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Tyce Sarkoff all but crushed Ria Blake’s hand as he shook it in farewell. "We’ll never be able to thank you enough for this, Blake."
"You have given us new hope for this alliance," President Sarkoff of Lindor assured her in a mellifluous voice. "You might have refused us."
Gently Ria shook her fingers behind her back. "I didn’t have much say, really. Caley wants to go."
"I attended university with Ambassador Liana," said Caley as he entered, accompanied by Jen Stannis, Vialle Restal, and Olga Gan. He took the teleport bracelet handed him by Kiera Avon and snapped it onto one bony wrist. "We made a good team then, I’ve no doubt we will be able to coax Auron into joining the planets aligned against the Federation."
"The best of good fortune," Ria told him. Briefly they embraced.
"I’ll miss all of you," avowed the Auron. "Hopefully I will be returning soon."
"Then why am I sniffling?" demanded Vialle. Eloquently she sniffed and elaborately she kissed Caley good-bye. Caley cleared his throat noisily, clasped Jen’s hand, then Kiera’s, and bear-hugged Olga. Kiera joined him and the Sarkoffs in the teleport bay.
"Put us down, Jen," Kiera said, and the group vanished. A few moments later Kiera reappeared, carrying two teleport bracelets and a case of Lindorean delicacies, which Vialle rummaged through.
"Maybe we could leave off Kiera and get another box," she said. The comment was so obviously half-hearted Avon didn’t deign to reply.
#
"Our current plan," Blake said to her assembled remaining crew as Liberator sped away from Lindor, "is to continue our efforts to consolidate and combine individual resistance groups. Our ultimate goal is to present a united front."
"Can we accomplish all that?" Olga asked. "Alone?"
"We can damn well try," asserted Jen. "Especially if we leave off raiding for a while."
"Fine by me!" Vialle beamed. She leaned against the couch back and spread her arms.
Kiera finally made her inevitable protest. "Blake. Jen. The Federation will quickly discover what we’re up to."
"Surely we can use Orac to help us around that," Ria argued. "You wanted it so badly, let’s get some use out of the thing."
"It doesn’t make a very good footrest, anyway," commented Vialle.
Olga stood up, stretched, and turned to Blake. "Perhaps Orac could plant false reports of our whereabouts."
"A possibility," Avon conceded, unpleased that she had not thought of it first. "But what will be the immediate result of this plan, Blake? Obviously you are dying to reveal it."
Everyone watched expectantly. "Delos," Ria replied; she had relied on Kiera to ask just that question. "It’s only recently been annexed to the Federation and there are rumors that a sizable portion of the population would resist, given the chance."
"Rumors," Kiera interjected. "Rumors only."
"Quartus is the nearest inhabited planet to Delos," said Jen, "and they’re on our side. They’ve promised immediate support if the contact goes well."
"I’d be making the contact on Delos personally," Blake pointed out. "You needn’t worry about that, Kiera. You’ll be safe enough."
Tartly Avon replied, "Actually that was not one of my concerns. I merely want to be sure that we are prepared in the event that something goes wrong."
"I’ll be careful," Ria assured her. "Are we agreed, then?"
"Who is the contact?" Olga asked.
"His alias is Pitor," Jen answered. "Apparently he’s a political figure who managed to escape the purges following the Federation takeover."
"That sounds unlikely. Where did you hear of him?" Kiera asked Jen. She had turned her attention from Ria, which generally meant that she was willing to concede.
"According to Avalon, who received the information from one of his spies, this Pitor could sway the Delians if anyone could."
"Are we agreed?" Blake asked again. Kiera nodded slowly, Vialle shrugged, and finally Olga nodded too. "Then it’s settled."
"Zen, set course for Quartus, standard by four," said Jen.
+Confirmed.+
Quickly Kiera rose. "I’ll be working with Orac; I’d rather not be disturbed." She picked up the computer and carried it out.
"She’ll have that thing eating out of her hand," Vialle commented. "I know that look. She’s got ideas."
"Ideas that usually save the rest of us a great deal of trouble," admitted Ria. She untied and retied the ribbon which bound her hair back; it was of black silk, given her by Vialle, and her fingers caressed the expensive natural fabric frequently.
"Aren’t we lucky," Olga drawled.
"Much as I hate to admit it," Jen said as he came from the flight controls to join them, "Ria has a point. Just because you don’t like her doesn’t mean she isn’t valuable to us."
Olga didn’t answer at first. She and Avon consistently disagreed on points moral and personal, so they had never been able to maintain civilized conversation long enough to understand each other. "I don’t care if she’s a bloody genius, I just don’t—"
"Trust me?" Kiera asked from the entranceway. She seemed impassive.
"Forget Orac’s key?" asked Vialle quickly, holding it up. Everyone ignored her.
"Perhaps I should let Gan deal with Orac, she is so trustworthy. After all, I might alert the Federation with it and turn you all in for the paltry reward—"
"I was about to say," thundered Olga, "like her. I don’t like you and you don’t like me."
"No more do you trust me. You’re worse than Ria, spouting democracy and fellowship all the day long, but breaking down when it comes to those who do not agree—"
"I’ve proven myself—"
"Have you?"
"Let’s stop this—" Vialle was ignored again, except by Jen, who gave her a negative shake of the head.
At last Blake intervened. "Kiera, what brought this on?"
"She’s been waiting for an excuse," Gan said hotly.
"Kiera."
Smoldering eyes and a clenched jaw were Blake’s answer. Kiera stalked forward and snatched Orac’s key from Vialle’s hand, and began to stalk back out until Ria grabbed her arm forcefully. "Let. Me. Go."
