Gemini Nightmare

"I'd like to see Jenna one last time before I die."

The faint voice cut through the silence of the medical unit like a knife, and Vila Restal, who had been crouched on a bench near the door, jerked his head up in alarm and stared at Avon, who sat firmly beside Blake's bed. His face had been rigidly expressionless as he waited out the death-watch, and even now, six days after the shooting here on Gauda Prime, he had not dared allow himself to hope that Blake would survive after all. The quiet words seemed to indicate that Blake didn't believe it, either.

Over in his corner, Tarrant exchanged a dismayed look with Vila before glancing at Avon. Hiding here on Blake's alternate base they were safe enough for the moment, though Servalan was undoubtedly looking for them. Deva, badly wounded but recovering in the next room, had directed them here before passing out after Blake's back-up troopers had come in and mopped up the Federation patrol, Attended by Soolin, Dayna, also wounded nearly as badly as Blake,, was further along the passage, cared for by the one medic who had survived the raid on the main base. Hidden here, deep underground, they were safe from Federation scans, but no one dared to go to the surface or try to contact the few rebel ships with ties to the base.

"I thought Jenna--you told me she was dead," Tarrant said quietly.

"I didn't dare give away that she was still alive. It was part of the test." The thin, faded voice went on steadily, though he looked perceptibly worse than he had a few hours ago. "She's due back in a few days. I...won't last that long."

"Damn you, Blake, you're going to live." Avon's voice was harsh and strained, and his eyes were as dark as the night. When the doctor had done what he could for Blake and cautioned them that the odds were against his survival, Blake had asked for Avon. Vila remembered the way Avon had stiffened as it the doctor's words had been a slap in the face. He had levered himself up from the waiting room chair as if carrying burdens too heavy to lift and trudged into the medical unit like a man on his way to an execution.

Vila and Tarrant, newly on his feet himself, had followed cautiously, uncertain of Avon. To have found Blake, lost him, got him back only to be told he was to lose him yet again, this time permanently, he was bearing up in the way he did best, by refusing to allow it to matter. But when he paused in the doorway and saw Blake looking at him, something in him snapped and he approached as if the rebel had hooked him and was reeling him in.

"Blake." His voice was flat, but even so, it nearly broke.

"I...didn't set you up, Avon." He gazed up Avon helplessly, none of the old Blake in his eyes, then he explained. "When Jenna found me after Star One, I couldn't remember who I was... I still can't. I...wanted you to know that. Everything Jenna told me about you went out the window when you came in. I thought the sight of you would...make me remember, but it didn't. I knew what you looked like, of course, but..." He sighed, the simple inhalation shaking his entire body. "It was...my fault. I felt betrayed--not by you," he had added hastily. "By my damned memory. I couldn't think straight. I was so sure it would come back, and it didn't. I didn't remember how to...to act with you."

Avon went rigid. Whatever he had expected, it wasn't this, a valid excuse for Blake's mishandling of the situation, an excuse he might have realized it he hadn't gone in primed for betrayal himself. "Blake, I--" he began helplessly, something human and alive filtering into his voice, though it was nearly overwhelmed by despair. "I didn't know... I only thought you'd turned against me, that Tarrant must be right. The man I knew would never... And I'd changed, too."

Blake smiled. Vila felt no sense of familiarity about it at all, but of course Blake didn't remember any of them, didn't remember Avon. It seemed impossible he could forget, especially when Avon stood there shaking, his fingers curled tightly into his palms to still his tremors. Avon was broken, finally and completely, and Blake looked at him as it he were a stranger. To him, Avon was a stranger. After Malodaar, Vila had kept telling himself he hated Avon, but, looking at Avon's face, the hate had melted away to nothing and he had edged forward to put a cautious and comforting hand on Avon's shoulder. Avon hadn't even bothered to shrug it free.

"It's all right, Avon," Blake had whispered, strained to the breaking point by fatigue and weakness. "I don't...blame you."

"I might blame myself."

"No." Blake put out a hand. "Don't do that. I won't leave you that."

Avon looked at the hand, something in his face twisting at the suggestion in Blake's words that he was dying, and he dragged up a chair beside the bed and clasped the hand. A very un-Avon act, but it was a desperate situation. Tarrant edged forward, almost as diffident as Vila, and shared a worried look with the thief.

"I'm sorry, Blake," he said in the tones of one who knows the words completely inadequate but who has nothing better to offer.

"I made you think what you did, Tarrant." The rebel's voice was only a thread. He was nearly asleep now. "l...understand."

Vila saw Avon's knuckles whiten around Blake's lax fingers and knew it would take something as ominous as Servalan to separate them. He caught Tarrant's eye and nodded at the door.

In the following six days, Avon had spent every spare moment here. He worked on the base computer for several hours a day, making sure base security was adequate to protect them, and he made several brief visits to Dayna, who was very slowly getting well, but the rest of the time he came here. Vila doubted it he slept more than an hour or two a day, for each time Vila saw him, he looked paler, more tired and drawn, new lines etching across his face. He had killed Blake, and if Blake wasn't yet dead, then Avon owed him everything he could give. He had nothing left but his promise to make Blake's people safe and his own person. Both were Blake's now, even it this Blake didn't remember Avon or the Liberator, except through Jenna's stories.

"So Jenna's alive?" Tarrant prompted. He wanted it settled. They might not even have a day of Blake left.

"Yes, on a mission," the dying man continued, His hand lay quietly in Avon's, and it no longer seemed so strange to Vila to see the touch-me-not computer tech actually reaching out to someone. After a week of it, it almost looked normal.

Avon frowned. "I will have Orac contact her and warn her of the danger here."

Avon always sounded practical when he spoke, but there was a determined warmth in his voice when he spoke to Blake, all the more so because the loss of his memory had effectively deleted the rebel's Blake-ness.

Blake was a stranger, lacking the fire that had driven him on Liberator, the charisma that had drawn even an Avon to his side. He was like a stranger in a Blake mask, and though a part of that might be due to his rapidly declining condition, the rest of it bothered Vila. Even without memory, Blake should still be Blake. The thief saw Avon looking for the man he had known, failing to find him, finally blaming himself.

But Vila didn't think that was right. The man who had appeared in the control room of the main base had little of the old Blake about him. It was almost as it he weren't Blake at all but a duplicate. Cautious, Vila had asked Orac to run tests to see it this man might be the clone of Blake that Servalan had abandoned with IMIPAK. But Orac's tests indicated that he was not a clone, that this was his natural appearance and that he was the right age to be Roj Blake. Vila stopped short of retinal scans and fingerprints. If Blake hadn't been through cosmetic surgery and he wasn't a clone, he had to be Blake. Perhaps it was true that the memory made the man.

This Blake had been a rebel, too. Jenna had known him, and it anyone would, she would. She wouldn't be deceived by a copy.

And Avon would know. Avon wouldn't sit here day after day, offering his soul to an impostor. Every detail of Blake's appearance, voice, manner, must be ingrained in Avon's memory. If Blake couldn't remember Avon, Avon could remember Blake.

The thief found it hard not to go off somewhere and cry.

"Yes, contact her, Avon. Have Orac explain to her. I...don't want her to return without...knowing about me." He tried to close his fingers around Avon's. "I wish I could talk to her."

Vila realized Blake's ties to Jenna were stronger now than they were to Avon. Impossible they not be, but Avon saw it and something flinched inside him.

"Orac will do what it can." Avon raised his eyes to Tarrant. "Fetch it here, Tarrant," he said.

Once Tarrant would have protested the order automatically, but now he jumped up without hesitation and vanished. He returned shortly with the little computer and set it on the table beside Blake's bed, inserting the activator key.

"Orac," Avon instructed, "Jenna Stannis is alive and due to return to this base in less than a week. It is imperative that you contact her and give her a message from Blake. You will obey his commands immediately and without argument.

Vila shivered at the cold command in Avon's voice. When Blake died, Avon was going to come apart. He was nearly there now. Orac must have known it, for it offered no protest.

"What is the name of Jenna Stannis's ship?" it enquired practically.

"The Quest," Blake replied. "She had gone to Raskillion and Dantage Major."

"Very well. It will take time. I will inform you when contact is made."

Silence fell. Orac hummed away, lights blinking. Tarrant returned to his corner. He and Vila had reached an agreement that neither of them would leave Avon alone, because both at them feared what would happen to him when Blake died. Vila sometimes thought that the only thing keeping Avon alive was the fact that Blake was still breathing. Tarrant, willing to take more than his share of the blame for Gauda Prime, seemed willing to accept responsibility for preserving Avon's life. Vila agreed with him. but he suspected Avon would never thank them for their concern. Odd he permitted it. But maybe he was so absorbed with Blake that he couldn't think past it to the petty annoyance at the constant presence of the pilot and the thief.

"Tell me about the Liberator," Blake urged Avon as they waited. He seemed fascinated by the reminiscences he'd called out of Avon so far.

That unlikely raconteur, Kerr Avon, began another story, this time about President Sarkoff and Blake's attempt to return him to Lindor, thwarted briefly by the Amagon pirates. Fascinated, but no closer to remembering, Blake hung on every word.

Intrigued, so did Del Tarrant

It was another hour before Orac announced, "I have the requested information."

"Very well, Orac, give it to us," Avon said sharply, the threat that was always implicit in his voice any more very evident now. Even Orac seemed wary around him.

"Jenna Stannis will be here in less than half an hour."

"She's early." Life came into Blake's voice, his face warming with joy and relief. It was borne on Vila that Blake loved her fiercely and that her arrival meant everything to him. The thought of seeing her once more seemed to give him strength.

Avon didn't loose his grip on the man's hand, but something in his face closed in upon itself in a kind of diffident withdrawal. He might be Blake's, but it seemed Blake was not his. All this time, while they waited at Blake's sickbed, Blake's response to Avon had been that of a man who knew there was a tie but who didn't feel it himself. Now, in his delight at the thought of seeing Jenna again, he had effectively rejected Avon, and the tech felt it keenly. Accustomed to reading Avon's face and eyes, Vila winced inwardly.

"She has...a passenger." The break in Orac's voice was a pregnant pause that cut through Avon's preoccupation and made him stare at the computer in suspicion.

"Explain that, Orac," he commanded.

"Very well. It was never my intention to conceal the knowledge from you. It was simply the desire to possess the appropriate facts before revealing them."

"What are you talking about, Orac?" Tarrant asked as it Avon's suspicion was catching. "Is Jenna in trouble?"

"No. The trouble is here."

"Meaning?" the pilot pressed before Avon could demand answers

"Jenna has a passenger whose identity could affect everyone here," Orac replied.

"Servalan!" hissed Avon.

"No," said Orac simply and added with devastating effect, "Roj Blake."

The man in the bed made a muted and involuntary protest, and Avon, stunned into vivid and roused response by an answer he had never expected, freed his hand from Blake's and advanced menacingly on the computer. "Explain that, Orac." The threat was not concealed at all now.

