[GP + 6 months]
        Seated near the mouth of the cavern that housed Ro's council chamber, Jenna drank in the rich smell of the twilit forest below. In the red glow of the westering sun, leaves glistened from a recent shower, a tiny waterfall babbled down the rock face nearby. Since her arrival she had formed the habit of coming here to watch the ceremony of nightfall as huge flocks of birds settled noisily into the trees and the nocturnal hunters took up their patrol. Silence never reigned here, the air vibrated to strigilations of insects and the croaks of small amphibians. At first her unaccustomed ear had found it disturbing, almost overwhelming, but now she surrendered to its ambience with a rapt pleasure. Was she putting down roots, or was the place flinging its tendrils around her?
        Selma's entry was so soft-footed that only the slight waft of an air current betrayed her presence as she seated herself beside Jenna. They exchanged smiles and sat in companionable silence for several minutes.
        "He is down there again, tonight," said Selma as the darkness complete its advance.
        Jenna nodded. Avon had established a sentinel post on a rocky ledge by the waterfall where he spent brooding hours, apparently indifferent to sun or rain, waiting for her verdict and his sentence. He seemed to have relinquished all control to her, inwardly engrossed in morbid thoughts, teetering on the edge of destruction. Sometimes she feared she might discover his broken body on the rocks below.
        "He punishes himself, does he not?" Selma continued reflectively. "I was so shocked when I heard what happened, I didn't know how you could bear to look at him, let alone bring him with you. But watching him, I begin to understand something of the sickness in his mind and thoughts of retribution have faded into...pity, I think." She turned her head to search Jenna's face for her response.
        Jenna did not smile but acknowledged her comment with a thoughtful look.
        "Well, to Ro, I would say that as a leader, I must put aside personal feelings and use Avon's talents to further my cause. But to you Selma, as one woman to another, I have to admit to very similar thoughts. I actually hate to see him this way, I would prefer the old sarcastic gibes to this silence. You're right, punishment is quite unnecessary now. I have just been letting the time pass -- time for thought. The last thing we must do is make hasty decisions, but I tell you this, I'm going to work his tail off!"
        As if on cue, the lights came on and the cave mouth was secured by a shimmering force field. They rose to their feet, smiling their accord, and turned their steps toward the dining room.

Avon, too, was watching the approach of night, the gradual appearance of the stars and one of Silmarino's three little satellites. But there was no moonlight to complete the scene. Most Earth-dwellers were unfamiliar with moonlight, but he had once spent nearly two years on a classified project based in the isolation of the Andaman Islands where conditions were so primitive that personnel were accommodated in surface dwellings among the palm trees.
        Many of his colleagues blenched at nature in the raw and shunned the beaches in particular, but he would stroll on the sand listening to the rollers booming on the shore and watching the moon rise, flooding the world with a mysterious white light. He carefully kept his enjoyment to himself, knowing that it would mark him as a potential `outsider' in the minds of the authorities; knowing too, that he was already an irredeemable outsider. The return to civilization had been traumatic, to be immured in the city once more was difficult to endure. Now he began to cast around for the means to escape.
        No, these moonlets were too small to reflect any noticeable light and the stars were thin out here on the edge of the galaxy, especially when the planet's dark side was facing infinity, as it did at this time of year. Midnight would be dark indeed.
        The question that dogged his mind was, "Why should I labour to make reparation and be forgiven for Blake's death?"
        And back came the implacable answer. "Because I cannot forgive myself. I cannot live with myself." And if he could not, only suicide lay ahead. He contemplated it for a while. Easy -- step forward and jump.
        *He fears death?* A familiar voice questioned in his head. No Cally, yet I can't imagine you counselling self-destruction, with the task uncompleted. I could yet do the Federation a lot of damage and Jenna is right, stealth and deceit will probably accomplish more than open opposition or any guerilla campaigns ever did. And if I did jump, that would be their final victory, Servalan's final victory; and I will not give her that satisfaction.
        The tide of abnegation which had flooded his soul was gradually receding, leaving him half drowned on some unfamiliar strand, while the will to survive slowly reasserted itself. Reparation was, after all, the traditional means of rehabilitation. Well Jenna, what do you want me to do for you?

