Del 10 (Stiletto 2)

   Avon stalked the corridors of Stiletto, a lean black figure in his appropriated Federation uniform. If he had paused in his single-minded progress, he might have noticed the slight woman flitting in his wake. When he entered the control room she slipped unobserved to one side past him.
   Dayna was standing behind Tarrant, talking to the pilot. She glanced up at Avon's entrance, drawing Tarrant's attention. Avon ignored them, as he ignored Vila's welcoming grin, Soolin's appraisal and the curious stare of the woman who'd followed him. Avon had eyes only for the one person who had yet to notice him.
   The sudden silence caused by Avon's arrival finally registered on the man intent on the instrument panel before him. The broad shoulders lifted, he turned in his seat. “I've told you, Kerr," Blake said firmly, “not to come to the flight deck."
   "Who died and left you God, Blake?" Avon sneered. "I have as much right to be on Stiletto's flight deck as you."
   "Avon? Why you old…" Blake strode to Avon's side and would have embraced him, but for Avon's swift evasion.
   "Enough sentiment, Blake. What implausible scheme for overthrowing the Federation have you dragged me into this time?"
   While the two men argued, Vila approached the woman who'd trailed Avon. "It may have been a mistake bringing Avon back, Pavra. I liked him better with the mind of a child."
   Pavra smiled, crinkling the corners of her slanted amber-gold eyes. "We'll all miss Kerr. Especially Blake. After all, a man's first son is special."
   Despite her light-hearted words, Pavra was uneasy. After the debacle on Gauda Prime, where Avon was nearly driven mad by a combination of guilt over killing Blake's clone and Servalan's drug- aided tortures, Pavra had developed strong feelings for him. Leaving Gauda Prime's underground aboard the Stiletto,   stolen from Servalan, Pavra's skill as a hypnotist had saved Avon's sanity by regressing him to the child Kerr until the drug's effects ended. Frightened and lonely, Kerr had adopted her and Blake as parents. Now that Avon had reverted to normal he had forgotten Kerr, but the protective instincts Kerr's dependency had awakened in Pavra were still active; active, and warning her that something was wrong. Avon moved too abruptly, in a barely checked tension. His flinch from Blake seemed to Pavra more than an undemonstrative man's dislike for the seeming weakness of intimacy.
   Blake was talking to Avon with self-assurance, confident that he could rely on Avon's assistance. "We need a teleport. Also, the modifications you had on Scorpio's engines. Stiletto already has a fair weaponry system for her size, but she needs legs as well."
   Avon stiffened. "Why? Are you going to continue buzzing around the Federation's flanks? In Liberator, you could avoid being swatted, but this ship is merely a pretty toy."
   "We must keep up the fight."
   Avon tilted his head, meeting Blake's serious eyes with insolence. "Again I ask, why? The people you want to liberate are sheep, sheared and slaughtered without a bleat of complaint. Let the Federation herd them. You can't win, you know. Everything you've done has been futile. Even the destruction of Star One and over eighty per cent of their space fleet was no more than a temporary setback to them."
   "It may not be obvious to you, Avon, but the Federation is weakening. More rebel groups form every day."
   "No matter how large the flock, they remain sheep." Avon glanced around the control room, appealing to the others. "Do you prefer to die nobly at our fearless leader's side, or would you rather sell this very expensive ship, split the profits, and live to enjoy them?"
   "He has a point, Blake," Vila said. "We've been on the run a long time. Couldn't we at least go on holiday?"
   Avon broke in harshly. "I don't want a week off to sun by the poolside. I want out. I'm tired of being Fugitive Number Two on the Most Wanted List. Drop me on the nearest Outer Planet. Keep the ship and continue playing toy soldiers if you must. But, if by some miracle you succeed, don't expect my congratulations. You'll only be exchanging one tyrant for another." He glared at Blake.
   "You don't mean that, Avon," Blake spoke softly.
   "Every word."
   "Avon." Blake laid his hand on the smaller man's shoulder.
   "Don't touch me!" Avon slipped out of Blake's grasp, then he lifted his lip in a silent snarl and lunged at the burly rebel in a blind rage.
   Taken by surprise, Blake found himself on the deck with Avon continuing to pummel him. Tarrant leaped to Blake's aid, pulling the struggling, cursing computer tech off him.
   "Hold him," Blake panted. He swiped the back of his hand across his split lip and stared at the blood.
   "Why didn't you die, Blake?" Avon raved, twisting in Tarrant's grip. "What good's a hero who doesn't know when to die?"
   Blake rose from the deck, his face set and hard. He struck Avon squarely on the chin.
   Tarrant staggered back, letting Avon's limp form slide to the deck. "Was that necessary?" He rubbed his own jaw, where Avon's skull had impacted.
   Blake stared at Avon. "I don't know. I've never seen Avon like that."
   "Too much stress, Blake." Vila said. "He never did want to be a rebel leader, you know."
   "He could have quit after Star One. He could have done as he liked; he had Liberator ." Blake said slowly.
   "He thought you were dead. He was carrying on the fight in your name. Avon has his own peculiar sense of honor." Vila looked at Blake. "And you always knew how to play on that, didn't you? What did you say to him, on Liberator, at Star One?"
   Blake didn't answer. He motioned Tarrant to help him with Avon. "We'll talk when tempers have cooled." The three departed in the direction of Avon's cabin.
   "Somehow I doubt that Avon's going to cool down." Vila frowned.
   Soolin said, "He's just recovered from Servalan's treatment. Maybe he'll see things in a different light later."
   Dayna shook her head. "I don't know. Avon's awfully obstinate." She moved, taking over Blake's position on the instruments. "Nothing on the scanners. At least we'll have a chance to catch our breath and think."
   Vila sighed. "I'd like a chance to catch my breath and not think."
   "Not much of a change for you," Dayna said.
   "Laugh at me, that's right. Just ask Orac, he'll tell you I need a holiday. Space Fatigue, it's a well-known ailment of us over-worked space travelers."
   "Is Orac an expert on Space Fatigue?" Pavra said, hoping for an explanation of Avon's behavior.
   * Of course, I am. * Orac sounded annoyed at the implied doubt of his knowledge. * I have assimilated all the relevant material with an especial emphasis on Space Psychosis . *
   "What's your diagnosis, then, Doctor Orac?" Vila asked.
   * Signs of stress are apparent in nearly the entire crew, to varying degrees of severity. *
   "And Avon?" Pavra pressed for details.
   * He is evidencing the classic physical and mental symptoms of Space Psychosis. *
   "Recommended treatment?" Blake asked. He and Tarrant had entered the control room in time to hear Orac's final statement. "Avon's come round," Blake said. When Pavra stirred, he stopped her. "He's in no mood for company."
   Orac said, * An extended period of recreation in a non-hostile environment would be advisable. *
   Vila grinned. "A perfect description of Del 10- the galaxy's biggest source of atmospheric Beta Particles. It's also a close runner-up in all my favorite categories of semi-legal pleasures."
   "Semi-legal?" Blake asked.
   "Wouldn't be as much fun otherwise."
   * The so-called ‘paradise planet' Del 10, would appear to be adequate for this purpose, * Orac admitted. * However, I have no information on the effects of concentrated Beta Particles on humans suffering from Space
   "They're supposed to be very good for your libido," Vila said.
   "Probably make your hair fall out as well," Tarrant said with a grin.
   "Not funny." Vila's hand went to his head. "But, it might be worth it. I've heard stories about the women on Del 10…"
   Soolin added, "I've heard similar stories about the men."
   "Let's put it to a vote, Blake," Vila urged. "All in favor of a holiday on Del 10, say 'Aye'." His affirmative vote was echoed by the others.
   Blake laughed. "Why not - it's a neutral planet, remote from Federation interests. Probably the last place they'll think to look for us. Orac, how long will it take to reach Del 10?"
   * At Stiletto' s optimum cruising speed- five days, nine hours and twenty-two minutes. *

