//kat@welkin.apana.org.au Part 1 by Kathryn Andersen Fortune He couldn't run any more. His breath rasped like sandpaper in his throat and a sharp pain jabbed in his side. It was getting dark. Dark enough to hide? The maze of alleys and small streets had already confused his own bearings - could he hope that he had lost his pursuers as well as himself? He kept on, in a limping half-walk, half-jog. The buildings here were old, concrete and stone and brick, darkened with age and pollution. He turned down an alley between two old hulks, one decorated with the curlicues of some greco-roman fad, the blackened crust of factory exhalations crumbling to show the pale grey concrete underneath. The other building was patterned in dark brown brick with many narrow windows and tiny iron balconies. Residences, or perhaps a fifth-rate hotel. He looked up at them, wondering if their security was as lacklustre as the building. Maybe he could break in and hide in one of the rooms. But he dropped that idea when he could see no way up to one of the balconies. Perhaps Vila might have carried a micro-scaling-kit complete with duralum cable, but he wasn't Vila. And even Vila wouldn't have been carrying one this time. Curse Blake and his bright ideas. Some rest-spot this turned out to be! Avon spotted a large metal bin further down the alley. He stumbled up to it and squatted down on the lee side, away from the alley mouth. The smell exuding from the bin laid to rest any doubts as to what the bin contained. He had to stop, to catch his breath. He'd been running so long, and as Cally had said, they were all out of condition. Even now, he half-expected the slap of running feet behind him. But maybe it was safe enough, maybe he could contact the ship - if there was anyone there. But as he lifted his arm, he saw that his wrist was bare. He had lost his bracelet. He was completely cut off from help. *** "Cross my palm with silver, and I will tell you your future," the woman said. She was dressed colourfully in embroidered and dyed cloths, and crystals and arcane pendants glinted in a stand by her stall, evidently for sale. Gan frowned. He didn't really believe in that kind of thing - no-one educated in the Federation system would think twice about such rank superstition, but might be interesting to see what she would say. They were here to relax, after all. "All right," he said slowly. "Sit down," she gestured at a small chair before her. Gan sat uncomfortably on it, and wondered if it would break underneath him. It seemed rather flimsy. "You must cross my palm with silver," she said. "Excuse me?" Gan said, and then realized she was asking him to pay her. He took some local coin out of his pouch, and gave it to her. She smiled. "Give me your hand," she requested. "Um, what for?" Gan asked. "The lines in your palms tell those who can read them, tales of your future, and your past," she said. She took his hand. "You are a man of passion. You loved deeply, and hated deeply. Now your passions are... cut off." She frowned. Gan thought of the limiter he bore. When that trooper had raped and killed his woman, he had killed the man with his bare hands. Now he could no longer kill, certainly not kill in rage. If ever he came close to that, the limiter would cut in and put him into agonising pain. How could she guess so closely? "You are a man of the land, far away from the things you have known," she continued. "You have been cast into a war not of your own making. You will - " she faltered. "Go on," he said. "You will live a long life, full of good fortune," she finished. But somehow, Gan knew that she was lying. ------------------- Author's note: I chose the title because it has more than one meaning: luck, prediction, wealth. I hope we manage to get all the nuances we can out of it. Let's make this a good story, folks! Oh, if you hadn't realized, this is set after "Horizon". Kathryn Andersen ======== //jpc269@lulu.acns.nwu.edu Fortune Part 2: A Round Robin Story Part 2 by: Jason Compton (jpc269@lulu.acns.nwu.edu) "Come on, get up." Silence answered. "Get up. We've got to be at the rendezvous in a little under an hour." A slight murmur was all that replied. Cally was starting to feel a bit subconscious. With the lights as dim and the smoke as thick as it was in the dive-to-end-all-dives, nobody was likely to notice her talking to the underside of a table. Nevertheless, she wasn't about to let the underside of the table lay there all day. Vila was hardly in a condition to get himself moving, anyway. "Get up!" In a swift, deft motion, Cally kicked him just enough to get his attention without inducing vomiting. It worked even better than she'd hoped...Vila bolted straight up, clobbering the bottom of the table with his head, then did a half-roll out