Immolation

Immolation

by Josie McCall


"Damn it! What weighs 70 kilos?"

Vila watches from the doorway as Avon slams his fist on the flight console in frustration. Orac's response is immediate.

+ Vila weighs 73 kilos, Avon +

Vila quietly closes the door and heads for the hold. He knows a place he can hide where Avon will not be able to find him...

"Vila, are you here? I need your help."

Time is running out. They must reduce the weight of the craft in order to produce sufficient momentum to break free of Malodaar's gravitational pull. They have frantically jettisoned every spare piece of the ship, and the Tachyon funnel, in an effort to escape orbit. And still they are 70 kilos too heavy. Just 70 kilos away from safety.

Only 70 kilos... the weight of a man. Vila..

Avon moves stealthily through the shuttle, gun in hand, searching for him. He is determined to survive, whatever the cost.

"Vila... ? I know you're here, come out..." His voice is soft, persuasive.

Vila cowers in his hiding place, terrified that Avon will find him and throw him off the ship to save himself.

"Vila, I know how they did it, but I need your help. Please help me, Vila...."

Moments later he can hear Avon, no longer trying gently to persuade him, but desperate and angry. Breathless, as though making a supreme effort.

"Vila!"

Vila wakes up in panic, breathing unevenly. It takes a moment before he realises he is back aboard Scorpio. Only it doesn't feel safe anymore. Tarrant has made no secret of the fact that he would not hesitate to dump him. Soolin despises him as a coward. Dayna takes delight in tormenting him. Only Avon has been remotely interested in Vila's welfare, out of respect for his talent as a thief and therefore his usefulness to the crew.

He had always felt that being with Avon was the safest place to be. After all, unlike Tarrant, or Blake before him, Avon was unlikely to put himself into dangerous situations without taking into account all the possibilities. And having a means of escape if everything went wrong.

But, since the experience on the shuttle, he no longer trusts his sometime ally. His confidence has been severely shaken. He has never felt so alone, at least not since before the Liberator. It was all so different with Blake. He, at least, made you feel welcome, valuable. Vila had felt almost part of something back then... Gan had been a comfort, with his strength and easy-going manner. Cally had found him irritating at times, but had always treated him kindly. Well, except for that incident at Space City...

Now he feels very lonely, and afraid.

* * * * *

The atmosphere on the flight deck could only be described as apathetic. Avon stands, feet apart, arms folded across his chest, facing the others. Vila has said little. Actually, Vila says very little about anything, these days. Avon knows he hasn't forgiven him. May never forgive him. Soolin gives him a sceptical look but keeps her own counsel. Tarrant stares at him. Only Dayna seems interested in discussing the proposal, and from the opposite viewpoint to Avon.

Avon protests at their lack of enthusiasm for his plan. "We can't bring down the Federation by ourselves. We need allies."

"Yes, but who's going to join us when they can make a fortune by handing us over to the Federation?"

Avon looks at Dayna. She has a point. He is careful to keep his voice even as he explains the proposal.

"There are seven planets in this sector which are actively opposed to the Federation. They would be powerful allies... "

"Always supposing you could get them to stop fighting each other long enough to form an alliance." Tarrant voices the objection uppermost in their minds.

Avon sighs. It is true that all attempts to broker a truce have so far been unsuccessful. But he has to try. He continues.
"Heeriol, Lovus, Komm and Tarl have agreed to attend. Stylos and Betafarl were cautiously favourable on our last visit. We will make a final presentation to their leaders on our return from Bane. If we can get them to meet together, we may stand a chance."

His determination and passion are not enough to convince them that the plan will work. However, their nods of assent convey their willingness to try. Avon smiles fleetingly.

"Right. First stop, Bane. Tarrant?"

"Course heading two, three, seven."

"What are we waiting for?"

* * * * *

Bane, a small, semi-arid planet in the Horus system is the last of the seven to be visited by Avon in his attempt to convene a conference of non-aligned planets. It is technologically less advanced than the others. However, it has rich mineral reserves, which makes it a prime target for the Federation.

The older people are deeply religious, and no decision can be taken by the Council without consulting the Judges. Avon knows he will have to convince them, first. These elders have the final say in matters of law, religion and politics. Although the younger members of society are becoming less willing to blindly follow the dictates of the Judges, independent philosophical thought is frowned upon.

The Council has its seat of government in the fortified city of Annoli. Avon, Vila and Soolin teleport down within the city walls and make their way to the Council building together. Avon will make the presentation alone, since Vila and Soolin are excluded from the meeting.

"We'll do some sightseeing while you're inside."

Avon's mind is concentrating on the main points he needs to convey to the gathered Council members and Judges. He has a distracted air.

"What? Oh, right. Good. Be careful."

Vila looks at Soolin and smiles. She raises her eyebrows.

They wait with Avon until the messenger arrives to summon him to the Council meeting. He follows the young man towards the entrance. Vila calls after him.
"See you later. Good luck."

Avon turns back to face them. "Luck has nothing to do with it." His expression is grim.

Soolin laughs. "We'll leave you to it, then."

As he disappears to face the council, Soolin and Vila are approached by a dour young man, wearing the same livery as the court messenger. Explaining, in broken Terran, that the Council have appointed a guide for them, he walks ahead, rather impatiently, as they dawdle past the many unusual market stalls and small dark shops in the streets of the ancient walled city.

* * * * *

Avon follows his escort along the broad corridor towards the Council chamber. Although he has rehearsed his presentation until he is almost word perfect, he still feels a frisson of apprehension as they approach the doors and enter. He glances around, quickly taking in the atmosphere of expectation and feeling the scrutiny of every pair of eyes in the semi-circular room. His footsteps echo in the high-ceilinged stone hall as he crosses the floor to take his place on the dais and address the meeting.

* * * * *

Vila and Soolin walk slowly through the noisy bazaar in the centre of the walled city, trying to keep up with their guide. It is nearly the middle of the day, and the temperature is far higher than they are used to.

"This heat is a bit much. I could do with a drink... "

Soolin laughs. "Vila, it wouldn't matter if it were freezing, you'd still want a drink."

He shrugs, good-naturedly. "Of course. I'd have to keep out the cold somehow, wouldn't I?"

To their right, they see a large ornate building with a shady cloister at one side. Soolin motions to Vila. "That looks like an ideal place to rest, out of the sun." She strides purposefully into the cool semi-dark. Vila follows her. There is a low stone bench set against the wall. She sits down with a grateful sigh and leans her head back against the cool stone.

"NO!" Suddenly, their guide dives in after them. Ignoring Vila, he makes straight for Soolin and grabs her by the arm, hauling her unceremoniously to her feet. She struggles vainly to free herself from his tenacious hold. He begins to beat her with his staff. She tries to protect herself, but the man is quick and strong, and appears to be in some kind of hysterical frenzy. Vila is so shocked that he cannot react for a moment. He tries to grapple with the man. Looking around desperately, he sees some blocks of stone piled against the far wall. He rushes across and picks up a large chunk, hurrying back to Soolin's aid.

"Vila! Help... " Soolin's plea is cut off as a heavy blow to the side of her head knocks her unconscious. She slumps to the ground.

Vila brings the chunk of stone down on the back of the guide's head in the same instant, and he collapses next to her motionless body. He stands shaking for a second before dropping the stone and falling to his knees by her side. He slowly turns her over onto her back.

"Soolin!" He gently feels her neck and is relieved to find a pulse. Faint, but regular. His relief is short-lived. He realises, on checking the guide, that he is dead.

He looks up to see a small crowd of men gathering round him. One sees the dead guide and begins shouting. The others begin gesticulating and advancing menacingly towards him. Vila looks up apprehensively as the mood becomes threatening...

* * * * *

Avon nears the end of his presentation. His voice and manner command their undivided attention. He knows he has put the best case possible for the alliance. He hopes it is enough to sway them in favour of joining with the other non-aligned planets.

"This is your opportunity to form a strong alliance with your neighbours to withstand the pressure from the Federation. I ask you to consider sending your representative to the conference at our base, in order to finalise the details, and ratify the alliance agreement."

Avon looks around the hall at the thirty or so Council members and the Judges. Some faces show enthusiasm, others indifference. One or two, to Avon's dismay, show implacable hostility. He keeps his face bland as he concludes.

"I thank you for the privilege of addressing this council, and await your decision... "

Suddenly, the huge doors are flung open. A uniformed court messenger, flanked by four armed guards, enters the chamber. There is widespread consternation at this unprecedented interruption of the proceedings. The Chief Judge rises and motions for silence. The messenger approaches at his signal, doing obeisance to him, and offers him a sealed scroll. Taking it from him, the Chief Judge breaks the seal and quickly scans the words before striding across to stand in front of Avon.

"You will accompany me to the Keep, Avon."

His stern tone and grim expression give Avon a feeling of dread as he follows him out of the chamber and along the stone passageways towards the tall, forbidding square building in the centre of the walled city. The armed guards fall in behind. Avon goes over and over in his mind the reaction to his presentation. He is too preoccupied to give much thought to the difficulties facing Soolin and Vila, or to wonder what could possibly have taken place to have necessitated their being imprisoned.

I don't have time for this now...

* * * * *

In the guard room, the Chief Judge and the Jailer sit opposite Avon.

"The female...

"Soolin," Avon offers.

"The female, Soolin, has transgressed our religious law. The other one, Vila Restal, stands accused of murder..."

"Murder... ?" Avon is surprised, and deeply sceptical that Vila could do anything so violent. He feels there must be some genuine mistake.

"They will be held here until tomorrow, when they will be tried under our law."

Avon takes his time before replying. The success of the alliance depends largely on the Horus system, and Bane in particular, without which the other planets would have few mineral resources. The decision is still under discussion in the Council. Now is not the time to upset the Judges. He must try to sort out this mess.

Damn them both! Why couldn't they stay out of trouble for a few hours?

"My Lord, may I be permitted a brief visit?"

The Chief Judge looks assessingly at Avon. He nods, once. Avon gets to his feet and leaves the guard room.

Two of the guards precede Avon along the corridor and down a flight of steps to the underground cells. He tries to imagine what could have gone so drastically awry in the short time they were looking around the city.

The guards halt before a thick wooden door. One produces a key and unlocks the door to the prison.

The cell is small and dank. In the dim light, Avon sees the prisoner lying chained hand and foot to a stone bench in the centre. He enters and walks across to stand next to her. He recognises her clothing, but recoils when he looks at her face, once lovely, but now swollen and darkened with bruises. A trail of blood sticks her long, blonde hair to her cheek and runs down her neck to stain the collar of her jumpsuit. He is shocked. Thoughts of the Council, even the alliance itself, are driven completely from his mind by the sudden realisation of the seriousness of the situation which Soolin and Vila face.

"Soolin!" Her pallor only serves to emphasise the marks of the beating she has suffered. "Soolin, can you hear me?"

She moans as she tries to move, lifting her head slightly before letting it fall back against the cold stone. Her right eye is swollen and closed. She looks at him steadily with the other as she answers.

"Avon... !" It is a faint croak. Painful. Her split lip begins bleeding again with the movement. She tries to move her hand to touch him but the chains prevent her.

"I'll get you out of here. I promise." He clenches his jaw as he sees her close her eyes in pain. One small tear drops down to lose itself in her tangled hair. Placing his hand gently over hers for a moment, in an attempt at reassurance, he repeats, "I promise."

He turns abruptly and leaves the cell, striding purposefully ahead of the guards at his heels. Following the passage he comes at last to another cell, much like the first. The guard opens the door to allow him to enter. There is no bench here. Vila stands chained to the wall. He pulls himself erect as Avon enters.

"Avon! Is Soolin all right?"

Avon carefully closes the door before turning to take a good look at Vila. He appears unharmed, though very nervous and uncomfortable.

"Is she all right?"

"Vila, Soolin is injured. But I think you already knew that."

Vila nods in acknowledgement. Avon walks across the cell to stand facing him. He frowns at his unfortunate crewmate.

"I'm sorry, Avon. It all happened so fast. I tried to protect her... I really did. I didn't mean to kill him!"

Avon gives him a moment to gather his thoughts. He leans back against the wall and folds his arms.

"It will be all right, Vila. Now, why don't you tell me exactly what happened?"

* * * * *

Avon sits impassively facing the Chief Judge. So much depends on his decision.

"Very well, Avon. I will arrange matters so that your companion will be free to return to your ship."

Avon carefully lets out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. He inclines his head politely.

"I deeply appreciate your help in this matter."

"Kerr Avon, our laws are strict, but we are not without compassion. Your companion has suffered a great deal. I will explain my decision to the other Judges once you have removed her to your ship."

Avon nods in acceptance.

"I will do so immediately, my Lord."

"That would be wise."

Avon raises the more serious matter, careful to hide his anxiety behind a mask of polite indifference. "What is to happen to Vila?"

The Chief Judge gets to his feet. "He will be tried for murder. If convicted, the punishment is death."

"Who will represent him?"

"It is customary for the accused to defend himself."

Avon swallows hard. There is no way he can let Vila do so.

"My Lord, if you will permit it, I should like to defend him."

"Very well. I will arrange it." The Chief Judge leaves the guard room.

* * * * *

Dayna sits alone at the flight console. Tarrant is resting on one of the bunks.

"Scorpio, do you read?"

Dayna thumbs the communicator switch. "We read you, Avon."

"Have Tarrant standing by. I'll need some help when we arrive."

"Standing by, Avon." She crosses to the bunk. "Tarrant, they're coming up. Avon will need your help."

Tarrant slowly gets to his feet and walks over to stand by the teleport area.

* * * * *

Avon stands next to the stone bench. His gaze never leaves Soolin's face as the guard removes the chains from her wrists and ankles. She winces with the pain as he moves her limbs. Avon dismisses him.

"Thank you. You may go."

The guard leaves the cell.

Avon gently lifts her arm and places the teleport bracelet around her wrist. "Ready?"

"Yes." It is barely above a whisper.

Raising his teleport bracelet to his lips, he contacts the ship. "Dayna. Two to come up."
She gasps with the sudden pain as he swiftly lifts her into his arms. Her eyes brim with tears. Seeing her distress, he is immediately contrite.

"Sorry."

She nods and closes her eyes, lying passively in his protective embrace, as they wait for the teleport to transport them to Scorpio.