"No. Olga, Kiera, if you wish to argue, fine. Argue until your—until your spleens explode. But I will not risk my life to anything but a cohesive unit. You will trust each other."
"You can’t just—" Olga exclaimed.
"Is there any real reason why you shouldn’t trust each other?" Ria decided that she had bypassed the question of whether Olga did in fact trust Kiera rather neatly.
Kiera made a growling noise and attempted to free her arm. Ria let go, suddenly sorry she had held quite so hard. "No," Kiera conceded flatly. "So far as anyone can be trusted."
"No," Olga said, eyeing Kiera with distaste.
"Good," interrupted Vialle. "I’m sick of listening to your bickering. Kiera saved your life once, didn’t she? You’re my friend, Olga, but you’re bloody stubborn."
A glint in Jen’s eye showed his approval of Vialle’s strategy. Ria allowed herself to fade into the background. "All right," Olga was saying. "I apologize. But I’m not sure what for." Once she had uttered her surrender, Olga’s mouth snapped shut.
"I’ll be in my cabin," Kiera informed the flight deck in general, and again exited.
When Avon was well out of hearing range Olga said, "I’m sorry, Blake. She has a knack for irritating me, and I just...blew up."
"So did she," piped up Vialle. "Think she misses Caley—nah."
"I miss him already," Jen asserted. "Two hours without him to smooth things over, and boom."
"Enough of this," interrupted Ria. "We’re just going to have to do without him for a while."
#
"Orac," said Kiera patiently, staring into space, "you haven’t told me who this Pitor is."
"That information is not available," the computer replied in its acerbic voice. "His identity is by no means certain."
"Then what is known of Pitor?"
"He is reputed to have been a popular member of one of the larger national governments on Delos."
"And?"
"And is not a question."
"Is there further information?"
"No."
Sweetly Kiera said, "Perhaps you could extrapolate, Orac. Postulate. Theorize." Then she hesitated. She had been working for several hours, but as yet had not dared to ask her primary question. Considering how Orac’s first prediction had turned out, she felt her uneasiness was justified, but...Kiera sighed. "Why me?"
"Your question is futile."
"Thank you, Orac. You’ve actually made something clear to me." She grinned, with scant humor. "All right then, I’ll ask, because no-one else will."
Someone rapped authoritatively on the door panel. Startled, Kiera snatched off Orac’s key, then said levelly, "Come in, Blake."
A point scored; it was Ria who entered. "Making progress?"
"Some." Kiera leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs. "Enough to know that Orac is going to be extremely useful to us. Despite its temperament."
"You’ve made your point," Ria sighed. Kiera, even clad in a utilitarian black coverall, managed to look appallingly elegant, here in her own territory. Blake wished that the elusive Avon could have been cornered somewhere else. "I meant to ask about specifics, however."
Kiera’s face changed. "Orac knows nothing about the alias Pitor. I find that less than reassuring."
Ria sighed explosively. "Damn it, this whole business is risky! Do me the courtesy of assuming I know that."
"We are agreed in one thing, at least. Risk is an automatic factor in any venture of ours."
Studying the other woman closely, Blake suddenly said, "You think Delos is going to be especially dangerous, though."
Kiera toyed with one gold hoop earring before replying, "Yes."
"For Liberator?"
"No. For you. Even Orac cannot give us information that does not exist; perhaps there is no Pitor. It could very easily be a trap."
"Balanced against the value of Delos and Quartus, how much is one life worth?"
"Don’t ask me questions like that, Blake," Kiera said peevishly.
"I value my life, but I’m willing to risk it. Unless you can come up with conclusive proof—"
Abruptly Kiera stood, faced Orac, her back to Blake. "You know I can’t."
"And you’ll help me regardless of your personal opinion on the matter."
"Don’t I always?"
#
Vialle and Jen shared a late night snack in Jen’s cabin as they discussed the day’s events. Jen, boots off and shirt unlaced, occupied the one chair; Vialle, resplendent in minidress and a pair of gold spiral earrings "borrowed" from Kiera, was disposed on the bunk. "I don’t like it at all," she said.
"You never like any of our plans, Vee," Jen stated wearily.
"I liked that one about escaping the System," Vialle pointed out, referring to a recent experience.
"We were already captured!"
"But it was a plan, and I liked it."
Jen smiled crookedly. "All right, all right! You win."
"This Delos thing is dangerous. If any of us was half the pilot you are, my handsome—"
"I could go with her. We need Caley. Already."
Popping a chocolate into her mouth, Vialle said, "Times like these I’m glad I’m small and can’t shoot worth a damn."
"And Olga isn’t any kind of shot at all." Jen picked up his teacup from its brace and sipped thoughtfully. Vialle waited for him to continue but he did not.
"Kiera’s the best shot on the ship."
"I wonder why that is?" Jen asked the bulkhead. "Not Caley, not me, not even Ria."
"You’re changing the subject, Stannis."
"Hell yes. We can’t send Kiera."
"Why not? Don’t tell me you agree with Olga—"
"No, of course not. Kiera would never leave us, not in a sneaky way like that. But we can’t risk two, at least not those two."
Suddenly Vialle scrambled upright. "That’s Blake talking."
"Yes, it is. And I agree."
"If it’s too dangerous for two it’s too dangerous for one," she insisted.
"Let Ria talk to you for a few minutes and you’ll change your mind."
"I’m not crazy." Vialle wrapped her arms around her updrawn knees, her long hair hanging around her like a curtain. "Sometimes I worry that Ria might be. Maybe they planted a death-wish in her, or something like that."