onto the sticky concrete floor into a kneeling position. "Oh. Hi, Cally..." Vila tried to smile, failed, then held his head in his hands and sobbed a bit. "Wow. You know something, Cally? I don't think I've ever seen your clothes so fuzzy before." "For the last time, Vila, get UP!" Her insistence actually caught the attention of a few other patrons in the densely packed soma joint, but they eventually turned back to their business of getting soaked. Vila, slowly enough to prevent the room from falling over, got up. "All right, all right...what's so important, then?" Cally sighed in frustration. "We're supposed to meet the others very soon, Vila. Unless you'd like to stay here forever, I thought you might be interested in coming with." Briefly, Vila considered the possibilities, but relented under Cally's stern look. "All right. I'm coming. Guide me to the door, would you?" Cally pushed Vila along a narrow path of bodies to the exit, barely illuminated by what seemed to be the only light in the place. "Cally, tell me something. How did you know I was here?" "Your animal attraction, Vila. Now come on." *** The field wasn't exactly idyllic, but it was pretty enough. Wheat and some sort of local long grass competed for space, mingling in a competitive, but still somehow peaceful, sense. The orange sun overhead, already well into its setting phase, cast a warm glow on the scenery. If they concentrated, they could even hear the local fauna scurrying about. The pair wasn't exactly hidden in the field: the grass was only waist length and the wheat wasn't thick enough to hide the targets from a crack shot, but it was enough to conceal them for the time being. All was not well, however. "They're late." Blake looked none the worse for wear physically from the last few days of R&R, although concern was quickly working its way into his stony features. "Right. Perhaps Jenna's heard from them?" Gan raised his wrist, activated his bracelet, and checked in with the Liberator. "No, I haven't heard from Vila or Avon lately. Cally checked in a short while ago. Mentioned something about going to find Vila when she asked the same thing you are. Shall I come down there?" Blake jumped in on his own bracelet. "No. Stay ready to pull us out in case of trouble. Gan and I will wait here a bit longer, then contact you again. If you don't hear from us within 15 minutes, teleport us out." "Got it, Blake." The connection was broken. Silence followed as Blake and Gan kept watch on the direction their compatriots should be coming from any minute now. Any minute now... The sun got a bit redder before the silence was interrupted by a voice. "Cally to Blake, Cally to Blake, come in, please." Blake's eyes shone a bit more brightly as he started. "Go ahead, Cally." "I've...found Vila. We've been delayed a bit as we've only got two fully working legs between us. We should be at the designated position within a few minutes." Blake nodded to himself. "Good. Any word from Avon?" "None." Blake's mouth frowned a bit. Gan shifted uncomfortably. "Right. Keep going. See you soon." Blake started to take a step forward, stopped, then turned to Gan. "I think we need to have a talk..." *** //MB Overton" NOTE : *...* = italics _..._ = underlined Fortune Part 3 They got halfway through the noise and confusion of the main street of the town before they were accosted. "Problems?" boomed the barrel-chested red-haired man in front of them, his eyes glinting eagerly with the scent of profit. Brought to a halt by his bulk, Cally was forced to tilt her head back to even get close to looking him in the eye. Half standing beside her, half being a dead weight slung around a shoulder, Vila let out a gentle burp. "One or two," she answered, heaving the semi-conscious man into a better position. "That's _just_ what I hoped you'd say!" The red-haired man leaned forward and started to take Vila from Cally. "You come and see what my sister can do for you, m'lady. She's one of the best sorceresses in the whole town, she can do marvels - and only for twelve rhae!" Cally held onto Vila tightly. "No thank you," she said briefly and tried to push her way past. The man swayed with her forward motion but did not step back any. Cally felt one of his thoughts stray from beyond his mind and into hers - *looks like a good profit here, and a pretty one too*. "Excuse me," she said aloud. "You've _got_ to come and see!" the man insisted. Suddenly a young woman no more than twenty-five limped into view. Cally knew with the instant judgement of a telepath that the newcomer was twenty-five, but in physical appearance the woman could have been ten years older, her face lined with cold and experience. She was shrouded in an all-concealing cloak. "My brother botherin' you again?" the woman asked in a