Avon entered the bunker to find Brig at the main console. His presence was reassuring, evidently Margit's situation was no longer critical.
        "Well, how is she?" he queried as he pulled off his damp parka.
        "Coming along." Brig was brief, as always.
        "Good, and I'm glad to see you back here. We need all the help we can get."
        "You'd better bring me up-to-date with your activities," said Brig. "Sit down and I'll get you a drink."
        The drink proved to be one of the better Sardoan wines, doubtless procured by Vila. As they swallowed it, Avon reviewed his activities for Brig's benefit.
        "I should think we need to get the cruiser to land," observed Brig as he concluded, "then we can jam all its signals and Orac can take control of all its systems once it's inside the energy barrier. And then Servalan's expedition will have vanished without trace. Think what the Federation might make of that. Mikhail could set the rumours flying and by all accounts the High Council's getting pretty paranoid about disloyalty, graft and suchlike." His dark eyes glinted with amusement as he contemplated the scenario.
        Avon gave a small smile of appreciation. "Gambit," he said, "I want you to interrogate each Federation vessel's computers for a list of all personnel, their rank and their duties. Give me a hard copy." He reached for the communicator. "Jenna, are you receiving me?"
        After a short pause, she replied, "Go ahead,"

Avon mounted the steps of the Assembly Hall and approached the two sentries.
        "I've come to see the Commissioner," he announced curtly.
        "It's OK, Chevron," one answered, "we're Reymon's squad. Brig said you were on your way. You want the office upstairs with the sentry outside."
        Avon nodded his acknowledgement and went into the warm interior, pausing to take a leisurely look at his surroundings. Taking in the finely proportioned doorways and the complex ornamentation, he reflected that even the small Sardoan population had gone to considerable lengths to construct an imposing seat of government. The wide marble staircase was really rather magnificent. He climbed it slowly, appreciatively.
        Yes, there was the sentry at the far end of the corridor. He, too, was expecting Avon and waved him into the president's office. Avon opened the door silently and stood on the threshold surveying the room. The presidential desk before him was unoccupied; away to the right, Jenna and Vila were poring over a row of consoles; to his left, Lara slept peacefully on a couch beside the large windows, with their splendid heavy curtains. Ah, the end curtain was missing; he turned back to his right, there was an unobtrusive door near the console table - the late Commissioner would probably be in there.
        Vila noticed his presence and touched Jenna's arm. She swivelled her chair to look at him, following his gaze to the door.
        "Yes," she said in a low voice, "in there. Go and see."
        He walked over to the door and opened it. A sort of waiting room lay before him, with seating around the walls and another door leading to the corridor. On the table lay a swathed figure, on the floor beside it lay two others, covered with plain sheets.
        He twitched the velvet shroud aside and gazed down at the uncovered face. Servalan - Supreme Commander, President, Commissioner - the pallid, set face bore the unmistakable mark of death, that implacable spirit utterly gone.
        Well, Cally, he mused, you are avenged at last, even if not by me. You, and how many others? He stood in silent recollection until the other door opened and Reymon came in.
        "They said you wouldn't be satisfied until you had seen the corpse for yourself," he remarked, evidently pleased with himself.
        "Oh yes, I'm satisfied," returned Avon, replacing the shroud. "Which is the Colonel?" He looked down at the pair on the floor.
        Reymon uncovered one of the sheeted figures and Avon bent over it.
        "Good, his uniform isn't damaged. Find someone similar, use makeup and a wig if you have to, the Colonel is going back to his flagship."
        "Yes sir."
        "And now I recommend we dispose of the remains, promptly."
        "Arrangements have been made," came the answer. "We'll take them out the back door."
        He turned and left with a jaunty step, a Fifth Legionnaire to the backbone. Avon, too, felt his spirits rise. With Servalan died their most dedicated pursuer. Few of her colleagues shared her conviction that any of Liberator's crew had survived, and if her expedition was successfully tidied away without trace, quite a few people would heave a sigh relief at her disappearance, not least some of her superiors.
        He returned to the presidential office and drew up a chair beside Jenna and Vila. Lara had woken, she rose and came over to join them.
        "That's a very good job done," he said.
        "Yes..." Jenna's tone was thoughtful rather than self-congratulatory. "I want to direct Federation attention away from here when the hunt begins. Planting rumours in another sector seems to be the simplest way, but I'm thinking of backing it up by abandoning one of the transporters where they can find it, suitably damaged of course."
        "Agreed, but we shall have to be careful with the location."
        "I know. I was thinking of getting Carnell's advice about that."
        "He'll be glad to know that Servalan isn't tracking him any more. We have several months to work up a convincing scenario, there's no hurry. Meanwhile, we have the flagship to deal with. I have a plan but we must hurry, dawn isn't far away."
        "Dawn is as far away as you want," interpolated Lara triumphantly. "We just change the program."
        "Another three hours ought to do nicely."
        With a flashing smile, Lara turned and left the room.
        "I do believe she's enjoying all this," commented Jenna.
        "Probably," said Avon.