Jen stood up and stretched. "I think she knows what she’s about. We’ve lasted this long, haven’t we?"
"I just have an uneasy feeling...."
#
Time passed. Kiera and Orac found no proof that the situation on Delos was not as it appeared to be, and word came from Jason Kasabi on Earth that Delos could be vital to the prosperance of the rebellion.
The day came when Liberator left Quartus for Delos. Avon had given up trying to convince Blake against this, despite the unexpected support of Vialle. After all, three to two was no different than four to one, and an argument with Olga did nothing to change the ratio.
With Liberator in orbit around Delos, Blake teleported to the prearranged coordinates. Liberator left quickly, to lie low near an asteroid belt in the Quartian system for the week that Blake would be gone from them.
They waited.
Time passed.
#
Liberator crept into Delian space with sparkling new detector shield operating and, after two tense hours of spying out Federation Star Killers behind every asteroid, fled.
Avon was tight-lipped and silent at her station on the flight deck. No one dared say anything to her.
Except, as usual, Vialle. Morosely she commented, "At least the gadget works."
Silence.
"Well? Kiera was right. Wasn’t she?"
Jen cursed.
Grudgingly Olga admitted, "Yes."
Jen said, "Olga—send a message to Avalon. Give him the news, and tell him to abandon any plans that might be compromised."
"When Blake spills them, you mean," Kiera said flatly.
"Yes. We’ll have to lie low while we plan."
"A rescue?" Kiera asked, staring at the starfield on the screen.
"Orac can gather information for us." Jen glanced at her. "I think we can manage an heroic rescue."
Vialle winced. Olga exclaimed, "We can’t let the Federation have her!"
"We must at least try."
Everyone started with surprise, because the voice belonged to Kiera.
#
Vialle strode down a corridor of the Federation base on Oberon, her figure encased in svelte Spaceforce leathers, sidearm jutting on one hip. She was trailed by Kiera, dressed as a mutoid, face passionless, rifle at textbook angle, stride jerky.
A week of searching had led them to Oberon, and the final clue had been provided by the extensive shielding surrounding this small area of the complex, shielding that was most probably meant to keep out rebels with teleport capability. Travis knew her enemies well, but seemed to have limited funds.
Kiera kept her gaze relentlessly on Vialle’s rigid spine. She didn’t like being a mutoid, though she acted the part superbly. Especially she didn’t like the way Federation military bases smelled.
Vialle stopped at a door, bent, fidgeted with an imaginary key. The door slid open. Kiera followed her in, flicked a knife from her wrist-sheath into her hand, stabbed efficiently the lone trooper at the monitor, and let the body topple to the floor. Vialle leapt backwards in distaste and quickly relocked the door. "Caley teach you that?" she asked, her voice shaking.
Kiera nodded once; she was already seated and searching the computer records. Suddenly she looked up. "She’s not here—moved to C wing, orders of Servalan."
"Bloody hell," Vialle cursed, then brightened. "Hey, C wing isn’t shielded!" Kiera leapt to her feet and strode for the door. Vialle grabbed her arm, pulled her back. "Officers first. Let’s go, before I’m sick."
#
Ria had been barely conscious when at last her rescuers found her, but the strain of teleport knocked her out quickly. Vialle almost fell when materialization caused the taller woman to abruptly become dead weight. However, Lew Jackson, the doctor Jen had borrowed from Avalon two days before, caught his patient with one arm and Vialle with the other. "Thanks," Vialle said. She shoved her teleport bracelet into the rack, then fled to her cabin.
Olga exhorted Jen over the comm to get them out of there, then asked fearfully, "Is she alive?"
"Oh, yes," Jackson said; he had been examining Blake quickly and competently. "Though the worse for wear." He was not smiling as he said it, and his blue eyes were cold. "Undernourished, heavily drugged and, as you can see, battered."
"I warned her," Kiera said to herself. She followed Jackson as he carried Blake towards her cabin, absentmindedly shifting her rifle from arm to arm to wipe the blood from her hands onto the mutoid uniform. Olga, who walked with her, she ignored.
"I’d like you to get Orac, if you would," Jackson asked Kiera, once Blake was established on her bunk with a small unit pumping fluids into her body, a tube in her nose, a tube running from her jugular vein, a tube running from the back of her left hand, and a sensor on her left temple. "Presumably she can help me with blood analyses and such?"
Kiera’s opinion of him rose fractionally. He appreciated computers. Her computer in particular. "It could indeed be very useful," she confirmed, wiping her hand again. "Olga, could you fetch it from the flight deck?"
Olga, standing quietly near the bunk, nodded in an abstracted manner and departed. Jackson turned away, blocking Kiera’s view of Ria; she wasn’t sure whether this was purposeful or not. But it did seem to be a definite dismissal.
Avon returned a short time later, clad in a loose black silk shirt and trousers with slip-on leather shoes. As usual a shower and a change of clothes had relaxed her. Jackson glanced up from his work when she entered; Olga had left.
"She’s stable," he said. "I’d like to work with Orac in my quarters, if I may—there’s more room there, and the sensor will alert me if I’m needed. You’ll keep watch?"
Kiera blinked. "Yes."
"Thanks." Jackson smiled charmingly, picked up Orac, and vanished; then he stuck his head back through the doorway. "By the way, where has Vialle got to?"
"Her cabin. She—" Kiera stopped. "This has—upset her."
"Hmm. I think I’ll pay her a visit. Mind you call me if you want me."
Kiera felt blank, empty. She watched the slow rise and fall of the blanket as Ria breathed. What am I doing here, she thought. What am I waiting for?