cracked voice. "Keeps doin' it, he does. Tryin' to get people like that's indecent, that's what I told him." "I forgive you," Cally said. Vila murmured something vague which might have been taken for forgiveness if he'd been properly conscious. "Here, m'lady," the sister continued, lifting up her hands in a cup-shape, "have this pretty flower. I'm real sorry." Cally looked down slightly into the other woman's cupped hands, expecting to see a flower. She caught a brief confused glimpse of a glowing spot of light illuminating the calluses on the woman's palms, and then everything suddenly went blinding white, then faded to black. *** "Still no contact," Gan confirmed. Standing a short way away from him in the wheat field, Blake put his hands on his hips and absently crushed three stalks with his feet in subconscious anger. "Where the hell are they?" he demanded of the field, glancing in the direction of the ramshackle collection of buildings that formed the settlement Cally, Vila, and Avon had been teleported to earlier. "Cally said they were on their way. When I get my hands on Vila - " "They'll be here," Gan said hastily. "They'd better. It's taken days to set this up and I'm not abandoning it just because Vila decides to sample the best drinks in town." Blake glanced downwards to where the hexagonal case rested on a stone, a light embedded in the case blinking pacifically on and off. "Doing this mission with two people only is twice as dangerous as with the others." Gan frowned. "Wait a moment. If something's happened to the others you can't be thinking of going on with this. Blake, it's a primitive planet, a throwback to the pre-space times. They don't know the Federation exists - they believe in magic here, and fortune telling." A flash of uneasiness passed over his big honest face as he said the last part. "They could do any number of things to Cally, Avon, and Vila." Blake turned to face him. "It's a primitive world that has a top-secret Federation base of some kind on it. We _must_ find out what's worth hiding so well that the Federation use an entire culture as a smokescreen." "Blake," Gan said seriously, "they could be in trouble. You can't consider proceeding with a mission if they are. Even one like this." Blake stared away from him, not listening. *** Avon peered beyond the bin and saw the two sorcerers standing at the mouth of the alley, staring in his direction. He ducked back hastily, and his face turned even more thunderous. He had his breath back now - the sorcerers had floated straight on past the alley at first, so he'd had chance to recover a bit - but then they had drifted back, surrounded by a gentle yellow glow, and descended slowly to the ground, now blocking off his only exit. Avon kept crouched down, fingering the object in his pocket which had been (and still was) the cause of this trouble, and wondered for the briefest of instants whether he could do a deal with the pursuers. One of the sorcerers raised his hand, and Avon heard the beginnings of a spellcasting chant. ==== //k93cn01@hobbes.kzoo.edu, Cassie Noble Fortune (round robin part 4) Struggling to his feet, Avon stepped from the shadows, holding before him the bit of glass and wire she had conned off a street vendor. He didn't know what it might be, but it certainly wasn't the innocent bauble the vendor thought it was. Some bit of circuitry, he had supposed at the time, hardly worth his note except that these peasants had no knowledge of computers or even electricity. He watched the sorcerers' reaction with interest. "This what you're looking for?" he called out, trying not to let him limp be too obvious. "Looks rather fragile. Pity if it was dropped, or smashed." A tight fist clenched around it. Follow me and I'll smash it." The two figures reluctantly stepped aside, their rage tangible in the air even to a non-telepath. Avon smiled to himself as he passed, eyes sharp, bauble held precariously perched in his palm. He managed to cover several blocks before collapsing half-conscious in another back alley, leg on fire, lungs painfully short of breath, head pounding. His first thought was of the humiliation of calling Blake for help, having to be scraped off the street like some drunken sod and carried back to the Liberator. Then he noticed, again, the absence of his transporter bracelet. A vague idea floated among the fog in his brain that he had noticed that once before. He wondered who he would have called with it even if he did have it. Blake's name was only a dim shadow of memory. Sitting back to catch his breath and focus his dizzy mind to the task at hand, Avon wondered what that woman could have possibly hit him with. ******* Straining to open blurry eyes, Vila reflected that he really shouldn't have drunk so much. Then he