[GP + 3y 2m]
Jenna sometimes wondered if Silmarino was bad for her. It was hard to
resist the seductive ambience of the place, with its lush forests in the
lowlands, airy savannahs in the uplands and towering snowy peaks in the
distance. A primitive teaming Eden, scarcely disturbed by a thinly
scattered human population little interested in `progress'. It was so
easy to lie in a hammock breathing the heady scent of a million
flowers, so tempting to let things drift.
Her companions were not immune, either. Vila embraced the life with
hedonistic delight. The premises were overrun with his pets, little
mongoose-like animals from a local colony, pretty chestnut coloured
creatures with appealing ways. He maintained that they kept pests
under control, but they were usually to be found festooning his
shoulders. When he wasn't teaching local children conjuring tricks, he
and Gambit conducted their surveillance sweeps from a secluded little
arbour, attended by a catering robot.
Avon, too, was taking it unusually easy since his return from the
successful Feldon generator trials, sitting under a neighbouring tree
reading through a pile of printout and making handwritten notes. A
`mungo' sprawled sleepily on the rough wooden table beside him. Odd,
how they liked him, considering that he appeared to ignore them. Jenna
thought he was looking as well as she had ever seen him. I did that,
she told herself, I saved his life, I gave him something worthwhile to
do for the rest of it, though I'll never be fool enough to say it to
him.
But were they losing their fine edge, becoming dangerously happy? They
were committed to a strategy of `little by little' which encouraged a
feeling of security, and Carnell's arrival on the scene reinforced
that feeling. Overconfidence lay in wait for them.
"Things are too quiet," said Avon that evening. "It can't go on
like this much longer. I'll be glad when the others are back with
Freya."
"My feelings exactly," responded Jenna, looking across at a
somnolent Vila. "We need something to keep us on our toes."
"Maybe we've had too much security recently, a spot of danger
wouldn't come amiss." But he smiled as he said it, a wry, reminiscent
smile.
"Let's not go looking for trouble, just be ready for it when it
arrives."
"What's that? Who's arriving?"
"Go back to sleep, Vila."
"I think we have a use for some of your field agents," Avon resumed
after a pause. "Orac has been tapping into the computers of the
Federation's Monopasium research unit."
"Go on," said Jenna, when he paused for effect.
"We've identified all the personnel and caught a whiff of
dissatisfaction among some of them which we might be able to turn to
our advantage."
"What's their main grouse?"
"They're based on Myrna III, which is only inhabited by themselves
and the security forces. Their families are not with them and the
planet is excruciatingly boring unless you happen to be an ardent
xenobiologist." Avon gave one of his special smiles and Jenna found
herself answering it as his train of thought became apparent.
"Defections!"
"I think your friend Lucien and his group could be employed on this.
Tempt them away with good career offers, reunion with their families
and a new identity. It's an old tactic." He leant back and enjoyed
the sparkling smile on Jenna's face. It usually made its appearance
when somebody put forward a good idea.
"I imagine the company could find them something useful to do. It
could be difficult to get at them, though. How often do they go on
leave?"
"Semi-annual, in rotation. One of the chief dissidents is due to go
in about two months."
"What about the unit's progress, have you assessed it?"
"Slow but steady. I'm copying all their databanks routinely, but I
haven't ventured to corrupt anything. They would be likely to think of
Orac if I did."
Jenna nodded agreement, "Quite right. We'll confer with Mikhail about
placing them in the company. Lucien's a good choice to carry it out,
he doesn't make mistakes. Are any of the senior researchers
involved?"
"Only one, the others are middle to junior ranks. Apparently the unit
chief has been giving her a hard time. She's our first target."
"I never cease to wonder at the stupidity of some of these people,"
commented Jenna. "We must never allow any of our unit leaders to
behave like that."
[GP + 3y 4m]
Margit and Brig arrived with the rainy season; she, cheerfully
triumphant; he, self-possessed as ever. Ro and Selma feted them with a
banquet in the Council Chamber as a thunderstorm flashed and roared
outside.