Olga stopped by to see if Blake had awakened yet, and took the chance to offer thanks to Kiera. "I could never have gotten her out, much less killed the guards."
"I had no choice," Kiera said sharply. "Caley the hero wasn’t available."
Olga smiled at her, genuinely. "You had a choice. Really, Avon, I’m not stupid." Then she left.
Kiera fumed. Blake had managed to make peace between them after all. She was still glaring a the recumbent form when Jen entered. "Any change?" he asked.
Shrugging, she answered, "How should I know? She’s alive."
Jen sat next to Kiera on the wall bench, looking morose. "But out of action." He put his face in his hands and sat silently. After a time he raised his head and said to Kiera, "We need Caley. We should recall him."
"It’s far too late now. I think he made the right decision, staying with the Ambassador."
Jen rose and stood by Blake’s side, taking the hand not pierced by an intravenous needle. The skin was scratched and abraded, and bruised under the nails. Both anger and pain filled his voice as he growled, "Travis dies for this, Ariane."
#
"Vialle?"
"It’s open." When Jackson had entered she added, "I’m in the head."
Jackson seated himself and waited. Vialle emerged shortly, still clad in Space Command leather, but with her long hair held back from her face with a band of brightly patterned silk. Her eyes and nose were reddened, and she had just washed away her makeup. This was the first time he had seen her without any; she was a woman who needed none. "All right?"
Vialle blew her nose. "Kind of you to ask. I knew this would happen, but I had to go anyway. That’s the problem with being indispensable."
"You and Kiera did a good job."
"Oh yes. Did Kiera tell you she knifed three men? I can’t stand blood. Have a beer?"
"Yes, thank you." Jackson eyed the label on the real glass bottle he was given, smiled, and asked, "Where did you get this?"
"Stole it."
"Of course. I should have known." They drank.
After a time Vialle remarked, "You’re a pretty nice chap. I remember seeing you when we brought back Avalon that time."
"Do you? I don’t—"
"On the viewscreen, not in person. I never forget a pretty face."
Jackson grinned; his smile was devastating. "Now, now, I’m a married man. And my wife is a gunhand."
Vialle smiled back, blew her nose again. "Flirting cheers me up. I don’t mean anything by it." Indelicately she swigged at her beer bottle. "She works with Avalon?"
"Yes. I wait around to patch people up, and try to educate our daughter."
"Really? I’ve always wanted children. Well, a daughter. I never seem to think that I might end up with a son."
"There’s a fifty/fifty chance," Jackson pointed out.
Vialle sighed. "Not until I know it will grow up safe. And there’s very little chance of that."
"Someday, I hope."
"But I’ll still remember the way things are now. Some things you can never forget."
"Some things should never be forgotten," Jackson agreed, in an unhappy tone.
#
Kiera, still keeping watch over her unconscious leader, was drowsing when Vialle came bundled in a robe too large for her, the last of the crew to visit. Without greeting Avon she went to Blake, touched her shoulder, and whispered something that sounded like a plea. Abruptly, convulsed with weeping, she flew out into the corridor.
Kiera wavered, feeling that she ought to go to her, but unsure of what to do when she got there. She stepped out, allowing the door to close behind her. Vialle looked up like a small startled animal, her hand pressed tightly around her mouth, her chest heaving. Kiera gripped her shoulder, digging in her fingers until Vialle gasped with pain; then her breathing quieted. She fell back against the door and hiccoughed.
"Sorry—sorry Kiera—I just—"
"Couldn’t help it."
Vialle dashed at her face with the back of her hand. "Thought I could handle it, but I couldn’t. Couldn’t bear to see her like that."
Kiera poked her in the shoulder, gently this time. "Quiet."
Vialle stared mutely with damp toffee-colored eyes.
"You were all right down on Oberon."
"Hah." There was some little verve in this exclamation. "You’re so tough."
"Yes," Avon agreed.
Biting her lip, Vialle stared at her. "You’ll stay here?"
"Until Blake comes round," Kiera replied offhandedly.
"I’m going to find Jen. I’ll be back later." She reached out with her deceptively delicate hand; her fingers just brushed the other woman’s sleeve. She departed.
Kiera fell asleep in her seat again until she was awakened by someone calling her name. Olga ignored her flaming glare and said in an excited whisper, "There’s news! Supreme Commander Servalan is in big trouble!"
"Trouble?"
"You did it, you and Vialle."
"Did what?" Kiera shook her head, trying to clear it.
"Remember—Ria was moved into an unshielded wing of the base."
"Servalan had ordered—" Light dawned in her face. "He was blamed for the escape."
"The news is all over Space Command. Jen had that decoder running, trying to see what’s being sent after Liberator, and—"
"Thanks."
Olga glanced over at Blake, who hadn’t moved. "I wonder who will replace him?"
"I have no idea."
"I’m going back to the flight deck. I don’t want to miss anything."
"Do that," Kiera said. She closed her eyes again, heard the door sliding shut.
Ria Blake shivered as her eyes opened but she was warm, covered by a heated blanket. She’d been asleep. She stared uncomprehending at the big holo of the Pleiades viewed from Earth on the bulkhead and said, "Jen gave that to me." No sound emerged, and she realized how weak she felt, and ill.
Memory reared up and kicked her in the head. She flinched back from it and made a small sound.
"Ria? You’re on Liberator. Do you understand?"
Liberator. She didn’t have the strength to feel glad, only nauseated. "Yes," she breathed. "Good. Thanks."
Kiera’s mouth twisted slightly in what might have been a smile. "I didn’t do it out of the goodness of my heart."
