Soolin woke from an uneasy half sleep and froze into immobility. Above her she could hear noises, not in the building itself but off to the right somewhere. The drone of a flyer engine, not in flight but on the ground, idling, waiting for something. She threw the blanket from her knees and struggled to her feet, wincing as the cramps clenched at her cold, stiff, calf muscles. She bit her lip and bent down to rub the blood back into her legs.

Above her the door creaked and she froze again, holding her breath and fixing her eyes on the trap. It stayed closed. After a moment she relaxed then slowly she crept across the floor and into the shadow under the trap door, pushing herself flat against the dirty wall, straining her ears for every sound.

She could hear voices, two maybe three people. Men or women she could’t tell. But the thump of feet suggested heavy boots, so either military or bounty hunters, but which? Gripping her lip between her teeth she edged up the first few steps toward the trap, then froze again as more footfalls crossed the room and came to stand directly above her. The mutter of voices became louder but still she could’t make out what they were saying. With an inward curse she inched slowly up to the top of the ladder, pushing her head as close to the trap as she dared. If they opened it they would see her immediately, but there was no choice, she had to know who they were.

For what seemed like an eternity she held her breath and waited.

The people above her had fallen silent. In her imagination she could see them, frozen, hard eyes staring at the trap door, their hands stretching forward to open it, guns drawn. Her grip on the rail tightened as she pictured the door opening, the gun appearing, hands reaching down. Her panic filled thoughts were pulled back to reality as the outer door creaked again, then a voice, a man's, deep and carrying, drifted down to her,
“No sign?”
A woman’s voice answered, lighter but carrying the ring of authority.
“Nothing definite. Dust has been disturbed but that could be anything, after all its’ hardly secure. Food’s gone though. Of course it might not be him.”
“Who else?”
So olin could hear the shrug in the woman’s voice as she replied,
“Bounty hunters maybe, Federation even. Servalan’s squads are roaming in all directions; it was a nasty night they might have taken shelter here, used what was left.”
“But you were sure he would head here.”
“So command said; but they could have been mistaken, there were other options. No one can be totally sure what he’ll do, or where he will go.” Soolin heard her turn. “But we need to find him, and the sooner the better.”
“What about the heat sensors?”
“This place is shielded, so is the area immediately around it. We’ll have to rely on visuals unless we can locate him in the open.”

Soolin bit her lip as the footsteps moved around the room above her.
“So where now?” Deep brown voice again.
“Next one in the chain. We should do a full circuit by tomorrow and then we’ll check back here again. It’s bad terrain and he isn’t used to creeping around in the open; he might not have made it here yet.”
“Seems to be doing it quite well for all that. Unless he’s at the bottom of a ravine with a broken neck.”
“Yes, well I suppose desperation brings out the unexpected in all of us. And he’s a survivor, everyone agrees about that.”
“And if we don’t find him?”
“We find him.” Finality, pure and simple.
“If you say so”. Dark brown voice was non committal.
Then the footsteps moved back towards the door.

Soolin stayed frozen where she was until she heard the sound of the flyer ascending then accelerating away.

Heart racing she sat down on the steps and sank her head into her hands. Who were they? Not Federation obviously, and not bounty hunter either judging by their conversation. Rebels maybe, but how? How had they found out about him, and what were they doing? It certainly sounded as if they had expected to find Avon, here. But if that was the case why hadn’t they searched this cellar; they must have known it existed? And if they came back and found him, what then?

Soolin climbed to her feet and returned to the pile of bedding in the shadows. Should she have shown herself? What should she do if they came back again? With a sigh she sat down and leant back against the wall. So many questions and no real answers. In the faint striped light she could see the dirt and decay the night had hidden; but, for a moment at least, the rustlings and scratching of tiny claws that had punctuated the darkness had stopped. Even the rodents behaved with caution on Gauda Prime. They would get on with Avon she decided with a weary smile. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

***

A hide was all it was; it couldn't be called a hut, or even a tent. A light weatherproof sheet had been anchored to a bush on one side, spread over a low branch, draped over some form of framework and then pegged into the ground on the other side.

