[GP + 14 months]
Months later an elderly pleasure cruiser sidled cautiously towards its
invisible destination, specially adapted sensors feeling for the few
clues to its existence that Sardos permitted to escape. On the flight
deck a tense group watched the instruments before them.
"Are you sure it's still here?" Vila asked Avon yet again. "How do
you know they haven't shifted the whole thing? Their technology could
be capable of that."
"I'm not, I don't, and it could," came the inevitable reply, delivered
calmly and without apparent irritation. "Nevertheless, we shall
persist. Now get on with your scan."
At the captain's console, Jenna permitted her attention to focus on
Avon and Vila for a moment. On the whole she felt a considerable
satisfaction with progress so far: the reconstruction and improvement
of the teleport; some successful pilfering from the Federation banking
system and the subsequent acquisition of the mining equipment company
- all these were a promising start. She regarded the bickering of
her colleagues with indulgence, smiling amity from those two would be
unnatural. She was not greatly disturbed by Avon's silent antagonism
to Mikhail Brand either. Most of it could be seen as a response to
Brand's unmistakeable aura of power. Although Avon himself found
leadership onerous and unwelcome, he disliked the imposition of
another's authority still more. Mikhail was aware of this and adroitly
avoided further confrontations. She herself had dropped into the role
of colleague, albeit the one with the casting vote, a situation which
Avon appeared to accept with equanimity. With tact and diplomacy on
her side they were collaborating reasonably well.
"Information!" Everyone snapped to attention as the navigation
computer spoke. "Sensors have detected microwave signals. We are
probably in the immediate vicinity of Sardos."
"Reverse thrust and stop," ordered Jenna. "Launch the probe."
"Probe launched."
Leaning back in her chair, apparently at ease, Jenna observed the
increased tension in Avon's stance. His probe was being put to the
test, as was his whole scheme. A lot of planning and electronic
research had gone into this project, secrecy at all costs had been
their watchword. Orac had combed Federation records for any trace of
Servalan's expedition to Sardos or Grose's contacts with her or the
penal colony at Calcos and drawn a complete blank, apart from
revealing the cover story for her prolonged absence. The lady had
convinced her councillors that she had been conducting secret
negotiations with one of the neutral confederations, her smiling
return apparently signalling success. Of her crew, presumably sworn
to silence or killed, there was no trace. Nevertheless, the
possibility remained that a word of mouth account had reached the High
Council, and they had taken over the planet and its matter
transformers. Another danger was posed by the convicts and remnants of
the Fifth Legion. Were they still there, or had they abandoned Sardos?
All in all this was the biggest risk so far, reflected Jenna. But she
agreed with Avon that denying the Federation the dangerous advantage
of Sardoan technology was more important even than acquiring it for
themselves.
In the back of her mind revolved the problem of Servalan. Her first
impulse to inform the High Council of Sleer's true identity, had been
checked. She could not rely on them exterminating her without argument
or delay. The temptation to haul her before the investigators for
interrogation would almost certainly be too great. No, they could not
risk Servalan's knowledge becoming common currency. In Jenna's
opinion, it would have to be an assassin of some sort, and finding
such a person wouldn't be easy. Also, she sensed an irrational
opposition to the idea on Avon's part. She had not broached the
subject again, but she had not dropped the notion either. Servalan had
survived a number of assassination attempts already, and her life of
wary disguise made her a difficult target. Difficult, but not
impossible.
"The probe has passed through the energy barrier," reported the
computer.
Everyone held their breath.
"Signals are being received on the microwave frequencies. Relaying
visuals to main screen."
No face looked more relieved than Avon's as the surface of Sardos
appeared, growing more distinct moment by moment as the probe
descended.
"It looks a lot greener than last time," commented Vila. "Evidently
not winter, thank goodness." Unlike Avon, he had spent several hours
outdoors on his previous visit and recalled the freezing fog with
little pleasure.
"More cover, anyway," Avon acknowledged. "Orac, have you fixed the
probe's position yet? Are we near to Moloch's site?"
"I have. The probe is currently some three hundred and ninety
kilometers from the target building. I have corrected its trajectory
and aerobraking will bring it down to treetop level in eleven minutes
at a distance of eighty-four kilometres from target."