* * * * *

Avon materialises in the teleport area with Soolin cradled in his arms. Tarrant goes to them. He is shocked at the sight of Soolin's battered body. He helps Avon carry her over to the nearest bunk. Dayna follows closely.

"Stay with her, will you, Dayna?" Avon helps Tarrant place her gently on the bunk before turning away. "Tarrant, I need to talk to you."

Tarrant gives one last, horrified look at Soolin before following Avon across the flight deck to the rear control console.

Tarrant's initial shock turns to anger. "I thought you had everything arranged! It was supposed to be a simple visit to present our case to the Council. What happened to her?"

Avon sits unhurriedly and closes his eyes.

"They were not permitted to be present for the meeting. Vila and Soolin decided to do some sightseeing. It seemed a safe enough occupation..."

"Obviously, not as safe as you thought."

Avon ignores his angry tone. He continues.

"They are a deeply religious people. Soolin broke one of their taboos. Not deliberately, of course. The guide they had been assigned attacked her. Vila came to her defence but she was badly injured before he could stop the beating."

"Typical!" Tarrant, as usual, has no time for Vila. "Where is Vila? I hope he's feeling ashamed of himself."

Avon slowly opens his eyes and looks at Tarrant. He sighs.

"He killed the guide." Tarrant raises his eyebrows. Avon fixes him with a grim stare.

"A few hours from now he goes on trial... for his life."

Tarrant is taken aback. "What?"

"After much persuasion I managed to get the Judges to release Soolin on the grounds that, as an alien, she was not aware of their religious taboo, and has already suffered a severe beating for breaking it."

"We should be demanding some kind of apology... !"

"Some of them wanted to stone her. It was a close thing."

Tarrant sits turned to face him. "What's going to happen to Vila?"

Avon closes his eyes, wearily.

"He will be tried for murder. I have been given permission to defend him..."

Tarrant is surprised. "Is that wise? Wouldn't it be better to have one of their Judges do it?"

Avon reluctantly meets his gaze. "It is usual for the defendant to be his own advocate. You can imagine the sort of mess Vila would make of it. Although I have no experience, other than as an observer at such trials, I'm sure I will do a better job than he would."

Tarrant concedes the point with a deep sigh. "How do you plan to go about it?"

"There is no doubt that he deliberately hit the guide with the rock, and that the man is dead. I will argue that the intention was merely to prevent further harm to Soolin, and that Vila, unable to overcome the man in any other way, due to lack of ability and experience, was not sufficiently expert to be able to incapacitate him... "

"And not sufficiently expert to prevent Soolin from serious injury..."

Avon continues, "The blow proved fatal. I will offer in mitigation his ignorance of the religious laws, his protectiveness towards Soolin, and his previous history of non-violence... "

"I wouldn't tell them too much about his previous history."

Avon smothers his irritation at the interruption. "I will tell them he deeply regrets the man's death, and is prepared to do all he can to make amends. I hope to persuade the Judges to be lenient. If I can't, then he will be sentenced to death... "

"Death!"

"... with no appeal."

Avon tries to get comfortable, putting his feet up on the console. "Now, if you don't mind, I should like to get some rest before I have to return to Bane."

* * * * *


Avon paces the cell in front of Vila, deep in thought.

"What happens now?"

Avon stops and looks intently at him. He sees the distress and fear in his eyes. And something more...

He thinks I don't care about him... that I won't really try... but how can I convince him? How can I expect him to trust me?

"The trial will begin in about half and hour. Vila... "

Vila looks down at the floor. "Don't worry, Avon. I don't blame you for any of this. I will just have to take my chances."

Avon is affronted. "Vila! I will do the very best I can to try to persuade them to deal with you as leniently as possible. Whatever you may think of me, I hope I am not so callous as to let you go before them with no prospect of surviving this."

"You will do whatever you think protects the interests of the alliance. I don't blame you. After all, what's one thief, no, make that murderer, compared with millions of people who will be enslaved by the Federation."

Avon stands in front of him, holding his gaze.

"Sometimes, Vila, you show distinct signs of intelligence. I will do what I can to safeguard the alliance. That does not mean I will sit back and do nothing while you face the death penalty."

Vila shrugs. "I suppose that will have to do."

Avon raises his eyebrows. "I have to go now. Whatever happens, I will see you after the proceedings have concluded."

Vila nods. Avon turns to leave. He calls him back. "Avon... "

Pausing in the doorway, Avon turns back to face him.

"Thank you."

Avon smiles. He leaves the cell.

* * * * *

It is scarcely twenty-four hours since Avon stood in this same hall with hopes of influencing the Council to join the proposed alliance. Then he had felt confident of his arguments and had put his case across with efficiency.

He has spent the last forty minutes or so pleading a very different cause. And with more immediate and life-threatening consequences. This time he has to convince the Judges to exercise their prerogative and accord leniency to Vila. Unlike the court proceedings he had witnessed on Earth and on other Federation planets, there is no opportunity to object to anything stated by either prosecution or defence. Each advocate merely states the case and calls witnesses where necessary. Avon has stressed Vila's non-violent history. His defence of Soolin. He has expressed his regret at the loss of life, the desire to make amends in whatever way he can.

Avon has no way of knowing whether anything he had said will change the outcome. All he can do now is wait. And hope. Avon doesn't really believe in hope. It has a tendency to fail. However, it is all he has. All Vila has, anyway. After what seems hours, but is in reality a little over an hour and a half, the three Judges return to the Council chamber. They sit impassively on high backed wooden chairs facing the doors. These open to admit the guards, with Vila chained between them. Avon stands up as Vila is brought to his side. He turns and looks reassuringly at him. The court official rises. There is absolute silence as he announces the decision.

"Vila Restal, you have been tried by this Court for the crime of murder. It is the decision of us all that you are guilty of this charge."

"No!" Vila's incredulous response earns him a cuff from the guard to his left.

"Silence!"

Avon swallows hard, hiding his surprise at the harsh decision. He looks at Vila, trying to give him reassurance. The Chief Judge gets to his feet.

"The sentence of this Court in such cases is well established in law and by precedent. We cannot make an exception because you are an alien."

"My Lord Judge," Avon begins, "may I be permitted to speak?"

The Chief Judge looks sternly at him. "Kerr Avon. We have heard you willingly in the matter which has brought you to our planet, but we cannot allow any interference in matters of law. The verdict is given. There is no appeal. I will now pronounce sentence."

Avon inclines his head courteously. His mind works feverishly to devise some means of saving Vila from the dreadful consequences of his unpremeditated action. Vila stands, shaking with disbelief, looking down at his hands.

"Vila Restal, you will be taken from here to the public courtyard. There you will receive due punishment for your crime in full view of the populace, to serve as a deterrent to others. You are hereby sentenced to torture... and to sacrificial death by fire."

Vila is too shocked to respond. He cannot feel his feet crossing the floor as the guards lead him away from the chamber. As the doors close behind them, the Judges prepare to leave. Avon walks across to the Chief Judge and bows politely.

"My Lord, is there nothing that can be done?"

The Chief Judge looks enquiringly at him. "Avon, you know how fragile the agreement to join the alliance is. Would you really risk losing our support for the sake of one man, and that one a murderer?"

Avon draws himself up to his full height. "No-one wants this alliance more than I do, my Lord. I would sacrifice much to see it happen. But Vila is my friend... "

"It is out of my hands. The gods must be appeased."

Avon bows before him. "May I be permitted to spend his last hours with him, Lord?"

The Chief Judge inclines his head in agreement before sweeping imperiously from the chamber.

* * * * *

The guard unlocks the cell door to allow Avon to enter before closing it behind him. Vila does not react as Avon crosses the cell. The sound of the key in the lock as it is secured once more fails to draw a response. Vila sits on the floor, his knees drawn up, head in his hands. He is in despair. Avon decides to make this quick, and to say as little as possible.

"Come along, Vila. Time to go."

Vila raises his head and looks at him uncomprehendingly.

"You don't want to stay here, do you?" Avon tries to get a reaction by being abrupt. The familiar scathing tone seems to get through at last.

Vila slowly gets to his feet. "What's going on?"

Avon has no compunction about what he is about to do.

"I've convinced them to let you go. Better hurry, before they change their mind."

"How did you manage it?" Relief floods through Vila as he takes in Avon's words. He begins to shake with the reaction.

Avon raises one eyebrow. "Have you no faith?" He takes his teleport bracelet from his wrist and presses the communicator switch. "Tarrant."

A moment later Tarrant's voice comes clearly over the communicator.

"Avon? How did it go?"

Avon smiles reassuringly at Vila. "Later, Tarrant. Just bring Vila up, will you? I have some things to sort out here." He places his own bracelet on Vila's wrist and stands back.

Tarrant's voice on the communicator is loud in the small cell. "Right."

Vila is about to say something as the teleport snatches him from Avon's sight.

That makes us about even, Vila, wouldn't you say?

With a sigh, he sits down on the cold stone floor and awaits the guards.

* * * * *

A few hours later, the crew are beginning to wonder why Avon has not returned to Scorpio.

"What do you suppose is keeping him?"

Tarrant looks up from his console and shrugs at Dayna. "I expect he has a number of things to arrange to do with the conference."

"Should we contact him to make sure?"

"No, Dayna. He said we were not to initiate contact."

Vila enters from the galley, carrying a bottle of wine and a glass. Not his first. Bottle, that is. He grins hugely as he walks a little unsteadily across the floor.

"Anyone want to join me?"

Dayna scowls. Tarrant ignores him. Vila crosses to the recliner and flops down, almost spilling the wine.

"A man's entitled to celebrate when he's been reprieved, you know."

Dayna checks the chronometer again before answering. "Wouldn't it be appropriate to wait until your deliverer is with us?"

"I have every intention of having a drink with him. I don't see why I can't start without him, though."

Tarrant checks the scanners. He is concerned about the amount of time they are spending in stationary orbit around Bane. It is not that far outside the normal Federation trade routes.

"You're friends, then?" Dayna is sceptical. The relationship between Avon and Vila since their return from Malodaar has been extremely strained, even hostile. None of them know the details, but it is obvious that something very serious has occurred between them.

Vila stares into space, remembering. A tremor goes through him as he recalls the terror he felt on board the shuttle, when Avon was searching for him, intent on disposing of him to save his own skin.

"Well, now. He has saved my life. I am grateful."

"That's not what I asked."

"I'm sure if the alliance were at stake, he would have let me die."

Dayna raises her eyebrows. "Of course. Do you honestly think you are more important than uniting these planets against the Federation?"

Vila is about to respond when Tarrant interrupts.

"I don't like us hanging around like this. It gives me a bad feeling. I wonder how much longer Avon is going to be?"

Orac answers the rhetorical question. + I have intercepted a planetwide viscast which may have some bearing on the present situation. Would you care to view it? +

Dayna looks up at the main screen. Vila pours himself some wine. Tarrant instructs Orac. "It may be important. Put it on the main screen."

+ Very well +

* * * * *

Avon sits patiently on the floor of the cell. It is several hours since he contacted Tarrant and requested he teleport Vila back to Scorpio. They will be wondering why he hasn't contacted them again. Well, no matter. He has been considering the likely results to himself, and for the alliance, of his action.

He hopes that the Council will still join the alliance, and attend the conference on Xenon, as agreed. He realises there will obviously be some penalty for letting Vila escape his death sentence, but he cannot foresee what form that retribution will take. He is resigned to the fact that he will probably have to endure some unpleasantness. The price of saving Vila without putting the alliance in jeopardy. So be it. Vila need never know, after all.

Footsteps approach the cell. The door is flung wide and two guards enter. Avon slowly gets to his feet and offers his wrists for the manacles. The heavy irons are put in place. Without a word, he walks along the passage, up a flight of stone steps, and out into the sunlight in the public courtyard. After the hours in the gloom of the cell, the brightness hurts his eyes. He is led out to a low stone platform against the wall where the guard detail halts, placing him slightly forward, in full view of the large crowd assembled before him.

The Judge stands beside a broad-shouldered man who wears a black hood over his face. The court official steps forward to address the crowd. He waits for silence.

"Citizens. We are here today to carry out the sentence of our Court on one Vila Restal, an alien visitor to our planet, who has been found guilty of murder... "

The Judge looks across at the prisoner. His eyes widen with surprise.

"That man is not Vila Restal!"

* * * * *

On the flight deck, Tarrant, Dayna and Vila are joined by Soolin. She gingerly eases her battered body onto the recliner next to Vila, from where she has a good view of the screen. They are astounded to see Avon enter the main courtyard, flanked by two guards. They see the manacles on his wrists. Vila starts at the sound of his name. He sits up suddenly, spilling his wine down his tunic.

"What is going on?"

"I don't know, Soolin." Tarrant opens a communicator channel. "Avon. Avon, come in. Come in!"

"He can't."

"What do you mean, Vila?"

"He hasn't got a teleport bracelet with him."

Dayna leaps to her feet. "Then we have to go down and get him!"

+ That will not be possible +

Tarrant frowns. "What do you mean, not possible?"

+ I have deactivated the teleport as instructed +

"Instructed by who?" Tarrant walks over to Orac.

+ Avon +

"Orac, Avon is in trouble. We need the teleport."

+ I am unable to override my programming +

Vila's face shows consternation. Tarrant slams his fist onto the console. "Damn it, Avon! What are you playing at?"

Dayna's eyes are on the main screen. "I think we're about to find out."

* * * * *

Avon steps forward. He has to get this right. For the sake of the alliance.

"My name is Kerr Avon. One of my friends, Soolin, unintentionally transgressed your taboo against women entering the confines of your temples. She is an alien, and acted in ignorance. Her guide, shocked to find her inside the cloister, attacked her. She suffered a brutal beating. So brutal, that your Judges considered it punishment enough to appease the gods. They allowed her to return to our ship."

He pauses to see what effect his words are having. Some among the crowd nod in assent at this wise and merciful judgement. Encouraged, Avon continues.

"Vila Restal attempted to defend her life. He is not skilled in such things. In his desire to prevent harm to Soolin, he struck the guide with a piece of rock. His intention was to knock the man unconscious. However, the blow proved fatal. He has stood trial and been convicted of murder."

Avon notices that some in the crowd seem entirely satisfied with that ruling.

This is going to be more difficult than I thought.

