by Sheila Paulson

Originally published in Return of the Seven 3

"Is it true? Have you betrayed us? Have you...betrayed me?"

The pain in Avon's voice cut through Blake's suspicions and a part of him stepped back and listened to Avon's shock. Avon didn't sound entirely sane, somehow, and that was so far removed from Blake's hopes and expectations that he didn't know how to respond to the question. "Tarrant doesn't understand," he defended himself.

"Neither do I, Blake." It was a desperate plea for an explanation, and Blake had to stop and think of the best way to phrase it. This could go disastrously wrong.

He said hastily, "I know Tarrant is part of your crew, but I couldn't trust him without testing him. I test all new recruits, but he required special treatment."

His gun still leveled at Blake, Avon hesitated, and if he still seemed dreadfully close to pulling he trigger, at least he was listening now.

Given a momentary reprieve, Blake plunged on, determined to make sense of everything. "Do you remember I told you I was captured back on Earth and Bran Foster's group shot down by Federation troopers?"

Dazed, Avon nodded, and Vila edged forward warily, coming to stand beside Avon. He didn't touch him nor look particularly supportive of him, but Avon's eyes darted sideways for a moment and his tension eased fractionally.

"We remember, Blake," said Vila quickly. "Go on."

"Do you recall the name of the man who betrayed us? He was at my trial; until then I hadn't realized he had infiltrated the group and survived the massacre. He was a Federation agent."

"So now you expect Federation agents everywhere?" the blond woman asked suspiciously, her gun still ready in her hand. From her grip on it and her stance, Blake realized she was more than capable of using it. This must be Soolin, the gunfighter who was reported to have joined Avon's crew on the Scorpio.

"I do expect them, and it's saved my life on more than one occasion, but that isn't why I had to test Tarrant,"

"It's because of him, isn't it, Blake?" Tarrant asked bitterly. "Even after all this time, he follows me everywhere. I didn't expect I'd ever get away from him. But I guarantee I'm not Federation. You have my word on it."

"What are you talking about?" Avon's gun swung in Tarrant's direction now, coming to rest somewhere between Blake and Tarrant as if prepared to fire in either direction. Blake took a cautious breath. Avon hadn't betrayed him, but his sanity seemed fragile and that made him more dangerous than if held gone over to the other side. This would not be easy. Feeling Arlen shift beside him, he hoped his hot-headed new recruit would wait and let things develop without jumping to the wrong conclusions.

"We're talking about my father," Tarrant explained, winning a surprised look from Avon as if it had taken this apparent red herring to cut through the fog in his mind.

"Father?" he echoed

The black girl, Dayna, caught Tarrant's arm, and he flashed her a grateful look. "Tarrant isn't his father," she insisted.

"No, but I wasn't to know that," returned Blake. "I only knew I had been betrayed by Dev Tarrant. Now here's another Tarrant, who, for all I know could have infiltrated Liberator for the express purpose of turning you all in."

Predictably, Vila shot Tarrant an uneasy look, but then he shook his head. "No. Much as I hate to say it, Tarrant's had too many chances to betray us, and he never took them. He's annoying, but I don't think he's Federation. He couldn't be, not after two years."

"Are you very sure of that?" Avon demanded. The gun was leveled at Tarrant now, but Tarrant turned toward Avon, his eyes both defiant and anguished, and Avon lowered the gun slowly, though he didn't put it away.

Everyone was staring at Tarrant and Avon, so Blake felt what none of the others saw, a weapon shoved into his back. "Nobody move!" Arlen shouted and jabbed him roughly with the gun. "Blake said he couldn't tell who was Federation any more," she went on. "He was right. He couldn't."

Tarrant's eyes hardened.

"You're a Federation agent!"

"I'm a Federation officer," she snapped, all military zeal. "If any of you try anything, Blake will be the one who dies. Do you hear me?" she barked at Avon, who had shifted fractionally. "Try that again and you'll be the one who kills him."

Avon froze and for a moment Blake wondered if he'd gone catatonic, but his eyes still lived, full of desperation and hatred. Blake suspected coming here had been Avon's last chance, and Avon knew it. Finding Blake had become such an obsession that when the reality did not match his expectations, he was helpless. This was not the same man Blake had known on Liberator, the man he'd hoped would find him again, the man who would help him put his own life back in order.

"Drop your guns!" commanded Arlen sharply. "Do it now, or he's dead!"

Weapons clattered to the floor, Avon's last of all. Through the woman's grip on his arm, Blake could feel the tension that ran through her like a coiled snake as she announced, "Now we wait. I've signaled for the attack."

Vila edged forward and Blake stared at him in surprise. Vila the coward, making a move? But Vila sidled up to Arlen and began babbling at her.

"Now look, I've never been against the Federation. I've only ever been along for the ride. I'm not even armed. You can't kill me. I'm completely harmless--and armless."

Under the cover of his babble, two things happened. Deva burst into the room and Dayna reached for her gun.

Arlen fired before Deva could demand answers, and Blake's second dropped to the floor. Dayna tried to dive sideways to get a shot at Arlen without hitting Blake, and Arlen, who had no such compunctions, shot Dayna too.

At which point, Vila astounded Blake by taking Arlen out with a quick, efficient punch, and bent to retrieve her gun.

Suddenly the room was full of Federation troopers

Blake went for cover, relieved to see that Avon, who had stood through the whole exchange without speaking, had enough instincts of self-preservation to seek shelter, from which he coldly and efficiently shot every Federation trooper within range. Vila ducked out of sight, using Arlen's discarded weapon to protect himself, and Soolin was all cool efficiency as she fired, planning her shots with an economy and precision that made Blake glad they were on the same side.

Tarrant, the only one of Avon's band he'd suspected, went to Dayna first and bent over her before diving into shelter himself. Though Blake couldn't see his face, the fact that he'd not taken her with him told its story as well as his slumped shoulders and the fierce anger in his movements did.

Blake didn't know how much back up Arlen had expected, but they couldn't hope to hold their position indefinitely while the Federation sent for reserves. Carefully keeping low, Blake darted across the room to Avon's position only to freeze when, sensing a movement, Avon brought his gun to bear. For an impossible instant, Blake and Avon faced each other across the gun, then Avon caught himself and lowered it. "Get into cover, damn you," he snarled, then, before Blake could do anything, he raised the gun and fired.

Half expecting to be blasted at close range, Blake experienced a moment of disorientation when the shot that took him came from behind, and even as consciousness began to fade, he realized Avon had fired past him at the trooper who was in the act of shooting Blake.

At first he didn't completely lose consciousness, observing Avon bending over him, his eyes almost completely blank. "Blake?" he demanded urgently.

"Get out of here, Avon," gasped Blake. "Escape route. Under stairs. Control panel..."

Avon must have understood for he spun abruptly and burst from cover, firing. Other shots echoed his but Blake was too far gone to follow Avon's progress. Then someone raised him up and began to drag him, and the pain was so great that the control center faded away, and there was nothing but night.

#

"What do we do now?" Vila demanded. Since he'd already asked this question about ten times, Tarrant ignored him and looked at Avon and Soolin who were completing a makeshift dressing on Blake's back. The wound looked worse than it was, but escaping through the forest plantations did not seem the ideal way to promote healing, and the escape tunnel only led into the forest, not, as Tarrant had hoped, to a concealed ship. Avon had used his weapon to bring down the roof of the tunnel behind them, so the Federation could not follow, but they would track them down eventually if they didn't move soon.

"We shut up and wait," Tarrant snapped at Vila

"That's easy for you to say," Vila snapped back. "It's all your fault anyway, innit?"

"It's not my fault," Tarrant snarled with unaccustomed viciousness, and Vila, who often bore the brunt of his bad temper, seemed to feel that the tone was excessive even for Tarrant.

"Blake's then?" he offered tentatively, perhaps as an apology.

"Say what you mean. It's because of my father. If it hadn't been for him, Blake would have accepted me simply because I was with Avon and none of this would have happened."

"Not much it wouldn't," Vila disagreed. "Arlen was still there. No matter what Blake decided about you or your father, she would still have done what she was sent there for, and Blake would probably be dead now too."

A painful silence fell, and Tarrant knew that Vila too was thinking of Dayna. They had been unable to bring her body out, and Tarrant regretted that. He'd always felt a kinship for Dayna, perhaps because they had joined the Liberator at the same time, and her death hurt, especially coming hard on the heels of Zeeona's. Glancing at Avon, who sat silent watching Blake, Tarrant felt a sudden surge of sympathy for the man.

Tarrant had known for some time, certainly after learning that Servalan had survived the destruction of Liberator, that Avon's mental state was beginning to deteriorate, but there had been nothing he could do about it. He'd tried once to talk to Vila about it, but Vila had not been inclined to be helpful; after Cally's death, he'd changed too, and although he still seemed to care about Avon, at least until recently, he had been as much at a loss over Avon's decline as Tarrant was. Tarrant had tried to pick up some of the slack, but that hadn't gone over well with Avon, and finally he'd just let it go. Now he wished he'd tried harder, not because of any fondness for Avon--he didn't especially like him, he told himself--but because he had an idea where Avon was coming from. If it hurt this much to lose Zeeona, Dayna and the Scorpio, how much worse for Avon to lose Blake, Anna Grant, Cally and Liberator, and now Dayna too.

At least Zeeona had not betrayed Tarrant the way Anna had betrayed Avon.

Tarrant heaved a sigh, feeling just plain miserable, and wondered why he felt a sudden prodding to do something about Blake. He didn't know what it was exactly, but Blake was found and that meant something. He frowned. He didn't think he cared much for Blake right now, especially since Blake had seemed willing to hold his father against him. It hardly matched his expectations of the man.

Damn him. Tarrant grimaced, uncertain of whether his curse was meant for Dev Tarrant or Roj Blake, or perhaps both of them.

He noticed Vila's worried face and smoothed away his frown. "Now what, Vila?"

"I said I think someone's coming," Vila repeated uneasily, pointing toward the mouth of the tunnel. "And that means trouble. What're you going to do about it? Better be quick."

When Tarrant drew his gun, the gesture alerted Avon, who raised eyes filled with exhaustion, pain and a kind of helpless defeat, before he reached for his own gun. His movements were so full of weariness that Tarrant felt a tug of reluctant sympathy for him.

"Hold your fire!" a voice called suddenly. "I'm not Federation."

"Approach with your hands above your head," Tarrant called back "And I'd better not see a weapon anyplace where you can get at it."

"I agree. I'm coming in now."

The man who entered didn't look Federation and he wasn't in uniform. Hands raised in compliance to Tarrant's order, he stood in the circle of light from the lantern they'd found in a wall niche and looked about quickly "Blake," he breathed, noting the unconscious man, then he turned to Tarrant, whom he evidently perceived to be in charge. "My gun's in the holster," he remarked. "I didn't feel quite comfortable tossing it away with the woods crawling with troopers. If it makes you feel better, one of you can hold it for the time being."

Tarrant hesitated fractionally to see if Avon would give the order, and when Avon didn't, he said, "Soolin?" She retrieved the gun and set it out of the stranger's reach.

He was a comfortable looking man in his middle to late 50s, putting on flesh now though the remnants of a lean hardness still showed in the muscles of his arms and the set of his jaw. His eyebrows were dark and rather full, but what was left of his hair, a few strands on top and longish at the back, was grey. His eyes were dark brown, his nose was straight and he wore a dark mustache. He looked generally affable, but he wasn't a man to be trifled with. His features were smooth and regular, and from the appraising look Soolin gave him, Tarrant realized that women would probably find him attractive.

He said calmly, "I'm glad to see Blake alive. How bad is it? I was sure he'd be in trouble when I heard the alarms, and I thought he'd get out this way. With any luck, one of you is Avon." His eyes moved unerringly to Avon, who nodded slightly. "Good," the man continued. "He's been hoping you'd come. Would you be Tarrant, then? He was leery of you because of your father, but I think perhaps he was wrong, and I'm not saying that because I'm a fellow pilot. Academy trained, back a good many years and independent for the past 20. I'm Bond Dravot, Blake's pilot. If we're lucky, we can get him to his ship and abandon this beknighted world."

"We might require something more than your say so as proof of that," Avon told him coldly.

"It's...all right, Avon." Blake's voice was weak and unsteady, but alert. "You can..'trust Dravot." He shifted uncomfortably. "We won't have...much time. If Commissioner Sleer was behind this..."

"Servalan," Avon snarled, and Tarrant stiffened at the thought. It should have occurred to him long ago, but it hadn't. Damn.

"Servalan?" Dravot echoed. "Sleer? The same? We never made the connection, but I buy it. Blake said Sleer took after Servalan, but we'd heard she was dead. All the more reason to get out of here. Can you walk, Blake?"

"No, he can't," put in Soolin hastily. "He'll only break his wound open again. We'll have to carry him."

"I'll do it," offered Dravot. "I'd let you do it, Tarrant, but you look a little the worse for wear." Tarrant shot him a resentful glance, but he suspected the man was probably right. There had been too much going on to remind him of his scrapes and bruises but they hadn't gone away.

After the initial reaction to the mention of Sleer, Avon's attention had returned to Blake, though Tarrant guessed he'd take out Dravot at the first hint of trouble. Finding Blake, hearing Blake had sold him even if it wasn't true, and then seeing Blake shot before his eyes had affected him badly. Maybe they'd have been better off not even looking for Blake.

