originally published in Prime Time 7

The blood that dripped annoyingly into Avon's eyes finally woke him and he put up a shaky hand to investigate the wound. It proved a jagged cut, shallow but messy, that ran just below the hairline. That explained his raging headache; the skin was puffy around the edges of the wound and the light pressure of his exploring fingers made him wince. Still a little dazed from the flyer crash, he couldn't concentrate on more than one thing at a time, and he fumbled about for something to use as a bandage, his mind not working clearly.

Something firm yet yielding met his exploring hand. Warm and alive. An arm. Startled, Avon wiped blood from his eyes and stared at Roj Blake, who lay beside him in the co-pilot's seat, eyes closed, body lax. Their hasty escape from Donnat's false rebels had not been completely successful. When Liberator hadn't responded to their urgent request for teleport, there had been little choice but to steal the flyer and run for it, but the so-called rebels had artillery and the little vessel was hit. Avon had coaxed and cajoled it into running far longer than he'd believed possible--Jenna would have been impressed--but eventually they'd lost power and Blake, already slightly wounded in the skirmish that had followed the discovery of their betrayal, had been unable to help Avon bring the ship down. Naturally, they had crashed. The ground had rushed up at them, a thickly forested terrain that offered no promising landing areas. Struggling with near-useless controls, Avon fought the ship with all his strength, finally spotting a tiny clearing. Hitting that would be like programming a computer blindfolded with a meter stick, but Avon had come close. Trees tore at the flyer as it skimmed drunkenly over their tops, aiming for the clearing and their one chance of survival. "Hang on, Blake," he called over his shoulder as they dove at the ground. Then the crash and Avon was flung forward against the controls and knew nothing more.

Pain stabbed through Avon's skull now as he reached for Blake, to feel for a pulse. The rebel leader was still alive, but Avon didn't like the pallor of his skin or its clamminess, and the pulse beneath his fingers was too light and too fast. He might be going into shock. Warmth and treatment were needed immediately, but they were the last things Blake was likely to get. Unable to set a reasonable course with the damaged controls, they had headed deeper and deeper into the wilderness, and they had gone down into the deep forest that covered a third of the planet. It might make them harder to find. From the sight of trees outside the shattered front visor, Avon suspected he had missed the clearing entirely.

Tearing a strip of cloth from his undertunic, Avon bound it around his head, realizing it would require a more effective treatment later. A sketchy bandage already covered Blake's injured shoulder but it had been torn free in the crash, and there was a swelling lump on the rebel's forehead that did not bode well. For now, Blake's survival might depend upon his actions, and that annoyed him. He hadn't wanted to come on this mission in the first place, and he was not particularly surprised to find it gone wrong. Liberator had gone off station or--more likely since this had been a trap from the beginning--had been destroyed and, in either case, rescue would be far from immediate, if at all. He might be a thousand kilometers from another human being.

"Is he dead?"

The voice was young, too young. Avon jerked around in startled reaction, going for his gun, only to pull his shot just in time when he realized his audience consisted of three children. The oldest might have been around fourteen; he was fair haired and small for his age, and he wore a heavy metal brace on one leg. Perhaps because of the handicap, his eyes were older than his years, and it was he who had posed the question. Beside him was a girl of nine, equally fair, with a heart shaped face and surprisingly dark eyes. She was staring at Blake with a look of horror that seemed out of proportion for the possible death of a stranger. The third was another boy, several years younger than the girl. He should have been too young to understand very much, but he, too, held frightened awareness in his expression.

"Not yet," Avon replied flatly, returning his attention to Blake's wounded shoulder. "Damn him," he muttered under his breath.

"Grandfather says it's easier to hate the dead," the older boy volunteered in a voice possessed of considerable cynicism.

Avon understood that all too well. It was easier to deal with the death of an enemy than a friend. That philosophy had stood him in good stead, but it was one which offered nothing in its place. While protecting the sensibilities of children was not something he had ever considered before, he wondered fleetingly at the grandfather that would offer such a suggestion to these three.

"Do you hate Grandfather?" the girl cried passionately, turning furious eyes upon her older brother.

He tightened his lips and avoided her look, turning back to Avon. "What can we do to help?" he asked practically.

A medical supply kit might help," Avon replied. "I'd also like to take him out of here. Do you have shelter nearby."

"There's our house," the girl offered, but a shudder passed through her slender frame as she said it, and the little boy clutched compulsively at her hand, tears starting in his eyes.

It would have taken a far less perceptive person than Avon to tell that something was wrong with them, but he didn't have time to explore it, and he certainly lacked the inclination.

"Also," he continued, ignoring the distress of the younger two, "Something with which to transport him."

"There's the supply sled," the older boy asked. "Desta, will you and Ree get it?"

"No," said Ree defiantly. "I'm not going back there now."

Avon had managed to repair the dressing on Blake's shoulder as they talked, and had gone on to checking his shipmate for other injuries. Aside from the lump on his head and a number of bruises, he could find nothing obvious, but Blake could have spinal damage or internal injuries, and he was loath to move him. Yet the damaged flyer had an ominous smell of leaking coolant mixture and it was entirely possible the stuff was toxic if not explosive. Better to get Blake away from here. Once the Liberator was back on station, it should be possible to treat his injuries properly, or at least to contain them whilst they sought out a surgeon as they had done for Gan recently. Avon grimaced. That incident had not gone well. Perhaps he should suggest to Blake that they recruit a surgeon to join the crew.

That thought pulled him up short. He did not entirely consider himself a member of the crew, and though he had chosen to return to Liberator and reject a potential bolthole on Space Station XK-72, it didn't mean he meant to stay permanently. Well, a surgeon would make his remaining time easier if such could be located.

Blake shifted uneasily and moaned but when Avon spoke his name, he didn't rouse, though he leaned toward the sound of Avon's voice. It made Avon wonder about the severity of his head injury.

The sound of the younger two children scrambling from the wreckage made him raise his head to see the older boy watching him. "They won't be long," he offered.

"You have shelter for us?" Avon asked.

The boy's face darkened. "Yes," he said flatly. "Though there is a task I might ask of you in return for the use of it."

Everything had a price, though he seemed young to have learned that lesson. "And what is that?" Avon returned cynically.

The boy dropped his eyes. "Bury our grandfather," he mumbled.

"What?" Avon was startled. He'd realized, of course, that their grandfather was dead, but not that it had just happened. The younger two were too young to manage and this boy probably lacked the strength.

"I'd do it myself, and I would have done," he confessed. "But I'm not good at athletic things like digging." Bitterness ran through his voice.

"The medics could do nothing for you?" Avon asked.

"Medics?" he asked scornfully. "What makes you think ordinary people on Donnat rate medics?"

Avon hadn't considered it. On Earth, treatment for birth defects and injuries sustained in childhood was provided automatically. But for the first time, he wondered if that were true in the Delta domes. Obviously those out of favor were considered expendable and though Avon's family had not always been treated well, Alphas though they were, no one had ever withheld needed treatment. To his surprise, he was a little shocked. Perhaps it was a good thing Blake was unconscious. Avon could sense the new ardor he would bring to his cause if he knew about this.

"I see," he replied. "When did your grandfather die?"

The boy looked grateful for the matter of fact question. "Last night. I've tried to keep Desta and Ree busy today, but I couldn't keep it from them. Tomorrow the patrol comes round and they would have buried him if I'd asked, but I hate to owe them anything."

"The patrol?" Avon asked sharply. "Federation?"

"Local militia. But they're Federation supervised. Why? Are you on the run? Criminals?"

"Of a sort," Avon replied. "This flyer will be all too obvious. What sort of ground transportation do you have?" If Liberator was intact, they might be found before then, but if not, he preferred to be ready for trouble ahead of time.

"Only the supply sled," the boy replied. He grimaced. "It's big enough to take two without losing speed, but it isn't a lot faster than a running man. It isn't built for that."

Naturally not. This would be difficult. That also left the question of three children without an adult, three children who might be blamed if he and Blake took the supply sled and hid in the forest. While Avon preferred to look to his own risks and ignore other people's, he was not prepared to abandon the children as easily as he might an adult. Blake, of course, would never permit it. Blake's nobility of spirit was annoying at best, but his genuine shock at the thought of the crime the Federation had accused him of told Avon that he would never leave the three to their fate. Muttering a curse, Avon began to shift Blake to move him out of the wreckage.

"I'm Tirn Waven," the boy introduced himself. "The militia might not know about you." He caught Avon's eye and shook his head. "No, they probably will, won't they? When they see the wreckage, they'll know it came down here. Then they'll find out about Grandfather and they'll take us in and put us in a creche in the city and that'll be the end of that." He chewed his bottom lip. "I'm not much good for anything, of course, but Ree's healthy and Desta is too pretty. They won't have much of a life. I don't suppose you'd take us with you."

"Hiding in the forest seems counterproductive," Avon returned. "The search for us will be thorough. You might have a better chance with the Federation."

"Why, what have you done?"

"I followed...him," Avon replied, gesturing at Blake. "It seems I am still capable of acting the fool." He began to ease Blake through the doorway with Tirn's marginal help. Blake cried out suddenly, and Avon froze, his hands going still on Blake's arms. Damn.

Tirn studied him intently. "I don't think you can move him without hurting him," he said, his eyes big and frightened. For the first time, Avon could see the child in him. "Let me help."

"What can you do?" Avon snapped, regretting it when the boy flinched as if he'd been struck and pulled back, his head drooping.

"Oh, very well," conceded Avon. "Take his feet, if you can."

"You needn't be so bloody condescending," Tirn retorted hotly.

"I am hardly that. I am injured myself and this space is difficult to maneuver in. If you take every remark I make as a reminder of your leg, we shall not get on well. I tend to be sarcastic, and that is when my head does not ache." It was as near an apology as he was likely to offer.

Tirn grimaced. "And you're worried about your friend," he discovered. "All right. Pull him forward a little and I'll help. When we get him out of the ship, you'll have to carry him, though. I'm pretty fast on my feet, but not when I'm trying to carry something." He actually smiled, though concealed a wealth of bitterness.

Between them they eased Blake from the wreckage as carefully as possible, pausing when the pain roused him. He didn't fully regain consciousness, but he came close a couple of times, only relapsing into sleep when Avon spoke quietly. "It's all right, Blake."

Tirn's eyes narrowed at the name, but he said nothing. Well, there were bound to be many people called Blake. The boy would think nothing of it, surely.

He realized his hand was still resting comfortingly on Blake's shoulder and he pulled away as if stung. Tirn nodded knowingly--irritating brat--then took up Blake's feet again.

Between them they maneuvered Blake free of the wrecked flyer. Before they had finished Avon could hear the dull thudding beat of the sled's engine as it made its way toward them. Obviously simple enough for a child to operate, it should be suitable to move Blake away from here if the Liberator didn't return in time.

The sled proved to be a flat platform that ran on fat rubber treads at what must be a maximum speed of five or six kilometers an hour. If he took Blake and left immediately, he might be out of the general vicinity by the time the militia troop arrived.

Desta and Ree came forward to help lift Blake and place him on the sled. Though their help was next to useless, Avon refrained from comment when Tirn shot him a knowing look as if he expected Avon to criticize them. He resented the boy's attitude, but he could not quite bring himself to find fault with the younger two when they were attempting to help.