The sun beat down on Selma as she picked her way carefully down the steep path to Avon's rock. Remembering its difficulties, she had slung her small wicker hamper across her back to leave both hands free. At the last bend she paused to get her breath back and greet him composedly. From a few feet away she could see how gaunt he was, although the nine-days' tan of his exposure gave him a spurious air of health. She moved forward again, making a small sound with her sandalled foot to warn him of her presence. He turned his head casually, but a quick flick of his eyebrows showed her that he was astonished to see who his visitor was. He rose courteously and offered his hand to help her scramble across the last slab of rock. She joined him with a smile and sat on the rocky bench.
        "This is a fine day for an outdoor lunch," she remarked as she opened the hamper. With a gesture, she invited him to resume his seat and he complied. The food was simple and not too abundant, the two wooden cups they filled from the waterfall and they wiped their fingers on the plain napkins she had wrapped the bread in.
        "Not many queens would climb down a cliff to feed a prisoner," he said. His face had lightened and he was making an effort at conversation.
        "Few queens have ever slaved in a mine, either." She smiled to take the seriousness out of that statement. "It reminds me that we owe you an enormous debt. Without the coming of the Liberator, I would be dead, and thousands with me. Ro would probably be dead too, or reduced to a puppet of the commissars, and without your rescue, all your companions, including Blake, would have died too."
        "I came within an inch of abandoning him." It seemed easy to tell her this. "I still don't really know why I didn't... couldn't."
        "Our instincts sometimes make us act contrary to our reason," she said thoughtfully. "I couldn't really tell you why I held out against the commissars, even in the mines, even to the extent of putting my life on the line. I just knew I must. And the experience gave me something, an authority perhaps, which has been a great advantage to me ever since. Yes, I am a believer in instincts. Are you?"
        "I have seen it work for others, but I always distrusted it for myself, and it certainly tells me nothing now."
        "I think you are a prisoner of your own mind, Avon. I suppose you feel you can never be forgiven for what happened on Gauda Prime, yet your companions are already more than half way towards it." She stared across the valley absently.
        "It's a strange thing, forgiveness. I had to forgive Ro for allowing them to send me to the pits, otherwise we couldn't have gone on together. And it happened. It took Ro longer to forgive himself. I had to be very patient with him."
        "You had your love to carry you through." He spoke slowly, almost dreamily, also staring out over the treetops. "We don't have that. What can we substitute for it to carry us across our gulf?"
        "You have long companionship and a common purpose," she answered softly. "I am certain that none of you wish to give up and let the Federation swallow the whole galaxy, and so you need each other still." She fell silent, observing him sideways. She felt too young and inexperienced to deal competently with so complex a personality, fresh from devastating losses. To cover her uncertainty she gathered the leftovers, packed the basket and stood up with a rather shy smile.
        "I hope you will join us this evening at dinner."
        He got to his feet politely. "I will come," he promised gravely.
        As she climbed the steep track she wondered if he was just being courteous, as one would to a child. On the other hand, she had achieved her objective.

Vila was surprised to find Avon in the anteroom that evening, dressed in his own clothes, too. Things were beginning to look up. He helped himself to a tankard of fruit juice and furtively added a measure of spirit from his flask. It made a very pleasant combination, and after a few mouthfuls, feeling relaxed and well-disposed, he sidled over to Avon and greeted him.
        "Left your rock at last, I see. Like a bit of vodka in that drink?"
        Somewhat to Vila's surprise, Avon nodded. "Come to any conclusions down there?" he asked as he splashed the liquor into the tumbler.
        "Yes, some." Avon sipped his drink, raised an eyebrow in appreciation and drank the rest.
        Anything he might have added was lost as approaching footsteps heralded the main party -- Jenna, Ro, Selma and Brig, accompanied by two strangers: a woman and an older man, black-browed, dark-eyed and grey bearded. The woman was probably Margit, but who was the man? He looked a formidable character, Vila thought, stifling the urge to hide his tankard guiltily behind him.
        Brig made the introductions. "My sister Margit, of whom you have heard me speak, and Mikhail Brand, our uncle."
        We haven't heard you speak of him, thought Vila, you've kept him very dark.