The plan was for the tiny probe to mimic a meteorite, hoping not to
arouse interest from the Sardoan surveillance corps, land and scuttle
for cover, emerging after its operators were satisfied it had not
attracted attention. Then it would make its way unobtrusively to its
destination, where it was to disgorge its roving observer to reconnoitre
and act as a navigational beacon for the landing party. Meanwhile, the
ship would remain in fixed orbit, cloaked and silent.
No action for some hours, decided Vila. He would leave them to it and
return to the shabby comfort of the passenger lounge by way of the
cafeteria.
As he expected, Brig and Margit were playing cards in their usual
corner, when he arrived with his tray. He pulled up a chair beside
them to watch their play as he ate. Having exhausted the possibilities
of the ship's gaming rooms, he found their skillful contests much more
interesting and relaxing. Sometimes he ventured a hand himself,
usually with Jenna, who was roughly his level. Once or twice Avon
had challenged the experts and acquited himself well, mostly, however,
he stuck to involved solitaire games.
Life aboard the Freya progressed leisurely but purposefully during the
long voyage here. Ostensibly the pleasure cruiser was on her way to
the Cepheid System for conversion to a passenger/supply ship for the
company. Indeed, she would eventually keep her appointment with the
shipbuilders, but her departure from the regular shipping lanes was
unlikely to arouse suspicion, she was not accounted of any interest.
Brig and Margit busied themselves in restoring the robot service
systems, most of which were barely functional, the legacy of years of
neglect while the unused vessel was parked in orbit with dozens of
other laid-up ships during a recession. The conversion itself would
raise no eyebrows. The dual-purpose design of the hull was deliberate
and cruise companies routinely advertised their discards as `suitable
for conversion'.
No one queried the acquisition of a variety of electronic supplies,
some of them rather unusual. Most of these were stored in the suite
Avon had converted into his workshop while he constructed the probe.
The spherical rover was based on Ensor's design, culled from Orac's
memory. It roamed the ship under Orac's eccentric control during its
testing period, giving several people a shock with its silent approach
and ability to open doors. If it succeeded in its main task, Avon
planned to make several copies on Sardos.
Vila, too, needed employment. Generally he supervised the cleaning.
Always sensitive to bad smells, he had been much offended by the stale
odours in most of the public rooms and as soon as Margit had fixed the
robot cleaners, he had applied himself to eliminating them and
exterminating the mould which had gained a footing almost everywhere.
The crew's mess hall had been particularly disgusting. Vila was sure
that smoking of heinous substances had been going on there, and his
stomach heaved whenever he crossed the threshold. Clearly no one had
changed an air filter for ages, either; and when the refit came round,
those revolting carpets were going to go.
Furthermore, the ship had become infested with rodents and
cockroaches. Obviously the standard precaution of flooding the ship
with inert gas to prevent this problem, had been neglected. Although
fumigation had seen off the unwelcome guests, the festering remains
had to be winkled out and jettisoned. Vila reckoned their path was
marked with shrivelled rat corpses for weeks. Avon had constructed a
miniature robot retriever to fetch little cadavers out from ducts and
pipes. One large rat had been found alive, and led a merry chase until
Margit cornered it and blasted it with her sidearm. Avon's
`ratcatcher', equipped with a miniature camera, had examined the
piping for flaws at the same time. Orac, told off to monitor its
progress, had complained bitterly at being set such a menial task.
As he reviewed the situation, idly watching his companions, Vila also
felt a good deal of satisfaction. He had made himself at home on
Freya, he was an accepted member of a group again, and they were
about to steal a march on the Federation.
"Artificial night!" Jenna stared up at the dim sky. "I never
expected that."
"I never really gave it a thought, but I imagine that constant
daylight could have an adverse effect on vegetation," commented Avon,
kneeling beside the recovered probe. "Probably the seasons are
artificially controlled as well. It relieves the monotony." He
concealed the probe under the bushes.
"No stars, their energy barrier is opaque both ways." Jenna wondered
privately if they could acquire such a technology and apply it to some
anonymous asteroid for a secret base.
Avon stood up. "This way," he said.
The female crew of the tracking room regarded the visitors with some
alarm, several of them looked pointedly at the intruders' sidearms,
which though still holstered, were obvious.
"Nobody raise your voices," said Jenna softly. She advanced into the
room while Avon took up position by the door. "We think we might be
able to help you."
