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Chapter Text

Katrin Shaw, the newly appointed Commissar of Pyxus Major, was not pleased with her new assignment. The promotion was all well and good, and given the loss of personnel from the Intergalactic war it wasn’t unreasonable for Federation Security to have moved her out to this rural back-of-beyond world. Still, she would much have preferred to stay in the Inner Worlds where civil society was of a much higher class. Not to mention the regular fetes and entertainment, shopping, and gossip.  Nevertheless, she was a loyal Federation officer so, despite the post-war chaos and communications breakdowns causing her to be four days late to arrive at her new posting, here she was setting up in her brand-new office, only to be told that there was already a major problem to deal with. 

“I’m sorry, Commander- Commissar, I mean,” her aide de camp protested. “Since Star One was destroyed communications have been extremely spotty. We’ve been trying to reach you since it happened, but there was no way to get through.”

“First day on the job and I have to deal with terrorists blowing up a hospital, of all things,” she grumbled. “Why in the hell would they do something like that?”

Ranmor shrugged. “Who knows why terrorists do anything?” he asked rhetorically. “But you can ask them yourself.” He slotted a data cube into the console on her desk. “The interrogation records are here if you want to review them.”

Katrin shook her head. “Give me the highlights.”

Ranmor nodded. “Easy enough. It was before Patel and I got here, but we got a brief on the logs and reports as soon as we could. Four days ago, middle of the night, the new hospital in Pyxus city, blown to smithereens. Patel says it was a professional job, ‘superb use of explosives,’ in his words. But they messed up on their escape, and the FedSec troopers patrolling the hospital grounds got them.” He chuckled dryly. “Apparently that was sheer luck. One of the patrols was off-schedule, detoured to ‘check out a suspicious movement’ which was probably one or more young ladies, and practically tripped over the terrorists escaping. They took a few potshots at the patrol, but eventually surrendered.”

“So who are they?”

“Don’t know. Human or near enough. Man appears to be early thirties, woman a bit younger. But they’ve said nothing.”

“Nothing? Even under advanced interrogation?”

Ranmor shook his head. “Nothing at all. Interr’s been working the man mostly. The woman is the junior, not much of a threat and doesn’t seem to know much. Also a bit of a hot-house flower,” he smiled wryly, “seems that she ‘faints at the sight of blood’. Some terrorist, huh? Who knew that rebels keep pleasure girls along?” Katrina’s lip curled with distaste, and Ranmor hurried to change the subject. “So they’ve focused on the man, but he hasn’t said a single word about who they are, where they’re from, why they did it. We’ve alerted Space Command and Central Security, but with all the chaos since the war and with the…umm… shakeups on the political front they’re not being super responsive.”

Katrin shook her head wearily and sat down behind the desk. “Soonest started, soonest ended, as they say. I’ll take a look at the records. Have Drew bring them in.”

Ranmor nodded. “They’ve been in interrogation for four days.I’ll have them cleaned them up first.” He saluted and departed.

Katrin frowned and turned on the console on her desk to view the data cube Ranmor had provided, skipping forward to the most recent interrogation session. As the guards on the vid dragged the prisoner in and strapped him brutally to the interrogation scaffold, her eyes widened. “Well, I’ll be god-damned.”

Chapter Text

Space Major Drew Patel wasn’t enjoying his new job any more than his boss was. Boring as his posting on Ararat had been, it had been very comfortable. Admittedly, it was a whole new galaxy since the destruction of Star One, and the Federation could reasonably said to be falling apart, but there really was no excuse for the sheer lack of discipline and order among the Pyxus Major FedSec forces. And as for the interrogators…horrible people, to a man. Drew consciously prevented himself from shuddering as he passed two of them in the canteen, relaxing with a cold drink after a hard day’s torturing. He had actively avoided the detention and interrogation areas since arriving. There’s just something wrong with anyone who enjoys that work that much, he thought, as he went to fetch the two prisoners. Even if they are working on terrorists.  

