[GP + 2y 7m]

    "Ah, Mr Brand, nice to see you again. Where have you been, these last months?"

    "Attending to business, Councillor. One needs to keep a close eye on operations, you know. Things don't run themselves, and there's nothing like the scrutiny of the directors for encouraging honesty and industry among employees."

    "All too true."

    "What's this I hear about Councillor Formin? Some very funny rumours have been flying about."

    "Ah yes, very unfortunate. Caught taking bribes, enormous ones. Lots of bad publicity. He swears he was framed, of course, but it was just too flagrant to ignore, you know. Had to be a stiff sentence."

    "Pour encourager les autres? Well, let's hope that his replacement is as honest as you, my friend."

    "You are too kind. Are your mining operations going well? No trouble with the local inhabitants this time?"

    "Very satisfactory, thank you. The local chief is Federation trained, and has proved very amenable. After all, his people are benefitting from our presence both financially and medically. We are already shipping the Monopasium. It's a great pity your research programme was so badly damaged by the Andromedans. I've often wondered if that was coincidence or the result of espionage."

    "We shall never know, but the programme is slowly being reconstituted. We will take all the Monopasium you can produce."

    "Now Orac, fill me in on this psychostrategist you mentioned yesterday. Could he be a danger?"

    "These people are always dangerous, Avon. This Carnell is obviously a very skilled practitioner."

    "What makes you think he's tracking us?"

    "The pattern of his data searches, of course! Not only does he regularly sweep for `Blake' and `Avon', but he is amassing information on other rebel activities and frauds and applying probability software to them. I have established contact with his computer, of course."

    "I trust you haven't alerted him to your presence."

    "Of course not! I have been most careful to mimic the man himself. The computer can hardly be said to be intelligent. I merely adjust the login records in case Carnell should think to check for interlopers."

    "What about his previous connection with Servalan?"

    "She employed him for several months seven years ago until he absconded suddenly after the IMIPAK fiasco. He was listed as a deserter and it is known that he took refuge in neutral territory. I have his Federation dossier if you want to read it. He is now working at a high security establishment, the Salkon Institute, which is run by a known associate of Commissioner Sleer. The inference is obvious - she is employing him to find you."

    "Then we shall have to be doubly careful. Give this top priority, report daily to me. Oh, and print that dossier."

[GP + 2y 11m]

"There! What d'you think of that?" Vila could hardly contain his excitement. "He must be doing a runner!"
        "Slow down, Vila." But Jenna too, was excited. "You say that this message was added to his login file just before you called me?"
        "Less than five minutes ago. I was playing chess with Gambit when she picked it up."
        "Gambit, is it still daylight at the Institute?"
        "Yes, Jenna. It is one hour and eleven minutes standard time to sunset."
        "Ah, you think he's still in the building, waiting for darkness?" said Vila eagerly, "and we have people watching the Institute..."
        "Gambit, get Lucien online as quickly as possible," Jenna was sparkling with excitement. She pushed the intercom button, "Avon, Margit, Brig - crew lounge - immediately!"

"Sorry to take so long answering, Astra. I had to go somewhere I could talk safely." Lucien's voice was cautiously low. "Have you some news for me?"
        "Yes. Carnell has just deposited a rather insolent farewell message to Servalan in his computer, to appear on the screen next time someone switches on. We think he means to break out as soon as darkness falls, unless... Have any vehicles come out in the last fifteen minutes?"
        "No. The director left in a ground taxi half an hour ago. Nothing since then. We should be able to locate Carnell with night scanners. Do we pick him up?"
        "Let him get some distance from the Institute first. Argus is still in orbit, use the teleport and bring him to Rendezvous Twelve.

