CHAPTER EIGHT

Avon was concentrating hard on his monitors and making handwritten notes when Jenna returned to the bunker escorted by Hagan, ex-legionnaire, now chief of the Sardoan security forces.
        "Any news of Margit?" asked Vila with evident anxiety.
        "Holding her own and well hidden," said Jenna, pulling off her thick jacket. Night was falling and so was the temperature. It had been arranged that Sardos's artificial weather was going to take a turn for the worse, fog would soon begin to drift over the landing strip.
        "Have they finished unloading their hardware?" she asked Avon, leaning over his shoulder to look at the screen.
        "Twelve small reconnaissance flyers and five laser cannons, plus a lot of small stuff which looks like `pacification' gear to me. I think that's the lot, there hasn't been much activity for some time, apart from setting up their camp."
        Jenna slid into a vacant place and concentrated on the screen before her, switching from one detector to another.
        "Look at that," she said, after several minutes. "They've laid out UV landing lights, invisible to the naked eye. They must be starting night-time operations -- and see that double cabin unit, the two-storey affair? That's the control tower."
        "Blacked out, nobody inside that I can see. One-way glass, perhaps," said Avon. "Try the infra-red scanner."
        "Aha! Three people inside," Vila exclaimed. "Looks as if they're sat at consoles."
        "Camp's been blacked out," Jenna reported after an interval. "Ah! All four spacecraft are lifting off."
        "Damn!" said Avon explosively. "If they all go back into orbit one of them might spot Bayban, not to mention making it harder for us to get at them."
        "No, they're keeping close to the ground," said Jenna, "heading north-east towards the city."
        "The flagship's peeling off," Vila commented. "Yes... It's landing on the bluff... Hey, that's right beside one of your detectors -- hope they don't notice it."
        "It's a good place to protect the camp from," said Avon. "What about the transports?"
        "They're putting down on the city outskirts." Jenna turned to Hagan. "Where is that?" she asked.
        "It's very close to the clinic your comrade is in," he answered. "Quite a good spot for concealment, lots of trees."
        Avon stood up. "I'm going out," he announced decisively. Jenna turned round with a slight frown, more of anxiety than disapproval.
        "I want to `acquire' one of those flyers for our own use. Hagan, get me ten men, the best you can find."
        "You're thinking of impersonating a command unit, I suppose," said Jenna. "What then?"
        "Split them into small groups whenever the opportunity offers and zap them with Pylene. We can improvise some sort of spray."
        "We'll have to think what we can do with them afterwards," said Jenna uneasily. "Prisoners, I mean."
        "I've got my own ideas about that," said Avon darkly.
        He donned a heavy parka and pulled the fur-lined hood over his head. Jenna felt an odd pang as she watched him go, dressed exactly as on some sortie from the Liberator. It almost seemed as if Blake would materialise saying "Well, come on, what are you waiting for?" To cover up her sudden emotion, she went to the door.
        "Need a coffee," she said, clearing her throat. "What about you, Vila?"
        "What? Oh, fine... Yes please."

"Gambit," said Vila in his most coaxing voice, "could you imitate Servalan's voice and mannerisms?"
        "Yes, it is well within the parameters of my voice synthesizer. I have been listening to her speech patterns, she has an autocratic manner which lends itself to imitation quite well." Gambit sounded rather smug.
        "Mmm... Why don't we arrange a little test when Jenna returns? Let's see if we can fool her." Vila smiled broadly at the thought of giving Jenna quite a shock, but the idea had been triggered by overhearing Lara's conversation with Hokaida. Maybe they could devise something useful for Servalan's staff to do with her unwitting help. He sobered up as the thought struck him that they must bend all their efforts toward eliminating Servalan as fast as possible, then her cohorts could be dealt with piecemeal. The idea made him feel rather uncomfortable; although she terrified him, he couldn't help a sneaking admiration for her whole-hearted pursuit of power. He rather suspected Avon of harbouring similar feelings. Jenna, on the other hand, would feel no such compunction -- yes, let Jenna do the dirty deed.

    "Well, well - Jenna Stannis. What a pleasure to see you again, and how well I recall our last meeting. What a pity about poor Gola. You so nearly made a brilliant marriage there. Now you're a working girl again, just like me."
"Hell's bells! You gave me a fright, Vila." Jenna sat down abruptly and drained her coffee while she thought about it.