reflected that he was always reflecting on that, and usually found a good reason for not carrying it through. This time it was the fact that a good stiff drink would help him stop thinking about what Blake was going to do when he got back to the Liberator. If he got back. Looking upwards, all he could see was blackness. He suspected the lights were off, but then again it could just all be in his head. He lay on something hard, probably the floor, and he couldn't move--another likely after effect of his soma consumption. There was a gentle hum in the air. Perhaps he was on the Liberator? He was a little relieved by the prospect. Perhaps Blake had already given him the inevitable tongue lashing and he had just forgotten the incident. But there was something not quite right in the sound, a difference even his soma-soaked brain could register, if not identify. Perhaps the soma-bar's floor? He dimly rembered a conversation he had been having with it, a conversation interrupted, by Cally, with her boot. He could remember that far. Then what came next? He rmembered movement, and voices, Cally's and Blake's. Yes, he must have already gotten his lecture. But what of... He heard Cally scream. ******* //Johnson, Paul" Fortune - episode 5 He drummed his fingers on the card table and squinted through the acrid smoke at the balding man opposite. "But what if he smells a rat and doesn't come?" "Oh, he'll come, Piete. How could he not? We've planned this too well. And when he does ..." His hand squeezed shut, crushing the cards he held. His smile, Piete reflected, was not altogether pleasant. *** The alley was about standard issue in this quarter, with rubbish stacked against the walls, and patches of what might or might not be blood splattered here and there. It's brooding silence was broken by an exclamation as two men scrambled through a grimy gap which might one have been a doorway. "Hey, look - there's someone lying there!" The longer legged of the pair clattered over to where a figure was huddled amongst a pile of rank smelling boxes. "Looks like he's asleep. Maybe dead" His companion hobbled over at a more leisurely pace and examined the body. "Nah, he's still breathing. Probably drunk." "He might be hurt. Maybe he needs help." "Leave him. He's not our problem." He began to walk away, then turned back, a crafty expression on his face. "Maybe we could do something. Seems a shame to leave him lying there, doesn't it? Besides, we could make a pretty penny." "What do you mean?" "I've got this friend. He'll reward us well enough if we turn this cur over to him" "What friend? What does he do?" "He works for the laboratories. They always need more specimens." *** "Right, there's the signal. Let's move." "Blake, we can't! What about the others. Anything could have happened to them!" "We don't have any choice in the matter. If we don't do it now, we can kiss this whole operation goodbye!" Gan held his ground stubbornly. "What if we stir up a hornets nest in there? Then what? What hope would we have of finding the others? We don't know what we might find in there." "I know that Gan. That's the whole point. We have to find out. If it's important enough for the Federation to take all this trouble, we can't risk not finding out." "And the others? Are you willing to risk their lives?" "Cally's already looking for Vila. And Avon can take care of himself. Besides, that's the fortunes of war..." Nevertheless, he lifted his bracelet to his mouth. "Jenna, have Cally or Avon contacted you yet? Jenna? Jenna, come in!" *** Cally's screams seemed to go on for ever. Vila had long since given up the thought of going to her aid. He couldn't even sit up. He couldn't even cover his ears. Finally her screams faded to sobs, and then faded altogether. Several ice ages later, his thoughts were interrupted by a new sound. From the corner of his eye, he saw the door swing open. "Cally?", he asked hesitantly. A large man and a young woman stepped through the door. "How are you feeling now?" the man inquired. "Where am I? Where's Cally" "You're quite safe, my good man. I am thinking you indulged in a little too much soma! Your head, it hurts bad, yes?" Vila groaned at the reminder. Never, never again... "Where's Cally?" he asked again. "Your friend? She is safe too. She will be joining us soon." "I heard her screaming! What happened?" "You must have had a bad dream", the woman said as she placed her palm across his forehead. Vila knew it was no dream. He could still hear the echoes of her agonised screams ringing in his ears. Why couldn't he move? "But I am not being a good host. My name is Sarbon. This is my sister Melise. While we wait for your friend to be joining us, let us pass some moments in pleasant conversation." He held an object out in front of