The captain was beginning to sweat as he stood at attention before his superior. There had been rumors about this woman. Persons disappearing while under her command or being sent off on what could only be called suicide missions and the like for their failures. He did not relish the thought of joining them.

Servalan set down the report she had been reading and looked up at him. "You indicate no cause was found for the malfunction of the weaponry system, Captain Reynolds."

"That is correct, Commissioner Sleer. The maintenance team spent over five hours checking the entire electrical system and no fault could be found. It was as if the system was influenced by an unknown source."

Orac, she thought to herself. "And this unexplained malfunction occurred precisely at the moment you opened fire?"

"Yes, Commissioner," Reynolds answered. "I gave the order to fire and suddenly, there was smoke and sparks flying everywhere. Several of my men were injured trying to put out the fires. But then, it's all there in my report."

"Yes," Servalan murmured, studying the captain. The man was obviously afraid of her. Why? "I trust your men were not badly injured?"

"All were minor burns," Reynolds replied, relaxing slightly at what sounded like concern in her voice. "Easily treated and the men were back at their positions within a short time."

"Very good," she purred with a smile. "You may retire for now. But I may wish to question you further."

He smiled back. "I am at your disposal, Commissioner Sleer." He saluted her and left the room.

Servalan stood up and glided over to look out the window. Night was descending on the planet Cyphon, the last flaming rays of the sun dyeing the clouds a deep crimson before finally disappearing below the horizon. Latest in the Federation's collection of worlds, it was one of the most sought after commands in the quadrant and yet its beauty went unnoticed by Servalan.

She had thought the game ended with Avon's death. Avon. Killed through the stupidity of a perimeter guard on Gauda Prime. Well, that man had paid dearly for his blunder, paid with his life in fact, but what good did it do now? Avon was dead. Servalan had grieved for him as though he were her lover, which in a way he had become. He had posed the one threat in her bid to regain control of the Federation and now he was gone. That Blake had finally been located and killed meant little to her, merely an added bauble to a diadem of plans accomplished. Avon had been a different matter entirely.

Now there was the problem of Avon's crew. She could not understand how they had managed to escape from the holding cell and take over the prison transport. Something strange was going on. And their appearance at Terminal, that puzzled her even more. There was no logical reason for them to go back there. No base to hide in, no hope of communications, no supplies, nothing. Why would Tarrant take such a risk?

Tarrant. Servalan smiled slightly. Now he was more tractable than Avon had ever been. Given the right circumstances, he might be manipulated into joining forces with her. Tarrant could be so easily manipulated at times. Her smile broadened at a certain memory. "Ah, Tarrant," she murmured aloud. "Soon we shall meet, you and I. And this time, the moves will all be mine." With that, she retired to her bedchambers. It had been a most exhausting day.

#

Tarrant might rather have faced Servalan than the current problem before him. The old prison transport, its engines pressed to the limit, was acting up.

"That settles it," he exclaimed, angrily. "We've got to get another ship and fast."

"Before this old thing falls apart around us, you mean," Dayna added grimly.

"You just had to say that, didn't you, Dayna?" Vila muttered, clinging to his seat.

"The ship is in very bad shape," Soolin confirmed. "Of course, that rough landing we made on that asteroid didn't help it any."

"You know why we went there, Soolin," Tarrant reminded her. "We had to get rid of those two guards or did you like having them on board?"

"I still think we should have killed them," Dayna grumbled.

Tarrant grinned at her. But his smile lasted all of two seconds as the ship began quivering and shaking worse than before.

"Any more jolts like that," Soolin advised after checking the console, "and we won't have to worry about a new ship. We'll be dead."

"But how do we go about finding a new one?" asked Vila.

"You're a thief," Dayna answered. "How do you think?"

+If I might interrupt,+ Orac spoke up. +I believe I have some information which may well alleviate the problem.+

"Then let's hear it," Tarrant ordered, fighting with the controls. The sooner he had a decent ship, the better he would feel. A glance at his companions told him they felt the same way.

+As I was saying,+ the computer snapped. +I have come across information concerning a new experimental space vehicle recently developed for use by the Federation.+

"New space vehicle?" Dayna asked, her eyes growing wide.

+Yes,+ Orac continued. +The project is highly classified. Why I did not come across reference to it before is beyond my understanding.+

"Perhaps you weren't meant to," Dayna mused, looking at Tarrant.

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?" Vila asked.

"Never mind," Tarrant answered. "Go on, Orac."

+According to available data,+ the computer explained, +the project was initiated approximately one year ago but had attained only marginal progress until one month ago when it was placed under the direct control of Commissioner...+

"Don't tell us. Sleer, correct?" Tarrant finished with a humorless smile.

+Correct,+ Orac went on. +Under her guidance, the project has gone forward at a tremendous rate. In fact, the prototype vessel will soon be ready for its first voyage. Its designer, Dr. Zanderwyle, will conduct the testing himself.+

"Zanderwyle? Rudolf Zanderwyle?" Dayna exclaimed in surprise.

+That is correct,+ the computer confirmed.

"You know him?" Tarrant asked the girl.

"Personally, no. But I remember my father talking about him," Dayna explained. "He helped design the Mark IV. Father said Zanderwyle was a bit of an eccentric, something like Ensor, but guarded his secrets like a Sphinx. He even claimed Ensor stole the original idea for the Tarial cell from him."

"This prototype, Orac," Tarrant asked eagerly as an idea began forming in his mind. "Is its location within the range of our transport?"

+As it happens, yes,+ Orac continued. +Barring further problems, this somewhat obsolete vessel should be able to reach the planet Cyphon prior to the test period scheduled.+

Tarrant smiled and Vila sank deeper into his seat. "I don't feel so well," he complained.

"Now don't start that, Vila," Soolin scolded.

"All right. Compute the coordinates and feed them into the navi-computer," Tarrant ordered.

+I have already done so,+ replied the computer with a sniff. +If there is nothing else, I have other matters to attend to.+

"That's what I like about you, Orac," Vila mumbled. "Always one step ahead of us."

Soolin stood up and yawned. "I don't know about you, but I'm for some sleep."

"A good idea," Tarrant conceded. "Orac will alert us to any danger."

"Sounds great to me," Dayna murmured, getting to her feet. She glanced over at Vila. "How about it, Vila?"

Vila looked up at the sound of his name. "Hmmm? Oh, sleep. Sure, why not?"

#

Servalan was running, running as she'd never done before, through the winding corridors for the teleport station. Sparks showered down on her from the ceiling as lighting units short-circuited. Then she emerged at the station, hastily set the controls and rushed for the grid.

"Going somewhere?" inquired a voice behind her.

Servalan spun about, shock registering on her face. "Avon! How did you get on board?"

"I asked you first, Servalan," Avon responded with a thin smile.

"You tricked me," she said angrily. "You promised me the Liberator."

"And you promised me Blake," Avon countered in a deceptively soft voice. "I'd say we were even, wouldn't you?"

Servalan felt the ship buckle beneath her feet. "I can still give you Blake," she offered.

"Can you?" Avon seemed to consider the proposal, then shook his head. "I think not." The lights flickered warningly. "Besides, you seem to have run out of time."

"Are you mad, Avon?" Servalan exclaimed. "You'll die, too."

"Perhaps," Avon conceded. "But at least in my madness, I will take you with me." He smiled coldly and reached for the teleport controls.

"Avon, we can still bargain."

"With what, Servalan?" he asked skeptically. "You've nothing left to bargain with."

"What about your friends?" she demanded. "Do you plan to leave them marooned down on Terminal, at the mercy of the Links?"

"They'll survive," Avon answered with a shrug. "Besides, it will serve Tarrant right for disobeying my orders.

The ship shuddered violently then, knocking Servalan to the floor. Screams could be heard from the people on the flight deck as it began coming apart, spewing debris and death. She raised her head and looked at Avon, who smiled back at her.

"This time, Servalan," he murmured. "This time, there's no way you can escape. You're dead, Servalan. Dead...dead...dead." The lights dimmed and went out.

Servalan came awake with a start, the sound of Avon's voice still echoing in her mind. She trembled for several minutes before finally being able to grasp what had happened. A nightmare! A terrible nightmare and yet everything had seemed so real, so very real. All too well she remembered how close a call it had been at Terminal. Terminal! Of course, Tarrant's mysterious appearance coupled with Reynolds' report, so that's what had triggered the dream. Servalan's tension dissolved into peals of laughter.

In the corridor outside her quarters, the two security guards on duty stared first at her door, then at each other in wonder.

#

Six hours of relative peace and quiet had passed for the passengers of the transport, but it was not to remain that way. An alarm went off. Not just any alarm, it was the collision siren and it brought everyone on the run to the command cabin.

"What's the matter?" Vila cried fearfully. "Servalan's found us, hasn't she? I knew this would happen. Oh, why didn't I stay on Earth?"

"Vila, will you shut up?" Dayna snapped. She looked at Tarrant who was busily checking the controls. "Well, what's the matter this time?"

Tarrant shook his head, bewildered. "Nothing. There's absolutely nothing wrong."

"Then what set off the alarm?" Soolin inquired in a puzzled tone.

+I activated the alarm,+ Orac answered smugly. +We are now thirty minutes from arrival at Cyphon and I felt it my duty to notify you of that fact.+

"By setting off the collision alarm?" Vila exclaimed. "I ought to...."

"Hold it." Tarrant grabbed Vila as he reached to jerk the activation key from its socket. "We'll need Orac if we're to secure the prototype, remember?"

Vila shrugged himself loose from Tarrant's grasp. "One of these days, Orac, you're going to take a guided tour of space, from outside the ship."

+Your threats are pointless,+ the computer replied with a sniff. +Especially coming from such a limited mentality as yours.+

That remark set Vila off again and this time, he ended up on the floor with Dayna sitting on top of him.

"Dayna, will you get off of me? Please," Vila cried. "You're crushing me."

"I'm not moving until you calm down," the girl ordered.

"All right, all right," Vila conceded. Then he smiled mischievously. "Come to think of it, I could get to like you sitting on me like this. Ow!!" he gasped, as Dayna in getting up, stuck an elbow "accidentally" into him. "You did that on purpose," he moaned.

"Serves you right," Soolin laughed.

"That must be Cyphon," Tarrant announced, pointing at the transport's long range scanner. A large blip had appeared on it, surrounded by a score of smaller ones.

"Moons?" Vila asked hopefully, rubbing his chest where Dayna's elbow had connected.

"More likely ships," Tarrant advised him. "What do you think, Soolin?"

She nodded. "Definitely ships. I'd say bulk cruisers by the echoes they're giving off."

"There goes our chance of getting a new ship then," Vila murmured in dismay.

"Not necessarily," Tarrant replied.

"What are you planning, Tarrant?" Dayna inquired, noting a familiar gleam in his eye.

"I'm not sure yet, Dayna," the pilot replied with a slight smile. "But I'll let you know when I've all the details worked out. Right now, we'll sit tight and look things over. Orac, I want you to make sure that no Federation ship detects us."

+Really+ Orac sputtered. +Such use of my advanced circuitry is quite...+

"I think you've finally found something he can't do," Soolin said smiling.

"Well, Orac?" Tarrant inquired with a grin.

+I shall see to it,+ the computer answered, its lights flashing angrily.

"Good. I'm going back to my cabin," Vila announced, yawning. "And I'd like a little peace and quiet if you don't mind, Orac."

"I doubt if he'll be sounding any more alarms, Vila," Dayna said with a smile. "Go on, get some sleep."

"Don't worry. I'll wake you if anything happens," Tarrant promised.

"Wonderful," was Vila's reply and he left the cabin.