        Vila suppressed a snigger as he bent down to retrieve the coffee carton she had hurled in his direction. It had burst messily all over the wall.
        "Look, we can do all sorts of things with this. From what Lara was saying to the other guy, only two senior officers have protection against Pylene besides Servalan. Deal with them and you've got her."
        "I need to talk to Lara, we must get her out of there. Gambit, can you find the right frequency to contact the Section Leaders without the senior officers overhearing?"
        "It will take a few minutes to make sure."
    "Section Leader Carrez, find Vice President Gambovska and escort her to the door. She is to contact the Assembly with our proposals. When she returns, pass her in again with her companions and send them straight to my office."
    "At once, Commissioner."
"I hoped you were listening to everything," said Lara, with a relieved smile, "but I had a nasty moment when Carrez arrived and hauled me out of the caretaker's room."
        "We want three or four of the fitter members of the Assembly, people with strong nerves," said Jenna. "I shall be with you as well."
        "What about Chevron?" Lara knew now who Chevron was, and they must realise that from monitoring her interview with Servalan.
        "He's organising the `pacification' of the nearest squad of troopers," said Jenna. "Besides, we can't risk it, his face is too well-known. I hope they don't remember mine."
        Lara looked critically at Jenna's features. "Pin your hair up like this," she said confidently. "We'll get the hairdresser to spray a darker colour over it. Most men are very unobservant about these matters. What about weapons? We have to get them past the door."
        "They will expect an official delegation to carry computer cases, recorders and such-like. If things go right, we'll be able to use theirs as well."
        "What about returning with our own escort of Federation troopers?" Lara's face lit up with eagerness. "We have the Fifth Legion uniforms, including helmets and face masks. They won't search us at the door, and the escort can carry weapons openly."
        "It will be easier to give them orders too. We don't know which troopers are Pylened, some of them might be alcoholics who never touch anything but liquor. Send someone for the uniforms immediately."
        Jenna's eyes had that reckless sparkle Vila had seen before. It always made him nervous. They might be so near to a major victory; he himself had laid the gunpowder trail to Servalan's door and those two were about to touch it off. Please don't let it blow up in our faces, he prayed silently.

[Night]
        Wispy trails of fog drifted across the airfield, blurring buildings and flyers but not altogether hiding them. Some dim lights illuminated the fog, clarifying nothing. Avon heard the whine of a flyer preparing to lift off as he crouched in the shadow of a sheeted supply dump listening to the chatter of air traffic control in his earpiece.
        "That leaves only two," he said to Hagan in a low voice, as the flyer passed over their heads. "When the next one goes, we move in."
        Always pick off the last bird in the flock, said the old hunter's maxim, it doesn't alarm the others. Hagan, dressed in his old uniform would walk over to the remaining craft and present its pilot with sealed orders from the Commissioner which would keep it there until an extra passenger arrived. Surveillance had become lax as the troopers were more and more convinced that Grose's men had fled the district, and Sardoan compliance was assured. The traffic controllers in their warm tower would notice nothing if interlopers walked quietly and purposefully outside, only an obviously unusual pattern of behaviour would attract their attention.
        Another engine whined into life. Avon was thankful, he was getting chilled and stiff crouching here. "Off you go," he said to Hagan as the departing flyer began to rise. The man nodded, rose without haste, passed round the back of the supply dump and walked across the concrete to the remaining flyer with that authentic military step that Avon himself could never hope to duplicate. Avon watched him reach up and tap on the pilot's door. As it opened he handed up the forged orders and spoke briefly to the pilot. There was a pause, then about a dozen troopers jumped down and set off towards their camp.
        "What's the delay?" crackled Traffic Control in his ear. The inaudible reply presumably reported the change of orders. Avon stood up and walked towards the flyer, carrying the medical laser equipment.
        "Here's your man now," Control added. "Get moving as fast as you can."
        Avon reached the aircraft and climbed into a rear seat as Hagan settled into the front passenger position. The engine started.
        "Where to?" said the pilot.
        "Our first call is at this location, here," said Hagan, pointing to his chart. "These are the references."
        "What's that stuff your friend has with him?" the pilot asked as they rose.
        "It's experimental and secret," said Avon forbiddingly.
        The pilot subsided with a muttered remark. He brought the flyer round to the correct heading and they flew on into the darkness.