   Two days later, Avon still had not emerged from his cabin. He refused to talk to Blake, greeting the news about the proposed holiday with stony silence.
   Vila located several bottles of fine brandy and in the resulting mellow glow decided to share his good fortune. Cradling his treasures in the crook of one arm, he knocked on Avon's door, softly at first. "I've got a present for you, Avon. C'mon, fella tries to be nice to you, least you c'n op'n th' door." He began kicking the panel.
   The door slid open. Avon said, "You're drunk. Go away, Vila." He turned aside, but did not shut the door.
   Vila swayed inside. If Avon thought he was falling down drunk, Vila was willing to play the part. "I drink to make other people interestin'. You know what a dull bunch this is. B'lievin' in Truth an' Justice an' all that. Have a drink, do you a world o' good."
   "No." Avon sat on the edge of his unmade bed. Vila noticed the constant fine tremor of the Alpha's hands. Avon asked abruptly, "Are you staying with Blake?"
   "Haven't decided yet."
   "He'll get us all killed, in the end. Maybe we can't leave, maybe we're the moths to his flame." Avon stared blankly ahead, his bitter tone disturbing Vila. "Maybe," Avon whispered, "maybe, if Blake were gone…"
   "Avon, what are you talking about?"
   Avon smiled. "Nothing, Vila." He stood, escorting Vila to the door. "Good-bye, Vila," he said as the door shut out the sight of Vila's puzzled face. "I have preparations to make. Yes, Blake, I must see that you have a memorable holiday."
   "Not at all polite." Vila said to the bottles. "Come, my friends. I know a quiet corner wherein we may commune."
   Moments after Vila's exit, Avon's door opened. Avon left his quarters silently, holding a small device concealed in his right hand. He tried several of the unoccupied cabins before he found one suited to his purpose. Leaving the main light off, he operated the device by the wan glow of the safety lights. "This is - a friend of Commissioner Sleer's. I must talk with her." He cut off the inevitable protests of inaccessibility. "Tell her it's Avon with a proposal of mutual benefit. She'll talk to me."
   In a dim recess of the room, Vila huddled stiffly, his depleted bottle clutched to his chest. He listened wide-eyed, scarcely daring to breathe, as Avon arranged Blake's betrayal. It was long after Avon left before Vila unclenched his grip, letting the remaining rare brandy fall to the floor unheeded. Jumping at every shadow and creak of the ship's automated mechanisms, Vila made his way to the flight deck where Tarrant and Soolin had the watch.
   "Help," Vila said weakly, "I feel sick."
   Soolin took in the thief's condition; rumpled and flushed with a large liquor stain on his tunic. She turned back to her instrument panel. "I'm not surprised. Couldn't you wait until Del 10 to start your party?"
   "I was only a little cheerful and I'm stone cold sober now."
   Tarrant asked, "Then what's your problem?"
   "Avon's turned us in to the Federation. Got himself a pardon and a big reward. I shouldn't be surprised if he manages to collect the bounty on himself, too."
    "You're joking, I hope," Soolin said.
    Vila shook his head. "I wish. No, he really did it. I heard him."
   "The way he's been acting, Tarrant, I wouldn't put it past him," Soolin said.
   "Keep watch, Soolin." Tarrant rose. "Blake will have to hear this."
   Vila was grateful for Tarrant's company. In the low illumination of simulated ship's night it was easy to imagine a homicidal Avon lurking in one of Stiletto's alcoves or unused chambers.
   Awakened by Tarrant's signal at his cabin door, Blake came to full awareness at Vila's accusation. "Vila, are you certain you didn't imagine all this?"
   "I have a very disciplined imagination; I only dream about beautiful women… or money. Sometimes about wealthy beautiful women."
   "The internal surveillance monitors," Blake asked Tarrant, " are they still operative?"
   "Yes," Tarrant said. "We'd have to rip the bulkheads apart to get at them. Might damage essential systems."
   "Then whatever Avon did is recorded."
   "But, Blake," Vila protested, "it was dark and he was whispering."
   "I'm sure the surveillance equipment is as efficient as the rest of Stiletto."

