretfully admit I have no idea at present. To the best of our knowledge and by the sworn testimony of the troops we sent, they were in fact dead. My investigative team is processing all available data as we speak."

Vor frowned. "This isn't the first time something like this has happened, is it? Our records show a number of, shall we say, anomalous events since the war."

She nodded. "True. Our working hypothesis is that there is an undercover agent who has been operating within the Federation for some time under numerous fictitious identities. His current name, we believe, is 'Delmon'. He seems remarkably adept in a number of different disciplines and technological fields, though it is unclear as to when and how he acquired such expertise."

"Equally unclear, I suspect," Vor noted flatly, "is how he slips undetected from one role to another."

Servalan winced imperceptibly. That was indeed a very sore point with Federation Security; with the current, necessarily high level of compartmentalisation, such activities shouldn't have been possible.

Unless he had access to Orac, or something similar.

"Our best guess at this point is that he has constructed one or more personality profiles and somehow inserted them into the Federation Datanet for later use. Presumably each old profile is destroyed when a new one is activated."

"I'm a little uneasy about your use of the term 'best guess' in this context," Vor stated quietly. "The Administration expects more from Security than 'guesses', Janessa, however good they might be."

That last both shocked and angered her. She'd kept it secret all her adult life, knowing the power and the danger of names, especially among the ambitious! No-one knew her given name! She'd utilised an alias at the Academy, establishing it via her family's money and influence, and thus not even Kasabi had known it! Or Keller, and he'd been her lover! How did Vor know it?! How dare he use it, even in an office shielded from all surveillance by the best technology of its kind in the Federation? He'll pay for that one day, damn him!

"And I," she answered as quietly, but with a dangerous gleam in her eye, "am equally uneasy about your knowing my given name. That is a closely-guarded secret for a variety of reasons. The last person to use my given name was my mother, before her...unfortunate death." Before I killed her as the traitor she was.

He was impressed by her calm; he'd used her given name deliberately to unsettle and thus test her, but it was a political manoeuvre with which she was clearly familiar and thus prepared for. Certainly she'd shown her innate deviousness at the Academy.

As well as other, less desirable traits, such as viciousness...and, it was rumoured, a taste for sexual sadism. He had read Kasabi's damning confidential assessment, but he had decided, as others had before him, that Servalan's flaws were outweighed by her virtues and talents. Like his predecessors, he was willing to take a calculated risk or two. One highly favourable trait she'd already demonstrated was initiative, which was something the Federation urgently needed in these trying times.

"I can assure you no-one else in the entire Federation knows it," he smiled slightly, "and believe me, it wasn't easy to discover."

"By intent," Servalan returned. "Personal names are, to some extent, a point of vulnerability in a computerised society such as ours." Her tone hardened, turning deliberately cold. "Vulnerability which a person in my position cannot afford."

He nodded. "Of course. A name is a key to one's background, and such knowledge is power. However, I have no interest in making you vulnerable...Supreme Commander."

One elegantly groomed eyebrow rose. "I take it, then, that I am to be reinstated?"

"As of now," Vor confirmed. "Upon reviewing the evidence, the Administration finds that the original charge levied against you, that of illegal usurping of political power, was unfounded. Your assessment of the situation re the apparent breakdown of Star One, and the obvious implications thereof, was correct. It was essential to maintain order in the face of the imminent chaos, and Space Command was the only body capable of doing so under those circumstances. Further, your response to the discovery of the invading alien battle fleet was commendably swift and that swiftness, we firmly believe, contributed to the Federation's victory." He grimaced. "The source of said information notwithstanding."

"Only Orac could have breached the Strategy Computer's security with such ease," she nodded, "and I dared not ignore the message in case it was true. For the security of the Federation, I had to assume it was. The possibility that it was some elaborate bluff on Blake's part did occur to me - it might, for example, have been intended to draw our fleet out of position to permit him to attack one or more strategically important targets - but it also occurred to me that the timing could not be a coincidence. One thing of which we were sure was that Blake was not responsible for the trouble with Star One...because as far as we knew, he was no more aware of its location at the time of the apparent breakdown than we were!"