Vila watched the preparations of the delegation to Servalan with misgiving. Lara was drawing a floor plan of the building and marking the sentry points for Jenna. Sidearms were being concealed in recorders, even knives were being slipped into sleeves. One of the security men, an ex-legionnaire named Reymon, entered with an armful of uniforms.
        "They're a bit shabby," he observed, "But they cleaned up quite well. I think they'll pass muster."
        Jenna sorted through them assessing which were the best. To Vila's horror, she tossed one at him. "Try this for size."
        "What, me?!" he blurted. "Who's going to see to things here?" But she only laughed and said that would be taken care of.
        "It's not the first time you've worn one, by all accounts," she added tartly.
        Vila muttered a rude rejoinder under his breath as he struggled into the black overalls. He was somewhat cheered to see the legionnaire re-enter with helmets and blasters. Although in his experience, carrying arms nearly always led to being shot at, it was still reassuring to have a trigger under his finger. He tried on a helmet and face mask which was as claustrophobic as he expected, then he selected a blaster and tried to adopt a military stance.
        An unwelcome thought struck him. "How will you tell me from the enemy? And how do I identify you? There's nothing sillier than getting shot up by your own allies."
        "We'll put a mark on the blasters," said his colleague as he pulled on his uniform. "Anyway, keep close to me and do as I tell you."
        "Well, is everyone ready?" Jenna picked up a case and looked round. The councillors nodded gravely. "Come on, then," she said and gestured to Lara to lead the way."
        "Have you told Avon what we're up to?" Vila muttered to Jenna as he passed by.
        "Certainly not," she answered, "he has enought to do. Let it come as a surprise."
        "It'll be a surprise all right, if we're all killed," he said under his breath.

"We're here," said the pilot, bringing the flyer to a hover. "I don't see anything or anyone."
        "Good," said Avon deliberately. "We don't want anyone to see us, either. Don't show any lights, switch on your night vision and find us a place to land. Quietly.
        The landing was smooth and quiet. As the pilot shut off the engine, Hagan opened his door and listened for a while. Silence. No other flyers were in the vicinity and the night scanners revealed no living creature larger than a small mammal.
        From the rear seat Avon spoke softly to the pilot. "Have you had your anti-Pylene shot?"
        "What's that? No, I suppose I haven't."
        "Well you'd better have it now." Avon touched the medical laser to the back of the man's neck and pressed the trigger. "There, did that hurt?"
        "Oh no, sir. Thank you very much."
        "Very good. Now, as you must have realised, we are on an undercover mission. It is essential that you obey orders absolutely and keep completely quiet. Whatever you see and hear, you tell no-one unless I give you permission. Understand?"
        "Absolutely, sir. You can rely on me."
        Avon climbed out of the vehicle and joined Hagan in the damp mist. He fished out his communicator and switched it to the bunker's frequency.
        "Chevron to Base, Phase Two completed," he reported.
        An unfamiliar voice answered. "Base to Chevron, acknowledged. Proceed to Phase Three."
        Avon frowned. "Is Astra there? Or any of the others?"
        "They've all gone with the delegation to Commissioner Sleer."
        "I see. Well notify them when they contact you." Avon forbore to ask further questions.
        "Of course, sir. Good luck."
        Flipping frequencies, he spoke again. "Orac, did you hear that?"
        "Yes, Chevron, very interesting. There has been a lot of activity in your absence." Orac and Gambit had long since been ordered to address the group by their aliases.
        "What kind of activity? Does Gambit know where they are?"
        "Warren had the notion of getting Gambit to imitate the Commissioner's voice, and Astra issued an order to the guards to send Madam Gambovska out of the Assembly Building. They have concocted a plan to go in again with several companions under the pretext of being an official delegation, and seize control."
        "Damn! They're likely to get themselves killed! Are they inside the building?"
        "Yes. Gambit is jamming all the internal communications so that Servalan cannot call for reinforcements."
        This was a highly risky development, thought Avon. He could see their reasons for taking the opportunity as it arose, but it was alarmingly reckless. He stood considering for some minutes, then spoke into the communicator again. "I don't see that we can be of any help over there, so we'll continue with our original plan. Contact me as soon as you have some news."
        "Very well."

Jenna was aware of a violently thumping heart as the little procession made its way up the misty boulevard towards the Assembly Hall. She knew that it was not so much the risk they were taking, she was accustomed to risk, as the enormity of what they proposed to do that played on her nerves. The consequence of failure was certain death, but the consequences of success were almost beyond imagining. She had penetrated various Federation enclaves before this, for various reasons, but never with the sole purpose of killing one person. It gave her a strange feeling. She looked sideways at Lara. There was an eager spring in her step. Blow me, if the woman's not looking forward to it, thought Jenna. She may change her mind when she sees the business end of a blaster. She heard the procession break step -- they had arrived.