   Under the flight deck computer's enhancement, Avon's activities were glaringly obvious. Soolin and Tarrant watched the tape as closely as Blake, but Vila studied Blake instead. Blake's anger was as frightening to Vila as Avon's treachery had been.
   "Blake," Vila said, "Avon's not fully responsible for his actions. You heard Orac."
   "Yes. And I've heard Avon selling us out to Servalan. All of us, Vila, including you, in case you hadn't noticed."
   "He's scared, Blake. Haven't you ever been so frightened that you've done something stupid?"
   "I've never betrayed my friends, Vila. Neither have you, no matter how bad the situation, or how frightened you were."
   "I think with my legs in an emergency. Avon always has to attack."
   Tarrant muttered, "I'd expect you to be the last one to defend him. Didn't he try to murder you aboard the shuttle from Malodaar?"
   Vila shuddered, remembering. "He thought it was his life or mine. Now that we know about the trap, all we have to do is avoid it."
   "And harbor a traitor in our midst? How long will it be before he tries again?" Blake shook his head. "Everyone must see that tape, Vila. Tarrant, get Avon. Don't take any chances." He slipped a weapon loose from the rack beneath the surveillance console, handing it to the pilot. "I'd get him myself, but at moment, I'm not sure that would be a good idea." Blake usually kept his anger until tight control, but this betrayal hurt too much.