him. "I took the liberty of taking this in case you were losing it. It is a most unusual design. Tell me about it." Vila squinted at it, and immediately recognised his teleport bracelet. "Um, it's just a trinket. It's worthless. Don't know why I keep it really", he tried to reply nonchantly, before crying out as a bubble of pain exploded at the back of his head. "I didn't quite catch that." "Uh, it's just a bracelet. Junk...aagh!" "You must pardon my difficulty in hearing. You were saying?" "Alright, alright! It's a teleport bracelet! I use it to beam up to my spaceship!" This time the burst of pain cut off abruptly as Sarbon burst into laughter."Aha, you are having a sense of humour my friend! Unlike the last person I saw with one of these. But I would very much like to be meeting him again..." He turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. Cally stepped woodenly through the door, her face a confusion of purple bruises. "Ah, there you are my dear. We were just having such a nice chat with your friend. The poor man, he seems to be paralyzed. He is also a terrible liar. What do you think we should be doing with him?" Slowly, her head swivelled towards Vila like a broken marionette. "Kill him," she slurred. === //kyost@nomvs.lsumc. Karen Yost FORTUNE - PART 6 Vila would have scrambled away if he could have, but Sarbon was right; Vila couldn't move. He stared at Cally, her vacant expression, her bruised face. Vila wondered if death might actually be a blessing instead of enduring Cally's fate. But he was still so frightened. Before he could stop himself, Vila was violently ill. He was able to turn his head to the side just a bit or else he might have choked on his own vomit. Melise turned away in disgust. "He's a coward, worthless. Let's get rid of him." But Sarbon shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I think we may be able to use him after all. "You!" he pointed at Cally and threw her a dirty rag. "Clean him up." Cally knelt by Vila and began wiping his face. The smell was quite bad and Vila was afraid he might be sick again. When he saw Sarbon smiling at him, Vila was positive he was going to be sick again. *** "Jenna!" Blake called into his bracelet again. "Blake, I'm here. Sorry." Blake was relieved to receive Jenna's near breathless reply. "Jenna, what's wrong?" "A ship appeared on the detectors. It's not a pursuit ship, but it's definitely a Federation cruiser. Blake, I think we need to get out of here." "Have they spotted the Liberator yet?" "No, but I still think we should break orbit. Why else would a Federation cruiser come unless it was searching for us?" Blake looked helplessly at Gan. He didn't want to risk the Liberator, but he could hardly abandon his lost friends. "Gan, I want you to teleport back to the ship." "But Blake..." The rebel leader cut off the rest of Gan's protest. "Jenna, teleport Gan back to the ship. We haven't had any contact with Cally, Avon or Vila for a few hours. I'm going on ahead to the rendezvous and hopefully meet them there." Gan shook his head. "That's pretty wishful thinking, isn't it?" "What else would you have me do?" Gan mentally cursed himself, damning himself for not having Blake's penchant for ideas and Avon's genius for strategy. Seeing Gan's indecision, Blake relented. "It's the only way, Gan. Go back to the ship and help Jenna. Take Liberator out of orbit and wait for my signal. Give me a standard time unit. If you don't hear from me by then, leave." Gan spoke into his bracelet. "Jenna, teleport." As the teleport snatched him from the planet, Gan wished he had gotten more specific predictions from the fortune teller. *** The two ruffians shifted awkwardly down the alley. It wasn't easy carry the unconscious Avon between them. But the promise of a nice bounty from the lab spurned them on, for a moment at least. "Stop," the smaller man gasped. "Let me rest a minute." He abruptly dropped his end of Avon to the ground. "Torket!" The man cursed. "Be careful will you, you idiot. The doctors like 'em alive, you know." He gently settled Avon's head to the dirty ground. "I don't know if this one's going to last very long as it is. He's starting to breathe kind of funny." Avon's rasping breath echoed off the walls of the dark alley. "You're right. He doesn't sound very good, does he?" The new voice startled the two men. One thief drew a knife and called fearfully, "Who's there? You'll come out if you know what's good for 'ya." "There's no need for violence, I assure you." The figure of a man came forward slowly. By the time he got close enough to the men, they belatedly saw that he carried a weapon. In a flash, a stun charge took out the two men and they collapsed next to their valuable burden. The man bent over and examined Avon carefully, muttering