Dravot picked up Blake as if he were weightless, and Blake moaned faintly, causing Avon to shift closer threateningly. "Easy now," soothed Dravot, and Tarrant wondered which man he meant to comfort. Avon backed off, though he didn't lower his guard.

It wasn't as far to Blake's ship as they'd expected. The tunnel led out into the trees, but that was intended to discourage the Federation, should they get that far. The ground was rocky, too hard to take a trail, but Dravot let the way without hesitation to a second, well concealed underground passage. He was breathing a little heavier for carrying Blake, but not as much as Tarrant would have expected.

The second passage was shorter and ended in a heavy metal door, sealed with a lock that Dravot bypassed by punching up the code while steadying Blake with one hand. The door slid aside on a vast chamber mostly filled with Blake's ship. It was a modified planet hopper or meant to look like one, but Tarrant could recognize several useful modification and suspected that the ship would be both fast and maneuverable. He doubted it would have Scorpio's speed or Liberator's invulnerability, but it would get them off planet and away from the Federation.

No one was on board, and after Avon insisted on a search to make certain the tension let up a little. When Blake was lowered to a couch on the flight deck, he was unconscious again and Dravot left him to Vila and Soolin, who checked his wound again, and moved to the controls, followed by Tarrant.

"Won't we be detected if we take off now?" Tarrant asked.

"Probably. That's why we're not leaving yet. I want to make sure we have the best chance possible. I wish we could monitor the base."

"We need Orac," Tarrant exclaimed. "Avon, we need Orac."

"I am aware of that."

"Well, where is it?"

"Somewhere you will never find it, Tarrant."

"Somewhere Servalan won't find it either?" asked Soolin. "You didn't take Orac into the base, Avon. Can't we send for it now?"

"I will go," Avon decided. "Alone," he added when Tarrant stepped forward, checking the charge of his weapon.

"I'm not particularly worried about you, Avon," Tarrant snapped, "But Orac might stand a better chance if someone went along to watch your back."

Avon refused to back down.

"I go alone," he insisted.

"Avon," Vila began sharply, then he lowered his eyes again. "Never mind," he muttered.

His meaning got through anyway. "You are planning on coming back, aren't you?" demanded Tarrant.

"Why should you care?"

"I don't, but we stand a better chance with Orac." He added in a lower voice, "Blake stands a better chance."

Avon's eyes were like stones. "I do not answer to you," he said in measured tones.

"Oh, let him go," Vila urged in disgust. "We're better off without him anyway."

Tarrant wasn't certain he meant it, even if Vila had been more distant toward Avon since their return from Malodaar, but Avon looked at Vila when he spoke. Vila stared back steadily then glanced away, but Avon continued to watch him for several seconds, a momentary flash of something that might have been pain in his eyes.

He said flatly, "As I also need transportation off this world, I intend to return with Orac."

Vila didn't move or respond, but Tarrant thought he relaxed slightly. Soolin rose, hand on the butt of her gun. "I'll come with you," she offered. "I know this world and its dangers better than you do."

Avon considered it then nodded reluctantly. He stalked out without looking back, and Soolin shrugged and followed him.

There was a brief silence, then Dravot let out his breath explosively, "That's a dangerous man," he observed, "I don't think I'd want him behind me, especially if he was armed, I doubt he's quite sane."

"I doubt if any of us are sane any more," Tarrant returned, surprised at his need to defend Avon but compelled to do so. "He's been through a lot. We all have, but Avon's been through more, and he's had the responsibility for the rest of us in the bargain. I never liked to think him in charge, but he was. It's been so long since we've done anything but survive that we've forgotten what it was like to win."

Dravot's face softened slightly. "If nothing else, you've had each other," he offered consolingly.

"For what that's worth," muttered Vila without enthusiasm.

Blake's pilot eyed Vila. "What did he do to make you doubt him?"

Vila flushed. "Nothing."

"Nothing, is it? You present the appearance of a man who's clearly torn. You didn't really want him to walk out of here and never come back, but part of you did."

"Then it's my business, innit?"

"Easy, lad. I didn't mean to pry, but it looks like I'm stuck with you, at least till we get offworld and go to ground someplace safer. If I'm to watch my back, I'd like to know who to protect myself against. I wouldn't have expected it to be Avon. Blake talks about him, you see."

"If Blake's been telling you good things about him, he doesn't remember him very well," Tarrant replied. "Avon's a cold-hearted bastard who'd as soon shoot you as look at you. I used to believe he wouldn't shoot you in the back but would wait until you turned around, but he's...changed. You can only make allowances so far before the risk becomes too great. It did for Vila on a shuttle over the planet Malodaar."

Vila glared at him. "I never said..."

"You didn't have to. It was obvious. Avon's dangerous to us, and he's even more dangerous to himself, but I don't imagine he can help it. We could watch out for each other before, when we had our base and our own ship, and he watched out for us against the Federation. He has survival instincts."

Vila shook his head in hasty denial. "You mean he had survival instincts, Tarrant. I don't think he does any more. I think you killed them when you said Blake had betrayed him. Blake was all he had left."

"But he knows it wasn't true," Tarrant insisted. "Blake didn't betray I can't understand why he would believe me over Blake."

"That's fine, Tarrant, if you're rational enough to reason it out. I don't think Avon is any more. Maybe it will help if Blake's all right, but I don't know." He added in a small voice, "It used to be...different.

"It won't help to have a post mortem now," Dravot cut in smoothly. "This ship doesn't have a medical unit but we've got supplies. While we wait, I'll take a look at Blake's wound." He crossed the flight deck as he spoke and removed equipment and supplies from a compartment. Tarrant was relieved to see proper medications, synth flesh spray, antibiotics, blood replacement drugs. "You take over the preflight, Tarrant," Dravot called over his shoulder. "Vila will help me with Blake."

It was a sign of how spent they were that the two of them went to according to instructions without a single complaint.

The mood did not improve appreciably when Avon and Soolin returned with Orac, but Blake was stabilized and that helped. At that point, even minor triumphs were enough to count for something. Blake was a little better and they had Orac. It created a heady sense of possibility that none of them had expected, and Vila, who still felt annoyingly ambivalent about Avon, and maybe Blake, and who resented it, curled himself up on the second couch and wished for a drink. After everything Avon had done, Vila wanted to hate him. It would have been far easier if he could do so, but something stopped him, no matter how hard he tried. He could resent Tarrant most of the time but he couldn't entirely hate Avon, and that was stupid. He must be as big a fool as Avon had always insisted if he could still feel something for the man who'd tried to kill him. Knowing Avon hadn't been entirely rational at the time helped him logically, but feelings aren't logical, and Vila was heartsick. He knew he had never expected much from Avon, but he hadn't expected Avon to actively seek his life either A part of him suspected he could never trust Avon again. But his unwelcome concern belied that, and he'd experienced a treacherous wave of relief when Avon returned bearing Orac. Vila tried to insist it was because he was glad to see Soolin and because Orac increased their chances, but he knew it wasn't entirely true. Avon had been right. Vila was a fool.

Avon promptly set Orac the task of monitoring the base then he withdrew to a corner of the flight deck--where he had a good view of Blake--and sat down, folding his arms across his chest.

Dravot, who had been monitoring communications, changed positions so he could watch Avon, and Vila nodded approvingly. Dravot was good at it, and he was clever enough to suspect Avon. Maybe with his help, they could get off Gauda Prime, and then Vila would find himself a bolthole. He could blend into any background; he was better equipped than any of them to remain hidden, even in plain sight.

That's it, he'd find a nice world and settle down to a life of healthy thievery, raise a couple of kids, live the good life. Safe. Away from here.

Away from Avon

Vila made a wry face. He was dreaming. He doubted if it would ever happen. He wasn't even sure he wanted it to happen, and what did that say for his survival instincts? The last thing he needed was to trail after a homicidal lunatic who just might try to kill him again.

"How well shielded is this hangar?" asked Tarrant. He'd been exploring the ship, popping back to the flight deck from time to time, and this time, he sat down at Dravot's vacated position and began to massage his sore muscles. If Dayna had been there, she might have given him a neck rub, but Dayna-- Vila closed his eyes momentarily in pain.

"Exceptionally well shielded," replied Dravot, turning to include Avon, who sat up straighter at the question. Vila suspected he'd been halfway to falling asleep.

"I'm going to take us out of here at midnight," the pilot continued. "There are only two pursuit ships in orbit; the rest of them are grounded here and in the city. If we head away from the base and the paths of those orbiting ships, I think we've a good chance of getting clean away. This is a fast ship. We've got near the equivalent of a photonic drive, and we're heavily armed. Blake used to regret the ship wasn't bigger because it can't hold many people for any length of time. He used to talk about your Liberator and reminisce. I think he missed you all more than you know."

At the sentiment, Avon looked impatient. "Just where do you intend to take us?" he asked coldly.

"I intend to take Blake to a safe place to recuperate," Dravot returned pointedly. "The rest of you are welcome to come that far." He leaned back in his seat and stroked his mustache idly, a man in control of himself and for the moment in charge and likely to stay that way. "I haven't seen anything about you or your companions that would make me want to throw in my lot with you yet. Before you tell me you're not interested, remember this is Blake's ship and I work for Blake. I trust him more than I trust you." He grinned. "Don't worry, though. I don't like the Federation and even if you were all cutthroats and murderers..."

"Aren't we?" Soolin muttered under her breath.

"...I'd still get you off GP because it's what Blake would want. He's not quite ready to give orders yet, so we'll do what he'd expect in the meantime."

"I doubt that." Tarrant sounded defensive. "He'd expect you to throw me off the ship." Bitterness ran through his voice like oil in water.

"Would he now?" Dravot cocked his head and stared at Tarrant. "No, I don't think so. I understand his hesitation. When he learned you were one of Avon's crew, he researched you to see if you were kin to Dev Tarrant. But you're not your father, Tarrant. Blake would take precautions, but I don't believe he'd toss you out. A fair man, Blake."

"I noticed," Tarrant muttered sourly.

"I didn't notice," Avon disagreed. Vila doubted it was meant to be wholly in support of Tarrant.

"Of course not, Avon.

Then tell me why you're here."

"To use him," Avon replied promptly. "The rebellion needs a figurehead, someone the rabble will follow, someone easily manipulated."

"The rabble already follows him, but whether you can manipulate him or not is another story. How well did you manage on Liberator? He's far more stubborn now, and suspicious with it. Life hasn't treated you well since Star One. They say you've been through a lot." Avon distributed a look of fierce affront impartially about the flight deck. "But so has Blake," Dravot continued. "I won't go into it save you need to know his life hasn't been easy since you parted. He's learned to be suspicious. It goes against the grain, and I don't know how thoroughly he's learned that lesson. It never extended to you, Avon."

Avon's face did not soften one iota. Dravot studied him carefully and shook his head.

As he listened, Tarrant sat monitoring transmissions, and Vila watched him idly; it was easier than watching Avon. The Liberator days seemed long ago, and Avon had changed a lot since then. Vila sighed, his eyes on Tarrant, his thoughts elsewhere, as Tarrant's hand moved idly across the panel toward the transmit button. The transmit button? Vila came upright abruptly, his feet hitting the deck with an audible thump that turned everyone in his direction. Tarrant's hand fell away from the button as if it was there by accident. "Nightmares, Vila?" he asked easily. There was nothing threatening in his eyes, nothing unusual, nothing different

Had he imagined it?

If he said anything to Avon, Avon would probably dump Tarrant off the ship right before launch and let him fry in the exhaust. Soolin was suspicious of all of them already. Dravot? His loyalty was to Blake and to this ship, and he would protect both. But Tarrant looked completely innocent of anything resembling betrayal, and Tarrant wasn't that good an actor. Vila decided he'd better say nothing. The others had had enough of people crying wolf already. If Tarrant had meant to give them away with a signal, which was crazy, better he didn't know Vila was onto him. Vila would simply watch him and see if anything else happened. Then he'd tell somebody about it. He'd decide who to tell when the time came.

"Just stretching my legs," he mumbled, straightening with a show of offended dignity. "It's getting pretty bad around here when a chap can't get comfortable without everybody on the ship making a fuss."

"Try getting comfortable more quietly," said Avon.

As a retort it was sub-par; in fact all of Avon's reactions seemed muted. Vila couldn't find it in himself to snap back. Maybe it wasn't Avon's fault. Could you ever blame a madman for his actions?

Tarrant relaxed again, his hands nowhere near the controls. He looked half asleep, and Avon looked three quarters asleep. They all needed rest. Vila caught Dravot's eye, wondering if the pilot could find a subtle way to send people to their cabins for some much needed sleep, but uncertain if separating was really such a good idea. At least here on the flight deck, they could watch each other.

Dravot smiled faintly and opened another compartment, removing what looked like a hand carved guitar made of wood. Rare and valuable by he look of it. He began to strum it softly, his fingers picking out a soft and soothing melody, and Vila began to relax immediately. "We've time to kill," said Dravot softly. "A little music will help to pass the time."

"Will it?" Avon responded sardonically. "How charming."

"I rather like it," Soolin disagreed, more to score off Avon than anything, but from the looks she kept casting in his direction, Vila suspected she would have agreed with Dravot anyway.

Gradually the music drifted from random chords to a familiar old score, ancient music that had come down through the centuries virtually unchanged. Vila felt himself relaxing as Dravot's warm and mellow baritone reminded them of the lyrics and took them out of themselves, if only for a brief interval.