   After Tarrant reported that he had collared Avon in his quarters, Blake used the inter-ship communications to rouse the off-duty personnel and summon them to the flight deck. Blake's terse outline divided the crew into opposing camps. Vila and Pavra argued that Avon's mental condition should be taken into account, while Soolin and Dayna felt that the safety of the group was paramount.
   "If Avon's crazy, Vila, I wouldn't blame him for what he's done," Dayna said, "but we can't live with a crazy man. If he'll deal with Servalan, nothing's beyond him."
   "Drop him off then, like he asked, on some remote planet," Vila suggested.
   "I wouldn't trust him not to come after us," Blake said sourly. "Mad or not, he's still clever and resourceful. Death is the only thing that would stop him."
   "Flattery will get you nowhere, Blake." Avon stood in the open door to the main corridor, Tarrant at his back. "Am I too late for the trial?" He sneered at the circle of solemn faces.
   "Sit down, Avon. No verdict has been reached." Blake projected the surveillance tape on the main monitor. After the damning scene faded, he said, "His guilt is obvious. Now we are faced with a difficult decision."
   "Let me make it easier for you, Blake." Avon indicated Tarrant, standing with drawn weapon at his back. "Immediate execution is your most logical recourse. You were quite right. As long as I live, I'm a danger to you." Without warning, Avon leapt forward.
   "No, Tarrant!" Blake shouted as the pilot raised his gun.
   Tarrant thought of the damage a stray shot could cause on the flight deck and obeyed, thrusting his blaster back into its holster before following Avon.
   Avon moved swiftly, catching Soolin and Dayna off-guard and sweeping them into Tarrant's path. Vila scrambled aside, leaving only Pavra, sitting as if paralyzed, between Avon and his target. Blake braced himself, but at the last instant Avon veered, reaching the weapons stored beneath the surveillance monitor. "They'll get me. But too late for you." He grinned, tightening his finger on the trigger slowly. A slender hand slashed into his neck and Avon collapsed, gasping. Blake retrieved the gun.
   Pavra stood over Avon, rubbing the side of her hand. "I'm out of practice." She looked at Vila, who seemed shocked by her actions. "Well, I wasn't any good with a gun, so they tried to teach me unarmed combat techniques when I joined the resistance. I did learn a few tricks."
Blake dragged Avon to a chair and confined him to it with the acceleration harness. Avon's ragged breathing evened. He lifted his head with a visible effort. "Well, Blake, this time I'm waiting for you." His grin widened when Blake lifted the gun.
    "Wait, Blake," Soolin said. "I'd like to hear Avon's version of events first. One thing I've learned, you can't ask questions of a dead man."
   Avon laughed. "What possible difference could my motivation make? Blake wants my blood, let him have it and be done."
   "That's it, isn't it, "Soolin said, suddenly understanding. " You want to die and you want us to handle the messy details for you. This whole business was arranged. You knew Vila was listening."
   "Hard not to notice the aroma of Vila's cheap rotgut. So I knew he was there, that doesn't change a thing."
   "It might, "Blake said, "especially if you never intending fulfilling your bargain with Servalan."
   "Of course I did. I would have been rich and safe from Federation reprisal. I've never wanted anything else. Blake, you know that."
   Blake dropped the gun onto an instrument console. "Sorry, Avon, I don't believe you. Funny, you used to lie much better than that."
   "As Pavra said a moment ago, I must be out of practice. On the other hand, I could be lying now."
   "No." Blake turned to the rest of the crew. "Actually, with a few modifications, Avon's bargain with Servalan could work to our advantage."
   "I hope these modifications include not getting caught," Vila said.
   "That was fairly high on my list of priorities, yes. It shouldn't be too difficult. Del 10 is a neutral planet. Servalan won't be able to conscript local help. She'll just be another tourist."
   "A tourist with a squadron of guards," Tarrant said.
   "I don't think so. What Avon bargained for was so sensitive that she'll have to steal it. She won't want too many witnesses."
   "What is this super sensitive material anyway?" Dayna asked. "I didn't quite follow all the computer double talk Avon was giving Servalan."
   "Neither did I," Blake admitted. "While Soolin, Vila and I waited for the rest of you, I had Orac translate. He said that the computer codes Avon asked for would give him the power to input and erase information systemwide."
   "It was an amusing idea, but Blake, you'll never pull it off without me." Avon commented. "And I have officially tendered my resignation in the resistance."
   Blake crouched beside Avon, putting their eyes on an even level. "Would you care to change your mind?"
   "No. Your inspired leadership may convince these fools, but not me. I don't believe even your charm will persuade me in two days."
   "You may be surprised, Avon. I've learned to play dirty, too."