You never stop, do you, Blake wanted to say, but couldn’t fighting a sudden rush of panic. "We’re safe?"
Startled, Kiera blinked at her for a moment. "Yes. Quite safe." And uneasily she wondered if it were true.
Blake closed her eyes. "Dreadful," she whispered. "Feel dreadful."
"Not surprising," Kiera said dryly. "It’s been two weeks."
"Forever." With great effort, she opened her eyes again, and focused on Kiera’s face. "Thanks."
"You said that."
"Forgot."
The door opened, admitting Jackson. He wore a voluminous dark blue dressing gown and carried a mug of strong black coffee in one hand; with the other he took Kiera’s arm and drew her aside. "Hello, Ria. Do you remember me?"
"Lew. With the little girl, Illyana." Again she closed her eyes.
"I’ve been lent to Liberator to get you up and about again."
"Feel dreadful."
"You’re full of nasty drugs, and I can’t do much about that—the antidote to one reacts badly with another. I’ve given you a support drug, however, to keep you operating while those others leave your system. All you need do just now is rest. All right?" Blake nodded infinitesimally. Jackson laid his free hand on her forehead. "Go on to sleep if you can. Everything’s being taken care of."
Blake slept. Jackson drank his coffee. "Well?" Kiera asked, standing with her arms folded.
Jackson waved towards the door, and the two stepped into the corridor. "Well what?"
"That’s all you’re going to do?"
"For now." He drank the last of his coffee, made a face, and suggested, "I could give you a sedative. Of course, if you asked my opinion, I’d give all of you a sedative. You’ve had a rotten week."
Kiera glared at him. "No, thank you."
"Suit yourself." Jackson pulled Blake’s monitor from the pocket of his dressing gown, glanced at it, and returned it. "You need to get some sleep," he said casually. "She’s doing fine."
Still eyeing him balefully, Kiera reached up and removed her gold earrings and weighed them in one hand. "I don’t like being left in the dark if there’s bad news."
Ruefully Jackson grinned. "You are a cynic. For what she’s been through, Kiera, her condition is normal. There won’t be a miracle cure, but in time her physical health will be as good as it ever was." He gestured with his mug. "Her emotional health will be more difficult to regain, but from what I know of cases like this, Ria will do just fine. Now, please, go away and sleep. I can do my job."
Kiera sighed. She wasn’t sure what she felt beyond exhaustion. "Good night, Jackson."
#
On the flight deck, Olga looked up when Kiera entered. "Any news?" Jen and Vialle, curled on the flight couch, looked up at her voice.
"Blake woke up. She’s asleep now." Kiera paused. "Jackson threw me out."
"He told me to stop fussing and go to bed," Olga said.
"You‘ve got circles under your eyes, Kiera," Vialle interjected. "But join us anyway." She waved a slender hand at the table, and the coffeepot and other paraphernalia there. "I brought your favorite mug."
Olga, who was manicuring her long nails, lifted her cup and added, "There’s cocoa, too."
Sparing her a glance, Kiera said, "Thank you." She dropped her earrings into her shirt pocket, walked slowly to the lounge area, and picked up her mug, inspecting to be sure it was clean. She considered; poured herself black coffee. She heeled out of her shoes, sat next to Vialle, drew her feet up under her.
Jen yawned and nudged the coffeepot with his boot toe. "What are we going to do?"
"The best we can," Olga said.
"I meant right now."
Vialle lifted her head from his arm and remarked, "We’re not doing anything. This is a vigil." With her left hand she poked Kiera.
Coffee sloshed; luckily, none sloshed out. Kiera said mildly, "Wherever did you pick that one up?"
"I’m not as dumb as I—" Vialle began tartly, then trailed off. "Walked right into that one."
"As usual."
Jen sighed; he was too easygoing to participate in the game of razored retorts. He poured himself more cocoa and dumped peppermint liqueur into it. Olga looked at him hopefully; he fixed more for her. "Status, Zen."
+Cruising speed standard by two. Evasive program engaged.+
"I wish we had a base to run to," Olga said. Expertly she applied lacquer to her fingernails. "I’m tired of being cooped up on a ship."
"Cooped?!" Jen was incredulous. "In a ship, we’re free."
Kiera, who’d been staring vaguely into space, suddenly looked at her companions. "Free of what? For what?"
"Do we look like philosophers?" Vialle asked. "We’re free from prison, that’s what. Free from eating, drinking, and breathing pacification drugs."
"Why?"
"Why?" Jen repeated. "What do you mean, Kiera?"
"Why are we the lucky ones?"
"You said it," Vialle replied. "Luck. I’m a firm believer in luck."
"Luck and Blake," said Olga. "I owe her my life."
Kiera looked away, then down into her empty mug. The silence stretched. "Pour me some coffee, Vialle."
#
Late afternoon; Kiera stood in her cabin, wearing a long full skirt of fine black suede that rippled when she moved. She was rummaging in her closer for the matching high-collared jacket when her intercom chimed.
"It’s me."
"It’s locked," Kiera remarked to the air, and pulled on a forest-green shirt. Suddenly she spotted the jacket and, yawning, pulled it out.
"Love that outfit," Vialle said in her ear. She wore rose-colored harem pants and a tunic of off-white brocade with a portrait neck. "I came by to warn you—Jen’s been on a planning binge."
Despite herself, Kiera was surprised. "Planning what?"
Vialle took possession of Kiera’s bunk and said dubiously, "He wants to buy ships to work on, while Ria’s recovering."
"I suppose he wants me to install teleport. Were you sent to warn me?"
"No, just thought you might want to know. I have a bet on with Jen."
