Carnell left Servalan and walked thoughtfully back to his quarters. So she was determined to prolong the game, fortunate that she had needed so little persuasion. Not that he was surprised. Servalan didn’t take kindly to being deprived of what she wanted, as he knew only too well. Withholding what she so desperately needed would make her more dangerous than ever before. There was no denying that the game, however necessary, had just taken a very perilous turn for all of them.

He had serious doubts about her ability to persuade Avon to co-operate and, in the privacy of his own head, doubts about his own. True it would be an interesting exercise, and for any other client he would have welcomed the opportunity to try, but working for Servalan on such a project would be fraught with danger. Unfortunately his employers had made their position on this matter quite clear; they had high hopes of this venture too. And, as they were every bit as dangerous as Servalan, and had a longer reach, that decided matters. Running from both them would not be feasible, at least for the moment.

Anyway it would be a challenge, and it seemed that Avon was a subject worthy of his professional interest.

But how to move forward? Something more ingenious than the Blake illusion would be needed. He had an idea, in fact had been thinking about it for some time. A way to keep everybody happy; for the moment at least. Well everybody but Avon; however that was unavoidable and at least he should come out of it with a whole skin and just maybe a secure place to hide. With a little luck they might even arrange it so that Servalan never knew. But where and how to start? The principle was fine but the details were … difficult. Somehow they had to manoeuvre Avon both psychologically and emotionally to the point where he would seem to accept Servalan both as an ally and protector. Not easy but possible, at least for a short period, given an enough time and resources.

He continued walking, lost in thought, through the abnormally quiet corridors of this part of the installation, the only part Servalan had been allowed to see. Avon was unlikely to prove the best of subjects but there were other precautions that could be used to offset that. Finding a suitable agent might also prove difficult though it was likely that his employers could identify someone. Time, that would be the hardest part. He frowned slightly, it would be a great deal of work and the risks were likely to be high, and not only from Servalan; he shuddered to think what Avon or his colleagues would do to them if they ever found out.

Still there was no real choice if he personally was going to get out of this with his neck intact; in reality he was as much of a prisoner as the man currently locked in a cell somewhere.

The door to his quarters slid shut behind him and he threw himself down into a chair. He wouldn’t usually indulge himself with such a gesture but there was no one to see; he had arranged for the security monitors to be bypassed almost as soon as he arrived here. For a moment he allowed himself to dwell on the perversity of fate and the unfortunate effects of the war. He had never expected Servalan to find him, never anticipated a chance meeting in a corridor on an outer world. But once she had seen him…. well the rest was predictable, the Federation might be dying but it still had enough power to persuade his employers that co-operation was in their interests. They had their reasons for that and, though they hadn’t seen fit to explain them, he could take a guess.

But they had made it clear that he must get her off Terminal as soon as possible, certainly before she started making… connections. Not that he personally would be unhappy to leave, it was a very restricting place and offered little scope for escape should it become desirable. Given the nature of his current employment escape was something that needed to be provided for at all times, there may well come a time when his loyalties, those few he allowed himself, would be divided in a very dangerous way.

He rose and smoothed his tunic down over his thighs; the skills of his profession had got him into this situation and he would have to depend upon them to see him safely through it. He reached across and cut the surveillance bypass opening the comms. channel as he did so
"Sommers, call the heads of department and arrange a meeting as soon as possible, my authority". Then he turned and went to his bedroom returning a few moments later with a small computer unit. He had a lot to do before that meeting and top of his list was a communication that he must make sure wasn’t intercepted.

***

Servalan leant back and stared unseeing at the wall. Well, the die was cast so to speak; Avon seemed intent on dying and Carnell’s employers had no choice but to continue in their co-operation. The delay was a nuisance but unavoidable, but the prize had better be worth the game.

She leant forward and pressed the comms button,
“Ma’am” her aide answered
“Kant I want you to start conferring with Carnell about their needs for the next phase of the operation. A location has been suggested, I want you to gather all information on this planet that you can. It has a Federation base of some form, no longer in use I believe. Relay all information about current facilities to Carnell. Let me know as soon as you have confirmed its suitability. And have my crew report to the ship, we will leave as soon as they have completed the preparations.”