"Well?" Lara asked Hokaida, as they met outside the mess hall.
        "Yes, very," he replied. "No Pylene protection whatever. They drank their coffee like good little troopers and now they're ready for interrogation."
        "Here goes." She straightened her back and strode into the mess hall. "Attention!!" she snapped. "I am the Commissioner's intelligence officer and I have some questions for you."
        The two lounging bodyguards leapt to a rigid salute. "Yes, ma'am," they chorused.
        "At ease. We'll begin with a list of all the officers and other ranks aboard the flagship. Write it down."
        I could get to enjoy this, mused Lara, as the troopers applied themselves to their task.

    "Ah, Hagan, back from your expedition, eh? Come in here and have a drink and let's compare notes."

    "My pleasure. Anything to eat as well?

    "Bound to be, the Feds have left boxes of rations all over the place."

    "It's not so long since we were Feds, Reymon. Do you ever think of that?"

    "I'm thinking about that right now. Here, try this."

    "Thanks. What have you been thinking?"

    "Don't you wonder about these people? Astra, Chevron, Warren? Aliases, every one. I heard Astra shout `Vila' at Warren. Doesn't that name mean anything to you?"

    "Should it?"

    "Vila Restal, Kerr Avon, Soolin?"

    "Oh, Blake's crew. How do you know?"

    "I've interrogated several of the troopers and they gave very good descriptions. The Commissioner was searching for them, so all her followers had their details."

    "Hmm, I remember hearing about them. If it is them, they're pretty dangerous and the way they've just dealt with the invasion proves it."

    "May I remind you that there's a huge price on their heads. Perhaps we could buy our way back into the Federation with this information. We have transport now, we don't have to stay on this lump of rock any more."

    "Don't even think it, Reymon. These people are every bit as ruthless as their reputation says they are and if they get wind of such ideas they'll snuff you out without a moment's hesitation. Anyway, what do you care if they plot against the Federation? They haven't done it much harm yet."

    "I've been watching them at work - lies and tricks and ambushes. Sardos is part of their strategy, the production line for weapons, ships and surveillance equipment. I think they might bring down the Federation by stealth, and then what? Democracy? Self-determination for all? Don't make me laugh."

    "Listen, we want to be on the winning side, so we'd better watch and wait to see who that's going to be. And you had better keep your head down and get on with your job."

    "So you're quite happy to stand by and let them do it?"

    "Use your brains. There's no place for us in the Federation now. We're renegades or written off as dead. We'd have too much explaining to do. They would just interrogate us and then execute us. They'll never trust us and we don't have any powerful friends to protect us, whereas we do have quite a good position here."

    "Perhaps... Actually, you can't help admiring them in some ways, particularly Astra. And even Warren isn't quite the coward he pretends to be. He's not exactly a good shot but he finished off the Colonel all right. How do you find working with Chevron?"

    "Oh, very instructive - cunning as they come. And he's got enormous technical knowledge. I'm not surprised the Commissioner wanted him so badly. Is that your bleeper?"

    "Yes. We're about to go after the flagship... Reymon speaking."