to himself the entire time. "No broken bones, thank goodness, but that leg does look bad. Ick, head wounds always make such a mess, don't they? And I'll need to find out why you can't catch your breath. Are you allergic to something on this planet, Avon? "Ahh, what have we here?" the man exclaimed as the small, glass orb slipped from Avon's hand. As soon as the orb was free from Avon's hand, his breathing became deep and restful. Puzzled, Psychostrategist Carnell poked at the glowing orb carefully with a discarded stick. "Hmmm, maybe the Supreme Commander will be interested in this pretty bauble too." *** ==== //michael brown Fortune Part 7 Avon grimaced slightly as he opened his eyes to let some light in. The world appeared as a bright blur. Not a very inspiring sight, he thought to himself. Not that anything he had seen in the last twenty-four hours had been better than this but he had hoped that his death would be a little less painful. He saw a white blur hover over him and a voice said, "Sir, I believe he's coming round." A second blur moved in on the other side and said, "What? Already? With his injuries he should have been unconscious for several more hours." As the voices continued their discussion Avon tried to clear his vision and focus in on the speakers. But the ache in his head and the throbbing pain coming from his leg made concentration difficult. Realizing that listening in required much less effort than trying to see them he turned his focus to the conversation. "You know she is coming," said the first voice with a trace of apprehension. "What are you worried about?" said the second voice, "at least she's not coming for you." "Yes, you're right," the first replied. "But I wonder who she is coming for?" "Will you stop quivering, Palmer!" snapped the second. "She's not coming for anyone, just for an example of Carnell's new technique." "I know that," the one called Palmer answered, "but who get's to be the guinea pig? You know as well as I that he always tries out new techniques on people he doesn't like." "That's absolute nonsense," the other replied. "When he does a demonstration of a new technique he always imports a specimen like this one." The blur on Avon's left seemed to gesture towards him. "Speaking of which, said Palmer, "we had better put him back under, this wake period might slow his recovery." "And we wouldn't want that, would we Palmer," the Second one sneered. "Or maybe Carnell will pick you to demonstrate his new technique." Suddenly Avon felt rather than heard a hiss and the painful light was plunged into darkness..... ***************************** Blake padded down the deserted street carefully. After his little jaunt on Horizon he was trying to be more careful. He had also tried to spread that caution to the others with a little warning before they had come down. But as usual Avon had scoffed, Gan had just smiled, Vila had been reassuring, and Cally had just sort of looked at him as if he were restating the obvious. This little escapade will show them. Then again, he thought to himself, I am the "glorious" leader and it is my responsibility to look out for my people. Uh-oh, he thought, I'm beginning to sound like Avon. And for a moment he could almost see Avon's features sneering at him in the mist. He paused in a darkened alley to look for a tail. Becomes instinct after awhile, he thought to himself. He hoped the others would be at the appointed meeting place. The plan would be less than useless without Vila's particular talents, though he could do without Avon's flare for dramatics. He glanced around one final time before proceeding on his way. He hoped that the information provided by this source was reliable. The informer, Piete, had said that the base here was not that heavily guarded. Since base security depended more on secrecy than on large numbers of troops Blake was hopeful that they could penetrate it easily with a lighting raid. But if none of his "raiders" appeared in time the mission would have to be scrubbed. Damm them, they had better be there! As he approached the tavern where he was to meet with the others and the informer he paused once more to check for a tail. He thought about calling Jenna and Gan, but didn't. He needed to know if any of the others had made it to the meeting before he called in. Once more he silently wished for the others to be in the tavern. He sighed quietly then crossed the square and entered the tavern. ==== //LONGCS@delphi.com Fortune Part Eight "We agreed on ten thousand," snapped Avon. Rache laughed and stroked his beard mindlessly. "My dear Avon, you can't live in the past. It's not healthy for you." The smile that had played across the dealer's face throughout the meeting vanished like a shadow under the noon-day sun. "One