        Reymon saluted the sentry at the door. "A Sardoan delegation to meet the Commissioner, as arranged."
        "I'll check with the Major," said the sentry, but his attitude was scarcely concerned, there was none of the usual military alertness in his bearing.
        "No need for that." Reymon's tone was sharply authoritative. "Pass them in and look sharp about it."
        "Sir!!" The sentry positively clicked his heels as he came to attention.
        Reymon swept into the vestibule with the delegation at his heels. Once inside, Lara assumed the lead, directing them up the broad staircase to the President's office on the first floor. As she climbed the steps, Jenna fumbled inside the recording case she was carrying for the hidden weapon. For a very unpleasant moment it slipped away from her and she had to chance a downwards glance, praying that the guard at the top of the stairs didn't notice as she retrieved it.
        As they passed him, Vila, bringing up the rear said "Come with us, the Major wants you." The man fell in beside him. Peeling off from the main party, Jenna opened the second door on the right, which she knew to be a cloakroom, and went in with Vila and the guard following.
        "Why would the Major..." the guard began. He was cut off as Vila brought his blaster down on his head. Fortunately, as was the usual practice, he had not been wearing his helmet on indoor duty. Jenna produced some cord and swiftly tied his hands and feet, then with Vila's help, dragged him into the adjoining toilet and locked the door on him. Then they hastened to join the others, waiting along the corridor.
        Rounding the next corner, they saw as expected, a trooper guarding the double doors of the President's office.
        "What is it?" asked the guard in a low voice, as Reymon advanced upon him.
        Equally softly, he replied, "The intercom is out of order so I am detailed to ask the Commissioner if she will receive this native delegation."
        "Go ahead."
        Reymon knocked on the door, as Jenna held her breath. That familiar voice answered. "Enter."
        He opened the door and stood on the threshold, as if hesitating slightly.
        "Well, what is it?"
        "Commissioner, we think your communicator is out of action. I have a message for you."
        "One moment." Servalan pressed her button. After a pause she nodded agreement, Gambit was successfully jamming all frequencies in the area. While she was thus occupied, Reymon put his left hand behind his back and gave a clenched fist signal to show that the Major was also in the room, at the secretary's console beside the rear window.
        "I trust the fault will be repaired with all haste. Deliver your message."
        "Yes, ma'am." Hearing a faint sound from the corridor as Jenna and Vila dealt with the sentry, Reymon hastened into speech to cover any other noises.
        "The Vice President Gambovska is here with several council members. They say they want to negotiate an agreement to join the Federation. They've brought documents and secretaries with them so it looks as if they're willing to do it on the spot."
        "Well, well." Servalan smiled vividly, things seldom fell into her lap as easily as this. "Show Madam Gambovska in."
        Lara, assuming her previous timid posture, hastened into the room.
        "And when did you confer with your colleagues? I thought you were confined to this building."
        "True, Commissioner. What I did was send messages to them before I came here, recommending them to waste no time in getting together and coming to an agreement with the Federation. I have just met them in the hallway."
        "Oh, very efficient." Servalan resumed her charming manner. "I congratulate you. Bring in your friends and let us get down to business. Major, come over and join us."
        Jenna felt remarkably cool as she followed the delegation through the door, two successful actions had steadied her, possibly Vila too. Servalan appeared to be unarmed, but the Major's hand hovered close to his holster as he scanned each visitor. It was clearly up to Reymon to get the drop on him. Servalan instantly provided the opportunity.
        "Well, ladies and gentlemen, please be seated. Guard, dismiss."
        Reymon saluted, wheeled smartly and shot the Major dead.
        In the confusion that followed, Servalan dived for her desk, reaching for a weapon. Vila fired an undecided shot somewhere between her hand and the desk. Undeterred, she was lifting the blaster when Jenna stepped from behind the group and fired. Servalan reeled against the wall. As she slid down it, her brow furrowed with concentration -- there was something faintly familiar... She never completed the thought.
        Reymon stepped through the ensuing silence, bent down and administered the coup de grace.
        Vila shuddered. Looking down at the onetime Supreme Commander's puzzled face he felt a mixture of disbelief and horror. How did things come to this?