#

But sleep would not come to Vila as he tossed and turned restlessly on his bunk. Finally, after an hour, he gave up trying and opened his eyes. Almost at once, he sensed something. He reached out, touched the light control next to his bed, flooding the room with brilliance. He could see no one. And yet there was an undeniable presence in the room, a feeling which made the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight out. Then he heard a familiar chuckle. It came from the far corner of his cabin.

"Avon?" Vila asked, wonderingly. The chuckle came again and Vila frowned. "Don't play games, Avon. I know you're there. What's so funny, anyway?"

*You.* Avon materialized, looking rather amused. *Tarrant couldn't plan his way out of an asteroid belt and you know it.*

"And I suppose you've something better in mind?" Vila demanded, sitting up.

Avon nodded with a slight smile. *Something which will strike fear into the heart of the enemy,* he told Vila. *In fact, I've already started.*

"And I thought melodrama bored you?" Vila teased. "Besides...." He was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Yes?"

The door slid open, revealing Tarrant. He started in, then saw the disturbed bed and stopped. "Uh, sorry to bother you, Vila. Were you asleep?"

"No." The thief glanced at Avon. "I was just talking to...."

*He can neither see nor hear me, Vila,* Avon advised. *Unless I wish it and I do not.* Vila was surprised and it showed on his face.

"Talking to who?" Tarrant looked around, and saw only the empty room. "Vila, are you all right?" After all, he reflected, it had been less than a week since Terminal and Vila's very strange behavior there, behavior which he had not discussed with anyone.

Vila pulled himself together. "Of course, I'm all right," he answered. "Now what's so urgent?"

Tarrant studied him for a moment. "I've come up with an plan which I'd appreciate your thoughts on. I had Orac get us the plans for the base." He spread a layout on Vila's bed and began his explanation, but Vila could not concentrate on what was being said. He was too busy watching Avon who had walked over to examine the layout.

*It won't work, Vila. Tarrant's become more stupid that even I could have imagined. For one thing, Orac cannot infiltrate the ship's master computer,* Avon explained. *There are no Tarial cells in the computer or for that matter anywhere on board.*

"But how could they not use them?" Vila asked curiously.

"How could they not use what?" Tarrant inquired, looking up.

And Vila suddenly remembered Tarrant could not hear Avon. "Uh, well, I was just thinking, Tarrant, has Orac been able to infiltrate the ship's master computer yet?"

Tarrant stared at him in surprise. "No, he hasn't. Said something about the ship not having Tarial cells. But how did you know that?"

"Well, if he had," Vila went on quickly. "He might just have been able to take over the ship's computer and bring it to us, right?" That brought Avon's eyes up from the layout. He looked at Vila, rather surprised that Vila could think of such a thing.

Tarrant nodded. "Yes, that's right. Why didn't I think of that?"

*When did you ever think?* Avon commented sarcastically.

Vila ignored him and said, "Tarrant, I really think we should hold off a bit. Your plan seems good, but it's too easy, much too easy."

Tarrant shook his head. "We can't wait, Vila, you know that. According to Orac, the ship's shakedown voyage is in twelve hours and once the vessel's been checked out and Servalan gets her hands on it, that's the last we'll see of it. Unless she decides to come after us in it, that is."

"I know all of that but...."

*Vila, I can help you but not with Tarrant standing around thinking you've lost your mind. Now get rid of him so we can get to work.*

The thief sighed. "Look, Tarrant, why don't we go over this again later? Both of us are tired. We're not thinking clearly."

*When did you ever think?* Avon repeated, including Vila this time.

Tarrant gave him a strange look. "Vila, are you sure you're all right? I mean...."

Vila smiled reassuringly. "I know what you mean, and I'm okay, Tarrant, really. Let's both get some sleep, all right?"

Tarrant smiled back. "All right. Good night." He headed for the door.

"Good night," Vila called after him.

As soon as the door slid shut, Avon sighed. *I thought he would never leave.*

"Leave Tarrant alone, Avon," Vila said, irritated. "It's not his fault he is the way he is." Then he yawned.

Avon looked at Vila curiously, then shrugged. *If you can stay awake, I will explain what you should do.*

The thief listened carefully, his eyes growing bigger and bigger as Avon's plan became evident. "If we do it your way," he complained, "we could all be killed."

*You haven't been listening,* Avon retorted. *You never listen.*

Vila glared at him, then without warning he dropped his head to his hands, and tears began spilling down his cheeks. "I'm sorry, Avon," he sobbed. "I...I still can't get used to you...you being...." He couldn't say it.

Avon sat down next to him and Vila felt his arm or whatever it was that a ghost used move about his shoulders. *I'm sorry, too, Vila,* he comforted in a gentle voice. *I can't quite get used to it myself.*

*Now why can't I believe that?* another voice chuckled from nowhere. Then its owner appeared, smiling. Avon scowled and withdrew from Vila's side.

"Blake!" Vila exclaimed in joy, jumping to his feet. He ran without thinking at his former companion and went right through him, striking the wall with a dull thud.

*I should have seen that coming,* Blake murmured, kneeling beside the unconscious thief.

*How? Or have you become a mind reader?* came Avon's acid reply. He moved over to the other side of Vila. *Come on, Vila. Snap out of it.*

The thief stirred and opened his eyes to see both Avon and Blake staring down at him. He grinned sheepishly. "Sorry. I forgot for a moment that you weren't really here, Blake." He sat up and rubbed his head.

*I should have warned you,* Blake told him.

"I should have known better," Vila corrected him. He got up stiffly and moved back to his bed, the two spirits following him.

*I won't argue with that,* Avon replied.

"Where are the others?" Vila inquired curiously, looking around the room as if expecting them to materialize any minute.

*They're occupied with other tasks,* Avon advised.

*Gan's keeping an eye on Servalan's movements,* Blake elaborated. *Jenna and Cally are watching the ship.*

"Then you really think Avon's plan will work?" Vila asked Blake.

*It will be dangerous, but yes, I think it will work.*

*Do you think I would have suggested it if I was not certain of success?* Avon sounded offended.

*Of course not,* Blake said, placatingly. *Now,* he continued, looking at Vila, *I think you'd better follow the advice you just gave Tarrant and get some rest.*

"I don't think I can sleep," Vila confessed wearily. "It's not that I haven't tried, but with all that's happened, I'm just too wound up.

*Yes, you can,* Blake murmured in a quiet voice. *Just lie back and relax. Close your eyes.*

Like a sleepwalker in a trance, Vila stretched out on the bunk, sighed and closed his eyes. A split—second later, he was sound asleep.

Avon looked at Blake, startled. *Did you do that?*

Blake shook his head, looking a bit surprised himself. *I don't think so. He was already exhausted. All I did was help him relax.* Blake studied Vila for a moment. *He looks very tired, Avon.*

*I know,* came Avon's worried reply. *Between what happened on Gauda Prime and the trip to Terminal, he's been worn very close to his physical limits.*

*Hmmm. That reminds me. There's something I've been puzzled by,* Blake commented.

*What?*

*Why he let you do it?* Blake answered. *Take over his body, I mean.*

Avon was silent for a moment as if uncertain how to answer, then he sighed. *You already know the answer to that, Blake. Vila and I had, after all, been through a lot together. We'd become comrades of sorts.*

*You mean friends, don't you?* Blake asked with a slight smile.

*All right, friends,* Avon admitted with obvious reluctance. *My demise came as quite a shock to him. Although not nearly as much as it was to me, I can assure you.*

Blake sympathized with him. *Go on.*

Avon regarded Vila with a strange expression. *There was a point when Vila actually contemplated suicide. Did you know that, Blake?*

Blake nodded. *You mean when he wanted to stay on Terminal.*

*No, before that, right after he found my body. He actually thought about throwing himself out the airlock.* Avon shook his head in disbelief. *I had to do something to prevent that.*

*So you took control of his body,* Blake supplied.

*Unintentionally.*

Blake cocked an eye at him. *Unintentionally?*

Avon glared at him. *Don't use that tone with me, Blake. This condition is just as new to me as it is to you.* He stopped, recalling exactly how Blake got in the state he was in.

*I knew I had to stop Vila from doing anything foolish but I was not sure how.* He looked at Blake challengingly. *I never gave much credence to the idea of ghosts or apparitions. Though now...*

*It's a little different story, right?* Blake finished.

Avon smiled faintly. *It was while I was trying to think of what to do that I suddenly found myself within his mind.* He grimaced. *And a damn uncomfortable place it is. No wonder the Federation psycho—therapists could do nothing with it.*

*I can well imagine,* Blake replied, grinning. *What did it feel like, Avon? The sharing, I mean?*

Avon smiled again at the memory, remembering the affection he'd found and despite all that had happened, the willingness on Vila's part to help him. Then his smile faded. The depth of Vila's grief still moved him. *I cannot explain it, Blake. It's something you'll have to experience yourself. One thing I do know. I will never do it again.*

*Never?* Blake asked in surprise. *Somehow I can't believe that.*

Avon didn't answer him, his image merely faded into nothingness and Blake laughed. *You can't get away from me as easily as you once could, Avon.* Blake smiled benevolently at the sleeping thief. *Sleep well, Vila.* And the light went out.

#

It was past midday on Cyphon. The nightmare forgotten, Servalan sat in her office, reading the latest correspondence received from Earth. She smiled to herself. Another step had been achieved toward her goal.

"In recognition of your meritorious record, it is the wish of the High Council and indeed the request of the President that you, Commissioner Sleer, should assume the rank, title and position of Supreme Commander of the Federation Fleet. Such appointment to take place as soon as possible."

The rest of the document contained the flowery, nonsensical language of politicians who, it seemed, were already vying for her favor. Well, she thought to herself, let them. Once she had settled back into her place as Supreme Commander, there would be no stopping her plans. She would regain the Presidency and this time, there would be no one to stop her.

True, she admitted, standing up and walking over to the window, Tarrant and the others were still at liberty. They might pose a small threat, but it would be a very small threat indeed. Servalan gazed at the mirror next to the window and smiled. Not a wrinkle nor imperfection existed in her face, not a... She drew her breath in sharply, for also reflected in the mirror was a very familiar face.

*You are as beautiful as ever, Servalan,* the image said in a silken voice.

"Avon!" She whirled about, but there was no one standing behind her.

*No, you're not likely to find me, my dear Commissioner Sleer or should I address you now as Supreme Commander?* Avon continued from the mirror with a predatory smile.

"But I was told you were dead," Servalan told him, facing the mirror again.

*As the proverbial doornail,* he replied, matter-of-factly. *But I didn't come here to discuss that.*

"What then?" Servalan asked, her composure once more in place. She ran her fingers tracing the mirror's smooth surface.

Avon laughed. *Trying to find a way in?*

Servalan frowned as her search did not yield what she had hoped to find. "Oh, you've been very clever, Avon. I don't know how you managed to escape from Gauda Prime but...."

*I told you,* Avon said patiently. *I'm dead, but I suppose with you a demonstration will be necessary.* With that, Avon stepped from the mirror directly out in front of Servalan.

"Any skilled illusionist could do as much," she advised after a moment's pause.

*And is this also an illusion?* Avon inquired. His face became deathly white and ragged holes appeared in his tunic, blood streaming down his chest from them.

Servalan paled but held her ground. "Yes," she answered.

*You are ever the cool one,* Avon responded and he was once again whole. *And you'll need every ounce of it. That brief moment of pain I suffered, Servalan, is nothing compared to what awaits you. You are back against the wall, Servalan, just as you were once before. You remember, the day I killed Bartholomew?*

She smiled thinly. "You mean Anna, don't you?"

*Does it matter now?" Avon shrugged. *I think not.* He turned, walked back into the mirror and disappeared.