"Jenna claims she has encountered a man who has proven to her satisfaction to be the real Roj Blake," Orac replied, "Upon receipt of this information, I began making comparisons and have reached the conclusion that the man present now is not Roj Blake."

"But you ran tests already," Vila burst out, betrayed. "You said he wasn't a clone and he hadn't had plastic surgery.

Tarrant turned indignant eyes on Vila. "You had Orac run tests and didn't tell us?"

"Well, he didn't seem like Blake and I wanted to be sure," the thief defended himself, avoiding Avon's eyes.

But Avon was staring at the man in the bed. "Who are you?" he demanded. "is this some ploy of Servalan's. Programming? I see it now. How long did you expect to continue the charade?"

"I...thought I was Blake," the man defended himself wearily. "Jenna found me...told me I was Blake. I didn't know who I was, but it sounded right, sounded familiar. I--Jenna can tell you I never...betrayed her or any rebel. If--if I'm not Blake, who am I?" A lone tear slipped down one sunken cheek. He was already dying, but now he was dying without an identity, not even a borrowed one. Vila felt an unexpected pang of sympathy for the man.

Avon was still suspicious, all the more because he'd opened himself up to this impostor. It was another betrayal. Vila shuddered, wondering how Avon would react when finally confronted with a Roj Blake who knew who he was and who Avon was.

"Did Servalan send you here?" he demanded.

The doppelganger shook his head wearily. "If she did," he said in defeated tones, "I don't remember it, either."

"Is that true, Orac?" Avon asked without taking his eyes from the man at whose bedside he'd kept vigil.

"He appears to speak the truth."

"How did you detect that he wasn't Blake?" Tarrant asked, more to break the mood than because it was important.

"His voice print never quite matched Blake's, but it was close enough that injury or weakness could have affected it," replied the computer. "I took readings trom the system on Jenna Stannis's vessel, which confirmed that the Blake on board precisely matches the records in my memory banks."

"Then we are presented with that most unlikely of events, a coincidence," Tarrant said skeptically. "A missing Blake, a dead ringer who just happens to have amnesia. Convenient for someone. Servalan seems the most likely choice."

"But if she did it, she would have expected some return," insisted Vila. Avon wasn't thinking it through yet. He was standing there as blankly as he had stood over the impostor in the base control room. He wasn't quite functional yet. It had not yet struck him that his Blake still lived. The fact of his survival did not automatically erase Avon's trauma.

"I wonder what that return was meant to be," Tarrant mused. He turned to the patient. "Do you have anything to add?"

"I...no. I seem to remember...an urgent need of...the Liberator." He frowned, trying to make sense of the emptiness in his head.

"That could be it, then," Vila claimed, "Maybe Servalan found a look-alike and after Blake left the Liberator during the Andromedan War, she hoped to put her substitute on board the ship, It didn't work, so it there was any programming, it didn't come out,"

"You might actually be right, Vila." Tarrant replied, sounding insultingly astonished. Ignoring his tone, Vila grinned smugly, but the smile faded as he looked at Avon.

"Avon?" he ventured tentatively, daring to take the dark man's arm. "Come and sit down. When Blake--when the real Blake gets here, he might have some of our answers."

"Such as where he's been for the past few years," Tarrant agreed. "I have a lot of questions for Blake."

"Blake owes you nothing," Avon snarled. He sounded as menacing as he had before they came to Gauda Prime, when everything was falling apart. All traces of the surprisingly gentle man who had sat for hours at the impostor's sickbed had vanished as if they had never been. Vila hoped Blake had an excellent excuse for his disappearance.

"Another thing, though, Avon," he offered cautiously, "we never found any real clues to Blake until the ones about Gauda Prime. That meant the real Blake wasn't broadcasting his location. But this one wasn't either, not until just recently. If he's Servalan's, something must have triggered him. She engineered all this. She had to."

"I never...leaked our location, Avon," the false Blake insisted. "We were very cautious, even knowing Orac might find us. We got reports of you, and not that many of them were reassuring, even though you were...fighting the Federation."

"Here now," said a stern voice from the doorway. "You're upsetting my patient."

Jord Tanner, the medic, popped his head in. He was a middle aged character with bright eyes under straight dark slashes of eyebrows, and dark hair that he'd persuaded to curl about his collar. He was the most amazing man, for he seemed to have been everywhere and done everything. Vila suspected that the Federation was hunting him assiduously under another name, for he was far too valuable an asset to be wasted on a backwater pianet in a remote rebel base. He bustled forward, bent over the false Blake and checked his pulse though the instrument display over the head of the bed told him everything he needed to know.

"Here, you're over-excited, Roj. What's going on here."

"He isn't Roj Blake," Tarrant explained. "Jenna found the real one and she's bringing him in. Orac ran some tests and verified it."

"Isn't Blake?" Tanner stared at 'Blake' in blank astonishment. "But--we ran some tests, too, when we found he didn't know who he was. He and Jenna both insisted on it. He's no clone. She said he was cloned once, but this man isn't one."

"And he hasn't been surgically altered either," Vila agreed. "He just looks like Blake."

Jord's eyebrows lifted. "Amazingly coincidental. I think I detect the the hand of a master programmer somewhere, or perhaps even a puppeteer."

Vila slipped a sideways glance at Tarrant. In the past few days they'd reached the conclusion that Jord himself was a puppeteer who had turned his back on the Federation. He could be very useful to them--if his defection was valid. Though both of them liked him, neither of them was quite prepared to trust him completely. Living with Avon for years taught one the importance at being cautious.

"Out," Tanner urged, "Let him rest, He'll want to see Jenna. Let him rest until then, all of you." He paused, laid a hand on Avon's shoulder, "You too, Avon." he said in a firm but gentle voice, "Come along."

Surprisingly, Avon had never resented Jord Tanner. He flashed the man an unreadable look now and went with him tamely enough, not even bothering to detach himself from the medic's grip. He was spent, every emotion purged and, though threat might yet rouse him to life again, he went where Tanner led, into the rest room down the hall, where the medic steered him into a chair.

Vila plopped down beside Avon and assumed the position of protector, something he'd done around Avon before, though the tech had never acknowledged it. Tarrant sat on his other side, a new recruit but no less determined. Vila's alliance with Tarrant was of recent origin, but it was one which satisfied him. Gauda Prime had changed them all.

Tanner spun round and programmed drinks from the dispenser, passing them out to all three of them. "Drink it down. Medical order. I'll be back." He went out to see to his patient, and Vila said delightedly:

"Adrenalin and soma. I always knew he was a man after my own heart."

Avon started to put his glass aside, but Tarrant moved forward and caught his arm to stay him. "I think you'd better drink it, Avon," he said with some determination. "I wouldn't cross Tanner myself."

"You're a fool," said Avon without heat and without spirit. But he was too limp and spent to argue. He sipped at his drink.

"Blake will make sense of it all," Vila said, raising his race from his empty glass. "See it he doesn't."

"That has ever been my fear," Avon replied. The words were right, but the tone was so defeated that Vila bit his tongue to keep from offering comfort. Avon didn't want it. For all Vila knew, he probably didn't believe he needed comfort--or even deserved it. What he probably needed was a good hug or five, but Vila wasn't that reckless. He sighed inaudibly.

"Then this was all a trap, Avon," he said instead. "It wasn't Blake, after all. The real Blake wouldn't have driven you to shoot him."

"Can you be so certain of that?" Avon asked. He raised his eyes to Vila's and wouldn't look away. "I thought he was Blake. I've killed him. Better we go away now before Blake arrives."

Vila hadn't thought of that. "No," he said. "It isn't like that. The real Blake would have known you. He wouldn't have done it wrong. You wouldn't have shot the real one, Avon. I know it."

"Oh, you know it, do you? One should of course believe it. Clearly you know everything." Even his sarcasm was muted. But for a moment, gratitude flashed in his eyes, and that was so unlikely that Vila almost abandoned his restraint and hugged nim after all.

But that wouldn't be the answer, not with Avon. "I do know everything," he returned, cocky and defiant. "You just never believed it. Anyway, people are allowed to make mistakes."

"Mistakes?" Avon cocked an eyebrow at him. "That fool in there is dying of my mistake."

"Yours alone? Oh yes, I forgot how arrogant you are. Jenna told him he was Blake. That's her mistake. Tarrant says he sold you. That's his mistake. He didn't tell you Tarrant was wrong. That was his mistake. You shot him. That was yours. It's a community project, the mistake. Seems like I'm the only one who didn't do anything wrong. And I knocked out Arlen, so I did something right." He made himself grin at Avon, though it took real effort to make it feel natural.

Avon stared at him a long time, then he heaved a great sigh. "Perhaps you're right, Vila," he said. "But my share of it was the worst. I have never enjoyed killing."

Vila knew it was true. Avon could kill, and kill in cold blood, if he must, but he paid for it inside each time. Vila could understand that, for he loathed killing and never did it at all if something else couldn't be managed. But he was the more pragmatic of the two. He didn't let it eat at him afterwards.

"Neither have I," he said. "Avon, come on. Let it all go. You'll I make yourself go mad if you don't stop, then where will the rest of us be?"

"Infinitely better off, I should think," Avon replied wearily.

"Once I might have agreed with you," Tarrant returned. "But I think I'd've been wrong."

Avon eyed him in surprise. "Loyalty, Tarrant?" he asked.

"So it seems. More fool I. But I think Dorian was right, that we're all a part of each other."

"Then we are all unlucky." Avon sipped at his drink once more. "I do not want or need your loyalty, or your support," he insisted.

"You sound so convincing," Vila muttered, smiling faintly because Avon wouldn't have convinced a mutoid. "You're only saying that out of habit and because you're half afraid you'll take us down with you when you go. Well, you won't because we won't let you go down. Listen to me, Avon, because I don't talk sense that often, and I'm going to now."

Avon stared at him in considerable surprise, but a twinkle touched his eyes. "I wouldn't miss it," he murmured.

"You need us," Vila said. "The longer you go on pretending you don't, the worse it will be. Now that we'll get Blake back, it'll be better. But that doesn't mean we won't back you. Let us back you because you'll only go over the edge without us. You go on backing us, protecting us, and pretending you're doing nothing of the kind. We're not stupid. Avon. We can see how you try to take care of us."

"As I did on Malodaar?" Avon demanded desperately.

"I'm still here," Vila reminded him. "You didn't find me. You came looking for me and the girls after you teleported off the Scorpio, and you were glad to see Tarrant at the other base. You even said so. Slipping a little, Avon? Better be careful, or you'll discover you like us."

"I should tend to doubt it," Avon replied, but he was so weary and so drained that he didn't have the strength to raise his defenses and deny Vila's words.