"I'm going to leave the capture of the flagship to you. The Colonel left with two troopers and he must return likewise to avoid suspicion." Avon surveyed the false Simor critically and decided he would pass, in the dark, anyway.
        "This is the throat mike for the voice synthesizer," he continued. "Put it on and say a few words."
        The actor took the button-sized microphone transmitter and applied it to his neck just below the collar.
        "Officer of the Watch!" he snapped. "Open the main hatch."
        Reymon and Hagan exchanged glances, "That's very good," said Reymon, "that should fool them."
        "All you need to do is get inside and pretend to go to your quarters. Now, are you quite certain you can find your way to the air filter plant?"
        They nodded.
        "Be sure to put your respirators on before you feed the gas into the system, this a very concentrated, quick-acting form of sono, so take no chances. Hagan, run through your next action."
        "We wait fifteen minutes, then check that everyone's asleep," recited Hagan. "Then we open the hatch. You will see it on your scanner and come in to help remove the prisoners to the security compound. If anyone's awake, we zap them with the stun gun."
        "Fine."
        After all, thought Avon, once they get inside, it's ludicrously simple, provided they don't arouse anybody's suspicions. Aloud, he added, "We will be jamming all frequencies so that they can't call for help from the cruiser or the transporter crews. Let's get on with it."
        All three drew themselves up and squared their shoulders as if bracing for action. Avon handed `the Colonel' the briefcase containing the gas cylinder and respirators and watched them climb aboard the Colonel's flyer, then he followed and slid into the pilot's seat. With a quiet whine, the flyer rose and turned to the west.

    "Flagship, this is Ground HQ. Colonel Simor is on his way back to you. E T A about five minutes. Acknowledge."

    "Flagship here, message received."

    "Cruiser One, Commissioner Sleer calling Cruiser One."

    "Receiving you, ma'am. Captain Sholto here."

    "Anything to report, Captain?

    "Yes, ma'am, a Hunter Class scoutship of outer planets' manufacture was recently observed descending from orbit. It probably landed near you. We did not interfere with it, as per your orders."

    "Correct, Captain, it is now under our control. We have secured the capital and the Sardoan government has signed a treaty with the Federation."

    "This is excellent news. Congratulations, Ma'am. Have you any further orders?"

    "Maintain your position and observe communications silence unless you have something to report. We believe that the renegades have no other spacecraft, but keep watch and destroy anything that tries to leave without clearance."

    "Affirmative."

[Morning]
        In the camp control tower, the Sardoan substitute traffic controllers kept their vigil tensely, waiting for the first contact from the reconnaissance flyers. It was full daylight and the camp was stirring sluggishly. An uncanny languor characterised men's movements. They looked like a legion of ghosts, thought one of the watchers, ghosts awaiting a summons. The morning lengthened, the sunless sky brightened and warmed, but still the ghosts drifted. Finally he could bear the heavy silence no more.
        "This is disgusting," he said aloud. "Criminal. A thousand men robbed of their minds - past, present and future - all gone. It would have been more honest if we'd killed them."
        "Let me point out that this was what they had planned for us," returned his companion with asperity. "Not only that, but the inhabitants of dozens of planets have already suffered this fate. It doesn't upset me to see them dosed with their own poison. Not one little bit."
        "They're only troopers, they have to obey orders."
        "And so do you. This is a national emergency and we are defending our planet from invasion. Carry on talking like that, and I'll have you replaced. Now get..."
        "RX6 calling Control, are you receiving me?" A loudspeaker blared into life.
        "Control tower here, anything to report?"
        "I'm not getting any contact with the flagship. What's going on?"
        "They might be having trouble with your frequency. Anyway, haven't you heard? The Sardoans have surrendered and signed a peace treaty. The Colonel's still with the Commissioner at Ground HQ, but the flagship's still up on the bluff. I can see it from here. Shall I relay your message to them?"
        "Very well, Control. Tell them we've swept the area around Grose's hideout and found nothing. Ask them what we do next."
        "Hold on RX6." The Sardoan turned to grin at his colleague. After a pause, he went back to his communicator. "RX6, have you located the hunting lodge?"
        "Right below me, Control."
        "Are Four, Five and Seven still with you?"
        "Nearby."
        "Good. Land and secure the lodge. Hold it until reinforcements arrive. Confirm."
        "Confirmed. Over and out."
        "So," said the first controller bitterly, "more ghosts. When this is all over I hope they destroy every drop of that stuff and burn the formula. It's much too dangerous to keep around."
        "Nonsense, it's saved our necks and we may need it again."
        "It's going to be a temptation to anybody who fancies becoming a dictator here. When the Council reconvenes, I'm going to campaign for it's destruction."
        "Well that's your privilege. Anyway, the whole population has been immunised against it. They'll just have to remember to keep it up with future generations. Probably someone will find a way of reversing it before long. I'll bet it can be done. Meanwhile, get onto Headquarters and report this incident."