Carnell was wryly amused to note that his heart was thudding violently as he slid the window open. Ridiculous to be afraid at this juncture after he had taken such pains to neutralize the security systems, but after all, he was not a man of action, so it was scarcely surprising. Cautiously, he climbed out, slithered down the wall to hang by his hands, then dropped the last few feet. The impact jarred him more than he had expected, his shoes were too lightweight to cushion him much. He was now on the roof of the electronics laboratories; keeping to the shadowy wall, he crossed to the parapet and looked over. All was still. Fixing his improvised grapnel to the parapet, he dropped his rope, a purloined heavy duty cable, and successfully negotiated the descent. As he hoped, a few jerks of the cable unhooked the grapnel and brought it down. Once more he coiled the cable and made his way to the perimeter wall where he had previously marked a likely place to climb it. It cost a considerable effort and some scrapes to get over, but soon he was walking softly through the boulevards of the town.
        Among the early evening crowds he felt reasonably secure. Making his way to a cashpoint, he inserted the credit card he had stolen from his jailer and tapped out the number he had found written on a scrap of paper in the lifted wallet. It worked: a quick check on the credit level and a smooth extraction of the maximum permitted, quite enough for his purposes, and he was on his way. Next call, a clothing outlet in a worker's compound, where he purchased some green coveralls and thick-soled boots. A construction worker's hard hat completed the outfit. It was a temptation to pay with the card, but the record of his purchases would alert pursuers to his disguise. Fortunately this province retained cash tokens, every transaction could not be instantly traced by the security forces, as in so many other Federation planets.
        He knew from his arrival that the shuttleport was being rebuilt and that he could mingle with the swarms of construction workers on the site. It shouldn't be impossible to slip aboard some ship, but he must waste no time. With any luck, his absence wouldn't be noticed until morning, more than ten hours away.
        Aboard the public transit car he relaxed somewhat. It was crowded with travellers and spacecrew; several construction workers, dressed like himself, were also aboard. Two pretty girls sat opposite him and one of them smiled roguishly when he caught her eye. He smiled back, indeed it was good to be free.

"Feeling better?" asked the pretty girl, offering Carnell a cup. "Sorry I had to do that, but actually we mean you no harm. In fact we're going to help you escape."
        He took it and swallowed - one of the pleasanter tasting restoratives.
        "In return for what?"
        "Shall we say, a debriefing?" Her smile was sweetly disingenuous. Carnell returned a matching bland smile, but permitted himself an inward sigh.
        It had been so simple: a tranquillizer dart clapped on his arm in the crowded concourse and he was on the floor mutely paralysed while she knelt over him, all concern, and summoned a stretcher on her communicator; then the procession into some empty room where he had been administered a strong narcotic.
        He glanced round for the first time. A doctor's surgery by the look of it, but very small. A spaceship? No sound of a ship's drive, though; only whispering air conditioning. Was she a medic? Probably, she certainly wielded a mean needle.
        "Yes," she answered his unspoken question with a smile, "you are in space, but still in stationary orbit. It would never do to leave ahead of schedule and without clearance."
        "They may board you and search."
        "Unlikely. Our shuttle is still innocently docked groundside while various officers go about their normal business. Traffic control will confirm that no other vehicle has approached this one since the tenders finished yesterday." She met his puzzled frown with amusement. "You were teleported aboard."
        "Ah... Blake's people."
        "Well, the remnant, anyway. The hunt is not up yet, heads won't roll for a few hours."
        Burket's head first. What a pleasant thought.
        "Am I a prisoner in here?"
        "No, you have the run of the ship except for the control section. You've been tagged, so the right doors will open and the wrong ones won't."
        Damn! An electronic implant, doubtless where he couldn't get at it unaided.
        "How kind," he said sweetly, "you think of everything."
        "You could do with a good meal and a night's sleep. Come on, doctor's orders." She pulled his arm through hers and piloted him gently into the corridor. "You will be set free, we just want you to help us first."

"Get him back!!"
        Her subordinates blanched before the Commissioner's fury.
        "Find him! Find his confederates! If you value your skins."
        "Commissioner, he seems to have broken out alone when the opportunity presented. We don't think he had any helpers."
        "Then it shouldn't be too difficult to find him. Get on with it!"
        She rounded on the prisoner, quaking between his guards.
        "Burket," her voice was ominously soft now, "I don't permit mistakes of that kind among my employees - allowing him to pick your pocket. You deserve everything that is about to happen to you." At her nod, the guards hauled the unfortunate man out.
        She turned to her aide. "Get me the dossier on Haldene," she said in her normal voice. "Are all the computers in the Institute wiped clean?"
        "Yes, Commissioner, the worm program has taken over the internal network. Fortunately an operator had the wit to pull the plug at the external gateway when she spotted it, so it hasn't got out."
        Carnell, she promised herself, you are going to pay for this, and your ever-so-charming smile will avail you nothing!