"Hey, Mister Tambourine Man, playa song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there ain't no place I'm going to.
Hey, Mister Tambourine Man, playa song for me,
In the jingle, jangle morning I'll come followin' you.
I know my evening's empire has returned into sand,
Vanished from my hand,
Left me blindly here to stand but still not sleepin'.
My weariness amazes me,
I'm branded on my feet,
I have no one to meet,
And the ancient empty street's too dead for dreamin'.
Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin' ship,
My senses have been stripped,
My hands can't feel to grip,
My toes too numb to step
Wait only for my boot heels to be wanderinl.
I'm ready to go anywhere
I'm ready for to fade
Into my own parade.
Cast your magic spell, I promise to go under it.
Though you might hear laughin' , spinnin', swingin' madly through the sun,
It's not aimed at anyone,
It's just escapin' on the run,
And but for the sky there are no fences facin',
And if you hear vague traces
Of skippin' reels of rhyme
To your tambourine in time,
It's just a ragged clown behind,
I wouldn't pay it any mind,
It's just a shadow you're seein' that he's chasin'...."

Even Avon listened, relaxing slightly as Dravot sang. The older man watched a vision he saw in the music, though Vila suspected he was more aware of the rest of them than he appeared. As for Vila, he drew his knees up to his chin, folded his arms across them and went on watching Tarrant. The curly haired young man simply sat, his face at peace, curiously charmed by the music as if he welcomed the memories it stirred within. After the second chorus, he joined in with a surprisingly true voice, blending in harmony with Dravot, who focused on him sharply in delighted reaction.

It proved one of the happiest times Vila could recall in years, all the more so because it came out of such a string of tragedies, dropping the momentary blessing of peace upon them all. It was all he could do to stay awake, because he felt so relaxed and comfortable. To his astonishment, Avon did fall asleep, gradually sliding sideways in his chair until his head was resting against the wall, his eyelids drooping shut. Dravot noticed and the warm twinkle in his dark eyes registered his satisfaction, but he kept singing, blending his voice with Tarrant's in rich harmony until the song was finished.

Wisely, he began another song immediately, prolonging the mood, and Tarrant joined in this one too. It was an old song of the barracks, probably one they'd both learned at the academy, a tale of soldiers far from home, dreaming dreams about the girls they'd left behind and the plans they made for the days when their service was over. Though Vila lacked the military background to appreciate it properly, its poignant melody and wistful lyrics stirred something inside and he shared a companionable smile with Soolin.

Blake shifted position and Vila realized he was awake and listening. Perhaps Dravot knew it too, for he swept into another ballad affecting the old Welsh accent Vila remembered Blake adopting sometimes when he sang. Unfamiliar with the words of this one, Tarrant dropped out, picking up on the refrain, and Blake joined in for a stanza or two though his voice lacked its usual timber.

When they finished, Dravot set the guitar carefully aside and went to Blake, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Well, my friend," he said quietly, "Is it easier?"

"A little. It's sore, but I'm more comfortable. I'm glad to see your guitar made it off the base. Where are we? Not in space?"

"No, we're waiting for the optimum time to sneak offworld. Everything's under control for the moment. If they had Orac, they might find us, but we have that 'privilege.'" He sounded slightly doubtful, and Vila grinned, recalling Dravot's surprised reaction to the recalcitrant super computer.

That won a tired grin from Blake. "I think I could even put up with Orac again. It's been a long time." He glanced around the flight deck, and his eyes softened when he saw Avon sleeping. Vila smothered a chuckle at the sight. At least in sleep he wasn't lashing out at anyone with his acid tongue, and he didn't look quite so hard--or so mad. Vila sighed, his desire to laugh vanishing. Maybe Blake could help Avon find himself. If Blake couldn't, then no one could.

"We've plans to make," Dravot reminded everyone. "Orac might be useful. I thought we should head for Zardo. We've got contacts there and we could go to ground until you're back on your feet."

"What about the others?" Blake asked. "My people?"

"Nobody else made it this far," Dravot replied gently. "I'm sorry. Deva is dead, and Klyn, and some of the others. But the alarm went in time. This isn't the only ship, and there are a lot of passages. Many of them will get away."

Blake's eyes were bright with the easy tears of the convalescent but he didn't let them fall. "Then it's all to do over again."

His voice was so full of despair that Vila, who preferred not to get caught up in other people's wars, said quickly, "Never mind, Blake, you've got us again. We'll help you."

His voice was so full of despair that Vila, who preferred not to get caught up in other people's wars, said quickly, "Never mind, Blake, you've got us again. We'll help you."

"Will you, Vila? All of you? Avon's more likely to shoot me, and I haven't exactly been fair to Tarrant."

"Let it go, Blake," Tarrant put in quickly. "I've seen how people react to my father. I'd hold it against the son of someone who betrayed me too, until I learned the truth. We didn't meet in the best of circumstances."

Whether he was really so forgiving or not Vila didn't know, but it was not the best time to show hostility to Blake, and for once, Tarrant had the sense to hold back his anger. Later on, perhaps, they could have it out, but for now, Blake was not strong enough, and another of his dreams had died. Tarrant would have needed to be a worse bastard than Avon to go for him now.

"We'll work it out later then," Blake replied. "I appreciate that, and I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry I took it wrong," Tarrant conceded. "I told Avon you'd sold us. That could have been nasty." He sighed and darted an uneasy glance at Avon to make sure he hadn't been overheard. "Were you really a bounty hunter, Blake? That's the reason Avon was so primed to expect betrayal, you know. Men with large prices on their heads don't go willingly into a bounty hunter's den."

"Yes, I was a bounty hunter," Blake replied. "Hunting rebels to join my cause. The criminals I passed along, but the rebels I tested and invited to join me. It's worked so far."

"So well that Arlen infiltrated your group. It sounds a dangerous game," Soolin criticized. "I've heard a lot of stories about you, Blake, mostly from Vila. I think your dream of freedom for the masses sometimes overwhelms what common sense you might possess. Even more dangerous, you can inspire people to follow you." Her eyes darted over to the sleeping Avon, and Blake followed her look in surprise.

"Avon never followed me," he burst out, "He never believed in my cause,"

"He believed in Roj Blake," corrected Soolin. "For all intents and purposes, it's the same thing. Then you went off and left him. He'd finally found someone he could believe in, someone he didn't' expect to betray him, and you proved he'd been right not to trust. What did he matter to you, or Vila or Cally, when it came to your noble cause? Any cause that forgets the human people involved in it isn't worth the effort. We might as well have the Federation back again. I don't intend to follow you, Blake."

He looked hurt but he was too weak to fight back. Dravot intervened again, strolling over to Soolin and dropping an arm around her shoulders. She fell silent as if she'd been gagged and looked up at him expectantly.

If the bastard bottled his charm, he'd make a fortune, thought Vila cynically.

"Why don't we let Blake rest now," suggested Dravot, and there was no criticism in his voice, nothing but concern for Blake and concern for the rest of them too. "We'll be making our escape in another hour. What do you say to naps for everyone? There are two small cabins. Take one, Soolin. You have the other, Tarrant, because I'll need you when we take off. Vila, you can have the couch you're curled up on. Blake said you manned the weapons position on Liberator, so you can do the same here."

"What about Avon?" Blake asked. "He'll wake up with a crick in his neck and be unmanageable as a result."

"I don't know about the rest of you." Soolin moved away from Dravot as if determined to discount his personal magnetism. "But I want no part in waking Avon up."

"She's right," agreed Vila. "None of us are suicidal, Blake. He'll come up shooting, see if he doesn't. You don't know how close you came to getting your nose blown off back there. Let him be. He deserves a stiff neck."

Speculation flashed in Blake's eyes and he considered Vila thoughtfully, but he didn't take it any further. Dravot waved them away and Tarrant and Soolin went out together. Though he was spent, Vila remained sitting up, his chin on his folded arms, while Dravot gave Blake a drink of water and a sedative, then stood guard over him until the rebel leader slept again.

"Aren't you going to sleep?" Vila asked when Dravot moved away from Blake's side.

"No, one of us must stay alert, and I think I'm the freshest." He sat at the other end of Vila's couch and lowered his voice. "Out with it. Something's wrong."

Vila surprised himself. "It's Tarrant," he admitted. "Before you got out the guitar, he was sitting there at the comm console and it looked like he was going to transmit something. Tarrant's no traitor, at least he's never shown any signs of it before. Nasty and arrogant as he can be, but he hates the Federation. I can't see him turning against us, even if Blake didn't treat him right. A Federation plot killed his brother, and just now Dayna..." Vila let his voice trail off and it was several minutes before he could go on. You're tired. Vila, he thought. We're all tired. "I don't think he'd sell us. He looked like he didn't even know he was doing it. I think we should watch him."

"And watch him I will," Dravot promised. "Now you need sleep, Vila. Blake informs me you like adrenalin and soma. I think we have some here. Let me see." He opened the same cabinet that had held his guitar and produced a bottle and two glasses, pouring a small amount into his own and considerably more in Vila's. "There. Drink up, my friend."

"You're a man after my own heart," cried Vila gratefully and downed the contents in one swallow.

#

Preparations for launch woke Avon and he started up, momentarily confused. Where was he and what had happened? When everyone turned to stare at him, he glared at them, eased back into his chair and dropped his hand from his gun.

"We're in launch phase, Avon," explained Dravot quickly. "Secure yourself for take off." None of the others spoke to him. Avon fastened the restraint, his eyes probing the room. Blake was still there, stretched out on one of the couches, still unconscious but looking somewhat better. That was good. Avon had a great many questions for Roj Blake, questions that would not receive answers if Blake died. Unprepared to admit to further concern, Avon watched Tarrant and Dravot work together as if they'd done it for years, smoothly preparing the ship. Vila sat at the weapons position and Soolin manned communications, monitoring Federation communications. There was an unmanned position which looked as if it had a computer tie in, and Avon considered taking it, but decided not to bother. Let the fools make their own mistakes.

He had already made too many of his own.

Rejecting that unwelcome thought, Avon concentrated on the launch as if it was the only important thing in the universe. It would be soon enough to consider his options when they left Gauda Prime behind, the primary one being freeing himself from this lot and finding himself a satisfactory bolthole. He had reluctantly assumed Blake's mantle with the Liberator crew and then the Scorpio, but Blake was back and Blake was perfectly capable of resuming the responsibility that had once been his. Avon had kept faith with Blake, whether he deserved it or not, and now, Blake could take over.

As for Avon, he would be better off elsewhere. That his mind refused to calculate any reasonable possibilities was a minor problem. He only wanted to detach himself from any further involvement with any of these people.

"Launch bay doors opening," Soolin reported. "We are clear."

"Orac, monitor Federation transmissions and scramble any reports of us and the launch," Tarrant ordered smoothly.

The computer chose not to complain, making an oddly human sound before going to work.

"Course laid in," Dravot reported as the launch began.

Avon tensed. He knew the Federation must be searching for stragglers and that they would face their greatest danger while still in the atmosphere, but Dravot seemed prepared for that.

"Any ships, Orac?" he asked as he maneuvered the vessel into optimum position. With Tarrant backing him, they had the best chance possible, though Avon did not delude himself that it was a good chance. He knew Tarrant's piloting skills, but it seemed unlikely they would be lucky enough to get a clear shot at escape.

"There are two Federation pursuit ships in orbit at this time," Orac returned. "Other vessels, registered as merchants, traders, freight vessels, and planet hoppers, have been calculated and are also being monitored. The two Federation vessels have not yet altered course."

"Give us a report the minute they do," ordered Tarrant. He studied the screen which displayed a schematic grid spread across a starfield. Until they could clear the atmosphere, they would be vulnerable, and the grid pattern was useful to identify and locate hostile ships. Vessels were displayed in red. It was a clear and well designed field and Avon felt a momentary curiosity about the small ship, but discounted it immediately. This ship might be efficient and fast, but it was too small for their use.

It might be a suitable vessel for his own. He shot a proprietary look around the flight deck.

"Federation ships moving," Orac reported. "Estimated rendezvous time 23.9 minutes."

"We'll be out of the atmosphere before then," Dravot returned. "Orac, have you considered this vessel's top speed in your calculations?"

"Of course I have," snapped Orac. "This ship is capable of exceeding the top speed of pursuit ships in deep space. Any other vessels launched from the surface will have no opportunity of catching us unless the two ships in orbit can delay us until pursuit arrives. Our fire power is superior to that of the two pursuit ships. I recommend evading or dispatching them with all possible speed. I have scrambled signals from the orbiting ships to the ground, but pursuit will inevitably follow."

Tarrant worked frantically. "Maybe if we alter course," he proposed, directing Dravot to his projection. They bent over it together, then Dravot nodded.

"Yes, it could work. Do it."

Avon saw Vila stare at Tarrant, speculation flaring briefly in his eyes, and Avon frowned. Vila was a fool, but he sometimes noticed things that other people missed. What was he considering about Tarrant now? Narrowing his eyes, Avon watched Tarrant too, but he could notice nothing unusual. At times like this, he could appreciate the young pilot's skill, though the man's arrogance and recklessness irritated him. Pilots of Tarrant's caliber were rare, but from the look of it, Dravot just might be another. If Vila had discovered something wrong about Tarrant, then perhaps Dravot's skill made Tarrant redundant.

"How are we doing?"

Blake's question spun Avon around abruptly and he undid his restraints and crossed to Blake's position. "We're facing two pursuit ships," he reported tersely. "Stay quiet and do not interfere."

Blake raised his eyes and held Avon's, a trace of amusement in his face. "How you must have missed telling me what to do, Avon," he said softly.