"You were right," Kiera said. She sat down and picked up a hairbrush.
Vialle, who knew the older woman’s facial expressions to the smallest nuance, commented, "I hate sitting around doing nothing, too."
"That is the last remark I would have expected from you."
"It’s the waiting, makes me say crazy things." Vialle twirled the end of the narrow braid at the side of her face. "Ria doesn’t talk," she said suddenly. "At least, not much. It’s as if she doesn’t care to look at you, or move anywhere to look at anything else. Do you know what I mean?"
"Yes."
"Ria needs work to do, too."
"She can’t even get out of bed yet," Kiera protested.
"If we let her sit and stare, she’ll never do anything else."
"Have you spoken to her?" Kiera asked, brushing her shoulder-length dark hair.
"I said, how do you feel Ria, and she said, how do I look, and I said, terrible."
"Yet you claim to have a silver tongue."
Vialle shrugged. "I always have trouble lying to Blake."
"You’re not serious."
"I wish I wasn’t. Are you going to the flight deck?"
"I go to the flight deck every day, Vialle."
Undeterred, she replied, "Jen’s there, waiting for you."
Kiera stood and gently placed her brush atop a cabinet. "What does he plan to do with these hypothetical ships?"
"I don’t know. You do?"
"I might."
On the flight deck, Kiera strode directly to the pilot’s station and said, "Two ships. One to be mine."
Jen smiled broadly. "I don’t have to argue?"
"You are not Blake, to convince me with rhetoric."
The smile faded. "True. You agree with me, that it’s a good idea?"
"If you can acquire two ships."
"There are two Mercury-class that we could pick up," he replied casually.
"You’ve been planning this," Kiera said, but her tone was not accusing.
"Ria and I had been thinking about it," Jen admitted. He, too, was wearing black: shirt, trousers, and high boots. His vest was purple with ornate silver trim. "Lew told me Ria would need something to keep her busy, once she’s up and about, and this seemed ideal."
Kiera said, "A teleport is not an easy thing to build. I assume that’s what you want?"
"What else do we have that the Feds don’t?"
"It should keep us occupied for a very long time, even with Orac."
"Kiera," Vialle interrupted, "what do you want with a ship, anyway?"
"None of your business."
"Well ex-cuse me." Vialle sighed extravagantly and flopped onto the couch. Kiera, ill-tempered from lack of sleep, ignored her, but Jen caught her eye and smiled.
To Kiera he said, "If anyone can build a teleport, you can. You’ve been at Liberator’s since the day we figured out what it was."
Her eyes became distant, remembering. "Blake is the engineer. She’ll see the logic in having to work on the teleport herself." She looked at Jen and smiled with one corner of her mouth. "I begin to like this plan. There is no risk involved."
"Until you have to test it," Vialle pointed out.
"Never mind that," Kiera said. "It doesn’t matter right now. Jen, are you going to discuss this with Blake?"
"I’m elected?"
"Yes." Kiera turned her back and headed for the computer station. I need to make some adjustments on my ‘gadget’."
#
Jen stood in the open doorway of Blake’s cabin for a moment before entering; Ria sat propped with pillows, her appearance much improved, but her eyes ravaged. Olga sat next to her, holding her hand and filing what was left of the nails. She cast a worried glance at Jen and returned to her task.
"Hello," he said. "You’re looking better, Ria."
"Am I?" Finally she looked at him. "Olga insists that having my nails done will make me feel better."
"You wait, it will," said Olga.
Ria smiled at her, a shadow of her usual expression. "I hope so. What’s your plan? I can see you have one."
Relieved that the conversation had taken a more normal turn, Jen said, "Remember our idea to build a fleet someday?"
Blake focused her eyes on her Pleiades holo. "Yes, of course I do."
"I’ve had Orac looking out for possible ships, whenever I can pry it away from Kiera. I thought a couple of Mercury-class would be good to start with."
"Fine. Go ahead."
"Kiera wants one of the ships."
Ria’s expression didn’t flicker. "Why shouldn’t she?"
"Oh, I didn’t argue. She’ll be doing most of the work on the teleport, after all. She says she can’t do it alone, though, and wants you to help."
"I can’t remember very much about the teleport project."
"You’ve worked with Liberator’s," pointed out Olga.
"I’ll think about it," Ria said dismissively.
She wanted to conquer the Federation, Jen thought painfully. Now look at her. "Ria, we need you."
Again the shadowy smile. "Don’t be silly. You would get along perfectly well without me."
"That’s not true!" Olga protested.
With alarm Jen added, "We’re nothing without you."
"Hardly that."
"It’s true," Jen insisted, gripping her shoulder. "We wouldn’t even be here without you."
Blake shrugged. "I suppose I could help her."
"Suppose?"
"I’ll think about it."
Dr. Jackson breezed in, smiling cheerfully. "You’re looking well, Blake. Hello Olga, Jen." He picked up several items of medical equipment and headed out. "You won’t be needing any of these anymore, do you mind if I carry them back to the medical unit?"
"Ah—no. No more blood tests, then?" Ria sounded pleased.
"Just one a day for the next week, to be absolutely safe. I think we’ve pretty much rid you of the drugs, all you need is to put some weight back on. Eat chocolates if you want." Jackson grinned again.
"Vee has some," Jen offered. "Hidden in with her stockings."
"I don’t much care for chocolates."
"Pastry?"
"Well–yes."
"Even better. It’s unprofessional of me to recommend such unhealthful stuff, but I find there’s nothing better for one’s temper." He turned to go, but Jen stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"Do you think it would be all right for Ria to help Kiera build a teleport?"