"You mean, the timing of the alleged invasion tied in with the apparent malfunctions?" Vor nodded again. "Logical, and prudent. Render your opponent vulnerable by fomenting chaos, and then attack. But how did they know where Star One was?"

This time her wince was visible, for this was even more of a sore point. "Travis," she admitted. "I took a calculated risk in allowing him to pursue Blake while he himself had been declared an outlaw...but I had no way of knowing that he had apparently gone insane." She shook her head ruefully. "Carnell did warn me about that, but I dismissed it as he himself fled like the - admittedly logical - coward he was." She smiled ruefully and in semi-fond memory of his last message to her.

The flower, a rare orchid from Osiris, really was beautiful. She still had it. An expert in the preservation of ancient historical artifacts had rendered it impervious to the ravages of time at her request. One day she would locate Carnell, thank him for the flower, perhaps make love with him...and then execute him as the coward and traitor he was.

But she knew he'd be pleased by the sex; she'd been warmed by his last words to her: "You are undoubtedly the sexiest officer I have ever known." Such compliments were rare and greatly appreciated by her.

At least Travis was dead and thus safely silenced. He was known to be on Star One when the aliens destroyed it, and not even a consummate survivor like him could possibly have lived through that.

Blake, too, was dead - killed by Avon of all people, in the ultimate twist of irony. That alone was cause for celebration...even though he'd killed a clone.

As was her reinstatement. Either Vor knew nothing of the activities of 'Commissioner Sleer', or he was choosing to disregard them. He had always been a pragmatist, and pragmatism was exactly what the Federation needed right now. That, and a firm hand at the helm.

Her hand, of course. Reinstatement as Supreme Commander was an excellent start...but it was only a start, she well knew. For the moment, she needed Vor and the Administration. Now she had to find out what they had in mind, but that would not be difficult.

Vor cleared his throat. "Very well. You will need to know what we have planned for our next move. First, we need to confirm, beyond any conceivable doubt, that Blake is dead."

Her eyebrow raised again. "But that has been confirmed already!" she protested.

"It was confirmed once before, yet he turned up alive on Gauda Prime," Vor acerbically pointed out. "If it happened once it could happen again. We must be certain."

"Very well, Administrator," she conceded.

"Second, it has occurred to the Administration that Orac may be the answer to the problem of maintaining control; if it is as capable as claimed, it might be useful as a replacement for Star One, especially if we can duplicate it. Therefore we must obtain it."

"I would agree with that, with but a single provision."

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. "Which is?"

"The primary lesson learned from the Star One affair is that we cannot afford to centralise such control. Any system with a single point of control is, by definition, vulnerable, which of course was why we went to such great lengths to conceal its location...even to the extent of actually losing that information."

"Yes, I've been meaning to ask," he ventured curiously, "how did that happen?"

Servalan shrugged elegantly. "It was an oversight caused purely by overzealousness. Once Star One was completed - shortly after I succeeded to the post of Supreme Commander - the original team who knew the location had it erased from their memories, but the man who did so did the same thing to himself before the obvious logical flaw occurred to him...by which time it was too late, since the equipment was set on automatic.

"That team consisted of the personnel who selected the location and, per my order, did not reveal it to anyone, even myself; my predecessor had given the same order for the same reason and I saw no logical reason to countermand it." She looked wry. "We, too, were overzealous; either of us should have ordered them to pass the information via an encrypted channel. It could then have been stored in a secure location, to be rendered accessible only in case of emergency, without anyone reading the actual coordinates - the navigation computers could handle that."

"An understandable oversight," he allowed, "Star One's security being the highest priority."

"Docholli and Lurgen, however, suffered a change of heart when charged with performing the memory erasure on the construction team and were lax in their duty; they faked their own treatments and fled - Docholli to Freedom City, Lurgen to Goth, where Travis found him and thus learned Star One's location, as did Blake."