Avon frowned as he stared at it from the shelter of the trees, both the materials and the construction had a definitely military look to it. If that was the case then the owners were unlikely to be friendly, but then no one he might encounter here could be expected to be a friend. Caution took over despite his desperation to get under cover and he crouched beside a large tree for a while and listened for any human sound. He heard none. Slowly he began to skirt his way around the shelter, holding his impatience in check with difficulty.

Kneeling beneath a convenient bush to inspect the back of the hide he wondered for a fleeting minute how the hell he had come to this, to squatting in a dripping forest watching a soldier's tent with a gun cocked ready to fire on whatever appeared. A far cry from the warm and comfortable, if drug soaked, domes of earth. Nothing in his early life had prepared him for this.

For a few seconds he wondered if Cygnus Alpha wouldn’t have been a better option. Not that he believed that, well only sometimes, when he looked back over the things he had done since that voyage on the London. In general he avoided such reviews. Regret needed to be kept in its proper place, it was ill disciplined, self-indulgent even, to let it get in the way of survival.

Avon considered himself both a rational and a disciplined man, and an intelligent one. He had once told Blake that an intelligent man could adapt and he had. Adapted. He had been good at it, however much he might hate it; that was why he was still alive. If he met with a Federation assault squad now they would take no chances with him. Even though they might not know him as Kerr Avon, they would instantly recognise one like themselves; a threat, and kill him if they could, in case he killed them first. As he would have to do of course, there was no choice in it. Hesitation was suicide, and as far as Avon was concerned that should only be the last resort when all else was lost, and only then for some better reason than the loss of hope. No, he would kill first if necessary. But for a second a furious anger shook him as the recognition of what Blake had done to him bit into his mind. He took a firmer hold of himself and pushed the thoughts away, then moved forward again, carefully circling the hide.

As he reached the far side of the shelter he smelt it. It was unmistakable, the smell of death, and of a death that wasn't recent. Hoisting the gun to give himself a better grip he inched slowly forward until he could see the area in front of the hide. The body lay beside the remains of a small fire, the ground around it seemed to be darker than the rest, even in the low light, and the arm that was stretched out towards him was heavily stained with what looked to be blood.

He waited for several seconds but there was no sound. Even so he hesitated. The man, and it was a man, looked to have been dead for a couple of days but the body was intact. That was a warning. Unless the forest was without wildlife the lack of scavenger activity was reason for caution.

Searching the ground around him he found a compact but heavy stone and pitched it towards the hide, he was not surprised to see the stone drop short and hear the hiss of a static barrier. He couldn’t see the generator so there was no way of knowing exactly what it was but probability suggested it was a form of conventional animal deterrent used by field troops when camped in the open. It would be sufficient to deter all small and most large animals. Under normal circumstances it was unlikely to be powerful enough to kill a human being, and the absence of bodies on the perimeter suggested that it didn’t stun, but it would hurt and his wet clothes might increase the effects in unpredictable ways.

He looked around him, it was likely that it was operating a circular field around the hide; no doubt the dead man has switched it on when he had staggered back after sustaining whatever injury had killed him. Without knowing what it was and without any tools to work with he really had no choice. He edged further round the perimeter of the hide to a point where the ground sloped away steeply. He searched around him until he found a boulder of a manageable size and a broken branch with a sharp hard end, then, with a resigned sigh, he began to dig his way in.

***

It was fully dark, and had been for some time, by the time he managed to tunnel his way under the shield, and his hands were raw and bleeding. He collapsed for a moment on the ground, his shoulders and chest heaving, breath coming in painful gasps.

Why the hell had Blake chosen to come to such an awful place to continue with his rebellion? He could have returned to Liberator, he knew that Avon would have kept his word and taken him to Earth.

Avon turned over and lay looking up at the shadowy sky. His thought hared off on a track of their own, one he usually avoided. If Blake had come back, if they had found him, what would have been different? Would anything have been? Maybe. Shrinker might have got his comeuppance before he had left him to die in a cave. Perhaps Anna would still be alive. The coup might have succeeded and Servalan would have been deposed. Not that he was sure what would have replaced it. But that wasn’t his problem, wouldn’t have been his problem; he had never promised to help Blake rebuild what he planned to tear down.

Not that that would have freed him from the unwelcome responsibility, he rather expected that Blake would have demanded his help. Cally certainly would have. Still he could have escaped, taken Liberator and gone exploring with Orac. He rather liked the idea of that, but it wasn’t going to happen now.