Vila observed the guests closely as he handed round the refreshments
in Freya's passenger lounge. No Sardoan had ventured into space within
living memory and the shuttle ride had shaken their nerves somewhat.
However, their shock was abating and curiosity was reasserting itself.
He was being careful to hold his tongue. Jenna was insisting on rigid
security, the Sardoans were not to know their identities and Vila was
struggling to remember his pseudonym, `Warren'. It was some time since
he had hidden behind a false identity, a common enough occurrence in
his previous career, and he was anxious not to make mistakes.
Furthermore, he had to remember to address Jenna and Avon by theirs;
`Astra' and `Chevron'. He was glad that Margit and Brig, having no
interplanetary reputations, chose not to bother. Another thing he
knew he must not mention was the teleport. From now on, their comings
and goings would be by Freya's shuttle, unless they were sure they
were unobserved. All this was a bit wearing, but on the whole Vila
applauded Jenna's caution, you never really knew whom you could trust.
Rather than admitting to being rebels, they were representing
themselves as independent neutrals, threatened by Federation
expansion, a plight more likely to gain the Sardoans' support as
fellow sufferers. Even so, the delegates wore a sceptical air.
Hokaida, their leader, was confronting Avon directly.
"You say that two of you visited Sardos on the day that the
Federation President arrived." He was a thin, elegant man with
abundant grey hair. Vila tried to gauge his mood. Was it hostile or
merely cautious?
"That is correct," answered Avon. "We kept her under close
surveillance and followed her here, where we discovered the situation
with Moloch and the Fifth Legion renegades. As you know, their leaders
were killed and Moloch destroyed."
"So, it is to you we owe our release. It is a pity that Colonel
Astrid did not accompany his subordinates to the underworld."
"Oh, you revived him then? Did it prove to be a mistake?"
"The man is very troublesome. He is trying to drill those convicts
into some sort of army and claim this world for the Federation. He
will not listen to reason."
"Where is their troop carrier? The landing strip is empty."
"It left soon after Grose's death, the crew mutinied and deserted.
Colonel Astrid flew into a terrible rage and had several of the guards
shot."
Understandable, Vila felt. Finding yourself stranded on this place
must have been unnerving. The man's luck with his subordinates had
been abysmal, evidently he was not a gifted leader of men.
"What of the convicts?" asked Avon. "How many are there? Are they
well armed?"
"About a hundred and thirty remain, plus twenty or so genuine
troopers. They often fight among themselves and dozens have been
killed. A few of the original troopers have come over to us, the
better sort, and they constitute our security force. Very few of the
convicts have guns. We have managed to confiscate and destroy most of
their sidearms, but of course, they manufacture their own knives,
spears and clubs. We have a sort of truce with them, we supply food
and they keep away from us, but there have been several nasty
incidents, usually involving women." The leader made a gesture of
appeal. "We could certainly do with help, though I suppose you want
something in return. Matter transformation?"
It was Jenna who replied to this. "This technology does lie at the
root of all outside interest." Her manner was calm and friendly.
"You have been right to conceal its existence, for it has most
dangerous implications in the wrong hands. Although I would like you
to make a few copies of some of our more specialised equipment, our
primary concern is to make sure the Federation does not lay hands on
it."
One of the women spoke up for the first time. "I must say, I'm
surprised they didn't return in force and seize everything soon after
the Federation battle cruiser left."
"The President kept her visit a secret," said Avon, "probably
intending to return. However, other matters claimed her attention.
Ourselves, for instance." He gave her one of his rare warm smiles.
Vila noted her dazzled reaction with an inward grin.
Jenna took the lead again. "We can certainly take Colonel Astrid off
your hands, but we don't have the facilities to transport all his men
as well. This vessel isn't designed for security purposes."
"Give 'em a shot of Pylene," said Vila slyly. He half expected
some protest about unethical methods, but his hearers responded with
gratifying interest.
"That's a very good idea," said Jenna, "if only we had some."
"We always carry equipment and ingredients to prepare the antidote."
Avon stood up. "I think we can synthesize the drug itself. I'll go
and check." He left the room to consult Orac.
It had not been deemed advisable to disclose Orac's existence to the
Sardoans. If it were to be duplicated, it would be passed off as
another piece of surveillance equipment, like the rover.
The Sardoan leader turned to Jenna as the door shut behind Avon.