Servalan stared at the mirror a moment, then grabbed a nearby vase and threw it at the mirror. Her reflection was shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. One small piece, as if guided, flew straight at her face. She threw up her hands and winced as the glass cut a jagged line across the back of her left hand.

*If I were superstitious, Servalan, I'd say you just gave yourself seven years' bad luck.* And Blake was suddenly staring at her from the many jagged shards of glass scattered about the floor. *Not to mention the mess you've made.* He chuckled.

*But I wouldn't worry," Blake continued. *I'm sure you'll find someone to clean it up. You usually do.* Then he disappeared and Servalan sank to the floor, dazed and bewildered.

#

Her aide found her that way, staring blankly at the shattered remnants of the mirror. The young officer called for a medic immediately, then carried her into her quarters and laid her on the bed.

"Get rid of that," Servalan screamed suddenly, pointing at a large mirror which dominated the space over the dresser. "And any other mirrors on the base. I don't want to see one ever again."

The Commissioner was obviously not herself, mused the young officer, but still he took care to comply with her wishes and passed the order along. The mirror was removed as soon as the medic had arrived and tended to the cut on her hand.

"The wound should heal cleanly, Commissioner," the medic advised. "But I must request that you rest for a while."

She looked at him questioningly, then nodded. "Very well."

"I shall see that you are not disturbed, Commissioner," her aide murmured.

"Thank you, Michaels," she answered and the two men withdraw from the room.

Servalan slipped from the bed and glided to the window. Dusk was fast approaching. Days were so short on Cyphon, she mused. So very short. Stifling a yawn, she returned to the bed, pulled the satin cover up around her shoulders and closed her eyes.

#

"Good morning," Vila said cheerfully to his companions as he arrived in the control cabin. The thief looked like his old self again; the dark rings which had encircled his eyes for the past few days were gone.

"Good morning," Dayna replied with a smile. "You're just in time. Tarrant was telling us about his plan."

"Oh?" Vila looked at Tarrant for a moment, remembering Avon's plan. He wondered how best to put it to him without everyone thinking he'd completely lost his mind. "You know, Tarrant, your basic idea isn't bad but pulling it off would take a miracle."

"That's not what you said before," Tarrant returned with a frown. "In fact, you thought it was a good idea. Why the sudden change?" And he thought about the strange way Vila had acted in his cabin.

"I was exhausted then," Vila conceded. "And, well, still upset about Avon."

"And now?" Soolin inquired, looking at him closely.

"And now we have to get on with our lives, right?" Vila answered back unexpectedly.

"Right," Dayna confirmed with a sigh. "But first we need to get something other than this old bucket if we're to have any kind of chance at all."

"All right, Vila," Tarrant snapped. "What exactly do you have in mind?"

"Now don't get upset, Tarrant," Vila soothed. "I only want to suggest a small change in the plan, that's all."

"Let him speak, Tarrant," Soolin said. "After all, it can't be any riskier than your plan."

Wanna bet, Vila thought to himself. Oh well, here goes. "Your plan for getting into the base is good, but once we're in, I think we should head for the communications center instead of going directly to the bay area."

"The communications center?" Tarrant exclaimed. "Whatever for?"

"What good is stealing a ship if the Federation has every vessel for parsecs around waiting for us to make a break for it?" Vila pointed out.

Tarrant frowned. He obviously had not thought of that. "All right," he snapped. "Then what?"

Vila hesitated, then went on. "We destroy the communications center along with all of the computer banks. With no computer records and its designer on board for the maiden voyage, there will be no way of reconstructing the ship once we've taken her."

"Vila, you're talking nonsense," Dayna interrupted. "Destroy the communications center and the records? Who cares if they build another ship? It's crazy!"

"Don't you understand, Dayna? We'd have the only ship of its kind. Like the Liberator was the only one of its kind the Federation knew about," Vila explained quickly. "Look, it sounds risky, I know, but I've thought it through very carefully and it can work, really it can." His companions stared at him doubtfully.

"Check it out with Orac," he pleaded. "See what he thinks."

"That's the first sensible thing you've said," Tarrant muttered and slammed the activation key into place.

+Must you always interrupt my studies with your mindless prattle?+ the computer demanded.

"Never mind that," Tarrant went on. "I want your opinion of something. All right, Vila, tell him." The thief quickly repeated Avon's idea to the computer.

Lights flickered as the theory was analyzed, then Orac came back on line. +It seems perfectly feasible, although the degree of risk is considerably greater.+ The computer sounded irritated.

"I do believe you've managed to outsmart Orac, Vila," Soolin laughed.

"No one could ever do that except Avon," Vila replied with a twinkle in his eyes.

Orac sniffed. +I meant that the plan was superior to the previous one I was able to formulate given the known facts and circumstances as stated by...+

"Thank you, Orac." Tarrant cut the computer off abruptly. He looked at Vila skeptically. "All right, Vila, we'll try it your way and heaven help us if it goes wrong."

It's not heaven we have to worry about, Vila thought to himself, sighing in relief. Now, if only Avon can carry out his part. What am I saying? Avon can do anything now.

#

"Why Avon," Servalan purred, feigning surprise. "What an unexpected pleasure."

"Is it?" he returned coolly. "What are you planning this time, Servalan?"

"Planning?" She looked at him innocently. "As neutral arbitrator, it is my place to make sure nothing happens contrary to the rules and regulations of the Teal—Vandor Convention. Surely you know that."

Avon stepped close to her, taking her into his arms. "You as neutral arbitrator," he mused. "That is something I find hard to believe." His left hand curled around the back of her neck, pulling her face close to his.

"Believe it, Avon," Servalan murmured softly. "Kiss me." He responded as she knew he would. The hand on the back of her neck pressing her lips mercilessly against his.

"Avon," she purred after the kiss and tried to withdraw from his arms only to find she couldn't. "Avon, don't be ridiculous. Release me!" His embrace relaxed slightly. Servalan looked up into his eyes and stiffened.

"Why should I?" he asked her coldly. "You are mine now, Servalan. Mine!" Avon's hand on her throat tightened, fingers digging painfully into her flesh.

Servalan struggled to bring her hands up to strike him but found them trapped by his other hand. "Avon," she gasped. "Avon, you're insane!"

"Perhaps," he whispered harshly in her ear. "Or perhaps I have just grown tired of our little game. Either way, it does not matter any more, does it?"

Dark spots began dancing before her eyes as her oxygen—starved brain began to panic. The room was closing in, growing smaller until all she could see were two dark brown objects which she knew vaguely to be Avon's eyes. How they burned! Like twin suns in the darkness engulfing her mind. Burning, searing, drawing closer...

Servalan's scream released her from the horror. She sat up, gasping for air, her eyes filled with terror as they searched the room for her tormentor. But Avon was nowhere to be seen. Gone, too, was the room on Teal, replaced by the familiar walls of her bedroom. She sagged back onto the bed, forcing her body to relax as she scanned the room.

Good, the mirror above the dresser had been removed. No more fears there. Fears of what? Of ghosts? Servalan laughed nervously and fingered a small mark on the back of her hand. There had better not be a scar, she thought, or that medic would regret it.

*And a scar, no matter how small, would mar that loveliness of yours, wouldn't it?* Avon's voice whispered from beside her.

Servalan started, jumping up from the bed and whirling around. The bed was empty but for the small indention where she had lain. Then who...

*Come now, Servalan,* Avon mocked. *You're a rational human being. You should be able to figure out what is happening to you.*

"Yes," she snapped and jerked the bedspread and sheets loose, searching the entire bed. "Oh, you are being very clever. First with the mirror and now this, but I will not be taken in so easily."

*What are you looking for?* Avon inquired curiously.

"You should be able to figure it out," she retorted. "I don't know how you managed to get onto the base, let alone my living quarters, Avon, but...."

*Ah, but you forget, Servalan,* he replied. *I am dead. Your reports have all verified that fact. Walls are no longer a barrier to me.*

"Reports can be faked," Servalan muttered as she found no indication of hidden microphones or transmitting devices. "I've done it often enough myself."

*I'm sure you have,* Avon answered coolly. *But you really won't find anything.*

"We shall see, Avon," she shot back, heading for her office. "We shall see."

#

"Everybody set?" Tarrant inquired of his companions as he guided the transport toward to the base.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Vila murmured softly. To himself, he whispered, "Avon, I hope this works or else I'll be joining you sooner than I'd like."

*Don't worry so, Vila.* Gan's voice made Vila jump, and his eyes glanced about the cabin nervously.

*And no,* Gan added. *The others can't hear me.*

"This is wonderful," Vila moaned. "Any more visits like this and Tarrant will be sure that I'm crazy."

*Then quit talking and just listen,* Jenna's voice cut in, making Vila jump again.

*Everything is going according to plan. Just make sure that young 'hothead' over there keeps to it.*

"Don't worry," Vila promised. "I will."

"Hmmm? Did you say something, Vila?" Soolin inquired.

"Who me?" Vila squeaked. "No...I mean, yes. I mean...." He managed a weak smile. "Just nervous, that's all."

She smiled reassuringly. "So am I."

"We'll be entering the security perimeter in three minutes," Tarrant advised. "Any last words?"

"Cut the jokes, Tarrant," Dayna snapped.

"Right," he muttered back.

#

On board one of the patrol ships, Scanner Technician Jon Myers picked up the transport's approach. As per procedure, he notified his supervisor.

"What do you make of it, sir?" he inquired.

"Looks like an old transport vessel," his supervisor murmured. "But those haven't been in regular service for years. They're used now mostly for prison barges and the like." He studied the image a moment longer. "Open up a communications channel to it. Find out what it's doing here in a restricted zone."

"Yes, sir." Myers slid over to an unoccupied communications desk and activated the transmitter. "Attention transport vessel. You are in a restricted area. You will identify yourself at once, or we will be forced to open fire."

On board the transport, Tarrant looked at his companions and said, "Let's hope Orac got the identification code right." He activated the ship's communicator. "This is Transport Vessel C513. We regret entering restricted zone, but we have suffered severe damage to our main drive system and are operating on auxiliary power only."

Myers felt a hand drop to his shoulder and looked up to see his supervisor standing behind him. "Get his commander's name," the man ordered.

The technician nodded. "What is your commander's name?" There was a lot of static over the communicator. "Damn solar flares," he muttered. "I repeat, what is your commander's name?" More static.

Tarrant glanced about the cabin. "Any suggestions?"

*Tell him to use A. J. Symon,* Avon's voice whispered in Vila's mind. *That should see you in safely.*

"You hope," Vila mumbled back under his breath. He looked at Tarrant and said, "How about using A. J. Symon?"

"And where did you get a name like that?" Dayna asked him, curiously.

"Uh, I saw it in a book in the Captain's cabin," he stammered. "Sounds as good as any, doesn't it?"

"It should," Tarrant acknowledged. "He's one of the most decorated officers the Federation has had in the last ten years." He eyed Vila curiously. "Vila, when this is all over, I'm going to have some questions which you'd better be prepared to answer."

"Just give them the name, will you, Tarrant?" Vila urged.

The static cleared and Myers and his supervisor heard Tarrant say, "Commander A. J. Symon sends his respects, sir, and requests landing coordinates."

The two men on board the patrol vessel looked at each other in surprise. Commander Symon was a well—known and respected officer. What was he doing on such an antiquated vessel? To the supervisor, the answer was obvious. Symon had evidently fallen from the President's graces. A great many ended their days in just such a manner. A pity, thought the supervisor, a great pity.

"Clear Landing Bay 3C for Commander Symon," he instructed the technician. "And," the supervisor added in warning, "until we know the circumstances behind Symon's assignment to that old hulk, I suggest you keep your mouth shut about his presence."

