Avon was dreaming again, he was dreaming more than he had ever known in his life, and these dreams were of a type he had never known even in the worst of times. Dreams that were soaked in guilt, and uncertainty, and feelings of helplessness and conflict; that set him at war with himself as he slept and wracked him with anger and confusion when he woke. Not only Gauda Prime but all the days since Terminal, everything since the destruction of Liberator and Cally’s death played out in his dreams with depressing regularity. This didn’t surprise him particularly but it did worry him, it set him wondering if this time he wasn’t going to cope, fight back.

One particular dream was already painfully familiar, the tracking gallery and the collapse of everything, the last moments of Blake’s life. It was so vivid, so complete that he was truly back there again, facing the man who claimed he was Blake, the man who was so familiar and yet was a stranger.

He could feel the weight of the gun in his hand, hear Tarrant’s voice, watch Blake move towards him. Then came the echo of the shots, the splattering of blood, the grasp of Blake’s hands. He could count the wounds as the projectiles tore into the man facing him, trace the pattern of blood upwards to where it spotted the unshaven face; look into eyes that were suddenly blank and distant. There was no point in trying to push the image away, it would only come again, he had better get used to it because he knew that it would be his constant companion for whatever remained of his life. Blake and the other’s deaths would forever be the companions of Anna’s and Cally’s.

But something bothered him. As he watched Blake fall again something bothered him. Deep in his mind there was a thought forming, something to do with the images in the dream but he couldn’t quite see what it was. Still it grew with each repetition, spreading out and taking form, getting between him and Blake. He tried to push it away but it hung there, like a curtain suddenly drawn across his vision. A white curtain shot through with glittering strands and etched with faint smudges that rippled across it, letters and pictures faded by time or light or both. Smudges he couldn’t read but that flapped at him in an unseen breeze, shouting for his attention; and with it came a sensation deep in the pit of his stomach. A feeling he couldn’t describe, maybe grief, maybe anger, maybe both or neither; but something.

With a start he came awake, the feeling that he had been on the edge of an important truth staying for a moment before fading away as the memories of the dream returned. From the beginning he had believed Blake dead, had been unwilling or unable to believe that he might have survived. Now he remembered that it was certain, and for a moment despair gripped him, even as the dream faded. The others too, not stunned, not prisoners like himself, but dead.

Avon lay still, exhausted by more than the drugs and the pain of recent days. But even as the loss and self hatred bit into him again he recognised it and acknowledged that it would pass. He had known hurt and despair so many times before and he had survived them. Each time it froze another part of him but those withered parts could be walled away, and afterwards he had always found a way to go on. This time would be no different. He had lost another part of himself to the ice, would lose more before it was done with him, but he would find his way through and go on. In the end there was no other choice, it was that or die.

He wasn’t sure how many hours he lay there drifting between sleep and wakefulness, dreaming and imagining. He took no notice if they brought food so there was nothing to measure time by. It might even have been days, but eventually she came back as he had known she would.

She was still dressed in long and trailing black, it was as if she was in some form of archaic mourning. But it had been a long time since anyone of Earth had truly mourned anything, felt real grief for anything. So little of what anyone felt was real anymore; a lot of parade, most of it deliberately engineered, but little real substance. Grief? Servalan would not recognise the concept. Once he had believed that he couldn’t grieve, but he had been so wrong, he had learnt to his cost that he could mourn very well indeed.

She was alone but the door remained open and he could see two guards standing just outside, weak as he was she wasn’t taking any chances. He made no move to sit up but lay watching her as she crossed the short distance from the door and stood beside him. He waited for her to speak.
"Have you thought about what I said" her voice was low and very nearly gentle. Avon smiled inwardly he didn’t think it would stay that way for long.
"Was I supposed to?"
She sighed and sat down on the bed placing her hand on the center of his chest, her fingers making small circles. Her face was sombre, for a moment he might almost believe in her. Almost.
"Avon, the time for games, for hostility between us is over. Now is the time for co-operation. To our mutual benefit Avon, you stand to gain a lot if you co-operate with me." Still there was no taunting, no mockery, in her voice and it unnerved him,
"Oh? What is it that I have to gain…" he hesitated again letting the moment lengthen, then smiling mockingly he finished "Sleer".