Blake woke on the way to the children's home, his eyelids fluttering up. "Avon?" he asked, squinting up in some confusion. "...blurry...can't see you properly."

"You managed to hit your head," Avon told him in a sardonic manner. "You might try lying still and--for once--taking my advice."

Blake's mouth curled into a smile. "You'd enjoy that, wouldn't you?" he asked. "Where...are we, Avon?"

"Somewhere in the deep, dark woods." He allowed himself to return Blake's smile. "We have been rescued, for the moment, by these three." His look drew the children forward, and they stared at Blake in some fascination, though the girl, Desta, hid a dark worry in the back depths of her eyes.

"Avon?" Blake's hand shot out and captured Avon's wrist. "I won't... endanger them."

"That was not my plan, Blake. Now lie still and rest. You've lost too much blood for my liking."

"I must have done, else you'd have said, 'I told you so,' five or six times already."

Involuntarily, Avon laughed. "You're hardly dying, Blake, just proving a general nuisance and, as it happens, I am used to that already."

That made Desta giggle, and Tirn smiled rather too knowingly to suit Avon before turning his attention back to steering the sled. Ree edged closer to Blake and fixed great staring eyes upon him. "Are you really Blake?" he asked.

Avon cursed himself for mentioning Blake's name, but the rebel smiled at the little boy and stretched out his good hand to touch his hair. "That's my name," he agreed.

"No, I mean are you the Blake? The rebel! Grandfather was always talking about you, but we're not supposed to." He put his hands over his mouth as he realized he'd broken the rule, then his eyes twinkled. "But we can talk to you. We're not telling the militia."

"Ree," Tirn said dampeningly. "Blake is a common name."

"You needn't fear we'll talk to the militia," Blake comforted the child. "My name is Roj Blake. I think we are all on the same side."

"Then he's Kerr Avon," Desta said, pointing at Avon in an annoying manner, something like hero worship lighting her eyes. "You're the one that knows all about computers." From her tone, it was clear she considered computers the most important thing in the universe. "I want to work with computers one day."

"Indeed," Avon said repressively.

She didn't take that as a criticism. "Yes," she replied. Then the light went out of her face. "Here's the cabin," she said in a sad little voice.

Blake caught Avon's eye and asked a silent question. He shook his head abruptly and Blake didn't push it.

"You'll want the medical kit," Tirn said abruptly. "Desta, you and Ree take the sled around the back and recharge it."

Avon helped Blake off the sled, but he couldn't stand without support, so Avon was forced to drape the injured man's good arm around his shoulders and guide him forward. Tirn limped forward rapidly and flung open the door then came back and helped Avon to steer Blake inside. They put him down on a spare bed, but not before Avon and Blake had seen the shrouded form in the corner. Blake cast a questioning eye at Avon, who said in an undertone, "It's the children's grandfather, Blake. Say nothing for now."

"Avon's going to bury him for us," Tirn volunteered as they helped Blake to lie down.

"Avon is?" Blake shot Avon a startled look, then fatigue caught up with him and he lay there shaking with it, his face white.

"And you are going to do nothing but what I tell you," Avon informed the injured man. "Is that quite clear, Blake?"

"You needn't enjoy it so much," Blake mumbled wearily.

"What makes you think I enjoy it?" Avon turned to the boy. "I assume you have some medical supplies in the absence of medics," he stated flatly.

"Yes, Avon. Here." He fetched a supply kit and helped Avon deftly as he removed the makeshift patch and cleaned Blake's wound, sterilizing it carefully. There was a little muscle damage, but nothing beyond the Liberator's capabilities. Blake went even whiter than before under this process and it wasn't long before his eyes slid shut. Avon's hands went still and he studied Blake in some alarm which he promptly banished. It was better for all concerned that Blake remain unconscious for now. Awake, he might hinder the treatment and he would certainly express his opinions to anyone who asked--and even those who didn't.

"We've a synthetic spray," Tirn volunteered. "Do you want to use it?"

"It might be best, though we'll treat him again when we return to our ship."

"The Liberator." A trace of boyish awe crept into Tirn's voice, erasing that cynicism that went so ill with his age. Avon knew it would stand him in good stead in years to come, but the slip back into boyhood seemed natural. "I wish I could go on board," Tirn breathed. Then, looking at Avon, he sighed. "I know that's not possible. Here." He passed Avon the spray.

"I am not entirely certain Blake and I will return," Avon replied. He cast a quick glance at his teleport bracelet which seemed intact. The crash might have damaged it or Blake's but they seemed in one piece, even if his hasty attempt to contact the ship had not met with failure. He tried it again now. "Avon to Liberator . Come in, damn you."

"Do you think they had to run from the Federation?" Tirn asked. "There's a big base here. They run this whole planet. Why do you think we live way out here? Grandfather's on the run."

Wonderful. They had managed to crash on the property of a known resistor. No wonder the militia made periodic runs out here in the wilderness. They were likely keeping an eye on 'Grandfather' to make certain he wasn't engaged in clandestine rebel activities.

"Obviously the Federation knows that," Avon returned. "I should imagine this is one of the first places they will check when they search for us." He finished with the spray and passed the cannister back to Tirn, then fastened a new bandage in place, binding Blake's arm to his side to keep him from moving and inadvertently breaking the wound open. "And now," he said, "I shall bury your grandfather. After that, Blake and I will be on our way."

Tirn's face fell, but he said nothing. Instead he rose with curious dignity and limped across the room to draw back the blanket that covered his grandfather.

The old man had died in pain; probably a coronary. His face had twisted with it and still held it now, but beneath that, it displayed the same strength and dignity that Tirn was capable of showing. There was no family resemblance, for the dead man had a harsh hawk face with a great beak of a nose, close set eyes and thin lips with none of the children's unconscious beauty. What little hair the old man had left was grey, but Avon doubted if he'd been as fair as the three youngsters. Yet even in death, the old man retained an image of the vitality that must have been an integral part of his nature.

"He said it was easier to hate the dead," Tirn repeated. "But I can't quite hate him. A part of me wants to, for leaving us like this. I want to...to hit him and shout at him and tell him he's no right to be dead like this." He raised eyes that were suddenly too bright to Avon's impassive face. "And you don't give a damn, do you. This is just a nuisance, payment before you can take our sled and run for it. I hate you!" He flung himself upon Avon, beating at him with clenched fists.

Startled at the outburst, Avon caught his wrists and held the struggling boy while he fought to break free. Then all at once, he collapsed against Avon's chest and burst into tears. "Damn him," he muttered. "What will we do now? There's nothing left, nothing."

Stunned to find his arms full of crying boy, Avon was too surprised to push him away. Blake would have handled this better, but Blake was unconscious and unlikely to come to his aid, so Avon gritted his teeth and twisted his lips into a grimace that Tirn couldn't see before he put an arm around the boy's shoulders. Offering comfort never came easily to him, perhaps because he had so rarely received it, but it had never been his way to harm the helpless, so he stood with some awkwardness, holding Tirn against his chest. He was relieved when the sound of running footsteps outside recalled Tirn to his duty as man of the house. The crippled boy pulled himself together, ran a hasty hand across his face to eradicate the tears, then leaped to cover the old man's face before the children entered.

At the last moment, they came in slowly, casting unhappy glances at the shrouded form in the corner, then crept in, Ree choosing a seat at Blake's feet, curling up there as if he thought the rebel could protect him even in sleep. Desta looked at Tirn rather maternally and then announced, "I'll fix some food."

Ree made retching noises. "You can't cook."

"I can do better than you can, you little horror." She turned to Avon and favored him with a conspiratorial smile. "Besides, I can run the processor better than anyone."

"It does require some degree of computer skill to manage it properly," Avon heard himself saying.

"You see," she returned. "I'll do that now."

"Then I'll take Avon outside," Tirn announced. Ree promptly shifted closer to Blake but didn't budge, and Avon followed the older boy from the cabin wondering how those who believed the Federation propaganda about Blake would have reacted if they had seen Ree's unconscious trust in him.

He spent the better part of an hour digging a grave for the old man, helped by Tirn, who insisted on aiding with the digging. As he did the heavy work, Avon's head throbbed, but he concealed it from the boy. He had told him he'd dig the grave and he kept his word, but the delay irritated him and he was not talkative. Tirn was not inclined to comment on the work either. Perhaps he was regretting his earlier breakdown. He might have guessed by now that Avon was unlikely to mention it to him.

When the task was finished, Avon brought the body out, still wrapped in its blanket, and lowered it into the grave. He would have begun filling it in immediately, but Tirn stopped him. "Wait. There must be a service. Will you do it, Avon?" He fixed trusting eyes on Avon and waited.

Wonderful. Avon stilled a grimace before it could cover his face. "It might come better from you," he suggested. "You knew him and could give a better eulogy."

Evidently it was the right thing to say. Tirn brightened fractionally, then he raised his voice and bellowed for the other two to join them. They came hesitantly, their steps lagging, until they stood beside their brother. Tirn put his arms around Ree's shoulders, but Desta edged slightly closer to Avon, who regarded this evidence of trust with some perplexity. He had done nothing to win the girl's respect.

"We're here to bury Grandfather," Tirn announced in a formal voice. He still had a high pitched, childish voice most of the time, but occasionally it slid into a deeper tone, presaging the adult he would become. "Sabel Waven was a great man. He could have done anything, gone anywhere, but he chose to fight in the name of freedom. He would have still been doing it but he had to take care of us. He said we were his legacy, and he meant it. He tried to help us get ready for this moment, but I wonder if he did it right. It isn't easier to hate the dead. It's better to remember them the way they were and to love them." His voice faltered for a moment, and he glanced over at Avon, then steadied himself. "That's what I say, and you two remember it. We'll miss him. We'll miss him a lot. But we'll remember him. And we'll never hate him. Isn't that right, Avon?"

"So one would assume," Avon replied. He rather suspected he might prefer the old man's philosophy, though he doubted he would have understood it at Ree's age. By the time he was Tirn's age, he had an all too clear grasp of it, and that without the necessity of burying his only adult relation.

"Anyway," Tirn continued, "Grandfather wouldn't have wanted us to stand around and cry, and I think he was right about that. We've got a big job to do now. We've got to help Avon and Blake hide from the Federation. We know the woods better than anyone, so we're going to take them away from here until their ship gets back. Grandfather would have approved of that."

"We're going to be rebels," Ree piped up. "We're going to fight the Federation. Can we take Grandfather's guns, Tirn?"

"Every one of them."

Desta shifted still closer to Avon and startled him by sliding her hand into his. He let her clasp it a moment, then he eased free and picked up the shovel. "Perhaps you would finish the dinner," he told her. "We must eat before we leave here."

She cast one final look into the grave, then she grabbed Ree's arm. "Come on," she said in her most motherly tone. "Help me with dinner." She led him away so he wouldn't have to watch the filling in of the grave.

When they finished, Avon started for the house, and the boy fell into step with him, trying to match his uneven pace with Avon's stride. Avon didn't slow his pace, and Tirn kept up, though with some effort.

