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[Editorial note: Paul Darrow played Mr. Carker in the BBC production of Dickens' Dombey and Son.]
"It doesn't look very prepossessing, does it?" Vila remarked. "I mean, all that dirt in the streets--and some of the children don't even have shoes. It's scandalous in this cold weather!"
"H'm...." Avon frowned impatiently. "I'm more concerned with their reactions to us. It's clear they haven't had much experience of off-worlders."
"You've no feelings, have you?" Cally exclaimed. "Those children...."
"We can't right all the ills in the universe!" Avon snapped. "Come on, quickly...."
They hurried through the teeming streets, trying to ignore the startled glances of the populace. "I don't like it," Cally remarked. "I have the feeling that they're hostile."
"There's no accounting for attitudes," Avon responded, inclined to agree with her. "We shall just have to be exceptionally wary, that's all.... Ah, this looks like it. We'll check it quickly before we go in, just in case there are any Federation guards about."
They scouted round the building's forbidding walls warily. "All clear," Avon said at length, "or so it would seem. We'll go in."
Cally moved warily to the door, gun in hand. She checked the doorway, then gestured to Avon, who moved swiftly past her and kicked open the door.
"Right!" he snarled. "Don't anybody move!"
Cally strode into the outer office, her gun trained on the solemn-faced clerk who had leaped forward, unnecessarily as it proved, to open the door. Vila sidled in after her and automatically glanced around for the usual safety devices.
"There's nothing obvious," he remarked in a puzzled voice. "Could be some ultra-sophisticated things about, I suppose, or they might go in for antiquated, pre-atomic methods. We'll have to be careful."
Avon nodded, and raised his teleport bracelet to his lips. "We've arrived, Dayna."
"I've noted the co-ordinates," Dayna said. "Shall I come down now? Is it safe?"
"Yes...." Yet Avon felt distinctly uneasy. The office staff were staring at him in a way which he felt went far beyond natural fear or curiosity.
There was a soft shimmer and Dayna appeared just behind Vila.
"My God!" shrieked one of the clerks, and he fell to the floor in a dead faint.
Avon raised his eyebrows. "Move your friend," he remarked to one of the other men. "He is in my way."
Two of the clerks edged nervously forward and dragged their supine colleague to the back of the room.
"Now," Avon said, his voice hard with chilly menace, "take me to your employer."
"He's...he's not here, sir," said one of the older men, who appeared to be in charge of the office.
Avon jerked his gun warningly. "No tricks!" he snarled. "Where is he?"
"Er...I expect he's at home, sir. But the manager's here, sir. He deals with all the usual business."
"At home?" Avon queried, ignoring for the moment the clerk's other comments. "Are you sure? Or can it be he is with...the President?"
"The...er...President? I couldn't say whom he might be seeing, sir. You will have to ask the manager."
"These people are clearly useless," Avon said disdainfully. "Very well. Find your manager, you, and bring him to me instantly."
"Er...I can't do that, sir. I must first ascertain if he is free to see you, sir, he is a very busy gentleman."
"You'll get him--NOW," Avon said harshly.
"He won't come, sir. In his position, sir, he can't interview clients in the main office. It just isn't done, you understand, sir."
"Don't argue with me," Avon gritted. "Just get him. Tell him that if he doesn't come he soon won't have anyone left to manage, as I shall kill off his staff one by one. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir," trembled the unfortunate chief clerk. "I'll tell him right away, sir."
They listened to the hissed altercation in the adjoining room, and Vila grimaced at Cally.
"Doesn't sound as though this manager thinks much of Avon's threats," he remarked with a grin.
The manager appeared. He was a handsome man of forty years or so with a haughty air which did not appear to be diminished at the sight of Avon's gun trained unerringly on his heart.
"It is not customary for me to discuss business affairs in the presence of underlings," he said coldly. "I must insist that you enter my private office."
"Perhaps," Avon remarked, "it might be advisable to agree. There may be Federation agents here. Cally, Dayna, keep watch. Vila--come with me."
"Gladly," Vila muttered, with no evidence whatsoever of joy.