In ones and twos, the remaining flyers were decoyed into ambush and seized during the next two days. Only one commander became suspicious enough to disobey and make a run for the main camp. The controllers cleared him for landing and then informed the Federation troops that the craft streaking towards them was under renegade control and might be filled with enough explosive to disintegrate the entire valley. It was shot down with professional alacrity and exploded with quite a creditable bang. Not even the dissident controller was heard to voice any disapproval.

[Day Four]
        Vila leaned back in his chair and swung his feet up onto the desk. Warm light poured in through the tall windows and a gentle breeze stirred the curtains. The Sardoan weather had reverted to its appropriate season, bringing a sense of wellbeing and normality with it. He closed his eyes blissfully. Time to relax. Several minutes slid by and he was on the verge of sleep when a shadow fell between him and the light. Unalarmed, he opened an eye. Margit was standing over him with an amused expression on her face. Delighted, he scrambled to his feet, rather amazed at how pleased he felt.
        "Hey, fancy seeing you. This calls for a drink."
        "Ah, Dragon Lady, she say `no alcohol for three weeks'. It will have to be fruit juice."
        "Ugh! What a fate. What dragon lady?"
        "The chief surgeon," said Margit. She drew up a chair. "Well, what about that fruit juice?"
        "Coming up." Vila opened a door in the panelled wall, revealing a well appointed bar. "Now this is really tasty, even without alcohol." He poured a pinkish liquid into an ornate crystal goblet and handed it to her.
        "The President's best," he said, pouring one for himself. "Your good health." They clinked glasses and drank deep.
        "Make sure you get a vat or two of this stuff before we leave," said Margit, settling comfortably into the armchair.
        "I can't get over how well you look," Vila began, "from what Avon said, you were at death's door."
        "Only briefly. It's that ultrasonic tissue regenerator that makes the difference. I'm out on licence for a few hours, but I shall have to sleep hooked up to that machine for several days yet."
        "Don't you feel sort of shaken up?" asked Vila, curiously. "I mean, people can take a long time to get over an injury like that, mentally."
        Margit stared into her glass for a while before raising her eyes to his. "Early days yet," she said quietly. "No mental trauma so far. At present I just feel lucky to be alive and in working order again. True, I wouldn't like to go through that again, but I don't dread the thought of it. One should never feel sorry for oneself. Anyway, it looks as if we won - things are never so bad on the victor's side."
        There was a momentary silence, then she deftly changed the subject. "Duplicate me a set of these glasses, Vila, and the decanters, too. Now tell me everything - who's done what, to whom - the lot."

Margit's return lightened the mood remarkably. A feeling of success, of victory, pervaded the atmosphere. Jenna smiled, the tension on Avon's face eased, and Brig's lopsided grin was seen again. A corner had been turned.

"Well Jenna," said Avon, "time for the Commissioner's last batch of orders." He handed her the voice synthesizer microphone.

    "Cruiser One, Commissioner Sleer calling Captain Sholto."

    "Receiving you, ma'am."

    "We have concluded operations here and we'll be leaving in a few days."

    "Congratulations, ma'am."

    "Thank you, Captain. You may land the cruiser at the main strip. I shall want to use your facilities for some of the prisoners, also your men can take a bit of planet leave before the return journey."