   Orac's lights blinked before Blake, who sat alone on the flight deck. He had sent Avon down to the medical unit under restraint. Blake wanted privacy to pursue an idea with Orac.
   * According to the manifest, Blake, the drug you require is in stock. *
   "Good. One last thing, Orac. Tell no one about this."

   "Avon." Blake stood over the examination table, gazing down at the immobilized computer expert. "I wish you hadn't forced my hand." He pulled Avon's collar down and injected him directly into the artery. "Get the codes and I'll give you the antidote."
   "Poison and blackmail." Avon gritted his teeth against a wave of pain. "Nothing's too good for an old friend…To hell with you, Blake, I'd rather die."
   "Oh, you won't die. This is a nerve poison. The pain you feel now is temporary as your body adjusts. It takes a few weeks to reach maximum effectiveness."
   "So, what will it do, blind me, deafen me? Your rhetoric will be wasted upon me then."
   "Actually, Avon, the opposite will happen to you. All your senses will be permanently sensitized. Imagine a floodlit room filled with screaming people, all pressing upon you, rasping your skin raw with every touch. And it will go on. I'll get you a nice, safe, padded cell for the rest of your life."
   "How can I be sure that you'll give me the antidote once you've got the codes?"
   Blake grinned. "I'll need your devious mind to use them properly, won't I?" Taking Avon's sullen silence for acquiescence, he released the restraints.
   Avon shrugged off Blake's steadying hand and rose to his feet. "I'll be in my cabin if you want to play any more games."

   Del 10 was a lovely world. Viewed from space the impressive mountains cast long shadows over the plains. Rivaling the natural scenery, the towers of the space port city would have been impossible on a planet with Terran normal gravity.
   The port authority greeted Stiletto with impersonal courtesy, assigning her a landing slot and advising her that a guest relations facilitator would meet them on arrival. Once assured of Stiletto's ability to pay their fees, the port had no further questions.
   "Trusting souls, aren't they?" Vila commented. "Didn't even ask who we are or where we come from."
   "Not too trusting, Vila." Tarrant indicated a regular pattern of blips on the screen. "You were listening when they mentioned their Peace Enforcer fleet, weren't you?"

   Vila watched the automated gantries and servicing machines approach Stiletto, surrounding her in a jungle of cables and hoses, with small, monkey-agile robots scampering about, polishing every available surface. "Good service," he approved.
   "Expensive service," Avon said shortly. His dark-circled eyes and hollow cheeks were evidence of the sleepless nights Blake's drug had given him.
   "Who cares? Servalan's paying for it." Vila grinned, remembering his pleased surprise upon cracking Stiletto's vault. "It was thoughtful of her to keep the restored Zerok gold so handy."

   "Visitors are requested to secure all personal armament." The guest relations facilitator, a polished and overly unctuous specimen named Halek, smiled constantly as he toured Stiletto . A small robot, shaped like a safe on treads, locked away the crew's private weaponry in its belly, while a far larger machine was posted before the armory entrance, rendering it out of bounds by its sheer bulk alone. Before leaving, Halek pressed an assortment of hologrammatic tourist brochures upon the crew.
   "What a mealy-mouthed sycophant," Dayna said.
   "Knows his job, though." Soolin ruefully patted the empty holster at her side. "There isn't a single accessible weapon aboard."
   "Cheer up, Soolin," Vila said. "We've still got our wits."
   "We're totally defenseless, then," Avon said.
   Blake wasn't discouraged. "Servalan will be in the same position."
   "Don't count on it, Blake," Avon muttered.
   "Contact her. See if she's arrived."
   Servalan informed Avon that her ship would make planetfall in twelve hours. Then she demanded assurances that Blake and Stiletto's crew would be decoyed into her trap. Avon laughed and demanded assurances that his price would be met. On that note of mutual trust, they ended transmission.
   "Once Servalan hits town, that's the end of the party," Vila noted. "We've got twelve hours, Blake, let's put them to good use."
   Blake reluctantly agreed to allow the crew shore leave while he and Avon remained on Stiletto. "Orac and Stiletto are too tempting to thieves to leave unguarded."
   "Thieves? On Del 10?" Vila was shocked.
   "At least one," Avon said. "Go, and don't slam the door behind you."