"We are very grateful for your warning about the Federation's use of
this drug, and we can certainly manufacture as much as you want for
distribution to your allies," he said, thawing visibly. "Our own
first priority must be to immunise our entire population - not
particularly difficult, we number less than half a million and I shall
appoint a councillor to organise the operation. As to your own
equipment though, is it military hardware? I should be reluctant to
countenance arms manufacture. If the Federation learned of it,
vengeance would surely be swift."
Jenna acknowledged this with a smile.
"It certainly would, and you can rest assured we have no intention of
putting you at risk like that. Our equipment is mostly surveillance and
communications hardware, none of it large. Our main problem is getting
certain components, or manufacturing the ones we have developed
ourselves. The Federation has spies all over the neutral planets and
we are observing stringent security precautions. You see, all our
operations are disguised as normal civilian commercial activities, so
there are items we can't openly purchase, even if they are available
outside the military field." She could not help a sigh. "It makes
life difficult at times."
Her reassurances were having the desired effect and her visitor was
looking relieved and sympathetic.
"Indeed it must," he said. After a pause, he added, "One thing slightly
puzzles me. We have no record of your first landing here. You just walked
into the tracking room and announced yourselves, then your shuttle came
down with the rest of the party. How did you do that?"
This was the question Jenna had been hoping to avoid, nothing for it now
but to lie.
"Our shuttle has a kind of shield which absorbs your detector beam
instead of bouncing it back," she said carefully. "Since we didn't
know if the Fifth Legion were still in control, as they were when Chevron
was last here, the shuttle landed us secretly and returned to the ship.
We used a miniature mobile scanner to scout around before we contacted
anyone. I can show it to you, I think you'll find it quite interesting."
"Oh, very clever. And very wise."
There was a further pause, then Jenna said, "I would seriously advise
you to station some detector satellites just above the energy barrier,
small passive monitors that won't betray themselves to spacecraft in
the vicinity. They would convert their findings to microwave tightbeam
and relay them through the barrier. You must not be taken by surprise
again."
Hokaida nodded thoughtfully. "Is there anything suitable among the
equipment you wish to duplicate, that could be adapted for the purpose?"
"Probably. Chevron is the expert in that field. We can certainly place
satellites in orbit for you."
"Then it had better be done," said Hokaida.
Meanwhile, during Avon's absence, Vila took it upon himself to explain the
effects of Pylene 50 to the rest of the delegation.
"It should do away with your difficulties with these men," he
concluded. "You can even put them to work, convert them into useful
citizens."
He found the notion quite hilarious and his eyes sparkled with
mischief. His audience was smiling too.
Avon returned with the news that he had programmed production of a
sample batch.
"Kidnap one or two subjects for a trial run," he added blandly.
"Warren can help you."
Vila's amusement vanished abruptly.
Sheltering under a tree from the steady drizzle, Vila clutched his
equipment nervously. The plan seemed simple enough, three security
guards were stalking a couple of convicts under cover of the mist
below. They would bring them up to him, he would administer the drug
and test their reactions. He was glad of Brig's nearby presence, for
he did not entirely trust the ex-Federation troopers. The rain was no
mere coincidence, the Sardoans could control their weather precisely,
and they had programmed this rain to drive the convicts under shelter
and obscure their hunters' movements.
A low whistle from Brig alerted him. Two guards were dragging a man up
the hill, arms handcuffed behind his back and a gag in his mouth. His
eyes glared redly at Vila as they dumped him at the foot of the tree.
Trying to look self-assured, Vila motioned the guards away, bent forward
and administered the drug with the medical laser. Then they all stood
around watching as the brutal truculence faded, to be replaced by a
slightly foolish good humour. Brig undid the gag and the man smiled
dreamily at him. The troopers exchanged a thoughtful look before one
of them produced the handcuff keys and released the captive.
"From now on, you will obey our orders absolutely," said Brig
quietly. "Sit down under that tree and don't move or speak until I
tell you to." The convict complied instantly. Turning to the guards,
Brig instructed them to bring another. They nodded and slipped away,
merging into the mist after a few paces.
Vila and Brig remained silent, watching their prisoner closely. After
about ten minutes they were beginning to relax slightly, when the
sound of approaching voices brought them up to quivering tension
again. Two people were coming down the path from the bluffs and they
were right on top of them. No time to run or hide. Vila swallowed hard
and hung on desperately to his composure.