She smiled in return, her hand still lying like a little island of warmth on his chest.
"Your life, a chance of a new identity, somewhere safe to live and work. What more could you want Avon!" urgency appeared in those last few words.
He smiled again, but his expression was shuttered and his eyes disinterested.
"In return for what? Somehow I don’t think that the offer comes without strings."
Her smile grew,
"I was sure we would understand each other. After all we always have in the past"
"Have we? Are you so sure of that?"
"Of course. With Blake and the others gone there is no need for you and I to be on opposite sides. Together Avon, we can achieve so much to our mutual benefit. You can give me certain things that…." She considered her words carefully for a moment, "….. I will find useful, and in return I will hide and protect you. It seems a fair exchange don’t you think?"
"Well now that depends on what you consider to be useful."

She sat back her hand dropping to her knee, the smile fading. Her eyes were wide and her expression falsely bland as she looked at him, but the mockery was strangely gentle. Most strange he thought fleetingly.
"Oh I think you can guess that." The tone dripped honey.
He laughed then,
"Oh yes. Teleport perhaps, the star drive or force wall maybe, Orac?"
Servalan smiled again in return,
"Yes, those all sound useful things".
Avon watched her silently for a moment, she returned the look but seemed prepared to wait. Finally he sighed,
“What make you think I can give them to you, what makes you think I know how to?”

Servalan’s smile widened, and so did her eyes,
“Oh come Avon, four years on the Liberator and you hadn’t mastered at least some of it’s secrets? With Orac to help you? I don’t think that very likely.” He’d seen that look before when she thought she had won.
His smile died, he let his eyes slide closed.
"I remember that you once offered me the Federation for Orac and Liberator. I said then that I would not live long to enjoy the bargain, I have seen nothing to change that opinion. No deal…. Sleer"

She reached forward again and placed her hand on his arm, her fingers lightly massaging the muscle though the fabric. He opened his eyes and watched the movement of her fingers with a detached astonishment. When she spoke her voice was strangely calm with no sign of the anger at his refusal he had expected. Had Servalan learned patience at last?
"Avon, you have no choice. Why won't you see that? Do you really want to die, for nothing? It’s not much of end is it? A prison compound on a squalid little world that no one has ever heard of. It won’t bring the others back. Blake may be dead but you have a chance to live. To enjoy living, to achieve the things you have always wanted. Think about it."

He closed his eyes again and turned his face to the wall, dismissing her. She removed her hand from his arm and stood up. Her smile faded as her gaze swept the bare cell, noted the untouched food. She looked down again at the white face and shadowed eyes and for a moment a faint frown crossed her face, then she walked to the door. He heard the swish of her dress as she turned,
"Have you forgotten how pleasant life can be Avon? Perhaps I should remind you."
He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her, his face blanked of expression. She met his gaze and suddenly smiled again.
"Yes, perhaps I should" then she turned and left.

As the door closed behind her he closed his eyes again and sighed. What was she up to now? Why did she want his co-operation anyway, surely they had found Orac; if he knew Servalan she would have begun the search as soon as she arrived. Unless she didn’t want anyone else to know about it. That was possible, in fact more than possible; after all Servalan was not one to share an advantage if she could avoid it. So may be they hadn’t found it, maybe she wanted him to lead her to it without letting anyone else know of its whereabouts, or even its existence. Avon smiled a small private smile, she must be far more irritated than she was showing. Or maybe they had found it and Orac was simply being its usual obstructive self. The smile widened, if they had found it then things would get interesting in the near future. Servalan would find that possession of Orac did not necessarily mean access to Orac. She might also find that getting access to Orac could have explosive consequences.

The smile became a frown as he remembered her parting words, she wasn’t behaving much like Servalan and not at all like Sleer. She had taken his rejection remarkably calmly, no threats, no shouting, no taunts. Not like her at all, but then she was one of the most devious people he had ever met, and he had known some devious people in his life. No, she was up to something and it must offer enough advantage for her to be patient. He would have to wait for her next move and see if that gave him a better insight into what she was planning. He had no doubt that there would be a next move quite soon; all he could do was wait.

With that thought he slipped back down towards the waiting dreams.

***

Blake was down in the drive inspection chamber, the maintenance was completed but still he sat at the diagnostic console staring unseeingly at the power level displays as they fluctuated across the array of fuel cells. It had been a long time since he had done anything like this and it was one of the few things that could keep his mind away from the events of the last few weeks. Anyway he was as comfortable here as he was anywhere, and at least he was away from the unpredictable conversations and curious glances of the rest of crew. Finally he had learned caution but he still didn’t find it easy or natural; trusting might be harder than it used to be but that didn’t mean he had to like the situation.