hundred thousand. That's the price. No negotiations - especially since you have no position from which to negotiate." Avon gritted his teeth and felt his nostrils flare with a rage that even the aloof Alpha had difficulty harnessing. Seething inside, he tilted his head to face the portly vendor squarely in his shifty, auburn eyes. "All right," he repeated with a calmness he could hardly remember ever feeling, "but you'll have to give me a little time to get the money." Rache shook his head solemnly. "Time, my friend, is one thing neither of us have. You need these exit visas even more than I need your money. Besides, I'm not even asking half the amount the patrols have offered as reward for your capture." "Then why don't you turn me in," Avon asked acidly. The smile danced back on stage. "Because I care about you, Avon. You and your woman." Rache shrugged, "Besides, I always like to help a fellow man in distress." Rache's stubby fingers continued to torture the straggly hairs beneath his chin, twisting tiny clumps around and around into miniature braids and then letting them unravel again. Leaning one arm against an unlabelled stack of crates, the older man appeared relaxed and confident but Avon could sense a tension in the black market dealer's demeanor which had not been present the first time they met. Avon marshalled his dwindling reserves of stamina and forced a smile across his haggard visage. "I never would have expected philanthropy to be your strong suit. Your concern touches me deeply - particularly in my bank account." An alarm rang out across the compound and the pair could hear the telltale clink-clank of metal boots indicating the approach of a Federation patrol squad. "Avon, we don't have much time left. Now, do we have a deal or not?" "Fifty thousand." "One hundred thousand. You don't really have a choice." Rache's voice remained hushed yet resolute, the smile now little more than a distant memory. The patrol didn't see to be getting any closer - probably just routine policing. But there were others looking for him - he couldn't take any more chances. He bowed his head in a slight but clear conciliatory gesture. In as level a tone as he could muster, Avon replied, "No, I don't see as I have any choice at all." Avon's arm darted cat-quick to his side to grab the handgun he had secreted there before leaving for the meeting. Rache, however, had not survived so long in his line of business without being a good judge of character. Picking up immediately on the thinly-veiled threat in Avon's words, Rache drew first and fired. The tiny laser lanced into Avon's chest, dropping him to his knees. Barely conscious of his actions, he instinctively returned fire, not even having time to look at his target, let alone aim the shot. For a while, Avon wasn't sure whether he had found his mark or whether the dealer had finished him off or, indeed, when, where and who he was. In fact, about the only matter of concern in his world for the next few minutes was the rather impressive gush of blood, warm and sticky, over his hands, and down his side to form a swiftly growing rivulet of gooey fluid which quickly branched off into myriad gory tributaries. Drip, drip, spurt - he was mesmerized by the discontinuous yet inexorable flow of the viscous liquid as he weakly struggled to stand on rubbery legs. When he noticed that he was suddenly part-limping, mostly-crawling down a side street with the exit visas in hand, he congratulated himself belatedly on being such a crack shot. If only he could remember where he was supposed to go next... ****** Gan reclined in the control chair of the LIberator. "The ship's out of sensor range now. I really think I should get back down to check on Blake and the others." Jenna stared blankly at the detector screen, not hearing her friend's words. "Something's not right here," she muttered half to Gan and half to herself and perhaps yet another half to the absent Blake. "That ship was clearly on course for the planet. I saw it. But when we come out to intercept it, it's suddenly gone. It doesn't make any sense." "None of this makes any sense. I don't like it at all." Gan's voice was laced with uncharacteristic pessimism. He still couldn't shake the eerie feeling the fortune teller had given him. Since then, nothing had gone right. Nothing at all. "Let's get back into communications range, Jenna. I don't think we should leave the others stranded like this." Jenna nodded distantly but answered, "Blake said to wait one time unit. That means we stay out here a little longer." Gan rolled his eyes but couldn't put up a good argument. Blake had always given sound orders before. Who was he to question the man they had all, well most of them, agreed to accept as leader. He tried to muster his usual