He came around the corner to the command posts’ maximum security section to find the cell doors open and one of the guards busily hosing down the floor. Both prisoners were dressed in brown prison coveralls, completely drenched, and magna-locked by their wrists to the back walls of their adjacent cells.

The guard gave an exaggerated salute as Drew approached. “Prisoners’ clean an’ dressed, as ordered, sir!”

Drew returned the salute, firmly masking his distaste for the man. “Thank you, trooper. Get them out. On your feet, you two, the Commissar wants to see you.” 

The male prisoner looked up at him warily. His hands and feet were cut and burned from what Drew recognized as standard CentSec interrogation protocols, his wrists and ankles raw and bloodied from pulling against restraints.  As the guard released him, the prisoner climbed slowly and painfully to his feet, wincing with every move. The woman, a thin, mousy figure with matted and tangled brown hair, kept her eyes down nervously as the guard hauled her roughly up and out of the cell. Drew resisted the strong urge to shoot the guard for treating a woman -  any woman - like that, and just gestured sharply with his pararifle. “Move it.” Bound and closely guarded, the two shuffled obediently down the corridors, heads down and shoulders slumped submissively.

Chapter Text

“Come,” Katrin responded to the sharp knock on her door. Ranmor stood to the side of the room, his rifle in his hand, as Drew and two troopers escorted the bedraggled prisoners into the office. 

“Reporting with the prisoners as ordered, Commissar,” Drew saluted. `

Katrin nodded and indicated two chairs in front of her desk. “Secure them,” she ordered the troopers. “Then you are dismissed.” The woman sat obediently in the seat nearest the door as as the man limped over and slowly lowered himself into the other. The troopers briskly fastened their wrist restraints to the chairs, saluted Katrin, and left. 

Katrin leaned back in her chair and surveyed her prisoners. Both were gaunt, eyes lowered and shadowed with exhaustion. The man’s face was covered in bruises and abrasions, but she didn’t see any indication that he had been seriously injured, yet. 

“Blowing up hospitals. You rebels won’t stop at anything, will you?”

The man finally looked up to meet Katrin’s gaze directly. Startlingly dark eyes in his pale face met hers in an expressionless stare. 

There was a long moment of silence as captive and captor regarded each other, then Katrin shook her head with a bemused smile. “Number two and three on the Federation’s Most Wanted list, and the interrogators here couldn’t even figure out who you are. Appalling. We shall have to do some serious re-training.” 

Ranmor startled, and for the first time took a close look at the prisoners. “Two and three … by the stars, Commissar! These are Blake’s people! That’s Kerr Avon, and … and Cally of Auron!”

The man’s lips twitched in the thinnest of smiles, but it was Cally who spoke. “Hello again, Katrin,”  she said softly.

Drew’s eyes widened. “Again? You’ve met them before?”

“So have you, Drew.” Katrin watched the prisoners closely, but neither reacted. “Imagine his skin darker, his hair lighter, add fifteen kilos and put him in a thousand-credit suit. Dye her skin gold and her hair copper, dress her in firesilk.”

“Thousand credi- goddamnit, Katrin!” Drew’s gun sagged unnoticed at his side in his shock. Katrin did not miss how Avon’s eyes flickered to it, calculating, assessing. “Ras Quibell! And…“ he gaped at the woman, “Lenore?” 

She smiled. Her brown eyes were bloodshot and strained, her skin pale and her hair now a snarl of dirty brown curls instead of the brilliant copper and bronze cloud he had last seen, but her features were suddenly, painfully familiar. “Hello, Drew.” 

“But - but -“ Drew was at a loss for words. “Quibell… Terraformers are working with the terrorists?”

Katrin looked grim. “No. Avon here impersonated Terraformer’s troubleshooter in order to defraud Len Boler on Ararat. The real Quibell never came anywhere close to Ararat.” She glared at the prisoners. “I have quite a few questions for you two, and you will answer them. So we’re going to go in chronological order. I’m going to start with why, Avon? Before we get into what brought you here, I want to know what really brought you to Ararat last year.”