"I am relieved you dealt with the psychostrategist so effectively, "
commented Ro. "Commissar Shira employed one occasionally, but he reckoned
they were a double-edged weapon, as likely to lead you into trouble as
solve your problems for you."
"He will doubtless cost us several fortunes before we're through."
Avon's face wore a characteristic cynical expression. "I hope we get
value for money."
Selma met his eyes with a direct, almost challenging look. "You are
playing for the liberty of the whole galaxy, you must expect the
stakes to be high."
His face softened into a reflective smile. "Yes, we are, aren't we."
Watching this exchange, Jenna was struck anew by the gentle courtesy
Avon always extended to Selma. It seemed entirely genuine.
"What next?" Ro asked Jenna as they adjourned to the coffee table.
"Another visit to Sardos," she answered. "We will reproduce plenty
of Feldon generators. Freya must then hasten back to Keledon
with her Monopasium cargo in order to keep to her official schedule.
We will return here in the scout ship. Then we have some hard thinking
to do."
"You have been very successful so far, can you maintain the same rate
of progress?"
"That is the problem. I don't expect Carnell to produce a plan of
campaign for quite a while, so we have an interim period to negotiate
without giving ourselves away or falling into any traps. People get
stale and begin to make mistakes. That is my concern."
"Since you are aware of the problem, the danger is much diminished. I
think the seeds of a better future are planted."
"I hope so, Ro. I really hope so."
"Carnell said something very interesting." Margit turned away from the
window of Jenna's room. They were alone together, disconsolately watching
the relentless rain that kept them indoors. "He said that Servalan
commissioned a clone of Blake to help her entrap
rebels. He doesn't know what happened to him, though."
Jenna's face darkened. "We did hear from the clone," she admitted
uncomfortably. "He told us who he was and said he had taken the IMIPAK
device from Servalan and marked her with it, then warned her never to come
near the planet again. So far as I know, he's there still. Avon was marked
as well, so we've given it a wide berth too."
"Have you never thought of finding him and persuading him to throw in his
lot with you?" asked Margit.
"No," said Jenna flatly. "He isn't Blake, he only looks like him. The
history that made Blake so special is entirely missing." She paused,
bleakly surveying the rain streaking the glass. "I couldn't deal with
that," she continued, "and I don't suppose Avon could, either. Let it
rest."
Margit nodded understandingly.
[GP + 3y 6m]
[GP + 3y 9m]
Vila yawned and put his feet up on the table. Sardos was not a
favourite place of his and the last few days had been thoroughly
boring. Nothing but work, long hours of it. He might as well be
drudging in some factory back on Earth. Now he was left alone with
no one to talk to but Gambit, even games had palled. Jenna and Margit
were closeted with several councillors, Avon was probably visiting his
lady friend and heaven only knew where Brig had got to. He took a deep
swig from his flask and settled back morosely in his chair.
"Attention," said Gambit sharply. "Satellite One reports a fleet of
spacecraft heading this way. Three T-Twenty-One-B troop transports, a
Federation Class One Mark Fourteen pursuit ship and a Type Four fleet
flagship."
Vila came to his feet with a frantic jerk which sent his chair
careering across the room. The pacifiers were here.
"It's got to be Servalan," he babbled, "she knows this place. She's
coming to take it! She's going to duplicate herself the biggest fleet
in the universe and take the Presidency back. Then she'll hunt us
down! We've got to get out of here!"
"Undoubtedly that is her plan," said Avon, icily calm. "Which is
why we are not running away."
Vila quailed before the look in his eyes, "You're insane. You can't
win!! Of all the people she wants to kill, very, very slowly, you're
the first."
"She cannot know we're here," put in Margit sharply. "She must have
been planning and getting that fleet together for some time. Maybe
Carnell's escape has precipitated this, she could be moving before
she's really ready."
"They won't all be combat troops," said Jenna. "She has to bring a
crew for every ship she intends to create."
"She must intend to annexe this planet permanently, though."
Margit's face was gloomier than Vila had ever seen it. "In her shoes,
I would bring as many fighting men as I could, I'd use Pylene on the
inhabitants, and if that didn't work I would exterminate most of them.