"I see. But that is history now. Let's return to the current issue," he suggested.

"Indeed. A distributed solution would surely be more secure, even though more control points inevitably provide more targets for dissidents."

"Of whom there are surely fewer now than there have ever been," he observed, "thanks in large part to the pacification program. However, you do raise a valid point. As I recall from my Classified History studies, the predecessor to the Datanet, which I believe was known as the Internet, possessed such a distributed architecture and was indeed virtually invulnerable even to large-scale attack."

"My own study of pre-Federation military history suggests the Internet was originally designed to be sufficiently flexible and robust to maintain operation even during a global war, and its lack of centralisation was its greatest strength," Servalan agreed. She paused. There was something else, she could feel it. He did not disappoint her.

"One final point: it is generally agreed, is it not, that the Liberator was the product of an alien civilisation, albeit one populated by beings similar to ourselves?"

"That is correct," Servalan confirmed. "I had occasion to board her twice, and while the décor was unfamiliar with an odd colour scheme, controls, corridors and seating arrangements were configured much as they would have been on a Federation vessel. Form, as always, follows function. Therefore they were and are humanoid and possibly very similar to ourselves as you suggest, but they possess more advanced technology, particularly in the fields of weaponry, computer science and basic construction. For example, Liberator possessed a remarkable capability of auto-repair - facilitated by nanotech, so my experts have theorised."

"A highly advanced spacecraft obtained by Blake," Vor nodded. "But I repeat my earlier point: if a thing can be done once it can be done again. Where is this civilisation located, Supreme Commander?"

He knows perfectly well I have no fucking idea, damn him! But she allowed not a trace of her inner fury to show. That would be disastrous.

"At this point, Administrator, I confess we have absolutely no idea. To the best of our knowledge, the prison ship London was the first to make even indirect contact with them, by encountering Liberator. Nothing remotely similar had ever been seen before."

"Or perhaps anyone who did failed to survive the encounter in order to report it," he theorised, "after all, Liberator herself was apparently a battle cruiser, or their equivalent thereof."

"Quite possible," she nodded. "She was most certainly a powerful and highly effective vessel in that regard."

"That, then, will be your third objective: find them. If possible, establish peaceful contact and commence diplomatic relations with a view towards sharing technologies. I fully realise the magnitude of this task," he readily conceded, spreading his hands in a conciliatory gesture, "but I am sure you realise its importance just as fully."

Supreme Commander Janessa Servalan smiled broadly, putting on all the charm of which she was capable. "I do indeed. Consider it done."

Vor returned the smile, and she left the office. But she did not go to the Officers' Lounge as expected. Instead she contacted her aide, Svel Betrox, and ordered him to prepare a scoutship for departure; he complied, frowning. Their journey was a long one.


Terran Federation Administration Headquarters

Shortly after

Karenna Jomane, Personnel Administrator, had been present at the meeting between Vos and Servalan, but as per protocol had said nothing; she had been running late, and thus had missed the revelation re Servalan's given name. Now, with Servalan gone, she could and did speak up. "Sir, you know what she did as Sleer. We can't account for her current fortune, so it must have come to her by some underhand means. We - you - can't trust her!"

He surprised her with a cynical smile. "Oh, I don't. I trust her to get the job done, Karenna, and that's as far as it goes. As Sleer, people who opposed her had a way of disappearing or dying unexpectedly, and I have no such intention. I shall watch my back carefully with Servalan around, I assure you."

"Oh. Well, that's good," Karenna replied, relieved. "I presume this will begin by assembling a file on her?"

He nodded, but looked grim. "But make sure at all stages that it is entirely accurate and above board. If and when the time comes to remove her, there must be no doubt whatsoever as to her status as a traitor. Our case must be incontrovertible."

"As you command, Mr. President pro tem, " Karenna answered.


Un-named planet

Ten hours later

"What do you want?" Rashel, Coser's former bond slave, demanded on the meeting at the landing field.