Gradually his heart rate slowed and his breathing steadied, and he dragged himself to his feet and crossed to the body. Carefully he pulled it over onto its back. It was man of about his own height but heavier build, the hair was light brown as far as he could see, but it was hard to tell being filthy and matted with sticks and leaves. He could have been any where between twenty five and seventy five standard years. The eyes were closed suggesting the man had been unconscious some time before he died.

This close to the body the cause of his death was obvious, a deep, penetrating, wound in the highest part of the thigh, almost in the groin. It had probably happened when he was away from his camp and, unable to stem the flow of blood, he had already been dying when he got back and activated the field. He no doubt intended to treat it when he was sure he was safe from the predators that might be attracted by the smell of his blood, but the likelihood was that he had been too weak to find what he needed. Always assuming he had been carrying the necessary supplies.

Avon searched through the dirty clothes but there was nothing to identify him, no papers or ID. All in all a most anonymous corpse.

Tired though he was Avon knew he had to dispose of the body, and not only because of the smell; if anyone chanced by it was important that it appeared that the hide was, and always had been, his. Summoning his last reserves of energy he crossed to the shelter. As well as the branch and bush the covering was supported by a lightweight frame and the whole resulted in a reasonable amount of clear and usable space under shelter. Inside he found what he had expected. The generator for the shield, a communicator unit, a field repair kit, a computer unit, thermal sheets and a supply of rations. Further back in the shadows there was a backpack, the shape suggested that some of its contents were still unpacked. That would wait.

Picking up a dirty blanket and some linkage binder from the repair kit he returned to the body and quickly wrapped it, sealing it tightly with the binder. Then he maneuvered it into the tunnel he had dug under the shield. Returning to the generator he switched the shield off and crossed to the entry hole; he pulled the body down into the short tunnel wedging it tight. Stopping only to stretch his protesting shoulder muscles he pushed the scattered soil and debris back around it and sealed both ends with rocks and branches. Only when he was sure that the holes were well camouflaged did he return to the hide.

It was now very dark and, though the rain had stopped, the wind had risen. It had a biting edge that would have been uncomfortable even if he hadn't been wet. Now that the heavy physical work was over he was aware of how far the temperature had dropped, and of just how tired and wet he was. As the effects of burying the body wore off he knew he would become dangerously cold if he didn’t do something about it.

With a sigh he began searching the supplies for material for starting a fire, the wet wood and vegetation would offer little readily combustible material. It took him ten or more minutes to find what he was looking for, a portable burner and a supply of fuel cells. He switched the shield on again; he was in no state to fight off even a hungry rodent let alone the much bigger game that might well hunt in these forests. The shield wouldn’t protect him against human predators but the previous occupant had chosen his site well and it was unlikely that he would be spotted. It would also disguise the heat of his body and a fire, hide it from any heat seeking flyer that may chance by. Without it he would have had to risk surviving the wet and cold. There was not enough charge in the burner cells to keep him warm through the night, it looked like they hadn't been restored in days, but it would help provide him with dry material for a fire. Tomorrow he would recharge the cells. Anyway a fire would help to deter any animal life that might be lurking. He dug a small pit and placed the burner to one side of it then he piled twigs and branches on the other. When the small column of steam started to rise from the damp vegetation he turned away leaving the kindling to dry, and moved back to the hide.

Avon searched the contents of the shelter methodically despite his growing exhaustion; he needed to know who had built it and why. The hide was cramped, despite it size, and his wet clothes were cold and heavy but he ignored the discomfort, and his teeth rattling shivers, forcing himself to go slowly, examining every visible item with care, allowing no chance of missing anything.

Despite his care he found no real information about who the dead man had been or what he had been doing here. Like the body, the hide and its contents proved to be anonymous. The shield however proved to be more powerful and versatile than he had anticipated, useful but it made he wonder about the origins of the dead man. But they were speculations that could wait until he was warm and dry.