confidence. "You're right, Jenna. I'm sure everything will work out for the best." ******** "You mean the memories are suppressed." "No, Supreme Commander, I meant exactly what I said - the original memories are completely eradiacted. What your Federation butchers," Carnell paused as he noticed Servalan flinch at his choice of words, "do is suppress memories. My procedure takes memory modification to an entirely new level. With the previously established neural links rent asunder, crafting entirely new ones is child's play. And, more importantly, it elimnates any conflicts the newly introduced memories might have had with previous experiences. Because, you see, there are no previous experiences to create conflict in the first place." Servalan looked sideways at the psycho-strategist, obviously growing impatient. She can't stand being a step behind anyone, Carnell noted privately. "That's very fascinating but I fail to see why this is so important that you call me halfway across the galaxy. It's of no use to me." Normally, Carnell relished in bating his partners in conversation, trying to both humiliate and impress them with his inscrutable brilliance. But he knew that Servalan, while she might not be his intellectual match, would know when she was being manipulated. He decided not to push it any further. "Since there are no possible conflicts and no prior memory storages, the subject will recall the newly implanted scenario as if it truly happened. In fact, some might argue that, for him, the whole sequence of events really did happen. If a man is simply the sum of his memories..." "Spare me the philosophy, Carnell. How can this be of use to me?" Servalan maintained an innocent front but Carnell had spotted the glimmer of recognition in her devious eyes. Nonethless, he played the game by her rules and explained the whole scheme. "Do you know what they call people who are... engaged in my vocation?" "Yes, of course, psycho-strategists are know, or I should say feared, as puppeteers. What of it?" Servalan's tone was cool but threatening. "Well, Supreme Commander, I give you Kerr Avon's strings to pull as you see fit." "I fail to see how memories of a lost love could be of any value in my plans?" Carnell continued patiently, "Servalan, not only have these memories been implanted in our subject, they have been implanted, from other perspectives, in agents across the galaxy. Agents whose locations and identities are available to you at your merest request." "Agents? You mean there actually is an Anna Grant somewhere?" Servalan was obviously catching on and leaned forward in her chair, resting her chin delicately on her hand. "As well as many other characters in this scenario. We had the most creative and skilled minds in the Federation compose this story with painstaking accuracy over the past two years - it is a seamless narrative as real to all the subjects involved as you are to me, Supreme Commander." Carnell smiled sweetly as he saw a flush of enthusiasm rush into Servalan's cheeks. "So... Avon becomes a time bomb, my time bomb, planted right under Blake's nose, completely undetectable and constantly ticking." Servalan leaned back int the chair, clicking her tongue against her clenched teeth as her mind immediately raced through the innumerable possibilities. "And you, Supreme Commander, are the only one with the finger on the trigger." Servalan raised herself elegantly from the oversized chair behind Carnell's desk. She extended her arm to the psycho-strategist who took her hand graciously. "Carnell, I am positively delighted that I did not have you killed last time." An odd feeling rumbled into the pit of Carnell's stomach - a mixture of anxiety and fascination. Quite a woman, this Servalan. Not the usual petty- minded military type. Looking into her smooth-skinned smiling face, he had no doubt whatsoever that she would have him killed the instant he ceased to be of use to her. An estimable quality in any leader. "I'm pleased to inform you that Kerr Avon is not the only prize I have to deliver you." Servalan arched her eyebrows with curiousity, "Go on." Carnell did just that, "I also have this." He walked around the desk to where Servalan stood. Brushing surreptiously next to her, he reached his arm around her, in a gesture that might appear almost intimate were an observer to just now entered the room, and slid open the top drawer. He reached into the drawer and removed the circuit chip that had been found on the subject. He gently grasped Servalan's hand. Opening her palm, he dropped the object into her grasp. "This, Supreme Commander, is the breakthrough many have been waiting for." Pausing for dramatic effect, the strategist continued. "This is the breakthrough that will render the tarriel cell obsolete!"