Oh now, that was unfair. The last thing Avon wanted from him was affection and humor. He had deliberately remembered Blake's bad qualities during the two years they had been apart; it was much easier to recall Blake's obsession with his cause, his manipulativeness, the stubborn drive that overwhelmed people like a steamroller, his willingness to sacrifice friends for his beliefs. But sometimes he had dreamed of Blake and remembered another side of him; the humor that lurked in his eyes, his warmth and strength, the enjoyment of a challenge between them, the bond that Avon preferred to deny. It would have been easy to respond to Blake as Blake hoped he would, but Avon had never taken the easy way, knowing that perils and pitfalls were often waiting along that road. It was far safer to go the harder road where every danger was clearly visible, to be met with his skill and his wits.

"Not all of us are such masochists, Blake," he returned in a voice devoid of humor, and Blake's face fell. Bad. Usually Blake could conceal such reactions, but perhaps he wasn't strong enough yet.

"Pursuit ships falling behind," Tarrant observed triumphantly.

"Not far enough. Plasma bolt fired," Vila reported uneasily. "Blake I hope your ship has good shielding."

That was Vila. He'd buy a pig in a poke and then spend interminable hours complaining of the problems that invariably followed.

But this time Vila was right. Avon shot Blake a demanding look, and Blake nodded. "Nothing but the best. I think this would be a good time to put up the force wall."

Dravot reached for the controls as Blake spoke, and when the plasma bolt impacted, they were tossed around a bit but the force wall held. On his feet, Avon almost pitched forward, regaining his balance realizing he had automatically put out a hand to steady Blake. He didn't care for the realization. Abruptly he turned and marched back to his seat, conscious of Blake's eyes on his back the whole way.

"Another shot," Soolin called. She did not sound unduly concerned.

"We'll outrun this one," returned Dravot with easy confidence. He turned to grin broadly at Tarrant, who returned the smile as the plasma bolt fell behind. Freed of the atmosphere, the ship seemed to leap forward

"How long can we run at maximum?" asked Tarrant

"Long enough to get out of range. The minute we are, we change course When we get a little further out of the system, we'll activate detector shielding."

"It's a modified version of your own, Avon," Blake explained.

"Indeed." Avon sounded indifferent. "Modified in what way?"

"I'll let you strip it down once we reach Zardo," Dravot volunteered. "I've made a few slight modifications since we're dealing with a smaller ship and different drive. I think you'll like it. Maybe you can fine tune it and make it more efficient."

"Assuming I should bother."

"It's for our own protection, Avon," Vila interjected.

"Is it? This ship is not mine, nor is it yours. Once we reach Zardo, I will be a free agent. You were a part of Blake's crew in the past and you will be again. My part in it will be finished. Knowing Blake, he will once again begin his crusade, and here are three of you, ready followers."

"Not likely, Avon," Soolin denied. "I've already told Blake I won't follow him. I've a useful skill to sell. When we reach Zardo, I'll go my own way as well,"

"Wise of you." He was surprised Soolin had stayed with them as long as she had, but he had reached the conclusion that she had no place else to go. Banded together for safety, they had been of some use to each other but anyone was free to depart. As for Vila and Tarrant, they could stay with Blake. Then Avon would no longer be forced to deal with them. He wondered why Soolin had chosen to reject Blake, but he was not curious enough to inquire. It was her business and as long as it did not threaten him, he did not care.

"Just a minute, Avon," snapped Tarrant. "You're not in charge of our lives."

"Did I claim to be?"

"He means you can't just turn us over to Blake," Vila explained uneasily.

"Surely you cannot wish to stay with me, Vila," Avon purred. "Since it has proven so safe in the past. You would be a fool to trust me."

"I didn't say I trusted you, did I?" Vila shot back. "But you've always said I was a fool, so why should now be different. I'll do what I choose, Avon. You won't arrange it."

"It's hardly the time to worry about who will go where," Dravot interjected. "Suppose we wait until we reach Zardo safely before everyone decides what to do next. Zardo's not a Federated world, and that should give everyone their preference." He added severely to Avon, "Before you calmly assign people to Blake, you should make sure he wants them."

Avon gave Blake a sharp, affronted look then retreated into himself.

This whole discussion was pointless. He didn't care what happened to anyone. He just wanted an ending, and with it, peace. He was tired, tired of running, tired of considering the others in his equation, tired of seeking answers, of seeking Blake. He wanted an end. The thought of going to sleep and not waking had a curious appeal, but a part of his mind rejected the idea. That stubborn core of himself still considered the others' reaction to his death. While he told himself he didn't care what anyone thought or felt, that one small part remembered himself bending over Cally's twisted body, holding Anna while her life slipped away. Empathy was not one of Avon's strong points, but he knew all about loss, and he didn't like it. The others didn't deserve–

Did he care about the others? He noticed Vila watching him surreptitiously, and remembered all too vividly the look on Vila's face when he emerged from his hiding place on Egrorian's shuttle. Vila had turned against him now, as well he should. Vila wouldn't care what happened to him. Tarrant never had and Soolin had always held herself aloof. Good.

That left only Blake, and Blake was the unknown element in the equation. Blake was a fool who cared for his followers, right until he got them killed, the way he'd got Gan killed. Remembering Blake's agonizing over Gan afterwards, Avon shook his head. Blake's concern for Gan had done the big man no good, just as his concern would not aid Avon now. Better for everyone concerned that he turn Blake against him too, the way held done the others. Only then would he be truly free.

He smiled. He'd help them reach Zardo, but he'd hold aloof from them all on the way, aloof enough to give Blake a healthy disgust of him, to make Dravot suspicious enough to caution Blake against him, to finish up any foolish loyalty Vila might still possess.

Then, when the others were safe on Zardo and no longer cared what might happen to Avon, he could depart and maybe he could find peace. Yes. That would be best.

Blake watched him suspiciously. Avon threw a sneer in his direction and went to the computer position. He sat down, conscious of everyone's eyes upon him, and brought the screen to life. In a few minutes he was working busily, monitoring Federation ships, demanding information on ship resources, planning strategies. Vila drifted over and peered over his shoulder, and Vila knew enough of both ships and computers to make out what he was doing, so maybe Vila would back off and leave him alone.

But Vila stood behind him a long time, almost close enough to touch, and when Avon became uncomfortable at such a blatant invasion of his personal space and turned to glare at Vila, he surprised a look in Vila's eyes that reminded him of the times before Malodaar, even before Terminal. Vila met his stare defiantly and let his resentment show, but even Avon could tell it was partially manufactured. Vila had not completely turned against him. Damn it.

"I do not now nor shall I ever need your dubious assistance when I am working," Avon informed Vila icily.

Though uneasiness flickered in his eyes, Vila stood his ground. "It wasn't your work I was worried about, was it, then?" he said with a curious dignity.

"Then what? Do you suspect I mean to betray you all? A surprisingly intelligent concern, Vila. Have you perhaps had a logic transplant?"

"I'm not stupid, Avon," Vila snapped. "Think you can drive us away, do you?"

"I do think that, yes," he replied as if the idea had just occurred to him. "Continue this conversation and I will certainly do so."

"What are you so afraid of?" Vila asked wonderingly though he moved back just enough to give Avon physical comfort.

"Certainly not of you."

"No, you're afraid one of us will betray you," Vila insisted. "Tarrant told you Blake did, and even if it wasn't true, it made you consider the possibility, something you never did before. You're scared because you thought you had all of us blocked off, that nothing we could do would hurt you, but Tarrant made you realize you trusted Blake, and now you don't want to take any more chances. For a smart man, Avon, you're a bloody great fool. Have I ever betrayed you? Well, have I?"

Avon couldn't have been more surprised if Orac had kissed him. "You're only a Delta grade ignorant," he threw at Vila. "You're too stupid to betray anyone."

"It wouldn't have been that hard." Vila responded. "I had plenty of chances to turn on you, and I never did, even when you tried to kill me. Maybe that means I am a fool, or maybe it only means I used to care what happened to you. But I didn't betray you, and neither did Tarrant or Soolin. Or Cally or Dayna," he went on quickly, pain clearly visible in his eyes. "Blake didn't either. That was just Tarrant being Tarrant. Blake was suspicious of him but it wasn't anything to do with you. You see everything distorted by that huge ego of yours, and I'm sick of it. Go ahead and leave when we get to Zardo. See if I care."

Before Avon could speak, even if he'd been so inclined, Vila turned abruptly and blundered away, almost running from the flight deck.

Avon stood frozen staring after him, brought up short by an unexpected sound, and he looked up to see Dravot applauding, "Well done," the pilot praised the absent Vila, "I tip my hat to the lad."

Avon returned to his seat and very carefully shut down the computer position. When he had finished, he got up and walked off the flight deck careful to look at no one as he departed.

He intended to go in the opposite direction as Vila.

#

After Avon left, there was an awkward silence which Dravot filled with a flurry of piloting reports and ship business, directing Soolin to the position Avon had abandoned and asking for a schematic of the Zardo system. Tarrant stayed at his post, offering no comment, and from his expression, Blake could not guess his reaction to the outburst between Avon and Vila. Blake himself had been a helpless and unwilling witness to the entire altercation, still too weak to take an active part in the disagreement and too wary of the changes he saw in both men to plunge in and try to sort things out as he might have done on Liberator. As for Tarrant and Soolin, he had no right to interfere with them, Soolin because she had disavowed any willingness to side with him and Tarrant because he'd misjudged him, blaming him for something beyond his control. Tarrant wasn't likely to heed him now.

But Avon was in a bad way; it was even noticeable to Dravot, who was a stranger to him, though Dravot was a perceptive man. Was Vila right that Avon meant to drive them all away to avoid the risk of betrayal, and if so, what had happened to make him so much more paranoid than before? The naked shock on his face when Tarrant had told him Blake had sold him had stunned Blake, and he realized his hopes that t he coming of Avon would mean a turnaround in his fortunes were groundless. Avon needed help, and now that the GP base had fallen, Blake doubted he was the person to give it. But his cause must wait now, partly because of his injury, but also because of Avon.

He'd meant to give Avon some space, to keep his word and leave the Liberator to his friend, but when nothing had gone as planned, he should have tried to contact Avon again. He had been reluctant to do so because he suspected Avon would have resented it, taking it as a display of mistrust, and perhaps Avon would, but he must have had expectations of Blake or he wouldn't have been so shocked at Tarrant's claim. Avon had always made it clear that relying on other people was a foolish mistake, but in spite of that, Blake must have got through to him. That meant Blake still had some influence over Avon, which surprised him, but it also implied responsibility. Avon would have scorned that assumption, and Blake understood why. He might be biting off more than he could chew. But Vila's persistence in spite of his ambivalent feelings for Avon had conveyed to Blake a sense of urgency. Vila was worried. He feared something more drastic than Avon's departure. What could it be? Not that Avon would turn on them, something worse. Suddenly Blake understood that Vila feared something much more final; he feared Avon's death. Suicide?

"Tarrant," said Blake urgently. "Tell me about Avon."

Tarrant threw him a glance of skeptical annoyance. "What would you like to hear, Blake. The easiest way to tell you is to say you've been well rid of him."

When Blake didn't immediately respond, Tarrant shook his head impatiently. "No, that's wrong. If you'd come back after Star One, we might not be in this position now. I can't count the number of times we went rushing into danger simply because there was a rumor you might be there. We lost the Liberator and Cally because Avon went chasing after you again. The worst thing I could have done was to tell him you'd sold him--but what else was I to think? Damn you, Blake, finding you was the only chance he had of--"

"Of staying sane," Soolin finished. "Well, now we've made certain he can't hold on, haven't we? If this is what allies do to each other, I'd hate to think what Servalan could do to us."

"Time out," Dravot cut in sharply. "Everybody back off. Let's do this calmly, folks. Blake, you're concerned about Avon. I know from everything you've said about him that you remember him kindly, though right now I'm at a loss to understand why."

"He's changed," Blake muttered succinctly

"Obviously, and what changed him must include many factors. I don't think we'll sort them out right now, but you're a different man yourself, Blake, more suspicious than you were when I met you. Short of Deva and me--and Jenna," he added sympathetically, "I don't think you've lowered your guard to any of your people since you founded the base. If a basically gregarious man like you can be changed by circumstances beyond your control, think how much worse it would be for someone like Avon. I have a feeling you were the one incontrovertible fact in his life, even if he didn't admit it to himself. Somewhere out there was Roj Blake, a man he could trust in spite of everything. Then when you finally met again, Tarrant says you've sold him out. He doesn't want to believe it, but everyone else has turned on him. If you do too, he's got nothing left. How close am I, Tarrant?"

"Dead on," Tarrant confirmed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "The disgusting thing is that I knew that. I believed you'd sold us, Blake. You didn't let me think anything else. But a part of me reveled in telling Avon. If true, I had to warn him, but I didn't have to enjoy it. I should apologize to him."

"Only if you're tired of having your head attached to your shoulders," Soolin disagreed. "It's the wrong time, Tarrant. It's gone too far now. It won't help. If Vila couldn't help, then you can't. Leave it."

"But it's my fault," Tarrant insisted.

"Don't take on more than your fair share of it," Blake corrected him, trying to ease his back. The pain was duller now but not gone, and he felt it lurking behind the painkiller waiting to come rushing back. "I should have known Avon well enough to realize he would have ferreted out a traitor in his midst long ago. I've got in the habit of testing everyone and playing games--Deva used to get after me about it. But you had the disadvantage of being Dev Tarrant's son, and I couldn't help holding it against you. I owe you an apology."