"I like it better it you didn't go around saying so, "Vila reassured him. "But so long as you let us stay with you, and don't toss us off any shuttles, we'll back you. Is it a deal?"

Avon looked at him a long time. Vila felt those intense dark eyes boring into his own and it took every bit of willpower he possessed to avoid looking away, but he held the gaze. Finally Avon bowed his head.

"You're a fool."

Vila grinned broadly, for the familiar note had crept into Avon's voice again, and the words were no longer a means to distance himself but a way of displaying an affection that existed but was not to be discussed. Who would have thought the word 'fool' a term of endearment? Vila caught Tarrant's eye and saw relief etched there as well. Perhaps it would be all right, though it wouldn't be easy. It all depended on Blake. What he said when he saw Avon just might make all the difference.

******

Blake strode into the base with Jenna at his side. He looked so little changed that Vila, who was still standing protectively at Avon's side, began to hope cautiously that Blake could complete the cure and make Avon whole again--and by extension, the rest of them. He watched his old crewmates approach down the passage, Jenna wearing a strange and unfamiliar expression, casting little glances at Blake as it she didn't know him any more. Probably she didn't. She'd come so close to the impostor that the real thing must have become a stranger. Vila wondered it she knew he was dying.

As for Blake, he strode forward eagerly, his eyes gleaming with excitement. Vila knew the moment he saw Avon, for he jerked to a stop, a broad grin lighting his face. He was pleased to see the tech, and Vila could feel Avon's astonishment and something more, almost a humble delight at it. Poor Avon, he was still fragile. It was left to Blake to do the right thing.

So he did it. He did what Vila hadn't dared. He cried, "Avon," in a great roar, lunged forward, and pulled the silent man to his chest, hugging him fiercely. After a startled and breathless moment, Avon closed his arms around him tightly and held on as it he would never let go.

"Blake," he breathed in a voice that was little above a whisper. "I--thought I'd killed you."

"You what!" That was Jenna. She grabbed at Avon's arm. "It you've hurt him--" When Avon froze, his arms falling away from Blake, Jenna turned to Vila. "Where is he, Vila? Is he alive?"

She loved the impostor. Vila stared at her in dismay. These two years, they'd only had each other. It wasn't surprising, really, but it made it bad right now.

"He wasn't Blake," Vila reminded her. "Avon couldn't tell--but the other one did it all wrong. He made Avon think he'd betrayed him. What would you expect? That we give him a reward?"

"But he didn't know Avon," she insisted. "Show me, someone."

"I'll do it." Tarrant caught her eye. "This way, Jenna."

She went with him without a look to spare for the real Blake.

When she'd gone, Blake turned to Avon again. "I don't know what else you could have done," he said seriously. "Even if it had been me, if I'd made such a bad mistake with you, I'd have deserved shooting."

"Deserved shooting? For amnesia?" Avon lowered his eyes. "We think he might be Servalan's unwitting tool," he confessed. "Blake..."

"You know I'm who I claim to be?" Blake asked him.

"Of course." No hesitation. "But there wasn't time before. It all happened so fast." He caught himself up. "I am not making excuses, Blake. I have been...on the edge. I fear it could endanger you as well. Now that I see you, I find that fear less serious than I had thought."

"He means he knows it's you and he doesn't want to hurt you," translated Vila. "H'lo, Blake. It's good to see you."

"And you, Vila. What have you been doing since I've been gone? Taking care of Avon for me?"

Avon's brows shot up in startled and amused resentment, but Vila nodded energetically. "Just that, and a thankless task it was, too. I'm glad you're back, Blake. You can take over now." He grinned broadly. A happy ending after all.

But of course Avon made it harder than it need be. "Where have you been, Blake," he demanded stiffly, as it to make up for the unrestrained joy in the reunion.

"For a year I was in and out of hospitals following the Galactic war. My wound reopened and worsened and I was injured when the pod crashed. After I was well again, I had nothing to start with, no ship, no money. I started making contacts, but I'd lost my bracelet, and couldn't contact the Liberator. Then I heard the Liberator was destroyed. For a long time, I thought you were dead, Avon." His expressive eyes filled with shadows, telling Avon without words now much that would have hurt him.

"I--lost the Liberator through my own folly," Avon confessed. "Cally died because of it."

"We were looking for you," Vila put in quietly. "It was Servalan's trap, but we weren't to know that."

Blake's hand went to Avon's shoulder as if he could give him strength and reassurance. "I'm sorry, Avon. I would have contacted you it I could. Finally, a few months ago, I heard that you were alive and you had a ship called Scorpio. I didn't know if you had Orac any more, but in any case, I didn't immediately have access to computers. I finally worked passage to Dantage Major and was working in the port area when I saw Jenna. At first she didn't trust me. She pulled a gun on me, accused me of being a clone."

"I'm quite certain you convinced her differently."

"Yes, Avon. I remembered too many things about Liberator and our lives there. I saw her realize she had mistaken a look-alike for me. But she insists he isn't a spy or a plant. She loves him, Avon. When Orac told us what had happened here, she was furious."

"Avon couldn't have done anything else," Vila insisted stubbornly. "You'll tell her, won't you, Blake?"

"Yes, Vila, I'll tell her. I'll make it work." He looked sad and wary. He had ever held Jenna at a distance on Liberator, but his doppelganger hadn't kept her apart. Perhaps Blake was regretting his lost chance with the former smuggler, knowing she would not turn to Blake now, and that if she did, it would be a mistake.

"I'd like to see him," Blake continued. "Jenna's had some time alone with him. Will you take me there?"

"I will, Blake," Vila said quickly. He didn't want to subject Avon to Jenna's perfectly understandable wrath.

"This way, Blake," Avon cut in, favoring Vila with a warning look. The presence of the real Blake, alive and well and glad of Avon, had done its work. Avon, though still brittle and wary, was starting to exert himself once more.

Tarrant was waiting outside the door. He looked grim and unhappy, and he glanced at Avon in concern before catching Vila's eye. The thief looked from Avon to Blake and back again and grinned faintly. The pilot relaxed.

Blake stepped forward and opened the door, Vila and Avon just behind him. "Jenna, may I come in?" Blake asked.

She turned to look at him, still clasping the hand of the man she loved. He raised his head a little and stared at the doorway, then his face was transformed as it he had seen a vision. His whole body shook and Vila was afraid he was dying right then. But instead, the man seemed to have discovered new reserves of strength. "Roj!" he cried triumphantly. "It's you." He detached his hand from Jenna's and stretched it out to Blake as it certain of his reception.

Blake seemed to stagger, his face stripped of color. His lips moved for a moment, but no sound emerged. Trying again, he whispered, "Jaxon."

"I remember you," Jaxon said.

"I thought you were dead," Blake cried, pausing as it hit him that his perception was soon to be reality. He surged forward and gathered his double into his arms, holding him close as it to shelter him, even from death. Jaxon's arms came around him and his face flushed with color. For a long time, the two men held each other, while Avon stood braced and defiant in the doorway, and Vila and Tarrant exchanged worried glances. This wasn't in the script.

Finally Blake released Jaxon and eased him back against the pillow once more, his eyes lifting to check the readings. They were so low. Vila saw him flinch at them. lt would take a miracle for Jaxon to live, and miracles were in short supply around here.

"Who is he, Blake?" Jenna asked gently, reaching once more for the sick man's hand.

"He's Jaxon," Blake explained, looking up at her. Vila couldn't quite see his expression, but the look on Jenna's face told its story all too clearly. "He's my twin brother. I was told he and my sister were dead. Someone lied."

Then he turned, slowly, and pinned Avon with accusing eyes. Trapped and defeated, Avon stood unspeaking.

"He's my brother, Avon," Blake said, his voice level with an effort. "I thought I'd lost him years ago, when Bran Foster told me he'd been murdered in the Outer Worlds. But all this time..." He turned away from Avon as it he couldn't bear the sight of him, and Vila winced and caught Tarrant's eye behind Avon's back. No miracle this time, only further disaster.

"Get him out of here," Blake said to Vila. "I don't want to see him now."

"What else could he have done, Blake"?" cried Vila, angry and worried. "Your brother made us think we'd been set up. For all we know, we were. The Federation had him, then he showed up without a memory. I think he was programmed."

"He's my brother, Vila." Implacable. Unyielding. "Leave us," he spat and turned back to the dying man.

"Come on, Tarrant," Vila said urgently, catching Avon's arm while Tarrant took the other one. They steered him from the room and back along the corridor to the rest room, where they showed him into a chair. He went tamely, as he had before, but his face was dark and seething with emotion, rather than purged of it.

"Avon?" Vila faltered.

"Leave. Me. Alone."

"No."

"You will leave me or I will kill you."

"That should help," Tarrant put in. "There's been enough killing, Avon. This is the time you start trusting us. We're here to help you."

"Trusting you?" That cut through Avon's preoccupied misery. "You have--just seen the--the rewards or trust, Tarrant."

"I've seen a man who was shocked and upset reacting without thinking," Tarrant replied, standing his ground, though the look on Avon's face was almost enough to make him back away. "Just as I saw another man react without thinking six days ago because he was shocked and upset. Think, Avon. You can't expect forgiveness and refuse to offer it to him."

Vila could see the logic in that, but Avon didn't appear to do. Instead he laughed, a horrible, shocking sound. "Expect forgiveness?" he demanded. "I expect two things, Tarrant. Betrayal and death. I see no point in prolonging this. It has gone on too long already. I am leaving."

"Right into the patrols running around this base?" Vila asked.

"Bl--Blake and Jenna got through."

"Blake and Jenna are familiar with the system. You aren't. Besides they have a ship and you don't."

"You assume two things, Vila. One is that I will listen to your attempts at reason. The second is that escape matters."

"They'd capture you. They'd turn you over to Servalan."

"They might try to capture me."

He meant he'd make them kill him. Vila shuddered, then he put his arms around Avon and held him, though the other man stiffened and did not return the embrace.

"I don't want you dead," Vila wailed. "I don't want you captured. If Blake doesn't get it right, we'll go away together, you and me and Tarrant, and Soolin and Dayna. We don't need anyone else. Tell him, Tarrant."

"Yes, Vila. That's right. We're a team, Avon. We're not letting you run now. Blake will come around." There was an underlying core of steel in Tarrant's voice that indicated he would take great pleasure in the convincing, especially if it meant he got to plant a fist or two in Blake's face.

Avon struggled free of Vila with no evidence of regret. "Leave me alone," he said again, but his voice was empty and drained once more. I do not want you here."

"We are here, whether you want us or not," Vila said. "Maybe you'll want us later." He made himself sound sad and rejected, not a difficult task, but something he would normally have avoided fiercely. He rose, allowing his shoulders to droop in defeat, though this bit of acting went unnoticed by Avon, who sat slumped in his chair.

Vila slipped out, pulled Tarrant after him and closed the door. "I think we need Jord, don't you, Tarrant?" he asked.