        Jenna took his arm and shook him. "Help Reymon move the bodies and give me Gambit's communicator. Come on, Vila, move!"

[Midnight]
        "Someone's coming," said Hagan, pointing to the night scanner.
        "Is he alone?"
        "Yes."
        "It's probably our man, but let's not take any chances. Get out and hide behind the flyer until he reaches the door, then come up behind him."
        Hagan slipped out and was lost in the darkness. Several minutes passed in silence. Whoever it was, he was remarkably quiet across the stony ground. When he was within ten metres, Avon killed the night scanner so that its green glow would not illuminate their faces. A few moments later there was a faint scratching on the canopy.
        Avon opened his door slightly. "Identify yourself," he said.
        "Loman, security service. The password is `multiplicity'."
        "Get in. You too, Hagan." Avon moved across his seat to make room. "Is the equipment prepared?"
        "Yes. We have to do the modifications to the flyer in a safe place. There are some caverns nearby. Switch on the night scanner and I will guide you in."
        "Let's go."
        Loman slid into the navigator's seat. "Come round about twenty degrees and make for that escarpment over there," he instructed the pilot.
        Two minutes later they were nosing into the cavern entrance. The scanner revealed the shapes of people standing by the walls with containers. Everything was ready.
        As he followed the others out of the flyer, Avon tapped Hagan on the shoulder. "I want you and Loman to interrogate the pilot thoroughly -- plans, passwords, communication timetables. If he's due to call in to base, have him do so."
        Hagan nodded and spoke to Loman and the pilot, who followed him to the back of the cavern. A curtain was being lowered across the cave mouth, in preparation for turning on the lighting. Avon ducked underneath and walked outside.
        "Orac, what news?"
        "Some success, by the sound of it. Gambit has just faked an order from Servalan to call off the search for Margit, saying the body has been discovered. Units have been ordered back to the camp for rest."
        "Promising. Now try and connect me with Jenna." The dank vapour chilled him to the bone and he pulled up his hood. Nonetheless, he was grateful for the fog and the still-falling temperature, it would encourage the invaders to seek shelter and warmth in their camp instead of dispersing to seek their enemy or even better cover.
        Orac interrupted his thoughts. "Vila wishes to speak to you, I am relaying his signal."
        "Well Vila, where are you?"
        "In Servalan's office."
        "And where is she?"
        "Lying on a table in the waiting room, wrapped in a rather splendid velvet curtain."
        How strange that the news he had so desired struck him like a lance. He was silent for so long that Vila came through again, demanding to know if he was still there.
        At last, he spoke into the communicator. "Is she dead, Vila?"
        "Very."
        "Are you absolutely certain of that?"
        "Jenna and Reymon made quite sure. Her adjutant is lying at her feet like a faithful hound -- no velvet for him, though." Vila's flippancy probably masked his revulsion. He at least was genuine in his hatred of violence.
        "Get Jenna, I need to speak to her." While he waited he sat back to think. Many possibilities had opened up; with Jenna and Gambit impersonating Servalan all sorts of things were possible.
        "Avon, have you heard the news?" Jenna's voice, tense and excited.
        "Yes, and I suppose I must congratulate you. I hardly anticipated this when I left. Apparently Vila has been using his brains, remarkable isn't it?"
        "How are your plans proceeding?"
        "On schedule. They estimate the spraying equipment and tanks will be installed in a couple of hours. How long till dawn, do you know?"
        There was a consultation. "Lara says about five hours. It looks as though you should surprise them in their beds. I don't think they're feeling any urgency, especially since they've been told that the Sardoans have signed a treaty and promised to help them to mop up the Fifth Legion."
        "Good. Now I want you to issue some more orders."

    "Control Tower, Control Tower... Come on, answer me! This is Commissioner Sleer."
    "Yes ma'am - er - sorry for the delay."
    "Contact all ships and flyers, tell them that Avon's spacecraft has been captured and we shall be using it to deceive the renegades. Federation ships are not to interfere with it in any way. Have every commander call back and confirm that he understands the order. Notify me when they have all done so. Understood?"
    "Yes Commissioner, at once."
Back inside the cavern Avon beckoned to Hagan. Someone was dispensing hot drinks and snacks, they helped themselves and retired to a quiet corner.