Avon narrowed his eyes at the question. Drew remembered the unnerving air he had sensed in ‘Ras Quibel’, and abruptly recognized what it was. Danger. Starved, beaten, exhausted, restrained and held at gunpoint, he suddenly knew this was nevertheless the most deadly man he’d ever met. He took a tighter grip on his gun, glad that Ranmor also held his rifle ready. 

“Strange as it may seem, just business, Commissar. I needed to have some custom parts manufactured for my ship, and Boler had the facilities to do so.” Avon’s voice was hoarse.

“I don’t believe you,” said Katrin bluntly.

“I didn’t really think you would, but it is nevertheless the truth.”

“We have no reason to lie to you about that now,”  Cally pointed out. 

“You lied very well then.” Katrin glared at her.

Cally nodded. “Then it was necessary.”

“Boler would hardly have been willing to manufacture a bunch of custom parts and material if he had known it was for the Liberator, would he? Good Federation citizen that he is,” remarked Avon dryly. 

Privately Drew suspected that Len Boler wouldn’t have had the slightest qualms about working for the terrorist Roj Blake as long as the money was good, but he kept that to himself. 

“We did not ‘defraud’ him,” Cally added, sounding affronted. “Boler was paid in full for what he delivered.”

Ranmor was still catching up. “You… knew? You knew who they were, Commissar?”

“Not immediately,” Katrin admitted. “But yes.”

“And… you let them go?”

“Ras Quibell and Lenore Wing did a great service to the planet of Ararat and the Federation,” Katrin said carefully. “There was no way we could have known that they were impersonators until they had already left the planet.” She looked pointedly at the prisoners, but they seemed to have nothing to add to that. “Which brings us to here and now. You came, you blew up the new hospital. You screwed up your escape, which has to be embarrassing to say the least. ”She glanced at the report. “‘Female prisoner is inexperienced… faints at the sight of blood…likely misled by male.’ Really, Cally? Bit of bad form letting Avon take the fall for the whole attack, isn’t it?” 

“He’s very chivalrous,” replied the young woman calmly. 

Katrin looked back at Avon. “My reports here say that you haven’t answered a single question from our interrogators. Impressive, I must say.”

Avon’s lip quirked. “I’m a very private person.”

Katrin remembered the file on Avon she had pulled down immediately after the Csrill incident. After his arrest for embezzlement he had spent over a month at Central Security, apparently without ever giving up what they wanted to know. Her mind shied away from thinking too deeply about his experiences there, but she could only imagine that by comparison the interrogators here in the boondocks were probably pretty amateurish. 

“I could send you back to CentSec,” she offered sharply, “Would you prefer to talk to them than to me?”

“Not really.”

“I thought as much.” Katrin rose from her desk and crossed to look out the window at her new territory. The second sun, a pale white dwarf, was just rising as the primary red giant was sinking below the horizon, painting the sleepy town of Pyxus City in scarlet tinted with silver. From here she could see the spaceport, just south of town and the bombed-out remains of the hospital, to the north. 

She found herself conflicted. These two were unquestionably, unabashedly, terrorists. She had followed their exploits in the FedSec and SpaceCom reports - both were utterly ruthless, deadly, and amoral killers. They had wreaked havoc from one end of the galaxy to the other. Her oath of duty bound her to deliver them to face their punishment. 

And yet… they had once risked a fate worse than death, to save a Federation planet and its people. Knowing that even by succeeding they risked arrest, imprisonment, torture and execution, they had rescued her and her team, their avowed enemies. And they had protected the galaxy from a scourge that could have cost billions of lives. 

What to do?

Cally interrupted Katrin’s musing. “Congratulations on your promotions, Commissar, Captain, Major.”

“Thank you.” Katrin sat back down.  “Cris, get them some water.” 

“Yes, Commissar.” Ranmor slung his rifle over his shoulder and hurried out of the room. Cally and Avon looked at each other for a long moment, then Avon gave the slightest of shrugs and turned his gaze back to the Commissar across the desk. Katrin remembered that Cally was telepathic, and wondered what they had been saying to each other. 

“I told you if ever we met again it would be as enemies,” she started.  