Once that was done, I could send for the necessary flight crew and
start operations, taking as much time as I needed. I doubt if the
Federation has the precise location of Sardos, so I don't suppose the troops
on those ships know where they are going. They probably think they are
rounding up the Fifth Legion renegades. If I were her I wouldn't even tell the
officers what I was really intending."
"And that is why we are not running," said Avon deliberately. "If
she is not opposed, she will do precisely that, and the Federation
will be at her mercy. We are the only people who can stop her."
Looking round at his companions, Vila read dour agreement in every
face. Here we go, he told himself, we're going to be heroes
again.
"Orac," said Avon, entering his private quarters, " you've been
keeping tabs on Servalan, why didn't you pick up her preparations?"
"She gave out that it was a normal pacification expedition, targetted
on the Fourth Sector." Orac sounded blandly unapologetic, as usual.
"I monitored her preparations, naturally, but there was nothing to
suggest her true intention. The woman is not stupid. If she believes
you are alive then she knows I am probably monitoring her
communications. Her fleet has observed strict silence since it
departed."
"So unless she has left written instructions or confided verbally to
some one, nobody knows."
"It is unlikely she would do so, but I will search for any sign that
she has."
"You do that."
[Mid morning]
Lara felt rather exposed as she stood on the podium to address the
Sardoan Assembly. Behind her sat the Chairman, below her, the Clerk at
his recording console, and facing her in tiered seats, fifty pairs of
eyes seemed to bore right into her as she apprised them of the
situation.
"We have rather less than a day to make our plans," she concluded.
"They will arrive at 05.26 hours tomorrow at their current speed.
The Commissioner doesn't know we have protection against her drug. We
had better fake the symptoms if we encounter their pacification
squads. I wonder if she has thought to protect her own men."
"Perhaps not," said the Chairman. "Are you suggesting that we try
to turn it on them?"
"We are expecting upwards of a thousand men, according to Chevron.
They are not expecting trouble from us, only the Fifth Legion and
their convicts. We understand that the ex-president has a score to
settle with the late Grose, but she can hardly have any idea that we
have gained the upper hand. Obviously we must play on that ignorance."
"We greet them as saviours and send them off on a series of wild
goose chases?"
"Yes, split them up if we can, then our security forces, under Chevron's
direction, can deal with them."
"They'll smell a rat," said a delegate.
"We tell them that the renegades are very well armed. They will be
expecting that."
"The Commissioner may send for reinforcements," put in another
council member.
"Chevron doesn't think she can without letting the Federation High
Command know what she's up to. They are watching her closely, so she
has to pass this expedition off as a normal pacification operation."
The Chairman frowned anxiously, "Can we rely on our own ex-Federation
officers? Won't they be tempted to rejoin their comrades?"
"Astra has told them what they can expect from Servalan if she ever
lays hands on them. I think they will be anxious to avoid that fate.
Besides, they have a stake here, several of them have family
responsibilities now."
"Very well, the proposal is that we feign a welcome for the invaders,
get them to pursue phantom bands of renegades, treat them to their own
pacification drug or kill them. For not one of them can be allowed to
leave this planet again, particularly their leader. The alternative is
complete surrender. And if this woman goes to war with the High
Command, they will try to find and destroy us. We are in acute danger
either way. We will take a vote."
[Afternoon]
"Did anyone want to surrender?" asked Jenna, as she and Lara settled
into the auxiliary communications bunker.
"Not really. Our taste of Grose and his methods left us with no
delusions about the Federation. Our secret was out when he arrived
here. Now we must fight, and if we lose we must destroy the matter
transmuters."
"Let's hope it won't come to that. Could you recreate them if you had
to?"
"Yes, provided certain key personnel survived." Lara sat back with
an anxious frown. "We must take steps to protect them - or should we
let the secret die with us? Sometimes I think it's too dangerous for
humankind to handle. Better if it was destroyed."
"Someone else would rediscover it eventually, wouldn't they." Jenna
was beginning to like Lara as her resentment over the Sardoan's
relationship with Avon died down.
"True. It's a pity your cargo vessel has gone. Well no, I suppose
it's a very good thing it's not here, but we could have sent them
off-planet perhaps."