Jackson looked to Blake. "I don’t see why not. Consider it doctor’s orders, Ria. You could use the exercise." Without waiting for an answer, he left.
"Don’t these look nice?" Olga asked, holding up Ria’s hand with professional pride.
"Lovely," Blake said absently. "Jen, ask Kiera to come and see me, will you?"
Kiera waited until she was sure Olga had departed Blake’s cabin before going there herself. Gan had always regarded her with some distrust, but since the rescue of Blake she had suddenly become overtly friendly. For some reason, this made Kiera nervous.
After Olga appeared on the flight deck, Kiera departed, walked through Blake’s door, and froze. There was a weapon in Blake’s hand. "Did I startle you?"
"I didn’t hear you come in," Ria said without apology, sliding the gun out of sight. "What’s all this about you needing me to build a teleport? You have schematics already, you’ve shown them to me."
Kiera was slightly puzzled and desperately trying not to think about being shot. "A great deal of work will be involved. We’ll have to hand-make most of the components, not to mention the installation. Do you expect me to do it all, Blake? I certainly do more than my share of the work on this ship—"
"I don’t expect anything. I just wondered."
"Wondered what?"
"If this project was just an excuse to keep me occupied."
"It is."
Ria blinked at her. "Why?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why do I have to be kept at it? Why can’t I just rest?"
"You hate rest, Blake," said Kiera flatly, "and you can’t lie about until you die. Remember the Federation? Remember your dozen or so plans to destroy it? Surely you want to do that more than ever, now."
Ria’s eyes were vulnerable and afraid, unnerving to Kiera. "But I don’t. Not anymore. I just don’t care."
Incredulously Kiera said, "You, Blake? You?!"
"Remember how you felt, on the London? I do. That’s how I feel now."
"It isn’t the same."
"Kiera, it’s no good. I just can’t go on, not like this. I don’t believe we’ll ever succeed, especially after I told them everything I knew—"
"Blake, stop. Any of us would have spilled everything."
"That isn’t it." She stared down at her hands. "I’m still afraid, Kiera. Dreadfully afraid, all the time. Sometimes I just know I’m being watched, and I dream about eyes staring at me. Those are the worst, even worse than dreaming about—about—"
"Stop. I’m not going to sit in a ship in the middle of nowhere doing absolutely nothing for very long."
"You don’t have to," Ria said, more in control.
"We’ve prices on our heads, where else are we going to go?"
"Away from me. Jen could do as well as I."
"I will not take orders from Jen."
"You never took any from me."
"Yes I did. After they had been arranged to my satisfaction."
Ria smiled. "You want me to stay?"
"I want you to hurry up and win this guerrilla war. I’m tired of it."
"Building a teleport will do that?"
"I don’t make long-range plans. That’s your job."
#
On the flight deck Olga, who had taken over Caley’s post at communications, was listening to whatever Space Command messages she could pick up. A hard-won decoder purred gently to itself, and a recorder set to automatic hummed, for there were a number of messages that fit its assigned parameters.
"Anything on Servalan?" Jen asked.
"Too much, it’s hard to sort it all out. I’m not so good at this as Caley is."
"Can you give me the general idea?" Jen leaned his elbows on the console and studied the madly flickering lights.
"He’s in trouble."
"Someone must have been waiting for a chance to bring him down," Jen said. "That high up, he must have a lot of enemies, and I don’t mean people like us."
Olga held up her hand for silence; when the communications band cleared she said, "I’ve figured it out. Servalan’s missing; the message was detailing ships to go after him."
"Wonder if they’ll catch him?" mused Vialle, coming down the stairs near the entranceway.
"I hope they blow him to kingdom come."
"There will just be someone else," Olga pointed out absently, listening again.
"Maybe Travis," Vialle said darkly. "At least all of that upheaval has given us a breather. There hasn’t been a pursuit ship in range since the three right after we rescued Ria."
"Don’t get your hopes up, Vialle," Jen said; he was now at the flight controls. "We’re not out of this yet."
"When are we getting those ships?"
"We‘re on our way to Cedon right now. Has Ria said if she’ll be—"
"Yes, she is. Somehow Kiera talked her into it. Funny how things work, isn’t it?"
Jen sighed. "How much do I owe you?"
"Fifty credits and—"
"Never mind that."
"I won’t forget," Vialle leered.
"Stop laughing at me, Olga!"
#
"Vialle, whatever are you crowing about?" Kiera snapped, sullenly eyeing the playing cards laid out in front of her on the table in the rec room.
"I won my bet. Rather, you won my bet. Now Jen has to—"
"I do not want to hear it. It’s probably disgusting."
"Oh, Kiera—"
"Leave me alone. I’m relaxing."
Vialle grinned. "What you need is—"
"Go away."
"All right all right. You’ve made your point. What a bear you are." She bent and peered at Kiera’s cards with a professional air.
"Then why are you still here?" Some of the vexation was gone from her tone.
"I want to know why you’re hiding out in here. You can tell me." Vialle widened her eyes engagingly.
Kiera said, "Blake has a hand blaster. Under the blanket on her bunk." She sat back in her chair as though relieved to have said it.
Vialle’s jaw dropped. "You’ve done it. You’ve surprised me." She sat down across from Kiera and fiddled with one of the face down cards.
"When I walked in, she nearly blew my head off."
"What did you do?"
"Nothing. What could I have done? I startled her, coming in unannounced."
"But—"
"A blaster." Kiera swung her hands over the table, piling the cards into an unrecognizable mess. "I couldn’t believe it."
Thoughtfully Vialle nodded. "I think I can. She’s nervous."