Finally he pulled the backpack out of the shadows and began to layout its contents. No identification of any kind, but the items still packed within it gave some indications of what the dead man and his interests might have been. There were more of the usual field rations, supplements and a medical kit that contained basic first aid materials as well as a medical diagnostic and treatment interface. Nothing surprising there, but it also contained several items that were less expected. There was a full range of surveillance devices, including image intensifiers; a couple of hand weapons, and an unusual stock of medications including de-contaminants, antibacterial and antiviral serum and some of the more sophisticated immune, cellular and enzyme accelerators.

These last items caused him to stop and think, revising yet again his assessment of the dead man. Though such items had been common medical supplies since the new calendar, and possibly decades if not centuries before, they had become scarce and expensive within the Federation since the war. The type he thought he recognised here were used to assist in mitochondria repair and renewal and were hard to culture or synthesise, and they would have been for restricted use even before it. Now their resale value would be huge.

Yet the dead man had been carrying them along with basic field medic supplies on this forsaken, tree covered, dripping world. Whoever he was he had not intended to die here. But he had, because you die quickly when you slit an artery and no amount of cellular enhancement will help if you don’t have time to repair it before you bleed to death.

After a moments hesitation Avon took out a capsule of each and swallowed them, there was no way of knowing what lurked in this forest and it would be a pity to die because of an infected cut after having survived Servalan's people ministrations. He put the medication aside and rummaged further down in the pack. The other contents were also thought provoking; a small surgical set, several very specialist laser probes, data blocks and heat scanners and then a small flat case wrapped in shock absorbent fleece. Carefully unwrapping it he discovered it was not locked, he flicked the catch and raised the smooth and shiny lid. For a moment he started uncertainly at the contents then he closed it again and rewrapped it in its protective layer before he put it carefully to one side. Then he repacked the rest of contents into the pack making sure he knew where everything was. Finally he sat back on his heels and reviewed what he had found.

The conclusions they hinted at were not entirely comforting. True the weapons and survival supplies could have belonged to a bounty hunter, or even an innocent man who knew he was going to have to survive in hostile territory. Not that an innocent man would have stayed around for a moment longer than he had to, and it seemed that the previous occupant had been here for some time. The weapons, though, seemed rather sophisticated for an itinerant innocent. So too were the generators and the communications equipment, to say nothing of the compact field computers and surveillance devices. The long distance image intensifiers, the field detectors and the subsurface probes and eavesdroppers could only be of use to someone who was watching without wishing to be detected. So the dead man had been here with a purpose, but whom had he been watching? Someone inside Blake’s base? Maybe, but not certainly, Avon thought, given how little he knew of what was going on here. But something underground almost certainly, surface observation would not require this level of technology. Possibly a bounty hunter Avon conceded, albeit a rich and determined one.

The other contents of the pack however hinted at a different story. Looking round the hide Avon felt a strange certainty that whatever the dead man had been doing here it had something to do with what had been going on in the base under the hill, and with Blake. Yet if he had been part of the build up to the Federation raid on the base why had he remained when the troopers left? Avon felt a thrill of unease that he couldn’t explain, he needed to know more about what was going on and what exactly Blake had been up to; the information he had managed to gain whilst a prisoner had given little insight into what that had been.

Still there was nothing he could do about that now. With a frown he pushed the problem to the back of his mind and reached for the food supplies, none were labeled so with a silent shrug he took the nearest to hand and a handful of supplements and went outside again.

The burner had dried out a small amount of the dripping wood and he used this to start a fire. It was small but enough to start the process of getting warm again, the shield would prevent it being picked up by heat sensors so he could leave it burning through the night. After a short scan of the perimeter of the camp he gathered his spoils around him and sank to the floor by the fire fighting an almost overwhelming desire to sleep. He found he was too tired to eat, but he drank some of the water from the canteen that had been beside the pile of blankets, resisting the impulse to swallow the lot. How could anyone so wet be so thirsty he wondered? At first light he would have see about finding a larger suitable water supply. In the meantime he needed to make some attempt at getting dry, or at least drier.

Stripping off his wet jacket and tunic he dragged himself to his feet again, shivering as the cold air bit even deeper into his bare flesh, and staggered back into the hide. He spread the wet clothing over the pile of rations and equipment; with luck they would be dry enough to be comfortable to wear by first light. He scrubbed his damp skin dry with one of the discarded blankets, and then he wrapped himself in a clean thermal sheet. Whoever the dead man had been he had intended staying for some time and had been well prepared for the rig ours of surviving in this uncomfortable spot. Avon wondered again who it was he had buried, but he was too tired to think it through and with a yawn he put curiosity aside for the night. He went back outside taking the pack and the slim, shiny, case with him.