"I have taken it upon myself to remove Vila, who is now on board the Scorpio. I desire Bane to join an alliance to oppose the Federation. I have been attempting to persuade your Council to send a representative to our base to attend a conference there. I knew that I could not hope to achieve this if I helped Vila to escape and gave you no explanation or opportunity to exact punishment for my actions."

There is a murmur in the crowd which is growing in intensity. The Judge signals for silence. The people gradually still.

Avon proposes a means of satisfying the law and appeasing the gods.

"I wish to protect the alliance. I hereby offer myself, in place of Vila."
* * * * *

"I thought you said Avon had persuaded the Judges to let you go!" Soolin's voice is strained with anxiety.

Vila is perplexed. "That's what he told me. He said he had convinced them to let me go, and that I had better leave quickly before they changed their minds."

Tarrant stares at the screen. "What will they do to him?"

Vila shrugs. "I have no idea."

Dayna is desperately worried for Avon. "What were they going to do to you, Vila?"

Vila shivers at the thought. "Torture and sacrificial death by fire."

"What?" Dayna is horrified. "That's barbaric!"

"It's the only way to appease their gods, apparently."

"Quiet." Tarrant's urgent command draws their attention back to the main screen.

* * * * *

The Judge steps forward. He raises his hand. When all is silent, he addresses the crowd. "You are aware that a life is required to be sacrificed in repayment for a life taken. This is both our law and the law of our gods."

Avon feels the first stirrings of unease at his words. He keeps his face impassive.

The Judge continues. "The substitution of the sacrifice is acceptable under law and established by precedent."

Avon senses his own danger. The crowd murmur assent.

"It is my ruling that Kerr Avon will be substituted for Vila Restal. It is acceptable to the gods."

The certainty of what is about to befall him hits Avon scant moments before the court official reads out the sentence.

"Kerr Avon will undergo torture and sacrificial death by fire."
He is determined not to let his shock manifest itself in his expression. No sign of emotion crosses his features. He knows there will be no rescue attempt. He resolves to face the certainty of his imminent death with dignity. He does not fear it for itself. It is the method of his execution which is distressing to him, and the thought of what he will have to endure, first. Any man would fear the prospect.

At least it will safeguard the alliance. The crew will be able to convene the summit with Bane's representative present. Avon is unaware that his companions on Scorpio are watching.

* * * * *

Dayna is frantic. "We have to do something!"

"What do you have in mind, Dayna? Without the teleport there is nothing we can do!" Tarrant is no less concerned, but frustrated at his helplessness.

They watch, stricken, from Scorpio. Vila is in a state of shock, realising what Avon has done, but scarcely understanding why he has done so. Soolin sits, silently trying to come to terms with what she is seeing. She blames herself for the present situation.

* * * * *

The guards remove the manacles. Avon does not know what form the prescribed torture will take, but prepares himself mentally as they begin to remove his clothes. He is stripped to the waist. Ropes are fastened around his wrists and he is bound, stretched between two pillars, with his face toward the crowd. The man with the hood over his face takes up a long, heavy whip. He paces off a distance behind and to the side of Avon. The Judge nods. The crowd goes silent with anticipation of the horror to come.

The sound of the leather as it is flies towards him is all the warning Avon gets. As the whip bites into his back, he lets out an involuntary gasp through gritted teeth. Again and again the hooded torturer draws back his strong arm and sweeps the hissing leather swiftly forward to writhe around Avon's torso, tearing into his skin. He flinches with each lash, struggling to keep his feet. Sweat runs into his eyes and slicks his body. The salt burns in the sliced flesh.

For what seems to him an eternity of unrelenting pain he endures the strokes with stoicism, making scarcely a sound. Finally, he stumbles, falling to one knee, but manages to drag himself upright in the brief respite before the next blow.
The flogging is both a punishment and a merciful provision, since it continues until the victim falls unconscious. In such a state, it is hoped, the suffering will be lessened during the immolation to follow.

* * * * *

Dayna weeps silently, forcing herself to watch the proceedings. Although they have often argued over a course of action or some other small matter, she has a grudging respect for Avon and has him to thank for saving her life on more than one occasion. To sit here, unable to intervene, is deeply distressing to her. She can hardly believe that Avon would go through this for Vila. To save the alliance, of course. That must be it. And they had all been so unenthusiastic when Avon proposed the conference. They had complained and been difficult.

And this is how much Avon values the alliance. More than his own life.

Soolin turns away and buries her face in her hands. The sound of the lash and the murmuring of the crowd causes her great anguish. Unable to bear it any longer, she covers her ears. For the first time in many years, she finds herself swallowing tears for the suffering of another human being. For Avon, of all people. She never thought she would have reason to feel anything for him. But he was so compassionate towards her on Bane.

So unlike him. And now this... Avon, I'm so sorry... !

Tarrant watches, stony faced, hands clenched into fists. He has always kicked against Avon's leadership, but never envisaged assuming the crown through such circumstances. His desire to take control of Scorpio is tempered by a feeling of loss which both surprises and angers him. After all, Avon has never given him reason to like him.

Perhaps I was wrong... about a lot of things.

Vila shakes with emotion, tears coursing unashamedly down his face. He is trying to come to terms with the fact that Avon, whom he had every reason to hate for the recent traumatic events on Malodaar, has selflessly offered himself in his place. He cannot understand it. He is ashamed for his antagonism and harsh words to Avon.

Why did you do it?

This uncharacteristic, selfless act of sacrifice has them all reeling, trying to make sense of it, to re-evaluate their view of Avon.

* * * * *

Suddenly, Avon's body crumples and he hangs suspended by his wrists. The flogging continues a few moments longer, until the Judge is satisfied. As the rope binding one of his wrists is cut, he falls sideways, exposing his torn back to the view of the crowd. The second rope is cut and he collapses to the ground. He lies motionless, drifting in and out of consciousness.

The murmur gains momentum in the crowd, the dissent rising to a rumble, threatening to become a roar. They know that Avon is innocent. And that he has willingly put himself forward to redeem his friend. They are not sure of the justice of carrying out the death penalty on a substitute. Some feel the flogging alone should be sufficient to appease the gods.

Avon is oblivious to the growing dissent. He exists in a world where nothing registers except the intolerable agony racking his body.

The Judge nods to the hooded man, now Avon's executioner. He signals the guards, who haul Avon to his feet and half walk, half carry him between them to the place of fire. This is a wooden platform, about three feet square, in front of a tall stone pillar. It is raised above stacked bundles of twigs and wood, and reached by wooden steps. Here they hold him upright and bind his wrists to a metal ring set at the top of the pillar. At the Judge's signal, the executioner takes a torch from the brazier nearby and touches it to the line of black powder running towards the pillar.

The blue white flame swiftly devours the powder trail. Avon's eyes flicker open. He watches in growing horror as the destruction rushes inexorably towards him...

Fire! Oh, dear God!

The primeval fear threatens to overcome him as his imagination runs ahead of the racing flame, conjuring images of similar deaths in former centuries of Earth's history. He feels his heart stutter in a moment of weakness. His iron resolve reasserts itself and he holds his head up.

The flame disappears from his sight beneath the edge of the platform. He smiles grimly, gritting his teeth against the conflagration he expects to engulf him within moments.

The pyre slowly begins to burn. The first billows of smoke rise around him, pricking in his nostrils and catching in his throat. Heat from the flames beneath him dries the mingled sweat and blood on his skin. The blaze licks at the edges of the platform, threatening to consume it and leave him hanging by his wrists above the inferno. He does not believe in a god, and yet his thought is almost a prayer.

Please... let it be quick... !

Convinced of the inevitability of his death, he tries to face it bravely.

* * * * *

"Avon!" Dayna's cry fills the flight deck as she leaps to her feet. "Tarrant, we must save him!"

Tarrant turns to her, angrily taking her by the shoulders and holding her gaze. "Just tell me how I'm supposed to do that!"

Dayna looks back at the screen. The billows of smoke partially obscure Avon from view. His dark hair is plastered to his forehead. There is no mistaking the agony in his face. The heat intensifies as flames burst through the weakening platform to flash inches from his body.

Through her tears, Dayna answers him, quietly, "End it."

Tarrant hesitates. Vila looks aghast.

Dayna is insistent. "Use the neutron blasters."

"No!"

"How much more will you let him suffer?"

"He sacrificed himself to safeguard the alliance. If we interfere, his hope of bringing Bane to the conference will die with him. His suffering will be for nothing. His death will be worthless!"

"There's no guarantee they will attend anyway!"

Soolin gets to her feet and struggles to the weapons controls. "She's right, Tarrant! We have to end it for him."

She manipulates the controls to bring the neutron blasters into range on the correct co-ordinates.

Vila cannot take his eyes from the screen. "Wait!" The urgency in his voice stops them in their tracks. "Look!"

* * * * *
Avon feels his skin tighten as the heat sears his exposed flesh. His clothes are beginning to scorch. Painfully he drags the hot, smoke-filled air into his lungs. It catches in his throat, making him cough uncontrollably. He forces himself to breath deeply, hoping he might asphyxiate before the flames actually reach him. He closes his eyes.

Others have endured such an end bravely. I must find the strength...

The blaze destroys the last supports of the platform. It disintegrates beneath his feet. He drops towards the voracious flames, prevented from being engulfed by the holocaust by the ropes binding his wrists to the pillar. Mercifully, in the final terrible moments, as the flames reach hungrily upward for him, unconsciousness takes him.

* * * * *

Darkness. Silence. Awareness without pain.

Is this death?

Gradually he becomes aware of sounds, voices. He can see nothing.

"Is it clear?"

"All clear."

Still he lies in unrelenting blackness. He can feel nothing.

"We have to contact the ship. Mira, send a message. Get them to come here. Hurry!"

He hears a door close. A voice speaks close to his ear.

"You will be safe soon. Try not to move. Our medical resources and knowledge are limited. You will be cared for properly once we can get you to the ship."

* * * * *

"Scorpio. Scorpio. Respond, please."

The urgent, unknown voice immediately arouses the crew from their contemplation of the loss of Avon. Tarrant slams his hand on the communicator switch in his haste.

"Yes. We read you. Who are you?"
The voice hesitates. "That is not important. We have something that belongs to you. If you want it, you'll have to come here and collect it."

His face registers the hope mirrored in Dayna's expression.

"I'll be right there!"

"You may need help to transport it. It's very... fragile."

Tarrant grimaces. He looks at Dayna. She nods.

"I'll operate the teleport. If that's all right by you, Orac?"

+ since it will now make no difference to the decision of the council of Bane whether or not to join the alliance, I am able to allow it +

"Thank you, Soolin." Tarrant walks over to the teleport and is joined immediately by Dayna. He takes a spare teleport bracelet. "Do you have the co-ordinates?"

"Locked on." She wipes the tears from her face as she concentrates on operating the teleport.

"Put us down."

* * * * *

Tarrant and Dayna materialise in a small chamber. The blinds are drawn against the sunlight, throwing the interior into gloom. They can make out a stretcher in the centre of the floor, on which a body lies. Immobile. A silver blanket covers it from the neck down.

A young man steps forward. He is wearing a silver suit. "You must be quick. This place is not secure."

Tarrant moves towards the stretcher and looks down at the still figure.

"Is he... ?

"Alive? Yes, for the moment. Hurry."

Tarrant carefully places a teleport bracelet around the lacerated and blackened wrist and moves a pace back. Raising his communicator, he looks briefly across at the young man.

"Thank you."
The man nods without replying. Tarrant contacts Soolin.

* * * * *

As Tarrant and Dayna materialise in the teleport area, either side of the stretcher, Soolin runs towards the bunk she has prepared.

"Gently... " Tarrant and Dayna carefully lift the stretcher between them and carry it quickly to the bunk.

"Put it here." Soolin dons a mask and gloves and turns round to face the bunk as they lower Avon onto it. She draws in a sharp breath as she sees him, screwing up her eyes and turning away, her breath coming fast and shallow as she tries to gain control.

"Soolin... I'll do it." Dayna's quiet voice reaches her and she turns back to them.

"No. It's okay. I'll take care of him."

"Right." Tarrant sounds relieved. They leave Soolin alone with Avon, moving away onto the flight deck to sit at the consoles.

She carefully cuts his charred boots from him. Without them, he would have lost his feet to the flames. Fortunately, his preferred choice of attire has proved a literal lifesaver. Protected from the worst of the heat and fire by his leather trousers and heavy boots, he has only minor injuries to his lower body. Careful to move him as little as possible, she begins cutting his clothing from his legs.

"Don't... !" The hoarse whisper takes her by surprise.

"Avon! You're going to be okay. You're on board Scorpio."

"Soolin? Please... don't... don't."

She frowns, puzzled. The brown eyes hold her gaze. There is a plea there that she does not understand.

"I have to treat your wounds... "

"Not yet. I need... " a fit of coughing stops him.

Soolin fetches a glass of water from the galley and brings it to him. Raising his head slightly, she places it to his lips and helps him sip the cool liquid.
"Let me talk to Tarrant."

She is about to remonstrate with him, but his determined expression halts the words before they reach her lips. She sighs. "All right. I'll get him."

As she turns to leave, she sees Vila hovering uncertainly a few feet away. Her expression hardens. "Not now, Vila."

He backs away as she leaves Avon but waits silently, unwillingly to leave without seeing him.

* * * * *

Tarrant stands looking down at him, his jaw clenched.

"What news of the alliance... " Avon struggles to form the words.

Tarrant hesitates.

"Don't waste my time, Tarrant!" The whispered words carry his frustration clearly.

"The Council announced that they would not be joining the alliance."

Avon closes his eyes for a moment. He feels utterly defeated.

All that effort, and they had gone back on their agreement...

"Did they say why? Maybe you could... I don't know... I can't just let it go!"
"There's nothing you can do about it, now!" Tarrant is exasperated.

Avon's reply is so quiet that Tarrant has to lean close to catch it.

"Their agreement to come to Xenon cost me... " he swallows, painfully, before continuing, " ...a great deal."

Tarrant lowers his gaze, embarrassed at his earlier outburst. "I know. We were able to intercept the broadcast of the events... "

His words galvanise Avon. "What? Did Slave record it?"

Tarrant is puzzled. "I expect so. But I don't think... "

"Help me up!" Avon tries to sit up.