"I think you’re searching for the word paranoid."
"It’s not her fault, Kiera."
"If she shoots me down in the cargo hold I’ll be sure to remember that."
"Kiera—"
"I’m sorry I went on and talked her into helping me. I should have walked out, right then." She glared at Vialle accusingly.
"Why didn’t you?"
"Stupidity. Sheer stupidity. No, insanity, that’s it."
Vialle chortled. "Sometimes you can be very funny."
Kiera ignored her. "We were wrong, we shouldn’t be doing this. How can she be effective in this condition? It will be a series of suicide missions from now on."
Half-rising from her chair Vialle said, "Hang on. In her condition indeed. Are you forgetting a certain someone on the London who didn’t want—"
"It isn’t the same!"
"Yes it is! I was there! You would have just lain down and died if it hadn’t been for me!"
Kiera looked stricken for an instant, then angry. "I know that I owe you, you don’t have to remind me. I can never repay you, ever. Is that what you want to hear?"
"No, no, no. You don’t owe me anything. Why can’t you understand that?"
"I have my own opinion."
"Well I wish you would forget about it for once. Look, we need Blake, and we won’t have her back unless we work at it. You do want her back, don’t you?"
"As Gan so earnestly reminded me the other night, I owe Blake as much as I owe you." She held up her hand to forestall Vialle’s protest. "What is so terrible about a sense of obligation?"
"You shouldn’t owe people. It’s like saying they do things for...for...payment."
"Most people do."
"I’m not one of them," Vialle said, her expression set. "I didn’t realize that you thought I was."
"I don’t." Kiera began to stack the cards neatly. "Never mind. Let’s not discuss it any more just now."
"I’m sorry, Kiera. That’s the only way to get anything out of you, you know, just keep poking."
"Hmph."
"Did you mention the gun to Lew?"
"No. Not yet."
"You should. You don’t sound panicked any more."
"Panicked? I was not panicked."
"Oh, sorry. I forgot, you don’t do the panic thing."
Kiera didn’t say anything. She examined her nails, tattered as usual from mechanical work.
"And when you’re in something, you stay in."
"I’m not ‘in’ anything."
"Yes you are!" Vialle teased.
"Shut up."
#
Two small ships, Olympias and Cleopatra, were in Liberator’s hold, but Blake didn’t want to see them. She didn’t want to think about them. She didn’t want to plan what could be done with them.
"Ria," said Jackson from her open doorway, "I’ll be teleporting down in a few minutes. Do you want to wish me luck?"
From somewhere Ria found a smile and put it on. "The best of good fortune to you, Lew." She gestured to the door. "I’ll walk with you to the teleport."
"Remember what I told you," he said as they moved down the corridors. "Get back into the swing of things. Don’t wait."
"How could I forget? They won’t let me. Even Kiera...."
"Trust me," he said, smiling warmly. "It isn’t just you, Ria Blake, who is affected by your decisions. It’s everyone on this ship. It’s all the people of Lindor, and Destiny, and even Cygnus Alpha. People listen to you, believe in you."
"But I don’t believe. All I can see is pain and blood and the scars you healed. All I hear is boots tramping and people screaming and Travis whispering. If I try to lead anyone I’ll cripple them."
"You do believe in the future, Ria. You just can’t see it at the moment. In time it will return."
"I don’t know, Lew. I don’t know." Slowly she shook her head.
"First build a teleport. Then we’ll see." Jackson stopped, just around the corner from the teleport area. "I’ve some news for you that might get you started planning again. Jen was going to tell you, but this looks like a good time. The new Supreme Commander of Space Command has been appointed."
"Did they get Servalan?"
"Not yet."
"It’s Travis, isn’t it."
"Yes. How’s that for a prescription?"
"Travis is a disease." Ria led him into the teleport area, where the entire crew was waiting; Kiera to operate the teleport, Vialle to bring back Jackson’s bracelet. "When did you get the news about Travis?"
"Half an hour ago," said Kiera.
"From now on, give me all of the information we receive. That vicious creature as Supreme Commander...we can’t have that. No, not at all."
#
The flight deck was dimmed for the night watch, and deserted save for Kiera, who was utilizing Orac’s carrier wave to put through a message to Caley, who with Ambassador Liana had just arrived on Auron.
"This is Avon."
"Caley here. How are you, Kiera? How’s Blake?"
"How are things going?"
"They don’t like me, but Liana might just convince them to listen to me. What’s wrong, Kiera?"
Avon stared at Orac in surprise. "Caley, you certainly know how to make one wonder—"
"Oh, come now, you wouldn’t have contacted me unless—where’s Ria?"
"In her cabin. She’s much better, for which we are all most grateful. No more blaster at meals, no more screaming in the middle of the night."
"She still wants Travis?"
"The obsession is dying a gradual death. But we’re still going to have a try at Space Command Headquarters–hit and run, probably. Not so dangerous with my detector shield."
"Then what’s wrong?"
"Nothing really." Long pause. "Caley, if you had a ship of your own, what would you do with it?"
"Park it in one of Liberator’s holds until needed."
"That’s what I was afraid you’d say."
"You’re not planning to go anywhere, are you, Kiera?"
She sighed. "No. No, I suppose not."
"Good. Blake needs you, you know."
"I am beginning to understand that." Avon grinned wolfishly, for no-one could see. "Anyway, it’s far too late to try and escape."
"So that’s the problem."
"No, not anymore. With no alternative, there is no problem. Goodbye, Caley. I’ll be seeing you soon."
"Goodbye, Kiera."
the end
special thanks to Alu for all of his medical advice.
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