Blake was awake and propped up with pillows when they entered, Desta perched beside him spooning soup into his mouth. Some color had returned to his face; doubtless the treatment and hot food had helped. Desta favored Avon with a glowing smile. "I thought I'd give him some soup," she explained. "Gr-grandfather always gave us soup when we were sick. He looks better, doesn't he?"

Demonstrably," Avon returned. "Well, Blake, you seem to have a noticeable effect upon the female population."

"Hardly, Avon. I'm a distant second where Desta is concerned." Amusement shone in his eyes. "But then I'm only a rebel. I don't know nearly enough about computers to suit her."

"You hardly seem to suffer from the lack."

Ree was working his way through a plate of stew, drinking something that looked like milk from a tin cup. It had left a whitish mustache across his upper lip. "Desta's not as bad a cook as I thought," he announced around a chunk of meat. Avon shuddered at the sight and turned away.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," chorused Desta and Tirn automatically, then Desta waved the spoon at the table. "I've got yours ready," she said. "Eat a hearty meal. We'll be camping afterwards."

"We're taking them with us, Avon," Blake explained. "If the local militia finds our flyer they'll know we were here and they might take it out on the children."

"They should be more likely to do so if they find the children with us," Avon pointed out.

"Perhaps, but we'll be some distance away by tomorrow and Desta says there are caves where we can wait for the Liberator."

"Assuming it returns," Avon said flatly.

"Most likely they've gone off station and will come back as soon as it's safe."

"Hardly a realistic assumption, Blake. How long do you think we can survive in a remote cave with limited supplies and three children to mind?"

Blake faced him with a show of defiance. "As long as it takes, Avon."

"Ah well, if you say so." Avon strode over to the table and seated himself. His head ached too much to press the argument and, like Blake, he had lost some blood and needed to eat. Aware of the others' eyes upon him, he ate in silence.

Tirn joined him and made quick work of his food. Presently Avon became aware of Desta standing beside him, holding Blake's empty soup bowl in her hands. "Is--is it good?" she asked in expectantly.

"I have no complaints." Her eyes waited and he found himself adding, "It's quite good." Desta's face glowed with pleasure and she went away with her head held high.

But there was no time for lingering. Tirn and his sister packed food supplies in a box to take with them and Ree dragged out extra blankets. When they were ready, Blake was helped out to the sled once more, this time wrapped in blankets with a pillow for his head. Avon gestured for Tirn to take the controls, saw a moment of resentment in the boy's eyes at the suggestion he could not keep up.

"I should prefer someone to handle the sled who knows what he is doing," Avon replied. "Ree, you will stay with Blake and watch him, and let us know if he feels badly. Do you think you can do that?"

"Course I can. I'm not little any more. Grandfather--grandfather said I was grown up."

"So you are," Blake consoled him. "Stay and talk to me. I've nothing to do and I'll be quite bored otherwise."

Ree's face brightened and he curled up beside Blake, leaning against his good shoulder.

"What about me?" Desta asked Avon.

"You and I must keep watch. Are you any good with a gun?"

"Of course." She picked up a small projectile rifle from the weapons supply that lay near Blake's feet. "This is mine. I've killed a raga with it." She checked it expertly to make certain it was loaded. Avon realized that their remote location had taught them more wilderness skills than he possessed. Picking up a second weapon, he examined it. Good quality, but he preferred his weapon from the Liberator .

It was midafternoon when they started into the forest. The temperature was pleasant, but Tirn said it became cold at night. They would go as far as possible before dark, maintaining a high speed until Desta tired, then she would take Ree's place on the sled and the boy would walk for awhile. After that, Avon would allow Tirn to walk as long as he could keep up. If he didn't get the chance, he would resent it, and while the sled could carry all three children and Blake and still maintain a stiff walking pace, Avon preferred to conserve power. Though the Liberator might return at any moment, it might be gone for days, and Avon prepared to be ready for the worst possible scenario. Eventually they would reach the township of Dain, a place free of the Federation.

At first Blake slept, still weak from the bloodloss, but he seemed to have suffered little damage from the bump on his head. He admitted to a headache, but his vision had cleared and he was alert. Avon's own headache had eased after he ate and Desta had, at Blake's insistence, rebandaged his head. An analgesic had completed the cure, and now as he only noticed the remnants of pain from time to time. He suspected it would return as he became tired or when the medication wore off, and he was not looking forward to it, but he had a tendency to headaches anyway, so it was not an unfamiliar condition.

Desta walked well for several hours, inflicting Avon with artless chatter that demanded little response, which was just as well. She confided all her hopes to him, her plans to go to Earth one day and study computers there. She talked about the greatest computer expert of the day, Ensor, and spoke with some knowledge of tarial cells. But it was when she confided to Avon that it was her duty to take care of Ree first now that her grandfather had died that he found it difficult to respond to her.

"Have you no other kin?" he asked.

"We have an aunt but she's on Raskin Major. That's why Grandfather took us when our parents died. He couldn't risk taking us across two systems. He was cautious even then. Ree was a baby and I was only three so I don't remember them, but Tirn does. It makes him sad sometimes." She glanced over her shoulder at her brother on the sled. "I wish I remembered them."

"Perhaps it is as well to have no such memories," Avon replied. "This way it cannot make you sad."

"I think I'd rather remember them, even if it did," she said stubbornly.

Behind them Blake's voice was suddenly lifted in song, and the two advance guards turned in surprise as Ree gave a crow of delighted laughter and joined in, followed by Tirn, who looked as if he were doing it to humor the others. Ree was too young to feel the full impact of his loss, but Tirn and Desta knew it well. She raised unhappy eyes to Avon and said, "Do you think we should sing?"

"If you like," he replied. "I, however, shall pass."

"Oh, join in, Avon," Blake broke off to admonish him. His eyes met Avon's and he shot a cautionary look. 'Help me manage the children,' it said all too clearly. Avon's return look said equally plainly, 'I shall get you for this one day, Blake.' It annoyed him to realize how clearly he and Blake could read each other's expressions, but there were times when it was useful.

"You'd subject them to my singing?" he asked, allowing a note of humor to creep into his question. Blake's voice was pleasant, if untrained, and he could break into a song easily enough. Sometimes, he urged the others to join in, and Vila always did. Gan's voice was nothing to write home about, but he was willing to pitch in, and Jenna did too. Cally's voice was sweet and tuneful, but the Auron songs she sometimes sang were too poignant for Avon. He himself chose to sing but rarely. Now, he did it under protest. Tirn realized that. He was altogether too perceptive for one so young. He flashed a sardonic grin in Avon's direction that was almost enough to make Avon fall silent, but Blake was watching him too, and Blake's eyes were alight with that special warmth that was so difficult to resist. Damn the man, he was a menace.

When Desta grew tired, Ree traded places with her, talking even more annoyingly to Avon than she had. He had a small gun of his own, and he claimed to be a great expert with it, which Avon was inclined to doubt. Yet he carried it well enough, and didn't act as if it were a toy. Once when a small animal not unlike a Terran rabbit ran across the path, Ree jerked up the gun and shot it without hesitation. "Dinner," he proclaimed gleefully. "Wait'll you taste it, Avon. They're good. I shot my first one when I was only little. Just turned five. Someday when I'm grown up, I'll be a famous hunter, won't I, Tirn?"

"Most likely," his brother replied. "Or else you'll be a famous boaster. You'll clean it tonight."

Ree made a face at him, but he took a piece of string from his pocket and tied the animal's hind legs together and secured it to his belt.

The undergrowth was light but enough to tangle around Avon's feet. He could feel his headache coming back, but he ignored it. Blake had drifted off to sleep after Desta had taken Ree's place on the sled, and by then the party was too tired to continue singing. Ree flagged quickly and was replaced by Tirn, while Desta took the sled's controls, steering it expertly. Blake didn't awaken at the changeover, which concerned Avon, but there was nothing that could be done about it, so he put it from his thoughts.

At first Tirn did fairly well. He didn't bother Avon with inane chatter. His face was somewhat sour and his concentration was focused on the undergrowth, for he found it easier to lose his footing than the other two. In spite of the brace he moved fairly well though his balance was sometimes questionable. After a kilometer or so, Avon looked around and found a stout stick for him to use as a staff.

"I don't want that," Tirn insisted, trying to wave it away impatiently.

"Perhaps not, but I see no need to endanger Blake or your brother and sister because you are too proud to take it," Avon returned pointedly.

For a few moments, Tirn glared at him, then his face relaxed and he took it, though with bad grace. "I don't know how Blake puts up with you," he muttered under his breath.

Avon hid a smile. "With a great deal of effort," he replied.

"You enjoy it, don't you?"

"Sometimes." Startled, Avon realized it was true. It wasn't just that he found some satisfaction in being difficult, cutting Blake down to size. It was that he actually enjoyed the challenge of Blake. The others as well. Vila had unexpected wit and spirit and sparring with him was pleasant, though Avon would never have admitted it. Vila played the game the same way, refusing to admit it either, and they made a good team. But it was Blake who presented the greatest challenge. Avon cast a glance back at the sleeping rebel and frowned with annoyance. The last thing he wanted was to like Blake. Involvement with other people was a fool's game that led to nothing but trouble and suffering.

"But you don't want to enjoy it," Tirn added with surprising perception. "You believe what Grandfather said, don't you? About it being easier to hate the dead. You don't want to get involved. You must just hate it when you find you've slipped up."

"I have hardly 'slipped up,'" Avon informed him coolly. "In any case, you're not far different yourself."

"At least I know it's all right to miss Grandfather."

"Which will hardly bring him back."

"Maybe not, but pretending I hate him won't bring him back either and it'll only make it worse. I've got the other two to take care of, and I can't do it if I get bitter." He caught his toe in a snarl of weeds and almost fell, stabbing the staff into the ground for balance, cursing when Avon reached for him involuntarily to help him stay on his feet.

"Leave me alone!" he snapped.

The impulse dying, Avon jerked back. Glancing over his shoulder at the sled, he saw Desta watching him with big, surprised eyes, then turning back to the steering controls as if he'd disappointed her. Irritated, he strode out ahead of Tirn on a pretense of scouting the land. He was not here to live up to the children's expectations--or Blake's.

When Tirn finally returned to the sled, Avon waved Desta away as she would have joined him. It was twilight, and the caves where Tirn had suggested they hide were not far away. The sled could bear four of them for the rest of the journey.

Avon was glad of the dimming light, for his headache had returned with a vengeance, so that even the fading light of the sun had stabbed at him like knives. His balance was not as good as before and had been tempted to borrow Tirn's staff for the rest of the journey, but pride held him back. He was not badly hurt, he insisted to himself. But the trees waved back and forth like dancing girls before his eyes and he felt cold and dizzy. Each step required fierce concentration.

"Avon? Avon!"

He staggered to a stop and turned, putting out a hand to balance himself against a small treetrunk, only to nearly fall when it proved further away than he had expected. Vertigo pounced upon him and he grabbed at the slender trunk while the clearing revolved around him in a slow and stately manner. His stomach churned with sudden nausea and he leaned his forehead against the treetrunk, ignoring the urgent voice that called his name.

Then a hand caught his arm and he raised startled eyes to see Blake staring at him in concern. "Avon? You need to rest. Come and lie down."