"Avon... "

"Damn you, Tarrant! Help me up."

Tarrant supports Avon as he pushes himself into a sitting position on the couch. He puts an arm around him and helps him to his feet. Avon sways dizzily as he attempts to walk down the steps and across the flight deck.

"I don't think this is a good idea. The dressings applied on Bane are merely to prevent infection until you can have proper treatment. Let Soolin deal with your injuries, first."

"Tarrant, if you will not help me, then at least don't waste my energy in arguments."

Tarrant sighs and helps him make his way carefully past Vila, and onto the flight deck. Vila follows silently in their wake.

* * * * *

As Tarrant and Avon cross to the recliners, followed by Vila, Dayna and Soolin turn to them, surprised.

"Avon, you should be lying down!"

"Don't fuss, Soolin. There's something I need to see, first."

Tarrant gently lowers Avon onto the recliner, facing the main screen.

"What's going on?" Dayna leaves her console and walks across to stand next to Avon.
"Slave. Have you a recording of the viscast of the events on Bane?"

+ Yes, master +

Dayna looks horrified. "You're not going to watch it?"

Avon looks up at her. "It's not morbid curiosity. I need to know exactly what happened that can have changed the Council's decision about joining the alliance."

"Can't it wait? You need medical attention... "

"It appears to have escaped everyone's notice that I am conscious and able to make decisions for my own welfare. In precisely four days we will be visiting Stylos, on a similar mission to that which has just gone drastically wrong on Bane. I need to understand what has happened. I do not need any of you to stay and hold my hand."

Soolin intuitively realises that Avon would prefer none of them to be present while he views the tape. She has no desire to see it, but does not wait to be told to leave. "I need to sort things out in the galley. I will expect you back on your bunk after you've finished, Avon." As she leaves the flight deck, she gives Dayna a look. Dayna picks up Soolin's silent message.

"I'll give you a hand. I have no desire to watch reruns."

Avon visibly relaxes a little as the two women leave. He looks enquiringly at Tarrant.

"Okay, I'll go. I'll... take a shower, or something. After all, I know how this movie ends." He strides off without noticing Vila, who sits quietly at the back of the flight deck.

Avon settles himself as comfortably as his injuries will allow. "Slave, run the tape."

He watches himself being led out by the guards. The Judge recognises him. He makes his speech in mitigation for his action in freeing Vila. He notes with relief that the shock he feels, when he hears the penalty he must pay, does not show outwardly. In fact, he is gratified that, all things considered, he behaves throughout with dignity.

Just as well, with them all watching... !

He watches the flogging with studied detachment, as if it were happening to someone else. As he sees himself collapse to the ground, he narrows his focus to the crowd. It appears to him that some of the people present are showing concern that the death penalty not be administered. His interest sharpens as he notes their expressions as he is half dragged, half carried to the place of fire. It would seem there are some in the crowd, many of them young people, who actively oppose the sentence, shouting to the Judge that it is enough to appease the gods to have performed the flogging.

The camera switches angles and he watches the guards bind his wrists to the ring at the top of the pillar. The executioner lights the powder trail. He sees his face as his eyes flicker open. His look of unmistakable, mounting horror, as the flame speeds towards the pyre beneath him, makes Avon shudder as he watches. He cringes inwardly at the memory of those minutes of increasing heat, smoke and fear. Yet he is unable to tear his eyes away from the appalling spectacle.

Slowly the flames inch nearer to his body, consuming the platform which holds him precariously above the blaze. Avon can hardly believe himself to have survived such an ordeal. He watches carefully as the platform gives way and he hangs suspended above the rising inferno.

Suddenly he sees, out of the crowd, two young men wearing silver clothing, gloves and masks, rush toward the place of fire and fling themselves into the centre of the pyre, immediately below him. Hurling a knife to sever the ropes holding him captive in the fire, they surround his falling body with a silver blanket and carry him between them away from the crowd and through a concealed exit in the wall behind the pillar.

Avon sits transfixed. His escape accomplished, he has no idea who to thank for it. Wearing the masks, they are unrecognisable. The safety equipment has the added advantage of anonymity.

It makes sense at last. The Council decided that the events prove that the influence of aliens such as himself serves to undermine their authority and that of the Judges. Therefore, the alliance was abandoned in favour of isolationism. It was the only way they could attempt to preserve their culture, their religion, their very identity. Short sighted. The Federation will not allow them to maintain their own culture, religion or identity.

All that pain... and it would not have made any difference. Even if they had let him die, the dissenters would have been sufficient excuse for the Council to renege on their agreement to join the alliance. He would have died for nothing.

Well, not quite. I would have saved Vila...

Avon realised as soon as Tarrant left that Vila was watching silently from the rear of the flight deck. Realising what Vila must mistakenly believe, he decides to make light of the events. He does not look at him as he comments, quietly, "Of course, they would have let you die."
Vila has lost his usual air of cheerfulness. He is chastened by the spectacle, no less horrific on a second showing. It is all the more appalling to him because it would have been his fate, were it not for Avon's intervention. He desperately tries to find the right words.

How do you thank a man who does not want to be thanked?

"I realise that, Avon." Vila crosses the flight deck and sits on the other recliner opposite him.

For a long moment the two men hold each other's gaze, silently.

"I never told them what happened on the shuttle."

Avon is genuinely surprised, and not a little pleased. He masks his feelings however, and answers with feigned indifference.

"Didn't you? Why not?"

Vila shrugs. "I don't know. Perhaps I could convince myself it didn't really happen, if I didn't talk about it."

Avon smiles at this illogical reasoning. "Oh, it happened Vila. I would have jettisoned you if it was the only way I could survive. I would expect you to do the same to me."

Vila looks sceptical. For once he is sarcastic to Avon, and not on the receiving end. "Oh. I see. That is why you were prepared to die in order to save my life. That makes perfect sense, of course."

"You make me out to be some sort of selfless hero!"

Vila is taken aback. Does Avon feel his actions were those of a self-interested cynical realist, in short, the sort of person Vila had always thought him to be? Surely he must realise the opposite to be true in this case?

Surely, Avon, that is exactly what you are?

He is about to voice his thought when Avon continues, "Don't change your opinion of me because of what you saw on that tape. You've been right about me up until now. I care about my own survival."

Vila is confused. Not a new experience for him, where Avon is concerned. "You saved my life... "

"Yes, well we don't have to get all sentimental about it, do we?"

"You nearly died in my place... " Vila's protest is cut short.
"Don't be melodramatic. I'm still here."

"You had no way of knowing you would be saved at the last second, though, had you?"

Avon grimaces. "No."

"So you sat in that cell, knowing you would be punished, waiting for the guards to come and take you away to face... that... "

"Is there a point to all this? I am rather tired... "

Vila is feeling angry at being frustrated in his attempts to thank the infuriating man.

Dammit Avon! Why can't you accept that what you did was heroic?

"The point is you went through all that to save me!"

Avon looks intently into Vila's troubled eyes.

I'm not Blake... I'm no hero. Don't try to make me into one.

"Vila. Know this. I decided to risk... punishment... in order to safeguard the fragile agreement I hoped to make with the rulers of Bane to attend the conference on Xenon. If I thought there was no way I could salvage the alliance and rescue you, I would have let you die."

Vila remains unconvinced. "You couldn't really know what the reaction would be, though, could you?"

Avon knows this to be true, but will not allow Vila to capitalise on it. "I hoped that my freeing you would be considered a minor offence and that the penalty would be fairly minor. I was prepared to risk a certain amount of unpleasantness in your behalf. I did not expect to have to suffer your sentence."

Vila frowns. "You mean, you didn't know what they would do to you?"

Avon smiles. "It was as much a shock to me as it was to you, I expect."

Vila is nonplussed. "But that means... "

"It means, Vila, that I am not quite the saint you think I am."

"You're wrong, Avon. Even if you didn't know, there was always the possibility. It doesn't matter how much you want to pretend you don't care, you will never convince me. And I will always be grateful."

"Even though I would have thrown you off the shuttle?"

"At least that would have been quick. What you went through... " Vila shudders.

"Do you mind if we don't talk about it?"

Vila offers Avon his hand.

Avon looks at it for a moment before clasping it firmly. He nods. "And now, Vila, I think I could do with your help to get back to the bunk, before Soolin and Dayna run out of things to do."

* * * * *

"All right, ladies, here's the deal." Vila cheerfully greets Soolin and Dayna, on their return from the galley, as he helps Avon onto the bunk.

They both turn to look at him in astonishment.

"Vila, are you drunk?"

"Not yet. Avon and I have been having a discussion about his medical requirements, and he assures me he does not need either of you to assist me in taking care of him."

"What?" Dayna crosses the room towards Vila.

Avon stirs himself to confirm Vila's statement.

"Dayna. There is so much I need you to do before we get to Stylos. I would rather waste Vila's time than yours."

She is only slightly mollified, but nevertheless leaves him with as much dignity as she can muster.

Soolin looks at Avon thoughtfully. Although she would like to help care for him, especially after his gentleness towards her following her own ordeal on Bane, she has the suspicion that there is more to this situation than she is aware of.

"Whatever your reasons, Avon, I respect your wishes. I would like you to know, though, that I appreciate what you did for me. If you will let me help, I would like to stay."

Avon smiles. "Really, it isn't necessary. I would like you and Tarrant to join me when we visit Stylos. I think it would be best if you concentrate on building up your strength for the journey."

"Very well. Make sure you take good care of him, Vila." She leaves them alone.

"Now, Avon... "

Avon waits for her to get out of earshot before turning to Vila. "Don't think you are going to tell me what to do."

Vila is affronted. "I wouldn't dream... "

"Good. Fetch me some pain killers. Not too strong. I need my wits about me. There are things I need to concentrate on before we get to Stylos."

Vila crosses to the galley and selects some analgesic tablets. He fetches a glass of water and brings it and the pills to Avon.

He swallows them and drains the glass.

"What about the burns? And the lacerations?"

"Don't fuss, Vila."

"From where I'm standing, they need attention."

Avon scowls. "When Tarrant is finished, I'll take a long cold shower. Then we'll see."

"But Avon... " One look from the brown eyes silences him.

* * * * *

Three days since... could it really be only three days?

It feels more like years to Tarrant, as he swallows his bitter frustration and replies blandly to Avon's demand. "Of course, Avon. Whatever you think is best."

Actually, Tarrant is amazed that Avon has the energy to be so aggressive after what he has so recently been through. He watches as Avon continues striding around the flight deck, unable to settle, snapping at everyone and being acidly sarcastic, especially to Vila. Surprisingly, Vila seems to take each insult as if it were a ball tossed to him in a friendly game, and returns the gibes in kind with undisguised glee. How he can speak so disparagingly to the man who has saved his life is a complete mystery to Tarrant. Well, perhaps the visit to Stylos will provide welcome relief from the tensions on board Scorpio.

Soolin comes onto the flight deck, freshly showered and wearing a dark grey jumpsuit. Her hair is loosely tied back in a ponytail and she is not wearing any makeup. Bruises still mar her face, though they are beginning to discolour now, a rainbow proclaiming the healing process to be well advanced. At least, physically. Her mental state is another matter.

Avon stops pacing and turns to address her. "Are you prepared for the visit?"

Soolin hesitates, uncertainly. She does not want to refuse Avon, but she is very nervous about meeting strangers in her present state.

"Well? Surely it is not that difficult a question?"

Avon's tone is hectoring. More so than usual. Soolin is hurt by it but tries not to let her discomfort show.

"I'm not going with you. Take Dayna. She could do with some planetfall."

Avon narrows his eyes and is about utter a vicious retort when something in her expression stops him. This is the first time any of them have questioned or refused an order from him since he returned from Bane. He decides to leave it for the moment.

Walking across to the nearest bunk, he lowers himself gingerly onto it and tries to relax. The constant pain from his back gives him little chance to sleep, but he does not want the rest of them to realise how much he dreads even that brief respite, because of the nightmares that plague him.

Soolin exchanges a worried glance with Tarrant. He raises his eyebrows but concentrates on navigating the ship. As soon as he completes the necessary course correction to bring them on the flight plan to Stylos, he puts Slave in charge and walks off to the galley.

Dayna and Vila are skulking there, out of Avon's way. As Tarrant enters, they stop talking.

"What?" He is aware that they are looking awkwardly anywhere but at him. "Dayna? What's going on?"

She sighs. Now that Avon is well enough to be able to give orders, they are all treading very carefully around him. Partly, she supposes, because they are all unsure what to make of him. She has always thought of him as callous, uncaring and completely selfish. Now she is confused. The Avon who saved Vila, who underwent torture for his sake and who faced almost certain death for an ideal, an alliance that Bane had subsequently decided to abandon, that Avon is a mystery to her. To them all. And even more so now, since he is barking orders and being absolutely impossible to everybody. She had been reduced to tears earlier by his biting criticism of her. She wouldn't let anyone see it, of course. She came into the galley. By the time Vila joined her she had regained her composure.

"At least you are not arguing with him, Tarrant." She gives him a pale imitation of her usual smile.

Tarrant leans against the worktop and folds his arms. He has tried to avoid arguing with Avon at all. For three long stressful days. It is taking a heavy toll on him.

"I don't know how to deal with him at the moment."

"None of us do." Dayna affirms, ruefully.

"Except for you, Vila." Tarrant frowns at him. "How come you treat him the same as ever, after what happened?"

"How do you expect me to treat him?" Vila is genuinely surprised.

Tarrant looks at Dayna. She shrugs. Vila rises from the chair and squeezes past Tarrant on his way back to the flight deck.

Vila takes a seat at the teleport console, lifting his feet to rest them on it. Soolin stares at the data screen in front of her. Vila ignores her. After all, she wouldn't thank him for his sympathy. He should have been able to take better care of her. Tarrant would have.

I let her down. Nothing new, unfortunately. Nothing I can do about it.

He is secretly amused at the reactions of the others towards Avon. Before Bane, had he treated them in such cavalier fashion, they would have been in open revolt long before this. As it is, they are biting down on their natural reaction to his insupportable behaviour. Meekly accepting anything he asks of them. Not that he asks. He orders. They don't quibble. Not openly. And it has nothing to do with the fact that Avon is short tempered because of the severe pain he is enduring. Because only Vila knows that he won't take the pain killers. Won't let him touch him. No, it is because they have seen what they believe to be another side to Avon. An unforeseen, heroic, selfless side they had no idea was there. A side he would deny. They are feeling guilty. They feel inadequate in the face of such a man. They are questioning their own motives, values and bravery. Their own loyalties to each other. They feel embarrassed over their former condemnation of Avon as one who would save his own skin at the expense of them all. They are, in a word, awe-struck.