“And I told you, Katrin, that it did not have to be so,” Cally said softly. 

“And yet here we are.”

Chapter Text

As Katrin hesitated, pondered how to proceed with interrogating these very unusual prisoners, Drew spoke up. “We heard you, Avon, in the war.” All heads turned to him, and he continued, uncertainly. “When the word came out about the invasion at Star One, Ararat sent everything we had to fight, including the two FedSec cruisers.”

“Commendable.”

“And when we got to sector twelve, ahead of the Federation fleet, there was just a helter-skelter mix of civilian ships trying to prevent the aliens from getting through. And the Liberator right in front of them all.“

Katrin thought she saw a hint of puzzlement in those dark eyes fixed on Drew. “The wrong place at the wrong time.” 

Drew shook his head in disagreement. “Everybody knows the Liberator is the fastest ship in the galaxy. You could have left the battle, in fact, you didn’t need to engage at all. You could have been a million spacials away. But you stayed, and you fought. You fought like hell.” He looked over at Katrin and Ranmor. “Their pilot is bloody incredible. I’ve never seen flying like that. And phenomenal shooting. The Liberator single-handedly held the gap in the defense grid against six hundred alien ships for over three hours.”

“Is that true?” Katrin asked Avon, fascinated in spite of herself.

“I really couldn’t say. I was a little too busy to check my chrono.” 

“And as we got there with the Rim and Outer Worlds fleets,” Drew enthused, “we heard you, Avon,  over the comms. Coordinating all of the incoming civilian ships. Forming them into squadrons, setting targets, defensive groupings … I’ve known Space Commanders who couldn’t have improvised a battle like that. It was…incredible.”

Avon didn’t seem to know how to respond to that. “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he said finally.

Drew turned towards his superior. “They held the line. Kerr bloody Avon directed the defense of this galaxy for hours, until the Federation fleet finally arrived. And after.” 

“Why Drew, you sound like you admire the terrorists,” Katrin observed, bemused by her second’s enthusiasm.

Drew flushed and restrained his tone. “Of course I don’t admire terrorists, Katrin. But I will say that on the Outer Worlds there are a hell of a lot of people who would call the Liberator crew heroes. Bloody saviors, in fact.”

“And that makes it all worthwhile,” murmured Avon dryly. Cally shot him a look.

“Why, Avon?” Katrin asked again.

“You’d really have to ask Blake,” Avon replied coolly. “He’s the heroic type.” 

“We oppose the Federation for what it does to people,” Cally volunteered. “But we do not want to see the human race obliterated, Commissar.”

“I’m so glad to hear that.” 

Cally decided a reminder was in order. “That is why we fought the Csrill with you.” 

“So, where is Blake now? Why hasn’t he rescued you two?”

“We’ve been rather out of touch. For all I know the Liberator is so much space debris now.” The ironic expression was back in Avon’s eyes. “I expect you know more than I do on that subject.” 

“Possibly I do.”

“Is this the ‘good cop’ part of the interrogation, Commissar Shaw? After three days of torture and interrogation, now you try to win the prisoners’ trust? Make them feel that you are their admiring ally and have their best interests at heart?” 

“No, Avon. First of all, from everything I know of you both it wouldn’t work, and second, I don’t think I need to.”

Avon arched an eyebrow, inviting her to continue.

Katrin leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers. “My predecessor in this position obviously didn’t recognize you, the more fool he. Hence he wasted days just trying to identify you. Of course you worked very hard to conceal your identities, since there are standing orders direct from the President regarding your disposition.”  Cally’s eyes widened at that, but Avon did not react. Katrin put on her most chilling smile. “But I know who you are, so we may as well be civilized for this conversation. If I remove your restraints, are you going to attack us?” 

Avon gave her a very tired look as Ranmor reentered the office, carrying two metal flasks. “Commissar, we’ve been under interrogation, without food or water, for three days.  I assure you, we’re not in a state to attack anyone, especially three armed Federation officers with a room full of troopers outside that door. We may be criminals, but we aren’t stupid.” 

Katrin looked at him levelly. “I want your word, Avon.” 