They proceeded solemnly into the manager's office, and the chief clerk obsequiously closed the door. The manager seated himself, pointedly omitting to offer chairs to his visitors.
"Well?" he said, looking with a sudden penetrating interest at the dark, forbidding man before him.
"We are looking for the President," Avon said. "We understand that your--employer--knows her. I need her precise location at once!" He felt almost discountenanced by the other man's stare, and again the sense of unease assailed him.
The manager frowned slightly. "I see," he said, after a pause. "I must tell you that I am not familiar with the whole of my employer's acquaintance...."
"Then you'll find out!" Avon snarled. He looked around the rather dim, unappealing room swiftly. "There has to be a terminal here," he said to Vila. "Find it."
Vila nodded. "And the safe?" he asked hopefully.
Avon shrugged. "Why not?" he said. "One of the perks, eh?"
Vila grinned. "You bet...." He started to prowl around the room while Avon returned his attention to the manager.
The manager had risen to his feet. "What are you looking for?" he enquired carefully.
"Your terminal. I wish to question the main computers. You could save us a great deal of trouble if you tell us what we want to know, but perhaps a little prompting from the main computers will help to sharpen your memory."
"Am I to understand that you wish to see my employer?" the manager queried.
"Him, if necessary, but as I have told you we are looking for the President. It's an urgent matter--I shan't hesitate to back up my questions with a little...er...persuasion."
"That I can well believe," the manager replied, suddenly producing a wide and flashing smile. "Is the--er--firearm really necessary? I shall be happy to do what I can to assist."
"I prefer to be careful," Avon said, his gun holding its position steadily.
"You appear to be strangers here," the manager continued, with a second wide grin which made Vila, who caught the full force of it by chance, feel faintly sick.
"What makes you think that?' Avon demanded, immediately suspicious.
"Your--er--clothing. I've never seen anything like it, especially, if I may make such a personal remark--and I'm sure you will forgive me, under the circumstances--especially the garments of the ladies."
"You don't often see offworlders, I assume?" Avon suggested.
"Offworlders? I must admit, sir, that is an expression I have not heard before. Where are you from?"
"We've just come from Eadith Dom...."
"Edith!" The manager's face changed into a contorted leer; "You have a message for me from her?" His teeth flashed hopefully.
"A message? I have no message from Eadith Domus," Avon said sharply. "The place is a barren desert, uninhabited by sentient beings."
"Yes," the manager said with a slightly mystified look, his teeth disappearing briefly. "She is...difficult to approach, it is true. But I shall succeed in time; there can be no doubt of it."
"Eadith Domus is of no importance," Avon murmured. "Vila! Where's that terminal?"
"I can't find it," Vila said. "There's nothing remotely like one anywhere about here."
"That's strange," Avon said. "This planet is supposed to be highly mechanised, but so far I haven't seen any evidence of it."
"The safe's incredible," Vila continued. "I've never seen anything so antiquated."
"Can you open it? We might find something useful inside."
"Sure--child's play...." The door swung open and Vila started to rifle about. "Papers, mostly," he said. "You'd best look. I'll just take the cash, such as there is."
"Aren't you annoyed?" Avon enquired silkily of the manager. "You seem very cool, calm and collected, I must say. Doesn't it worry you that four complete strangers have taken control of this place?"
The manager shrugged. "Why should I bother?" he said. "I've...plans of my own. This intrusion won't make much difference, I think." His dental regiment emerged again.
Avon smiled also, displaying his own white, even teeth for a moment. You are very self-possessed, he thought, very composed. It's curious... I feel as though I know exactly how you feel, exactly how you'll react. That's ridiculous--
"Let's see those papers," he said. "We've been down here quite long enough as it is." He sifted through the documents swiftly and then threw them aside with a gesture of impatience. "Nothing! It's all commercial stuff, nothing at all to do with Servalan."
"What is Servalan?" enquired the manager. "Perhaps I could advise you if I knew...."
"I wonder," Avon said, "why you want to help us at all? Do explain."
The manager stretched his mouth to its fullest extent and spread his hands deprecatingly. "I--sense--that you wish to have dealings with my employer which may not be to his advantage. If that is so, you could be useful to me."