Setting the pack against a large stone near to the fire he sank to the ground with a sigh, resting his back against it. Settling himself as comfortably as he could on the rough ground he pulled the gun close to his hand, the shield would not protect him if anyone else passed this way but it might buy him enough time to defend himself.

The night air was cold and damp and his wet hair dripped freezing droplets down the back of his neck, He found himself shivering almost uncontrollably and wondered how he was going to get his other clothes dry. Forcing his mind away from his physical discomfort he stared at the disturbed soil around the makeshift grave of his benefactor, his tired brain wouldn’t rest and, giving in to the continued inner prompting, he reviewed the available evidence again. A man without identification but prepared for a long period in this isolated spot, apparently alone, equipped with military survival equipment but little in the way of serious firepower, carrying some of the most sophisticated forms of surveillance devices but with no sign of transport, and supplied with a wide range of very expensive medical equipment. There must be a pattern but he was damned if he could see it for the moment.

He looked down at the case still grasped in his left hand, it was an even deeper mystery if he was right about the contents of this. Carefully he put the gun down within easy reach and opened the case again.

A second look suggested that he might have been right in first suspicions. He tilted the case towards the fire, being careful not to dislodge the contents. The light was uncertain but there was enough to confirm that he was seeing what he had thought he was seeing when he first opened it. Not that he had ever handled one before, or even seen one come to that. A small device, most of it hidden within an opalescent casing, but with what looked to be a pale yellow crystal partially visible through a haze of mesh made of some organic looking material. To the side of that a series of smaller crystals linked by a filament chain. Set into the lid of the case were a series of vials each containing a clear liquid of differing colours that caught the glow of the fire and reflected it through the crystals making the light within them dance.

No he wasn’t mistaken.

Carefully he closed the lid then set the case on his thighs and started into the fire. He had read about them but never expected to see one, they were unknown within the Federation, whispered about in some circles, but more as a myth than a reality. Yet here on this desolate world was the myth made fact in rock and metal. A biomorphic stimulator, complete, apparently, with its supporting medication.

What by all the stars was a man camped in a forest in the middle of a hellhole of a planet like Gauda Prime carrying one of those for? He couldn’t hope to use it here, the process required deep sedation and no one with any desire to survive would risk doing that in such a hostile place unless he had well trusted backup, and there was no sign that the dead man had that. Still it hinted at an even greater need for caution, maybe the dead man did have some support, maybe they happened to be on prolonged reconnaissance when he died.

Even so, why would he be carrying this here? A regeneration field wouldn’t be used to heal normal traumatic injuries, and anyway the other medications would be sufficient for that. So why would he be carrying anything so specialist and valuable in this isolated spot? The dead man hadn’t even unpacked it. With a sigh Avon pushed the case back into the pack making sure it was secure. Whatever the man had brought it here for he was unlikely to be able to deduce it from the information available; but its value was undeniable and trading it would give them the resources to get off the planet if they could reach the port.

Avon maneuvered himself closer to the fire and pulled the blanket closer around him. It might be uncomfortable, his remaining clothes and boots were still very wet, but he wasn’t taking any chances, he had no intention of being caught stripped and barefoot. He shook his head sending droplets hissing into the fire, then pulled the blanket up around his neck and closed his eyes. The earlier rain had held the bite of ice at its core and he could only hope that it didn’t rain again. The fire was small but it gave a little, very welcome, heat, it would get stronger as more of the fuel dried out. For now even this little heat was comforting, though it made his remaining clothes steam uncomfortably.

The firelight didn’t penetrate beyond the shield and Avon found his eyes drawn to the darkness, even though he could see nothing. Unused to the sounds of the night shrouded forest sleep retreated again, and he found himself straining to hear every noise. As the forest settled around him he caught himself wishing for one of the others to share the watch with, even Tarrant would have been an improvement on his current solitude. Maybe he should have brought Soolin after all, she might have been in no state for a gun battle but she could have stood watch. Still there was no point in wasting effort wishing for what he couldn’t have, he would have to try and get some sleep and rely on the barrier and the isolation to protect him.