She cut the link abruptly and returned to her thoughts. The dangers were increasing, intelligence reports suggested that a number of the outer worlds were beginning the process of negotiating mutual defence treaties, and her contacts in arms suppliers outside of Federation space indicated that many of the outer worlds and the other planets closest to former Federation territories were taking defensive measures. Sales of orbital and intra systems mines had increased nearly a thousand fold in the last standard year, or so they reported, the demand for ground defence equipment was outstripping demand and offensive and defensive satellite construction was at an all time high. In addition there were indications that a number of the more rebellious former colonies were exporting expertise on an alarming scale now that intersystem travel was largely free from Federation restraints. Rebel activity was also increasing on the inner worlds and the desertion rate amongst Space Command personnel still located in the more distant installations had increased again. Even in the terran strongholds there were problems. Discontent amongst inner world and even Earth based officers was at the highest recorded level since the war and there were muttering about the need to reconvene the High Council.

More worryingly for the moment was the unfortunate fall out of the combat grounds fiasco. The larger planetary groupings, Teal/Vandor and the Cappisilli systems in particular, were planning to extend both the size and range of their fleets. That she firmly lay at Avon’s door; his meddling had seriously compromised her plans there. But the rest…perhaps worst of all was the news that the non humanoid races of the Reeg^oin belt and the cold star systems of sectors seven and eight were reported to be negotiating mutual defence treaties. All this despite the lingering effects of the war.

She got up from her desk and began to pace, her mind returning to events closer to home. A High Council! Well they were not going to get that. But desperate measures may well be needed. The anarchy hadn’t lasted as long as they had hoped and if the Federation didn’t make moves to regain the lost colonies soon it may well be too late. If there were further losses then, what loyalty she had amongst the ranks, her own legacy from the war, might well melt away.

Servalan stared, unseeing, in front of her as she paced. It would be several years before the Federation could afford to fight a major war again, or even be able to do so. Her fleet was the probably the largest available for the moment but it wasn’t big enough for her purposes and with so many of the construction yards and supply depot destroyed, or outside of Federation control, it was going to be some time before any real enlargement was possible. Just one or two Liberator class ships would have made a great deal of difference. But there was still a chance, and that would convince those she needed to agree to her demands.

Servalan resumed her seat smiling to herself, without Avon on board the chances of capturing Liberator and Orac would have improved significantly! With just a little luck Tarrant and the others would deliver the ship into her hands sooner rather than later. As for whatever Avon may or may not have done to prevent her getting access to it….? Well there was bound to be a way around his measures. Yes, the situation could still be recovered. Carnell would do his best, and his best was usually impressive, and Avon would give her teleport and maybe more. Then she would make a concerted effort to capture Liberator itself. With all of that she would be so powerful that no one would be able to challenge her. She would rebuild her empire. With another smile Servalan turned back to the intelligence reports.

***

Avon came to consciousness slowly, the pain dragging him back to a reality he had hoped he would have quit for good this time. As the hard light of the cell dispelled the darkness he lay and wondered why he was still alive and relatively intact.

All the time with Blake he had lived in fear of this, fear of what would happen if they caught him. He wasn’t a physical coward he knew that, he’d stood out against pain before; but he had lived in fear of the decisions he knew he would have to make, the responsibility he would have to assume for people who should have meant nothing to him, and yet did. Somehow after the incident at the space station, in the Blake days, he had known it wouldn’t be that simple. He’d never worked out why he had gone back when logic told him to stay, but he had and he had survived because of it. From that time on he had lived in fear of this.

Now the time was here; Servalan wanted something badly, and it seemed that she wasn’t going to let them kill him until she had it. Well she was going to be disappointed; he wasn’t going to be the one who gave it to her. He’d planned carefully but there was still too much that could go wrong. If he had been sure that they wouldn’t find a way to undo his careful precautions he might have sacrificed them all, but somehow, now it came to it, he just couldn’t take the risk.

He sighed slightly, biting his lip against the pain that surged with the expelled breath. Was Blake here after all, here and still alive? Was he being kept as a last card? Tell us about Liberator or we execute Blake? Seemed likely that sooner or later it would come to that if they had Blake. What would he do then? If he was honest with himself he didn’t know and didn’t want to find out. Dying would be simpler.

Or maybe it was the other way around; Blake was being expected to recall the ship in return for keeping him alive. Was Blake that much of a fool? Avon rapidly reviewed his memories of Blake and came to the conclusion that maybe he was. Blake would probably stand out if it was his own safety but that damned sentimental loyalty of his would make it harder when it meant one of his so called crew dying in front of him. Loyalty and that equally damned optimism of his.

Maybe that was why he was still alive; they were prolonging the process of his death to put pressure on Blake. Wonderful! Either way this could go on for some significant time yet; there were many ways they could hurt him, to make him wish for death without actually delivering it.