Before he could protest Blake being up, his control faded entirely and he slid down the treetrunk to lie in a heap at Blake's feet.

#

Avon roused from blurry darkness to a pounding in his temples and a soothing coolness across his forehead. Somewhere nearby a fire snapped and crackled, its dancing light flickering against his closed eyelids. At first, he couldn't remember what had happened, then a memory of Blake calling his name emerged from the confusion. Forcing his eyes open, he looked around.

They had reached the tentative safety of the cave; shadows lurked beyond the range of the firelight, and rocks and jagged walls emerged from the dimness. Closer at hand, Blake sat propped up against a rock spur leaning against a pillow, tucked in a blanket. Ree leaned against him, sleeping.

Muted voices made Avon turn his head a little. Desta sat stirring something in a pot that hung over the fire. Her brother, his bad leg stretched out before him, leaned against another rock, scooping food out of a bowl with a chunk of dry bread and eating it.

"He should have been awake by now," Desta insisted in a worried voice.

"Blake says to let him sleep," Tirn replied calmly. "He was hurt worse that we realized and he needs the rest." He grinned suddenly. "And that means he needs a rest from being mothered, Desta. Leave the poor man alone. He's not used to children."

She glared at him but no harder than Avon was glaring. What right had the boy to pry into his business? Maybe he wasn't accustomed to children, but he was perfectly capable of dealing with them. They could be no more threatening than Blake and he dealt with Blake every day. Certainly they were far less ominous than Servalan and so far Blake and his people had kept her at bay. But no one could be expected to deal with children--or even with Blake--when his head ached like this.

"Maybe not," Desta returned. "But I like the way he treats us. He doesn't act like we're babies. When he's tired of us, he says so. He treats us like we're grown ups."

Avon pondered that. How else should one treat children? Of course he would prefer to ignore them entirely, but since he chose to ignore most people, what difference did it make?

Blake entered the conversation, a smile in his voice. "He's been very patient with you, Desta. Avon's not a patient man."

"You like him," she observed, lifting the spoon and beating the handle against the pot's rim to keep it from dripping.

"Avon would doubt that," returned Blake, "But it's true. He's a difficult man, hard to get on with, but I trust him."

"I don't know why," Tirn observed. "He doesn't trust anybody. When I told him what Grandfather said, about it being easier to hate the dead, he believed it. How can he do that? I wanted to--I thought maybe Grandfather was right--but he wasn't, was he, even if Avon thinks so?"

"He might think it safer," Blake replied. "And he wouldn't thank us for talking about him. Why don't you go out and see if you can hear anything? It's been an hour since the last flyer went over."

"You just want me to go out because I said that about Avon," Tirn replied sullenly, but he levered himself to his feet. "They can't scan us through the rock. It's a good thing the sled fit in here, isn't it?" He limped off.

"So they're looking for us with flyers?" Avon asked abruptly, causing Blake to turn and stare at him.

"You're awake."

"For some time now," Avon said pointedly. "What happened?"

"You collapsed. Why didn't you tell me you'd been hurt in the crash?"

"I saw no point in it. In any case, I wore a bandage. I should have expected even someone of your limited intelligence to put two and two together." He glared at Blake. "What were you doing up? You're not well enough for that."

"You collapsed," Blake replied as if it were obvious. "Should I have just left you to lie there?"

Avon ignored that. "I assume there's been nothing from the Liberator."

"No."

Avon sat up cautiously, catching at the cold cloth that someone--probably Desta--had spread across his forehead. It had dripped annoyingly into his hair, but when he saw her anxious expression, he couldn't find the energy to crush her with a criticism. Passing it back to her, he fingered the injury and noted that the swelling had gone down. The ache was still there, lurking dully behind his eyes, but the vertigo had gone.

"Blake!" Tirn came limping back, his face white. "The woods are full of men. Maybe they've got detectors that can read a heat residue."

"If they know Blake is here, they'd use their most sophisticated equipment," Avon remarked. "Something made the Liberator run for it. Perhaps Travis is here, Blake, or even the Supreme Commander herself."

Tirn retrieved a gun, passing another to Desta, who checked it with trembling hands.

"No, I've a better idea," Blake announced. "If there's a fight, you three would be in the line of fire. Better we turn ourselves in and tell them you've been our hostages."

"Oh, very good, Blake," Avon burst out. "If we have hostages, we're hardly likely to give up at the first sign of trouble. Besides the Federation has never given much concern to the safety of hostages before."

"We're not hostages, we're rebels," Ree piped up, clutching at Blake. "We'll fight too. I'm a good shot, remember? I'm grown up. I can fight. Can't I, Desta? Can't I, Tirn?"

"Whatever we do, we've got to get Ree and Desta to safety," Tirn insisted. "Maybe we can hide them in the back of the cave while the rest of us fight." His look defied Avon and Blake to exile him with the children. Blake might have done it, but Avon was unwilling to lose the advantage of another gun. Tirn was old enough to fight--younger people fought on other worlds. Vila Restal had been in detention already at this boy's age and would never have hesitated to take his place as an adult.

"Tirn, I think you--" Blake began, but Avon cut him off.

"He can fight, Blake."

Suddenly an amplified voice boomed around them. "You in the cave. Blake, it's you, isn't it? If you come out now, your companions will not be harmed."

"Travis," Blake muttered in despair. "He'll not care about the children. He won't listen to reason. He's obsessed with me."

"He's human, he can die," said Avon, drawing his gun.

Blake approached the mouth of the cave. "Travis," he called. "If I turn myself over to you, will you guarantee the safety of these children?"

"You care about the safety of children now, Blake?" Travis' voice held a note of amused skepticism, and Blake's face darkened as he realized Travis referred to his trial and the false accusations against him.

"You'll find us hard to capture, Travis," Blake replied.

"I'll find you easy to kill. That cave has no other entrance. We could seal it up and wait for you to suffocate. Not a pleasant death. Come out now and I might allow the children to survive."

"Don't believe him, Blake," Avon cautioned, gripping Blake's arm. "He means to kill you. Nothing else will satisfy him and he won't care who gets in the way."

"Including you?" Tirn asked sarcastically. "I thought you'd be braver than that, Avon?"

"He's brave," Desta defended. "He's trying to protect us. Don't worry, Avon, we know how to fight."

"When you are outnumbered like this, there must be an alternate to fighting," Avon replied, but he could think of nothing. Surrender might not buy them time because Travis was so fanatical about Blake that one couldn't trust him. They would lose their bracelets immediately should they be imprisoned, and Avon was reluctant to base his hope for rescue on the Liberator which might already be destroyed, and the remaining crew. Vila was afraid of his own shadow and Gan wouldn't be able to think quickly enough to plan a rescue. Jenna and Cally were more reliable, but Avon had long ago learned not to trust people to help him. He was more certain of safety if he managed his own.

But this time there was no option. He turned to Blake who looked shaky on his feet but determined. "Well, Blake, what now?" he asked. "Fight it out?"

"I'll surrender myself," Blake decided. "It might give the rest of you a chance. There might be another way out of here. I wouldn't take Travis' word for that."

"I wouldn't trust anything about him," Avon snapped. "It does not look promising, Blake. I have always suspected you would be the death of me."

Tirn muttered something sarcastic under his breath about cowards, and Avon glared at him. "No doubt you think it heroic to die for nothing."

"At least I'm not complaining about it," the boy scoffed.

"Blake, do you read us." Jenna's voice cut across the tensions of the cave like a knife. "Do you want to come up?"

"Where the hell have you been?" Avon snarled.

"We had to go off station when fifteen pursuit ships arrived," Vila's voice came over the bracelet's comm link. "Are you all right down there? Didn't take you long to get into trouble, did--"

"Somebody get down here with three bracelets right now," Blake snapped. "Hurry."

Tirn exchanged a look with his sister who went to stand beside Avon with a defiant look at the older boy. Ree hadn't moved from Blake's side. When Jenna appeared with the spare bracelets, the younger boy let out a squeak of surprise and clutched at Blake's arm. Desta grabbed Avon's hand. When Jenna noticed the children, an expression of surprised amusement flashed in her eyes before she passed out the bracelets.

"Blake, I am waiting!" Travis bellowed from outside the cave.

"Travis," Jenna gasped.

"You cut it rather fine," Avon observed.

Ree put on his bracelet and it promptly fell off. Catching it up again, he shoved it above his elbow and bent his arm. Desta didn't loose Avon's hand, fastening her bracelet on that wrist. With a skeptical expression, Tirn put his on. "Now what?" he asked.

"Bring us up," Jenna instructed and they vanished from the cave just as a massive explosion brought down the opening in a ton of rocks.

The Liberator materialized around them and Vila, who was sitting at the controls, stared at the children in astonishment. Jenna strode over to the intercom. "Take us out of here, Cally. We've got them," she ordered. In moments Avon could feel the difference in the ship's power surging beneath his feet.

"Company?" Vila asked brightly, his eyes fixed pointedly on Desta's grip on Avon's hand. His eyes were twinkling mischievously and Avon suspected he'd never hear the last of it.

Before he or Blake could comment, Desta surprised him by taking charge. "You must be Vila," she said. "Don't just stand there. Avon and Blake are hurt. They said it would be all right once they got back here. I think you should take care of them before you do anything else." She faltered before Jenna's stare and Vila's startlement, then stiffened her spine. "Well, that's what I think."

"She's right, you know," Tirn put in. "They said your medical unit could take care of them. If we don't have to fight, you'd better do something now."

"I am all right," Avon said and pulled free of Desta with the excuse of removing his teleport bracelet, and started for the flight deck.

"Not so fast, Avon," Blake cut him off, grinning. "She's right, you know. I suspect you might have a concussion."

"If so, it's slight," Avon replied. "Leave it, Blake."

"He won't and neither will I," Jenna informed him. "Come along, Vila, let's get these two fixed up. Then you can find cabins for our passengers. What do you intend to do with them, Blake?"

"They have an aunt on Raskin Major," Avon volunteered. "I have no doubt Blake intends to find her."

"But they might follow us," Vila objected. He had discovered Blake's wounded shoulder and had pulled back the tattered edge of his big-sleeved shirt to check the bandage. "The Federation will be looking for us all the harder now that we've got you away from there."

"Travis was down there, Vila," Avon informed him. "I expect pursuit. Perhaps you should tell Cally to increase speed."

Having nowhere else to go, the children followed them. Desta hovered annoyingly at Avon's side, refusing to be budged even when Jenna saw the two men installed on the med tables and activated the equipment to determine the extent of their injuries. Only when she turned and smiled at the little girl and explained that both men would be all right did Desta back away, satisfied to allow her to do her work.

"Got a way with the kiddies, don't you?" Vila teased Avon, who turned and favored the thief with a megawatt glare.

"He might think so," Tirn observed sarcastically. "Some people are easy to fool."

"Yes, you," Desta fought back. "Just because you don't like anybody doesn't mean everybody else is like you. Grandfather wasn't. Neither is Avon."

"Avon doesn't like anybody," Vila corrected. "Unless it's Blake, but he's got a funny way of showing it." He chuckled. "On the other hand, maybe there's a whole new side of Avon we haven't seen yet." He sidled toward the door.

"You take your life into your hands, Vila," Avon snapped, trying to fend off Jenna as she ran the diagnostic scanner over his forehead.