Avon pulled the blanket up to his chin and closed his eyes.

A sudden sound to his left caused him to sit up suddenly, reaching for the gun without being aware he was doing so. He pushed himself back out of the flickering light of the fire and sat for a moment, frozen in the cold darkness, ears and eyes straining to identify the noise and its cause. But there was no further sound other than the restless rustling of nature at night. After several long minutes he relaxed a little and moved back towards the now growing fire. But the damage was done, sleep retreated even further, and seizing on his exhaustion the memories began another relentless parade.

Cursing bitterly he tried to push them away, but they refused to go. With a heavy sigh he propped him back more firmly against the pack and resigned himself to living through it all yet again.

Strangely this time it wasn’t the tracking gallery, or Terminal, not even Anna. This time it was Dorian, his image forming in the smoke rising from the fire. Avon frowned, wondering for a moment about his strangely undisciplined memory and what it signified. The image in the firelight seemed to become stronger and more insistent, demanding his attention, and his curiosity about its appearance grew; so he stopped resisting and let the image linger.

Why Dorian, and why now he asked himself? He hadn’t thought about the man since the early days on Xenon, and if the truth be told he hadn’t though much about him then. Strange that he shouldn’t, given the oddities of the whole business. He’d never even bothered to question Soolin about her erstwhile companion, he who trusted nothing and no one had calmly accepted the staggering coincidence that had been Dorian. A co-incidence that suddenly looked too unbelievable to be true.

Dorian, who had just happened to be in the vicinity of Terminal when Liberator was destroyed; Dorian, who had come looking for them in his slow and battered planet hopper to form the Gestalt that would save him. Of all possible moments for him to have chosen, just then when Blake was apparently dead and Liberator was destroyed. The frown deepened as his tired and restless mind began to worry at the problem that had never concerned him before. Suddenly it seemed very important to explore the mystery that lay behind that first meeting with Soolin and the acquisition of the base and Scorpio.

The face in the fire smiled at him in amusement and something else, something that seemed for a moment to be approval. Avon narrowed his eyes at the red glare and pale smoke of the fire, now dancing brightly against the backdrop of the dark night. Grinning grimly at the wraith like face that glowed there he took up Dorian’s challenge.

Pushing the fatigue away he began to review those hours after Cally’s death. How had Dorian intended to entice them to Xenon? Surely he hadn't expected to capture Liberator with Scorpio had he? Not with the ancient drive unit that had been its only power before they obtained Plaxton’s star drive. If he had expected to then there must have been something about the smaller ship that they hadn't discovered in the year or so they had possessed it.Even after they had acquired the star drive Scorpio would have stood little chance again the power of Liberator.Nor could Slave have matched the ability of Zen or Orac.

So why had Dorian assumed he could achieve what Servalan and her minions had failed to manage in more than three years?

What was it that had given him the confidence to come looking for them? To believe that he would be able to take Liberator for his own? Certainly there had been nothing they had ever discovered on Xenon to justify such confidence. So why had he come looking for them? Why had he chosen them anyway? What had he known about them? Had he known anything about them at all?

The face in the fire continued to smile but gave no answers.

The thought of Scorpio stirred other memories. For a moment Dr Plaxton's face rose in the flames of the fire in front of Dorian, Avon shivered again and pushed it away. It only returned to stare at him with bewildered eyes. Squinting through the smoke he studied the flickering image uneasily wondering if his sanity really was failing. It seemed so real, even more so than Dorian, the eyes were almost alive.

He sighed, surely not guilt? There had been no other choice, and she had known the risks. It would have been pointless for them all to die in some futile gesture of solidarity with a woman they didn’t know and who wouldn’t have expected it of them. For a moment he wondered what Blake would have done in such a situation; not that he had any real doubts, Blake had never shied away from difficult choices. Well except that time on London. Avon smiled grimly at Plaxton’s shimmering image; he still hadn’t forgiven him for that one. If Liberator hadn’t turned up when it did that would have cost them the three of them their lives.

The shadow of Plaxton grew brighter, outlined by the darkness beyond the fire, and for a moment the hissing wood seemed to echo her last cries around the trees.