Servalan smiled. "We have a matter of mutual profit - or should I say, survival - to discuss."

Rashel snarled, brandishing IMIPAK, "I think not. Leave. Now."

Servalan raised an eyebrow, amused but unimpressed by the implied threat. Clearly the woman had come a long way from her humble origins. But it was hardly the first time the Supreme Commander had faced a weapon. "Hear me out -"

"Go!"

"- if you want to live." She smiled again. "Your death would solve a number of problems, not the least of which is that," she gestured towards the boxy device with disdain, unable to stop a reflexive shudder.

The younger woman frowned. "What do you mean?"

Servalan shrugged. "Why do you think the original settlers abandoned this planet without even naming it, leaving everything behind? They discovered a slow-acting virus in the atmosphere, missed during the original colonisation - its effect takes several years, but in the end it causes a very painful death. There is no known cure, except to leave and thus eliminate exposure. But don't take my word for it -"

"I won't!"

"- I have here the results of an independent survey team, one not commissioned by the Federation. They had no reason to lie. Check it," she offered, proffering up a file. Rashel frowned again but, still covering Servalan (a theatrical gesture, as IMIPAK's range was a million miles), she read it. Her expression of scepticism was slowly replaced by one of horror, which worsened the more she read.

But the report was, Betrox had insisted, entirely accurate. It gave Servalan an edge she badly needed, as IMIPAK was of course unanswerable.

"Oh, no," Rashel breathed, horrified. "We...Blake and I, and our children...we can't stay..."

"Nor can you leave," Servalan declared coldly. "As things stand, I cannot permit that. The weapon represents an inimical threat - you might use it on me at any time, from any range up to, so my experts tell me, a million miles." That last was in fact a guess, but an educated one, given the retrieved files on the late, unlamented Coser and Rashel's warning. He was the last Beta grade to be mistakenly classified; once the error and its reasons were discovered, procedures were tightened up.

"I still can," the frightened ex-slave ventured fiercely, but Servalan shook her head. She'd thought of that.

"That is of course an option," Servalan allowed. "However, if you do, my troops - who are not marked - have been ordered to hunt down, abuse and murder your family...while you watch. Then, once the children are dead, you will be raped, tortured and very slowly killed. I assure you that they are loyal and will obey without question." The troops' commander, one Major Par (promoted following the Travis affair), grinned. "So you see, we appear to be at an impasse."

"If I believe you," Rashel retorted. "It might still be a lie, just not yours."

"Such suspicion from a former bond slave," Servalan mocked. "Very well, don't believe me. I imagine you've already been affected, so it'll be a year or less before you are seriously debilitated. Tell me, have you been a little...short of breath lately?"

Rashel couldn't help the gasp of horror. She had been out of breath of late, but she'd put it down to increased age and the stresses of raising a family...plus the isolation was starting to get to her. But now, to discover that it wasn't just her...

"Ah, I see you have," Servalan observed. "Shortness of breath is, I am told, only the first symptom. That and an increasing lassitude. Then the pains will start, followed by neurological difficulties. The final result is irreversible brain damage. I am afraid the only solution is to remove yourself from this environment. As you said, you cannot stay."

"What...what can I do?"

"I can offer you an alternative, one which will benefit both of us."

"Go on," Rashel said cagily.

"First, you and your family will be relocated to an independent colony world, to live as you choose. Then, before witnesses, you will totally destroy IMIPAK. The witnesses will then leave you in peace. You have my word." She meant it, too. Her word was her bond, as Rashel knew, and so she accepted the deal. It was unusually generous, but one should never look a gift horse in the mouth.

What she didn't realise, however, was that while Servalan had given, and would keep, her word, she hadn't given that of Betrox.

Or Par, for that matter.

Once IMIPAK was destroyed, ending the threat, he carried out his orders...to mutilate and murder the children, followed by Rashel. In all aspects he obeyed every order.

Except one.