"I'm very glad Freya's gone, and in a different direction. Her
loss or capture would be a severe setback. We couldn't hide anything
that size from their scanners, maybe they'll pick up the scout ship as
it is."
"Is your scout ship faster than Servalan's fleet?"
"Yes, probably. If we had to run, we could take a few people with
us."
"Oh, not the government, just some scientists and their equipment.
We are not leaving."
"I doubt if we are. Chevron is bent on a fight to the death this
time."
[Next day, dawn]
The console beside Jenna bleeped sharply and they turned their
attention to the screen.
"Here they come," said Lara, "three, four of them, heading
for the landing pad she used last time."
"Mm - she's left the pursuit ship in orbit by the looks of it. She
wants to seize Grose's headquarters and then the civilian government.
I hope your squad of liars are standing by." Jenna smiled slightly.
Duplicity be our shield, she thought.
[Late morning]
"This is the Assembly House, Madam Commissioner, you could set up your
headquarters here." The speaker, an elderly man, bowed as he ushered
Servalan through the imposing double doors.
She stalked in and glanced around. "How long since it was last
used?"
"Several years, madam. Colonel Astrid disbanded the Assembly soon
after he came."
"Ah yes, what has happened to the Colonel? And where is Section
Leader Grose?
"As to the Colonel, I'm not sure, madam, we have seen nothing of him;
but the Section Leader and his staff have moved to his hunting lodge
near the Eastern Lake. I understand he enjoys the sport. I'm afraid I
can't give you much more information, I'm only the caretaker here. My
name is Hokaida."
"Then fetch me some one who can."
"At once, madam." Another deep bow. Hokaida, Chairman of the Sardoan
Assembly, hoped he wasn't overdoing the obsequiousness as he scuttled
away, but no - she appeared to accept it as her due. From the corridor
he heard her raised voice.
"Major Borg, start moving your people in here. Find me a suitable
office and get this place cleaned up."
"Well, they've taken the bait," said Vila, removing his face mask.
"A nice subtle touch that, putting the Pylene dispenser on the inlet
pipe to the cistern. They won't see it and the water flow will
activate it. All that dust should make them thirsty."
The activity of the previous hours had soothed his nerves somewhat,
particularly the humour of spraying dust all over the building to make
it look unused, and the Sardoan determination to resist heartened him.
"So far, so good," replied Brig, with a grim smile. "Now it's up to
the lying squad. I hope they keep their wits about them."
[Midday]
Avon and Margit made their way cautiously along the ridge overlooking
the landing site, carefully carrying their equipment. Their task was
to film the invaders and make as accurate an estimate of their numbers
and materiel as possible. Federation troops had easily identified and
destroyed the automatic scanners in the district and the rovers were
too easily detectable to use here, so Avon had set out with hand-held
cameras and probes, choosing Margit to accompany him because she was
stronger than Jenna and faster than Brig. Every five hundred metres or
so, they stopped to make their survey, relaying the data to Gambit,
back in the bunker with Jenna. Now they had reached the southern end
where they must descend on the far side from their enemies.
"This is a good place to leave the probe," said Margit, unhitching
her back pack and laying it down. "There's a clear field of vision
but plenty of cover."
"Right, we'll set up here," said Avon, following suit.
"Vice President Gambovska, ma'am."
Servalan swung round to face the woman who stood hesitantly in the
doorway. Nothing formidable about this visitor, she decided, the woman
looked very nervous. And well she might. The Commissioner opted to try
the friendly approach.
"Well, Vice President, you must be wondering what this is all
about." She gave her most charming smile.
"I suppose it must concern Grose and his activities, Commissioner."
Lara's voice was softly submissive. "Are we correct in thinking the
man is a deserter?"
"Oh yes, Federation justice is about to catch up with him and his
companions. I expect your co-operation with the project."
"We will be devoutly glad to be rid of them all, and whatever we can
do towards that end will be done gladly, I assure you."
"Good. Now I need to know what has happened to Grose, the computer
Moloch and Colonel Astrid." Servalan gestured to Lara to be seated.