"We need something. I can't believe Blake would do that to him. I just hope Jaxon clues him in before--"

"Before he dies?" Vila asked. "How many people could see rationally at a time like that."

"Jaxon forgave Avon for shooting him," Tarrant reminded the thief. "That's one of the reasons Avon believed he was Blake--Roj Blake." He shook his head. "Blake's twin brother? That's something none of us thought of, not even Orac."

"He was supposed to be dead at least five years ago," Vila reminded the younger man. "I'll stay here. You go get Jord. I don't want Avon slipping out and doing something stupid."

"Right." Tarrant clapped Vila on the shoulder and hurried oft down the passage.

"What's going on?" A door opened opposite and Soolin emerged. "Vila, you look dreadful. Has Blake--"

"The man Avon shot is Blake's twin brother," Vila said quickly. "The real Blake arrived just now with Jenna. "He's--upset about it. He took it out on Avon."

Soolin's face darkened. "I'll go talk to him."

"Avon said to leave him alone."

"I meant Blake." The blond gunfighter looked coolly determined and Vila hid a grin. Gauda Prime had demonstrated that the aloof Soolin had given her loyalties after all. Blake deserved a dose of her calmly rational arguments.

But Vila could understand Blake's reaction, too. His brother, his twin, was dying at Avon's hand. He might yet come to terms with it--and Jaxon could help him in that, if he told Blake of Avon's long vigil at his bedside. Until then, Blake deserved a chance to say goodbye. Vila heaved a sigh and shook his head.

"No, Soolin, not yet. Let him have some time with his brother."

Her eyes narrowed. "I don't like injustice, Vila." It was true. She had helped Zeeona not so long ago because she thought it unfair that Zukan's daughter and Tarrant be separated. Yes, she had loyalties indeed.

"Neither do I," he agreed with her. "But you'll do Blake one it you take away what little time he has with his brother."

"I don't owe Blake anything," she replied.

"Avon might insist you do, even now."

She paused, struck by the argument, then nodded slowly. "I don't have to help him take the guilt for things not his fault," she replied at length. "But I'll respect his wishes for now."

"Where are you going?"

"To sit with Dayna. She's beginning to be bored with convalescence. A good sign. Besides, she'll want to know what's happening." She went along to Dayna's room and let herself in. Vila suspected her first meeting with Blake, no matter how delayed it was, would be fraught with tension. He didn't look forward to it, but he knew he must be there.

Tarrant came back with Jord Tanner, ushering him into Jaxon Blake's room, then he left the doctor to it and joined Vila. "Has he come out?"

"No."

"Then we'd better wait." Tarrant hooked a chair and dragged it up to position it across from the door to the rest room, and Vila fetched a second one and joined him.

"Avon's not going to like this, you know."

"That's nothing new," replied Tarrant with a kind of determined contentment, folding his arms across his chest in a gesture reminiscent of Avon. The pilot had come out of this stronger than before. Just as well, thought Vila. Avon would be sure to need all the help they could give.

******

Jord Tanner didn't reappear for more than half an hour and, when he did, a frown had intensified the crease between his brows. He saw the two of them waiting and came along to stand before them. "What are you two up to?" he asked.

"Making sure Avon doesn't run. I think he'd like to," Vila explained. "Blake threw him out and he took it hard."

Jord's jovial countenance darkened and he looked past them at the sealed door to the rest room. "He hasn't tried to come out?"

"Not yet."

"Damn." The medic fetched a third chair and pulled it up beside Vila's. He looked spent and tired, but that was inevitable, considering the fact that he had three seriously ill patients and very little help. Only one of his aides had survived the Federation attack on the main base. Many of Blake's people--Jaxon's people--had been forced to run for it, and though they'd been trickling in for the past few days, the back-up base was heavily undermanned. A lot of responsibilities that would not ordinarily have been his had fallen to Jord Tanner.

"How is Blake's brother?" Tarrant asked practically. "Can you tell how long--how long he's got?"

"I would have said not long, Del, but he seems to have bounced back a little. Seeing Jenna and finding his brother have done a great deal, as well as regaining his memory. I doubt it will be enough to carry him. He doesn't have the reserves of strength. I want them to stay with him, both of them. They're good for him."

"You mean he might live?" Tarrant asked, eyebrows raising in astonishment.

"I doubt it. What chance he has now is so small as to be infinitesimal. But his brother and Jenna seem to be the best medicine, so they'll stay with him. I'd like one at you in there, too."

"Why?" asked Vila.

"Those two are obsessed with the man. If he dies, who knows what they'll come up with between themselves. Avon doesn't deserve a vendetta."

Vila and Tarrant exchanged looks. Jord was certainly perceptive. "I'll go first," Vila offered. "They know me. I might be able to get to them when you wouldn't, Tarrant."

The pilot nodded. "I'll stay here. Avon won't get past me." He displayed a lot of teeth. "I'm bigger than he is."

Vila grinned in response then he got up and trailed along to the sickroom and let himself in.

Jenna looked up when he entered and nodded at him before turning her attention back to the man on the bed. She was holding his hand fiercely as if she could force energy out of her own body into his simply by the strength of her grip. Blake sat on his other side, talking to his brother quietly. He didn't look up when Vila came in, except to register his identity. His eyes narrowed in momentary suspicion as if he suspected Vila had come to argue Avon's case and he wasn't prepared to hear it yet. Vila shook his head softly. Blake had always been a fair man, but emotion tended to run away with reason at times like this.

"Roj..." The man on the bed sounded a little stronger, not enough to be readily obvious, but enough that Vila, who had spent the better part of a week sitting in this room, could detect it.

"Yes, Jaxon." Blake leaned forward encouragingly, a dreadfully futile possessiveness hanging about him like a miasma.

"l--remembered everything when I saw you."

"I know you did. It's all right."

"No. It's not. I was programmed that way. I remember that, too. You need to know."

"It's all right, Jaxon. Programmed? By the Federation?"

"By a Federation puppeteer. Servalan didn't come into it until later. They wiped my memory. I can remember the whole process now. I was supposed to. After I gave them Liberator or after I found you. If I found you, I'd be no further use to them because I couldn't be you any longer."

"You mean they wanted to use you to get the Liberator?" Blake asked in dismay.

"Not at first. When we were sent to the Outer Words, Jara and I, we were meant to be exiled--or so I thought."

"Is Jara alive, too?" Blake asked eagerly.

"l...never saw her die. But they told me they'd killed her. She was no use to them, as I was. You see, they feared your programming would break one day. They feared you'd come out of it and rejoin the Freedom Party, and you'd always been such a visible symbol that they wanted someone equally visible to pass as you from time to time. Why kill a useful tool? They took me on the ship. I never saw Jara again, or the outer worlds either."

Blake's shoulders slumped as he realized the Federation had no reason whatever to keep his sister alive. Looking defeated, he turned back to Jaxon. "So they erased your memories?"

"Not immediately. At first I was simply a prisoner. I was only a contingency plan. They largely ignored me."

Jenna patted his hand. "You'll tire yourself."

"No, Jenna, I have to tell him. He has to know, and now is all the time I have. This is important."

"I know it is, love," she said soothingly. But something fierce and determined burned in the back of her eyes. Blake might avoid Avon after this, but Jenna looked like she meant to go stalking him. Shivering slightly, the thief prepared to stick to her it she did.

Jaxon smiled at Jenna before turning to Blake once more. "I didn't know what they intended when they suddenly pulled me out or solitary. The puppeteer emerged then. I still remembered who I was, and I thought they meant to erase my mind, but they didn't, not then. Oh god, Roj, if I could forget anything permanently, I'd choose to forget that."

"Forget what?" Blake leaned forward, his face worried. He had to know it was going to be terrible.

"You'd just come out of your conditioning," Jaxon said. "They wanted to frame you on another charge, to do it so convincingly that people wouldn't trust you again. They took three children, three young boys--"

Blake's face went completely white. "They accused me of molesting those children," he said, the deep well of horror at that event flowing forth anew. "They brainwashed them to believe it was me."

"No, brother," Jaxon said quietly, his face dark with remembered horror and shame. "They were never brainwashed. They remember the incident because it really happened. lt was me."

Jenna's grip loosened for a shocked moment, then, realizing it was nothing but programming, she caught his hand up again. But Blake went white and he stared at his brother in appalled dismay.

"They made you rape those children?"

"I couldn't fight it, Roj. You've been conditioned. You know how effective it is. I knew what I was doing and I hated myself for it, but I couldn't stop myself. When I heard they meant to wipe my memory after that was glad!"

Vila was stunned. He knew how far the Federation would go to achieve his ends and he'd long realized those children must have genuinely been raped, if not by Blake, in order to provide the necessary medical evidence to give the court. But the thought of using a helpless victim to perform the deed, one whose sole function was to look exactly like Roj Blake, made Vila sick. He'd tagged along with Blake and, later, with Avon when they fought against the Federation, but he'd never quite given himself to the resistence before. Now, he discovered that he had. That one warped mind had invented this situation was a given--but it had been sanctioned by the authorities.

Blake was still shocked. He had hated that slur upon his reputation more than anything else the Federation had done to him. The subject had rarely come up, but when it had, Vila had noticed Blake curling away from it, unwilling to endure the thought of what had been done in his name. He couldn't blame his brother for it, even now, since it had been beyond Jaxon's control. But it sickened him. Blake's ardor for his Cause blossomed forth into new and vibrant life before Vila's eyes.

"You couldn't have done anything to stop them," the rebel reassured his stricken brother. "It was never your choice."

"It was still my body. I let them wipe my memory after that with considerable relief. I thought that never remembering myself was a fair price to pay for those particular memories."

"I can understand it." Blake squeezed the hand that Jenna wasn't holding. "No one blames you, Jaxon. I don't blame you."

"I blame myself."

"Don't. I won't have you blame yourself. It was always the Federation. I shall make them pay for it."

Jaxon smiled faintly. "There's more," he said. "It's never so bad, but you'd best hear the rest of it."

Blake leaned forward. "I'm listening."

"They told me what they meant before they erased my memory. They told me I would be released in the path of the first Liberator crew member they could find. They said there would be a means of removing you from the ship and that they would put me in your place. They said I would then turn your ship and your crew over to the Federation, and that the moment I had done it, I would remember everything. They meant to destroy me."

Blake made a choked sound of fury and dismay. His brother nodded slightly and went on. "They also said it might happen that I couldn't find the Liberator. It that happened, I would go through life amnesiac until I found you. They said the sight of you would restore my memories. They meant me to tell you about the children. That was part of the programming, too."

"Bastards," hissed Jenna. "Blake, I never quite believed in your dreams before. though I was prepared to follow you. Now I find myself wanting to bring them down. If you'll have me back. I'll fight with you."

Elation shone on Blake's face. Caught up in it, he turned to the silent thief. "And you, Vila?"