Terran Federation Administration Headquarters, Earth

Shortly after the murder of Rashel and her children

"I beg your pardon?" Servalan inquired, pretending ignorance. Blake's 'death' was classified - Par didn't know, and didn't need to. She'd given the order to kill Blake just for the look of the thing. To the best of her knowledge, whatever Vor thought, it wasn't necessary. Par did at least know that "Blake" was a clone.

"He, uh, wasn't there, Supreme Commander," Par admitted lamely. "Seems the body remembers, somehow. A couple of years ago, so she said, Blake started remembering stuff. From his rebel days, I mean. Even though he had a family, and even though they weren't really his memories, he took off. Dunno where he is now."

Hmm. It did at least explain how Blake ended up on Gauda Prime after several misadventures. That Blake, however, was known to be dead.

She took several breaths to calm herself (hearing about any Blake affected her adversely), and decided not to shoot the messenger - however much she wanted to. Good help was so hard to find these days, and she couldn't go about killing everyone she had a problem with. Not with her future presidency at stake. "Very well," she sighed. "At least IMIPAK is destroyed." She raised an eyebrow. "It is destroyed, is it not?"

Par nodded. "Blasted it myself, ma'am, after Rashel broke it. Totalled. And there can't be another, can there?"

Not since Coser's death, she mused. "And the girl, Rashel - she is dead, I take it?"

He grinned at the memory - she'd begged so prettily, not that he'd any intention of listening or sparing her; that was contrary to orders, which made it out of the question. No, top brass said she had to die, so die she did. "Took a while, and she did a lot of pleading - that's when I found out about Blake - but yeah, she's dead." He saluted. "As per your orders, Supreme Commander."

"Excellent," she nodded. He really was a dedicated trooper, loyal unto death, as he had been even in the days of Travis. He hadn't allowed the escape, as an intense session of questioning under truth scan had revealed, it had just happened. Travis had been skilled, and very hard to kill. Par had tried to stop him, but a moment's understandable hesitation at the idea of firing on a nominally superior officer, even a disgraced one, was all Travis had required.

She decided there and then to spare Par. He and his dedicated loyalty would be needed. Nowadays his kind was rare.

"Very well, Major Par." She smiled slightly. "Well done. Throughout this affair you have displayed precisely the level of competence and professionalism I expect from Federation officers." He grinned, pleased at the praise. "Your superb performance has been noted in your service record. I may have other special assignments for you in the future, and a further promotion is entirely possible. We shall see. Dismissed," she ordered. Par saluted again, a textbook delivery, and left.

At least three loose ends tied up, she thought, pleased, the girl, the Blake clone and IMIPAK. It's been a good day. I think I'll round it off with some sex and death. Lesbian sex for a change, I think. Hmm, who can we - spare...?


As it turned out two low-level Delta-grade clerks, both female, accommodated her, providing sex...and death.

"You're a - pervert," Derri, the elder of the two, gasped in agony as she lay naked and dying, her broken hands clutched to her ripped belly, blood running from her mouth. The other, Sinada, had already expired, her horrified eyes still open and her entrails showing amidst multiple slashes to her similarly naked body. She'd died screaming, to her murderer's sadistic delight and Derri's horror on knowing she would likely die the same way.

"True," Servalan smiled, licking her bloodstained lips, as she kissed Derri deeply, whispered, "Goodbye, darling, this was fun," squeezed her naked breast one last time and finished her off with the customised lead-weighted club, enjoying the Delta's final agonised screams of terror and her spurting, jetting blood as her arms and legs were brutally broken.

Once both were dead and Servalan had climaxed a number of times (from masturbation and their horrific, delicious deaths), she was languid in stripping off her bloodsoaked bikini, showering - in actual water; being the Supreme Commander brought with it certain perks and privileges - and washing the blood from her hands.

As always, she was tempted to leave it be. She loved human blood. Plus her next victim would be terrified...

No, she reluctantly decided. It wouldn't do for a Supreme Commander to have human blood on her hands. Certain degrees of propriety were expected. The same would be true, in spades, for a President.

Of course, she would get that unwritten rule changed...