The technician looked at him, wonderingly. "But I thought...."

"It is not your place to think," came the sharp reply, "but to follow orders."

Myers paled. "Of course, sir. I still should log it in, though, shouldn't I?"

The officer paused in thought, then nodded. "Yes, but there is no need to go into excessive detail. If anyone questions it, say it was an oversight and I'll cover for you."

The young technician smiled thankfully and filled out his report. Then he re—established communication with the transport. "Permission to land is granted. Landing Bay 3C has been cleared with minimum activity."

#

On board the transport, there was absolute silence as its occupants stared at each other in surprise.

"I don't believe it," Dayna exclaimed.

"Neither do I," Tarrant added. "Minimum activity? They're letting us in without so much as a single security guard being around. It's crazy."

"This Commander Symon must be quite a character to warrant that much courtesy," Soolin conjectured.

"Either that or...." Tarrant's thoughtful expression broke into a wide grin. "That must be it."

"What must be it?" Vila asked him.

"Vila," the pilot began. "What would you think if someone of Commander Symon's vast reputation suddenly appeared on your doorstep in a beat—up old derelict like this?"

The thief stared at him confused for a moment, then began to smile. "I see what you mean. They think he's in some sort of trouble. Probably with one of his superiors."

Tarrant nodded. "Exactly. That's why he's being given the 'lack of interest' treatment. No one wants to get involved."

"And that's lucky for us," Dayna sighed in relief.

"Very lucky," Tarrant agreed. "Now if only it continues that way."

#

The transport landed without incident and true to their words, there was little to no activity in the area, a fact which eased the four rebels' nerves considerably. There was a new problem, however. Both the prototype spacecraft and the communications center were located on the other side of the complex, meaning they would have to cross several high level security areas.

"I say we forget the communications center and go right to the ship," Tarrant argued. "It would have been different if we could have set down closer. But now, the odds are...."

"The odds are that if we did that we would get caught in a very short time," Vila replied in an angry tone of voice. "Tarrant, you agreed to the change in plans. And I intend to make sure you stick to it."

Tarrant looked at him in surprise. Vila sounded very serious. "You intend? And how do you intend to do that?"

Vila didn't back down. He stared Into Tarrant's eyes and said firmly, "By force if necessary."

That really shocked Tarrant. He glanced first at Dayna, then at Soolin. But they were staring at Vila, too. "All right, Vila," Tarrant conceded. "We stick to the plan."

#

There was only one person in their immediate vicinity, a ground maintenance worker. It was quite easy for Soolin to coax him close enough to the ship for Tarrant to knock him out. Then he quietly dragged him into the transport, tied him up and left him locked in one of the transport's cabins.

"Ready?" Tarrant inquired.

"As much as I'll ever be," Vila answered in a shaky voice.

Tarrant glanced at him uneasily. One minute Vila seemed calm and ready for anything, the next he was quaking in fear. Something strange was going on, just like what had happened before on Terminal. Well, he didn't have time to think of that now. If Vila's plan was to have any chance of success, they had to get moving.

Tarrant took the lead, followed by Dayna and Soolin. Vila brought up the rear, carrying Orac in its metal carrying case. There was one good thing to be said for landing in a minimum activity area, the chances of running into any Security patrols were nil.

Fifteen minutes after leaving the transport, the party hovered in a alcove adjacent to the complex's central corridor. The only reason they hadn't gone on was there were two Security guards standing in their way, talking.

"Someone ought to turn them in for that," Vila mumbled. "They're supposed to be on patrol."

"Suppose you do that, Vila," Dayna whispered back. "Just ring Servalan up and tell her two of her men are slumming it."

"Very funny, Dayna," Vila muttered. "Wait a minute, look!"

The guards had snapped to attention as a very familiar voice echoed angrily through the corridor to the rebels' hiding place. "I gave orders that this corridor was to be patrolled at all times."

"I know, Commissioner," the senior of the two guards stammered in quickly.

"I was having some...some trouble with my headset. Jensen was checking it for me."

"Checking it, my foot," Servalan snapped. "You will return to your patrol and stay on it or I will have you both checking the external scanners on Cygnus Alpha for the rest of your lives. Now move!" The men hastily split up and headed back to their assigned areas.

She came into view then, her face drawn and pale as she glared angrily at the retreating guards.

Servalan looks like hell, Vila thought. Whatever Avon had been doing, he must have been enjoying it. She looked as though she hadn't slept in some time.

*She hasn't, Vila,* confirmed a familiar voice. *And she'll look far worse before I'm through with her.* Vila smiled, knowing that Avon would make good on that promise.

Dayna started forward, a grim look on her face. "Where do you think you're going?" Vila said, grabbing her arm.

She jerked her arm free. "To settle some unfinished business."

"Not now," Vila protested. "Dayna, please. If you kill her now, it will ruin everything."

"He's right, Dayna," Tarrant spoke up. "Believe me, I want her dead as much as you do."

"Do you?" the girl said, eyeing him coldly.

"Keep quiet both of you or she'll hear," Soolin broke in. "Besides, you've lost your chance anyway." She motioned towards the corridor. Servalan had turned around and was headed back the way she'd come.

"I'm going to kill her," Dayna swore under her breath.

"I believe you, Dayna," Vila agreed. "But just don't do it now. Wait until next time, please?"

She stared at him briefly, then nodded. "All right, Vila. I'll wait."

"Thanks," he answered in a relieved tone.

"Are you two coming?" Soolin called softly. She and Tarrant were standing at the edge of the corridor, looking back at them.

Vila and Dayna moved up beside them. "It's all clear now," Tarrant said after a quick look. "Let's go.

#

Being a security base, cameras were located in all sections of the complex but as Tarrant and the others moved out into the open, the camera covering their corridor suddenly grew fuzzy, then went completely blank.

In the monitoring room two floors below, a technician swore angrily. "Alf, it's gone and done it again." He rapped the console with a knuckle. "Damn equipment. Not good for anything."

"Don't let any of them upstairs hear you say that, Jake," Alf advised. He delivered a hard blow with the flat of his hand to the top of the receiver. The fuzz disappeared and the picture grew clear again. "There, that's done it."

"I don't know how you do that," Jake complained, shaking his head.

Alf smiled amicably at his companion and flexed his hand. "It's all in the wrist, Jake. It's all in the wrist."

#

Servalan stalked back to her office. The impudence of those two leaving their posts. And such a paltry excuse. Did they think she was an idiot? The woman smiled coldly. Perhaps a visit to Cygnus Alpha could be arranged for them after all.

Michaels was waiting for her with a requisition form in his hand. "Zanderwyle claims he needs more supplies," he told her with a smile. "Any more supplies and the ship won't be able to lift off the ground."

The Commissioner did not smile as he had hoped. Instead, she frowned at him and signed the requisition. "Anything that Dr. Zanderwyle requests is to be given to him," Servalan snapped. "Without delay. Do you understand me, Michaels?"

"Yes, Commissioner Sleer. Of course." Hastily, he stepped aside as she stormed past him into her office.

"Stupid!" he muttered. "Very stupid. Especially in the mood she's in...." Michaels caught himself. She'd been acting strange ever since that incident with the mirror, he thought. And I'm not the only one noticing it. Everyone on the base has seen the change in her.

He scanned the list of new supplies requested. With all of these food concentrates, he mused, Zanderwyle must be planning a very extended shakedown trip. The new list included six months' rations for a crew of four. He shook his head. Crazy scientist.

Michaels glanced at Servalan's closed door and added to himself, I think the Commissioner's gone crazy, too. Then he sighed. Well, he thought, better notify the commissary and get these goods transferred to the ship.

#

RESTRICTED, AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY was stenciled in large letters on the door in front of Vila. Vila chanced a quick look through the small glass window and spotted another door within labeled COMMUNICATIONS. He smiled and made his way back down the hallway to the others.

"The communications center is just beyond that door," Vila reported with a smile.

"How's it look inside?" Dayna asked, fingering a gun she'd acquired on the way. In fact, they were all armed with some type of weapon as well as some explosive charges from an unguarded arsenal they passed en route to the center.

"Very quiet," Vila commented critically. "You know, for a highly classified project, the security around here is terrible."

"Can we get on with this?" Soolin broke in.

"Give me a minute to get the door open," Vila announced and started back around the corner.

*Vila, watch out,* Cally's voice called in warning and Vila jumped back around to the astonishment of his companions.

"What's...." Tarrant's question died in his throat as Vila put a finger to his lips.

"How many of them are there, Cally?" Vila whispered softly.

*Four*

"Lovely," Vila sighed. "I knew it was going too easy."

*Do not worry so,* the Auron chided. *I am here to help you.* She paused. *There. The way is clear now. Go on.*

Vila moved out again, glancing nervously about, but there were no guards in sight. He knelt beside the door, pulled a small pouch from his inside pocket and removed a probe. There was a faint buzz and the door clicked open.

"Tarrant," Dayna whispered anxiously, watching Vila. "Did I hear what I think I heard?"

"I'm afraid so," Tarrant confessed. "It's what I've been trying to tell you, Dayna. Vila is not himself." He looked at his two companions. "With all that's happened, his mind has finally snapped."

"Snapped or not," Soolin advised, "what he said before made sense." She met Tarrant's eyes steadily. "And I plan to stay with him." She slipped past him and joined Vila at the doorway.

"Well?" Tarrant asked Dayna.

"She has a point," the girl admitted reluctantly and left Tarrant standing by himself.

"Everyone's gone crazy," Tarrant mumbled and headed after her.

#

The communications center was empty but for a dozing technician. A well-placed blow on the neck from Dayna and his sleep became permanent.

Vila glanced up at the monitor camera.

*Don't worry,* Cally's voice advised. *It's been taken care of.*

"Let's get the charges planted," Vila instructed and for once, there was no comment back from Tarrant.

"How long should the charges be set for?" Soolin inquired.

*Twenty minutes should do the trick,* came Cally's response.

"Twenty minutes," Vila repeated.

"That's cutting it a bit fine, isn't it, Vila?" Tarrant questioned.

"I don't think so," Vila answered him. "The explosion will keep the guards busy while we grab the ship."

"I hope you know what you're doing," Dayna murmured softly, placing a charge on the back of the panel housing the memory core of the complex's computer.

"Trust me, Dayna," Vila answered, trying to sound confident.

*All will be well, Vila,* Cally quickly assured him. *All will be well.*

#

With their charges set, the foursome slipped out of the communications center and made their way back to the central corridor.

"According to Orac's diagram," Vila advised. "This corridor leads to the bay area housing the ship."

"There will be guards there, too," Tarrant pointed out. He was getting very tired of taking orders from someone who was obviously crazy.

"I know that," Vila retorted. "All we have to do is get as close as possible to the ship, then when the charges blow, we grab it and get out of here."

"Just like that?" Tarrant could not believe his ears.

"Yes, Tarrant," Dayna told him suddenly. "Just like that." She smiled at Vila and said, "Your plan is not as crazy as I thought, Vila."

"Thanks," he murmured back appreciatively. Vila wished he could convince Tarrant he wasn't crazy. Maybe once they were safe, he would be able to think of a way.

#

"Commissioner Sleer?" Michaels' voice beckoned from her desk comm.

"Yes," she answered, looking up from the report she had been reading. "What is it?"

"Dr. Zanderwyle is here. He wishes to speak to you immediately."

What does that old fool want? Servalan wondered irritably. She was still upset that a thorough search of her quarters and office had yielded nothing in the way of a transmitter. How was Avon doing it?