"Avon and I are a team," he said quietly,

Blake's face darkened, "I don't want to--"

"Roj!" The thin, frail voice cut through Blake's angry words and silenced him.

"Jaxon'?"

"Never blame Avon for what happened," he insisted. "Never. Yes, he shot me, but he shot a man programmed by the Federation, who didn't control his actions, who may well have meant to produce just such a result. They made me rape children, Roj! Why shouldn't they make me destroy your friends?"

Blake sat back in his chair, his face shuttered. "We don't know that they did. I could forgive it when I thought it was a lookalike. But I'd lost you all these years. Now I get you back like this?"

"He thought it was you," Jaxon went on. He was at the end at his strength, but determination kept him going. "He sat with me for the past six days. He held my hand. He talked to me about anything I asked. He told me all his fears and hopes. I know him, Roj, perhaps more than he has shown anyone before. He did that for you, thinking I was you. That man loves you and needs you. I forgave him long ago. I think you need him, too. For my sake, Roj. Make your peace with him."

"I'm sorry, Jaxon. I can't."

"Damn you, Blake," Vila cried. "It you'd seen him this past week, you'd have to forgive him. I've known Avon longer than anyone, and I've never seen him like that."

"I can't, Vila," Blake said desperately. "Don't you think want to?"

"No," said Vila. "I think you feel so guilty about what happened to your brother that you can't face it and you have to find someone else to blame. I think you settled for Avon because he's the handiest target, and because, after the way he greeted you, you could tell how much your rejection would hurt. He has nothing left. I don't know how it happened, but he needs you more than he needs life. Right now he's planning to go out and get caught--because he knows they'll kill him and because that's easier than living with what you did to him just now. I believe in your Cause, Blake. I only just realized it. But I won't fight at your side it you don't make peace with Avon. I couldn't."

"He's right, Roj," Jaxon agreed. "I know he is. Knowing this lot, they're watching him now, making sure he doesn't run. Not because they are afraid he'd betray them. He'd die first and they know it. But I've seen them this past week, and they're a team. They don't owe you anything, Roj. Avon is the only one who owes you anything. He would follow you now. You've only to snap your fingers. It's what you've wanted all these years, to have him fight at your side. That's what Jenna told me and I know she was right."

"But you're my brother."

Jaxon collected his remaining strength and hoisted himself up on one elbow. "So is he."

Blake reeled back as if he'd been struck, then he collapsed in upon himself and put his head into his hands. His shoulders quivered.

It was Jaxon who found the strength to comfort him, Jenna helping him. He half sat up, leaning against the woman's shoulder, and reached out, resting his hand on Blake's bent head. "Roj, it's all right."

The head wagged from side to side without dislodging the hand. "You'd both be better without me," he muttered.

"That we wouldn't." Jaxon sagged against Jenna and she helped him lie down again. "But I can spare you long enough to talk to Avon. Go and do it now."

Blake raised too bright eyes. "I want to knock some sense into him. He always shot before he thought it through."

"This time it was because he believed you had betrayed him," Jaxon reminded him. "The foundations of his universe were crumbling. There was nothing else he could do."

A tear slipped down Blake's cheek. He didn't even dash it away. "I--"

The door burst open, spewing Tarrant and Jord into the room. The pilot looked furious and upset. "Vila, come quick," he said. "The rest room had another door we'd forgotten. Avon's gone."

Fear socked Vila in the gut and he jumped up quickly. "Has he left the base?"

"Orac," cried Jord, slipping past Jenna and sliding the computer's key into place. "Has Avon left this base, Orac?"

"Yes. He left twenty minutes ago. He went to the surface. He was on foot."

Vila spared a surprised look at the surgeon, who had elicited a prompt and concise report from Orac without pleas, threats or arguments. How did he do that? But the crisis was too immediate.

"We've got to go after him."

Tarrant passed him a gun. "We are going after him. Vila, You and I and Soolin. She's getting maps and supplies right now. Orac, can you track Avon?"

"Negative. Once away from the base, there is no method to do so."

Maybe Orac was worried about Avon. Well, Avon was the only one of them who knew enough about Orac to repair it if it were damaged. Knowing the little computer, that was a good, pragmatic reason for it to value Avon's safety.

"Roj," prodded Jaxon. "You go, too. I'll wait for you. I promise you that."

Blake looked at him in considerable dismay, then he turned to Vila, who glared at him as implacably as ever Avon could.

"Well, Blake?" the thief asked.

Blake stood up and squared his shoulders. "All right, Vila. But that doesn't mean I won't have it out with him later."

"Good," said Vila. "He can deal with you angry. But don't be too angry because he won't defend himself for this."

Jaxon nodded. "Go on, Roj. Jord will stay with me, and so will Jenna." Perhaps he realized Jenna's feelings for Avon were not quite so reasonable as Blake's.

Blake grasped his brother's hand once more, looking at him long and hard. Then he turned abruptly and led the way from the room.

******

it was midday. One forgot the normal cycles of night and day when buried so deeply underground and when there were so many other things to consider. Vila looked around the forest, listening to the sighing of the wind and the cries of birds and small animals. He could hear nothing manmade: no flyers, no ships, no people.

"This way," said Tarrant, pointing. Vila, who had never learned tracking skills, could see no footprints, for the carpeting of pine needles didn't really take them well. But Tarrant had found a scuffmark, as it someone had turned a few of them over. "He's gone this way."

"He'll be careful at first," Soolin remarked, "He won't want to be followed. "She looked around, her lip curling in distaste. "Gauda Prime. I hate this place.

"[ can't say I like it either," Blake admitted. "The sooner we've left it behind the better." He fell silent, realizing they would be leaving once his brother had died. In spite of Jaxon's promise to wait for him, the man could be dead already. Jord was with him, and Jord would do all he could. Perhaps he would understand even better now how to help Jaxon since he'd been a puppeteer himself. Only momentarily worried about that, Vila relaxed as he realized that Jenna would protect Jaxon with her own life it need be.

Between Soolin and Tarrant, they managed to find a slight trail. Avon had gone quickly but carefully, and, if he didn't want to be followed, he would be still more careful, until he believed himself out of range. Then he would probably do something stupid like getting caught. Damn you, Avon, thought Vila furiously, what happened to that wonderful self-preservation impulse you had on Egrorian's shuttle?

Blake was silent most of the time. His face was grim, and he looked like he was clenching his teeth, but he came along with them and helped them search for Avon. The thief was afraid he'd greet Avon, if they found him, with a fist to the jaw, but perhaps that would give Avon something to respond to.

"How did he get away from you, Tarrant?" Vila asked as they walked.

"There was a service hatch at the back of the rest room," Tarrant replied. "After awhile, Jord remembered it. I went in and it was standing open and Avon was gone."

Vila frowned, trying to think of something just at the edges of his memory. "Jord knows that base," he said. "He helped design it. How could he forget something so important?"

"Probably because he hasn't slept in a week..." Soolin began, then she let her voice trail off. "You don't think it was deliberate?" she cried.

"Deliberate!" echoed Blake, grasping her wrist. "Why would you think that, Soolin?"

"Because he used to be Federation, a long time ago. We think he was a puppeteer."

"A puppeteer!" Blake stopped dead. "A puppeteer made my brother rape children! And you've left him with one?"

"Jord's left the Federation," Soolin said. "Only we can't be sure, can we? I'm going back."

"Contact Orac first," Vila urged. "Make sure Jord's not in the room, and if he's not, have it warn Jenna."

They had set their hand-held communicators to a frequency Orac could detect with ease and instructed the computer to interface with them when contacted. Vila called in, explaining hastily what their fear was and demanding a response. Orac's filtered voice replied immediately.

"Jord is not presently in Jaxon Blake's room. I have relayed your information to Jenna Stannis. She has sealed the room. Jaxon Blake is no worse. Jenna Stannis has questioned him regarding psychostrategists. Now that his memory has returned, it might have been possible for him to recognize Tanner, but he claims he does not. However, since there is a possibility that Tanner still has Federation ties, I have begun an investigation of the treatment Jaxon Blake has received since the shooting. Further information will be relayed as it becomes available."

"Nothing and nothing," muttered Blake. "I trust Jenna to watch him, and Orac's there, too. We'll go on. There's no proof that Tanner is anything but what he claims to be, a Federation defector. The moment Orac discovers any such proof, I intend to return to the base."

"I'll go with you if you do," Soolin agreed. "What I don't like is the thought of a psychostrategist anywhere near Jaxon when he was programmed by one. It's another of those coincidences we don't like."

"You think Jord could be part of a plot, even now?" asked Vila.

"Yes."

Blake raised his communicator once more, asking Orac to monitor any communications which left the base, and to go over any that had left already. "Reveal nothing to Tanner, Orac," he concluded.

"Reveal nothing? You appear to imply that I should give information without thought or consideration to someone who might put me at risk."

"You gave him information quickly enough before," Vila accused.

"That," said Orac grandly, "was different."

That brought a near smile to Blake's face. "Orac hasn't changed," he said. "But I think at least one of us should return anyway. Soolin, would you go back? You're the best of us with a gun, or so I'm told."

She nodded. "I'll go. There's also Dayna to think of. Balked of his proper target, Tanner might think Dayna a satisfactory substitute, or even Deva."

She hurried away through the trees. Blake looked after her. "I should go, too."

"No, Blake. You're the only one who can get through to Avon. "

"My brother's life is at stake."

"Blake," said Vila gently, "He's dying anyway."

Blake heaved a shaky sigh. "I know, Vila." He turned his face away for a moment to collect himself. "Well, come on," he said impatiently.

It took them an hour to reach a point where Avon's footprints were easier to find. He must have felt he'd come far enough from the base not to endanger the people left behind, or perhaps he'd simply become more desperate. But it enabled the pursuers to pick up speed.

But not quite enough speed.

It was Vila who heard the voices through the trees and put up a hasty hand for silence. They crept closer cautiously, guns at ready, until they could see a small Federation patrol standing in a small clearing, all of them aiming weapons at Avon.

At the sight of Avon, Blake made a sudden involuntary sound. The tech looked spent, at the end of his rope. He simply stood there, gun already stripped away, a bruise beginning to darken on one cheek. There was no energy left to him, no strength. He merely resisted, waiting passively, his determination to reveal nothing the only motivating force left. From this distance, Vila couldn't read his eyes, and that hampered him in guessing what his old friend intended. But the thief had a sudden premonition that Avon meant to lull them until their guard dropped and then to break for the trees. The result would be inevitable. He would be shot out of hand.

"Damn you, Avon," muttered Vila under his breath. "Why do you have to make it so difficult? I'm not a hero. I don't want to go out there."

Blake and Tarrant drew close. "What do you want to do?" Tarrant asked. "He'll make a run for it in a minute and they'll gun him down. We can't get them all immediately."