Avon turned slowly onto his side and curled into a ball, it eased the pain in his stomach and stretched the muscle spasm in his back; it also helped him to blot out the light he didn’t want to see anymore. He’d been here before, more than once, but this was surely going to be the last time. If he could keep focussed on that then maybe he could get through it with some measure of defiance, if not dignity. This cell, their demands, were all irrelevant to him now, he was done with it. The circle was closed and he wanted no more of it. Strange how easily he had accepted that, he had always thought that survival had been all that mattered. Maybe there was more than one form of survival.

Anna, was it Anna? Had he died with her in that cellar, was that it? Had he been on borrowed time since then? Even that didn’t matter any more.

They had hoped he would give in when he realised the others weren’t coming for him this time, their continued return to the others apparent desertion of him made that clear. It was all he could do not to laugh at them, in fact he thought he might have done so. If only they knew how much satisfaction it had given him, to know that the plan had worked and that Liberator was safely on its way to Kaliferon, away from Servalan and her ambitions. The course he had set had been a masterpiece of evasive manoeuvres and it was unlikely they would be spotted; he had been well taught by one of the best. It would be a while before Servalan would know where it had disappeared to.

After that….. well that was none of his concern, and anyway he’d already laid his plans. His actions would hang over them all wherever they went; the only consolation was that they would never know it. Suspect it maybe, but never know. What happened to Liberator if Servalan got hold of it had been decided a long time ago, if the others were still on board it would be their fate too. Still they would understand that. At least some of them would; with a twisted smile he sent a last, silent, apology to Vila who wanted to live forever.

That message for Cally, he shouldn’t have left it he knew that; but someone had to know, to understand. Somehow he couldn’t leave Cally with the image of him in the teleport, even though he couldn’t bring himself to think about why. Tarrant and Dayna would forget him soon enough, Vila probably wouldn’t have expected anything else. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave Cally like that. Stupid!

He pulled his knees tighter to his chest, ignoring the pain that washed through him as he moved. They’d never find Blake now of course; at least, not if he was here on Terminal. Servalan would kill them both when she didn’t get what she wanted. But they might find Jenna, and without Blake she would be happy to take them to safety and get rich. Jenna and Cally together would make short work of Tarrant, and Vila would support them, they would be safe. Soon it wouldn’t matter any more, Servalan would fall and the crumbling Federation would have better things to do than chase them. Avon sighed slightly, so near and yet so far. If only he hadn’t followed that message he too would have been safe and rich soon. Not that there was any point in thinking about that now.

For a while he lay without thinking at all. Half waking, half sleeping, but with some part of him listening for any sound that might tell him what was happening outside the cell door and what to expect. For a long while there was nothing but the hiss of the ventilation systems, and the sound of his own thundering heart. At least there were no screams here, not like on Earth. Not that the silence was any less threatening.

When the footsteps began he came fully awake. When they stopped out side the door he felt no surprise, just the sinking in his stomach before sheer will power drove the fear away and replaced it by anger. He rolled over and sat up to face the door as it opened.

The surprise came with the new arrival. A man; tall, lanky, untidy, and with a nondescript face betrayed by a pair of clever eyes. A new face, and for all the homely air it was not reassuring. This man was not in uniform and it was hard to imagine that anyone so haphazard in appearance could ever wear one, he was dressed in plain blue with a lived in look. Only those eyes warned Avon that the end might have just walked through the door. Then the newcomer smiled, a polite smile with an edge of a strange curiosity, and suddenly something in him was sure.

Behind the newcomer were two guards and one of the interrogation squad. In her hands was a small tray. Avon saw it and fought to repress a shudder of terror, every ounce of defiance and willpower required to keep the stony expression in place.
The guards came to stand one each side of him catching his upper arms and pushing him back against the wall. He saw the man in blue take something from the tray before he turned with a look of concentration on his face. His eyes roved over Avon for a second or two before speaking to the guards in a flat, even, voice, but the calm more threatening than any rage,
“His neck I think.” the voice had a pleasant resonance.

The guards pushed him harder against the wall, the woman put the tray onto the bunkl then, reaching over the guard’s shoulder, she grasped his hair and pulled his head towards her. The guards tightened their grip, their gloved finger biting into the muscle as the stranger came closer. The woman turned his head further and he felt fingers probing into the junction of his neck and shoulder. The terror nearly overcame him then, only stubborn pride and fury prevented him shuddering and trapped the rising scream in his chest. Then the fingers found what they were looking for, he felt the stab of a pressure point then the short hiss of a hypo.