"I could be useful to YOU?" Avon was, in spite of his usual aplomb, a little surprised. "Whatever do you mean?"
"My employer," murmured the manager, "has something that I--er--want. Furthermore, I should not be too sorry if he were to suffer a little--shall we say--setback?"
"I see." The two men gazed at, one another, assessing, almost companionable for a moment. "I've better things to do than play your devious game, whatever it is," Avon continued softly, "but who knows...perhaps your employer will not be too delighted with our visit. As for Servalan...."
"I have never heard the word," the manager said. "It means nothing to me."
"That's amazing!" Vila exclaimed. "Everyone knows...."
"Not necessarily," Avon said. "Presidents come and go rather quickly, don't they? Our friend here may not be interested in politics."
"Politics?" The manager displayed his teeth delightfully for Vila's benefit, and Vila shuddered slightly as he closed the safe. "No, I don't follow politics except when it's necessary in the way of business. My employer is more likely to be able to help you with political matters, though only in a casual way of course, but he does have the leisure to cull information on our country's so-called servants. I am, as you see, fully occupied in the running of his business affairs...."
"No doubt," Avon said sardonically. "Will he have a business to come to tomorrow, I wonder?"
"Ah...." The manager smiled secretively and, seating himself again, lounged casually, back., "We shall see, shan't we?" His teeth glinted reflectively in Avon's direction.
"I think," Avon said, his eyes held again by the other man in a strange, inexplicable sense of mutual recognition, "that there is nothing more for us here. I wish you success in your...machinations." He lowered his gun. Somehow it no longer seemed necessary.
"Will you do me the honour of telling me with whom I have been talking these past minutes?" the manager enquired. "I feel I should like to know."
"Avon. Kerr Avon. You have heard of me?"
"No--not until now. I hope your affair here--whatever it may be--prospers."
"Especially if it helps to ruin your employer in the process?" Avon queried. He laughed, and then turned to Vila. "Tell the others we're leaving. We'll not learn any more here, I think." As Vila hurried out, he turned back to the manager. "You can tell us the whereabouts of your employer, no doubt?"
"Of course. It will be easiest if I make you a sketch of the route, since you do not know the area, or you could take a hansom...."
"Don't worry," Avon said. "Just direct me. We have our own means of getting there." He took the simple map from the manager's hands and moved towards the door. "We'll leave you in peace," he said, and walked over to stand by Vila. He raised his bracelet to his lips, then hesitated a moment.
"Just as a matter of interest," he said, his eyes thoughtful, "I should like to know your name, also...."
"Carker. James Carker, at your service." The manager bowed slightly, all his self-satisfied teeth proudly on show. "Perhaps we shall meet again?"
"I doubt it," Avon said drily, and spoke into his bracelet. "We have another location to visit. We'll--"
"I'm bringing you up now," Tarrant interrupted abruptly over the intercom. "Orac insists...."
#
"Well?" Tarrant asked as his colleagues materialised on Liberator. "Have you traced Servalan?"
"Possibly," Avon said, but his eyes were slightly puzzled. "Why did Orac recall us?"
"Orac wouldn't specify," Tarrant said, and Avon left the room at a run.
"There was something odd about that place," Cally declared. "I can't explain it, but I felt they weren't in any way connected with the Federation, had never even heard of it."
"It was a bit uncanny," Dayna agreed. "They kept staring at us as though they couldn't believe their eyes."
"When you appeared in that office, they all looked as though ‘they were going to pass out," Vila said. "And did you see their expressions when we left? Even that creepy manager character looked stunned and his teeth nearly fell out, the whole lot of them!"
#
"Orac," Avon was saying, as the rest of Liberator's crew reached the flight deck, "I want your explanation NOW. Why did you recall us from Ergon?"
"Do you mean Ergon, or the planet you have just visited?" Orac enquired.
"What is the difference?" Avon demanded suspiciously. "We teleported to Ergon."
"That was your intention," Orac stated. "However, I think I should tell you that you did not actually arrive on Ergon. I have been examining this phenomenon and I will offer to you the following conjecture, which is what I am able to deduce from the information available."