The leading figure who stepped into view was surely an officer, just
as his companion clearly was not. Suddenly inspired, Vila moved
forward with an ingratiating smile.
"Colonel Astrid?"
Both newcomers promptly drew their sidearms.
"That is correct." The soldier's eyes narrowed suspiciously as he
took in the group before him.
"We were trying to find you, sir," Vila continued swiftly. "The
Sardoan Council would be very pleased if you would attend their
meeting. They have something they want to say to you."
Thank heavens neither he nor Brig had drawn their handguns to cover
the prisoner, that would have given the game away immediately.
"Odd way to look for someone," commented the Colonel suspiciously,
"just standing in the rain."
"Oh no," Vila rushed on blithely, "two of our companions went down
there to search for you. They told us to wait here and not wander off
- we don't know this district like they do."
"Humph," said the Colonel, slightly mollified. "That's one of my
men, what's he doing sitting there?"
"Well, we asked him the way, but we didn't get much of an answer. He
looks a bit drunk to me." Vila's invention was in full flight.
The Colonel's gaze fell on Vila's equipment. "And what have you got
in your hand, eh?"
"A locator," said Vila, "in case we get lost." He smiled guilelessly
at the scowling officer.
Astrid holstered his gun and pushed past him, striding over to where
the seated prisoner was lolling against the trunk, still smiling
uncomprehendingly. His subordinate followed him. As they leaned over
the bewildered captive, upbraiding him, Vila, mouthing a short,
heart-felt prayer, pointed his equipment at their backs and rapidly
pressed the button twice. Holding his breath, he watched their
indignation drain away, to be replaced by serene acceptance. A warm
tide of satisfaction washed through him - he'd done it!
Brig spoke for the first time. "Would you two gentlemen like to sit
and wait for our guides? They won't be long."
Vila moved to the edge of the slope to intercept the returning guards.
When he spotted them, he walked down to meet them with his finger on
his lips. They took the hint, and their second captive was subdued
immediately in total silence. He whispered a rapid explanation to
them, and the party walked up the path to the others.
Vila smiled benignly at his companions.
"Well, gentlemen, shall we join the Council?" he said.
Vila's coup provoked considerable merriment aboard Freya. He revelled
modestly in their congratulations, but of all the compliments that came
his way, the one from Brig pleased him the most.
"I must say, you took my breath away. You're as good a liar as you
are a thief."
"And what are we going to do with the good colonel?" inquired Avon.
"Keep him around as a household pet?"
"Not for long, if I can help it." Jenna lounged comfortably in her
armchair. They had the captain's stateroom to themselves. "If I knew
where Docholli was, I'd get him to do a memory erase, but as it is, I
think we can manage. Astrid's life is the service, giving and taking
orders - authority. He swallowed our story about being undercover
agents sent by the Federation to find him, hook, line and sinker."
"What does that ridiculous phrase mean?"
"Something to do with the gullibility of fish, I believe. Anyway, I
propose to present him with a uniformed senior officer, to whom he can
report his findings, and who will swear him to everlasting secrecy.
The man's own mental make-up will be sufficient guarantee of his
obedience. Mikhail should look impressive in an admiral's uniform,
don't you think?"
Avon's mouth twisted slightly, as it usually did when Mikhail was
mentioned.
One detail Orac had got wrong on their original visit was the size of
the population, which was evidently closer to three hundred thousand
than three hundred. When taxed with this deficiency, Orac snapped
that the data file consulted was obviously inaccurate and he
could hardly be held responsible for that.
It did not take long to round up and `pacify' the rest of the convicts
and legionnaires. Grose's security compound was hastily repaired and
pressed into service to contain them while they were questioned and
assigned to their new duties.
Avon was delegated to oversee the interrogations, Brig was to hold the
fort aboard Freya, while Jenna was to oversee the equipment duplication.
"Come on, you two," said Jenna to Vila and Margit, "we have a great
deal of work to do." She set off at a brisk pace.
Vila winced, but his attempts to dodge anything resembling work were
unsuccessful. With a grin, Margit took him firmly by the arm and
propelled him in Jenna's wake.
"How does it work, do you suppose?" he asked Margit as they trailed
towards the main transmuter building. "I mean, they can't just
conjure the stuff out of thin air, surely?"