"Vila!" Avon's preremptory call jolts him from his reverie.

"Yes, illustrious master." Vila smiles to himself.

"Don't be a fool." Avon is amused despite the gnawing discomfort which overrides all but the most important of considerations. He cannot afford to dull his mind with the painkillers. Not with less than twenty-four hours before seeing Theor on Stylos.

"Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery."

Avon struggles painfully to a sitting position on the bunk. Vila stifles an impulse to rush over and help him up. The others would be suspicious, perhaps recognising the truth of Avon's condition. Avon wouldn't thank him for that.

"And how, Vila, do you propose to imitate me?"

Vila looks across and grins hugely. "Well, you did call me a fool... "

"At least it is something you do exceptionally well."

"As do you."

Avon scowls. Soolin looks up at the two of them, puzzled. She has such mixed feelings about Avon, and Vila. One a paradox, the other an enigma. How could Avon be so kind to her one minute and so cruel the next? And as for Vila, the useless idiot, how come he doesn't worry what he says to him?

Avon walks across the flight deck to stand in front of Soolin. Without looking at Vila, he orders, "Vila, go and see what the other two are up to in the galley. Mutiny, I shouldn't wonder."

Vila takes one look at his face and decides not to argue. "Well, it's too cramped to do much else in there... "

Avon turns to him. The dark eyes bore into him menacingly. Vila does not flinch. "I'm going. Keep your hair on."

As soon as Vila disappears into the galley, he leans forward and bestows a much kinder look on Soolin. She returns his gaze warily.

"I do know why you don't want to go down to Stylos, Soolin. I understand your reticence, but I cannot allow you to stay here."

She is about to reply when he continues.

"With Tarrant and myself on the planet, Vila will be on board. I cannot trust him alone up here, for obvious reasons. You are not fully fit. I must therefore select Dayna to remain with Vila here. I need you on Stylos."

She looks down at the console. "I'm not ready, Avon. I can't be of any use to you there."

He remains silent, willing her to meet his gaze. When she eventually looks up, curious, he smiles at her with real warmth.

"You underestimate your value to me by as much as you overestimate how much your beauty is impaired by the recent injuries."

She is surprised at this. So much so, that she finds herself having to blink back ready tears. Noticing her discomfort, Avon turns away and paces the flight deck without looking at her. When he judges sufficient time has passed for her to compose herself, he turns back to her.

"I need you with me, Soolin. You're faster than Tarrant with a gun. I want you to watch my back."

He can see that she is wavering. He decides to leave it at that. She need never know the real reason. That he is concerned that she will blame herself for what happened on Bane, and will never regain the confidence she used to have. He knows she needs to make a success of the visit to Stylos to prove to herself her value to the crew, and to learn to face the world again despite being temporarily disfigured. She needs to know that her beauty is an asset, but it has nothing to do with her worth as a person. He hopes the visit to Stylos will convince her. Anyway, it is true about her skill with a gun. He can't think of anyone better to back him up.

"All right. I'll go." She tries a smile. It almost works.

"Good. Now, I think I'll try and get some sleep. Ask Vila to fetch me some painkillers, will you?"

She gets to her feet and strolls across to the galley. Her arrival is greeted with looks of exasperation.

"Not you too?" Dayna gives her a sympathetic look.

"No. Vila, Avon would like some painkillers, please." She turns on her heel and leaves them staring after her in puzzlement. Vila opens the medical cupboard and takes out a bottle of pills. Tarrant recognises the bottle.

"How many of those is he taking?"

"He won't thank me for telling you." He gets a glass of water.

"If he's taking the recommended dose, he shouldn't even be upright, never mind throwing his weight about like a prima donna."

"Prima donnas do not throw their weight about, Tarrant. For one thing, they are usually very slim and therefore not heavy enough. For another, they are usually thrown around by someone else." With that, he leaves the galley.

Vila walks over to Avon and offers him the glass of water. He holds four pills on his outstretched palm. Avon takes one of the pills and washes it down with the water.

"You are supposed to have four, every four hours."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, to have me practically unconscious?"

Vila, for once, is deadly serious. He is concerned that Avon hasn't slept properly for days. He is obviously in a lot of pain, but will only occasionally take a pain killer. Nowhere near enough to mask the messages from his screaming nerve ends. At least the worst of the blisters seem to be healing now. Vila would be happier if he knew that Avon was no longer suffering in the aftermath of his ordeal.

"You need rest to heal. You are being a fool, Avon."

Avon is disconcerted by the genuine note of reproach and the look of worry that creases Vila's face. He tries to ease his anxiety.

"There will be time for that once we have the alliance agreement signed. Until then, I need to be able to think."

Vila nods, and places the remaining three pills back in the bottle. He is about to leave him when a pleasant thought surfaces, halting him. He smiles.

"What is it?"

Vila's eyes light up with amusement.

"The rest think you are taking the full dosage of these. They must think you are superhuman, not to be flat on your back."

"I am flat on my back."

"I mean unable to get up, never mind prowling around like some latter day Captain Bligh... "

Avon smiles. "It will do them good!"

* * * * *

"Are you sure you're up to this, Avon?"

Vila and Avon are alone in the galley, the only place they can be sure of privacy to discuss the imminent planetfall. Avon is gathering some personal medical supplies, since he does not want to be dependent on the others or to have to rely on what may be available on Stylos.

"I'll manage. The time scale is too tight to delay."

Vila shrugs. He knows from long experience how futile would be any attempt to persuade Avon to rest up until he is fully recovered. It is not that Avon doesn't care about his health, just that he prioritises things objectively, which often results in delaying taking time for himself until he has completed what he considers to be some more important task.

"Whatever you say. How long will it take?"

Avon completes his selection of the supplies. Placing them in a small container, he stows it in his pocket and prepares to join the others on the flight deck.

"I don't want to stay here any more than you do. We'll be back as soon as we can."

As Avon and Vila leave the galley and cross the flight deck towards the teleport area, Soolin and Tarrant join them. Dayna is at the teleport controls.

"They've given us the co-ordinates. Ready when you are."

"Thank you, Dayna. Well, are you two ready?"

Tarrant and Soolin walk into the teleport area and select a bracelet each. Avon turns to Vila.

"I want you to stay alert."

"Of course!"

"I mean it Vila. I think Theor is favourable, but we've had too many nasty surprises, lately. Someone must be on watch at all times. Awake, preferably."
Vila is about to protest, but one look at Avon's face silences him.

Avon dons a bracelet and joins the others in the teleport area. He turns to Dayna.

"Put us down."

* * * * *

This is not Avon's first visit to Stylos. It is a beautiful planet, two thirds covered with water, having abundant wildlife and lush vegetation. The city of Larn, where he is to meet with Theor, nestles in the fertile crater of an extinct volcano. The people are open and friendly towards off-worlders like himself. Especially so in the case of a certain young lady with whom he spent some considerable time on his last two visits. Theor's daughter, Tia.

Tia displayed a keen interest in him on his last visit, during which they had been thrown very much together. Her father had been embroiled in a local dispute and could not devote his time to Avon immediately he arrived. They had spent the interim hunting, walking in the beautiful private gardens, and playing chess. She had been, he was sure, sad to see him leave, having developed a fondness for him. He would not admit to returning any such feelings. Not even to himself.

He is fairly confident of the support of Theor, one of five Chieftains of Stylos. But the others are not so easily persuaded of the advantages to be gained from an alliance against the Federation. Ostensibly neutral, until now, Stylos has always covertly provided shelter for the rebels. Avon knows only too well from his recent experience on Bane that nothing is guaranteed. Especially when it comes to alliances. At least this time he will have accurate and reliable information as to what is happening.

As soon as she returns to her father's apartments, Tia hears of his arrival and hurries to the great hall to see him.

"Avon!" She rushes forward and flings her arms around him. He flinches at her touch, a grimace of pain momentarily crossing his face. Her pale grey eyes look at him with concern. "What is wrong?"

He puts his hands on her waist and holds her a little way from him. She is petite. Light brown hair falls in a mass of unruly curls to her shoulders. He recognises her garb as that of a hunter. Having just returned from the foothills, following a successful foray in search of the local antelope, she hasn't stopped to change into more formal attire, eager to see him again.

His eyes travel slowly from her booted feet upwards. Her slender legs are undisguised by the tight-fitting breeches. The belt cinching her tunic accentuates her trim waist. Her bare arms are bronzed from the hours in the sun. As his gaze reaches the open collar of her shirt, he sees her swallow self-consciously, and a faint blush suffuses her skin from the hollow of her throat to rush upward colouring her lovely face. He smiles warmly as he watches her unconsciously moisten her lips with the tip of her tongue. Such an inviting gesture, yet performed innocently, unknowingly.

Their eyes meet at last. Instantaneously, he feels inside him the twisting confusion, of pleasure and discomfort, of a primal reaction to her. Intense. Momentary. The powerful, fleeting, matching response in her body is evident to him. Reading initial confusion, then a growing awareness in her expression, he regains his composure.

"Tia. It's good to see you again. I'm a little... tired... from the journey."

The greeting has given her the necessary time to recover. "Then come. I will show you to your quarters. Who are your friends?"

Avon's eyes never leave her face as he introduces his companions.

"Soolin, and Tarrant."

"Please follow me. You are very welcome here, Soolin, Tarrant."

Soolin raises her eyebrows as she exchanges a glance with Tarrant. It is the first time either of them has seen Avon receive such an enthusiastic and affectionate welcome. They follow Tia as she takes Avon's arm and leads them to their rooms.

* * * * *

"Soolin. I do hope this will be adequate... " She opens a lightwood door on the left of the passage. As the interior is revealed to their gaze, Soolin enters and looks around with appreciation. She smiles with pleasure.

"Oh, yes! Perfectly adequate. Thank you."

"I will have a change of clothes brought for you. My father is holding a reception in Avon's honour."

Soolin hardly acknowledges their farewells as they continue along the corridor. She has never seen such a light, airy room, filled with sunlight and furnished with care to produce a restful ambience.

I think I'm going to like it here...

She considers Tia. A lively girl, certainly. Not what she would have thought of as Avon's type. But since, unlike Vila, he never discusses his preferences, how would she be able to tell? Tarrant had described Anna Grant to her once, a long time back, but she couldn't really imagine him committing to such a deep relationship again after the way he had been betrayed. Strange, how restful it feels, being around someone who has no interest in you other than as a member of the crew. At first, she had been piqued. Tarrant and Vila had both made their appreciation of her cool beauty obvious. Avon had appraised her in quite a different way. Clinical, calculating, cold. Until Bane. Now, she is not so sure. She admits to herself that she needs the companionship of someone who could be her equal. Avon's solicitude since her beating on Bane had led her to hope that this enigmatic, supremely private man she admired so much, could perhaps feel something more for her. Now, having witnessed his obvious attraction to Tia, she feels an unexpected and violent surge of jealousy....

Opening the bathroom door, she catches sight of herself in the large mirror over the bath. It is a shock to be reminded how different she looks now, after the attack on Bane.

You're a fool... why would he want you, now, even if he did before?

She reminds herself of Dayna's assurances that she will look almost her old self, once the swelling has gone and the bruises disappear. A matter of days, perhaps, and she will not need to feel so self-conscious. She turns on the taps, letting the water fill the deep bath. She carefully removes her clothing, wrapping herself in one of the large towels from a pile on the shelf by the door. As the bath fills, the steam clouds the room, misting over her reflection in the mirror, hiding the damage and presenting a blurred image of a beautiful woman to her gaze. She feels the strangeness of self-pitying tears slowly trace their way down her face.

What is happening to me? I'm alive... that should be enough!

She tests the water and drops the towel to the floor. She steps gratefully into the water's warmth and relaxes as the heat eases the pain from her body.

The worst of it is past, now, of course. When Avon had brought her back from Bane she had several broken ribs, a broken wrist and concussion. That, on top of many separate bruises all over her body. The guide had been like a madman, lashing out repeatedly in his religious fervour. She shivers, reliving the nightmare. The regeneration pads had soon dealt with the broken bones. She still has occasional headaches and cannot yet recall with any clarity the full sequence of events. Maybe she never will...

She closes her eyes and leans her head back against the edge of the bath. She remembers the feel of his strong arms holding her protectively against him when they teleported from Bane...

* * * * *

Tarrant follows Avon and Tia along another corridor in the maze of identical looking avenues from the main hall.

"Here you are." Tia opens the door to allow Tarrant to enter.

"Thank you."

Avon says nothing. Tia links her arm in his and draws him with her down the corridor.

As Tarrant closes the door, he is grateful to be alone. Soolin has been too quiet and withdrawn. There is more to it, he feels certain, that the events on Bane, however appalling they must have been for her. It hasn't been easy being around Avon, either, these last few days. At least there seems to be a lessening of the strained atmosphere between him and Vila. Hardly surprising, since Avon had put himself in grave danger on his behalf, and had suffered severely. Was still suffering, though he wouldn't admit it.

Investigating the quarters, he discovers a small but adequate bathroom adjoining the large room which functions as both bedroom and living area. There is a desk and chair in front of the window, and a low sofa against the wall. The bed is large and comfortable.

With just over two hours before the reception, he decides to rest awhile. Kicking off his boots, he lies back, clasping his hands behind his head, and closes his eyes.

* * * * *

Avon, finally alone in the familiar bedroom, is glad to drop the pretence at last and give in to the weariness he feels. Tia had been reluctant to leave him, overflowing with questions and news, and had tried not to show how hurt she was at his dismissal. He didn't want to alienate her, but was desperate not to reveal his physical state. He didn't want anything to interfere with the main reason for coming to Stylos. The interplanetary alliance.