For the moment at least no one would look for him and he could sit and think without having to guard his expression, or worry about explaining his past. Not that they were curious enough to intrude, there were far too many people around who had a past they didn’t want to talk about and a wise man or woman didn’t push it. After all it you probably wouldn’t like what you discovered and there was about an even chance that it would get you killed.

Blake wondered what he would do if anyone discovered who he was. They were a long way out and there was nowhere to run to. He pushed the thought away; it was unlikely that these people would be concerned. Not that the danger was past. There were still plenty of people who would be more than a little interested in his whereabouts, if they discovered he was still alive. The sooner he could hitch up with one of the surviving resistance groups the happier, and safer, he would be.

For the hundredth time he wondered if things would have gone differently if he had succeeded in reaching Earth. Avon would have taken him he was sure; once he had given his word Avon did not renege on it however much he might want to or whatever the cost to himself. Strange that Avon, cold, calculating and quite probably ruthless, was in his own way one of the most reliable and honest people Blake had ever met. An uncomfortable thought.

But he mustn’t think about Avon or the others. Like Gan they were gone, never to be a part of his life again. The panic and guilt rose again and he slapped it down, there hadn’t been any other way. Even if they had been willing to join forces with him again it was beyond that, he was beyond that. But he couldn’t help wondering what was happening to them now, assuming they were still alive. Maybe he should have asked more questions but he had been afraid of the answers, knowing that he had no choice anymore.

He leant back in his seat and fixed his eyes on the display; but his mind didn’t see the rise and fall of the indicators, instead it churned through a maze of feelings and ideas, struggling to understand what had happened and looking for a way to make the situation right. Just as he had several times a day since joining Carrill’s crew. Not that some of it could ever be made right; the dead couldn’t be brought back. The rational part of his mind protested that it wasn’t his fault, that it hadn’t been his fault, it hadn’t been his responsibility; that there hadn’t been any other way. In the end it had to be done. He was free to begin again, to take up the fight again. This time he had to win, to win completely, and to overthrow the Federation finally and on every world. He owed that to the dead.

The dead! There had been so many of them, he’d lost count long ago. He saw them in his dreams, his dead and other people’s dead. Line upon line of them, yet it was those few new faces in the line that he knew would drive him on.

“What’s the problem”?
Blake looked up with a start; he had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard Svend come in.
“Nothing, what makes you think there is” he heard the sharpness in his voice and gave himself a mental shake, he must be careful, there was a lot to be lost by alienating the rest of the crew. Svend smiled,
“The look on your face suggested that we are imminent danger of self destruct.”
Blake returned the smile with an effort,
“No, I was just thinking, well remembering actually. It’s not important”. With a slight shock Blake heard echoes of Avon in his tone.

Svend came and leant against the console and inclined his fair head to look down at Blake. The light was harsh and metallic, it pulled platinum spears from the man’s hair and grey blue sparks from his eyes, but the face was composed, his expression almost kind.
“Those kinds of memories you can probably do without, in my experience they are futile, they teach you nothing you haven’t already learned from the event and so cause you only unnecessary pain.”
Blake met the blue eyes squarely,
“You have experience?”
Svend gave a wry smile and his eyes slid past Blake to focus on some unseen, far away, point. His voice was low,
“Oh yes, quite a lot of it. Far too many things I am not proud of, necessary though they were at the time, and a good few memories I can’t afford to meet in the light of day.”
Blake gave a short laugh
“Yes I’ve got my share of those too”
“I had guessed as much,” Svend admitted, his eyes kind though his voice was noncommittal.

He hesitated for a moment as if uncertain about whether to go on, the blue eyes holding Blake’s own for a long moment; then he smiled slightly,
“ I know we agreed no questions but if you want to talk both Carrill and I have plenty of experience in selective hearing.” His voice dropped lower still and a look of deep, though transitory, sadness flitted across his face; “selective memory come to that.”
Blake nodded then turned away from the look, unsure whose pain he was respecting, “Thanks but I’m fine.”

Svend accepted the rebuff calmly and, pulling up another chair, he began a routine check of the communications systems. For a minute or two they worked in silence, then Svend shot Blake a quick sideways glance before fixing his eyes on the detector array.
“These are difficult times Roget, just accept it. Maybe it will get better, maybe it won’t. Either way there are few people who can sleep peacefully all of the time, and most of those who can shouldn’t be able to if there were any justice.”
He lapsed into silence. For a moment they both sat there without exchanging words or looks then Svend indicated the display in front of him,
“FCD’s are out again, how do you feel about a quick trip round the relay circuits?”
Blake nodded and rose with alacrity, Svend smiled to himself and led the way to the forward MD shaft.