"Accepted," replied Tarrant, relaxing a little."But that doesn't help Avon."

"You sound concerned for him."

"He's my shipmate. We didn't always get on, but we backed each other. I knew where I stood with him; he was consistent until now. If I've had a hand in destroying him, I want to make amends. If we go our separate ways afterwards, so be it."

"Well said, Del." Dravot clapped him companionably on the shoulder. "Spoken like a man."

Blake wasn't sure how Tarrant would react to Dravot's approval, but he grinned briefly, uncomfortable but satisfied and returned to the subject with all the persistence Avon himself might have shown when dealing with a tough computer problem.

"So what are we to do about it?" he demanded.

"You don't like leaving things unfinished?" Blake asked, curious about Tarrant.

"Shall we say I don't like leaving things unmended that I've broken."

"Don't take too much credit for the break," Soolin put in. She turned from the console and regarded Tarrant across the back of her chair. "You're more in the nature of the straw that broke the camel's back than anything more serious."

"If it hadn't been you, it would have been something else," Blake said kindly.

"Nonsense. If I'd come out and said, 'Here's Blake, and he's delighted to see us,' it would never have happened."

"Which puts the fault back with me."

"You're both missing the point," insisted Dravot. "There's been talk of Avon's ego, but people who argue over who has the bigger share of guilt are people with colossal egos themselves. It doesn't matter now how it happened. What matters is that it's put right. I'm an outsider who doesn't know Avon, and I could be way off base, so correct me if this doesn't match your knowledge of the man. I think he's trying his damnedest to put you all off because he thinks there's no future for him. He knows what It's like to lose someone, and he wants to spare you that. If you hate his guts, you won't mind if he should disappear or die."

"If that's what he thinks, he's wrong," Blake burst out. "If he wants to leave, I can't prevent it, but I don't want him to go for reasons like that."

"But don't you see, Blake, forcing him to stay is only a different proof of betrayal. Right now he's not thinking clearly. In a sense he's like a child. Small children's worlds are entirely egocentric. He's drawn into himself so that he perceives everything in relation to himself. It's not fully effective because he still has feelings for you, but he can't admit it. His reasoning is skewed and you can't help with logic. If you try to use sentiment, he'll only run all the faster."

"Then you're saying there's nothing I can do to help him?" Blake protested, disconcerted at how much that hurt. "There's got to be something, Bond."

"How much time do you want to spend on this, Blake? Even if you do break through to him, it'll take a lot of time and patience and it won't happen overnight. Once you reach him, you can't abandon him for the rebellion."

"Avon always despised my cause," Blake remembered. "One of the things he told me once was like what you said, Soolin, that I got so caught up in the big picture that I overlooked the more human problems. That's not how Avon put it, but that's what he meant. Cally told me that too. I can't abandon my cause, not unless I abandon Roj Blake along with it, but I'll try to get my priorities straight."

For the first time in Blake's presence, Soolin unbent slightly. "I can't say I'm terribly fond of Avon myself," she admitted, "But I respect him and I have some loyalty to him. If you're going to give him some time now while you're recovering and then leave him behind when you're well, I wish you wouldn't try."

"She's right, Blake," Tarrant agreed. "You might have been able to do that once, though I don't think you helped Avon in the long run. But he was stronger then than he is now. He had a better chance of surviving your meddling when Cally was still alive."

"They're not saying you must devote the rest of your life to Avon," Dravot hastened to clarify. "But if you can reach him, you'll owe him more than deserting him for your cause at least until he is ready to deal with it."

"It's a question of perspective then. I can't make Avon dependent on me. But I want him back, the way it was in the beginning. I know I became obsessed with my cause, with my purpose and my plans to defeat the Federation, and I can't turn my back on that, no matter what you say. But I needed Avon as much as you say he needed me. But I'll take it one step at a time. That's all I can do."

"That's all any man can do," agreed Dravot. "But we're arguing ahead of the facts. Avon may leave the moment we touch down on Zardo."

"I wish we could get Vila to talk to him," suggested Blake. "Not challenge him like before, but talk to him."

Soolin tossed her long, fair hair. "You might be expecting too much of Vila, Blake. Avon tried to kill him, you know."

"What! How?"

"Tried to toss him out the airlock of a shuttle that was too heavy to reach escape velocity," explained Tarrant. "Neither of them talk about it, but Vila's been different ever since and so has Avon. Vila was the only one Avon had left, and then he didn't even have Vila. When we found you, I realized that if there hadn't been the thought of you out there somewhere--even though Servalan told him you were dead--he might have snapped after Malodaar."

"I ought to be shot," Blake muttered. "I was too busy worrying about my own pride to contact Avon. Maybe if I had--"

"Tell him that, Blake, not us," Dravot interjected. "We're clear of those pursuit ships now. I suggest we get some sleep. It's been a long time, and we could use it. You rest too, Tarrant, and when you and Soolin come back, I can rest."

"What about Avon and Vila?"

"They'll have to take care of themselves. You and I will split the watches, Tarrant. Six hours on and six off. Fair enough."

"Less than a day to Zardo," Tarrant returned. "Fine with me. Come on, Soolin."

Blake watched them go. "Avon hasn't had an easy time of it," he said. "We often fought on Liberator, but I got better feelings there than I do from Avon's crew now."

"Maybe, but I can feel a tremendous bond of loyalty there. They may not particularly like each other, but they've had to depend on each other for survival. I can see you feel a kind of possessiveness about Avon, but don't come between him and his crew. That's one reason why Soolin is so hostile to you."

"You mean she loves him?"

Dravot shook his head. "No, not the way you mean it. She's a lot like Avon when you come to think of it. Isolated, unwilling to trust. If you've never had a family, even a bad family is something to hold on to. It's better than being alone."

"Avon would disagree.

"No, Avon wouldn't admit it. There's the difference." Dravot grinned. "And you, my friend, are exhausted. You lost too much blood to deal with major problems now. When Del comes back, we ought to move you to a cabin where you can rest properly."

"I'll take you up on that, at least until we reach Zardo." Blake closed his eyes as Dravot resumed the pilot's position, and sleep sucked him in like a black hole.

#

Vila had been resting in one of the cabins, and he stiffened when the door opened, but it was only Tarrant, pulling off his boots and tunic and dropping wearily on the second bunk. Vila didn't move or speak, regulating his breathing so Tarrant wouldn't guess he was awake and speak to him, but either Tarrant was being considerate or he was too tired to bother. In a remarkably short time, Tarrant was asleep; Vila could hear his breathing even out.

The thief gave him a few more minutes to be sure he wouldn't wake before he left him to it. He lay there, eyes shut, wishing he could relax, but he couldn't. Then he heard something and opened his eyes to mere slits, watching Tarrant sit up and pull. on his boots again. In the dim light from the atmosphere control panel, Vila saw him don his tunic though he didn't fasten it, and start for the door again. There was something strange about the way he moved, so Vila shut his eyes quickly and waited. When he heard the door slide shut, he hopped up quickly and set off in pursuit.

The corridor was deserted, and on a ship that small, there weren't that many places to go, but Vila decided if Tarrant went to the flight deck, the others could deal with him. If he hadn't, it was up to Vila, so he turned the other way, scurrying along silently, using all the stealth he'd learned in his years of thievery, careful not to be caught.

Smal sounds came from a room ahead of him, and Vila tiptoed forward curiously, peering around the corner of the door. It looked like a computer control room, vaguely like its counterpart on Liberator, and Vila half expected to find Avon there, but instead, Tarrant bent over a control panel, levering it open with a hand tool, his face blank, either with concentration or with...something else. As he watched him, Vila stiffened uneasily. He didn't know enough. about the particular equipment on this ship to be certain what Tarrant was doing, but the general look of the equipment Tarrant worked on suggested something to do with communications. It might be possible to send a signal from here, bypassing the flight deck entirely.

Vila had insisted Tarrant was no traitor, but why else would he do something like this? Two years of suffering Tarrant's bullying had not endeared the pilot to the thief, but Vila was still surprised. This wasn't right, and it didn't quite fit. Something was horribly wrong. Typical. Just when they found Blake again and were on their way to safety, something would have to go wrong. Not bad enough that Avon was sending out touch-me-not signals in all directions, now Tarrant was acting like a zombie.

Vila heaved an inaudible sigh. He knew he couldn't hope to overpower Tarrant, and something in the bigger man's face warned Vila not to go bursting in to interrupt him with some false story. Better to fetch help. Dravot. That was the man he needed. He'd fetch Dravot before anything too serious happened.

He was halfway to the flight deck when it happened. There was a fractional sound behind him, and before Vila could turn, something crashed down heavily upon his head. He struggled to stay conscious, but he couldn't fight the force of the darkness that battered him. Without a sound, he crumpled to the floor, only muzzily aware of arms catching him before he could strike the deck. He was dragged somewhere, pushed and shoved into some small space, and then there was nothing at all.

#

Soolin awoke before the six hours were up, and because she was suddenly wide awake, though still tired, she decided to get up and go to the flight deck. She felt an urge to be there, to protect everyone from each other long enough to reach Zardo safely. She'd heard of Zardo and knew she could find a niche for herself there, somewhere beyond the hell she'd been through the past few years. The memory of Dravot's singing tantalized her, for the tranquility of those moments of song had eaten away at her resistance like acid. She'd never felt that peaceful before, and a part of her longed to reach out and grab with both hands the security that seemed promised should all of them resolve their differences and mold themselves into a stronger group than the original one.

But when Avon had begun to distance himself from the others, she had understood, perhaps more easily than any of them, because she was on the verge of doing the same thing. Uninvolvement was safer and one of the reasons she had been so quick to disassociate herself from Blake was because she could feel the charisma of the man, just as, in a different way, she felt Dravot's. Dravot and Blake would be good for her--and for Avon, Vila and Tarrant. But Soolin had been through too much to take that chance willinglyagain. After a lifetime of experience, she had made the mistake of lowering her guard and admitting a friend to her private universe.

Now Dayna lay dead back on Gauda Prime, abandoned without even a burial. Dayna had become the one person she could trust, and sometimes the two of them would get together on Xenon base and settle in for an evening of 'girl-talk', something Dayna had learned with her sister Lauren, something Soolin had never experienced before. If Avon, Tarrant and Vila had heard half of what was said about them, Soolin suspected they would have died of terminal embarrassment. But Soolin's smile faded. Dayna was dead and that was final. There was no sense in remembering her now. Better to start planning what she would do when she arrived on Zardo.

She straightened her tangled hair with her fingers and splashed water on her face, then, as prepared as she could be without clean clothes or supplies, she let herself out of her cabin and headed for the flight deck.

When she turned a corner in the corridor, she came to an abrupt stop, staring in dismay. There was Avon, down on one knee, his hand stretched out to Vila, who lay, unconscious or dead, half in half out of an air vent. There was a lot of blood on his head, and Avon's hand was stained with it.

At the sound of her arrival, Avon raised his eyes and looked at her as if he'd been blind and had suddenly seen something he could not understand without a proper frame of reference. "Soolin..." he began in a hoarse voice she would not have recognized if she hadn't seen him speaking.

"Avon!" she cried, shocked but not surprised. "What have you done!"

His body jerked as if she had struck him. "Done?" he echoed blankly. "But I didn't..."

Soolin let the familiar and comforting shape of her gun spring into her hand and leveled it at Avon. "Back away from him now," she ordered sharply. "And don't try anything else."

"I didn't injure him," Avon denied, then he shook his head as if it hurt him. "Perhaps I did," he corrected. "I remember no such thing, but a madman might block out his actions. I had no reason to...want Vila dead."

"Unless you thought you were back on Egrorian's shuttle," Soolin told him in a brittle voice. "That's not the airlock, Avon."

"Perhaps I could not tell the difference." If her voice was brittle, his was ready to shatter into a million pieces, taking his psyche with it.

"What do you remember?"

He answered as if it didn't matter. "I was in one of the rest rooms. I decided to return to the flight deck. As I walked along the passage, I saw Vila. I had just bent to examine him when you came along." It was as if he'd learned the words by rote, but a note of strength came back and he said coldly, "I do not acknowledge your right to question me."

She ignored that. "You don't remember attacking him?"

"I--no,"

"If you attack me, Avon, I will not hesitate to shoot you."

She shifted slightly to reach the nearest intercom and set it on shipwide transmission. "Dravot, this is Soolin. There's been an...accident in the corridor near the cabins. Come quickly--and bring your gun." Her message fetched Tarrant first; he emerged from his cabin, fastening his tunic, and stood there in surprise, not yet entirely awake. Then Dravot charged around the corner and cast a calm and practiced eye over the tableau. "What happened?"

"Avon says he found Vila stuffed in the air vent," Soolin reported.

"Is he dead?" Tarrant actually sounded like he cared.

"No," replied Avon. "But he is badly hurt."

"Your concern is showing," Tarrant retorted scornfully, reaching out to dislodge Avon from Vila's side as if he weighed nothing. He checked the thief's pulse and frowned. "It's not good. We'd better get him to the flight deck." He threw Avon an angry glance. "Just because he told you a few home truths is no reason to--"

"I did not injure Vila." But Avon would have sounded more convincing if he had believed it himself. Soolin saw doubt, followed by quickly masked despair, chase itself across his face.