There has been so much to organise for this visit, that he has not given much thought to the events on Bane. Now, as he lies on the bed, images flood into his mind. Nightmare images. Self-recriminations. Although he tries to push them aside, in favour of concentrating on the matter in hand, tonight's reception, and the audience with Theor, they keep intruding. A constant series of flashbacks which chase one another round in circles just at the edge of his concentration. Pain, the sound of the lash as it reaches for his back, pain, falling, blackness, pain, hands tied to a cold stone pillar, the blue-white flame coursing towards him, pain, smoke, heat, pain, the flames reaching for him.......... searing pain...

Giving up the unequal struggle, he decides to work his way through them in the hope of laying them to rest, finally.

After all, I'm still here... and I have work to do.

* * * * *

The reception is a fairly small affair, solely for Theor's household and the guests from Scorpio. About fifty people are in attendance. The meal is generous without being lavish. Since Avon has no idea what is placed in front of him, he eats sparingly. Tia sits beside him, alight with a secret happiness. Occasionally, Theor's glance falls on his daughter and the dark, taciturn stranger who seems to have completely captivated her.

Tarrant and Soolin sit together on the opposite side of the table. She is aloof, even with Tarrant. Building a wall of polite indifference to mask her pain, she responds only when spoken to. Partly because she is nervous to be seen by strangers at present, and would have preferred to have stayed in her room, and partly because she feels keenly the rejection of the man opposite. Not that she blames Avon. He is, she hopes, entirely unaware of the devastation he has wrought in her...

* * * * *

When Tia reported to Avon earlier that evening that Soolin would not be joining them, he went at once to see her....

Soolin sat on the bed, staring into space. There was a knock at the door. She guessed who was there. Her immediate impulse was to ignore him.

"Soolin?"

His voice. She got up slowly and walked over to open the door. He stood in the corridor, waiting for her to invite him to enter. She stepped back without a word, turning and resuming her seat on the bed.

Avon slowly walked into the room, closed the door and crossed the floor to stand by the window with his back to her. Very quietly, he stated, "Soolin, if you really do not want to join us, I understand."

"I'm not ready." She stood up and turned her back to him.
He walked over and put his hands on her shoulders. Turning her back to face him, he held her gaze steadily. "You are still beautiful, Soolin."

"Don't... " Her head drooped. She was unwilling to let him look at her face. Her damaged face...

The last thing I want from you.... is pity!

"And people will naturally stare at strangers to this planet, whether they are beautiful, like you, or whether they just look different, like me."

She took a deep, dragging breath. Somehow, his compassion had more effect on her than any attempt at persuasion. He displayed such understanding of her fears. She wished this side of him were more often to the fore, and with the entire crew. Life aboard would certainly be more enjoyable. And he had asked her to come to watch his back...

Without looking up, she answered him. "All right. I'll come."

But just because you ask it of me...

"I'm glad."

He paused to kiss her cheek, lightly, before striding from the room.

As the door closed behind him, she lifted her hand to her cheek where his lips had lightly brushed her skin. She could feel her control slipping and she walked unsteadily to the bed, sitting down quickly as her knees suddenly gave way. She knew now that he was all she wanted. All she needed. The vulnerability made her change her half formed, desperate plea into a solemn vow to herself...

I must never....never let him know...

Moments later she went into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face, to freshen up for the reception. A renewed coldness clouded her eyes. A grim set to her mouth. The hard wariness had returned. Avon had been allowed to get past her defences. She would see that it never happened again.

* * * * *

Avon is a little distracted during the meal, since he has many things he needs to discuss with Theor, later that night. Tia senses his preoccupation and does not press him to join the conversation around him. She rests her hand lightly on his arm. He does not seem to notice. Or, if he does, he does not seem to mind.

He is trying to decide whether to inform Theor of the decision of the Council of Bane, when he feels Tia's gaze upon him and looks up straight into her eyes. Neither speaks, but some interchange takes place, some unspoken understanding, since she blushes slightly before lowering her gaze and smiling to herself.

He looks across at Soolin. Thankfully, Tarrant appears to be very solicitous of her and she appears to be bearing up well. He suspects the mental scars will last long after her body has healed. However, there are more pressing problems demanding his attention.

Theor rises to his feet, signalling the end of the meal. He leaves the great hall, followed by a number of his advisers.

"He will send for you soon, Avon." Tia answers his unspoken question.

He turns to her and smiles. "Then I suggest we go back to my rooms and wait for the summons."

* * * * *

Theor dismisses the servant girl with a wave and an indulgent smile. Turning to Avon, his expression becomes guarded.

"There is no guarantee that this alliance of yours will be able to stand up to the Federation."

Avon secretly acknowledges the truth of that statement, but he tries to project a more optimistic attitude.

"If everyone thought like that, no-one would ever resist them. I already have agreement from four planets to meet at our base. Zukan, from Betafarl, showed enthusiasm for an alliance on my last visit. I go there next. If you can persuade the Chieftains to attend, it would be a strong inducement to him to be present."

"I understand, Avon. But you must also understand. Many of our people feel that the Federation has a lot to offer. It is difficult to explain to those who have always known freedom what it is like to live under tyranny." Theor offers a glass of wine. Avon accepts graciously.

"How soon can you give me an answer?"

Theor considers for a moment. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "I will need at least three days to get them all here so that a decision can be taken."

Avon smiles. "Well then. It seems I am going to be able to take a brief holiday after all... "

* * * * *

Avon's quarters are furnished in a scaled down version of the splendour of Theor's own apartments. It is pleasant to have a room to himself, after the cramped confines of Scorpio. Whilst it is sometimes necessary for all of them to travel aboard, it is not the most comfortable of arrangements. Thankfully, after this brief visit to Stylos, there is only Betafarl left before returning to Xenon to prepare for the conference.

Avon lies on the bed with one arm supporting his head. His eyes are closed. He is fighting sleep, that bringer of nightmares. He hears a soft knock at the door.

"Avon?"

"Come in, Tia."

She enters the dimly lit room quickly and closes the door. She wears a softly draped, sleeveless, leaf green gown. She has brought a small blue bottle with her. "I am sure you are in pain from some recent injury. I have brought something to help you. Will you take off your shirt?"

Avon grimaces. "I'm fine, Tia. I just need rest."

"Avon, please, don't be difficult. I am trying to help you."

Avon sighs. "Very well."

Tia walks over to the side table and puts the bottle on it. She keeps her back to him as he carefully removes his shirt. He stands at the side of the bed, facing her. "Well?"

She turns round to look at him. She draws in a sharp breath at the sight of his ravaged body. She walks slowly round him, assessing the damage. Shaking her head, she blinks back the tears that threaten to spill onto her cheeks. "I don't understand... "

The lacerations and abrasions from the whip form a network of scars and half-healed wounds around his torso. His skin is marked where the heat of the flames raised blisters, now almost healed. The weals caused by the ropes around his wrists are dark and inflamed, taking longer to heal than he expected. Of course, he hasn't had a great deal of rest, or given them the proper treatment, despite Vila's protestations.

"How could anyone do such things?"

Avon smiles grimly. "It has been my experience that people are capable of anything."

She gathers her thoughts. "Lie down on your back." As he hesitates, she adds, "Please."

Loathe to allow any of the crew to fuss over him, fearing they would make capital out of it later, he has permitted Vila to perform only the most basic and vital treatment of his injuries. However, he has no such reservations with Tia. At least, not anymore...

* * * * *

On the night of his arrival, Tia had readily accepted his invitation to spend the time awaiting her father's summons with him in his rooms. They had sat quietly, at opposite sides of the low table, talking and sharing a carafe of the local wine. It had been nearly two hours until Theor sent for him, but it had passed too quickly for them both.

Over the last three days, Avon had suggested she accompany him on a tour of the public rooms of the huge estate, and she had been a knowledgeable and engaging guide. They had been hunting together, at her request. He had tried not to allow his discomfort to show, but his exhaustion was evident after a few hours, and they had returned to the city.

Earlier today, when they had returned from walking in the private gardens, he asked her to remain with him in his rooms. He couldn't explain to himself why he would take such a risk, or why he thought she would agree. But, as he looked into her lovely eyes, he suddenly knew what her response would be...

They had slowly appraised one another with a new intensity of interest. Hungry to imprint on their minds every detail. Walking slowly and almost warily around one another. Avon opened his arms wide and she closed the gap between them and gently embraced him. She fitted snugly beneath his chin as he held her close. Lifting her head to his, her lips parted with anticipation, she closed her eyes as his mouth came down on hers, softly. She trembled.

* * * * *

Smiling to himself at the pleasant memory, Avon settles himself on the bed. Tia takes the bottle of herbal balm and walks across to sit next to him. She pours a little of the liquid into the palm of her hand and spreads it evenly, using both hands to carefully work it into his skin. Its analgesic property is characterised by a pleasant tingling sensation as it begins to alleviate the painful effects of the abuse he has suffered by the lash and by fire.

He closes his eyes, breathing deeply. He submits to her expert ministrations, allowing her to smooth the liquid over his chest and down over his abdomen. The balm begins to penetrate, her hands working to relieve the pain and discomfort. Gradually, her gentle touch eases his stiffness and he feels himself relax....

* * * * *

Avon, Tarrant and Soolin are taking a meal together in Avon's rooms while they wait for the summons to appear before Theor and the assembled Chieftains. Avon is too preoccupied to notice Soolin's silence.

"Do you think he will be able to persuade the others?"

Avon leans back in his chair. He sips from his glass of wine. "I hope so, Tarrant. After the debacle on Bane we could do with strong support from Stylos."

There is a knock at the door.

"Here goes... "

Avon gets up and opens the door. A messenger steps into the room followed by an escort of four soldiers. Avon stands back to let them enter. Without warning, the soldiers raise their weapons and begin firing. Avon looks in disbelief as Tarrant and Soolin collapse to the floor. He feels the force of the blast as the nearest soldier trains his gun on him. He falls, lying motionless at the feet of the messenger.

* * * * *

Avon awakens bound hand and foot and lying on a cold floor. As his eyes adjust to the darkness, he can make out the shape of Tarrant lying similarly bound a little way off, and Soolin slumped against the wall, almost sitting up, but unconscious. Every muscle feels stiff with the cold which has seeped into his body from the stone. A wave of nausea washes over him, the after effects of the stun weapon.

Why? Why didn't they just kill us?

Suddenly, the door opens. A shaft of bright light blazes into Avon's eyes, momentarily blinding him. He finds himself looking at a pair of standard issue Federation Trooper boots, large, about six inches in front of his face.

* * * * *

"Father, we have to do something!"

Tia paces impatiently back and forth in Theor's chamber.

"You don't understand."

"You're absolutely right. I don't. These people came here in peace. They trusted us... "

"I have not betrayed them, Tia." His tone is stern.

She stops pacing and looks him in the eye.

"If you do nothing to rescue them from the Federation, you will have betrayed them as surely as if you had captured them and handed them over yourself."

Theor takes a deep breath. "We don't know who organised it."

"Does it matter? The point is, someone feels the Federation is the ally we need. They are not interested in getting a consensus of the chieftains. They are prepared to rule by subterfuge and force, much the same as the Federation. We cannot allow them to hand over these people."

Theor puts his hands on her shoulders. He loves his headstrong daughter dearly, and has been concerned to notice her growing attraction to the dark stranger with his message of a rebel alliance.

"There is nothing we can do to help. They are being held in the security complex at Jael until the Federation sends someone in authority to collect them."

Tia's desire to free Avon and his companions gives her courage.

"Father, I want your permission to attempt to rescue them."

"Out of the question, Tia!" He is shocked that she would risk such an enterprise.

"Olof will come with me. Others will help. Please, father."

"It's too dangerous."

She stands before him, determined.

"I will do it anyway, but I would prefer to have your permission."

He sighs. Wearily he nods his assent. She turns to leave.

"Tia... "

She stops and comes back to him. He gathers her into his embrace.

"Take care."

See bestows a dazzling smile on him. "Always, Father."

* * * * *

The three companions sit apart in the small cell. Soolin has said nothing since she came to and realised their situation. She does not meet Avon's gaze, just looks off into space, concentrating on some inner turmoil, he supposes. Tarrant raises his bracelet and tries to contact Scorpio.

"Dayna! This is Tarrant. Come in, please."

There is still no response. Tarrant has tried every few hours since he regained consciousness. He sighs with frustration. Avon looks over at him.

"I expect this complex is shielded by some sort of force field. We won't be able to contact the ship unless we can get outside its perimeter."

Avon sits with his head tilted back, resting against the wall. He has no way of telling, but he estimates they have been held for at least twenty-four hours, possibly nearer thirty-six. How long they were unconscious following their capture, he does not know. However, his internal clock tells him it is night, so it is probably the second day of their capture. He tries to get comfortable. Although his body is healing, he is still in some considerable pain. His allowance of pain killers, carefully concealed in the container in his pocket, has at last run out. He did not expect to be on Stylos for more than a few days.

* * * * *

Tarrant sleeps sitting upright in the far corner of the darkened cell. Soolin is lying curled up on the floor, looking intensely vulnerable. Avon suffers a twinge of remorse. His plan to build her confidence has gone totally awry. Now she has withdrawn even deeper into herself. He cannot recall her speaking since the dinner with Theor. If they get out of this alive, he hopes she will forgive him for bringing her here.

An unfamiliar sound breaks into his consciousness. He tries to concentrate on it. It is repeated. The sound of stealthy footsteps. That's it!

He carefully wakes Tarrant, motioning him to silence. Lightly placing his hand on Soolin's shoulder, he shakes her, gently. She wakes with a start. He immediately clamps his hand over her mouth to silence any outcry. She struggles for a moment before she realises where she is, then subsides, drawing away from him as he releases her. They get wearily to their feet and stand away from the door.

The door opens and a figure is silhouetted against the light. As the person steps warily into the room, Avon recognises Tia.

"Avon?" The whisper is loud in the silent cell.

He steps forward and pulls her into the room. "Tia! What are you doing?"

"We're getting you out. Follow me, quickly!"

Avon, Tarrant and Soolin file along the corridor and into a large reception area, deserted at this time of night except for one security guard. He appears to be sleeping slumped forward in his chair, but the telltale red trail on the floor announces his fate.

They leave the building and zigzag across the courtyard towards the high electrified fence. A small section has been disabled, and two of Tia's companions stand ready to help them through it. One by one, Tia, Avon, Tarrant and Soolin negotiate the aperture carefully and disappear across the scrub land into the nearby forest. As soon as they are clear, Olof sets off across the intervening land to join them.