"I should explain that I visited this planet about six years ago,
when Grose attempted to acquire a fleet cruiser by trickery - my
cruiser. I was shown the body of a man in suspended animation and told
that Moloch had ordered Colonel Astrid to be punished in this manner
for trying to destroy it. We cannot find any trace of Moloch or Astrid."
"Ah, I see," said Lara innocently. "Well, Moloch was destroyed, as
we thought, by your people, and Colonel Astrid was revived."
"Not by my men, there were other visitors that day - Kerr Avon and
his renegades, seeking to use the transmuters themselves, perhaps, or
maybe they followed me here. It seems they clashed with Grose. Is
Colonel Astrid still alive?"
"We are fairly sure he is dead," answered Lara, "unless he left
when the transporter crew deserted Grose, but I don't think so. It
wasn't like the man to run away, we think Grose murdered him."
"And where is Grose now?"
"Not long after Moloch was destroyed, he moved his headquarters to
the southern hemisphere. These days they are little better than bandits
living off the countryside, preying on the farmers." Lara met the
Commissioner's eyes with a look of limpid honesty. "They must know
you're here and they're very well armed, you could lose a lot of men
dealing with them."
"We have our own methods of dealing with such scum," said Servalan,
with a tinge of smugness. "Now, has Grose had any further contacts
with outsiders?"
"He could have. We wouldn't be told about it, though. But if there
were any visitors, I would expect him to double-cross them and seize
their spacecraft if he could, but he hasn't managed anything like
that." A mischievous impulse prompted Lara to add guilelessly, "Who
is this renegade, Avon?"
"That's working all right," said Brig with satisfaction, "they
didn't search her properly." With the aid of a skilled hairdresser,
he had concealed a miniature transmitter in Lara's pinned-up hair to
replace the ones removed by Servalan's security sweep. Now he sat with
Jenna and Vila in the bunker, monitoring the results.
"I'll enjoy watching Avon's face when he hears this." Vila grinned
as he listened to Servalan's description of her bête noir's career.
"Unflattering, but pretty accurate."
"Hmm," Jenna gave a fleeting smile, "in fact, the only person Servalan
met on Sardos was you. Are you sure you didn't tell her what you were
doing there?"
"No, of course not, I didn't know myself, anyway. All she saw was me
in a Federation uniform in company with Doran. She must think that
we'd made an alliance with Grose and then quarrelled. You heard her
say that, just now."
"She has probably worked out that Moloch used her as bait to attract
the Liberator, with a view to duplicating a fleet of them. I expect
she imagines that Avon destroyed Moloch when he found out he was just
a pawn in the game."
Vila gave a snort of amusement. "She doesn't know the half of it."
"We're getting good signals from the ridge," said Brig. "They've
unloaded nine flyers so far, only small ones though, they wouldn't
carry more than twenty men each. Ah, that looks like a field laser
coming out now."
"It doesn't look like very heavy equipment, does it?" said Jenna,
concentrating on the screen. "She must be relying on the drug."
"Well, she knows what a rabble Grose's men were," said Vila, "she
met some of them. It would probably give her a lot of satisfaction to
dose them with Pylene and watch them crawl, particularly Grose. Pity
he's dead, in a way."
Jenna reached for her communicator. "Come on, you two, get out of
there before you're spotted."
"Moving off now," returned Margit's voice, faintly.
"Message from Lara's man," said Vila. "He's set up the spy beam,
straight into Servalan's office. Patching audio through now."
"What about her screen and keyboard signals?" asked Jenna.
Vila relayed the question. "Any minute now," he reported. Lara's
micro transmitter had provided a focal point for the ultra-sensitive
spy beams. Gambit would decode the non-verbal ones and relay them to
video and computer screens.
"Flyer, coming over the ridge," said Margit, "take cover."
Avon promptly moved under the nearest tree canopy. "Looks as if
they're going to land some men and secure the heights," he commented
as she joined him. "Point your camera over there."
"Damn, we'll be cut off if they land there," said Margit, after a
few moments of recording. "We may have to call for teleport."