    "Will do, ma'am, and thank you."

[Day Seven]
        The council members surveyed their parliament chamber with distaste, signs of Federation occupancy were all too clear. They gathered in knots, pointing to the damage and discussing the repair work and cleaning that could be necessary to restore the room. Eventually, the clerical staff appeared and took their places, providing the cue for the hum to die down and everyone to move to their seats. A moment later, President Hokaida entered, followed by Jenna and Avon. Motioning his guests to places on the dais, he picked up his gavel and brought the meeting to order.
        "Ladies and Gentlemen, there is only one item on the agenda, our most pressing problem, how to dispose of nearly twelve hundred prisoners. Returning them to the Federation is out of the question, which leaves us a choice between executing them all or attempting to absorb them as we did with the Fifth Legion and the convicts. We are not barbarians and I doubt if the idea of executing disarmed prisoners appeals to anyone here." He paused and scanned the faces before him. Nods of agreement were in the majority, although here and there a cold smile indicated that some did find it had a certain appeal.
        "Councillor Gambovska," he continued, "you supervised the resettlement last time, can we do it again with larger numbers?"
        "It may be possible," said Lara cautiously, "but ours is a small society and such an influx is bound to make its mark. These men have only been trained for war and few of them have any useful skills for civilian life. We have found extensive retraining necessary for many of the previous lot, and it all takes time and effort."
        As she paused, Avon broke in. "I have a suggestion, if you will permit me," he said, looking at Hokaida, who nodded. Avon turned to address the assembly.
        "I have contacted many independent governments in the course of our search for allies against the Federation. Several of them might be happy to recruit well-trained, obedient troops into their own security forces. Remember, these men have all been treated with Pylene. They can be ordered to keep silent about their origins and they will obey their new masters absolutely. All you need do is dress your man Ross in the Colonel's uniform to tell them that this is their next assignment."
        "This is rather distasteful," said a councillor. "It amounts to selling prisoners of war into slavery."
        A time-honoured practice, said Avon to himself. Aloud, he replied "Then you have the other choices; execution or absorption."
        "What about their equipment and the transporters?" asked another councillor, who was clearly warming to the idea.
        "I suggest that most of it is transferred with them. You can record everything on your particle scanners for your own use if you need it. Retain the flagship and the cruiser, of course, but get rid of the troop transporters."
        "It is our intention to use one of the transporters as a decoy," interposed Jenna. "It will be abandoned far from here, badly damaged and empty, somewhere on the fringes of the Darkling Zone. That should give its owners pause for thought."
        "So, we have three choices, apparently," said the President. "Let us debate the matter."

"Well, I'm not surprised they leapt at it," commented Vila, later. "It means a lot of trouble for us, though."
        "I seem to recall you once saying virtuously that you were a thief, not a butcher," retorted Avon. "We are going to convert Servalan's army to our profit. Our onetime warlord allies should be sweetened by the gift and disposed to help us again."
        "Wait a minute," said Vila, in alarm, "you're not going to let that untrustworthy bunch know we're still alive, surely?"
        "A good point," said Brig. "We must use intermediaries from the company."
        "Agreed," said Avon indifferently. "Vila, is it true that you have had several tonnes of gold duplicated for your own use?"
        "Well... Waste not, want not. And we are supposed to be a mining company, you know."
        Everyone dissolved in laughter.
        "We'll have to convert the flagship into a cargo vessel to carry your loot away," said Margit.
        "True. Now, you need a good long holiday to recuperate," Vila suggested slyly. "How about reopening the apartment in Cordis City, with your devoted nephew to look after you."
        Margit opened her mouth to reply, then stopped as the idea took hold of her.
        "Casinos," said Vila, enticingly, "theatres, cafes, shops - civilization."
        "Why not?" To her surprise, it was Avon who spoke. "We should keep a presence there from time to time to avoid suspicion. One thing, Vila. If you ever take Gambit into a casino, and I get to hear of it, you will be very, very sorry." But his expression was indulgent.
        "Er, yes." Vila was unabashed. "Don't want to end up in the hot seat again, do I?"

© 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.