Dinner was more convivial than he expected. Vila manoeuvred himself alongside Margit, "the born troublemaker" and made himself pleasant. This was not particularly difficult as she was readily disposed to enjoy herself. The merry gleam lurking in her green eyes commended her to Vila. So this was the lady who had jumped out of a paddy-wagon and legged it to freedom. Not an easy thing to manage, as he knew from personal experience. She looked the part, taller than he was and obviously athletic. He guessed her age at the late forties. Cheerfully attractive now, she must have been quite something twenty years ago.
        From time to time he glanced at the others. Selma and Ro were clearly engrossed by Mikhail, Jenna and Brig conversed quietly and Avon was for the most part silent. Vila was sure he was listening to Mikhail's voice. He recalled their meeting with amusement, the clash of eyes like duellists saluting before the fray. Sparks might fly, he told himself, secretly enjoying the prospect. It shouldn't be too difficult to get Margit to talk about Mikhail, the man's aura of power intrigued Vila immensely.
        He turned back to Margit's explanation of Keledon's custom of temporary marriage. "Three husbands in fourteen years," he said admiringly, "it sounds so much more amusing than the usual life sentence."
        "Believe me Vila, it is," she returned.
        "Is Mikhail a Keledonian resident too?" he enquired innocently.
        "You mean, how many wives has he had?" Margit's knowing smile suddenly made her look very like Jenna. "Five, at the last count. I think Irena will hold onto him now -- a clever woman, Irena."

Ro presided over the meeting in his council chamber the following day. Apart from Selma, none of his own people were present, only his visitors were seated round the table. Beside Jenna on a spare chair, was Orac, activated. Vila wondered wryly if Orac had complained at being used as a recording device. A hush fell, Ro was beginning.
        "As you know, our isolation since the Federation people left us, has been complete. We knew virtually nothing of the Andromedan invasion, no battles were fought in this sector, no fugitives came our way and no Federation ships have returned to re-establish control over us. During these years of peace, we have returned to the ways of our ancestors, apart from some technological advances: the legacy of the Federation. Now you tell me that they are reclaiming their empire, planet by planet, and although their activities are directed to the other side of the galaxy, we cannot expect them to forget us, or Monopasium 239. So we have to consider our best course of action: can we protect ourselves in any way?" He looked directly at Jenna, plainly signaling her to speak.
        "Yes." Jenna sat very upright in her chair. "Sooner or later, the Federation must feel strong enough to come back for the M239, and then Ro, you have nothing to fight them with. If you attempt to resist, they will surely exterminate you and bring in a mining consortium and new colonists."
        Several of her audience nodded their agreement but there was a general air of expectation. She was about to propose something.
        "That mining consortium will have to be us," she said simply.

"Mechanised mining?" queried Avon. "No slave workers, no Federation guards?"
        "Correct."
        "Then you must have some scheme in mind to raise the finance for equipment and expertise," Avon stated calmly.
        Oho, thought Vila, is this where Mikhail comes in?
        "If you are thinking of acquiring an existing company then it must be based in Federation territory, I don't see them allowing neutrals into Horizon."
        This time it was Mikhail who nodded, his face wore a faint smile of satisfaction.
        "Furthermore," Avon continued, "to get the concession you will need a High Councillor or two in your pocket, and that will also take real money. We are, of course, fortunate that corruption is so rife among them that no suspicion would be aroused by such tactics, but the problem remains, how are you going to raise the capital?"
        Jenna made no reply, but looked him straight in the eye.
        "You intend me to hack into the banking system again, don't you?"
        "And with Orac to help you," she said, "you should succeed this time."
        "Hang about a minute!" Vila was moved to protest. "That means the Federation gets the Mono-whatsit and that helps them to gobble up the rest of the galaxy, doesn't it? He sat back in some confusion as every eye turned to him.
        "A good point," Margit interposed. "One that deserves discussion."
        Vila warmed to her support.
        "The Federation will get some of it," Jenna agreed, "but I have the feeling that the yield will be disappointing, and the seam could run out altogether in a few years." Her expression was one of grave innocence.
        "You're going to do a Belkov," said Vila admiringly. "But watch out, they rumbled him. You will have to be smarter."
        "To do him justice," said Avon, "he had us to contend with as well as the authorities, otherwise he might well have got away with it." He redirected his attention to Jenna. "This could take a long time to set up, years maybe. Can we be sure that we have enough time before the Federation moves?"
        It was Mikhail who answered him. "I know of someone who has the option to acquire a mining supply company on Parthia Minor. It is in financial difficulties and I am a creditor. We could raise a loan to buy it out and your preliminary, ah, operations should be able to finance the necessary re-equipment and expansion programme. Remember, we must run some legitimate operations for cover, as well."
        Manage that properly, thought Vila, and we could end up legitimately rich. Things were looking up.
        As if she read his mind, Margit threw cold water on this.
        "All this might well make us prosperous, but what has it to do with bringing down the Federation?"
        Jenna smiled faintly.
        "If we're honest, we all admit that direct opposition has failed. The only way forward I can see, is to infiltrate their commercial economy and all levels of government. From there we can worm our way into all their systems and corrupt them -- drain their lifeblood away."
        "Are you sure their systems won't corrupt us?" said Margit caustically. "And such a project will take thousands of people to carry out. Most of us can't show our faces in Federation territory so we'll have to trust others, which gives you a massive security problem."
        Hear, hear, thought Vila, she's speaking my lines for me. Aloud, he added, "It sounds to me like you're going to turn us into the Terra Nostra, and they may not like that."
        "Another good point," said Avon. "The Terra Nostra could be more of a danger than Federation security, and as we know, they are the underbelly of the government." There was a hint of the old relish in his voice which was not lost on Jenna.
        "Why don't we spread the good news about the President being the secret boss of the Terra Nostra?" chipped in Vila. "I always thought that was a missed opportunity."
        Avon and Jenna considered this for a moment, remembering their own experiences with that organisation. Jenna's eyes narrowed vengefully. "I wouldn't mind setting them at each others' throats," she said grimly. "Orac can trace their command hierarchy and start the rumours flying.
        "I don't deny that we shall have to be exceedingly careful," she continued, "but I don't believe we will need as many helpers as Margit thinks. Orac alone is worth hundreds."
        "Ah yes, Orac," Avon drawled this out thoughtfully. "I wonder how the Sardoans are making out these days."
        Vila looked up sharply, sure of what was coming next.
        "Perhaps they would be prepared to make us some duplicates in the matter transformers. I take it, Orac, that you could locate Sardos again?"
        "Of course I can." Orac sounded faintly offended.
        "Would duplicate Oracs have his memory, or would they be empty?" Vila wondered.
        "It hardly matters, they could soon acquire the data from the original. Assuming of course, that they actually work."
        "Duplicate Oracs? Worth a very long trip, would you say?" queried Jenna.
        "Perhaps not immediately, but in a while, yes. Am I right in thinking that you want to reconstruct the teleport?"
        "Fairly essential for coming and going discreetly," answered Jenna. "And all our movements are going to be discreet from now on." But the old adventurous smile belied her cautious words. "It must have a high priority."
        "I agree. We must take care to keep its existence a secret, though. If the Federation get wind of it, they'll know who the proprietors must be."
        No more appearing and disappearing under their very noses, thought Vila, and no more wearing those very obvious bracelets. Somebody will have to think of something less conspicuous. Still, it looked as if nobody would be expecting any heroics from him.