"We'll try the other trail back up there. Come on." Avon led the way
back up the hill. He was reluctant to teleport because it would entail
bringing the scoutship down from its high orbit on the far side of
Sardos, to teleport range, where it would no longer be protected by
its detector shield. If they could make it down to the river by the
southerly route and hide until dark, they might pick up their borrowed
flyer and rejoin their colleagues.
As they approached the turn-off he paused. There was less cover by this
route, but if they were lucky, they would be across before the
troopers arrived. Something hissed past him. Behind him he heard an
ominous thud and a dreadful gasp from Margit. Turning, he saw her
reeling against a tree trunk, reaching for her left side with both
hands, although he could not tell what had struck her.
"What is it?" he said in a low voice, for the enemy must be very
close.
"Some kind of dart," she muttered painfully. "It's gone deep."
"Well don't pull it out, you'll bleed much faster if you do." If it
was poisoned, she was done for, but otherwise she might have a chance
if he could contact Orac without bringing their hunters down upon
them. He fished out his communicator and activated its tracer beam. As
he did so, Margit followed suit, her hands were now heavily
bloodstained.
"Yes?" said Orac's voice in his earpiece.
"Emergency. Bring the ship into teleport range as fast as you can and
bring us up!"
"Very well, but there is a risk that we will be seen by Sleer's
reserve vessel. We will pass too close for the shield to protect us."
"Do it!" he hissed. Margit was pointing up the hillside, their
pursuers were closing in, they had to move. She led the way down to
the right, keeping her feet well enough, although her co-ordination
was slipping. As he followed her, he heard a cry from above.
"Down there!"
Breaking into a run, he grasped Margit's elbow as he overtook her and
propelled her forward. The bloodstain looked to be below the level of
her lungs so she might keep going long enough for the ship's teleport
to snatch them away when it got within range, but it was spreading
fast. Although she kept going doggedly, a drastic reduction in blood
pressure must bring her down soon. Ruthlessly he dragged her among the
thinning trees towards a rockfall about two hundred metres away, where
they might hold off the troopers. Less than fifty metres short of
safety, as they were crossing the last stretch of open ground, her
legs went from under her. Shots were crackling around them, soon
their hunters would be close enough for accurate aim.
"Hydraulics gone," she said between clenched teeth, "you run."
It was tempting to comply; if they took her prisoner instead of killing
her immediately, the teleport might whisk her away safely, but caution
intervened. If the teleport failed to retrieve her, the Feds would have
an important prisoner to interrogate. Margit was one of the few people
who could tell them everything. He fired several shots into the trees
then bent down, pulled her arm over his shoulder and hoisted her to
her feet and set off again. She was tall enough not to make him lean
over, but her weight taxed him heavily. Gritting his teeth he
persevered, then just as it seemed he couldn't take another stride,
they were among the rocks.
Now the situation was reversed, they were under cover and their
opponents were out in the open. Unceremoniously he let go of Margit,
who slid to the ground with a groan, and, chest heaving with great
gasps, he tried to steady himself sufficiently to fire at the oncoming
troops. They dropped into the grass, but it was too short to conceal
them completely and he scored two hits. As the troopers began to crawl
away, he spotted the officer waving his arms, directing men to circle
round. Always shoot the officers first, he said to himself. He
drew a careful bead and dropped the man, but he could see movement to
the left among the trees, the pincer movement had begun.
Behind him he could hear Margit calling on Orac to hurry. Good, she
had survived thus far. A laser bolt struck the weathered rock beside
him, causing splintered fragments to fly off, striking him on neck and
cheek. He ducked and shifted his position then opened up again. A shot
went off immediately behind him. As he jerked his head round, a body
slithered down, knocking him sideways. Margit, lying against a
boulder, lowered her weapon and gave a faint grimacing smile. A very
good thing he hadn't left her, he reflected as he turned back to his
post.
"Teleport," said Orac in his ear, and the rocks vanished.
He bent over Margit. The emergency over, the adrenalin which had kept
her going was ebbing away and she with it. A piece of metal protruded
slightly from her side, it didn't look much but it had gone deep all
right. This was no case for the automed, she needed a surgeon, and
fast.
"Orac, locate the main hospital and tell them I'm bringing in a
casualty for immediate surgery."