And Blake? She knew for a fact that he was dead. She'd identified his body prior to its being shipped off to Earth. Then how... She stopped. Of course, the clone. They must have located him and convinced him to help them. Very clever, Avon, she admitted. But that still did not explain how they were creating the illusions. Servalan tapped a finger nervously on her desk. Whatever it was, it had to be found and soon. "Please tell Dr. Zanderwyle to come in," she replied.

The door slid open and a slightly—built, gray—haired man strolled in. "Commissioner Sleer," he said in greeting.

"Doctor," she replied with a brief nod of the head. "How may I help you?"

"I'll come straight to the point," Zanderwyle began. "I would like to know who commissioned the transfer of food material on board the ASGAARD."

Servalan looked at him in surprise. "I did, in accordance with your request."

"But I made no such request," he countered. "My signature must have been forged. Such material would serve no purpose on the ASGAARD, you know that. You've had weekly reports on the progress of the project. I plan only a general systems check at this time. Anything beyond that would be too risky."

"I understand that," Servalan countered. "But the matter stands that your name was on the request. The items were delivered...."

"And loaded," the doctor advised. "Commissioner, I must advise you that until this matter of someone forging my name is settled, I do not feel it advisable for the ASGAARD to be...."

Whatever else he meant to say was lost as a violent explosion rocked the room, knocking Zanderwyle from his feet. He struck the floor with an ominous crack, a scarlet stain spreading from beneath his head. Servalan fared better as she managed to snag the edge of her desk, breaking her wrist in the process.

#

The explosion was felt all over the base. Sirens screeched warnings of imminent structural collapse, ruptured oxygen lines, fires in the bay housing the experimental craft, but it yielded in seconds to Vila's touch. He picked up Orac and shoved the computer into Tarrant's arms, pushing the others ahead of him.

"I'll lock the door behind us," Vila shouted over the noise caused by the blaring alarms. "You get the ship started."

"Right," Tarrant called. Orac was transferred once again, this time to Soolin who followed Tarrant up the open gangplank into the ship, and then on to the flight deck.

"It's beautiful," Soolin exclaimed, setting Orac down on the console next to Tarrant.

"Never mind that," Dayna snapped, joining her companions. "Tarrant, can you fly this thing?"

Tarrant sank into the pilot's seat and started checking the controls. "Give me a minute or two," he said.

"I think we can afford that," Vila called, clambering up the gangplank and securing the hatch behind him. "I jammed the lock as best as I could," he advised as he entered the flight deck. He saw Tarrant's worried face and smiled. "Just push whatever feels right, Tarrant. It'll work, you'll see."

That was the last thing Tarrant needed to hear. "Vila, will you please...."

"Not now," Vila interrupted. "Once we're in open space, away from here, I promise I'll explain everything." He looked pleadingly at Tarrant.

Tarrant held his eyes for a moment, then nodded. "Find yourself some place to sit then," he murmured and flicked a switch. "That should open the bay doors." A quick glance out the forward window confirmed they were indeed open. "Okay, brace yourselves," Tarrant warned. "This takeoff is liable to be a bit rough."

"Aren't they always?" came a teasing remark from Dayna's direction.

#

Rough was hardly the word. Zanderwyle had tested the engines earlier that day. In order to prevent the ship from moving, restraining bolts had been secured to it. As Tarrant activated the vertical lift engines, the bolts whined and screamed as they were pulled from their sockets.

"What's holding us down?" Dayna cried.

"Restraining bolts, most likely," Tarrant told her. "After all, this is an experimental ship. They wouldn't want it to take off with no one on board, now would they?" Tarrant, for all of his training and skill as a pilot, found himself suddenly wishing he were back on board the old transport.

"Avon, do something!" Vila wailed.

*I am not the pilot,* came the instant response. *And you'd better hope none of the others heard your outcry or...+

But they had and as one, his companions turned to look at him. If it was at all possible, Vila sank deeper into his seat and closed his eyes. That's done it, he thought grimly to himself. Tarrant will probably see that I'm tied up for good now.

That thought occupied Tarrant's mind for exactly one tenth of a second before it was replaced with the urgency at hand. The ship was bucking, trying to accelerate at too fast a pace. A quick glance at the console indicated they were already traveling at nearly standard by five and they were just barely out of Cyphon's atmosphere.

"Don't look now, Tarrant," Soolin announced, pointing at the scanner on which a large blip had just appeared. "But we've got company."

"That's all we need," Tarrant muttered through clenched teeth.

"Can't you have Orac do something?" Dayna asked him worriedly.

"There's nothing he can do," Tarrant answered. "Zanderwyle didn't use Tarial cells when he built this ship. We'll have to build a translator of some sort later...if there is a later."

"Wonderful," Dayna sighed.

"I feel sick," Vila moaned as the ship did a quick somersault.

#

"What does that fool Zanderwyle think he's doing?" demanded Captain Clennan as he watched the erratic behavior of the approaching ship on the forward viewscreen of his bulk cruiser.

"I don't know," answered his executive officer. "Shall I raise base and find out?"

"Communications are out," announced the communications technician. "I thought it was more interference from the solar flares but...."

"But nothing," snapped Clennan. "I want a direct line opened up to Zanderwyle. NOW!"

"Yes, sir." The technician switched the communication channels to ship to ship. "Attention ASGAARD. Dr. Zanderwyle, come in please."

#

Vila closed his eyes, dizzy from the turbulence of the flight. He waited. Waited for someone to say something, to tell him what to do. Waited in vain.

"Well?" Tarrant demanded again.

Vila forced his eyes open. "Uh...uh. Ignore them. Head out away from the cruiser."

"There is more than one," Soolin pointed out to Vila.

"I know that," Vila responded. "Find a hole and go through it, Tarrant. You're good at that."

"In a ship with which I'm totally unfamiliar?" Tarrant shot back.

"Avon always said you'd crack when the going got rough." That comment came from an unexpected source. Dayna.

Tarrant glared at her. "All right, Vila, Dayna," he growled. "Since you both seem determined to end up like Avon...." He slammed his hand down on the drive control, throwing the ship's engines into maximum speed. The ASGAARD blurred and disappeared seconds before it would have struck Clennan's cruiser.

#

"Where...where did it go?" Clennan's exec exclaimed.

"Damned if I know," came the captain's response. "I don't think it had enough room to shift into hyperspace. Then again...."

"Sir," the communications technician interrupted. "Sir, I've gotten through to the base on the emergency frequency." He paused, listening then looked up in shock. "They've been attacked. Someone has attacked the base and stolen the ASGAARD."

"What?" Clennan could not believe it.

"Yes, sir." He listened again. "The ASGAARD is to be destroyed on sight. The order was given by Commissioner Sleer herself."

"It's a little late for that," Clennan muttered under his breath.

"Shall I advise them that we've...."

"You'll say nothing unless you wish to take a short walk out an airlock," the captain snapped. "As far as we're concerned, we did not see it. Do you understand me?"

Both of his subordinates nodded slowly. "But the record tapes? They'll show...." the technician began.

"Record tapes have been known to malfunction," Clennan countered. "Haven't they, Foster?"

"Yes, sir," his exec replied with a knowing smile.

"See to it then." The captain left the flight deck.

"Is he serious?" asked the communications technician. "About tampering with the tape, I mean?"

"Wouldn't you be?" Foster asked him. "From what I hear, Sleer is not known to show leniency to anyone who fails. Now get on with it."

#

On the base, Servalan waited impatiently as the medic treated her injury. The break was not bad. It would be painful for a while, though. Dr. Zanderwyle had not been so fortunate. He was dead, his skull fractured by the impact with the floor.

"Well?" she demanded as Michaels entered the room. "What news?"

"We've set up communications via an emergency transmitter and re—established contact with the patrol craft. But...." He hesitated.

"But what?" she snapped.

"There appears to be no sign of the ASGAARD," he stammered in reply. "No sign at all!"

"What do you mean, no sign?" Servalan exclaimed.

"We know it cleared the bay and escaped into space," Michaels explained quickly. "Our scanners tracked it a short distance, then...then it just seemed to disappear."

"Disappear?" she exploded. "You mean those incompetents lost it. I will not sit still for that. I'll...."

*You lose again, Servalan.* She didn't need to see him to know Avon was smiling in triumph.

"Not yet, I haven't," she screamed, losing her composure totally. "I'll not rest until I've seen you and your band in Hell."

*I doubt if there's much chance of that,* Avon countered smoothly. *That place is reserved. For you.*

"Oh, you've been very clever, very clever indeed," Servalan snapped. "But sooner or later you'll make a slip. Mark my words, Avon, I will be there."

*You know you sound just like Travis,* Blake's ghostly voice added.

Servalan grit her teeth. "Travis failed, Blake, but I will not. I will not!"

"I think the Commissioner should rest now," the medic announced, drawing her attention.

Both her aide and the medic were staring at her strangely. "I'm sure you've other wounded to attend to, Jacobs," she cracked. "Well?"

"Yes, Commissioner," came the medic's reply and the man hastily withdrew from the room.

She eyed Michaels and took a moment to pull herself back together. "I shall expect a detailed report on the damage and a count of casualties as soon as possible."

"Yes, Commissioner Sleer," Michaels replied and hurried out, closing the door behind him.

Servalan sank down in her chair, thankful to be alone. Or was she? She glanced idly about her ruined office. "Are you still here, Avon? Blake?" But there was no response to her call.

#

Avon was elsewhere, wishing not for the first time that he was still among the living. *Vila! Vila, wake up.*

The thief lay flattened against his seat, unconscious, as were the rest of his companions. The sudden acceleration by the ASGAARD had driven the consciousness from them all.

Blake and Jenna appeared beside Avon. *Jenna, isn't there anything you can do?* Blake asked in a worried tone.

*What exactly did you have in mind, Blake?* she asked.

*We went through something similar to this on Liberator,* he reminded her.

*Yes, but...*

*Then do something,* Avon demanded. *After all, you claimed to be a pilot.*

She glared at him. *This is a new type of ship, Avon.*

*So was Liberator*, Blake said gently. *Please, Jenna.*

*The controls seem to be fairly simple,* Jenna muttered after a quick study. *This might work.* She indicated a milk-white lever set near the main drive switch. *Then again, it might blow the ship apart.*

*We're wasting time,* Avon snapped impatiently.

*All right,* Jenna cracked. She reached out hesitantly and pulled back the lever.

The result was unbelievable, even to Avon, as the ship without warning came to a total standstill. *Zanderwyle was indeed ahead of his time,* he commented in admiration. *Pity about what happened to him.*

*This is unbelievable,* Blake exclaimed. *With a ship like this, I could...*

*Aren't you forgetting something?* Avon said sarcastically. *There is the small matter of your being dead.*

*And whose fault is that?* Jenna demanded angrily.

*Whose indeed?* Avon retorted, glaring back at her.

*Hold it right there,* Blake interrupted. *Jenna, it was agreed. No recriminations for what happened in the past. And Gauda Prime is the past.*

Jenna stared at Avon for a long time, then slowly nodded. *Avon?*

*I didn't start it, Blake,* he answered sharply.

*I know,* Blake conceded. *No more fighting, all right?*

Avon studied at him a moment, then sighed. *Still trying to manipulate things, aren't you?*

Blake laughed softly. *You know me, Avon. Some habits are hard to break.*

#

Tarrant moaned and opened his eyes. Everything was so blurry that he had to close them or become sick. Remember your training, he told himself. Breath deeply and relax. After a few minutes, he tried opening his eyes again. This time, things were a little steadier and his vision cleared. He noted the ship's stationary position in surprise and began checking the console.

Behind him, Dayna groaned and pulled herself into an upright position in her seat. "Where are we?" she moaned, putting a hand to her forehead.

"I'm checking that right now."

"You and your brilliant ideas," Dayna muttered, unstrapping herself and staggering over to where Soolin and Vila sat still unconscious.