Suddenly, the floodlights blaze forth and the sirens begin wailing. Troopers begin scouring the compound. Tia and Olof hurry their charges forward, into the dense cover of the trees, not stopping to help their comrades.

* * * * *

Weaponless and almost exhausted, the fugitives make their way towards the high mountain ridge which forms a circle around the crater of the extinct volcano, one of several in this chain of mountains. The security complex is the only building in the crater. Forest covers the lower slopes, leading up from the lush valley of Jael in the bottom of the crater. Above the treeline, the upper slopes are covered with treacherous screes and almost vertical narrow passes suitable only for the nimble, long-haired goats that thrive in the rarefied air. Unable to teleport back to Scorpio until they get beyond the perimeter of the security force field, they struggle to keep ahead of their pursuers.

They are being led to the perimeter by Tia. Of the four rebel sympathisers who managed to get them out of the security complex, two were discovered in the compound and had to be left. They would fight, rather than surrender. Tia and Olof set their faces grimly to the task in hand with no time to grieve over the loss of their friends.

It is difficult forcing a path through the trees, and heavy going underfoot. The only consolation being that it must be just as difficult for the troopers, now about half an hour behind them. Soon the semi-dark of the Stylos night, brightly lit by three huge moons, will give way to the glaring sunlight of morning.

* * * * *

Long hours later they finally reach the furthest extent of the tree line. It has been a painful struggle for Avon. He drops to the ground next to the bole of a massive tree. Weakly, he lies gasping for breath. His face is grey with pain. Soolin falls to her knees beside him. She shows no emotion as she tries to steady her breathing. Avon looks at her from under his lashes. Something has changed. Since they arrived on Stylos. No, she was not like this at first. Since the reception. Something cold and unreachable about her. There isn't time to worry about it now. He makes a mental note to keep a close eye on her if they survive this.

Olof keeps his attention directed to their rear. Tia scouts ahead, searching for the familiar trail. Tarrant hunkers down with his back to a tree, eyes closed with weariness.

To reach the force field perimeter they have to scale the ridge, which rises almost vertically, like a wall in their path. The troopers are gaining on them. They are perhaps twenty minutes or so behind them.

"How much further?" Tarrant is breathless from the headlong flight. He wonders how Avon is keeping up the punishing pace.

Tia scans the ridge intently, seeking the way up. She points towards a notch in the otherwise unbroken line of rock. "There." It is about half a mile away in a straight line, but the pass winds sharply avoiding the fissures and the screes. "That is the pass we must take. But first we must rest."

"There isn't time, Tia." Avon is concerned that their pursuers are gaining. He pushes himself into a sitting position.

She turns to face him. Her eyes light up with that special fire she reserves for him. She would like to be able to offer some hope. She knows their chance is a slim one. "Once out of these trees, we will be exposed to their firepower. We have to scale the ridge in one go, or we may never make it."

"If they catch up to us while we are here, we will never make it."

She nods in acknowledgement. "They won't have a clear shot until they are out of the trees. Perhaps we can put enough distance between us by then to be beyond the range of their weapons."

Olof indicates that he wants to speak to her alone. She frowns, but steps to one side. He whispers a few words. She nods. Turning to check that the others are ready, she encourages, "Let's go." She starts to walk quickly out of the trees and up the narrow file among the strewn rocks from previous landslides. "Watch your step."

Avon, Tarrant and Soolin fall in behind her. Olof backtracks their trail through the trees. As the light gains in strength, he hopes they are using tracking rather than trying to outrun them to the trail. He will cover their tracks and set a new trail for the troopers to follow. There is a chance it will work.

* * * * *

They are about two hundred yards below the top of the ridge, almost at the perimeter, on an incline that makes Avon's head swim. Suddenly, an explosion erupts above them. It is a rocket fired by the troopers. Although it misses them, it starts a landslide that sweeps from the mountainside everything in its path. There is no time for a warning.

Avon dives for cover behind a large boulder about five feet behind him. Hitting the rocky ground with a skidding impact, and having no chance to roll to absorb the force, he is winded for a split second before instinctively drawing himself into a tight defensive ball. The air is full of flying debris and dust. A sound like solid thunder rushes past them, spinning boulders and rocks dizzily careening down the slope. As suddenly as it began, silence falls once more. His ears are ringing from the sound of the avalanche. When he lifts his head, he sees Soolin sitting up nursing her left leg. The sharp sliver of flying rock which caught her, as she landed on her back in a shallow depression next to the cliff wall, has torn a jagged wound about four inches long on the outside of her thigh. It is bleeding steadily, though not profusely.

"Are you all right?" The dust makes his voice hoarse.

She nods, applying pressure to the wound. She does not look at him, fearing to meet his gaze.

Tarrant slowly gets to his knees. "That was too close."

Avon looks around for Tia. At first he cannot see her and fears she has been dragged from the mountain by the flying rocks. Then, he sees her booted foot, just visible from behind a huge boulder. It blocks most of the path. He struggles to his feet and hurries over to investigate. She is lying unmoving. She opens her eyes. He feels weak with relief as he realises she is alive.

"Tia!" He stands over her, shaking from exhaustion and the aftermath of adrenalin.

"I'm all right. It's just my leg... It's stuck." She smiles awkwardly up at him.

Avon drags his gaze away from her face with its haunting eyes and looks down her body. At first sight, she is lying comfortably next to the large boulder. Her arms and left leg appear uninjured. But her right leg... The entire weight of the boulder pins her helpless. It would take more strength than they have between them to lift it. She is trapped. Avon realises he can do nothing... nothing to help her.

He tries to think of some way to overcome this dreadful situation. Tarrant helps Soolin to her feet and supports her as they walk towards Avon and Tia. Avon turns to face them, his expression unreadable and implacable.

"Tarrant, you and Soolin go on ahead, up the pass. Get to the ridge. Get back to Scorpio."

As they hesitate, he grabs hold of Tarrant's arm and pushes him firmly away.

"Do it, Tarrant! Go, now!"

His urgency communicates itself to Tarrant. He grabs Soolin's hand and pulls her after him up the pass. She looks back at Tia, trying to decide what to do. She pulls her hand free of his grasp.

He turns to her abruptly. "Soolin, we have to get back to Scorpio. Avon will help Tia. Come on."

She glares at him before turning her gaze once more to the scene behind them. Avon is completely absorbed with Tia, sparing no word of farewell or even a brief glance for Soolin. She swallows hard. Determined to remember her vow, she turns and follows Tarrant as he makes his steady pace up the difficult path.

* * * * *

Avon kneels by Tia's side. His face mirrors his uncertainty. Time is pressing. If he stays with her, they will both be captured and probably killed. Eventually. When the Federation is finished with them.

"Avon, save yourself. The cause needs you."

He knows it is pointless for them both to die. There is no way he can free her. And no way he can leave her here.

I will not, I cannot, lose another this way.

He knows the suffering she would undergo at the hands of the Federation Interrogators. He can't face leaving her to that fate. He tries to smile.

"I won't leave you."

Tia is horrified. "Avon! If you are taken, the attempt to unite the leaders of our planetary system will fail. You must go!"

He shakes his head in despair. Tia grabs his jacket and pulls him towards her until their faces are only inches apart. She looks into his eyes for a long moment. Seeing the pain there. The physical pain, which he refuses to acknowledge, and another, deeper pain. Knowing that what she is about to ask will cause him even greater anguish.

"You must save yourself, and me."

Avon searches her face, hoping for some sign that he has misunderstood. "How... ?"

With absolute determination she tells him, bluntly. Half order, half desperate plea, "Kill me. Quickly."

Avon cannot find the words. Every fibre of his being screams his denial. His face betrays his horror at her request.

"You must." Her soft voice tears at him.

Avon looks away. How can he bring himself to do as she asks?

"I can't."

"You can't let them take me alive! You know what they will do to me. I know too much about you..."

He knows she speaks the truth. As she had ministered to him, caring for his abused body, he had relaxed and told her about the base. He asked her to come with him when he left. Tia seemed eager to join him. And now...

Now she cannot come... and I cannot risk her telling them...

Avon can see movement in the trees below. Troopers. They are too close. There is no way to attempt to free her. And even if he could, with her leg crushed she would be unable to walk. They cannot escape if he has to carry her...

There's no time...

He looks back at her lovely face, drawn with pain. Her eyes plead with him. Her breath is coming fast and shallow.

"Avon, help me. Make it quick..."

He feels his throat go dry and he swallows hard. He can't do it. He has no weapon. The thought of having to take her life with his bare hands is too much. His abhorrence communicates itself forcefully to her. Almost as if she has read his mind, in a calm but firm voice she offers the solution.

"There's a blade in my left boot. Take it."

Silently he reaches down and slides the slim blade from its sheath. Silver, unblemished, it reflects the full sun like a mirror. He stares at it. It fits neatly into his hand.

I can't do this, Tia...

Looking into her eyes, he falters.

"Do it!" The urgency in her voice gets through to him.

"Tia, I..."

She puts her fingers to his lips, silencing him.

"There's no time! Finish it. Save yourself. Please ."

He lies down over her, putting his left arm beneath her body, holding her close to him as he turns the blade in his right hand. He places the cold metal point against her skin, carefully positioning it between her ribs. She closes her eyes, waiting, trusting. His mouth finds hers in a last desperate kiss filled with longing and regret.

Forgive me, Tia...

Swiftly he buries the blade hilt deep in her heart. He feels the jolt go through her body, her lips open in a soundless cry. He buries his face in her hair, strangling his own groan of anguish. He clings to her a moment longer as she falls limp in his embrace.

Tearing himself away from her, he dare not look back as he clambers blindly up the trail after the others.

* * * * *

Avon staggers to the level ground at the top of the ridge. At last he is beyond the force field perimeter. Lifting his communicator, he contacts Scorpio. "Dayna. Bring me up."

He turns to face his pursuers, daring them to take him down. Some of the troopers spot him silhouetted against the skyline. They lift their weapons to fire. He smiles grimly at them as the teleport effect takes him from their sight.

* * * * *

Avon materialises in the teleport bay. He is exhausted. The others look at him, concerned. Something in his manner makes them uneasy.

"Where's Tia?"

Avon looks up at Dayna, his face a bleak mask. He walks over to instruct Tarrant. "Get us out of here!" His voice is hoarse with suffering.

The others look at one another, puzzled. Soolin's eyes narrow as she confronts Avon. Incensed, both with frustration for her own weakness, and by her belief that he has abandoned Tia, her first words in several days are an accusation.

"You left her there, didn't you? You left that poor girl to the Federation... !"

"No!" Avon rounds on her, eyes blazing. He continues quietly, sadly, "They won't get her."

Dayna looks confused. "You mean she's dead? I didn't think she was that badly hurt. Just a trapped leg..."

Tarrant takes one look at Avon's expression and is sure he knows, but does not want to ask. Soolin has no such reservations. She has guessed at the 'help' Avon provided for Tia. She feels herself recoiling from him even though she still aches for him, despite her determination to feel nothing.

"You killed her!" She is horrified. She looks away from him in disgust. "She trusted you. Maybe even loved you... !"

Avon says nothing. Without looking at them, he crosses to his bunk and lies down.

Tarrant alone among them understands the necessity of preventing Tia from falling into Federation hands. Avon had told him Tia would be joining them, and that she knew about the base. When Avon is out of earshot, he turns to the others. "Don't you see? It's because he cared for her that he had to kill her."

Soolin, realising he must be suffering dreadfully following this last tragic loss, smothers her own feelings of despair. 'After all,' she rationalises, 'he didn't do anything to encourage me to need him. He didn't ask to be wanted. It is not his fault I'm hurting... '

"But that means... " Dayna begins.

"It means," she interrupts, "that I shouldn't have opened my big mouth. I'd better go and apologise." She gets to her feet.

Tarrant puts out his hand to stop her. "I wouldn't do it just yet, Soolin. I think he would rather be alone for a while."

* * * * *

Avon lies on his bunk, eyes focused on the events playing over and over in his mind. 'How many more?' he wonders. 'How many more have to die?'

He pictures Tia's face in her last moments, her eyes pleading with him to take her life. He feels again the warmth of her yielding body as he held her in his arms. He remembers the taste of her mouth. The shudder that racked them both as he drove the knife home. A cry of despair fills his mind as the reality of losing her crowds in on him.

'How many more do I have to kill?'

A small voice inside him gives the answer.

In the end, winning is the only safety...

* * * * *

Betafarl looms into view on the main screen. The planet's ruler, Zukan, was willing to listen to Avon's proposed alliance of the non-aligned planets when he visited, some months ago.

Now Avon watches impassively as they near their final destination before returning to base on Xenon. He is wary of hope. All he will allow himself is the possibility that Zukan will still feel sympathetic towards his proposal, and agree to join the conference in a few weeks time.

"Two hours before we establish orbit, Avon." Tarrant's voice betrays his weariness. He has been wrestling with a problem for the last few days. Ever since they left Stylos. Eventually, he will have to confront Avon about it. The difficulty is, Avon is too important to the alliance. Tarrant dare not deflect him now. They all need the security of strong allies, a buffer against the might of the Federation.

"Right. You and I will be going down together."

Tarrant's protest dies on his lips as Avon turns his dark eyes to meet his. He can read the steadfast determination there, the strength of purpose. One can almost describe it as fanaticism. That, and the paranoia he is beginning to display, are what Tarrant needs to discuss with him. Well, it is unlikely to be a discussion, more likely a heated argument. It is impossible to discuss anything with him these days. He smiles ruefully. It is impossible to get any comment from him at all that is not directly related to the plans for planetfall, or arrangements for the conference on Xenon. Avon has closed himself off even more than usual. Not even Vila can rouse him to a sarcastic response.

Tarrant has some sympathy with Avon, after the dreadful situation on Stylos. After all, Avon had, in a rare communicative moment, confided to him that he had asked Tia to return to Xenon with him. He had been taken aback. It was not that he didn't like Tia. She was a very pleasant young woman, pretty, lively. Life at Xenon would certainly have been improved if she had been able to join Avon there. No, it was the fact that Avon cared enough for someone to actively seek a way to prolong the relationship. An unknown, introduced at a critical stage in the relationships with all the crew. At least the former hostility between Vila and Avon has resolved. Actually, it had been, prior to Stylos.