#

Blake was waiting anxiously for Dravot's return to learn what had happened when everyone came in at once, Dravot keeping a concerned eye-and his gun--turned upon Avon, who looked colder and more distant than Blake had ever seen him. Behind Dravot came Tarrant, carrying a clearly unconscious Vila in his arms. The younger man's face was grim and worried and when he saw Blake staring, he glared back defiantly. Behind them all was Soolin, her gun drawn, her face tight and angry.

"My god, what happened?" Blake burst out, struggling to sit up.

Dravot came and put his hand on Blake's shoulder. "No, Roj, don't get up. We'll have this out now and solve everything." He turned to insert Orac's key. "Orac, we'll need your help to resolve this."

"Actually there is a more urgent problem," Orac cut in smoothly. "A message has been sent from this ship to the Federation forces on Gauda Prime detailing our intention to go to Zardo. I was able to scramble much of the message, but it is possible that the Federation will be able to triangulate and determine our general position. It is imperative that we change course immediately."

Everyone looked worried. Tarrant deposited Vila gently on the second couch and swung around, his face furious. His eyes pinned Avon with unerring accuracy. "Why did you do it?" he exploded. "Wasn't it enough to try to kill Vila? Did you have to betray the rest of us too?"

Avon met his look. "Well now, we have no proof that I did either."

"Didn't you?"

"Did I?" Avon turned away from Tarrant, infuriating the younger man, and took a step toward Vila, an action that succeeded in drawing the aim of both Soolin and Dravot. Avon froze. Holding up his hands in a conciliatory gesture, he said coolly, "Unless the rest of you mean to finish my handiwork, I suggest you initiate treatment for him immediately."

Dravot gestured for Soolin to maintain her gun, then he got the medical supplies again and went to work on Vila.

"I think we must solve this quickly," Soolin insisted without taking her attention from Avon.

"There's not much to solve," disagreed Tarrant, pacing the flight deck angrily. "Avon came close to killing Blake on Gauda Prime, and Vila on that shuttle. He and Vila had a disagreement here. Now we find Vila close to dead. I say it's obvious."

"Why would he do it?" demanded Blake. "When he almost shot me at the base it was because he thought I'd turned him in, thanks to your intervention, Tarrant. He must know Vila didn't betray him."

"I think you're making a basic mistake in your reasoning, Blake," insisted Tarrant, stopping his pacing and facing Blake with impatient defiance. "You're assuming he's capable of making a reasoned choice. I'm not sure just how sane he is any more. A madman's reasoning isn't quite the same as the rest of ours."

"Avon?" Blake prodded gently. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I? Nothing at all."

"I always trusted you, Avon. Give me an honest answer and I'll believe you."

Avon spun on him. "You're a fool, Blake."

"That's no answer."

"Have I a better one? I did not mean harm to Vila. It was never my intention."

"Are you saying it was an accident then?"

Avon's eyes darkened and he turned away. "I am saying I did not do it, or, perhaps, that I have no memory of doing it. It might not necessarily be the same thing."

"You mean you had a blackout or something?" Blake asked, worried.

"I should not have said so." He made an impatient gesture. "My actions are none of your concern, Blake."

"They are when one of my crew is in danger."

"One of your crew? You are quick to assume responsibility, aren't you?"

"You were quick to disassociate yourself from it not too long ago. I don't think you went out of here meaning to hurt anyone, Avon, at least not physically. I think you wanted to distance yourself from us, planning to leave once we reached Zardo, and you believed it easier for all of us if we didn't part pleasantly. But that's a long distance from attempting to kill Vila in cold blood."

"Perceptive of you, Blake," sneered Avon.

"Tell me, Avon. Did you attack Vila?"

Avon shook his head, perhaps without realizing he'd done it. "No," he replied. "I didn't." He sat down at the nearest position as if his legs were tired of supporting him. "I don't know," he corrected himself. "I seem to remember what I did at all times, but--" He hesitated yet again as if making a decision and his face went cold. "If you think I did it, then I did it," he announced defiantly and folded his arms across his chest.

"Orac," Blake said quickly, "Is Avon telling the truth?"

"I resent the use of my circuits in such a manner. I am not a common lie detector."

"Do it, Orac," snarled Tarrant.

Orac hmmphed in annoyance then announced, "When Kerr Avon claims he knowingly attacked Vila Restal, he is lying. When he claims he does not know if he attacked Vila Restal, he is telling the truth, though he believes he did no such thing."

"Is that how you believe an honest answer, Blake?" demanded Avon in a voice approaching absolute zero.

"That's how I question what I take to be a deliberate lie, Avon. I never thought you would maliciously attack Vila."

"Are you certain of that?"

Blake realized that Avon himself was not entirely certain and he resented both the accusations and his own uncertainty.

Would Vila know who had struck him? Would he point his finger at Avon when he woke up and damn him with a word? After the Malodaar shuttle, Vila must already be wary of Avon. If Avon had attacked him again, it would finish any relationship that might have existed between the two men.

Then there was the possibility that either Soolin or Tarrant had attacked Vila, though it seemed a slim one. Neither had a motive that Blake knew of, and both seemed concerned for Vila now.

Unless one of them was a traitor...

Remembering the message Orac had reported, Blake set aside the question of Avon's guilt or innocence momentarily. "Tarrant, why don't you lay in a different course. We can't risk going to Zardo now."

"I'll do it," Dravot interjected, putting the finishing touches on the bandage round Vila's head. "I know this ship best. You're good, Tarrant, but I think I can get more out of this vessel than you can."

Tarrant looked mildly resentful that anyone else could fly the ship better than he could, but he stood aside to make way for Dravot, going instead to examine Vila.

"Leave him, I'm finished," Dravot insisted. "I don't think it's too serious, actually. He's probably got a concussion and will wake up feeling like nothing on earth but he'll make it. He'll probably be a little confused at first though."

"You mean he won't remember who hit him?" Soolin asked sharply.

"He may not know. The angle of the blow indicates that someone came up behind him. Vila must have started to turn, but I doubt it was in time to see his attacker. If he'd turned any more, he'd have caught the blow directly on the temple and it could have killed him. We'll let him rest now." His fingers flew over the controls as he spoke. Blake noticed he didn't announce their destination and suspected Dravot meant to keep it secret. Dravot couldn't be the traitor for Blake had been with him the whole time, sometimes close to sleep but never enough to have overlooked his leaving the flight deck. Dravot was clear and he was clear--even if he'd been programmed to do anything like that, he'd been too weak to get up and do it. That left Avon, Tarrant and Soolin. They'd each been alone and they'd each had the opportunity to harm Vila. If one of them sent the message to the Federation and Vila caught them in the act, it would explain the attack on him, though it would not explain why he'd been struck from behind and. why the attacker hadn't finished his work. Blake frowned. This would take a lot of thought.

"Were you alone, Tarrant?" Blake asked.

Realizing why he was being questioned, Tarrant nodded. "I went to get some rest. Vila was sleeping when I went in. When Soolin asked Dravot to come, I woke up and went to investigate. Vila was gone by then, of course, but I hadn't wakened when he left. I can't prove it, but I was sleeping the whole time."

"Soolin?" prompted Blake.

"I went to the other cabin. Tarrant said he'd bunk in with Vila. I didn't sleep immediately. I had a shower, then I went to bed and slept a little. When it came close to my watch, I decided to go to the flight deck. That's when I found Vila."

Blake nodded. "Avon? What about you?"

Avon looked resentful of the question, but he did answer it. "I went to one of the rest rooms. There seem to be two, both very small. No one disturbed me there. I did not want to sleep." He rose abruptly, causing Soolin to shift her angle with the gun. "I resent this inquisition."

"Vila didn't attack himself, Avon," Blake said reasonably. "Dravot and I were here on the flight deck the entire time, so that leaves one of you. On a ship this size with such a small crew, it will make things very uncomfortable for us, but until we reach a planet or until we discover exactly what happened, we'll have to stay here, all of us together. If anyone needs to leave, he will be accompanied by someone with a gun."

"Which will hardly prove effective if that person is the one who attacked Vila," Avon pointed out. "Or have I been condemned already? Since you know so much, Blake, what would be my motive for such an attack?"

"As Tarrant pointed out, you might have a motive that seems logical only to you, Avon."

"Ah yes, so I am to be considered mad. Perhaps that is best. I attacked him in some kind of maddened fit and then conveniently forgot it. I am certain Vila will find that a satisfactory answer for his attack. Another thing you might consider is that if Vila had discovered the 'spy' at work divulging our heading to the Federation why it was that he was struck from behind."

"Because he ran," Soolin suggested disgustedly. "Vila's never been the bravest of men. If he caught someone in the act, he'd probably go for help."

Avon made her a mocking bow. "Perhaps."

"It wouldn't matter to you either way," Tarrant flashed. "You'd already decided Vila was worthless to you--over Malodaar. How much easier would 't be a second time. Did you do it, Avon?"

"Did I?"

"That' s no answer. "

"We need to calm down." Dravot left the pilot's position and coming to stand between the two men. "Sit down, Tarrant. I have a question for Soolin. You found Avon bending over Vila. Describe the scene. In detail, please."

"All right. Vila was on the floor, half shoved into the air vent, feet first. He was bleeding from a head wound and the angle had made blood run down his face and onto the deck." She shivered fractionally. "Avon was down on one knee beside him. He had his hand stretched out to Vila and he must have just touched him for it was bloodstained."

"Was his hand empty?"

Soolin muttered a curse to herself. "That's what was wrong! I felt something was. I didn't see a weapon."

"Go quickly and look," Dravot ordered. "Tarrant, you stay here with Blake. Come straight back, Soolin." He walked as far as the door to the flight deck with her, remaining in the doorway though she would be out of sight of him when she reached the place Vila had been found.

She was not gone long, though. In minutes she was back, frowning. "There's nothing there," she returned. "I checked in the air vent, everywhere. I saw nothing that could have knocked Vila out."

"All that proves," Tarrant pointed out, "Is that Avon didn't attack him then, or there. He did it earlier and forgot about it and then he came along and 'found' Vila."

"Then why isn't there blood on his clothes?"

Avon looked down at himself in surprise, then he controlled his involuntary reaction and said coolly, "But there is," and pointed to it.

"That's old," Dravot contradicted. "You got that helping move Blake into the tunnel. It was there when I first saw you. I remember it. Shoving Vila into the vent feet first would be sure to get more blood on your clothes. If you did it without remembering it, you would probably not have been thinking about such things as that." He looked round the flight deck. Soolin was free of bloodstains, but Tarrant had them on his tunic. Seeing the look, Tarrant said quickly, "I carried him here, as you'll remember."

"Did he have bloodstains when he first appeared, Soolin?"

"I didn't pay any attention, but I think I would have noticed if he had. I'm sorry, Dravot, but I didn't."

"That takes care of the easy answer," Blake decided. He stretched carefully and his back didn't twinge quite as badly as before. "If we're dealing with a saboteur or enemy agent, then he's a cool enough customer to have thought of such things and done something about them, possibly removing his shirt to move Vila. Easier to wash blood from the skin. I'd like this ship searched for evidence. I know you haven't had any sleep in a long time, Bond, but I think you'll have to do it."

"Leaving you alone with the traitor, Blake?"

"Leaving me alone with a traitor and two innocent people," Blake replied. "If we assume Avon didn't do it, then we leave you with one traitor, one innocent person and one madman. That is assuming that a madman wouldn't be logical about his madness. Avon has functioned well so far. If he did it in some kind of fit, I think he could have concealed his traces. Lack of new blood on his clothes might make him slightly less likely as the attacker, but it doesn't clear him."

Blake nodded. "I know. But I'm awake. I'm not up to much more than lying here, but I can hold a gun. Leave me yours."

"Just a moment, Blake," Tarrant interjected smoothly. "You've been badly wounded and you're clearly not well. It's been over six hours since we left you and Dravot alone here. Are you absolutely certain you've been conscious the entire time?"

It was a fair question. Blake considered it before answering then nodded. "Yes, I'm certain, Tarrant. I was dozing a little, but every time Dravot moved, I woke up. I'm certain I would have noticed if he'd left the flight deck. The door squeaks when it slides open. I would have heard it."

"If I had attacked Vila," Avon offered, "I would have disposed of the weapon and anything else used in the attack. There are several airdock and ejection chutes."

"No airdock opened," Dravot said. "An alarm sounds on the flight deck when that happens. The disposal chutes are small though, and they're not tied to alarms. Something small enough could have been ejected."

"Then search, Bond," Blake urged, accepting the gun his pilot passed him. He was still in pain and he was almost unbearably weary, but he could hold out until Bond came back. He must. This had to be resolved quickly. Bad enough to be the object of a vast Federation search with a traitor on board. Worse to have no idea who it was. Blake could almost see Avon attacking Vila in some kind of mental aberration--Avon was clearly not 'normal'--but he couldn't see Avon contacting the Federation, and it seemed illogical to assume that there were two separate problems on board. Could that clear Avon? Could Blake take a chance on Avon because he might actually be mad? Or had the assumed madness been a cover for traitorous activities? Blake would have said Avon was the last man to sellout to the Federation,: but Avon had a considerable fondness for wealth and power. What kind of money and security would it have taken to make Avon turn? No. Avon was no fool. No matter how much the Federation promised, Avon had to know they would never deliver. He couldn't be stupid enough to accept their guarantees. And no reason other than money would do it either, or he wouldn't have been so horribly shocked at the thought of a betrayal from Blake. Avon might claim no belief in the cause, but neither would he feel loyalty to the Federation, not when he'd held onto a belief in Blake in spite of incredible obstacles.