Now safely into deep space, Carnell began to feel that he would escape Servalan's clutches. A crew member had been teleported down to the planet to ensure that the security service cruiser didn't detect an extra person as it hove alongside with its scanners probing. Argus's shuttle, like many others, had been almost torn apart, ostensibly for drugs, before being permitted to depart. After a nerve-racking delay, the crewman had been whisked aboard at the last moment and they finally left on their scheduled voyage.
        "Not a single question do I answer until you've told me your name." He turned to his companion, comfortably sipping her drink in the armchair opposite.
        "It's Darota, and I don't have any to ask."
        "Well that makes a change, most of my life has been spent answering questions."
        "Oh, we'll rendezvous with another vessel and you'll meet the inquisition soon enough. Don't be impatient." She stretched sleepily.
        Mm... She was goodlooking woman. Enjoy life, drift with the tide for a while, he told himself. Co-operate with your, ah, rescuers then demand a fat fee for your services. He let his eyes dwell on Darota's drowsy face.

"Neither of you can interrogate him without giving the whole thing away." Margit stood over Jenna and Avon as they sat by the coffee table in the mining company office. "I cannot say it often enough - Carnell has no proof that you're still alive, and we must keep it that way."
        "So you and your brother are the people to do the job?" Avon's tone carried a hint of sarcasm. Margit ignored it.
        "We record the sessions and transmit them live to you. We keep them short, with frequent breaks for consultation. It will work."
        "Oh, sit down Margit," Jenna frowned slightly. "You're proposing to take Freya off for several weeks, which doesn't make me very happy."
        "Well, you cannot bring him here." Margit fetched a chair and sat down. "Orac concurs; this man is very dangerous, we have no reason to believe that he has the slightest sympathy with our cause, apart from the fact that he has escaped from the custody of his previous employers. On no account must he learn about this place or any of our other activities. And if he ever does," she said with the utmost deliberation, "we must kill him."
        She was never one to gloss over things, reflected Avon. On the whole he agreed.
        "Just you and Brig aboard Freya," he stipulated. "Take Gambit with you, but not Vila. I'll camouflage it as a piece of standard equipment. Darota says she has tagged him, so I'll set up the same security system as the Argus."
        "Very well," Jenna agreed reluctantly, "we'd better get on with it."

Carnell was considerably annoyed to wake up in unfamiliar surroundings. He'd been teleported again. Darota had spiked his drink and delivered him like a parcel to his next owner. This cabin was on a grander scale than his previous accommodation, not quite luxurious, but pleasantly spacious and comfortable. His clothes were piled on a table. He dressed and sallied forth into the corridor, ready to do battle.
        A series of locked doors shepherded him to the crew diner where a man and woman were seated at a table eating a meal. Their appearance was something of a surprise; a well-groomed middle-aged couple in expensively tailored dark business suits. Hmm... If the business community was conspiring against the Federation High Council, it was in deep trouble. On the other hand, they could afford a large fee. He smiled cheerfully at them and moved to the automat to select his breakfast.
        His hostess introduced herself as Helena Peron.
        "It is, of course, a nom de guerre." Her eyes crinkled with amusement. "And my colleague is using `Rai Kendo' as his. Security, you know."
        "So, Kendo and Peron, it seems you wish to consult me. Are you prepared to pay my fee?"
        "Name it," said `Peron', still rather amused.
        "Two and a half million credits."
        "We may persuade our principals to agree to one million, if you're as good as you're said to be." `Kendo' spoke for the first time in a bass rumble.
        "Two million."
        "One and a half."
        "Well, for that you get the first part."
        "Oh no," said Kendo firmly, "the debriefing is our fee for rescuing you. The Commissioner would soon have traced you without our intervention."
        Carnell acknowledged this with as graceful a smile as he could muster.
        Peron stood up. "Come through to the office when you've finished breakfast," she said.