Soolin was already showing signs of regaining consciousness. But when Dayna looked at Vila, she gasped. Blood was trickling slowly from the corner of his mouth, while another stream of red flowed from his left ear.

Dayna took his head carefully between her hands. "Vila?" she called in a concerned voice. "Vila?"

"What's the matter?" Tarrant asked, glancing back. He saw the blood and dropped what he was doing, hurrying to Dayna's side.

"I've got a pulse," the girl told him, sounding encouraged. "But it's weak."

Vila moaned softly. "Avon, wait! Don't leave again, please."

Dayna and Tarrant exchanged worried looks. "How's Soolin?" he inquired.

"I'm all right," Soolin answered with a groan. "Just a headache." Her eyes grew wide. "What happened to Vila?"

"I don't know," Dayna responded. "Tarrant, I think you'd better find out if this ship has a medical unit. If it does, we'd better get Vila to it."

"I'll come along and help you," Soolin offered, getting to her feet and the two left the flight deck.

Vila continued to moan and call for Avon. Dayna watched him helpless to do more than wipe the blood from his mouth with a handkerchief she found in his pocket.

Then she heard footsteps and looked up. "We found it," Tarrant announced in a pleased tone. "And it seems well-equipped. Soolin's getting it set up."

"Do you think it's safe to move him?" Dayna inquired.

"We can't leave him here," Tarrant answered. "I'll be as careful with him as I can." He stooped down to pick up Vila and Vila screamed.

"Avon. Don't go. Don't leave me alone. Blake, Jenna, Gan, Cally, please. Stay with me. Don't...." His voice trailed off and his body drooped.

Tarrant said nothing. He just picked Vila's limp body up and headed out of the room. Dayna followed, bringing Orac, on the off-chance the computer might be of some use.

#

The medical facility was indeed well—equipped with all of the latest surgical as well as monitoring equipment known to the Federation. A veritable hospital in space.

"Not as refined as Liberator's," Dayna murmured, longingly. "Zanderwyle certainly didn't waste anything in its construction.

"You mean Servalan didn't," Tarrant corrected as he placed Vila on one of the examination couches. "Don't forget this ship was probably one of her pet projects."

Vila was pale and blood was still dripping slowly from his ear as they connected the computer links to him. Dayna feared he might have suffered brain damage caused by the terrible pressure of the forced acceleration.

"All right," Soolin advised after studying the device above the couch where Vila lay. "This should activate the medical computer." She pressed a button.

+Computer is now functional,+ announced a monotone male voice.

"Well done, Soolin," Tarrant exclaimed.

"Thank you. All right, I need a full diagnosis and condition of the patient," Soolin ordered.

The couch seemed to radiate light as the medical computer examined Vila. Then the glow faded. +Patient is suffering from subjection to extreme external pressure and stress. At present, his condition is stable.+

"What about treatment?" Tarrant inquired.

+Rest and mild sedation are recommended treatments.+

"There is blood coming from his ear," Dayna pointed out.

+That condition has been noted. Excretion of body fluid caused by slight imperfection in membrane of the inner ear. External pressure caused partial perforation of this membrane,+ came the computer's reply. +Damage is minimal and should repair itself without mishap.+

"And I thought it was brain damage," Dayna sighed in relief.

+Fluid is also noted exiting via the mouth caused by perforation of lower lip. This too will repair itself in due course.+

"Well, that covers his physical injuries," Tarrant said in a relieved tone. "But what about psychological problems?" He glanced at Dayna. "I mean the strange way he's been acting since...well you know. And on the flight deck, you heard him."

"I know," the girl returned, worriedly. "I know."

Vila stirred and opened his eyes. He blinked several times before finally focusing them. Then he recognized his companions and smiled. "We made it, didn't we?"

Dayna nodded. "Feeling better?"

"It depends on what you call better," Vila moaned. "I feel like I've been squashed by a large rock. And there's this awful ringing in my ears." A thin trickle of something warm ran from his ear, down his neck. Vila reached up to wipe it away, then froze as he saw blood on his fingers.

"It's nothing," Soolin quickly assured him. "The pressure did it. There's no harm done. None at all."

"If there's no harm done," Vila whimpered, "why is blood coming out of my ear?"

"The medical computer said your inner ear was slightly damaged, that's all," Tarrant spoke up. "It will heal."

"Oh." Vila studied his companions a moment and saw they were hiding something. "What is it?" Their faces changed, became worried. "There's something else wrong, isn't there?" he asked in a frightened voice. "Isn't there?"

"Shhhh," Dayna soothed. "We'll talk about it later, when you're feeling better."

"No. We'll talk about it now," he answered back. "I promised I would answer your questions once we were clear, Tarrant. I guess we are or you'd be on the flight deck."

Tarrant looked at him and nodded. "As far as I can tell, we're parsecs from Cyphon and just holding this position." He hesitated, then went on. "And yes, I do have some questions to ask."

"All right then, ask away," Vila replied. He knew they would probably think he was mad but he had promised to tell Tarrant everything and he was going to.

Tarrant looked at Dayna and Soolin uneasily. How do you ask someone if they're crazy? he wondered to himself. "Since we left Gauda Prime," Tarrant began. "You've been acting...well, different."

"You mean I've been acting crazy," Vila corrected gently. "But I'm not, Tarrant." He looked at Dayna and Soolin. "I haven't lost my mind, really."

"Then what's been going on?" Tarrant asked.

"How can I explain it?" Vila muttered.

*Perhaps I can,* Avon's voice announced. *That is, if you don't mind.*

*I thought you said you'd never do it again?* Blake teased.

*Shut up, Blake,* Avon snapped.

"Please," Vila sighed and closed his eyes.

"Please what, Vila?" Tarrant asked in a concerned voice.

Vila's eyes opened. *Please understand what I'm going to say,* he replied, but in a deeper voice. *Though it will require a great deal of thought on your part, Tarrant, and that might not be possible.*

"My God," Dayna exclaimed. "He sounds like Avon."

*Very astute of you, Dayna,* he continued. *But then you always did have above average intelligence. And no, Tarrant, you are not going mad. You are as sane as Dayna or Soolin.* He chuckled at the astonished look on the younger man's face.

"But you're...you're...." Tarrant stammered.

*Dead?* Avon supplied, dismissing the statement with a wave of a hand. *Please don't remind me. I've had enough people saying that as it is, although I doubt if you could get Servalan to believe it, even now.*

"Servalan?" Dayna exclaimed. "What has Servalan got to do with it?"

*Quite a bit, Dayna,* he answered with a satisfied air.

Dayna looked puzzled for a moment, then realization dawned her. "Avon, you don't mean you've been...."

*Exactly,* came his smug reply. *Haunting may be an antiquated word but that's exactly what I've been doing.*

"And Vila?" Soolin inquired. "He's been your go-between."

*Something like that, yes,* Avon confirmed.

"Then the change in my plan," Tarrant asked with a hint of anger in his voice. "That was really your idea."

Vila's lips curved into a smile which could belong to no one but Avon. *Of course. Did you really believe Vila could think of anything as complex as that?*

Tarrant swore angrily. "And now what, Avon? You plan to step in and take command again, using Vila as your voice box?"

*Vila is not my 'voice box' nor has he ever been,* Avon stated flatly. *As for the leadership of the group, I'd say anyone is better suited than you, Tarrant. You panicked back there on the base. If Vila had not been adamant, you would have probably gotten everyone killed, including yourself. You do not think, Tarrant. Someone has always had to do that for you.*

Avon paused in his verbal attack, cocking his head as if listening. When he spoke again, his voice had lost its roughness. *However, as I've just been reminded, all this is pointless.*

"Pointless?" Tarrant exclaimed. "Risking our lives coming to a top security base to steal a ship we don't know the first thing about, that even Orac cannot help us with. You call that pointless?"

Avon considered him a moment. *Perhaps there's hope for you yet, Tarrant.* He smiled. *But I doubt it. In any case, what we five, in our way, have done is given you and the others another chance.*

"We?" Dayna inquired.

*Of course. Blake, Cally, Gan, Jenna and I. We have each contributed to your acquisition of this vessel.*

"This whole thing is ridiculous," Tarrant interrupted. "Ghosts possessing people, then helping us steal a ship." He turned to Soolin and Dayna. "This has to be some kind of trick, some kind of illusion like on Terminal. Servalan is probably watching us right now, laughing. But I won't be taken in by it. I won't!"

*I knew you wouldn't understand, Tarrant,* Avon returned with a disgusted look. *You and Servalan are two of a kind.*

Tarrant glared at him. "What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

*Anything you want it to mean,* Avon retorted. *If you choose to believe this is all some kind of illusion, very well. But make sure you endanger no one else with your fantasy.*

"Fantasy? Fantasy!" Tarrant looked ready to explode.

*Yes, fantasy. Since I can't explain it in any simpler terms, I can only hope that Dayna and Soolin understand what I'm saying and accept it.* He looked at them.

"It does seem a bit far-fetched," Soolin agreed. "But then so did Dorian's cave."

Avon smiled. "Dayna?"

The girl stared at him. "It's all so strange," she murmured.

"But?" Avon prompted.

"But I believe you," Dayna stated. She glanced at Tarrant and smiled. "So does Tarrant, only he won't admit it."

*I know. One of these days, that stubbornness of his is going to lead him into something he can't handle,* Avon answered.

"One of these days?" Soolin asked with a wry smile.

*Yes,* he replied, chuckling. *I have to leave now. My 'possession', as Tarrant calls it, tends to put quite a strain on Vila's system.*

"Avon," Dayna spoke up. "Tell me...." Her voice faltered.

*Tell you what?* he inquired.

"Tell me what are you planning to do with Servalan?"

*Don't worry, Dayna,* Avon promised. *It will be something you approve of.*

The light faded from Vila's eyes then, leaving them dull, almost lifeless. Then abruptly, he sat up and sneezed.

"Bless you," Soolin replied warily. "Vila?" There was the tiniest hint of uncertainty in her voice.

"Thanks," he said, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

A strain on the system, Avon had said, and he was right. Vila looked worn out and there were once again dark rings around his eyes, but he was smiling contentedly.

"I told you I wasn't crazy, didn't I?" he said in a tired voice.

"I never thought you were," Dayna told him with a smile.

"Me either," Soolin added.

"Liars," he said teasingly. Vila looked at Tarrant. "It's all true, Tarrant. Really it is. Avon and the others really did help us."

Tarrant regarded him a long time before answering. "I suppose it's possible," he admitted reluctantly. He still wasn't sure if it was Vila he was talking to or Avon.

The thief sensed Tarrant's unspoken question and said, "Avon is gone, Tarrant. It's just me now. The others...." He paused and sighed. "They're all gone."

There was such loneliness in his voice that Soolin put an arm about his shoulders and gave him a gentle squeeze. "Don't worry, Vila," she soothed. "We're here."

"I know," Vila said, but the loneliness was still there. "I know." He glanced over at Tarrant. "Speaking of here, where are we?"

"I...don't really know," confessed Tarrant. "I didn't have a chance to check our exact location."

"Hadn't you better find out?" Vila asked. "I mean we could be in the middle of a war zone or something."

"Vila!" Tarrant snapped. "Who told you that?"

"No one," Vila answered innocently. "Absolutely no one."

"I'll bet," Tarrant shot back over his shoulder as he stormed for the flight deck. "I'll just bet."

Vila looked after him, then glanced at Dayna and Soolin. "No one told me anything, honest!"

"We believe you, Vila," Dayna laughed. "We believe you."

#

*Well, what do you think, Blake?* Gan's voice rumbled in the void as the ship moved off. *Do you think they'll make it all right?*

*I can't rightly say, Gan,* came Blake's response.