"Oh, the transformer?" Margit considered for a moment. "They re-arrange
matter at the sub-atomic level to produce the structure they want, using
rock as their raw material; at least, that's what they told me. The
atmosphere itself is produced and maintained by transformers, they can
clean pollutants out by the same means. It's what the legendary alchemists
were trying to do, transmute lead into gold; only they thought they could
do it by chemical process, this is electronic."
"Oh," said Vila. He had never heard of alchemists before. Being around
Margit made him conscious of the deficiencies of his education. There were
many things he wanted to know, maybe he could use the proposed Orac
duplicate to get the information. He added alchemists to the list.
In front of the security guards Avon concealed his disgust for the
role of interrogator. It might be necessary, and at least there was no
need to brutalise the wretches who were paraded before him one by one.
A few simple questions - Were you a trooper or a convict? What was
your profession or occupation? Who are the leaders of your group?
What instructions were you given? - revealed that the destruction of
Moloch had destroyed their whole sense of purpose and they were now
merely concerned with living off the land, mostly by terrorizing the
Sardoan population with such weapons as they had left. Under the
influence of Pylene, his assurances that they would be looked after
henceforth were accepted with relief, and they departed willingly
enough to their new place of work. They were to be separated and
scattered all over Sardos. Some of them were of such low intelligence,
it was doubtful if they would ever be of much use to their hosts.
Grose's recruitment methods were hardly discriminating.
Yet the whole process repelled him. Not far from this spot, Grose and
Lecter had crudely interrogated him by twisting his sprained wrist,
but he knew he preferred that to interference with his mind and will.
His own experience made him abominate the torturers, the Shrinkers,
and now he felt he had joined them in some way. He was surprised to
find that he felt so besmirched.
"Well, well, Kerr Avon. Are you growing a conscience at this late
date?" said a mocking inner voice.
He imagined Cally at his side giving vent to her revulsion - *on
Auron, such things are considered barbarous.*
Not just on Auron, Cally. The depression that constant activity had
kept at bay crept up on him. Soon he would be hearing Blake's ghost
exhorting him.
Damnation! Why wasn't Jenna doing this job?
Jenna, Vila and Margit were supervising the duplication of equipment
in one of the matter transformers. Several items like the rover and
its control box, were to be shared with their hosts. An offer of the
photon drive was refused by the non-spacefaring Sardoans, as Jenna was
sure it would be, but she deposited a scanner disk in their archives,
in case they should change their minds. Orac and the teleport
mechanism were passed off as spares for Freya, `not easy to come
by these days'. Vila's demonstration of the `ratcatcher' miniature
camera was greeted with much amusement, every Sardoan in the district
soon acquired one.
Now the staff had gone, leaving them alone to continue with
routine duplication and packing for transport. The time had come to
test Orac's twin. There was a tense pause as Vila scanned the room for
surveillance devices. When he nodded, Jenna took a deep breath and
pressed the activator button.
"Orac," she said quietly.
"Yes, Jenna?" answered the familiar voice.
"Are you aware of what has just happened?"
"I conclude from our surroundings that the projected duplication has
taken place, and from your question, that I am in fact the said
duplicate. I would appear to be functioning correctly and if you switch
on my original, verification checks can be run."
Broad smiles and general relaxation greeted this speech, but as Jenna
reached for Orac One's switch, Vila intervened.
"Wait a minute. It's going to be very confusing if they look and
sound identical." His private thought that two Oracs could play games
with their human `controllers' had better not be voiced in their
hearing. As Jenna paused, he continued, "let's alter the name and
voice of Number Two - maybe a different casing too."
"Agreed," said Jenna, while Margit nodded. "Have you anything in
mind?"
"Uhuh. Orac, you remember Belkov's computer Gambit, the games player.
Can you reproduce its voice and mannerisms?"
"Of course I can, but why should I?" Number Two responded with the
old familiar asperity.
"Well you know, Orac One is a jealous sort of character," said Vila
coaxingly. "He could be very unco-operative, even spiteful in his
dealings with you. Whereas a pleasant and reasonable personality like
yours would make it difficult for him to be awkward, wouldn't it?"
"I suppose so. Very well, I agree."
Vila smiled at his companions' startled reaction at the change to a
feminine register. "I always thought it a shame that Belkov ordered
her to self-destruct. From now on, you be Gambit, you know what she
knew, as well as what Orac knows."