        "The field commander is a Colonel Simor. I've heard of him, routine sort of fellow, undistinguished career, wouldn't do for the Fifth at all." Hagan made no effort to disguise his contempt. "The pilot reckons that he and his staff are bedded down in comfort aboard the flagship while the poor bloody infantry are roughing it in camp. Still, it's pretty certain that they would have Pylene protection. What we don't want is them getting suspicious and alerting the cruiser. From up there it could call for reinforcements, and then the cat's out of the bag."
        "We'll have the Colonel out of his stateroom," said Avon with one of his more sinister smiles. "There has been a change of circumstances. Servalan is dead and her headquarters are under Astra's control." Briefly he informed Hagan of the latest developments.
        The man gave a low whistle of astonishment. "It's too easy. We just order him to HQ and..." He drew his finger across his throat graphically, grinning cheerfully.
        Yes, probably best to terminate the Colonel immediately, although Avon wondered whether Jenna would be callous enough to do it. Still, Reymon was quite capable of it, with a little encouragement. He wondered at the ex-Federation troopers' willingness to fight their former comrades, but supposed that contempt for anyone outside the Fifth Legion was a strong factor. The notorious Fifth would have more in common with pirates than the authorities. Hagan and Reymon were probably enjoying this campaign. He and Jenna had better show no weakness in their dealings with them, he reflected wryly.
        "Have you got all the procedures and passwords from the pilot?" he asked.
        "Yes, it's all straightforward stuff, no tricks," Hagan replied. "I take it we are going ahead with this before trying out these new ideas."
        "Naturally. Quell the troops with Pylene and the officers cannot make much trouble." Avon looked across at the busy group round the flyer. They were beginning to clear away their equipment, in a few minutes all would be ready.
        This had better work, he said to himself. If the aerosol spray doesn't make its way in through the ventilators of those tents, we shall have to think again, and pretty smartly.
        At the airfield he had looked carefully at the troopers' shelters, balloon structures of strong lightweight fabric, inflated and warmed by their own miniature power packs and reputed to be reasonably comfortable. The air intakes should suffice to introduce the drug. He turned his eyes to the pilot sitting against the cavern wall. The man had the usual dreamy look on his face and Avon wondered if he would be sufficiently alert to follow orders precisely, let alone control the flyer properly.
        Feeling restless, he got up and went out through the curtain to check the weather. He was relieved to find that the temperature had fallen considerably, causing the mist to precipitate onto every available surface as hoar frost. The air was very still, soon it would be completely clear -- ideal conditions for what he had in mind.

"Vila, has somebody turned off that Pylene dispenser and flushed out the water system yet?" Jenna leant back wearily in her chair. Midnight had come and gone, most of the excitement had drained away and it was increasingly hard to stay alert. Lara had given up the struggle and was sleeping blissfully on the couch by the window.
        "I suppose you'd like some strong coffee, huh?" Vila stretched his arms and failed to suppress a yawn. "Reymon told someone to see to it and test the water after. I'll check if it's all clear and brew up. Avon won't move off for a couple of hours yet, you know his thing about catching people at their lowest ebb."
        "Good idea. See if you can find..." She was interrupted by the intercom buzzer. Automatically she got up and went to the desk to reply, then paused.
        "You answer that, Vila," she said, frowning slightly. "If it's for Servalan, say she's gone to bed."
        Rather nervously, Vila pressed the button. "Yes?"
        "Colonel Simor here. Put me through to the Commissioner." An abrupt voice, with troubled overtones.
        "Commissioner Sleer has retired for the night, sir. Is it urgent?"
        "You'd better wake her, this could be important."
        Vila rolled an anguished eye at Jenna.
        "Say you will," she muttered.
        "Hold on sir, I'll send someone." Vila flicked the intercom off and turned to Jenna. "Now what?"
        "Wait three or four minutes then call back and tell him to come over here if it's really important -- security reasons -- you know the sort of thing. I'll arrange a reception committee." Jenna picked up her blaster and strode over to shake Lara awake. Vila wondered why she didn't use Gambit to answer in Servalan's stead. On second thoughts, it was too good an opportunity for a trap, to be passed over.
        Jenna conferred a moment with Lara who got up and left the room. Judging the time to be right, Vila switched on again.
        "Colonel Simor?"
        "Affirmative." The soldier sounded rather sour.
        "The Commissioner says, if it's really urgent come over here immediately. She won't discuss anything over the air for security reasons. If not, it can wait until morning."
        "I'm coming."