He had to do it of course, it was always going to be his responsibility; none of the others would take the decision, he had known that. They would have died by default, for nothing, waiting for someone else to decide; squandering her sacrifice along with their own lives. Depriving her of the one thing remaining to her, the hope, however fleeting, that she might escape. At least she had died for some purpose and with that hope intact. Was that an apology he wondered? Well if the shade of Plaxton hung around this forest maybe it would do as one.

Not that he believed any such thing of course, but here in the darkness, with the tress whispering and the darkness singing, it somehow felt less absurd than in the bright artificial light of civilisation. The fire blazed up for a moment as a bubble of gas broke free from a piece of wood and exploded in the heart of the flames, hardening the shadows outside of its light. In the surge of heat and light Plaxton's face began to fade; maybe the apology had been accepted.

Avon wondered for a moment what the hell was making him think such absurdities; then he forced his mind back to the strange question of Dorian. Had he known about Servalan and her plan? Been a part of it maybe? Had Dorian been summoned by Servalan as she stood on the disintegrating Liberator? Was Servalan like Dorian? Was that how she had survived the destruction of the Liberator, by transferring her death to someone else?

No, that was as absurd as apologising to Plaxton’s ghost, he mustn’t think like that. Why couldn’t he control his own thoughts any more? Giving in to such unproductive and whimsical fascinations was irrational. Yet somehow he couldn’t stop it. Maybe he was sick? Yes it must be that, the wet and the cold, he must be running a fever. Or maybe the drugs that he was sure they had given him as part of the interrogation hadn’t cleared from his system yet. Maybe they had still been drugging him; that was certainly possible. It would explain a lot, including his general feeling of unreality and his unease with Soolin. He shrugged the question away letting his mind wander back to the matter of Dorian, because the questions and the absurdities didn’t end there.

If Dorian hadn’t known about Servalan’s little plan then why had he bothered to pursue them, and if he hadn't been pursuing them then how had he known what he would find on Terminal? Come to that why had they not spotted him if he had been following them? Liberator’s long range sensors were better than anything Scorpio had been fitted with. So it must have just been chance that Dorian was around at that time.

No, wait a minute, the spare glass! Dorian had planned it because he had been expecting Cally too, so he had intended, and expected, to bring them back with him when he had left Soolin on Xenon. How? How had he expected to get on board Liberator, and then overpower all of them? How had he expected to capture them knowing, as he apparently had, about teleport and Orac? Something else that didn’t make any kind of sense, any more than his knowledge of them did. Dorian had not shown any sign of stupidity in the short time they had been together but, if he had known about Liberator’s capabilities, then going after them in Scorpio would certainly rank as stupidity of the first order. If he had known anything about Liberator’s crew then the stupidity became criminal. He couldn’t have expected the destruction of the Liberator, in fact Avon was sure that he hadn’t, so what did he have in mind?

Avon frowned again, in fact there was something very wrong with the whole Xenon and Dorian set up. Why had he never thought about it before? Lack of time perhaps. Now he had the opportunity to think it through the whole incident was thoroughly absurd, ridiculous in fact. Yet familiar in some way. Something was stirring in the back of his mind, the shadow of something he had seen or heard a long time ago, what was it?

Exhaustion was taking its toll and Avon found that his memory refused to co-operate, but somehow he was sure he had come across a report somewhere about a man who displaced his aging and corruption onto someone else. The memory was too faint for him to be able to get hold of it. But that and the recollection of the firelight glowing on the shiny case stirred another question. Why with all his time and resources hadn’t Dorian found another, more reliable way, to preserve himself. The clone masters may have died in the war but Dorian had been around long before that, nor had they been the only ones who knew how to manage the process. Cloning would have served Dorian as well as his chancy chamber and held far fewer risks.

Avon stared at the mirage in the firelight, the smile on the hazy face suddenly seemed quizzical as if it were challenging him to find the answer. He was losing the battle with fatigue but still he tilted his head and stared at it. That yet led to yet another oddity, why hadn’t Soolin known about his need and the creature in the basement. How long had she been with Dorian before Terminal? Why had he never asked?

On that last question exhaustion won and, as the fire blazed up swallowing the images in its heart, he fell into the pit of sleep.