“Lie him down”
The man’s voice was composed and authoritative and Avon felt the guards pull him around and push him onto his back. He wanted to deny them the pleasure, to fight back; to sit up again. But his body let him down. A feeling of warmth was running through his limbs taking all strength with it. The faces surrounding him suddenly seemed a long way away, their shape and colour fading with the growing distance. A noise by the door caused them to look away and as their eyes left him so their faces faded to line and shadow, all detail and life gone.

He waited for the pain to sear his nerve ending but it didn’t come. Instead his body retreated away from him as the world had done. Now even sounds seemed to be the whispered echoes of another world. Only the light got brighter, taking over his brain and flooding every part of his mind with a white glare. The last thing Avon was aware of was an all-consuming light and an all-embracing fear.

***

It had been a long and difficult meeting. Too many questions and not enough answers, and the need to evade even some of those he did have. One positive thing had emerged though, a very useful communication between Liberator and two of it’s crew had been recorded suggesting that the ship had experienced some damage and had been in danger for a while. That supported Avon’s drugged ramblings about that last flight. The communication left some doubt about the course of events but it seemed likely that the cloud they had flown through on the way here was responsible for the damage, tracing that would not be difficult and scouts had already been dispatched. The event would prove a useful hook; sticking to the truth, as far as possible, was always the best strategy

The ship had managed to get away successfully so they had to assume that whatever damage had occurred had not been irreparable, but that communication had cemented an idea in Carnell’s mind. Given him a clearer picture of how they could move forward; he made a note to review it for himself.

Servalan, of course, would be furious if she discovered that two of the Liberator crew had been on the base undetected; and murderous if she found out just how long it had taken them to realise the existence and importance of this particular communication. She couldn’t have done anything about it at the time, there wasn’t anything else in the vicinity that had enough range, let alone power, to follow Liberator even if she were travelling at significantly reduced speed, but that wouldn’t hamper her vindictiveness. The reality of working for Servalan again had come home to Carnell with the force of a plasma bolt. They would keep the recording of the conversation between Tarrant and Cally and the Liberator to themselves for as long as they could.

Now he was tired and about as depressed as he ever let himself feel. As the heads of department drifted away he felt an unexpected reluctance to be alone. It was late but he knew he would be unable to sleep for some time yet. His deputy stood on the far side of the room, scanning the report from security; and, surrendering to a rare impulsive inner prompting, he went and stood behind him
"Will you join me for a drink Chalco?"

The other man looked up in surprise, he knew as well as anyone the solitary nature of his superior; and a look of wary gratification appeared on his face. Carnell smiled inwardly, how absurdly easy people were to please, even his own people.
"There are some things we should clear up and my quarters are more comfortable than here".
Chalco nodded,
"And less vulnerable to eavesdroppers" he suggested.
Carnell inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement, less vulnerable than even Chalco suspected.

As they strolled the corridors his deputy filled him in on the prisoner’s progress.
"They have completed all medical checks and he seems to be in remarkably good shape given his years on the run. Servalan hit him hard but not hard enough to have done any real damage; some swelling, a few bruises, no cerebral bleeding. The interrogators have not been gentle but they have been careful. All his residual injuries are easily treated. He'd have a headache and some general pain if we let him wake up, but needless to say we are not going to let him do any such thing. Other than that he is pretty fit, probably fitter than I am. Some minor traces of previous injuries of various ages but all well healed with no, or minimal, scar tissue.”
He paused for thought for a moment for going on,
“Liberator medical facilities must have been very good, better than even the best Federation facilities. But it seems he didn’t play an entirely passive role in Blake's activities. Nor since, some of the injuries were quite recent."

Carnell nodded
"Other than that?" he queried.
The other man consulted a file,
"His current bio structure profile bears out his level of fitness and seems to indicate that he has undergone only the minimal level of molecular repair to be expected for someone of his chronological span and grade. Even so there is no sign of DNA decay or cell slip, and the tests indicate a near optimum enzyme pattern. There is no sign of radiation damage to any of his tissues at any level, which is surprising given his history. Convict areas on transport ships are not well screened and some damage would have been inevitable while on the transport. Cellular and metabolic repair has obviously been repeated during his time on Liberator. At the muscle and organ level he appears to be as I said, physically much fitter than I might have expected given his known interests.”
He closed the file,
“We will have to make sure that we maintain that."
He raised his eyes to meet Carnell's
"There is no reason why he shouldn't stand up to the planned programme well from a physical standpoint. At present they have him in stasis."