        Vila turned back to Jenna. "I wonder what's eating him?"
        "Perhaps something has made him suspicious." She picked up her communicator. "Gambit, Colonel Simor is leaving his flagship to come here. Track him and let me know who he brings with him. Notify our ground forces and monitor any signals he sends."
        "Confirmed."
        "What are you going to do with him?" said Vila anxiously.
        "What do you think I'm going to do with him?" Jenna's voice was sharp. "And don't pull that face. These people came here to invade and enslave, we owe them nothing more than a quick death. I seem to remember you firing at his employer a few hours ago."
        "That was different," mumbled Vila, "she was going for a gun."
        "What do you think the Colonel will be doing? Surrendering gracefully?"
        "Yes, well, get Reymon to do it. He's almost as fast on the draw as Soolin. Got about as much compunction, too."
        "Our hero!"
        As if on cue, Reymon entered with Lara. "Right, I've got two of my own men at the door," he reported. "All the other troopers have been sent off to their dormitory in the annexe. We can't risk Simor getting a look at their dopey faces, he has the reputation of a spit and polish man." He looked Jenna hard in the eye. "What are you going to do with him?"
        "Ask him a few questions, then shoot him," said Jenna baldly.
        Reymon gave a satisfied nod of agreement.

    "Colonel Simor?"
    "Yes. Who are you?"
    "Section Leader Reymon, sir. The Commissioner sent me to meet you."
    "Where is Carrez?"
    "The Commissioner sent him off to get some sleep, sir."
    "Hmph! She isn't usually that considerate. Well, lead the way."
    "Of course. Er, we have a messroom down the hall, sir. Will your men wait for you there or do you prefer to have them stand guard outside the Commissioner's office along with her sentries?"
    "Oh, very well. You two wait down there. Now let's get on with it!"
    "Follow me, sir."
Vila stood uneasily by the door, listening for the footsteps heralding the Colonel's approach. He had a strong presentiment of danger and felt sure that Reymon's casual dismissal of the man as a spit and polish dummy was Fifth Legion arrogance and folly. It was his intention to keep the visitor unobtrusively covered at all times.
        Jenna had seated herself at the secretarial desk previously occupied by Major Borg, to play the part of Commissioner's aide. Lara had gone into the adjoining waiting room and locked the door.
        Vila felt certain that the projected plan to question the Colonel about his mission was a vain hope. The man was obviously full of suspicion and would surely demand to speak to the Commissioner face to face. He stiffened; footsteps were clearly audible.
        Reymon opened the door and announced "Colonel Simor." The Colonel pushed aggressively past him and favoured Vila with a scowl.
        "Dismiss!" he snapped.
        Reymon withdrew, but Vila stood his ground. Still scowling, the soldier turned to Jenna.
        "Fetch the Commissioner," he said curtly.
        "She will be here soon," Jenna began.
        Close behind the Colonel, Vila saw his shoulders stiffen. "Stannis!" he hissed, and moved his hand towards his belt. Vila waited no longer. Raising his blaster to the back of the soldier's head, he fired.
        "Vila!" yelled Jenna, "we were going to question him."
        "Listen, he recognised you," shouted Vila indignantly. "he said `Stannis'. I heard him. And I saw him going for his gun."
        Two doors opened simultaneously as Reymon and Lara charged into the room, weapons levelled. Reymon knelt and checked the corpse. "Dead," he reported.
        "That idiot shot him before I had a chance to ask any questions," said Jenna, tight-lipped with anger.
        "How many times do I have to say it? He recognised you. He was about to shoot you down." Vila sounded injured. "How about a little gratitude for saving your life. Anyhow, you'll have to get your information from someone else."
        Jenna remained stiffly unconvinced but Lara patted him on the arm. "Well done," she said. "We can't expect everything to go perfectly smoothly and I'm sure we can get it elsewhere."
        Well, thought Vila, somewhat mollified, somebody appreciates me. I'm not surprised Avon likes her company. I don't suppose he'll make a fuss about the Colonel, either, that sort of thing has happened often enough in the past with Tarrant and Soolin around.
        "You can dispose of the corpse," added Jenna, ungraciously.
        "Thank you very much. I was looking forward to that," returned Vila, tartly.
        Reymon stepped between them. "I'll give you a hand," he said.

[The small hours]
        "Time to go," said Orac's voice in Avon's earpiece. "Gambit reports no movement from the camp apart from the sentries. The temperature is minus two degrees and the air is still and clear."