Avon smiled slightly, as if she had passed some sort of a test. “Given.”

Katrin nodded to Drew. “Release them.” 

Drew hurried to Cally’s side and started removing her restraints. Despite himself, he couldn’t help asking, “Did they … hurt you?”

Avon raised an eyebrow at Drew while Ranmor released his wrists. “That is their job,” he said pointedly. 

Drew flushed as Cally looked up at him with a wan smile. “I know what you mean, Drew. They did not. Thank you.”

Katrin watched Cally as she spoke, and knew that she lied. She firmly squelched a burst of feminine sympathy and reminded herself that terrorists deserved what they got. She caught a glimpse of Avon’s face, and realized that he knew it too. There was cold, bloody murder in his eyes.

Ranmor handed a flask to Avon, who took it in shaking hands. He took a long drink, coughed, and handed it back. When he spoke again, his expression was once again under control and his voice was less rough. “Thank you, Captain.”

Katrin steepled her fingers and looked at him over them. “The question that is now necessary for me to get answered, is why are you here? Why blow up a hospital on Pyxus?”

It was Cally who responded. “It was not a hospital, Commissar.”She paused and sipped delicately from the flask Ranmor gave her. “Thank you, Cris. It was a new mutoid conversion center.” Into the stunned silence that followed, she added, “Since the extreme loss of manpower from the galactic war, the Federation has been desperately trying to regain control of the Outer Worlds. Mutoid presence in Space Command and Federation Security services has increased by over four hundred percent. At least six new conversion centers have come online in the last month alone. At least eight more are under construction.”

Katrin looked at Drew. “Is this true?”

Drew stammered. “I - I don’t know. Commissar Bligh’s staff documented the incident as a terrorist strike on a hospital, there was nothing about mutoids in the report.”

“I want that report in my hands in the next sixty seconds.” 

“Yes Commissar.” Drew stepped to his console on the side of the room.

Katrin looked back at her prisoners. “Mutoid conversion facilities are among the mostly tightly held information in the Federation. How do you know about this?”

Avon’s voice was weary. “That’s our job.”

Katrin supposed that the location of conversion plants would be the sort of thing rebels would want to find out. “Okay, so, you heard about it, and decided you’d just blow it up. With no consideration for the innocent civilians you’d murder in the process.”

Cally cocked her head inquisitively. “How many civilians were killed, Commissar?”

Katrin was saved from answering by Drew handing her the requested incident report. Silence filled the office as she read through it. Drew read shamelessly over her shoulder. Ranmor watched the prisoners. Cally, whom he still thought of as Lenore Wing, was looking at her compatriot with a worried expression. Avon was slumped back in his chair, eyes closed. Ranmor noticed a trickle of blood running down his bare and abraded left ankle, beginning to puddle on the floor. 

When Katrin had finished, she shuffled the papers together, leaned back in her chair, and looked thoughtfully at her prisoners. “No, Cally, no civilian casualties.” 

Cally gave a slight nod. “We oppose the Federation and its tyranny, not its citizens.”

“A subtle point that eludes me at the moment,” Katrin retorted. She looked back at the report. “‘Utterly destroyed, no salvageable materiel.’ I do recall you have a talent for explosives, Avon.”

“Only in the interest of the greater good,” Avon murmured, eyes still closed.

“Shut up.” Katrin scowled at the report for a moment. “So what do you people have against mutoids?” 

“They creep me out,” volunteered Ranmor. Drew gave him a sharp look, and he subsided. 

Cally leaned forward, her eyes burning fervently. “Katrin, do you know what they do to create mutoids? To take a thinking, feeling, aware human being, to strip away their memories, their personalities, their emotions, their very concept of self? To replace that with mechanical skills, programmed like robots to do nothing more than obey? Take away their ability to imagine, to create, their potential to give, and laugh, and love, and to turn them into machines? No, worse than machines, to make them slaves, that cannot even remember what they have lost?”

“They are criminals,” retorted Katrin.“Or brain damaged. The dregs of society. Converted, they are at least able to contribute something to the greater good. To contribute is better than to be executed as dangerous, or worthless.”