"Conjecture!" Vila muttered. "I wish my whole existence on this ship were conjecture. I'd far rather be on some pleasure planet with a bevy of beautiful...."
"Shut up!" said Avon. "Tell us your conjecture, Orac."
"I suggest that you slipped through a fracture in the fabric of space/time," Orac said. "Fortunately the course of the planet on which you landed was complementary with that of Ergon, or I would have been forced to have recalled you from it immediately before you were carried away from the space/time which the Liberator occupies."
Avon frowned darkly. "Why did you not recall us earlier? We have, presumably, wasted our time down there." And yet, he thought, something happened--something vital. What was it?
"I allowed you to stay there," Orac said, "because I wished to investigate the phenomenon further, and that required a little of my time, it being a rather unusual event."
"So where did we end up?" Dayna asked.
"Earth," Orac said, succinctly.
"What?!" Vila bounced forward. "That's impossible! It was nothing like Earth!"
"According to my calculations," Orac continued, impatience at the interruption clear in his tone, "Earth would have been in this very position in space during the nineteenth century of the pre-atomic calendar. You have visited the home of your ancestors."
"Our ancestors...?" Avon whispered. He turned abruptly away. "No," he murmured, almost to himself, "that's impossible!"
"What fun!" said Vila, with a broad grin. "That manager, he was a sly devil, wasn't he? Just like you, in his way, Avon, but for that appalling grin of his."
Avon's mouth twitched slightly. "Perhaps," he said.
"Even in his features," Vila persisted innocently. "Just think, he could have been your great, great, great...whatever...grandfather."
"Who knows?" Avon said, his voice just a little strained. "Suppose we forget the compelling fascination of Old Earth for a while, Vila? You can carry on with your speculations about my ancestry AFTER we have completed our present mission. Orac! If we teleport to Ergon now, can we contrive to land on the planet, do you think?"
"Calculations indicate," Orac said unemotionally, "that the conjunction with Old Earth, if such it was, has now ceased. It will be quite safe to teleport to Ergon."
"How was it you didn't notice the conjunction when we went down before?" Cally asked, a sudden nasty suspicion in her mind.
"I did," said Orac. "It commenced just before you teleported."
"So you allowed us to go," Avon said. "Gathering useful data again, Orac?"
"Precisely," agreed the machine smugly. "That is part of my function."
"Just remember," Avon murmured, "that if you lose ME, Orac, you may well become dysfunctional rather sooner than you would like. You cannot expect to find another...owner...as skilled as I."
"I am well aware of that fact!" Orac retorted huffily. "Needless to say, I took the possibility of your inadvertent permanent departure from this space/time into account. You will recall that Tarrant was instructed to teleport you back to the Liberator in time to avoid that occurrence."
Avon's mouth twisted wryly.
"It's fortunate," he remarked sardonically, "that you are useful to me, Orac."
"If he ever becomes less than useful, let it be MY boot that lands in his works first," Vila pleaded hopefully.
"I'm sure we shall all fight for that privilege," Avon said. "Now--yet again, let us turn our attention to Ergon."
"He looks a bit shaken," Dayna murmured to Cally. "Do you really imagine that devious-looking man could have been...."
"I shouldn't think so," Cally replied. "The chances must be astronomical!"
"Chance is merely a mathematical tool," Dayna said. "The chances could indeed have been astronomical without precluding the possibility. They were so alike...features, even gestures, such as I saw."
Cally smiled. "You can ask Vila about it," she said. "He was able to observe them together for quite a while--and he knows Avon better than any of us."
"That depends," said Vila from behind them, "on what aspect of knowing you have in mind. Nonetheless, they were, to quote an Old Earth saying, as alike as two peas."
They all looked across at Avon, and he stared back at them.
"Ergon!" he snapped. "Now!"
Vila grinned.
"You can be sure, Mr. Carker,"' he murmured, "that your offspring--if that's what he is--has proved worthy of you. Let's get on with it, folks, before Avon kills off the lot of us!"
the end
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