*What? And I thought you knew everything,* Avon mocked.

*Don't start, Avon,* Blake warned.

*Or what, Blake? You'll kill me?*

*I'll think of something,* he chuckled. *I'll think of something.*

*Until you do,* Avon continued. *I have matters to attend to.*

*You know, I could almost pity Servalan,* Gan murmured softly.

*Gan, how could you say such a thing?*

*He said 'almost,' Jenna,* Cally said. *I wish Avon would let me help.*

*He said it would be more effective his way, Cally,* Blake reminded her.

*I know, Blake,* she conceded. *But still...*

*Still nothing,* Blake stated firmly. *Avon knows exactly what he is doing.*

*Or so he says!* Jenna put in.

*Or so he says,* Blake agreed.

#

On Cyphon, Servalan was staring at the visicom mounted on her desk, unable to speak. A man's image filled the screen. He looked rather upset.

"Commissioner Sleer, I am waiting for an explanation." He held up a printed document. "This was received less than an hour ago. It says that the ASGAARD has been spirited away from the base. It also states that all the data tapes on the ASGAARD have been destroyed. Is this true?"

An hour ago? But normal communications were just re—established twenty minutes ago. Servalan kept the surprise from her face. Avon, you are devious, she conceded. She returned her attention to the President's image and smiled sweetly. "My dear Mr. President, I have the details right here." And she began her explanation.

#

While Servalan was occupied with the President, an important meeting was taking place in the Chief Base Physician's office.

"I tell you, Dr. Waldrop, there's something wrong with the Commissioner," Michaels exclaimed. "You should have heard her." He pointed across the room. "Ask Jacobs there. He was in the room with me when she started screaming."

"He's right, sir," the medic In question answered. "I thought at first it was just a case of shock. Even a minor break can have a traumatic effect as I'm sure you know; but then she kept on shouting, arguing even, with someone she called 'Avon'."

"Don't forget Blake," Michaels spoke up quickly. "She said his name, too."

"That's right, she did," Jacobs agreed. "What do you think we should do, sir?"

Dr. Waldrop didn't answer at first. He just stared down at his hands as if deep in thought. "Commissioner Sleer is one of our finest officers, gentlemen. I understand she has even been offered the position of Supreme Commander." Michaels looked at him in surprise. "So you see, the decision to place her under treatment is not as easy as you might think."

The comm buzzed on the physician's desk and he answered it. "Yes?"

"Corporal Peters and Private Madson are here, sir," announced his receptionist.

"Who?" inquired the physician.

"I asked them to come, sir," Michaels confessed when Waldrop looked up in surprise. "I think they have something to add to what we've already told you."

The senior physician frowned at him, obviously upset that he had not been consulted. "Very well, send them in."

The door opened and two security guards marched in and stood at attention before Dr. Waldrop's desk.

"I understand you have some information for me concerning Commissioner Sleer?" he asked.

The two guards glanced uneasily at each other. "Go on," Michaels urged. "Tell him what you told me."

"Well," the taller of the two guards began.

"You are Corporal Peters, correct?" queried Waldrop.

"Yes, sir."

"Just wanted to keep the record straight, son," the physician said with a nod. "Proceed."

"Madson and I were assigned outside Commissioner Sleer's quarters last week, sir. Nothing unusual about that. A lot of the brass...." He coughed nervously, then went on at the physician's knowing smile. "Some of the officers prefer to have men standing by in case there's any trouble."

"And was there?"

"Trouble? No. But last shift, well, something rather strange happened."

"Strange?" inquired Waldrop, noting the look the two guards passed between them.

"Yes sir. We were, as I said, on guard duty when all of sudden we heard this strange laughter coming from the Commissioner's room."

Waldrop eyed the man questioningly. "Laughter? And what is so strange about laughter, Cpl. Peters?"

"Nothing, Dr. Waldrop, nothing at all," the corporal quickly answered. "It's just that well...it didn't sound normal."

"And you feel qualified to know what exactly constitutes normal laughter?" the physician demanded.

"Dr. Waldrop," Michaels broke in. "I have been the Commissioner's aide since she's been on Cyphon. And she has never once in my presence laughed. And...." he continued as the doctor tried to say something. "And while what these two men heard might not mean anything, I must point out that the incident took place after the matter of the smashed mirror and her orders removing all mirrors from the base."

That last bit of information forced Waldrop to bite back the sharp retort he had been about to let loose on the younger man. "Hmmm, I see," he answered, glancing up at the two guards. "Thank you, gentlemen. I don't have to tell you that this matter is to remain confidential."

"We understand," Corporal Peters said.

"Very well, you may return to your duties." He watched the two men leave the room, then sighed. "Have there been any other such 'incidents' that you know of, Michaels?"

"That I know of, no," he advised. "But you might be interested in knowing that I ran a check on the name 'Avon' and came up with this." He handed the doctor a rather bulky folder.

Waldrop glanced through it, then looked up in surprise. "Kerr Avon? You're certain?"

"Yes, sir. From what I can gather, Commissioner Sleer has devoted a great deal of her time to catching this revolutionary. In fact, she instigated the plan which led to his subsequent death on Gauda Prime."

"And you say Commissioner Sleer was...er, seemed to be talking to...."

"To Avon, yes, sir," Michaels answered firmly. "It was as though she no longer saw Jacobs or myself, only him...Avon."

Fatigue, perhaps, Dr. Waldrop thought to himself. Too much pressure in trying to get the ASGAARD project finished ahead of schedule. "But you say she also said something about Blake?"

"Yes, sir," Jacobs answered, rising to his feet. "Said something about Travis failed, she wouldn't."

"Travis? Travis who?" Waldrop asked.

"I don't know yet," Michaels replied. "I have someone checking on that."

"Someone you can trust to keep their mouth shut, I assume?" the physician inquired. "We're in a precarious position right now, gentlemen," he added, eyeing the two men. "On the one hand, you may be right. Commissioner Sleer may indeed be in need of attention. But," he frowned, "on the other, what you are proposing could well be interpreted as a form of mutiny."

"Mutiny?" Michaels exclaimed. "Don't be ridiculous. If I didn't believe Commissioner Sleer was ill, I would not have come here." He took a step forward. "Dr. Waldrop, I'm asking for your help in this."

Waldrop rose from his chair and walked around the desk. "Very well. Let me pull her file and study it. I'll contact you in the morning."

"Thank you, sir," Michaels said, shaking the doctor's hand gratefully.

"One thing more," Waldrop called as Michaels and Jacobs started for the door. "Commissioner Sleer must know nothing of this."

"We understand," Michaels confirmed after glancing at his companion. "We understand perfectly."

#

"So, you feel someone within the complex is responsible for the ship's theft?" the man on the viewer asked with a frown, after Servalan had finished.

"All of the evidence points to it, Mr. President," she replied.

The man's face grew thoughtful. "Then I suggest you find this traitor, Commissioner Sleer. Find him...or her as quickly as possible."

"And the ASGAARD?" Servalan inquired.

It was obvious from the look on his face how much the President hated to make that admission. Then he smiled. "Perhaps when we secure the traitor, he or she will be able to tell us."

She smiled back. "You may rest assured, Mr. President. The ship will be found."

"I leave it in your capable hands, then." He paused a moment then added, "I trust you understand that until this matter is cleared up, your appointment as Supreme Commander must remain inactive."

"Of course, Mr. President," Servalan said with a smile.

"Very good. I shall await your next report." The screen went blank.

Servalan leaned back in her chair and sighed. Again, she had outwitted them. But a scapegoat would have to be found and soon. She stretched and winced. Her wrist was throbbing fiercely, but the break had been clean. The medic had assured her of it. Ah, that medic. Both he and young Michaels had been witness to Avon's last little charade. Yet neither had seemed affected. Maybe they were a part of it? She smiled. Perhaps not one but two scapegoats would be better. Her smile deepened. Yes. Two would do nicely, she thought, closing her eyes wearily.

#

Tarrant certainly lived up to my expectations, Servalan thought to herself as she lay beside the young man. Idly she wondered what it would have been like with Avon. Would he have provided her with such a stimulating evening? She sat up and leaned over to awaken Tarrant.

"It's morning, Tarrant," she whispered, twisting a lock of his dark brown hair fondly between her fingers. Servalan froze with shock as the hair came loose. Hesitantly, she reached out again, this time to shake him. Her hand closed on his shoulder and he fell limply over onto his back. Servalan gasped and drew back in horror. What had been one very much alive young man the night before was now only a mouldering corpse. Servalan stared at it, trying to fathom what had happened. But Tarrant's shriveled eyes revealed nothing.

"The sand killed him," announced a voice behind her and she whirled about.

"The sand?" Servalan echoed, wondering how Avon had managed to get into the base. She and Tarrant had been trapped by the storm which had blocked all the entrances.

"Yes," he answered.

"Aren't you afraid you'll end up the same way?" she inquired, regaining her composure.

"Not in the least," Avon told her. "You see, I've discovered its secret. The sand selects only the dominant member of each sex." He looked at her appraisingly. "You for the female of the species and...."

"And you as my mate."

"Yes," he smiled, taking her into his arms.

"And what happens when one of us dies?" she asked, resting her head on his chest.

Avon tilted her head up so her eyes met his. "My dear Servalan, we are already dead or hadn't you noticed?" His face dissolved into a grinning skull and the hand which cupped her chin into nothing more than bony fingers.

Servalan screamed in terror and broke free. She turned to flee only to find that Tarrant's mouldering remains had risen. "Servalan," his decaying mouth called. "Servalan, my love."

She screamed again and evading Tarrant's embrace, fled to the safety of a dark corridor.

"Servalan." Avon's hissing voice sent tremors of fear down her spine. "Servalan, you cannot hide from us. Come out."

She heard the shuffle of his boots as he moved through the darkness, coming closer to her. The throb of her heart pounded in her ears as the shuffling drew nearer and nearer. Then the sound stopped. Servalan squinted, trying in vain to see through the darkness, trying to see where Avon might be. Something touched her arm. She screamed.

#

"Commissioner? Commissioner Sleer?"

Servalan opened her eyes and saw a dark-haired man standing over her, hands reaching out for her. With a savage cry, she threw herself at him, knocking him to the floor.

Michaels, momentarily stunned by the attack, found himself lying flat on his back. Sleer was straddling his chest, her fingers digging into his throat as she tried to strangle him.

"I promised you, Avon," Servalan said triumphantly, tightening her hold. "Sooner or later, you'd make a mistake and I would catch you." She laughed. "Now, I have you."

"Commissioner Sleer," Michaels gasped, trying to free himself from her grasp. But the grip she had on him was unbreakable. "Help! Help me!" he screamed. "Peters! Madson! Help!"

"That's right, Avon," Servalan continued. "Beg! Beg for your life. I might consider granting it. After all, once I'm re-established as Supreme Commander, I will have need of qualified personnel on my staff. And after I'm made President once again...."

Hands caught her from behind, dragging her off Michaels. "No," she screamed. "Let me go." Servalan struggled free and whipped around to face her attackers.

"What do you think you're doing?" Servalan demanded. "That man...." She indicated Michaels who was sitting up, rubbing his throat. "That man is an enemy of the Federation." The two guards looked at each other uneasily.

"You'd better get Dr. Waldrop," Corporal Peters said, drawing his gun and training it on Servalan. Madson nodded and hurried out. "Take it easy, Commissioner. Everything is going to be all right." He chanced a look at Michaels. "You okay?"

"I...I think so," he answered, staggering to his feet.

Servalan glared at the two men. "So I was right, there is a conspiracy!" she shrieked. "You and Avon. You'll both pay for this."