"Lie still," Desta said softly at his side. "She's only trying to help you."

Avon heaved an exasperated sigh and gave up. When they let him out of here he intended to show everyone just exactly who was in control. Until then, he favored the entire room with a malevolent glare and closed his eyes.

#

Avon slept half the way to Raskin Major. When he roused, he felt well enough to defy anyone who tried to stop him leaving the medical unit, but he was alone there. Blake had already gone.

Dressing quickly, Avon didn't stop to eat but went directly to the flight deck, pausing in the doorway in some dismay.

The entire crew was present, including Blake, who looked quite recovered from his wound, though he was favoring his arm a little. The children were there, too, enjoying the crew's attention. Tirn, determined to show no pleasure, was actually at Jenna's position while the smuggler stood at his shoulder giving him instructions. In spite of his efforts to appear blase, the boy couldn't hold back an excited grin. Half expecting the great ship to start doing loops, Avon grimaced and looked for the other children.

Ree was with Blake, of course. It would take considerable effort to pry him free when the time came. Blake displayed a remarkable gentleness around the boy, talking and laughing with him as if he'd once had a family of his own. That made Avon stop and wonder. It was possible that Blake had had a family, but he never mentioned it. He'd lost a brother and sister in the outer worlds, but Avon knew no more than that. Yet the man who sat chatting companionably with the small boy looked relaxed, at ease, as if he had put his Cause aside for the moment. Avon's eyes narrowed. He wasn't quite certain how to deal with Blake in this frame of mind.

Desta had planted herself in front of Zen's fascia, talking eagerly to the computer.

"...run everything on the ship," she was saying as Avon started to listen. "What about repairs?"

"Auto repairs function as required."

"But who decides? You? Avon?" she persisted.

"Necessity determines usage of the auto repair systems," responded Zen. "Upon detection of a breakdown, repairs are initiated. Safety of the Liberator is the prime requirement. Crew members may require assistance periodically, but some information must be gained by crew initiative and not volunteered by this unit."

Avon was fascinated at the responses she was eliciting, and he stood listening, hoping to remain unnoticed.

"Does that mean that you only help them sometimes?" the girl asked. "Who decides what help is needed? Who programmed you? Did they request you to keep things secret? Or do you let them decide what to do as long as it doesn't interfere with your working? Avon must be good at it."

"Kerr Avon has great skill. However, this unit's systems require protection from outside interference. Withdrawal from unwise crew decisions is occasionally required."

Desta thought that over. "You mean if they override you and do something reckless, you won't help them? What if they only get in worse trouble?"

Her elder brother chuckled suddenly. "Then he leaves them to stew in their own juice," he said. "I'd like to see how Avon takes that."

"Would you?" Avon asked smoothly, deciding to announce his presence. Vila grinned at the boy's startled reaction and at Desta's delighted smile.

"Sleeping beauty awakens," the thief said cheerfully. "Just when we were having such fun."

"Your idea of fun always leads to trouble, Vila," Avon pointed out, walking forward. "I think you have gone unsupervised far too long."

Vila muttered, "Killjoy," just loud enough for Avon to hear.

Blake bounded up. "Avon. You're awake then?"

"Demonstrably. Must you state the obvious?"

Blake favored him with a bright smile, refusing to take offense. "I'm simply pleased to see you looking better."

Avon's eyes narrowed slightly. "But then it takes so little to please you. What is our status?"

"No one followed us from Donnat," Jenna volunteered, taking Tirn's place at the controls. "Travis must think Blake is still trapped in that cave. I can't see him blowing up the entrance and then just walking away. He'd never believe Blake was dead unless he saw the body. He'll have the place dug open before he does anything more."

"So we have Travis digging energetically on Donnat?" Avon asked skeptically. "Surely the return of the Liberator did not go unmarked."

"There was some initial pursuit, but we left them behind," Cally volunteered calmly. "We have since altered course to Raskin Major."

"Relax, Avon," Vila urged. "No one's bothering us."

"Speak for yourself, Vila. You always bother me."

"I try," responded the thief flippantly. The presence of the children and relief at their escape had put everyone in an excellent mood. Avon grimaced. He was more comfortable with them when they were snapping at each other.

"Avon!" Desta had been hovering at his side, waiting for a chance to speak. "I've been talking to Zen."

"I heard some of it."

She nodded excitedly. "Zen's not like other computers, is it? Not if it can decide when to help you and when not to. I think Zen's like another person."

"Blake considers it a member of the crew," Avon admitted in the tones of one who has long humored an idiot. "However, you must never confuse superior programming with human reactions."

"Unless it's Avon," said Vila in an aside to Cally.

"But Zen says it decides..." Desta objected.

"That is the way Zen was programmed. Within certain parameters, it will retain control of the ship. That does not mean it exceeds programming."

The child frowned. Her awe at the ship's computer was clearly written on her face. Avon could not dispute that, for he still found himself awed occasionally at Zen's capabilities. Not that it meant Zen was anything but a computer, but a superior computer such as Zen was worthy of his study. "It offers endless research possibilities," Avon replied. "As yet we have not discovered the ship's origin, but should Blake tire of his rebellion long enough, I, for one, would like to discover it."

"They might want the Liberator back," Gan protested.

Avon had considered that. "Then we shall claim salvage rights," he replied.

"Blake," Cally said suddenly. "That call you put through to Raskin Major is coming through."

"Call?" Avon asked sharply turning to stare suspiciously at Blake.

"To locate the children's aunt," Blake informed him. "Do we have her location, Cally?"

She bent over her instruments. "Yes, Blake, I have it."

"Then notify her that the children will be arriving."

"You don't mean to give her your identity?" Avon asked sharply.

Blake shook his head. "No, Avon. I don't mean to give her my identity. There's no point in taking chances. We'll claim to be a merchant vessel. She won't need to find out who we are until after we've gone."

"I doubt Aunt Arian will turn you in after all your assistance," Tirn said. He made it sound as if he grudged them the help, but he couldn't deny that it had been given. Avon studied the boy in some irritation, refusing to compare his attitude with Avon's own. "Besides, when she hears how Travis meant to blow us up in that cave, she'll have to take your side."

"I should doubt that," Avon replied. "No one ever 'has to' do the logical thing. I should have expected you to know that."

"I do know it," Tirn snapped at him. "But I know Aunt Arian too. The others are too young to remember her. I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't want to take Blake's side."

"Another recruit," Avon murmured.

"Ignore him," Jenna told the older boy. "I'm sure your aunt will be glad to have you."

Tirn eyed her suspiciously.

"I wish we could stay with Blake," announced Ree, looking up adoringly at his idol.

"We'd like that, too," Blake told him, "But I'm afraid you can't. It would be too dangerous."

"I like it to be dangerous," Ree proclaimed grandly. "And I'm good with guns."

"I know you are," Blake agreed. "But it just isn't possible. Give it a few years. Get your schooling. After that, if you want to join me, I'll be glad to have you."

"But you'll have already won by then," Ree protested, disappointed.

Avon opened his mouth to express skepticism of Blake's probable success, but at the last minute, he didn't say it. Desta was watching him, but he doubted that was why.

Tirn was watching him too. "What's the matter, Avon?" the older boy asked. "You're not a believer, are you?"

Of course he is," Desta cried.

"What, Avon?" Vila asked. "Believes in his own way." He winked at Desta, who relaxed. Avon let it stand.

The rest of the trip was more of the same. The three children never let up. Tirn stood off to one side and made cynical comments about everything, striving in vain to hide his fascination with the Liberator. Desta prodded at Zen, who responded favorably to her. No doubt it was programmed to respond thus to such interest, but Vila grinned and remarked:

"Zen's going to be spoiled by all that attention."

"As Zen is simply a computer--" Avon began before he spied Vila's amused grin and realized the thief had been waiting for just such a response. Refusing to be so predictable, Avon turned to Vila and studied him measuringly. "Or is it more simply that your nose is out of joint, Vila? No one is paying you any particular attention?"

The thief glared at him. Maybe that was it, after all. But Desta looked at Vila carefully and then she left Zen for the moment and went over to talk to the thief. Vila shot Avon a triumphant grin.

Desta looked at Avon apologetically and set out to mother Vila. Avon found himself struggling to hide a smile.

"She is very kind hearted," Cally said in his ear. "Don't begrudge Vila the time. He loves children."

"More fool him," Avon replied.

Ignoring his tone, Cally took his arm and steered him across the flight deck away from the others. "Can nothing be done for Tirn's leg?" she asked.

"He said only the favored received such treatment on Donnat. Yet he must have received some medical treatment--his brace suggests someone took the trouble to provide what care was possible. You do not know the extent of the damage. I would suggest you say nothing to the boy."

"He has learned cynicism," she agreed. "I doubt he would allow himself to feel false hope."

Avon frowned. "No, Cally. He would not allow himself to show it."

She looked at him penetratingly as if to read the reasons for his knowledge written in his eyes. He returned the stare expressionlessly. He did not find Tirn difficult to understand.

"Are you certain?" she asked, though she didn't seem to doubt his words.

"I am quite certain. False hopes are difficult to endure." Better to avoid hope altogether, though he did not say as much to Cally.

"Then I will check with Zen privately. We gave all three children medical examinations to be certain they were all right when we brought them on board."

"Tirn remarked that such treatment was reserved for the privileged. I doubt his aunt is wealthy."

"There is a strongroom on this ship," Cally remarked. "Blake has earmarked the money for his Cause, but I doubt he will begrudge a little of it to Tirn."

"With that great bleeding heart of his?" Avon asked. "Naturally not."

"You will not begrudge it, will you, Avon?"

"If I did, no doubt I would find myself outvoted."

"Then come with me to study the medical results." Raising her voice, she said, "Blake, I'm going to borrow Avon for a bit."

No one protested their going.

#

"See, here is the trouble." Cally circled an area on the chart. Surgery could release the stress and give him more mobility in the hip joint. Then with some months of therapy, he should scarcely limp." She smiled at him. "Shall you be the one to tell him?"

"It was your idea."

"It's time for my rest period." She passed the charts into his hand and left without further comment. Avon glared after her, affronted at her attempts to maneuver him into benevolence, then he muttered an impatient curse and went in search of Blake.

Jenna had gone when Avon returned to the flight deck, but the others were there. Gan had been persuaded to give Ree a ride around the room on his shoulders, and the boy was laughing and urging his 'steed' on. Vila and Ree sat side by side conferring in a serious undertone, probably about himself, thought Avon sourly. Tirn had established himself at Jenna's position and was checking the readings as if he understood them. When Avon entered, charts in hand, he looked up sharply, gave Avon a coolly measuring look and turned away as if the computer tech could have no interest in him. Avon felt himself silently fuming, all the more so because he frequently practiced this technique of holding people--notably Blake--at bay.

"A word with you in private, Blake, if I might," he said, refusing to let Tirn's manner put him off. Something made him recall Tirn's furious and reluctant tears over his grandfather's death, and though he wanted no part of this entire enterprise, he realized he had become committed. Cally might have prodded him, but he might have come round to this even without her urging.

Desta barely looked up from the secrets she and Vila were sharing, and Ree glanced at Blake with the look young children wear when they realize the grown-ups mean to talk about adult subjects. But Tirn's eyes flashed with suspicion.