"It is already done." Orac's voice betrayed a hint of
self-satisfaction. "Prepare to teleport."
"Well done. When we've gone, take the ship out to safe orbit again."
"With pleasure. Teleport."
[Mid afternoon]
Vila sat glumly over his control board trying to concentrate on what
it was telling him, but the shock of Margit's catastrophe made it
almost impossible. He stole a sideways look at Avon, sat in Jenna's
chair monitoring her scanners while she and Brig were at the clinic.
He was trying to keep all expression from his face, but it was
blanched and drawn.
Margit was in desperate trouble on life support while cell
regeneration equipment was replacing lost tissue and damaged organs.
Brig was sitting beside her door, armed to the teeth; Jenna, having
spoken to the surgeon, was on the point of returning to the bunker.
Avon finally broke the silence, "Still nothing from Servalan's
office?"
"Nothing but footsteps in the corridor and mechanical noises. She's
definitely out. What about Bayban?" Vila had nicknamed Jenna's
scoutship `Bayban the Berserker' during its first hair-raising photon
drive trials.
"Back in orbit."
"D'you think the cruiser detected it?"
"They're keeping quiet about it if they did."
"Something's happening!" Vila sat up, all sharp attention.
"Servalan's back in her office." He switched the signal to the PA
system.
The Section Leader saluted smartly in front of the Commissioner.
"At ease, Carrez," She cast an appraising eye over him. "what have
you to report?"
"The area around the landing ground is secured, ma'am."
"Very good. Did you encounter any resistance?"
"Well ma'am, we saw some rebels on the east ridge, reconnoitering
party, I should think. We lost Captain Ling and four men there."
"How many rebels were there, and what happened to them?"
"Difficult to be exact, ma'am, the tree cover is quite thick there. I
only saw two myself, one of them looked like a woman. Maybe some
Sardoans have joined up with the Fifth Legion."
"You saw them?" Servalan's brow was black with displeasure.
"What have you done with them, pray?"
"They disappeared, ma'am. They must have been scouts, they gave us
the slip. We managed to wound the woman, but her companion dragged her
into the cover of some rocks."
"That's when you lost Captain Ling?"
"Yes. I can't understand how they got away, Commissioner. When we got
into the rocks the only signs we could find of them were some
bloodstains. We searched for a cave or something, but they vanished
into thin air." The Section Leader waited with trepidation for her
reaction, but instead of lashing out at him, she looked almost
triumphant.
"Teleport!" she exclaimed softly, eyes positively shining. "Avon is
here. Did anybody get a look at them? Can you give me a description?"
"Well, the man was about my height, medium build, darkish hair, late
thirties or early forties. I didn't get close enough to make out his
features. One thing though, he's fit - he dragged the woman across
the last stretch surprisingly fast after she collapsed."
"What about her? Was she a youngish blonde, slightly shorter than
me? Or a taller black woman?"
"No, about the same height as the man but a bit older, I think, with
shortish hair. Also very strong I should say, the way she kept going
with an air bolt in her - those things do real damage, you know."
"I don't recognise her description, but the man is probably Kerr
Avon. If he is here we must be very careful, he is extremely
dangerous." She considered for a few moments. "Search for his
spacecraft, but do not destroy it. It may contain Orac. The
trouble is, we don't know what kind of ship he uses since the
destruction of Scorpio, and it will be carefully hidden."
"Hostages, ma'am?"
"Possibly, but only someone very close to him; he can be utterly
callous when the stakes are high enough, but we have a great
opportunity here."
Orac, she said to herself. Imagine a new fleet, each ship
containing its own Orac. The Presidency would be mine again in weeks.
Avon, if only you were willing to share power, we would be
unbeatable!
"Of course, ma'am, they'll have to get that woman to a surgeon fast,
if she isn't dead by now. They couldn't deal with a wound like that on
their ship. We might locate her for interrogation purposes."
"Very well, have the hospitals searched. Find her and put her under
guard."
In the bunker, Avon reached for his communicator. "Brig," he rasped,
"search parties, heading for the hospitals. Get Margit hidden -
now!"
Brig acknowledged the signal and turned to the medic at the desk.