"Returning to the topic of making a bid for the mining concession," said Mikhail looking across at Ro, "timing is all-important. Impatience may be fatal, but no one will surprised if a commercial concern starts making delicate enquires. We must make up some cover story to account for our knowledge of M239 -- perhaps somebody gossiped to a friend?"
        "The assistant commissar, I should think," Ro took up the theme. "He was always a malcontent, just the sort to complain to his friends about being stuck in the back of beyond, overseeing a mine. We still have his communication equipment, I am sure you have the expertise to hack in and fake something."
        "What will you tell your people, Ro, if we succeed in restarting the mining? We don't want to encounter resistance from them, or if the Federation insist on sending overseers or inspectors, we don't want any gossip either."
        "A certain amount of the truth, I think. You are independents, you will not be using human workers but machines. One thing, will mechanised mining be very unsightly and disruptive?"
        "As I recall," said Jenna, catching Selma's eye and smiling faintly, "the seam is very narrow, miniature robot techniques should do the job with a minimum of disturbance." She looked around the table. "Well, I haven't heard anyone say `you're crazy'. Do I take it that you more or less agree with the ideas put forward?"
        The others were nodding. Vila stealing a sideways glance at Avon, was not amazed to see him remain motionless. If he didn't co-operate, they were in trouble. He himself didn't really count, no one took much notice of his opinion. He kept as still as Avon.
        "Avon? Vila?" Jenna's voice was quiet, but it startled him somehow. She didn't really want his consent, did she? He made a confused gesture, then to his relief, Avon spoke.
        "I will do my part, but I can make no promises, it may not work. As to the rest, we shall have to see."
        Trust Avon to qualify everything, but Vila found himself nodding.

    "Orac, do you have the location of the Shadow refinery on Zondar? I know you were occupied with other matters at the time, did you record it?"

    "Of course I did, Avon."

    "Have you got the key to any of Space Command's current codes?"

    "I have."

    "Send the Supreme Commander orders to seize the planet and destroy the refinery -- from the President, of course."

    "And the personnel?"

    "Summary execution is Space Command's favourite solution. Give the order for no prisoners."

© Copyright Vega (Frances Teagle), 1999.
This story may be printed for individual use, but must not be stored as a computer file or reproduced for sale or distribution.