Blake followed him into the passage. "What is it, Avon?"

"Cally has determined that surgery could repair the damage to Tirn's leg and enable him to walk normally."

"That's wonderful. Shall we go tell him?"

"It isn't that easy, Blake. I should doubt that the children's aunt is a wealthy woman, and the surgery would be expensive."

Blake regarded him in some surprise. "And it's occurred to you that we have a room full of wealth on board this ship?"

"It's not your money, Blake. It belongs to all of us. I, for one, do not see a problem with parting with a small amount of it for this purpose."

"Grown benevolent in your old age, Avon?" Blake asked in some surprise.

"Shall we say, rather, that I choose to pay my debts. Our arrival disrupted the children's lives, though in actual fact they should have been disrupted in any case, if less violently. Should you put it to a vote, I doubt the others would refuse."

"I have no intention of refusing, Avon," Blake informed him, smiling. "I simply am enjoying the sight of you offering to give money away."

"Offering it shall be up to you, Blake."

"No, Avon, it will come best from you. I think you understand him best."

"Indeed? He despises me--and the rest of us."

"Does he?" Blake asked in considerable disbelief. "I rather think he's chosen you as a role model, my friend. He'll fight it because of his pride, but it'll still come best from you. I'd talk to him privately, were I you. He'll respond best that way."

Avon shot Blake a very suspicious look through narrowed eyes, then he said expansively, "Go on, Blake. I'm intrigued. Is this how you attempt to manage me?"

"That's a different proposition entirely." But Blake's sudden grin belied his words. Avon felt some irritation with him. He suspected he was allowing the people on this ship to get too close to him. Perhaps it was time to make a stand, to distance himself from them more conclusively. Once the children were gone, he'd make a point of it.

"I feel you would handle this best, Blake," he said coolly. "You are, after all, the great manipulator."

"Am I?" Blake asked, still amused. "I don't force you to do things against your will, Avon. I never have."

"Shall I start listing exceptions?" Damn the man. In spite of Avon's determination to hold his distance, he always found himself enjoying the arguments. Blake was a devious bastard, but fighting with him held its own exhilaration. Avon half suspected he stayed because he enjoyed the challenge.

"We'll be arriving at Rankin Major in another fifteen hours," Blake said instead of taking up Avon's remark. "Based on my experience of you and your own particular brand of stubbornness, I rather think it will take you most of that to talk Tirn round. You'd better begin as soon as possible. The younger two could use some food and a rest. Gan and I will take them off and give you some privacy."

"Take Vila as well," Avon insisted as they strolled back to the flight deck. "I doubt I've the patience to endure his prattle for the whole of the next watch."

"I heard that," Vila burst out. "Never mind. I've been telling Desta all sorts of secrets about you." He bestowed upon Avon a cheeky grin.

Desta looked up at Avon and copied it.

"Come on, Gan, we'll take the children to eat," Blake said, gathering up Ree with his eyes. The boy went to him at once, abandoning Gan without a backward look, and held out a trusting hand to Blake. Avon shook his head in mildly scornful amusement as they left.

Tirn stayed where he was, watching Avon suspiciously. "Jenna left me in charge," he said, a conscious challenge in his voice.

"Then far be it for me to interfere," Avon replied. He spread out his charts on the table and looked at them consideringly.

Eventually Tirn's curiosity got the better of him. "What's that?" he asked after a few minutes of deliberate avoidance.

Avon raised his eyes and looked at the boy head on. Blake always found ways to give him the least appealing tasks. But Avon chose not to shirk them and give Blake an excuse to find fault with him about it.

"These are the results from the tests you had in the medical unit," he explained. "The medical computers indicate your leg could be healed with appropriate surgery, treatment and therapy." Avon had never liked other people keeping secrets from him, and he saw no reason to treat Tirn any differently than he would expect to be treated himself. He generally behaved that way to people unless they appeared to be a threat to him or unless they hurt him. Generally preferring to be left alone and to avoid the prattling of fools, he wore touch-me-not armor, warning people to spare him their inanities. With Blake, there was the conscious challenge that existed between them, a battle for dominance, underlain with more understanding than he'd expected to find with the idealistic rebel. With Vila, there was their mutual sparring. Avon had not expected to enjoy dealing with a cowardly Delta grade thief, but he did. Vila was quick witted and clever, though Avon would not tell him so except through the nature of the barbs he flung at the thief. Vila was intelligent enough to realize that Avon wouldn't have bothered unless the target was worthy.

Tirn had tried to emulate Avon, but this news shocked him out of it and he stared at Avon in wide-eyed disbelief. "I don't believe you," he burst out.

Avon favored him with a cool look. "Do you think me mistaken or a liar?" he asked calmly.

"I--no, it's not that. It's just that--well, I know there are things that could have been done, but not free. Grandfather had no money and Aunt Arian's not rich either. I don't know how they do things on Raskin, but on Donnat, Alphas got most things, unless they were out of favor. We were out of favor because Grandfather was a known rebel. They did as little to help me as possible." He glowered at Avon. "I don't remember asking you to help me."

"I wasn't aware that I had volunteered," Avon replied. "I was stating a fact, as determined by the medical computers. A further fact is that in exchange for the help you have given us, we will fund the surgery."

Tirn's lip curled. "What, buy me? I won't. I don't know what you think you'll gain from it, but there's got to be something. You wouldn't help me for nothing. I don't need your help, Avon. I don't owe you anything."

"Do you imagine it will benefit me to have you in my debt?" Avon returned quickly.

"I don't know. But I don't trust you. You never do things without counting the cost."

"Don't I? Perhaps not."

"I don't want any part of it. You don't owe it to me."

"No?" Avon's eyes narrowed. "Burying your grandfather hardly discharges the debt. I prefer to have it finished. You assisted Bl--you assisted me on Donnat."

"So well that Travis found you."

"He would have done in any case, but the sooner had I been required to run carrying Blake on my back."

"You might have left him," Tirn replied, then his eyes narrowed. "No, that's what you'd have said you'd do. But I don't think you'd have run and left Blake behind."

Avon shook his head abruptly. "I have little patience with histrionics. You can't know Blake even as little as you do and believe he'd refuse to help you."

"Then why's he left it to you?" asked Tirn suspiciously.

"I neither know nor care. The offer's made. If you don't like it, if you prefer to wallow in self pity, so be it." Avon began to gather up the papers again.

"Wait."

Avon went still. He was not enjoying this. Deliberately, he didn't meet the boy's eyes. "Yes?"

"It wasn't your idea, was it?" Tirn challenged hotly as if flinging an accusation.

"No, it was Cally's. I doubt I should have thought of it."

Oddly enough, that seemed to pacify Tirn. "Yet it was you who brought it to Blake's attention."

"This is not Cally's affair," Avon replied. "She left it to me. Once it is settled and done, we can both pretend it never happened and you can overlook my uncharacteristic benevolence."

That made amusement war with irritation in the boy's eyes. "You're a bastard," he muttered, bringing out the word cautiously, still young enough to feel it a risk to cheek an adult but too stubborn to care.

Avon smiled a little. "So I believe. Benevolence is Blake's business. He leaves the practical end of it to me. I find pragmatism works best."

"What about pride?" Tirn asked suspiciously, a hint of defiance hardening the challenge. He looked as if he was afraid Avon's answer would disappoint him.

"The price might be too high," replied Avon frankly. "I don't suggest you abandon it altogether, but the world we both live in is a harsh one. Better to face it armed to the teeth. In other words, with every possible advantage."

"On two good legs, you mean?" Tirn asked bluntly. He looked down at his brace with loathing. "I think I could have taken it better," he confessed in a surly voice, "If there'd been nothing anyone could do about it. Knowing it could be fixed, that it didn't have to be this way, made it all the worse." He dropped his eyes. "Do you understand that?"

"All too well."

"Grandfather said we all had braces of one kind or another and that I'd best learn to deal with mine." He grimaced. "I know what he meant and he was right, but I thought it was easy for him to say when he could walk like everyone else."

"It may have been easy, or perhaps not. You might not know." Avon thought it rather too sentimental, but he understood it. No one went unscathed in the world; not Blake, whose memories had been erased and who had been convicted of false charges, not Cally, who had been exiled from her home, not Gan, with the limiter that controlled him fixed within his brain. With so many different 'braces,' it was a wonder the people on Liberator dealt together as well as they did. Avon, who valued his privacy and who had no intention of telling the others about Anna Grant's death at the hands of the Federation or any other secrets, saw no need to defend the boy's grandfather or to justify his words. Instead he turned his thoughts from the disgustingly sentimental trend they were taking.

"In any case," he went on practically, "There will be your aunt to convince. I doubt she will appreciate the idea of taking money from strangers." He frowned. "Though most people will never look twice at something they can get for nothing."

"I know. But maybe she'd do it for my sake." He picked up the charts and studied them with interest. "I'll talk her round, Avon. If you like, I'll tell her it was Blake's idea." Suddenly he chuckled. "It wouldn't do to damage your reputation."

Damn it. Now the boy was showing as much perception as Blake. That was all he needed. Avon decided he would be glad when they had left Raskin Major far behind.

"I neither know nor care what your aunt--or anyone else--thinks of me," he returned.

Tirn nodded carelessly, satisfied with that answer. It might be much the same as he would have given himself. Avon frowned. "I would suggest," he continued abruptly, "That you consider the course you have evidently chosen for yourself. It is not, perhaps, the most satisfying you could find. Trust is an unlikely commodity, but it is not impossible."

Tirn thought about it for a moment. "I'm not stupid, Avon. I know what you're saying. But it works for you, doesn't it?"

"Trust?" Avon asked skeptically.

"That too. But I meant the way you live."

Avon had realized that immediately. "Oh, yes," he breathed. "It works." He paused. "That doesn't mean it is the most effective way. It requires a certain...hardness, and it requires satisfaction with solitude. Not everyone can pay the price."

"I'm not sure you do, either," responded Tirn, limping back to Jenna's position and studiously avoiding Avon's eyes. "Because you have Blake. You act like you don't care about anyone, but I don't think it's true. Blake lets you get away with it--maybe the others too. But they know better."

"I should doubt that," Avon snapped.

"They know how far they can depend on you anyway," Tirn muttered. "They know you back them when the chips are down."

"Because I keep my word," Avon replied through clenched teeth. "Do not read anything into that but a reciprocal agreement. Though I do not follow Blake, I am presently on this ship. Its survival and mine are linked."

"I'd hate to have to go through life making excuses every time I wanted to be nice."

Avon smiled brightly. "Then perhaps it is a good thing that I do not, er, want to be nice."

Tirn bit back a laugh. "No, that would be too much." He didn't press it, which suited Avon. Though the welfare of others was hardly Avon's prime consideration, neither did he wish to encourage Tirn to follow in his footsteps. The path was too rugged for someone with two good feet. He doubted most people could stand the cost. Tirn had a healthy edge of cynicism, but he also had a devoted brother and sister, and if he had lost his grandfather, who sounded like a stubborn and pragmatic old bastard, he had an aunt who wouldn't hesitate to take him in and do what she could for him. He would probably put his bitterness behind him and turn out like Blake. Avon shuddered.