"You heard," he said. "Where?"
"I don't really know.
We'd better call the surgeon. You can't take her far and you'll
have to keep her on the machine." She pressed an emergency call
button on her console.
"What is it?" came the surgeon's voice.
"Patient in Room Nine, cardiac arrest." The medic turned back to
Brig. "That should bring them without letting the whole clinic know
what's going on."
Thirty seconds later the surgeon burst through the door, followed by
her assistant. She strode to the bedside, checked the monitors and
picked up Margit's wrist.
"What's this?" she said sharply. "The woman's still holding her own."
"The troopers are searching for her," said Brig. "They won't be
long getting here. She must be hidden."
"Very well." The surgeon thought for a moment then turned to her
assistant. "She died on the operating table, enter it in her records.
Body was removed by men claiming to be her relatives. Now, where are
we going to put her?"
"What about the underpass?" the young man suggested rather diffidently.
"If we shift several big store cupboards in front of the entrance they
won't realise it exists at all. We've got lifters."
"Do it," said the surgeon. "Medic, go down the corridor, close all
the room doors and fetch the goods hoist up here. I'll push the bed,
you two bring the machine. Keep close, don't let the tubing pull
out."
"So far, so good," murmured Hokaida as Lara joined him in the
caretaker's room under the stairs. "I think the senior staff officers
are protected against Pylene, but I've dosed them all anyway. I didn't
have to make the drinks, they brought their own supplies. All they
wanted was water."
"Have you tried giving an order yet?" she asked in a low voice.
"Yes, I told an orderly to bring me a food ration. Instant obedience
- quite a change from our caterers."
"Perhaps I could now talk my way out of the building," said Lara
thoughtfully, "or maybe we could think of something really useful for
them to do."
[Dusk]
Margit groped her way back to consciousness. Voices were talking
above her head, they had an odd echoing quality, tinny and remote, yet
nearby, somehow. Was she dreaming? It felt like a dream, she could not
move, she could not feel her own body, she was just a floating mind.
She strained to comprehend what the voices were saying.
"... more than six hours now, it should be safe." This was a young
man's voice.
"Definitely not. We don't move until we get the all clear." There
was something familiar about this one, an older man, a deeper voice.
"It's getting cold in here," said a woman's voice, "There's a
danger that her temperature will drop."
"The instrument readings are all right." The young man again. "More
brain activity too. Looks like she's coming out of it."
Who the devil were they talking about? Frustrated, Margit swore her
worst oath.
"Oh my!" said the woman's voice.
"Margit, watch your language," the deep voice said, this time it was
close by her ear. With enormous relief she recognised Brig. Her eyes
flew open, he was so close his features were blurred, or were her eyes
out of focus? She shifted her gaze and tried to take in her
surroundings. It was dim in here.
"Where the hell is this?" she muttered, "and where is Avon?"
"The Feds are searching for you and Avon. Servalan put two and two
together and decided that teleport equals Avon, and sent her men to
search the hospitals. This is a tunnel that links this clinic with an
administrative building. The hospital end has been blocked off with
storage units and you have been listed as dead."
"Hope they don't look at the other building." said Margit faintly.
"Not likely, it's been relabelled as something else."
After a pause, she said, "I can't feel anything,"
"Yes you can, see?" The doctor pinched her cheek, then picked up her
hand and tweaked her thumb quite sharply. "You're on pain blockers
from the mid-thorax downwards and you're hooked up to a tissue
regeneration unit while we grow you a new spleen, so I want you to
keep still and calm."
"Don't trouble yourself about Avon," put in Brig. "He's back in the
bunker."
Margit accepted this and settled back to put up with things as
patiently as she could. When she joined the rebel movement, she had
resolved to accept the probability of violent death and never to
trouble herself about it. This attitude had enabled her to face many
dangers with equanimity, although she sometimes suspected that her
unconcern might not be entirely genuine and she might be put to a
severe test someday; however, this did not seem to be that day. With
an effort she turned her thoughts to better things and eventually
drifted off into a dreamy half-sleeping state.
© Copyright Vega (Frances Teagle), 1999.