"There are only five of them," Blake argued. "We need a distraction. Vila, you're good at that. See that tree over there?" He pointed to a smaller one that had snapped in some storm. It balanced precariously against its neighbor, swaying perilously in the light breeze. "One good shove will make that go down."

"Probably on me," objected Vila, but he was already planning the tree's trajectory. "What's your plan, Blake?"

"The minute they react, Tarrant and I will take them out. If Avon has any of his old instincts left, he'll go for cover."

"And it he doesn't, he'll be right in our line of fire," objected Tarrant.

"We spread out. You go this way, and I'll go there. Give us two minutes, Vila. "

"Right." The thief darted forward, half afraid that Avon would act before they were ready. He counted off the seconds in his head, the numbers seeming endless. He was only at the halfway mark when he reached the tree.

It was taller than he had expected, but its balance was even shakier. It seemed to tremble all the more at the strength of his silent footfalls, and he circled it very cautiously, trying to decide which was the best way to shove. He needed noise, not an easy subsiding against another tree.

By the time he had ten seconds left, he'd planned it. He had lost sight of Blake and Tarrant by then, but he could still hear the commander of the patrol droning on to Avon, and once the sharp slap of flesh against flesh as someone hit the tech. Vila bit his lip and flung himself against the tree, restraining the yell he wanted to make with a considerable effort.

The crash of branches and thud of the trunk bouncing off another tree as it fell was thoroughly satisfying. But it had Vila diving for cover as the troopers spun around yelling and started to fire on his position. With a cry of terror, he flung himself to the ground and tried to burrow into the mulchy soil, arms flung over his head. Charges burst around him, one of them close enough to scorch his left leg and make him roll aside out of danger.

Then Blake and Tarrant started shooting and the troops turned to meet a challenge more threatening than Vila.

Ignoring the pain from his slight wound, Vila scrambled up to his knees and peered over the downed trunk at the clearing. The soldiers had spread out and gone to ground, two of them left behind, taken out by Blake or Tarrant. Avon had not moved. He stood like a sentinel in the middle of the clearing, though he seemed unhurt. The soldiers must have decided he could wait, or that he was no threat to them, for none of them were shooting at him.

Vila jerked free his gun from its holster and scrambled up. His leg held him without more than a slight twinge as he worked his way closer to the clearing. One of the troops had his back to Vila and, as the thief stared in horror, he started to point his weapon at Avon.

Vila let out an outraged cry and shot the man without hesitation. No one dared shoot at Avon when he was around.

As if he realized the danger, Blake popped up from behind a stump and bellowed, "Avon, get down!"

Nothing else had penetrated Avon's awareness, but that did. He jerked as if he'd been hit, then he turned to stare at the other man, tensing as he saw him. "Blake." He didn't raise his voice, but Vila, who was closing on him, could hear him anyway. He sounded surprised, disbelieving, as it he expected yet another betrayal. "What are you doing here, Blake?" he shouted. "Come to finish me?"

"Damn you, Avon, get down!" yelled Blake, starting toward him at a run. "They're shooting at you, blast you."

The concern in Blake's voice was genuine, the concern of the man who had first greeted Avon, and the computer tech responded to it warily. He looked around for shelter, diving sideways as he saw one of the soldiers taking aim at him. The charge hit a tree just above his head and showered him with bark and twigs

"Avon!" cried Blake. He didn't have a clear view of the tech as he lay sprawled on the ground, the breath knocked out of him by the force of his dive. For all Blake knew, Avon had been hit, and Vila saw fear run across the rebel's face as he charged forward, ignoring cover in his haste to get to Avon.

"Get down, Blake," Tarrant yelled behind him, and Vila waved his arms wildly at the rebel to stop him.

Popping up out of concealment, Tarrant took out another of the troops, but there were still two of them left, and one of them was taking aim at Blake.

"Get down," Vila bawled, jumping out of shelter to try to stop the man who had a clear shot at Blake.

But it was Avon who acted, though he was still wheezing as he tried to catch his breath. He dove for Blake in a tackle that caught him around the waist and bore him backwards into the underbrush just as the soldier and Vila fired.

The trooper went down, and a crashing in the brush indicated that the other one was running. Tarrant gave a cry of outraged protest and went after him, firing. But Avon dropped like a stone with a blurted cry of pain and lay still half over Blake's body.

"Avon!" Vila's cry and Blake's rang out in unison just as Tarrant got the final trooper. Hearing it, the pilot came pounding back to them as Vila approached the two men on the ground.

There was blood on Avon's side, and when Blake tried to move him to get a look at the wound, he didn't respond. Raising horrified eyes to Vila, Blake said, "He's hit."

Vila saw guilt spring into Blake's face. That wouldn't help. "Let's see how bad," the thief said practically, though his heart thumped in alarm as he helped Blake settle the wounded man more comfortably.

Blake pulled aside the material of Avon's tunic and exposed a scored place that ran across his side for about four inches. It was bleeding freely, but it was little more than a flesh wound. He was all right.

Relief overwhelmed Vila. "I hate the sight of blood," he said shakily, then caught himself. "But more when it's my own. I think I'm going to sit down."

"You're not bleeding, Vila," Tarrant pointed out. "You're only a little blistered." He plucked at Vila's trouser leg. "Missed you completely. Can you stop the bleeding, Blake?"

"I think so." Blake produced a cloth from his pocket and folded it into a pad, which he lay over the wound.

"Good. Because they had a flyer and we're about to acquire it. Wait here and I'll be right back."

"They can follow us right to the base," objected Vila.

"Maybe, but we'll program it to keep going when we get there and they'll never know where we stopped." He ran to fetch it.

Avon moaned and opened his eyes, staring up at Blake in considerable astonishment--and, for once, complete vulnerability. "You--aren't hit?" he asked.

"No. That's another one I owe you." He grinned suddenly and engagingly. "I presume you'll remind me about it at a propitious moment."

Avon stared at him blankly, then he must have remembered saying something similar to Blake when confronted with gratitude for another rescue. for his eyes warmed. "Exactly," he said in the coolest tones he could manage, for once, not very cool. "You need a keeper, Blake."

"Are you volunteering?" asked the rebel instantly and hopefully.

Avon floundered for a moment as it he'd found himself in a play without a script. "Someone must," he said at length. "It could be worse. It could be Vila."

"Here now," Vila protested automatically to keep his hand in. He didn't want to argue with this new Avon. He was enjoying him too much. "I'm very good at taking care of people."

"I've noticed," returned Avon dryly. Then, as he heard the distant beat of the flier engine, he glanced around. "I presume that is Tarrant."

"Yes. Transportation back to the base. You're not badly hurt and Vila was barely grazed."

Avon turned abruptly and stared the thief up and down, discovering the minor burn and relaxing as he evaluated its seriousness. "Something that will have him complaining for weeks and expecting us to wait upon him hand and foot."

"I rather think you'll need a bit at that yourself," Blake reminded him, adjusting the pad over the wound.

Avon winced and looked down at it. "It could be worse." Then, as if that had reminded him of something, he frowned, shot Vila a go-away look and turned to Blake again. "Blake? I'm--sorry about your brother."

"I know, Avon. I'm sorry, too. He told me what had happened. Maybe it we can learn to trust each other a bit more thoroughly, we''ll avoid things like that in the future." He heaved a sigh. "He reminded me of something, Avon, before we came after you."

"And what was that?" asked Avon warily as Blake and Vila helped him to his feet and started him toward the flyer. Tarrant came out to help him in.

"I thought I'd lost my brother," Blake replied. "I don't have him for long--thanks to the Federation--but he isn't my only brother, Avon." The look he shot at Avon demonstrated all too clearly the kinship Blake felt for his most difficult 'follower'.

Avon grimaced at the sentiment. "You have always been a glutton for punishment," he replied, but Vila had seen a flash of gratitude shine momentarily in his eyes. "And now, it none of you objects, I should prefer to rest." He closed his eyes and pretended to fall asleep, but Vila could tell he was awake from the way he braced himself to match the motion of the flyer.

Tarrant caught the thief's eye and grinned. Vila grinned back.

"I wonder what Orac's found out," Blake said, settling his arm around Avon's shoulders to keep him steady. All three of them noticed Avon's involuntary tensing at the touch, followed by a cautious and wary relaxing against Blake's shoulder.

"We'll soon know," replied Tarrant. "But we'd better go in expecting trouble."

At that, Avon abandoned the pretense and opened his eyes, though he didn't move away from the comfort of Blake's support.

"What have you done now, Blake?" he asked.

"We're being cautious, Avon," replied the rebel leader and began to explain their suspicions about Jord Tanner.

Before he had finished, Avon had sat up, dug around in the storage container of the flyer and located a first-aid kit. Handing it to Vila, he said, "Find something in there to dress this wound, Vila."

Vila grimaced. "Avon, I hate the sight of blood. Can't we wait until we're back at the base?"

"And leave it to Tanner? I do not know about you, but I should prefer to avoid treatment from a suspected psychostrategist, especially under the circumstances."

"I'll call Orac for an update," volunteered Tarrant. "Shall I--ask after Jaxon?"

Avon stiffened, then tried to make it look as if it was Vila's cautious application of an antiseptic that had caused it. He very carefully avoided Blake's eyes.

"Yes, please," Blake replied. "Vila, let me do that." He took the kit from the thief and set to work while Tarrant explained over his hand communicator that they required an update.

There was no response until Blake finished spraying a synthetic flesh over the wound and covered it with a light dressing to protect it, knowing as he must that Avon would insist on going into danger with them. He had just returned the kit to Vila to stow away when Tarrant raised his head.

"Jaxon's alive, Blake," he said. "And Orac thinks Jord has been giving him all the wrong treatment."

"The surgery was done under Orac's observation," objected Avon sharply.

"Yes, it says the surgery was done properly, but blood transfusions and the necessary medications to allow him to regain his strength have been denied him. Jenna is doing what she can now." He turned and met Blake's eyes. "But it's been left so long they're not sure we can save him."

"Damn him," cursed Blake. "Where's Tanner now? Has he been captured?"

"Unfortunately he's disappeared. Maybe he suspected we'd rumbled him. Pretending to forget about the other exit gave him away. He'd realize we'd notice eventually. I think he must have gone to ground the minute we left. Soolin's searching for him and the rest of the case personnel are protecting Dayna, Deva and Jaxon, and guarding the sensitive areas of the base and Jenna's ship. We'll have to evacuate as soon as possible. Is Jenna's ship big enough to take twenty five people?"

"In a pinch, if it must. Let's get back as quick as we can. I don't suppose Orac knows why he did it? Jord, I mean?"

"No. But Jaxon says Jord isn't the one who programmed him."

"He must have known about it, though. I have a feeling he stayed in touch with Jaxon all along," Avon decided. "If Jaxon never saw him during the process, the sight of him would trigger no early memories. And Jord could study him and the rebels."