Tirn made a great show of studying the controls, as if to be sure they were still working properly. "Zen," he said carefully. "Are we still on course for Raskin Major?"

"Confirmed."

#

They reached Raskin Major safely and achieved orbit around the planet without attracting the attention of the Federation. There was no permanent base on the world, though there was Federation presence in the system. The next world out had a major base, enclosed in a dome, from where pursuit ships were sent out to make regular sweeps of the system. Liberator had managed a careful approach and now they sat watchfully, prepared to run if necessary. Jenna waited on the flight deck, ready to take the ship out of orbit or fight.

Blake had suggested that he and Avon go down to Raskin Major with the children, since they had been involved since the beginning. Avon had denied any interest in going down but when Blake had pushed, he had agreed to it. Now the three children stood in the teleport section saying their goodbyes. Desta whispered something to Vila that made him look sharply at Avon and smile a little. The tech heaved a frustrated sigh at the bright look of mischief on the thief's face. That didn't bode well for the future. Ree said his goodbyes dutifully and politely like a well brought up child, shaking hands all around, then returning automatically to Blake's side. That was one parting that would prove difficult when the time came. From the fond smile Blake bestowed on the boy, Avon suspected he would be nasty and sour tempered after they left the child behind in an attempt to delude himself into covering up how much he would miss him.

As Avon had come to expect, Tirn was cool and composed, politely--if arrogantly--thanking everyone for their courtesy. He didn't mention the credits which would pay for his surgery, and Avon was not surprised. He had mumbled a less than gracious thank you to Blake earlier, and Blake had cheerfully said, "Don't mention it." Evidently Tirn meant to take him at his word for he had let it drop immediately.

"I think we're ready, Blake," Avon said with some impatience. "I see no need to make a major production of the entire process."

Desta joined him on the teleport grid and discomfitted Avon by taking his hand. "I'll miss you when you go," she said frankly and with no expectation of rejection. In that way, she could be rather like Blake, who cheerfully challenged Avon with the odd evidence of affection.

How did one respond to something like that? With Blake, Avon preferred to stand his distance and meet his challenge head on, but he had never believed in cruelty to children. "You must keep up your computer studies," he told her firmly. "It should be easier here than it was on Donnat. You have a knack for the work, I think."

She glowed. "If you think so, it must be true."

Tirn made a skeptical sound, but she turned and glared at him. "What do you know about it?" she snapped. "Avon doesn't lie."

"Children." Blake called them to order. "We're ready, I think. Vila, put us down."

The coordinates placed them in the corridor outside Arian's flat, several levels below ground in the capital city's major housing complex. No one was present to witness their arrival. Avon's hand dropped to the handle of his gun as he looked around and made certain their arrival was unremarked. Blake checked the numbers on the nearby doors and, finding the correct one, pressed a buzzer for admittance.

The children's aunt, Arian Stane, proved an attractive woman of approximately forty, neatly groomed with her hair smoothed back in a practical style, and a cool, controlled face. When she saw the children, though, her eyes warmed and she held out her arms to them. Desta said doubtfully, "Aunt Arian?" When she nodded, the girl and Ree flung themselves at her and she gathered them close, seeking out Tirn with her eyes so he would not feel excluded. She gave him the distance he expected, for which Avon gave her points. Had he been in Tirn's position, he would not have welcomed mothering.

But the moment the embrace was over, she was shooing Ree and Desta into the apartment. A calculating light in her eyes made Avon suspicious, but she wasn't looking at him. She was looking at Blake. Apparently she had recognized him. Or perhaps, even worse, Servalan had identified the children's only surviving relative and sent word ahead. Prepared for danger, Avon braced himself and let his hand find his gun again.

"Tirn," said Arian coolly but with concern. "Are you all right. He hasn't...harmed you?"

"Who hasn't harmed me?" Tirn asked in blank astonishment, startled out of his studied coolness at the unexpected question. "No one has harmed any of us. What are you talking about?"

She shot another uneasy look at Blake. "Be very sure. What about Ree? Was Blake ever alone with him?"

Blake's face went very white and his body tensed as if the woman had slapped his face. With sudden shock, Avon realized just exactly what the woman meant. They had had little dealings with anyone but outright rebels and Federation troops since their escape from the London , and no one they'd met had seemed to know--or to care--about Blake's trial and the false charges the Federation had laid against him. But this woman knew and evidently believed it. She had three children to worry about, and it would be an unnatural guardian who didn't feel concern at the thought of her wards in the hands of a 'notorious child molester.'Blake looked as if he wanted to go off and be sick. Those charges had always appalled and disgusted him. Evidently he liked children. That Ree and the others would likely be turned against him shocked him deeply. Avon discovered that he resented the woman's assumption. It was a violation of sorts, to believe him guilty without question, just as the entire trial procedure had been a violation, both of Blake and of the children the Federation had evidently harmed to make the story stick.

Without stopping to reason it further, Avon said firmly, "You have evidently been misled."

"Have I?" She turned and shot him a skeptical look.

"I hardly think we should discuss it in the hall, but I suggest you avoid upsetting the children. They have been very well cared for, and no one has hurt them in any way." Avon glared at her. "Ask Tirn. He won't lie."

Blake stared at Avon, surprised to find himself defended so unexpectedly, but he didn't offer his own defense.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Aunt Arian," Tirn insisted, perplexed. He might profess a world-weary cynicism, but he was only fourteen and he had been sheltered, though he would deny it hotly if Avon pointed it out. "This is Roj Blake. He would never hurt us. And this is Avon. They didn't have to bring us with them. They could have left us behind on Donnat. But the Federation would have killed us or separated us or put us in creches. They chose to bring us here." Suddenly he looked very young and very worried. He hadn't expected this kind of reaction from his aunt, and it frightened him. "What do you mean? I think you'd better tell me. You sent the children off, but I'm old enough to know."

"Tell him," Blake said in a defeated voice, dispirited by the reminder. "But you might also tell him those charges the Federation made against me were false."

"False?" Tirn echoed. "But they said you were a rebel."

"I am a rebel, Tirn. But the Federation didn't want me to lead others. They convicted me on another charge, in the hopes that no one would follow me ever again."

Tirn looked uncomprehending, turning to Avon for enlightenment.

Arian stood her ground. "You can hardly expect me to ignore it, Blake. You've had my children for several days. Naturally I'd be concerned. Any reasonable person would be."

"I told you we're all right," Tirn snapped. "Why don't you believe me?"

Avon reached forward and caught the woman's wrist, turning her toward him. "Have you sold us?" he asked her in a furious voice. "Is the Federation waiting?"

"I'd be within my rights if I had," she snapped. "If you've hurt Ree--or Desta--"

"No one has been harmed," Blake said wearily. He looked as if all hope and optimism had been crushed out of him, and Avon, who often fought against Blake, discovered he did not like the sight.

"Blake would never harm a child," he said flatly.

"Oh!" said Tirn, suddenly grasping the point. "You mean the Federation said he--did things--to children?" He looked horrified. "But it's not true! I never heard that before. It sounds like just the kind of lies they'd tell. Do you think I'd have let Ree be with him if there'd been anything like that, Aunt Arian? I swear, there wasn't. Ree adores him."

"Convenient," Arian snapped, unwilling to give ground.

Avon had to struggle not to slap her face. "Blake, we've done what we came for." He hesitated. "No, not quite. But I shall deal with it."

Blake nodded, looking sick. "Do what you will."

"Go back to the ship, Blake." Avon had not loosed the woman's wrist. "Have Jenna intensify scans of pursuit ships and see if you can pick up anything over the communications net. I detect the hand of the Supreme Commander in this."

Blake went without argument, passing Avon the bag that held the credits and calling Vila to be brought up. It was not like him to yield so tamely, but neither had he encountered this sort of reaction before, especially when it involved people he had come to know and care for.

Once he was gone, the woman relaxed and gestured Avon into the apartment. He went reluctantly, still fearing a trap, but when he entered, he saw nothing more ominous than Ree and Desta waiting for them.

Ree looked up, saw that Blake wasn't there and cried out in protest. "I wanna say goodbye to Blake."

"Be quiet, Ree," Arian said firmly but not unkindly. "Blake had to return to his ship. Was he good to you?"

"Oh yes, very good. I helped take care of him when he was hurt, and he brought us here on his ship. He says when I'm finished school, I can join him, and I will, too, but he'll probably have won by then. I wanna say goodbye to him." A suggestion of a whine crept into his voice.

"What's wrong, Aunt Arian?" Desta asked, worried. "Is it his wound, Avon? Will they look after him all right?"

"They will do whatever is necessary," Avon assured her. "Now, Desta, if you would take Ree to his room, I want to talk business with your aunt."

She saw the warning in his eyes and nodded. "All right. But don't go without saying goodbye to me."

"Very well." He waited until she had led Ree from the room, then he said firmly, "You are mistaken about Blake. He has many faults, but that is not one of them. Tirn won't lie to you; you can believe what he says. I am not a warmhearted man, but I would never knowingly expose children to that sort of risk. You owe Blake an apology, but I doubt he will get it. A closed mind is impossible to alter."

"You're defending him because he's your friend."

"Is he?" Avon frowned. "I have no friends. But I should not defend a child molester were he my own brother. I must return to my ship but I have two other pieces of business to conduct first. I need to know if you have betrayed us to the Federation?"

"No," she spat. "I wouldn't do that. My father was a rebel, too."

"Grandfather liked Blake," Tirn put in sullenly.

"Did he?" she asked. "Did you speak to my father?" she asked Avon.

"No. He was dead when we arrived, I'm sorry to say. I buried him."

"Thank you for that. I believe you may be an honorable man, but I fear you are wrong about Blake."

"If he's like that, he never tried anything with me--or Ree either," Tirn cried out. "Ree and I shared a cabin and the rest of the time, everyone else was there too. I've had enough of this. Maybe the creche would be better."

She flinched. "Are you certain, Tirn? You couldn't have misunderstood--"

"I'm not a baby, Aunt Arian. I think I'd know if he--if he did anything like that. He didn't. You can't believe that the others would have sat back calmly and let him?"

She frowned. "I was on Earth at the time of Blake's trial," she said. "It was heavily publicized. When I heard Blake had escaped and was leading a rebellion, I was surprised anyone would follow a man like that."

"Which is precisely the reaction the Federation wished," Avon pointed out.

She considered it. "I can understand that. All right. Forgive me, Tirn. I didn't mean to disbelieve you, but I thought you might not have realized--"

"I'm not stupid," he snapped at her.

"I know that. But I was concerned when I realized who was with you, who had brought you here."

"Now that you understand, we have one final item of business. Do you want to tell her, Tirn, or shall I?"

"I will. Aunt Arian, they looked at my leg and their ship's computers say it can be fixed up. I won't need a brace any more and I might not even limp."

Warmth came into her eyes,. "That's wonderful news, Tirn. There are good medical centers here. I'll have you examined immediately."

"The cost may be prohibitive," Avon said. "That being the case, I have made arrangements to fund the surgery." He offered the bag of credits. "This should meet the cost."