        "Acknowledged." Avon spoke softly into his wrist unit. He stood up and signalled to Hagan, who shook the pilot awake. The ripple of activity spread to the Sardoans, lights were dimmed, two scouts slipped out through the curtain and the scanners were switched on.
        As Avon settled into his rear seat, he checked the newly installed detectors and controls. Theoretically, he knew he should be able to do anything in front of the pilot without arousing suspicion, and order him to perform any action with instant obedience, yet he felt instinctively that the less the man knew about what was really afoot, the better.
        The team leader was giving him the thumbs up sign. The lights went out and the curtain was drawn aside.
        "Back to camp," he told the pilot.
        Soon after takeoff he gave the pilot some more instructions.
        "Control Tower, RX9 calling Control."
        "Receiving you, RX9." The voice sounded sleepy.
        "On our way back. ETA about fifteen minutes."
        "OK, switching on landing lights." No hint of suspicion there.
        Soon the lighted landing strip came into view on the scanner. Avon leaned forward. "It is vital you follow instructions precisely," he said in the pilot's ear. "Circle round and approach the strip from directly over the camp."
        Watching his scanner, he saw that the camp was spread over quite a wide area. More than one pass would be necessary, but he had planned for this contingency. They were nearly over the camp -- he hit the spray release and followed it's descent on his detectors. As they completed the pass, he gave the prepared command: "Instrument trouble."
        The pilot nodded and spoke to the control tower. "We've got some instrument malfunction, I'm going round for another try."
        "Standing by," came the answer. "Good Luck."
        The flyer turned and passed up the western side of the camp while Avon released another cloud of gas, then back along the eastern side and straight over the control tower.
        "Now land," said Avon.
        When they were safely parked, he turned to the pilot. "You are dismissed to your quarters. Don't talk to anyone about where you've been."
        "Yes sir." The man climbed out and made his way into camp. As his figure dwindled, his gait appeared to become slightly unsteady. There had been sono vapour mixed with the Pylene spray. Soon the entire camp would be sleeping very soundly.
        Twenty minutes drifted by as they sat in the darkness. Finally Avon stirred. "That should be long enough," he remarked, "send the signal."
        A moment later there was a reply from the bunker. "Contact."
        "Can any of your scanners see into the control tower?" he asked.
        "One moment -- yes, three people inside, no movement. Good news, eh?"
        "Is Gambit jamming all their frequencies?"
        "Yes. Shall I give the signal to start checking the tents?"
        "Go ahead." Avon turned his head towards Hagan. "If this has worked, all we have to worry about are the people on the flagship, the cruiser and the transports."
        "There are the other reconnaissance flyers as well," Hagan reminded him.
        "Let them carry on. When we've got our own men in the control tower, we can call them back one by one."
        The night scanner screen was now registering figures slipping between the tents, opening the doors; Hagan's picked men, wearing respirators and carrying gas detectors. Eventually they gathered into a knot to confer, then one man detached and walked over to the solitary flyer. Avon searched for his respirator, put it on and opened the door.
        "All's well," the Sardoan reported.
        "Good." Avon spoke into his wrist unit again. "Bunker, Phase Three complete, start Phase Four."
        "Confirmed." The voice was remote, Zen-like.
        Turning back to the Sardoan, he instructed him to replace the sentries with his own men. Hardly had they moved to their new posts when a voice crackled over the flyer's intercom.
        "Officer of the Watch, what's going on out there? Why are all those men moving about." Someone on the flagship had been watching his night scanner.
        Hagan took the initiative. "Verdene thought he saw movement, sir, so we searched the camp. Not a sign of anything unusual, but we'll keep our eyes peeled."
        "Fine, so will I. I don't know your voice, who are you? Where's Enrikesh?"
        "He was called away, sir. I'm a replacement. Hagan's the name."
        "Who called him away?" The man was vaguely suspicious.
        "Colonel Simor, I think, when he went over to Ground HQ, sir."
        "Very well. Don't let your vigilance drop. It's just too quiet, they're planning something. I don't believe this meek surrender."
        Oh well, thought Avon, somebody had to give us trouble, sometime. Aloud he said to Hagan, "I think we'll have to reassure him. A communication from Ground HQ ought to do it." He watched the smile he did not permit on his own face flit across Hagan's. "I'm going back to the bunker to arrange the next move. You take charge here."

Go to next chapter

© 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.