   The woman in the long black gown shifted slightly, evoking flashes of silver in the material. She acknowledged Halek's arrival with a bare flicker of her eyes, her attention for the sleek black ship on the viewscreen before her. The Federation guards who stood beside her received even less notice.
   Halek also ignored the guards. Smiling and bowing, he approached the woman. "They suspect nothing, Commissioner Sleer. All their weapons are secured and, as you suggested, I left them a selection of entertainments to suit any taste. I believe they will waste no time in…"
   "No time at all." On the screen, Stiletto's port gaped open, the departing crew silhouetted against its light. Sleer/Servalan smiled. "They're splitting up. Excellent!" She turned to the facilitator. " They have all been tagged?"
   "Of course. My robots are very talented. This device," he said, holding up a small metal box, "and the others which I provided your men, will enable you to track them at will."
   "Your men are in civilian clothes and discreetly armed as instructed?" Servalan asked the guard to her left. At the man's agreement, she continued, "Shadow Stiletto's crew. Carefully. If they suspect anything, we could lose the main prize."

   Stiletto's crew had divided up the brochures, relishing the opportunity to get away from each other as much as the chance to see new sights. From habit they had each taken communicators. Vila was glad of his when he attempted to recoup his streak of bad luck at the casino with a bit of sleight of hand. How was he to know that rich dowager kept a nasty yelping miniature canine in her reticule? Faced with the choice of cooling his heels in the local pokey for a few days or paying a hefty fine, Vila took a quick look at the depressing surroundings and asked, "Can I call a friend?"
   He tried to decide which of his crewmates would be willing to interrupt his or her vacation to haul him out of jail without giving him a lecture on the wages of sin. "Hello, Pavra," Vila chirped into his communicator, " guess where I am."
   There was a soft sigh. "Vila, are you in trouble?"
   "Not if you bail me out."
   Pavra arrived, signed over most of her chit to the guards and collected the sheepish thief.
   "Sorry," Vila said. "I've spoilt your holiday."
   "Not entirely, I've already done my shopping and I still have enough left for two tickets to the zoo."

   Servalan smiled at Halek. "Blake's crew are diverted. There should be no difficulty in rounding them up later. Time for phase two." She activated her communicator. "Avon, I've landed. Where shall we meet?"
   "You weren't due for another eleven hours." Avon was suspicious.
   "I lied. I didn't want you to have time to set a trap."
   On Stiletto, Blake didn't like the sound of it, but when Avon raised his eyebrows in question, Blake shrugged.
   "I'll meet you at Stiletto's slip, B-193, quadrant 4. When?"
   Servalan paused as if consulting a map. "I can be there in half an hour."