"And just how did you locate me?" he enquired as he arrived at the door half an hour later.
        "We are keeping Sleer and her associates under surveillance," said Peron as she ushered him into a workmanlike office. "We know, as I am sure you do, that Sleer is really the Ex-President Servalan. Naturally, she is conspiring to get her presidency back."
        "What is your interest?"
        "She and the High Council are bad for business," said Kendo. "Our consortium, like all the others, wants a free market - and an honest administration wouldn't come amiss. We are sick of paying bribes and protection money to these miserable incompetents, not to mention dealing with their appalling bureaucracy. Servalan only wants to sit atop the status quo. If she gets power things will only degenerate still further."
        His words carried conviction. Mikhail Brand had carefully briefed them on the commercial sector's grievances and dissatisfactions, knowing that Carnell would be well aware of their existence.

"Well, I think that's all I can tell you about the IMIPAK affair. I have no first hand knowledge of what happened to it, but it appears that the Supreme Commander did not get her hands on it, or we should have seen some evidence of its use by now. Nor did Blake, apparently. I believe it is now neutralized. Of course, someone could re-invent it at any time. You, as Blake's associates are more likely to know about that."
        "Our information is that it was neutralized." Kendo looked thoughtful. "Blake, of course, is dead, and the rest of the Liberator crew with him, so like you, we have no direct knowledge."
        "You know, many people believe that the shootout on Gauda Prime was a fake and that Blake and Avon are alive somewhere in the galaxy."
        "Good," said Peron cheerfully, "I hope it keeps them busy and distracts attention from us. It may keep hope alive for others, too."
        "You are certain, then?"
        "Yes. I have spoken with one of the rebels who checked the bodies and destroyed the base."
        "How did they overcome the victorious Federation troopers?"
        "Gas, I understand. However, it doesn't matter if you, too, believe they're alive. As far as we're concerned, Servalan is welcome to chase shadows, provided she doesn't stumble across our operations."
        "Well then, what did you want to consult me about - how to bring down the Federation in five years?"
        "Not quite." It was Kendo who answered. "We have our own ideas about that, and a much longer time span in mind." He paused and scrutinized Carnell's face intently. "How would you go about avoiding the undesirable side effects? What usually happens when a powerful totalitarian system collapses, is a fast descent into anarchy. Monetary systems break down and organised crime spreads like wildfire, with bloody territorial squabbles and paying off old scores."
        "Those who don't remember history, are condemned to repeat it, eh?"
        "Precisely. We've already come across some very unpleasant warlords in territories which seceded after the Andromedan invasion; doing business with them is highly risky. Why don't you think about that?"
        "Have you any idea of the scale of a project like that?" Carnell smiled pityingly at him. "It would take a team of first class researchers decades to work on it; as for equipment, you'd need something like Orac to make sense of the data. You are talking about a whole research institute."
        Kendo's expression did not change. "How would you feel about heading such a research institute?"
        "I'd expect to be well paid for a start... But yes, I'd be interested. The project of a lifetime... The reconstruction of an empire."
        There was a lengthy pause as Carnell absorbed the idea.
        "I couldn't work here, imprisoned on a space station. I need amenities, open space, congenial colleagues, not a jail."
        "It should be possible to find you a safe haven from the Commissioner's wrath. Did you know that she has offered a large reward for your return? Alive, of course."
        "Such a pity she's an opponent. One really cannot help a certain admiration for her."