"And you," said Vila. "Servalan must have wanted you alive. But after forcing you to watch 'Blake' die, Jord could offer her someone a lot more susceptible to any questioning, programming or conditioning she wanted to try on you. You'd come to her effectively broken, Avon. I bet he's been watching you and making notes all this week." Horrified at the idea, he added, "Let's kill him as soon as we find him."

"You're suddenly very bloodthirsty, Vila," observed Tarrant as he guided the flyer down to land near the base entrance. "All right, everyone, out quickly. We don't want anyone to detect a stop."

"Yes, I'm bloodthirsty," Vila muttered as he climbed out and stretched out a hand to help Avon down. "And so are you."

Tarrant nodded, following Blake out of the craft and reaching in to flip a switch. It rose immediately and headed off over the tops or the trees.

"And now," said Blake with quiet fury, "we have a base to evacuate--and a traitor to kill."

******

The base felt deserted. Vila shivered as he and the others made their way inside to be met by two of Jaxon's security people. They gaped at Blake in astonishment. The word had gone round quickly that their leader was not the legendary Roj Blake but his brother, and now, seeing the real one for the first time, they could not stare enough. It was easy to tell the two men apart, for Roj Blake had no scar at the corner of his eye, and he was thinner, though his hair had gone greyer. Seeing them side by side, Vila would have known 'his' Blake, even without the scar, for the look in his eyes was familiar as the man's in the medical unit had never been.

"Any sign of him?" asked Tarrant, who had worked with these two men over the past few days setting up the security program.

"No, not a trace. Orac is scanning now. It claims he's not on the base--but there's no proof he left."

"Then he's here somewhere, hiding from Orac. He knows Orac's abilities," insisted Avon coldly. "He will make use of that knowledge."

"He's a puppeteer," Blake reminded him. "He'd be prepared for anything we try."

"Not anything," Tarrant replied. "There's got to be something we can do."

"Search the base," one of the security people volunteered. "We're doing that now, marking off the sections as we clear them. We've sealed off air ducts and escape passages as we proceed."

"I'm afraid he'll try to take a hostage," Blake replied. "We need to put all our wounded together, so we can guard them better."

Everyone agreed to that, so Dayna and Deva were moved, under armed guard, into Jaxon's room. He wasn't well enough to be moved, though Vila was surprised to see him looking better when he escorted Dayna, in a mobile chair, into the room and helped her into a cot that had been prepared for her. Still weak, she couldn't give him much help, but she was sustained by her determination. To Vila's surprise, she displayed a gun that had been concealed in her blankets, proving she had been prepared for trouble.

As for Jaxon, he was connected to several IV tubes, which seemed to be helping him, for there was a trace of color in his face. He still looked weak and spent, but there was a more healthy gleam in his eyes, and when he saw Blake, he grinned. "I'm glad to see you back." Though still faint, his voice held a trace more strength than it had had before.

Avon followed Blake into the room, maneuvering Deva in on a gurney. Two security guards promptly took up a stance outside the room and a third entered and crossed to the air vent, where he began installing a locking system.

"Avon," said Jaxon with relief. "I'm glad to see you again. I hope you won't hold it against me that I'm not who you thought I was. Perhaps you'll be glad you didn't shoot my brother."

Avon looked uncomfortable, stiffening up immediately. He didn't reply.

"We've settled that, I hope," Blake replied. "Thanks for insisting on it, Jaxon. j think there was more involved than we knew. How long has Tanner been with you?"

"From the first. He joined us shortly after Jenna and I came here. One of the first I brought in with my bounty hunter routine." He looked alarmed. "When I think of the harm he must have done all along--"

"He, not you," his brother reassured him. "You did what you could, Jaxon. Under the circumstances.. I've been through programming myself. I know how real illusion can seem." He turned to Avon and shot him an apologetic glance. "I overreacted to it all, Avon. I want to apologize to you."

"You don't owe me that, Blake," returned Avon quietly, bending over Orac. "I can understand your resentment."

"Put it behind you. As for now, we've got to locate Tanner. I don't know him, so I'll team with you to hunt him."

"Then come on," Avon said, taking out his gun. He looked around for Vila and Tarrant, nodding when he saw they meant to team up. Soolin looked at Jenna.

"Are you coming?"

Jenna plainly didn't want to leave Jaxon, but she rose anyway. "I've got to go," she said. "Will you be all right?"

"I feel much better. Go. You know this base better than most people. Find him. I won't have him endangering any more of my people."

For the first time, Vila heard something of Roj Blake in him.

They spread out in teams, rendezvousing with each other or making radio contact every ten minutes. Avon, naturally suspicious now that he was coming to terms with himself and Blake, was wary of all base personnel, and Jenna, who knew them well, ran some tests. lt was possible Jord had brought in agents to help him, but the final approval had always been Jaxon's. Jenna went through them all, selected one or two who might have been suspicious and checked them against the survival lists. Only one other man gave her cause for doubt, and Avon resolved that by confronting the man, explaining the problem and offering him the chance to defend himself to Orac, who would test him for lies. Needless to say, Orac resented the use of his systems, but the man was cleared.

It was Vila who checked the alternate exits to the base, with Tarrant behind him. For old time's sake, the thief whined a little about the risks of exploring the crawlways, and Tarrant mocked him for his fear, but they discovered that they could work together better than they had believed possible in the old days. The deathwatch over Jaxon had changed them both, united abruptly in their concern for Avon. Vila had been forced to shuck oft his mask of Delta ignorance that had protected him so long and let his intelligence and practical good sense show itself unimpeded. The pilot had put aside his reckless and hotheaded temper and settled down to do what needed doing. Seeing each other so differently, they had discovered the potential for friendship, and the ability for teamwork. Now, together, they checked the crawlways, the smaller thief using his stealth skills to approach the several storage rooms concealed off the tunnels where they would not be easily found if the base were overrun. These storerooms had been heat shielded to avoid heat sensor scans, and they were deep enough to prevent most surface detection devices to work.

"Where else can he be?" Vila whispered, his mouth an inch from Tarrant's ear as they halted outside the last storeroom.

"If he's in there," the younger man breathed, "he'll be armed to the teeth. It'll turn into a siege, and I'd be willing to bet he's got supplies in there to hold out until he can signal his allies. Can Orac scan the room?"

Vila slid back down the tunnel until he was out of voice range and contacted Orac.

"Storerooms are heavily shielded," Orac replied at once. "It is impossible to transmit signals through their walls, and no signals were made prior to the discovery or his treachery. In order for him to signal the Federation, he must leave the room. However, an alternate solution is possible."

"Very good, Orac. What is it?"

"I will arrange a toxic gas to be pumped into the storeroom. If he is inside, he will sense it and attempt to escape. If you are waiting armed, capture will be possible. I recommend Avon be present. His abilities in such areas are far superior to yours."

"Thanks a lot, Orac." Vila glowered at his communicator. That might be true, but Avon was still a little rocky, and Vila wasn't certain he was up to it. "Tarrant's here," he reminded the computer. "Do it, Orac. I'm much smarter than you realize."

"I am entirely cognizant of your IQ," Orac huffed. "Though it is nearly as high as Avon's, your intellect is near to atrophy from lack of use."

Vila snorted scornfully. "Just do it, Orac. We'll see who's atrophied."

He arranged the time and slipped back to Tarrant, who was waiting with gun ready. The two of them placed themselves on either side of the door, just far enough back to be shielded by the curvature of the tunnel. Checking his watch, Vila counted down seconds, something he seemed to be doing with increasing frequency of late.

At first, nothing happened. After twenty seconds, the effects of the gas would become completely apparent. lf the puppeteer had prepared himself for that contingency, he would have donned a breathing mask. If he did not appear after thirty seconds, he was either unconscious, or waiting with a gun--or somewhere else entirely.

Ten seconds. Twenty. Twenty-five. Just as Vila began to suspect nothing was going to happen, the storage room door burst open and Tanner emerged, coughing and choking. Slamming the door behind him, he jerked to a stop, as Vila's gun jammed into his back.

"Drop it," the thief urged fiercely, trying to sound as cold and dangerous as Avon.

"I'm unarmed," wheezed Tanner

"You'd better be." Tarrant came forward and searched him. "Unarmed, maybe, but no less dangerous, you bastard. Come on." He grabbed Tanner's arms and forced them behind his back so that Vila could cuff him. Together they marched him back to join the others.

*****

Jaxon's one med-tech had proclaimed evidence of improvement now that Orac was monitoring his care. It was perhaps premature to believe he would live, but the longer he improved, the more likely it seemed. Orac cautioned them to allow the man proper rest, so the prisoner was taken to the rest room and secured to a chair while the base personnel gathered to guard him. Blake delegated some of the people to prepare Jenna's ship for departure, and to set up the Ship's medical unit to receive three patients. Once that was done, he questioned Tanner.

The puppeteer talked readily. "You think you've succeeded because you've saved your brother's lite and captured me," he said with a smile. "You've doubtless had Orac check for transmissions to prove I am in touch with the Federation. There have been none."

Avon sucked in his breath sharply. "There should have been. Silence, not a signal, was the warning."

"Very good," purred Tanner. "But then you have a superior intellect. I doubt you'd have made a psychostrategist, though, Avon. You have no skills with people. Machines are your forte."

"And machines could yet be our downfall," Avon countered. "Perhaps you have set charges. Perhaps you have warned the Federation to come here by your silence. But you will be the first to die."

"And you soon after. Sleer wants you, Avon. Sleer, or Servalan. She knows I know her identity, but she will not kill me, for I know too much. I have made too many precautions. Should I die, she will be exposed. Otherwise, I have no problem with her concealment. She cannot threaten me. She knows the uses of psychostrategy too well to risk it."

"Orac has finished scanning the base and the ship," Jenna reported from the corner, where she had been monitoring the computer. "The base is rigged with transmitters which will broadcast signals when the proper code is sent. The ship is clear. Transfer of personnel is in progress."

"Too late," gloated Tanner. "Too late. My people will be here before them. A pity you arrived, Blake. I could have given her Avon. Broken. A particularly apt study of the manipulative abilities of my profession. I recorded considerable data on my maneuvering of his psyche."

Avon glared at him. Blake, who had come to terms with Avon by now, looked as it he would like to lunge at the man.

"We cannot bring him with us," Orac cut in sharply. "He has a subcutaneous transponder in his left shoulder and has swallowed three other long lasting locator devices which have injected a particular chemical into his bloodstream that is strongly receptive to scans. It is my recommendation we depart this base immediately."

"And just leave him free?" Blake asked.

"No, not free, Blake." Avon's voice was smooth and ominous. He took out his gun and jammed it against Tanner's neck. "He has been found guilty by his own admission. I submit he is a traitor and the reward of a traitor is death."

"I agree, Avon," replied Blake with fierce determination. "But you are not my executioner."

"It is my right to kill him, Blake. He broke me. I don't intend to reward him for that."