Suddenly Vila moaned, causing everyone to turn and stare at him. "No," Vila whimpered helplessly, caught up in a dream. "No, please. Please don't. Don't kill me, Avon."

Avon froze and for an instant Blake saw naked shock in his eyes. Avon might have claimed to need none of them; he might have been trying to put them off for all he was worth, but he had meant Vila no harm. This was the same man who had been so shocked at the thought of a betrayal from Blake. Beneath that rigid facade was a man who still cared, who was bleeding from wounds well hidden. In spite of the impact of Vila's words, Avon might not be beyond reach after all.

With a groan of pain Vila shifted position. "No, don't," he went on. "There's got to be something else to eject. Please, Avon. I don't want to die."

"Malodaar," Soolin burst out, relief in her voice. "He's not talking about what just happened."

"No, but what reminded him of Malodaar?" Tarrant asked. He sat beside Vila and put his hands on the thief's shoulders. "Vila, it's all right. You're safe now."

"NO!" Vila half sat up, eyes flying open, wide with terror, then confusion replaced the fear, and he made a choking sound. "I...feel sick."

Tarrant jumped back sharply as Vila slumped, the violent motion upsetting him. Weakly the thief rolled over on his side and leaned over the edge of the couch vomiting.

For an instant no one moved, then before anyone could object, Avon scooped up a tray from the table to use in place of a bowl and after setting it in place he sat beside Vila and held him steady until he was finished. No one interfered, though Soolin's gun followed him. When Vila was once again lying flat, Avon said, "I want a damp cloth," and Tarrant handed him one. He wiped Vila's face efficiently. "Stay still, Vila," he told him. "You have concussion. If you move around, you shall be sick again."

"Avon?" Vila squinted at him as if he'd just recognized him. "Who...happened?"

"Don't you remember?" asked Avon in a peculiar voice.

"Was asleep," Vila managed. "No. Awake. Something happened." He scrunched up his face in a horrible frown. "Avon...Can't remember."

"Easy. It will come back to you. You've been hit on the head."

"Who?" Vila asked. "Getting back at me, are you?" The question was as far from an accusation as it was possible to get. Vila was teasing Avon with something that had never occurred to him, in spite of the content of his nightmare. He had been frightened and it had made him dream about Malodaar, but that didn't necessarily mean Avon had been involved in the attack.

"Do you feel you deserve it?" Blake suspected Avon's voice was normal with a considerable effort.

"Never," Vila denied with a faint grin. "Deserve money, jewels, adrenalin and soma...a hundred dancing girls waiting on me hand and foot...and wouldn't mind if you lot did the same Avon?"

"Yes, Vila?" A curiously gentle voice.

"Who hit me, Avon?"

"I don't know."

Vila groped for Avon's arm and shook it slightly. "Find out...keep him away...don't let him kill me... Safe with you, Avon."

"Yes, Vila," Avon breathed, his face stricken. "You know you are safe with me. Now go to sleep."

Vila's eyes closed obediently. His breathing deepened.

Avon detached himself from Vila fastidiously, sitting as far from the thief as possible. "Well, Blake," he demanded. "What does your dubious logic make of that?"

"I'm not entirely certain, Avon, except for one thing."

Avon raised eyes like a bottomless abyss into which he seemed to be falling. Blake had to try to help.

"I don't think you hit him," Blake said.

"Indeed? You thought so when he was pleading with me for his life."

"A nightmare, Avon."

"Triggered by?"

"By the fact that someone tried to kill him. He doesn't believe you did it."

"He doesn't know who did it, Blake. You're a fool to base anything on what he said just now."

"I never claimed to be basing anything on what he said just now. I'm basing it on your actions."

"Don't be deceived by anything I do, Blake."

"On the contrary, Avon, I've sometimes been deceived by your words. I've never been deceived by your actions."

Something flashed in the dark depths of Avon's eyes, but he did not respond.

"Avon, I'm in pain and I want nothing so much as to sleep," Blake said seriously. "I'm in neither the shape nor the mood to play word games with you. Back on Liberator, you often claimed to want to be free of us--of me. But when the chips were down, your actions were the one thing I could count on. You claimed to need none of us, but you saved us--saved me--any number of times, often at risk to your own life. I never expected a declaration of loyalty, Avon. I might have liked it, but I didn't expect it. I was satisfied with your presence and the knowledge that you'd back me. You challenged me and pointed it out when I tried something foolish, but I always knew you were there and that was what counted. Vila knows the same thing or he wouldn't have reacted as he did just now. Malodaar was hard on both of you, but you've been through too much."

"Innocent due to insanity, Blake?" Avon asked.

"I'm curious, Avon. I'd like to know what Tarrant or Soolin would have done on that shuttle. Self preservation is a strong drive."

"They weren't there, and I was."

"And Vila's still alive."

"He hid from me, Blake. I found a solution before I discovered his hiding place."

"There being so many places to choose from?"

Avon looked affronted. "I will never say what you want of me, Blake, that I struggled to find a way to save Vila. I was looking for survival for myself."

"It being so valuable that you're now planning how to end it?"

Avon was shocked into an involuntary movement, then he gave a bright, false smile. "But then a madman is never rational, is he, Blake?"

"Perhaps not. But a madman is safe, Avon. Do whatever you like, be cold, be unsure, be mistaken, fail, admit feelings--and then blame it all on madness. Is that it, Avon? It's become too much effort to play the game anymore, so you give up. Anything that makes you uncomfortable, anything you don't want to explain, just cover it with a blanket of madness, and then you're safe. No one worries about your motives any more. I never thought you a coward, Avon."

Avon's face was vividly alive now, furiously angry. "You've no damn right to accuse me of anything, Blake. If we're to talk of cowards, you ran, damn you. You left the Liberator and you didn't bother to contact us. Damn you, we had Orac. You could have reached us, even if only to say, 'leave me alone.' Who's the coward, Blake?"

That touched a nerve. Maybe his wounds were too near the surface, wounds Blake didn't know about, wounds that were festering. It was more than his departure, much more. Cally had died and the Liberator was gone and that hadn't helped, but there was still more. Dayna had died and that was an immediate loss that none of them had faced yet. They were all still shell shocked, and if they were that bad, how much worse was Avon. Could it even be held against him if he'd attacked Vila?

"Maybe I was a coward not to come back, Avon. It was wrong not to tell you what I intended and I admit it. I'm told you looked for me. If I contributed to bringing you to this, I'm sorry, but you choose your own reactions. If you choose madness, I'll fight it because I think there is too much of value in you to be thrown away. If you want out, say so, and you'll be allowed to go. If you want to stay, that's you're choice too and you'll be welcome. But don't choose madness because you think it's the easy way out."

"It is not something I control," Avon responded in a carefully level voice.

"Isn't it? There's too much control there, Avon. You need to let go, not hold it in."

"Do ? Are you now a psycho strategist, Blake? There was always a bit of the puppeteer in your make up."

"Insult me if you will, but it solves nothing."

"Surely even your great bleeding heart has its limits, Blake," he cried desperately.

"Does it? When it comes to you, I'm still looking for them. You'll have to go a lot further to drive me away, and I think you have limits. Call me all the names you will, shut yourself away from me, and I'll still be here waiting."

"I could kill you, Blake. I almost did back on Gauda Prime."

"But you didn't. Don't you see, Avon? That's the right way to use that icy control of yours. You know when to stop, just as you did on that shuttle. You feared I would betray you. That meant you still believed in me. I didn't betray you, Avon, and I won't, though my cause may yet kill us all. It won't be because I set out to harm you, though. But I think you've another fear, not just that I might betray you, but that you will betray us. Even if you attacked Vila, you're still holding back. You haven't gone too far yet. Vila's alive and you're concerned for him."

"Am I?"

"I think I understand, Avon. I'm not trying to push too far. I just want to show you that turning us against you isn't the answer. It might feel safe in the short run, but it won't work indefinitely, and the reason for that is because we're stronger together."

"Ah yes. Especially since one of us is a Federation agent, sending messages to Gauda Prime. We are certainly safer together." But the scorn in his voice was largely forced.

"Blake?" interrupted Soolin.

He shot her an annoyed glance, half inclined to tell her to wait, but then he nodded. "Go ahead, Soolin."

"When I found Avon and Vila, Avon was genuinely shocked that I would suspect him of attacking Vila. I don't think it had occurred to him before I let him know I was suspicious."

"That's a value judgment," Avon said.

"Is it, Avon? I'm sorry I jumped to that conclusion, but I had cause. I've seen how you've changed lately. But I should have known you wouldn't attack Vila in cold blood."

"That does not allow for the possibility I might have attacked him and forgotten it."

"No, it doesn't," Blake replied. "But I don't think you did that. Do you remember attacking him?"

"No."

"Do you think you attacked him?"

Avon shook his head. "But I cannot be certain, Blake, and that is why you should have nothing further to do with me."

"We'll prove you didn't do it, Avon, or we'll find a way to make sure it doesn't happen again. Do you trust me?"

"Do you think I do?" countered Avon. He had an annoying knack of answering a question with another question, especially when the answer would have been important. "Do you honestly believe I would be fool enough to trust anyone now? You've got a gun in your hand and you're ready to use it against me."

"Will you trust me to use it only to protect us all, and then only as a last resort? If you are mad, and I'm not entirely certain I'm willing to accept that, then let me deal with that until we can remedy it. If you've become bitter and more unwilling to trust, then I understand because I've become that way myself. Only now, looking back at Gauda Prime, and looking at you, do I see how mistaken I was. I'm stronger with you and the others than I was when I held everyone at bay. You were stronger on Liberator when you permitted yourself to trust us, even if only a little. I don't expect impassioned declarations from you, Avon. That's not your way. But don't try to alienate us to protect us. I think we must hold on to each other for all we're worth if the alternative is what you're going through now."

"That's your opinion, Blake. I have had enough of this."

"You only push me away because you know I'm right. We'll find an answer, Avon. It won't be easy, but it needn't be impossible either."

Avon was spared the necessity of replying by the return of Dravot, who appeared at the door of the flight deck. "Nothing," he replied. "How's Vila?"

"He woke up briefly," Blake explained. He gestured at Tarrant, who had taken it upon himself to clean up after the thief and who was in the process of feeding stained rags and the tray into the disposal unit.

The older pilot watched him a moment, then he took his accustomed position. "Someone sent a drone out," he explained. "That's how the information got out before Orac could completely jam it. It was already transmitting outside the ship before Orac picked it up. Enough got through to make going to Zardo impractical."

"Then Orac did jam it," Soolin said, relieved. "They won't know where to look for us?"

"They'll make some educated guesses," disagreed Tarrant. "There aren't that many likely worlds out this way. I'd guess we're going to Kosnowski's World or Ritter, or possibly Moulay."

"That brings up another question, Blake," Dravot pressed on. "Not everyone knows how to set up a message drone. I'd guess Avon does, though I'd expect him to program one that would be more resistant to Orac. Tarrant knows; it's one of the things taught at the Academy. What about you, pretty lady?" he asked Soolin.

She took no offense at the name, shaking her head. 'I never learned," she replied. "But of course you must decide if you believe me or not."

"Vila suspected you of something," Dravot told Tarrant. "He said you were acting strangely and that you almost hit the transmit button when you were sitting at the comm console before we left GP."

Tarrant's eyes widened in disbelief. "He said what! It's not true. Vila has an unusual imagination. I'd hardly send a message to the Federation. I'm registered as a deserter as well as a resistor. Servalan knows that I know her identity. I wouldn't survive five minutes if they got me."

"Unless you were actually an undercover agent."

"Nonsense," Tarrant replied. "When I've been on Liberator and Scorpio for over two years? Surely in all that time I would have turned them in if I'd been a Federation agent."

"He has a point." Avon turned to Blake. "Tarrant may be rash and impetuous, but he has also had ample opportunity to turn us in. He could have secured the Liberator for the Federation when I first met him but he chose to help me free it. If there is some deep motive involved there, I am at a loss to see it."

"I'll give you one," suggested Dravot. He took the gun back from Blake, who lowered his arm with relief. He hadn't realized what a strain it had been to hold the weapon for even as short a time as that.

"What reason, Bond?" he asked.

"A very simple one. Completely obvious. You weren't there."

"I wasn't--" Blake fell silent. "But that's ludicrous. The others were there. Liberator was there. To hold back and wait for the off chance of finding me would be just plain stupid."

"True," agreed Dravot. "None of this makes sense."

"What of Soolin?" suggested Tarrant. "She joined us recently and she needed us at first to be certain of getting off Xenon. Gauda Prime is her home planet. Maybe she was part of a plan directed at getting Avon and the rest of us there."

"You don't remotely believe that?" Soolin demanded hotly, looking as if she'd like to aim her gun at Tarrant for a change.

"It's not very likely," Tarrant conceded. "Avon must have attacked Vila. Nothing else makes sense."

"It doesn't make sense for there to be two separate crimes with no tie to each other either," disagreed Blake.

"What about you?" Tarrant asked Dravot. "We know nothing about you. The rest of us have worked together and know how far we can trust each other. This is your ship. The message drone could have been prepared in advance. You're the one who decided to go to Zardo, after all. You could have had the drone prepared and activated it remotely from here on the flight deck."

"Why activate it at all if I'm the traitor? Why not just tell my friends in advance of where I'm going?"

"Because you didn't have a chance," Soolin persisted stubbornly though she looked unhappy at the thought of accusing Dravot.