Margit and Brig retired to the captain's suite, which was safely off-limits to Carnell, in order to confer with others via their high security com-link.
        "On the whole this is a very fortunate turn of events," Mikhail remarked as they finished their report. "If Carnell becomes immersed in an open ended project like this, he could be neutralized for years to come. Furthermore, the benefits could be enormous."
        "So could the cost," put in Avon. "We shall have to set him up with all his equipment, in apparent freedom but carefully supervised and guarded, on some neutral planet where Servalan won't look for him."
        "True, but your financial operations are increasingly profitable, Avon, and I have been able to put the gains to good use. We can afford to do it. Maybe we can't afford not to do it."
        "We will do it," said Jenna in a most decided tone. "You are both to be congratulated, particularly the one who thought of the consultation project."
        "Well it wasn't me," said Margit. "It came as a complete surprise when Brig proposed it."
        "It just came to me," said Brig quietly, "The man wanted employment worthy of his talents, I suppose, and his career since IMIPAK has been disappointing. This would appeal to his ambition and possibly the remnants of his idealism, if he ever possessed any."
        Brig was a dark horse, reflected Avon. That notion of the remnants of idealism rang a harmonic in his own psyche like the faint echo of a great bell, summoning Cally's voice. "We must do what we can to help these people."
        "Maybe it is the most effective thing we can do to forestall the prophesied chaos." He was not above deriving amusement from their surprise. "I agree." Pace, Cally, he added privately.
        "So we have to locate a suitable planet and hammer out an agreement with Carnell," said Mikhail. "I am willing to negotiate with him and I expect him to make plenty of demands. He'll want assistants. We could present him with some students to study his methods and do research for him. In effect we would be setting him up as a professor, which could be very good cover and might appeal to his ego, as well."
        "I wonder if we should give Carnell access to Orac?" Jenna began, rather hesitantly.
        Avon's eyebrows shot up in swift protest. "That would be to give ourselves away immediately," he said sharply.
        "Not necessarily. Margit told him we were the remnants of Blake's followers, so it's feasible that we'd inherit Orac, so to speak." She paused for a moment. "How can I put this?" she resumed. "We never really put Orac's predictive capabilities to much use. Maybe we didn't really know how, but Carnell would. Think what he could do with it."
        "I am thinking," said Avon, "and some of the possibilities that come to mind hardly bear thinking about. We could try prohibiting Orac from giving him any information about ourselves, but I'd lay odds on him getting round that in no time. It would be suicidal to trust him that far."
        "I suppose so." Jenna gave a regretful grimace. "A pity," she said.

    "He's got clean away. It's obvious that he's had help to get off planet somehow. We've tracked all the spacecraft that left during the period, but none of them have deviated from their course or carried any extra crew or passengers. That fool Burket should have had him tagged from the very beginning. I've got no sympathy whatever for him."

    "Well I'm not going to report failure to the Commissioner, I might share his fate. You can tell her."

    "No fear. I'm not going to be the fall guy."

    "Shut up you two. Hasn't it occurred to you that if Blake's people are involved, they have teleport? That message could easily be a fake and that worm program is just the sort of thing Avon would do."

    "No, no. He would use Orac, this is too crude. In any case, there was no sign of teleport equipment aboard any ship we examined, and no unscheduled spacecraft have been detected for months."

    "Would you recognize a teleport if you saw it? Carnell could have found them without telling us and arranged the whole thing well in advance. Blast that Burket. He's mainly to blame for antagonising Carnell, he's just a crude bully, and you can't treat a psychostrategist like that.

    "Huh, he was a crude bully. But the fact is, Carnell walked down town and used the stolen card at the cash point. We know he did it in person because we identified him on one of the video records from that sector's surveillance. He wouldn't take a risk like that if confederates were involved. He wouldn't need money then, would he?"

    "But you just said he had help to get off planet."

    "When you've got money you can buy local help. He was searching criminal records and that would tell him where to find the local bad boys. Carnell worked this out by himself and anyone with any brains should have anticipated such a move."

    "Like you did?"

    "Pull in the local villains and malcontents again and interrogate them - properly this time."

Carnell smiled brilliantly at Margit. "My own research institute? Well Helena, you do know how to tempt a man. Tell me, will this one have a high wall round it?"
        Margit laughed outright. "None. No more security than any normal institute, although we must take pains to protect you from Servalan. But that can be done from a distance, discreetly. You can travel, you will need to, probably. Pick yourself a new name and a cover project."
        "And where are you going to locate it?"
        "You can help us decide. We have a number of possibilities."
        "Mmm... Give me the details and let's go to work."

You are trying to divert my attention away from Blake, Helena Peron, with an offer I can't refuse, but my money is still on the survival of some of the Liberator's crew. They have allied themselves with big business and gone underground, just like I would in their shoes; just as Avon was endeavouring to do when Sleer disrupted his plans.
        However, I shall go along with you because the Federation is beyond reform and must eventually fall apart of its own accord. If its decline and replacement can be carefully managed, if a cadre of new leaders were to be in place with workable plans and the backing to carry them through, then a whole Dark Age could be averted.
        You are right, I cannot refuse such an offer - I will not refuse it.

© 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.