"I know, Avon. I intend him to die. I intend him to die formally, a proper execution, not a vengeance killing." He turned to the security man standing by the door. "Dammon. You're head of security. I require this man's execution."

"Yes, sir. Now, sir?"

Blake looked around the room. "Yes," he decided, without a trace of mercy. "Is there anyone present who objects to the sentence as it stands?"

Avon looked like he wanted to object to the choice of executioner, but perhaps he understood Blake's motives. Blake could be hard when the need existed, and this time, even Vila thought it necessary. He didn't want to watch it, though. When the others showed no signs of moving, Vila shivered a little and moved closer to Tarrant. The pilot looked at him with new understanding and clasped him on the shoulder.

Dammon came forward checking his gun. "Do you have any last requests?" he asked formally.

"Yes. That you all get caught." Jord raised his chin and faced them defiantly.

Blake nodded at Dammon, who aimed the gun, paused a second and fired. Jord slumped forward and Avon went to check him. He raised his eyes to Blake's and nodded.

After that, the evacuation proceeded rapidly. Jaxon was moved carefully, under the eagle eye of the tech, Nasin. He had already transferred Dayna and Deva, both or whom were seriously hurt but in no danger of dying. When his last patient was on board, the remainder of the base personnel joined them and Jenna took the ship off Gauda Prime.

There were Federation pursuit ships in orbit, but none of them followed them immediately. That concerned Blake, who insisted Orac run another check. This one, too, located nothing threatening.

But there had been a threat, and it was Orac who reported it. "Information. I am detecting explosions on the planet's surface."

"Where?" demanded Avon in a low growl.

"In the base we have just left."

"The cause?" asked Blake, leaning toward the computer .

"Federation attack. Pursuit ships and ground personnel. The base has been overrun."

"He had no chance to report this ship," Jenna breathed. "His silence was the signal to attack, but he couldn't break it and defeat the sequence, even to warn of us. Our launch trajectory may have saved us, making us appear to launch a considerable distance from the base."

"You mean they were planning the attack and weren't interested in anything that didn't seem connected with the base?" queried Vila. He was much struck with the nearness of their escape. Made him feel all wobbly. He looked up and saw Avon watching him, a knowing look in his eyes. Vila gave him an abashed grin, delighted when Avon let amusement trickle into his eyes for a moment before turning back to Blake.

"Still no pursuit," reported Jenna, altering course. "I'll take us to Styx, shall I, Blake? There's a rebel group there who will shelter us. Bla--Jaxon was in touch with them."

Blake nodded. Reminded of Jaxon, he crossed to the comm and called the medical unit. "Nasin? Report on the condition of your patients."

"Launch was stressful for Jaxon, but he has since stabilized," reported the med tech. "He is sleeping and the treatment prescribed by Orac is continuing. It is proving effective."

"Do you mean he's going to live?" Blake asked warily, as if afraid of the answer.

"I'm not a surgeon, Blake. I can't make you promises. But he is responding. If he continues to do so, he has a good chance."

Blake's face crumpled as if he might cry, but he schooled himself to control and turned to grin relievedly at Avon, who didn't allow himself to grin back. Knowing Avon, he would wait for a bit more certainty. He didn't look away, though, and Blake seemed satisfied.

"Dayna and Deva are both doing well," Nasin continued. They are sleeping, too. It you give them a dozen hours, a visit will be appropriate." Vila pictured the man stroking his neatly trimmed beard self-importantly and bit back a chuckle. "I suggest," the medic continued, flown with his promotion, "that you get some sleep yourself, Blake. And Avon as well. Then come down here."

"Thank you, Nasin. Blake out." He turned from the comm switch. "Sleep," he muttered in the tones on one who considers it unlikely he can manage it.

""You need it, Blake," Avon returned promptly, immediately looking as if he regretted the display of concern. Blake shot him a brief knowing look but didn't challenge him.

"Yes, you do." Jenna looked cautiously hopeful. "Go and rest. Take the cabin you had on your way here. Avon, go with him. There are two bunks in there. Vila, you look tired, too, and you've been wounded. There's a cabin across the passage."

Vila had completely forgotten his minor wound, but recalling it made him remember Avon's more serious one and he opened his mouth to remind everyone about it, stopping at a compelling glare from Avon. "Come along, Vila," the tech said smoothly. "Our captain has given us our orders." His eyes shot minor daggers at Jenna, but he took Blake's arm and urged him toward the door. It seemed that the nearness of his escape on Gauda Prime had wrought some changes in the computer expert. Vila hoped it wasn't too soon to believe they would be permanent.

"And what about me, Jenna?" Tarrant purred smoothly, assuming a cocky stance. He looked quite full of himself, but there was more maturity in his eyes.

"You're young and fit. See if you can't find beds for as many people as you can. Then come up here and relieve me. I'm told you're a decent pilot."

"And what," demanded Tarrant, a twinkle in his eyes, "shall I do with my other hand?"

******

Vila slept like the dead, awakening in the darkened cabin with momentary confusion that was heightened by the presence of a stranger snoring away in the other bunk. After a brief disorientation, he recognized the sleeper as one of Jaxon's people, and he got up quietly so as not to disturb him. A wash up revived him and he went out in search of news.

Peeking into Avon and Blake's room, he saw Avon sitting on the edge of the bed, looking slightly dazed. As the door opened, he glanced up, saw Vila, and relaxed. The thief found that more telling than any other reaction Avon could have made. "It's been a good ten hours since we went to bed," he announced quietly. "Time to get up."

Blake mumbled something, rolled over onto his back and opened his eyes. "What--" he began. confused.

"Wakey, wakey, Blake," said Vila, grinning. He remembered Blake's reaction to morning call back on the Liberator. Blake had never dealt well with mornings.

But this time he had compelling reasons to wake up alert. "Vila? Where's Avon?" He sat up abruptly, registered the tech's presence and relaxed. "Is there news of Jaxon?" he asked.

"Yes," replied Vila, who had made contact before coming in. "He's stronger. Nasin says he'll probably make it. He also says Avon is to come down and have his wound dressed properly as soon as possible."

Avon's head jerked back in affront. "I am quite well," he announced, standing up abruptly. Equally abruptly, he sucked in his breath and sat down again, clutching at his side. It must have stiffened while he slept.

"Of course you are," Vila agreed, grinning.

Disdaining any help from Blake or Vila, Avon vanished carefully into the fresher and emerged dressed. He was moving warily, but his expression forbade them to comment. Blake and Vila exchanged a commiserating look. They had their Avon back.

When they reached the medical unit, they found it crowded, for Jenna and Soolin were there before them. Soolin was talking quietly to Dayna and Deva, but she rose at their arrival. "Good morning. There are too many people here already. I'll go relieve Tarrant. He's convinced he's a superman who doesn't need sleep." She favored Avon with a sour look. "Perhaps it's catching."

"We slept, Soolin," Vila defended them.

"This time." She grinned at Dayna and let herself out.

Jenna sat at Jaxon's side, raising her eyes to Blake with a triumphant grin, for the patient looked so much better than he had done before that he seemed a different man. There was color in his face again and the head of the bed had been raised a little to allow him to half sit up.

"Roj," he said eagerly. "Come in. You too, Avon. I've an adjustment to make. I'd prepared to die and now it seems I won't have to quite yet." He grinned as his brother clasped him on the shoulder, then he raised his eyes to Avon and stretched out his hand. It was debatable whether Avon would take it or not, but perhaps he had invested too much of his time and emotions into this man to reject him now, for he clasped it briefly and withdrew to the far wall, where he folded his arms across his chest. Cocking an eyebrow at Vila's knowing look, he seemed to defy the thief to comment.

"I've heard a lot about your days on the Liberator, Roj," continued Jaxon. "What times you must have had. It seems rebellions and Blakes go together."

"You weren't particularly involved in it before," said Blake involuntarily.

"No, but I've become involved. I had a great many expectations to live up to, especially Jenna's and Avon's." He shot fond glances at both of them, to Vila's delight. Avon lowered his eyes immediately, but he did not look displeased.

"Avon's expectations were never so stringent in the old days," said Blake, turning to stare at his friend.

"Oh, yes they were," burst out Vila. "You had a unique position, Blake. He always trusted you, from the very beginning."

Remembering his words to Avon before the Andromedan attack, Blake turned to study him. He must have expected a denial, but Avon looked up again, met Blake's eyes with uncomfortable determination and nodded once. "Perhaps I have been a fool longer than I believed possible," he replied.

"That's right," agreed Vila, knowing he could get away with teasing Avon "Because you've always said I was, and it takes one to know one."

Though he struggled against it, the corners of Avon's mouth quirked and he smiled. Dayna snickered and Jenna laughed out loud. Even the medic, who stood on the other side of Jaxon's bed was grinning broadly.

"Enough of this nonsense," Avon said at length. "What do you plan next, Blake? Having wasted two years, you will no doubt plunge back into the rebellion with renewed fire."

"I had considered it," Blake replied. "The Federation owes me, Avon." He sounded quite fierce. "For my brother's sake as well as my own. I plan to keep fighting. I hear you've been doing some of it yourself."

"Not with any marked degree of success," Avon responded, looking grim again. He was still not quite himself, and Vila realized it would take very little to plunge him into a darker mood.

"We're here and alive," Vila said brightly, hoping someone wouldn't mention Cally. "And we're with Blake and Jenna again, and Jaxon's going to be all right. I think it's time we started to make Servalan pay."

Everyone stared at him in astonishment. "You think we should make Servalan pay?" Avon asked him in rampant disbelief. "Vila Restal, believer in the Cause? Somehow, I find that difficult to believe."

"Do you? I'm full of surprises. Besides, Kerr Avon, rebel, is every bit as surprising. Or shall I tell Blake we're going to go looking for that bolthole after all?"

Avon's eyes warmed, and Vila realized it was in response to his loyalty. If he said he was leaving, Vila would leave, too, even though he wanted to follow Blake again.

But Avon shook his head. "No, Vila. We should have no peace. The Federation must fall. Until then, I will find myself threatened at every turn."

"Not so much a rebel, then," Dayna observed, though she was grinning, "It's for your own safety after all."

Avon looked around the room, his eyes pausing on Vila, who discovered that Malodaar had stopped mattering a long time ago; Jaxon, who had taken Avon to the edge and purged him of more than he would know; Jenna, who seemed to have forgiven Avon for the shooting; Dayna, who was waiting calmly for Avon's response as if it would be acceptable to her no matter what it was.

And finally, Blake. No one had ever affected Avon as much as Blake had, and everyone knew it. Now, Avon locked eyes with the man he had alternately argued with and followed so reluctantly. Blake was calm, smiling a little. He didn't look particularly worried.

Avon grinned facetiously and responded to Dayna's question with an answer no one believed for an instant. "Of course. What else?"

The end

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