On that note, the door to the room slid open and Dr. Waldrop walked in. His eyes rested Servalan's glowering face for a few seconds, then traveled on to Michaels. "What happened?"

"What happened?" Michaels echoed. "I'll tell you what happened. She just tried to kill me."

"I was protecting myself," Servalan said coldly. "Protecting myself from him, Avon."

"Avon?" Dr. Waldrop looked at the woman questioningly. "Avon is not here, Commissioner Sleer." He pointed to the man she had attacked. "That is your aide, Lt. Michaels."

Servalan's eyes widened slightly at his words. "So, you are a part of this little game, too, Dr. Waldrop. How much did Avon tell you, hmmm?" She studied him a moment. "Obviously not enough. But it doesn't matter. You're all dead men."

"Have you heard enough now, Doctor?" Michaels demanded.

Waldrop nodded slowly and took a step toward Servalan. "Commissioner, I think you're overwrought. For the past month, you've been working yourself much too hard. You need time to rest, to recover your...."

"Wits?" Servalan finished coldly. "I'm not the one who is facing a firing squad, Doctor. You are. Consider well what you say before you do anything else."

"As a physician, I believe I know exactly what I am doing, Commissioner," the doctor responded firmly.

"Then you are a bigger fool than I thought." She turned toward Michaels. "I congratulate you, Avon. You appear to have fooled all of them completely." She took a step toward him. "But not me, Avon. Not Servalan."

"Conduct the Commissioner to the infirmary," Waldrop instructed Peters and Madson. "Remain with her until I arrive."

"Yes, sir," Corporal Peters acknowledged. He gestured with his gun. "Commissioner?"

Servalan looked first at Dr. Waldrop, then at Michaels. "We shall see each other again, Avon. You may depend on it." She smiled and walked from the room.

It was a few minutes before the remaining two men said anything. Both were still somewhat shaken by what had taken place. Michaels absentmindedly rubbed the side of his neck and winced.

"Hurt?" inquired the physician. He motioned the younger man over to the chair and made him sit down.

"Some," Michaels answered as Waldrop carefully checked the scratches and abrasions left by Servalan's fingers.

"You'll have some bruising but nothing serious," he reported after a moment.

"Did I imagine it, Dr. Waldrop?" Michaels asked him, "or did she call herself Servalan?"

"No, you didn't imagine it." Waldrop ran a hand through his hair. "No doubt connected with her thinking you were Avon." He pulled up a chair and sat down facing Michaels. "For the last four hours, I've been reading your report and the depositions taken from Peters, Madson and Jacobs. The more I read, the less I liked it."

He paused a moment, studying his companion. "Commissioner Sleer is, well, ambitious. She's made a lot of enemies getting where she is and well, I thought perhaps you were after...."

"After her position?" Michaels shook his head. "I want advancement, yes. But not at someone else's expense." He smiled humorlessly. "Besides, cutting other people's throats tends to become habit-forming after a while. Then you begin seeing other people coming after yours."

"So I understand," Waldrop agreed. "In any case, I owe you an apology."

"Accepted, of course," the younger man said. "But what do we do about Commissioner Sleer?"

"Don't worry about her, my boy," Waldrop advised. "I'll see that she receives the best treatment available. My nephew runs a therapy clinic on Earth which caters to persons in her condition."

"What exactly is her condition?" Michaels asked curiously.

"Could be any number of things," the physician replied. "The ASGAARD Project could well be behind it. You know how hard she's been working on it, wanting to get the ship ready. Driving herself ruthlessly."

"And the rest of us as well," the aide added.

"No matter how strong a person's willpower may be," Waldrop continued, "something has to give way sooner or later." He sighed. "In this case...."

"It was her mind," Michaels finished.

"Precisely." Waldrop got to his feet. "Now, I'd better be getting back to the infirmary. I have to contact my nephew, then make arrangements for transferring her back to Earth."

"Dr. Waldrop?"

The physician stopped at the door, turning to look at Michaels.

"Yes?"

"Could there be anything...I mean, do you think...."

Waldrop smiled. "Do I think what?"

Michaels shook his head. "Never mind."

"I want you to get some rest," Waldrop said, assuming an official air. "And that's an order."

Michaels smiled. "You're the doctor."

#

The frown on the captain's face deepened as his "special passenger" was carried on board. He had this feeling in his bones that there was something wrong here.

Once she was secure within her cabin, Waldrop returned with some final instructions. "Now, remember, Captain Martin, the patient is to be kept heavily sedated at all times."

"What's wrong with her?" Martin asked curiously. "Incurable disease or something?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, I'll tell you, Doctor. When I receive a Priority One signal, ordering me to this out-of-the way planet, I figure something must be up."

Waldrop studied the man before him. The captain may have been well into his 60s, but he was no one's fool. "The woman is a distinguished officer of the Federation."

"Aren't we all," Martin returned sarcastically.

The senior physician frowned. "Look. Your vessel was the closest to Cyphon. Her condition demanded immediate transport to Earth."

"All right, all right," the captain muttered. "As long as it's nothing catching."

"Hardly," Waldrop answered. "Just follow my instructions and see she gets to the Andar Clinic as soon as possible."

"Leave it to me, Dr. Waldrop," Martin said. "She'll be delivered intact." He turned and walked back into his ship.

#

On the flight deck of the missing ASGAARD, her new crew were busy exploring its functions.

"What's this for?" Vila asked, pointing at large, circular dial with various numeric symbols on it, mounted near the main drive control.

"I don't know," Tarrant answered flatly. "But I can find out easily enough." He reached forward to twist the device.

"Uh, that's all right," Vila said hastily. "I was only curious."

"So am I, Vila," Tarrant remarked with a grin.

+If I might interrupt this ridiculous exchange?+ Orac announced suddenly.

"Here we go," Vila exclaimed. "Now he's going to tell us how he's discovered a way to run this thing even without Tarial cells."

"Be quiet, Vila," Dayna shushed. "It might be important."

Tarrant laughed. "All right, Orac. What's on your mind?"

+What's on my mind?+ the computer sputtered. +There is no method capable of measuring the amount of knowledge stored within my memory cells and furthermore...+

"I meant," Tarrant interrupted, "what do you want to tell us?"

+Then why did you not state that to begin with?+ Orac demanded angrily.

"He's stating it now, Orac," Vila retorted. "Get on with it."

+Very well. In monitoring Federation transmissions, in particular those emanating from the Planet Cyphon, I have come across a most curious development.+

"What development?" Soolin asked apprehensively. "I thought we destroyed the communication equipment."

+Damage was extensive but reparable. The computer data banks, however, were destroyed beyond repair,+ Orac continued smoothly. +But that is not what I wish to report. Rather it is the fact that there appears to be have been a change in the command of the base on Cyphon.+

"Change in command?" Dayna echoed, looking at her companions.

"If you let a top secret project get stolen right out from under your nose, there's bound to be repercussions," Tarrant answered.

+If I might continue?+ Orac said, irritably.

"By all means," Soolin advised.

+According to the report filed with Space Command Headquarters, the change was necessitated by the sudden erratic behavior of the base commander.+

Vila smiled. "That being one Commissioner Sleer, right?"

+If you already know the answer to the question, why do you persist in asking?+ demanded the computer.

"Just confirming it, Orac," Vila soothed. "Just confirming it. What are they going to do with her?"

+According to the transmission, Commissioner Sleer is being conducted to Earth for treatment at the Andar Clinic.+

Vila smiled again. "I wonder if Avon's happy now?"

"Happy?" Dayna muttered angrily. "He should have killed her."

"Why kill her, Dayna?" Vila asked. "Where's she going, she's as good as dead."

"Perhaps you'd care to elaborate on that?" Tarrant inquired, cocking an eye.

"Well, it's not too common a knowledge among the Alphas, Tarrant," Vila explained. "But the Andar Clinic is a well, sort of a sinkhole. People go in, but they rarely come out."

"And how do you know that?" Dayna queried.

"I was lucky," he murmured. "I made it out."

"You were sent there?" Soolin asked in surprise.

Vila shrugged. "They kept trying to condition me and it didn't work, so they sent me there." He grimaced. "That didn't work either, but it left me with some nasty memories." A mischievous look crossed his face. "I wonder if Servalan's ever sent anyone there?"

Tarrant grinned. "If she's on her way there, I'd say there's a good chance she did."

"But that would mean that he or she knows her real identity," Dayna argued.

"Maybe, maybe not. It might just be a case of simple revenge," Tarrant replied thoughtfully. "I almost wish...."

"Oh no you don't, Tarrant!" Vila objected. "We're not going to Earth."

"I was just thinking, Vila," he said with a grin. "I was just thinking."

#

Servalan awakened from her drug-induced slumber and shivered. She felt very cold. The lighting in the room was dimmed but gradually she was able to make out a figure sitting across from her.

"Awake at last, eh, Servalan?" a male voice announced casually.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "What are you doing in my quarters?"

"Your quarters?" the man said, sounding amused. "My dear Servalan, these are not your quarters. They belong, in a matter of speaking, to me." He spread his hands wide apart. "In this place, everything belongs to me. Left to me by a dear uncle who decided he wasn't cut out for this sort of work."

"If I'm not on Cyphon," she inquired, "where exactly am I?"

He laughed. "Some might call it Hell."

His evasion tactics made her angry. "Damnit. I demand to know where I am."

"Very well," the man answered with a shrug. "You are on Earth, at the Andar Clinic for the Criminally Insane."

Servalan's mind froze. "There's been some kind of mistake," she murmured. "All of this. I found out about a conspiracy on Cyphon. A conspiracy involving Avon."

"So Dr. Waldrop's report says," he responded.

"Dr. Waldrop!" she cried. "But he's in on it. Please. It's all a terrible mistake."

"Aren't they always?" the man agreed. "Much like the one I made. And because of that slight miscalculation, I lost everything, not to mention coming very close to losing my life. Still, one in my profession must ever be prepared for such instances. Especially when dealing with someone of your calibre.

"I really must congratulate you on the perfection of your plan. Your apparent death in the alien invasion and then resurrection as Commissioner Sleer was simply marvelous. And the subtle elimination of those who could identify you." He sighed. "Acts worthy of a master strategist, Servalan.

I know that voice, Servalan thought to herself grimly. But where? Where? "You seem to know a great deal about me."

"Of course," the man returned. "I've kept track your career since my, uh, banishment, shall we call it. And of course, now and again, an occasional 'client' would babble about a Commissioner Sleer. One, in fact, even drew me a picture." He smiled. "He was an exceedingly fine artist."

"I see," she answered slowly. "You say we've met before."

"Oh yes, we've met." The man stood up and walked over to the bunk. "Can you really have forgotten me that easily?" he asked. He bent down close to her.

Servalan gasped. "You!"

"I do believe you are surprised," he said with a charming smile. "How wonderful."

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a sedative. He held it against her arm, watching her face as he injected the narcotic. "Sleep now, Servalan. When you awaken, we'll have a nice long chat together, you and I."

"No," Servalan mumbled, struggling weakly against the restraints which held her firmly to the bunk. "This is some kind of dream, an illusion created to drive me insane."

The man regarded her a moment, then laughed. "Drive you insane? My dear Servalan, as far as the rest of the Federation is concerned, you are insane."

Servalan stared up at him, at the handsome face which smiled back, at Carnell's face. Then she was plunged back into darkness.

#

*Very nice, Avon,* Blake said admiringly. *Very nice indeed. I particularly liked the way you masked young Michaels' features with your own.*

*Thank you,* Avon replied. *I'm rather pleased with that myself.*

*Pleased, but not satisfied, right?* Blake inquired.

*Satisfied is a word I've never used, Blake,* Avon answered. *But in this case, it will do. It will do.*

end

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