"Yes Vila. Do you wish to play a game?"
"Later on, Gambit, it would be very nice to play some games." Vila's
tone took on a fond proprietorship. This was a computer he could
develop a friendly relationship with. A big improvement on Orac.
"Good," said Jenna briskly. "Let's teleport these two up to Freya
and then finish up here. Avon can run the bench tests when he's done
with the interrogations. Margit, make sure you bring all the program
disks."
As the wearisome sessions drew to an end, Avon received a visitor, the
woman he had smiled at aboard Freya. She took in his strained face and
rigid posture with understanding.
"Was it very unpleasant?" she asked.
Reluctantly he returned a very slight nod. Sympathy generally unnerved
him, it did not go with his carefully constructed self-sufficient
façade. It might weaken him.
"Like you, I find mind-alteration very distasteful, and the ethics very
dubious," she continued after a pause. "Revulsion is surely a sign
of civilization, not weakness."
She wanted to believe it, he supposed. Privately, he hardly rated
himself a civilized man any more.
"Come," said his visitor, nodding her head towards the door. "Food
and drink."
He levered himself wearily to his feet and followed her.
"Where's Avon?" Jenna demanded of Vila.
"Dunno. Still asking questions, I expect."
"Such devotion to duty." Jenna's face wore a frown. "He should have
been back hours ago."
Solicitude? Or distrust? Vila wondered.
"His teleport tracer should be activated. Gambit, can you locate
him?" His tone was sweetly innocent.
"His tracer has moved from the administration building to another,
half a kilometre away. Presumably he is still wearing it."
"There you are," said Vila, "he's probably having dinner."
Jenna looked curiously irresolute. Turning on her heel, she left the
room, leaving Vila half puzzled and half amused in her wake.
"What do you suppose that was all about, eh Gambit? Is she afraid
he's found himself come company?"
"Or, possibly, that he has been detained by somebody," supplemented
Gambit.
"I feel sorry for anyone who tries to kidnap him. Give him
another hour, then try his bleeper. How about a game of chess?"
Avon was not sure whether he was in private quarters or some sort of
hotel. The facilities had a flavour of the latter - shower room, auto
valet, a waiter at table - perhaps it was some kind of governmental
hospitality suite. His hostess introduced herself as Lara, the
councillor appointed that day to oversee the resettlement of the
offworlders. Over a blessedly leisurely meal, they discussed his
findings and her proposals for monitoring the behaviour of the
ex-convicts, the possibility of the effects of Pylene wearing off over
a period of years, the Federation's progress and likely plans, then
they drifted onto broader topics.
"You sound as if you've spent most of your life in space," she
remarked.
"Most of the last seven years, anyway."
"You've been resisting the Federation that long?"
"We have had no choice." He must pick his way carefully and be
mindful of his cover story. "The Federation intends to overrun us.
Doubtless our leaders are scheduled for extermination."
"Of whom, you are one." There was a slight pause. "There's much you
haven't told us and I'm not going to ask for details. I wonder if
Chevron is your real name, but it doesn't concern me." She gave him a
friendly smile. "What is it like, fighting the Federation?"
"Dangerous. Most of my closest colleagues are dead - men and women."
She watched his expression closely. Although it didn't apparently
change, a kind of bleakness seeped into it.
"Did the women fight like the men?"
"Yes, and they were rewarded with violent deaths like the men. Only
Astra survived."
"You miss them, don't you?" Her voice was very soft.
He nodded. When he was honest with himself, he admitted he needed
feminine company. Enough to miss it bitterly when it was gone. That
other viewpoint, often in opposition to his own, stimulating and
sometimes exasperating, but somehow necessary.
"You're very tired. If you would rather remain here than return to
your ship, these facilities are at your disposal. Please make
yourself at home."
So there it was. He read the implied offer in her eyes. She was
neither young nor beautiful, but possessed of a mature charm that was
both tempting and soothing.
There was a faint buzz from his bleeper. He fished out his communicator.
"Chevron."
"Report your position please." A female voice that was faintly
familiar.
"A dining room."
Then Vila came through.
"We wondered where you'd got to. Will you be back soon?"
He looked across at Lara.
"I doubt it. Expect me when you see me. Out."
© Copyright Vega (Frances Teagle), 1999.