   "Avon…" Blake sounded apologetic.
   Avon stopped him. "Leave it, Blake. You've won. I'll do your job for you."
   Avon left the ship before Blake. When Blake emerged, he saw Avon as a dark shadow, restlessly pacing near the main entrance to the terminal building. Blake whispered into his communicator, "Orac, we're clear. Lock the hatch."
   Resentful of Blake's manipulation, Avon wasn't as alert as he should have been, but his hyper-stimulated senses more than compensated. A faint whiff of perfume cut sharply through the omnipresent oil and grime of the spaceport. Reluctantly, the computer tech stopped shunting aside the increasing barrage of noise and concentrated on classifying the surrounding sounds. He paused, among the routine machinery and grumbling of distant dock-workers, there were discordant notes. The click of space boots in a measured cadence- men marching in formation? The creak of leather harness, faint metallic rattling- weapons being checked? Avon turned, alarmed, to warn Blake and heard Servalan snap, "He's spotted us. Don't let them reach the ship!"
   "Blake! It's a trap!" Avon shouted. He ran for cover, finding, too late, Servalan's troopers behind the pile of crates. Unarmed, faced with the blasters of four eager guards, he surrendered.
   Servalan smiled as she gave orders for the rest of Stiletto's crew to be collected. "I don't want the locals unduly alarmed. Be quick and quiet." She waved at Avon. "Bring him." She sauntered out into the open. "You're unarmed, Stiletto is completely surrounded by my men. Give up, Blake."
   "I'm comfortable here," Blake's reply echoed, giving no clue to his location. "I'll wait for the local authorities." He lowered his voice and spoke to his scattered crew over his communicator. "Blake here. Servalan has Avon and me trapped. You're on your own. Blake out."
   "Avon is less comfortable." Servalan had her prisoner forced to his knees. Two troopers held him motionless, while she held her weapon to his head. "Ten seconds, Blake, then I fire…nine…eight…"
   "Wait." Blake stood up, empty hands held wide. "We can still do a deal."
   "You fool, Blake." Avon was bitter. "She has everything she wants."
   Blake said, "Not everything. To get Stiletto past the Peace Enforcers without a fight, Servalan, you're going to need a bill of sale."
   "What would it cost me?" Servalan said idly, as if uninterested in the return of her custom-built yacht and the hidden wealth aboard her.
   "Freedom for myself, my crew and Orac."
   "Oh, of course. Anything else you'd like?"
   "Now that you mention it, yes. I'd like the computer codes. You did bring them, didn't you?"
   Servalan laughed and indicated a small box clipped to her belt. "Yes, I didn't expect this to be so easy. I'm sorry, Blake, but your terms are quite out of the question. You'll hear my terms later, after I've got the rest of your crew."

   Blake's message reached Tarrant at an awkward moment. Seated in an alcove in an all-hours nightclub with his arms full of showgirls, the pilot was not prepared for battle. He made swift apologies and left the table. Three men in somber civilian dress, with decidedly un-civilian expressions, moved to intercept him. Tarrant grinned and nodded toward the club's strategically placed bouncers. "You can't start a fight in here, boys. Why don't you try to catch me outside?"
   The tallest of his opponents slipped a tiny weapon from his pocket and shot Tarrant in the stomach. He caught Tarrant as the pilot sagged. The second man took Tarrant's other arm and they hauled him past the nearest bouncer.
    "Would you call an air-taxi, please?" the tall man asked politely. "I'm afraid my friend has over-estimated his capacity."

    Soolin was one of the finalists in a target shooting contest when the call from Blake came. She made her shot, true to the center, wishing she held something more lethal than an innocuous cohesive light pistol. She found herself the center of a crowd of admirers as the scores were tallied. Soolin was so distracted that her name was called twice before she realized that she'd won. "Thank you." She ducked her head for the glittering medallion.
    The crowd parted reluctantly for her. On the outskirts of the mob, Soolin spied an unsmiling pair staring at her with hunter's eyes. Intent on them, she was unaware of the third man, worming his way through the crush at her back. "Soolin," he called, "sister, congratulations!"
    Soolin turned to meet a mocking set of blue eyes, topped by a shock of hair as blond as her own. She felt a pin-prick in her side and collapsed, vaguely hearing the blond man at her side saying that his dear sister would recover from the excitement once she was back at their hotel.

    Dayna was absorbed in a museum display of ancient projectile weapons, crouching to observe in detail the animals carved on the stocks of rifles. She wondered if it was mere ornamentation or a primitive hunt magic. Blake's warning brought her to her feet, after loosening the knives sheathed in her boot tops. Halek's little robot had sniffed out all her guns, but its programming obviously didn't include edged weapons.
    She noted the medical service men talking with the blue-suited museum curators and dismissed them. As she neared the exit, the medical men came toward her. "Come with us quietly, please," one of the men said, with a gentle smile.
    Dayna leaped back, deftly producing her knives. "So, you're her men. You won't take me that easily."
    Beyond the range of her blades, one of the medics told the museum curator, "They're predictable. With her fixation on violence, she couldn't resist this exhibit. Only escaped this morning and came straight here."
    "I do hope you can take her unharmed," the curator said with sympathy. "She's such a pretty thing."
    The man behind Dayna used his little gun. Still clutching her knives, the girl sank to the floor. The man who had spoken to the curator said, "We're very good at this," as the others carried Dayna away.