They entered Carnell's quarters as the other man finished his report. Crossing to the table Carnell picked up a glass and indicated to his deputy, whose eager nod suggested that he was well aware of his boss's taste and approved. Carnell might be cool and remote most of the time but he was no puritan. He waved the other man to a chair. Chalco sat, determined to appear at his ease, lying back into its soft contours and forcing himself to relax even when a full glass was placed in his hand.

Carnell stood and looked down at his deputy as he sprawled in the chair. Chalco was tall but not excessively so; despite this he gave the impression that his limbs were too long for him to be able to control them properly, and even in repose there was always the suggestion that he was going to move suddenly and unpredictably. Why was it that the man always looked untidy Carnell wondered? No matter what he wore he always looked as if he should be minding a third rate bar on some frontier repair station. If frontier repair stations still existed.

Still appearances were often deceptive and he had to admit that Chalco showed both great promise and more nerve than many of his recent colleagues. Carnell had often wondered how most of them would have fared if they had had to work within the Federation, somehow he couldn’t help speculating how many of them would have been transported or even 'modified' by now. Terrible euphemism. Still it served its purpose he supposed, it blinded many of the populace to the reality of the process, or allowed them to convince themselves that it did.

Chalco, he felt, would have avoided such a fate much as he himself had, by superior wit.

Carnell concentrated on Chalco's bent head as the other man took his first sip then stared down into his glass, his mind apparently lost in admiring the deep amber depths of the contents. He smiled inwardly at the look, one thing in his current employers favour was that they didn’t stint on the provision of recreational aids; in fact they provided the best brandy he had ever come across outside of the Federation President's office.

For a second some part of his brain drifted off to wonder about Chalco and why he had been assigned to this particular job. He was no innocent apprentice, so the likelihood was that there was some other reason. Carnell suppressed a small sigh, there always was. But they had to work together and so there was no point devoting too much energy to speculation at this stage. Later, well who could say?

Carnell sipped his own drink and crossed to the chair opposite. Chalco looked up, his limp muddy coloured hair flopping across his wide brow and tangling in his dust coloured eyebrows;
"Two questions" he asked looking Carnell straight in the face with no pretence of subservience.
"Only two?" the tone was flippant but the meaning was not.
The other man smiled,
"For the moment"
Carnell nodded and smiled back
"Probably wise, otherwise neither of us would get to bed tonight. Which two of the many are you concerned about for now?"
Chalco tilted his head to the side, as if considering the question, and took another sip of his drink before speaking,
"Firstly do you think she has told us the whole truth and secondly can we do it?"

Carnell gave Chalco a long look then inclined his head,
"Of course you have never had the pleasure of dealing with Servalan before have you?”
Carnell took another swallow,
“No of course she hasn’t told us the whole truth, any more than we have told her all we know or suspect. Servalan would consider it negligent to trust us with any thing more than she absolutely had to. It is why she is still alive and in power. Don’t let the pretty, extravagant, appearance fool you, that's just part of the powerplay. She may have risen to the top because of her connections, but who in Space Command didn’t? But she is also much more competent than that or her appearance would suggest, and quite ruthless. Nor is she as easily distracted as she might at first seem to be."
"So what hasn’t she told us do you think?" Chalco prompted.

Carnell was quiet for a moment marshalling his thoughts. Chalco was too acute to approach carelessly.
"Well she been honest to a degree about the type of information she wants out of him, the co-operation she wants; though I don’t think she has told us about all she suspects he can offer.
He savoured his brandy in silence for a moment, then smiled at the man opposite,
“It would be obvious to anyone that she would want whatever Liberator technology she could get access to. A ship that held off a fleet, if only for a short while, what military commander wouldn’t want it? But teleport alone would be a major coup and would do much towards rebuilding Federation credibility in the short term.”
He took another sip from his glass,
“But I think there is something more, she wants something else too."
Chalco met his eyes steadily
"Any ideas about what it might be?"

Carnell paused for a moment wondering how much to tell him. He trusted Chalco as much as he trusted anyone, but then that wasn’t a great deal. Even so if they were to work together on this project, the other man, and some of the other people involved, would need to know at least a part of what was suspected. Anyway it was possible that he had other sources of information, indeed, Carnell admitted to himself, he would be disappointed in his deputy, and his employers, if he didn’t. He pushed his lips and looked blandly at the figure now sitting very upright in the other chair,
"Something to do with what happened at Kairos."