In the enviable position of the only person on board who couldn't be accused of either crime, Blake felt exhaustion surge through him, almost enough to overcome his determination to solve the problem. He lay his head on his folded arms and struggled to keep his eyes open. He couldn't sleep now.

"You need rest, Blake." Avon sounded annoyed as if he resented being forced to display concern, but he persisted. "If you keep this up, you will have a relapse, and in your current position of neutral arbiter, you are important to this ship. I suggest you sleep now. I do not believe that the attempt to reach the Federation is part of a conspiracy. Should you rest, you will not endanger the rest of us."

Blake bit back the urge to say, 'I didn't know you cared,' and said quietly instead, "You're right, Avon. I'm half asleep already. I'll catch a nap."

He shut his eyes, relieved to be free of the tense and unnatural atmosphere if only for a short time.

#

Vila's head throbbed fiercely, and he could scarcely concentrate, but he had been lying half dozing, listening to the others speculate and accuse each other of notifying the Federation of their location. But that meant that troops would soon be pursuing them and it would all be to do over again. He was too muzzy and confused to wonder why they thought Avon had attacked him and why Avon didn't tell them he hadn't done it.

Vila couldn't really remember the actual attack. He'd gone to lie down, he knew that. Tarrant had come to bed, but after that... He strained after the memory and recalled a vague image of scurrying down the passage to do something important. There was a noise behind him and then pain. The pain had not gone away; if anything it was worse, but he could remember nothing more. Who had hit him, and why?

Someone was a Federation agent? One of them? That was wrong, wasn't it? Maybe it was Dravot. After all, Vila knew the others, and though Avon wasn't quite sane any more and Tarrant had always been an insufferable bastard and Soolin could be cold and sarcastic to him, he trusted them, didn't he? At least he'd trusted them up to a point. Up till Malodaar. If Avon could try to kill him, then nothing was sacred.

Yet if Avon had tried to kill him on Egrorian's shuttle, why was Vila so certain Avon hadn't tried this time. He remembered Avon being as cold and nasty as possible and, finally pushed too far, he'd told Avon what he thought of it all. Avon wouldn't have hit him just for that, would he? Vila knew better.

Maybe there was someone hiding on the ship, someone nobody knew about. It was a good solution though it scared him, but he didn't think it was the right one. Better not think about it. He tried to erase the thought.

For a long time he pretended sleep while he listened but his head hurt too much to sleep and he couldn't manage to drift back into the safety of unconsciousness. Blake went to sleep though--lucky Blake--and the others didn't say much after that. Tarrant and Soolin threw a few speculations around and a few accusations which roused Dravot to intervene, and Avon said nothing at all. Vila knew he was still there; he always knew when Avon was there which didn't seem particularly useful somehow.

Homicidal bastard, Avon. Vila frowned. It was easy to picture Avon sneaking up behind him and bashing him, but that was Malodaar talking. Suppose Vila had had the gun on the shuttle? What would he have done? He was good at survival to have made it this far, though usually he survived by being unobtrusive, invisible. He could kill if he had to, but he didn't like it. Would he have tried to kill Avon if he'd had the gun? He didn't know. That was why he couldn't totally hate Avon for what had happened. It was all Orac's idea anyway. Vila didn't trust Orac one bit.

But it was Orac who introduced the next act in the drama. Orac didn't usually volunteer information, but it did when survival was at stake. "Information," Orac interrupted. "There is a fault in the main drive."

"There is what!" Avon demanded furiously.

"The main drive has been sabotaged," Orac replied. "If it is not shut down within the next five minutes, it will fail entirely. Shut it down now and it can be repaired."

"Shut it down and the Federation will find us," Avon snapped.

"If we don't," Dravot reminded him, "We'll be stranded out here. All right, we'll shut it down. Any other surprises, Orac? Any bombs planted about the ship? Will it trigger anything if we slow down or stop?"

"Negative. I am checking for further sabotage, but nothing else registers."

Marvelous. Vila opened his eyes and watched Dravot and Tarrant shut the ship down. They were dead in space with not much more than life support left. It was a trap, he knew it was. They were all going to die.

"How long will repairs take, Orac?" asked Dravot. For someone who had never encountered Orac before, he was certainly getting into the spirit of using the little computer. Vila liked Dravot though he didn't dare trust him. Vila didn't trust a great many people. Most of them were out to get you, and, Vila knew it.

"Repairs will take twenty hours. I have catalogued replacement parts on board this ship and they are adequate to the repair task. Recommendations are that repairs be completed by Avon, Tarrant and Dravot, under my supervision."

Well, that might work as long as one of them wasn't the saboteur. Vila couldn't imagine Avon siding with the Federation, but sometimes he had to stop and think about it. Who knows what nasty things Servalan might have done to him when she had him on Terminal. Played games with his mind, hadn't she? Maybe she'd set up some kind of programming to activate when Avon actually found Blake. That would explain a lot.

But Avon hadn't hit him. Vila knew that though he couldn't explain why he was so certain of it. Maybe it was because he didn't want it to be true. He thought he could eventually come to terms with Malodaar, but he wasn't sure how much more he could take. Avon couldn't have done it. Could he?

Probably sensing the tension on the flight deck or perhaps feeling the difference in the ship, Blake woke up and looked around. Spotting Vila watching him, he asked, "What's wrong?"

"We're in trouble, Blake." Dravot filled Blake in. "I'm afraid it won't take twenty hours for the Federation to find us if they're actively searching. We've still got the detector shield but we can't use it for extended periods without the main drive so I've shut it down. We're far enough out that even the extra range sensors can't reach us here. But we'll be a sitting duck long before we're finished."

"Could someone else be on board?" Vila asked. Nobody had mentioned it and he had to know.

"Now that is an intriguing suggestion," Avon replied, turning to study Vila thoughtfully. "Orac?"

"I have already scanned this vessel for extra people," Orac replied smugly. "All persons on board are presently on the flight deck."

Gathering up Orac, Avon headed for the door, trailed by Dravot and Tarrant. The older man took his gun with him. The main work would be done elsewhere, then would be fine tuned on the flight deck. Vila cherished a brief and momentary hope that removing the sabotage before the drive failed might prevent the full twenty hours of repair, but none of the others seemed to think of it, so it was probably wrong. Vila sighed.

"How do you feel, Vila?" Blake asked him.

"Oh, wonderful," he answered mournfully. "My head aches, my stomach is doing funny dances, and I'm about to be captured by the Federation or blown to bits and you ask how I feel. How do you feel?"

"About the same," Blake replied with a hint of a smile. "This isn't exactly how I'd have chosen to be reunited with you and Avon, Vila."

"It's not my first choice either," Vila returned with a grin.

"In fact, Blake," Soolin offered, "Finding you has been considerably more trouble than it was worth."

As she spoke, Avon returned to the flight deck, opened one of the panels and removed a circuit board, studying it briefly. He ignored them, so they ignored him.

"We went through a lot to find you, Blake," Soolin persisted, determined to air her grievance now that she had begun, "And Dayna died for it. Next time you decide to disappear, send a message to that effect and we'll leave you in peace."

Avon stiffened slightly at the mention of Dayna, or perhaps at the suggestion that Blake would vanish again. Soolin must have noticed for she plunged on. "That's right, Avon, you do remember that we lost Dayna back there, don't you?"

Avon turned to face her and his eyes were empty. "Who?" he asked in the same cold tones he'd used when held been forced to kill Dr. Plaxton. Afterwards Vila had realized that Avon had had no choice but to activate the drive but his cold bloodedness about it had disturbed the others. Vila finally came to understand it was the only way Avon could have dealt with it. No one else seemed to recognize that. Avon could easily kill an enemy who threatened his life, or someone who had turned on him, but to kill an innocent person affected him badly, and only by pretending not to care, even to himself, could Avon manage it. He blamed himself for Dayna's death as he had Cally's, and he was in no condition to face it yet.

Soolin stiffened in outrage. She wasn't terribly good with feelings either, but she had been Dayna's friend, and if something didn't stop her, she'd go for Avon with teeth and claws. From the look of him, he wouldn't fight back.

Vila wasn't really clearheaded enough to come up with the right distraction. He'd always been good at defusing such moments, but this time, his mind was blank, so he fell back on subterfuge. He closed his eyes and moaned. Loudly.

Everyone stared, and Avon, cold-blooded monster that he was, strode across the room and bent over Vila. "Are you in pain?" he asked in a curiously diffident voice.

"Am I in pain?" Vila demanded, looking up at him. "Am I in pain, he asks me. Try getting your head bashed in and see what you think. I feel wonderful, of course. Any minute now I'll get up and open a lock. How can I sleep with no adrenalin and soma and people yelling at each other just over my head."

He sneaked a look at Avon and was relieved to see his face relax slightly and a suspicious twitch develop at the corners of his mouth. That was better. Vila smiled at Avon though he would have preferred to shout at .him in exasperation, and said, "Don't loom over me like that. I'm not dying."

"Did I look particularly worried?" Avon asked.

"Dreadfully," Vila replied with an extravagant gesture that sent pain running through his skull. He couldn't mask it, and Avon noticed, bending closer. He was careful not to look worried but Vila realized that he was. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

Soolin didn't look placated, but then she wouldn't. Vila tried another tack. "I know it wasn't you who bashed me," he told Avon calmly, almost as if it didn't matter.

Avon drew back in surprise and Blake cut in quickly. "Have you remembered who it was, Vila?"

"No. But it wasn't Avon. I know that."

"How?" asked Soolin. "Wishful thinking?" She lay her gun aside and flexed her fingers, leaving the weapon within easy reach. "He's tried to kill you before. Why should this be different?"

"Didn't try to kill me before," Vila insisted. "Tried to save himself. Two different things. Besides, if he'd tried to kill me, he'd have succeed. Always does." That made surprising sense, and it spurred Vila on. "Avon wouldn't attack for the fun of it. It's not his way. Whoever hit me did it because I must have seen something or knew something or was a danger. Think if I was a danger to Avon he would've bashed me and walked off without making sure I was dead?"

"If you were such a danger why would anyone leave you alive, Vila?" Avon asked, though he looked curiously relieved by Vila's words. With shock, Vila realized that Avon needed his absolution. He wasn't entirely sure himself if he'd done it or not.

"Maybe they're not such perfectionists as you are," Vila replied. "Or maybe it was to stop you finding something out, not because you actually did."

"Avon, think about it," Vila insisted. "You know you didn't do it. Don't let them confuse you. Don't let them think you're mad."

"But I am mad, Vila," Avon replied reasonably.

That hurt. Vila could feel Blake's reaction to it too, so he continued quickly. "Maybe, but you don't have blackouts or anything. You remember what you do."

"Vividly," Avon responded as if it were a curse.

"Then you know you didn't attack me. When you found me, you were surprised, maybe even a little worried?" he prompted, grinning

"Well now, I don't know that I should go that far."

That was better. Vila's smile was smug. "You see. You didn't do it." He added darkly, "Somebody else did, and I don't want them to have a second go at me. I need someone logical--and moderately clever--to reason out who it could have been, and why."

Avon raised an affronted brow. "Moderately clever, Vila? Don't assume you are safe from me simply because you are wounded."

"Threats, Avon?" asked Soolin, picking up the gun again. She still didn't get it.

"Oh, don't be stupid, Soolin," Vila snapped at her.

Avon glared at his circuit board. "I have better things to do than to stand here talking nonsense," he announced and went out.

"Anyone ever tell you it isn't kind to kick someone when he's down, Soolin?" Vila demanded.

"Anyone ever tell you that only a fool trusts his enemies, Vila?"

"Avon's not my enemy," Vila returned. "Maybe he's not well, but how well are the rest of us? Think of everything that's happened. Anna Grant betrayed him--" He noticed Blake's involuntary movement and resolved to tell Blake about that later when he got the chance, to help him understand. "We lost Cally, and we lost the Liberator. Tarrant's brother died, Cally lost all her people, I lost Kerrill, Dayna lost her family. Then when we thought we found Blake, it was only a trick of Servalan's and she told Avon that Blake was dead. It's been downhill ever since. Maybe your problem, Soolin, is that you never were around us when we were winning. It's been nothing but losing for a long time, and we barely escaped with our lives most of the time. Maybe Avon's not sane any more, but what about the rest of us. We lost Dayna when we found Blake, and I don't think Avon can cope with her death. He can barely handle finding Blake, and that's a good thing."

"You seem to think it is."

"It is. You'll see. But we've still got problems. A saboteur--which could even be you, so don't come on so superior until we know. The drive's down and the Federation could still find us. If we get out of here alive and find a nice bolthole maybe Avon will be all right, with Blake's help. Until then, give him a break. Give us all one."

"I'll give him one as long as he doesn't betray us," she conceded. "That's the best I can do."

It was more than Vila had expected. He grinned at Blake, who returned the smile. "Now that I've resolved all that," Vila announced with a huge grin, "I'm tired and my head hurts. I'm going back to sleep. See that everything is all right while I do."

"Giving orders, Vila?" Soolin demanded, still pushing it, though he suspected she was trying not to smile.

"No, I am," Blake cut in. He could always sound like he meant it.

Vila grinned and fell asleep.

#

Tarrant worked hard at the damaged main drive of the ship, thinking dark thoughts about the situation they'd landed in, cursing whichever fool had been stupid enough to damage the ship that was their only chance of survival. If they hadn't had Orac to detect the damage, they would have gone on until the drive was blown and there was no hope of getting free. Now there was a chance of making repairs, though the time element c