Now, Avon is different again. Losing Tia...

Let's not be euphemistic here... having to kill Tia...

...will have consequences for Avon emotionally that may cause problems for the rest of them. Tarrant decides to keep a very close eye on him.

* * * * *

After many years of conflict with the nearest planets, Heeriol, Tarl, Lovus and Komm, Zukan now realises that the war for territory has to stop. The greatest force in the known systems is the Federation. It is completing its conquest. By fighting one another, they are all playing into the Federation's hands. They need to choose a plan of action in the face of this threat.

Avon's interplanetary alliance seems doomed to failure. Even if the planets unite, how can they stand against the Federation? An implacable enemy, could it not be turned into a powerful friend?

* * * * *

Avon holsters his weapon and enters the teleport area, selecting a bracelet from the rack. Tarrant waits for him as patiently as he can.

"We're meeting Zukan immediately we arrive. Stand by to bring us back up. We shouldn't be too long."

Soolin sits at the teleport controls. Her voice is devoid of inflection. "We'll be ready."

Vila leans back in the seat next to her, his feet up on the console.

"Take your time. What's the rush?"

Avon narrows his eyes, but declines to comment. "Put us down."

Soolin operates the teleport without a word. As they dematerialise, Vila sighs deeply. He had hoped to spark some vestige of the old Avon. Tarrant had explained to them, when Avon was out of earshot, that Tia had been trapped, and that Avon had been forced to kill her because she knew about the base. He hadn't divulged any more.

Vila knows that Avon would not have asked anyone to join them unless he was absolutely sure of their loyalty. He managed to get Soolin to fill in some details about the visit to Stylos. Very reluctantly. Harder than getting a stone to bleed. More so now than ever before.

Something has pushed you even further into your icy solitude...

Vila feels he will never understand women. Like them, of course, but understand them? Unlikely. However, he thinks he knows why Avon has retreated from him, from all of them.

She got through, didn't she? She really touched you, old friend.

Vila is aware that Avon's behaviour is a symptom of his deep inner distress, and does not take it personally. But he worries that it poses a risk both to himself and to the crew. Unstable and driven to bouts of severe depression, Avon's usually logical thought processes may not be as reliable as in the past. Vila knows Tarrant is also deeply worried about the situation. Well, there is nothing he can do about it until Avon returns.

He looks across at Soolin. Her face is healing well. The swelling has gone. One or two darker areas are all that remains of the bruising. And yet, something is different. It is the eyes. Soolin has lost that spark, that vitality that always shone from her lovely eyes. Now they are circled with dark smudges. The lustre is gone. One or two fine lines crease her brow.

She feels his scrutiny and looks up at him. "What are you staring at?" She is defensive. Angry.

Vila tries to reassure her, in his own clumsy way.

"You and Dayna are the only things worth looking at on this ship. Surely you wouldn't deprive me of that?"

Soolin is uncertain whether to take him seriously or not. She shrugs and looks away. He continues, "And since I am ordered to stay awake, I may as well enjoy myself."

He leans back in the seat, pretending to close his eyes, but surreptitiously watching her from under his lashes. He notices she looks up once or twice, still uncertain. Then, to his delight, she smiles to herself. A small, fleeting smile, but welcome. The first smile he has seen from her since Stylos. Satisfied, he decides he may as well have a short doze. He deserves it.

* * * * *

Avon and Tarrant materialise in a large office in the main research centre on Betafarl. Zukan and two of his military advisors stand waiting for them.

Zukan holds out his hand in greeting to Avon. "It has been a long time."

Avon smiles in acknowledgement. "Zukan. This is Tarrant."

"Tarrant. You are welcome."

Zukan walks over to a the conference table and prepares to sit. He indicates with a sweep of his arm that they should join him. Avon crosses to the table and sits next to Zukan. Tarrant and the advisors take their seats.

"What progress, Avon?" Zukan is as direct as ever. Avon smiles.

"Heeriol, Komm, Tarl and Lovus will all send representatives to attend the conference."

Zukan is surprised. "All four of them... they must be very worried indeed."

"Unfortunately, Stylos and Bane were... not enthusiastic."

Zukan smiles. "I didn't expect they would be. They have always kept very isolated. It would take a severe crisis to persuade them."

"You don't think that is exactly what we are facing?" Avon raises his eyebrows.

Zukan considers him for a moment before replying. "Avon, I am aware that the Federation will not keep away from this sector indefinitely. It is imperative that a united course of action be determined prior to their attempting to subjugate us. However, the constant skirmishes between the five planets in this part of the system drain our resources and leave us vulnerable."

"Which is precisely the reason why I am endeavouring to convene an interplanetary conference to get agreement for an alliance against the Federation."

"Patience, my friend. I have heard your arguments before, and they are as valid now. However, I cannot feel as optimistic as you that the others will attend, whatever assurances they may have given you."

"It will be enough, Zukan, if I leave here with your assurance." Avon holds Zukan's gaze steadily.

"Very well. I will give you my decision in two hours. In the meantime, perhaps you would enjoy a tour of our scientific research facility... ?"

Avon gets to his feet. "We would be honoured, wouldn't we Tarrant?"

Tarrant stands up stiffly and responds politely "Of course."

Zukan motions to one of the military advisors, who leads Avon and Tarrant to the door and out of the office. As the door slides shut behind them, he turns to his other advisor.

"Well?"

The tall, elderly man rises from his chair and walks over to the window. He contemplates the view for a moment.

"You were right. This alliance has little chance. I suggest you accept the Federation's offer."

"Perhaps. How long before she is due to arrive?"

"Approximately five hours from now."

* * * * *

The laboratories are extensive. Tarrant has trailed along in Avon's wake for the last forty minutes or so. Most of the equipment is recognisable to him, but the nature of the research is incomprehensible. He finds his mind wandering.

"... aren't we, Tarrant?" Avon's voice interrupts his thoughts.

"What? Oh yes. Of course."

Tarrant smiles blandly at the man leading their party. He tries to concentrate. They leave the laboratory and enter the corridor. Following the other two, Tarrant checks his chronometer to see how long they still have to wait for Zukan's decision.

Over an hour... I hope we don't have to spend it all here... !

A door opens ahead of them and a technician in a white smock hurries into their path, head down, scrutinising a sheaf of papers, and paying no attention to them. A collision is almost inevitable. Avon and the guide manage to sidestep quickly out of the way, but Tarrant, paying as little attention to what is going on as the technician, does not react in time. As the two collide, the sheaf of papers drop haphazardly to the floor
in a flurry around their feet. They both drop to their knees on the floor and begin gathering the sheets together.

"I'm sorry..." They speak at exactly the same time.

Looking up, his gaze locks with hers. He feels a moment of surprise. This beautiful face does not belong is such a sterile environment. He almost stops breathing as he takes in every detail of her lovely expression. Her smile is
does not belong inovely expression. Her smile captivates him.

Avon strolls across and offers his hand to help her to her feet.

"Zeeona. How nice to see you again. This is Tarrant."

As she stands up, she smiles politely at Avon. "Hello, Avon."

Tarrant gets to his feet and holds out the gathered papers. She takes them from him.

"Thank you, Tarrant. Forgive me, but my father is waiting for these results. Please excuse me." She hesitates a moment before turning away and hurrying along the corridor.

Avon stands thoughtfully waiting for Tarrant to meet his gaze, knowing precisely what he will see. Tarrant is like any other young, virile, attractive male. He is easily interested in any personable female, available or not. Avon is prepared for Tarrant to be attracted to Zeeona. She is, after all, a lovely girl. Clever, too. A brilliant bio-chemist. Zukan has high hopes for her. Which is precisely why nothing must be allowed to interfere. Easy enough to remove Tarrant. However, he had not expected Zeeona to have been as thoroughly captivated by Tarrant as she appears to be.

That's all I need...
Avon and Tarrant follow their guide into the next laboratory. Neither has their mind focused on the conversation...

* * * * *

"I have decided. Betafarl will be represented at the conference. That is all I am prepared to say at present."

Avon gets to his feet. He holds out his hand to Zukan.

"That is all I ask. Thank you, Zukan."

They join hands.

"And now, I'm afraid, we shall have to be leaving... "

"So soon?" Zeeona's disappointment is palpable. Her father, unaware of the reason for it, ignores the comment.

Tarrant stands up. "Yes, Avon, do we have to go just yet?"

Avon smiles grimly. "Oh, yes. I'm afraid we do."

* * * * *

Avon and Tarrant materialise in Scorpio's teleport area. As Tarrant sets them on course for Xenon, they sit at their designated consoles lost in their private thoughts.

Tarrant spares a moment to call to mind the image of Zeeona's face. If they are to be allied with Betafarl, there will likely be many opportunities to see her again...

Dayna notices there is something preoccupying Tarrant, but there is no time to pry as they execute the evasive manoeuvres designed to throw off any pursuing Federation ships which may be tracking them from Betafarl. She is feeling a bit lonely these days. Soolin says very little to anyone, Avon just barks at her, Tarrant is too edgy, and Vila is a waste of time...

Vila is glad to be going back to the base. Glad to have Avon back aboard. He feels safer with him. Dayna is not very good company. But at least Soolin seems to be treating him with less disdain, lately. Actually, she is so quiet, it is hard to know what she is thinking. He worries about her. Almost as much as he worries about Avon...

Soolin lives in some private turmoil. Glad to have the others back safely, she has been dreading Avon's return to Scorpio. Being in close proximity with him is becoming a strain. She tries to stifle her feelings, but her traitorous heart keeps calling to mind every kind word, his warm smile, the feel of his arms around her, his kiss...

However hard she tries, she cannot deny to herself that she is in a lot of trouble. If he even suspected how she felt....

Avon reflects on the progress that has been made. Five planets, five out of seven. Better than he had hoped. Now, if he can get them to agree at the conference....

If only it were all over. Then he could relax. Rest. Give his body a chance to heal. Turn his mind away from his own nightmares and regrets and try to sort out some of the crew's problems. Tarrant has been building up to a major confrontation. He doesn't know how he has been able to contain himself up till now. Dayna is looking a bit lost, lately. Vila gives him a worried look from time to time, but he knows it is just concern for him.

Well, he can put his mind at rest. I'll take the painkillers.... soon.

As for Soolin... he is not sure what to do for her. She hardly speaks, avoids looking at him. He can't understand it. Her face is almost healed. Her beauty, unimpaired. He decides to speak to her privately, once they get back to Xenon...

* * * * *

Soolin lies on the bed, too troubled to sleep. She is trying to decide whether to stay at Xenon, or whether she should leave.

There is a knock at the door.

"Who is it?"

"Soolin, it's Avon."

She hesitates.

"Well? Aren't you going to open the door?"

She swings her legs over the side of the bed and walks across to operate the door control. As the door slides open, she steps back to allow Avon to enter. He walks into the room and waits for the door to close behind him before speaking. He looks her up and down. She seems fully healed, now.

"We need to talk."

She meets his gaze steadily. An improvement, he thinks. He continues, quietly, his voice warm and persuasive.

"Soolin, I know there is something troubling you. I have known for some time.... since Stylos, I think, wouldn't you say?"

"It's not important." She begins to turn away from him.

He puts his hand on her arm to prevent her. She catches her breath. He frowns. For the first time, he is struck by the thought that he could be wrong about what is worrying her. Perhaps it is not the lack of confidence arising from her experience on Bane after all.

"Soolin... ?"

She stands immobile. Her heart pounds in her chest.

I will not fail now.... I will not let him see....

He puts his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him squarely. He reads determination in her eyes. And something else..... Fear?

"Tell me, please."

She can feel her resolve wavering. She trembles beneath his touch. She closes her eyes, knowing that she cannot look at him and guard her secret feelings from his scrutiny.

Slowly he steps towards her, pulling her close against his chest, and wrapping his arms about her. In desperation, she raises her

S


"You are among friends, Soolin. This is your home. Won't you let me help you?"

He looks down at her. Reluctantly she lifts her gaze to meet his. He reads the truth in her eyes. It is completely unexpected. He looks away, confused. When he looks back, her eyes are closed, but her lashes are wet with tears that spill onto her cheeks.

"I'm sorry. I didn't have any idea... " He kisses the top of her head.

She gasps, fighting for self-control. Part of her wants to stay here in his arms forever. Part of her wants to run as fast and as far as she can. The struggle pins her helpless, unmoving. He releases her, finally, and steps away from her.

"I think.... I will go away... " She does not look at him.

"No. This is your home. You belong with us. We need you. I need you."

"To watch your back... " she suggests, bitterly.

Avon realises he is not handling this very well. He crosses to her and takes her firmly in his arms, bringing his mouth down hard on hers. She wants to struggle, to break free from him, but feels her body betraying her as she melts into his embrace.

Finally, he takes his mouth from hers.

"Soolin, you know the sort of man I am. I can't love you. It isn't you. I don't have it in me anymore. I've lost too many people I cared about."

"Then don't love me. Don't care for me. Just give me... "

"What?"

"... this..."

She reaches her arms around his neck and draws his mouth down to hers, hungrily.

* * * * *

"Does this mean you'll stay?"

Soolin gets off the bed and walks over to the wardrobe. She removes a dark blue robe and wraps it around herself, covering her nakedness.

"That depends... "

Avon raises his eyebrows.

"On what, exactly?"

'On whether you promise never to mention this to anybody... "

"I promise."

"And, whether you feel we can behave around each other like nothing has happened... "

"I shall be my usual self."

"I was afraid of that!"

He is affronted. "I'm not that bad... "

She shakes her head. "Sometimes, I could shoot you."

He sighs, contentedly. "Sounds more like the Soolin I know and respect."

"Very well, I'll stay. This never happened. On one condition... "

"Oh?"

She crosses to the bed and sits next to him. Tracing the healing lacerations on his body with her fingertip, she grimaces.

"Get to the medical unit and let the regeneration machine sort this out."

Avon is about to make some sarcastic retort when he catches the real concern in her face. He sighs. "All right. I'll go. Satisfied?"

She flashes a brilliant smile which lights up her beautiful face.

"Completely."

Oh yes.... completely.

* * * * *


THE END


This is one of a series of short stories based on the television series Blakes 7 and originally published in Horizon (the Blakes 7 fan club magazine). See also The Immortal Game in this blog.