She eyed him with sudden suspicion. "Are you quite certain this isn't payment to cover up anything Blake might have--" Her voice ran down and she looked ever so slightly abashed at the scornful look Avon flung at her. "I'm sorry. If you say it isn't that, I believe you. But I'm not hard up."

"That was not my suggestion. Let us say it is, er, my contribution to Blake's rebellion." Tirn's eyes twinkled irrepressibly at that.

"I didn't want to take it, either, Aunt Arian," he said. "But he wasn't having any. Besides," he added, suddenly sounding very young, "I've had enough of this." He touched the brace with some disgust. Avon doubted the boy's aunt could hear the calculation in the emotional appeal.

Arian looked at him intently a moment before taking the bag and opening it. Her eyes came back to Avon and she studied him with intent consideration. He felt himself begin to grow uncomfortable under her scrutiny.

Then, abruptly, she nodded. "Yes," she said. "I think I understand now, though you may wish to retract the offer when you hear what I've got to say." She looked at Tirn and then dropped her eyes. "Supreme Commander Servalan contacted me, Avon. She asked me to stall you here as long as possible. I agreed. It never occurred to me to hesitate, even though I have some beliefs in what Blake represents. My first thought was the children's safety. Had it been any other rebel, I would have disagreed or lied to her. She wanted to arrive before you departed, but she's still some two hours away. Her ships were ordered to allow you to approach the planet safely. They mean to surround you."

Avon's face darkened and he lifted his bracelet, hesitating at the last moment. "And if you fail, she will take it out on you and the children?"

"No, she'll believe I couldn't stall you long enough."

"You expect her to be reasonable," he said. "I shall, therefore, disable your communications and restrain you. The children will be locked in a room and you will be bound."

Her eyes flashed in hot resentment, but then it faded. "To protect them," she burst out. "Desta, Ree, come quickly to say goodbye to Avon."

They raced into the room. Ree shook hands formally with Avon the way he had the others, but Desta hugged Avon fiercely and whispered, "I love you," into his ear. Startled and more than a little at a loss, he returned her embrace abruptly and let her go.

"Now, children, you must be brave," he told them in a brisk, practical tone. "Blake and I have been pursued here, and no one must ever know you have helped us."

"We'll do whatever you say," she promised and Ree nodded eagerly.

"He's going to lock us in our rooms," Tirn explained. "If the Federation sends people here to question us, we must all pretend we don't like Avon and Blake and the others. It's only for a little while. Can you do that?"

Desta's eyes narrowed in protest, but then she thought it through and she nodded. Ree didn't quite understand, but Avon would have to rely upon the others' explanations after he'd gone. So Tirn took the children into a bedroom and Arian locked the door. Then Avon put a charge from his gun into the communications and bound Arian to a chair.

She eyed him with cool control. Perhaps it was a family characteristic. "I can't say I've enjoyed this," she said as he finished securing her bonds. "Will you gag me as well?"

"You know I must."

"I know you are enjoying this on Blake's behalf." She heaved a sigh. "It seems I've been mistaken about him. Give him my apologies," she said before he put the gag in place.

The moment it was finished, he called for teleport. Vila eyed him uneasily as he materialized. "What's wrong with Blake?" he asked.

"Never mind, Vila." He strode to the comm button. "Jenna, we've been sold. Servalan is on her way here. We'll have to fight our way out of the system."

He set off at a run for the flight deck with Vila at his heels squawking nervous questions.

Blake was not present on the flight deck when Avon and Vila arrived, but he arrived as soon as he heard the news. His face was dark and brooding, and he listened to Avon's report as if it were only what he expected, blaming his damaged reputation for their present danger.

"Servalan would have hoped for more time," Avon said impassively. "Arian was meant to hold us there as long as possible. Perhaps her attitude would have driven us away before the Supreme Commander could arrive, but the longer we stayed, the closer she came."

Jenna had set the escape course already and the Liberator was racing out of the system at standard by eight. "She'll have ships waiting for us," the pilot declared.

"It was inevitable we be followed," Avon replied. "But there seemed no option. Blake was determined to come here."

Blake turned and stared at Avon, his expression obviously hurt. That he let it show was a bad sign, and Avon suspected they were about to be treated to an exhibition of sulking. Blake tended to react badly to guilt, and in this case, there was the added realization that some people believed him a dangerous pervert. For a man like Blake, that would be at least as bad as the guilt. Had the accusation been made against Avon, he would probably have ignored it. He resented the injustice of it on Blake's behalf, but didn't doubt that there were people who believed it. Some fools believed in Federation justice, and Blake's trial, though rigged, had been public knowledge. Some of the guards on the London had given Blake rather more brutal treatment than was necessary as a result of it. Yet as Avon had come to know Blake, he had reached the belief that it was a false charge. Blake might have many faults, but that was not one of them.

"Save your outrage, Blake, until we're away from here," Avon told him. "Zen, scan for Federation pursuit ships."

"Scanning." After a pause, Zen went on, "Pursuit ships approaching from the fourth planet."

"Put it on the main screen," ordered Jenna.

"Confirmed." An image of six ships appeared.

"Only six," Gan murmured. "I'd have expected more."

"I do expect more," Avon replied.

"Blake, we can't fight our way out," Jenna said. "We've one choice, to run. We'll take some of them out as we go, but even so, it'll be close."

"Do what you must, Jenna. Vila, get ready."

The thief had already cleared the neutron blasters and put up the radiation flare shield. Now he sat at his position looking like grim death, his face too pale. Yet the hand that adjusted his controls was steady. Vila tended to complain before a crisis and collapse afterwards, but for the most part, he held up his end during a crisis. Of course there had been some unfortunate exceptions. Avon studied the thief a moment through narrowed eyes, then he took his place, prepared to operate the force wall.

"Three additional pursuit ships," announced Zen, giving the coordinates.

"I hate leaving those three children to Servalan," Blake said regretfully.

"I made certain they would be as safe as possible," Avon explained hastily, as the first of the pursuit ships came in at them. "I disabled their comm unit and left the woman bound and gagged, locking the children in a room. It will appear that we discovered her perfidy and took revenge."

"Do you think that will be enough?" Blake asked anxiously.

"I see no other option."

After that, they were too busy fighting to discuss it.

The Liberator came through the battle and subsequent flight drained, with only minor damage, and once the pursuit ships were left beyond the edges of extreme range, they limped into a nearby system to recharge and rest. Avon ordered the detectors restored quickly, and when that had been done, the crew dispersed to eat and sleep and try to put the past few days behind them.

Avon found himself unable to sleep. His headache had returned with a vengeance, lurking behind his eyes and springing out at him the moment he closed them. He could ignore it rather well when he was busy, but when he tried to relax, it reminded them he'd been concussed recently, and made him feel a little sick. Reluctantly, he abandoned his bed, stopped at the medical unit for a pain killer, and returned to the flight deck. If nothing else, he could assist with the repairs. Some of them could be done manually and the energy he saved the auto repair system would get them back in shape all the faster.

At first, he thought the flight deck was empty. The lights had been dimmed throughout the ship to conserve power, and though Zen's lights flickered busily as the computer directed the repairs, nothing else seemed to be moving. Then, as Avon stepped forward, he saw an abortive movement near the main screen and he came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Blake standing there. He had one arm folded across his chest, his other elbow braced upon it, and he'd been chewing his forefinger absently, his thoughts far away. At Avon's approach, he had jerked his head up in something resembling alarm then settled into silent depression once more. Avon considered departing without speaking. It would be far easier than remaining to contend with Blake in this frame of mind.

"What are you doing here?" Blake asked sharply.

"I was wondering that myself."

"You look like hell, Avon. I think you should get some rest."

"Perhaps, should this headache allow it. I thought I could work on the drive links and spare Zen the energy."

"Delicate work hardly seems the proper cure for a headache," Blake remarked, not as if he were especially concerned but simply to make conversation.

"I've grown accustomed to it over the years."

Blake shook his head. "I wish we could be certain the children would be all right," he admitted.

"Life comes with no guarantees, Blake. I safeguarded them the best I could. Servalan will be angry, and it is like her to take her anger out on other people, but there would be no point. She doesn't waste effort. No doubt the children will be watched and monitored, but that would have happened in any case. I think they are bright enough to deal with it."

"Ree's too young to understand. And they shouldn't be forced to live like that, always hiding their beliefs."

"I thought that was what your Cause was all about," said Avon pointedly.

"If you've come here to mock me, Avon..."

"Oddly enough, it hadn't occurred to me. I have a message for you from the children's aunt. She had been on Earth at the time of your trial and believed it thoughtlessly. She realizes that she was mistaken and she sent you her apology."

That didn't brighten the storm clouds on Blake's face. "The children will know something was wrong. Tirn understood what the accusation was. What's to stop him going over every incident in his mind and convincing himself that she was right?"

"Tirn is not such a fool as that. In any case, do you remotely imagine that Cally and the others would have allowed the children such close proximity to you if they believed the charges for one moment. You've never defended yourself against it except to say the charges were false. Yet they believe you." He hesitated then added in a neutral tone, "As do I."

"But you know me, Avon."

"True. Listen to me, Blake. There will always be people who believe the worst of you. Doesn't it bother you to be called a terrorist, to be accused of simple destruction? You must know you don't intend that. You have what you consider a higher purpose. The price of such a purpose is bound to be high. It only proves how effective you could be, that they went so far to discredit you. We've managed to convince one more person that it was false. Surely that stands for something."

Blake heaved a great sigh. "Perhaps it will, in time. I enjoyed the interlude with those three, Avon. I think all of us did, even you. I know I can never settle down and have a family. Even if I wanted to, the Federation has made that impossible. I can't father children now. I told myself it couldn't be allowed to matter, and that I wouldn't have had a family anyway, but sometimes it bothers me."

Avon, who had no real interest in children and planned to have none, could not really understand. Had he been sterilized, it would have been an annoying and demoralizing act, but he would have put it behind him and contented himself with the appropriate revenge. It seemed that with Blake, it went deeper. "Console yourself with the fact that the children were happy to be here, Blake. As for me, I am glad it is over. My patience was stretched to the limit by the entire experience."

"I noticed no patience," Blake replied, beginning to sound normal again. He grinned suddenly, taking strength from the conversation in that way he had. It took surprisingly little support to jolly Blake into a more human frame of mind. Perhaps it was because Avon gave it so rarely that the times he did stood out in Blake's memory.

"In fact," Blake went on, starting to look amused, "You seemed to have had the lion's share of attention. Desta adored you, and Tirn wanted to be just like you. I had to content myself with Ree."

"Who more than made up in intensity what I might have had in numbers," Avon replied, feeling a little amused himself. "In any case, I do not choose to repeat the experience. The Liberator is a fighting ship, not a nursery."

"True. But what do you say to going back in four or five years, assuming we haven't won by then."

"Or gone out in a blaze of glory?" Avon asked reasonably.

"Or that. I'd like to see Tirn when he's grown up. I rather suspect he'll turn out something like a particular friend of mine."

Avon opened one of the panels to get at the drained equipment within. "I can't imagine who," he replied. Then he shook his head and looked up to shoot a challenging smile at Blake. "In any case, should we have the opportunity, I shall hold you to that. I relish the thought of watching you cope with two of me."

Blake gave a groan that sputtered into relieved laughter and bent to help him.

The End

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