Avon opened his eyes. “I knew a woman once. The wife of a senior Federation officer. She was … beautiful. Fragile, graceful, a dancer. She… glowed. She had such passion for life, such love to give to the world… she made people happy just to be near her. I thought her husband to be such a lucky man.” There was a unfeigned wistfulness in his tone, and his gaze was fixed on the wall behind Katrin, seeing something long ago. “Her husband was disgraced. Some errors...he was dismissed the service, executed as a traitor. His children were sold into slavery. Later….much later, I saw her again, as Space Commander Travis’s pilot. She had been converted. The woman I knew…that dancing beam of light… was gone. Nothing but the shell remained. Travis denied her serum, and the mutoid died, starved by him.  But Keera was dead long before that.” His eyes focused back onto Katrin. “Not a criminal, not the dregs of society, Commissar.  A Federation citizen. The mother of children. The wife of an officer who made a mistake. Converted into a … a thing.” His voice gave out and the last words were whispered.

Years of training and conditioning assured Katrin that the rebel must be lying, trying to gain her sympathy, but she heard a peculiar anguish in his words, and reluctantly knew he spoke truth.

“Katrin,” said Cally, “this is not the Inner Worlds. The Federation is here to crush these people, to force them into obedience. There are tranquilizers in the water supply, sedatives in the rations the Federation provides. Anyone who speaks against the Federation, against Servalan, disappears. And so do their family and friends. And the conversion plants produce more and more mutoids every day.” 

Katrin bit her lip, unaware that Drew found that incredibly adorable, as she thought furiously. “All right. I’ve heard enough. I need to… Ranmor, get Avon down to medical. Then lock them up. I’m taking personal charge of interrogation from here on. Understood?”

Ranmor saluted. “Yes Commissar.” 

“Thank you, Katrin. You are very kind,” said Cally softly.

Katrin looked at her levelly. “Soon you may not think so. The President’s standing orders are that you are to be delivered directly to her, alive and intact, at all costs.” 

Avon tensed, and Katrin saw a flicker of something like fear race across his face. “You know what the President wants from you?” she probed, seeking an edge.

“I know.” 

“What?” Drew couldn’t help asking, though he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know the answer. 

Cally answered. “First a show trial to illustrate what happens to rebels against the Federation. Then exiled to a prison colony, sent to the labor camps or the slave pits. Or  simply executed.”

Avon spoke up, his tone even flatter and colder than usual. “That is only if we are lucky, Cally. Servalan has never been one to discard useful resources.”

“Useful resources?” Ranmor asked, with horrified fascination.

Avon turned his glacial gaze on the young captain.  “Of course. She wants the Rebellion, but even more she wants the Liberator. Or, if she cannot have the ship, knowledge of its technology.”

Drew nodded, remembering seeing the great ship in combat. “The Liberator’s weapons, her drives, her force wall, the detector shield, your famous ‘teleport.’ All that would be invaluable to Space Command, to the Federation.”

“You are reputed to be the greatest computer genius in the Federation,” Katrin said thoughtfully. “You think she wants you for your knowledge of the Liberator’s systems?”

“There are disadvantages to having a reputation.” He held Katrin’s gaze with his own. “Servalan’s interrogation will be much more comprehensive than what your people here have done.”

Katrin had to think. “Ranmor, get them out of here.”

“Yes ma’am.” 

Chapter Text

As he left the base’s medical center with the worst of his injuries treated, Avon thought their situation had definitely improved. Notwithstanding the fact that his own physical condition was still poor, Cally was fighting fit, and if their former colleagues from Ararat weren’t supportive at least they were not as hostile as they could be. He thought there might be still an opportunity to salvage the mission. They’d have to take a very different approach than they’d originally planned, but it might be possible.

He tried hard not to think about their conspicuously absent ship.

Playing the model prisoner, since in addition to Ranmor and Patel there were two troopers with rifles leveled at him, he obediently entered the cell as instructed. This one had two bunks and a sanitary, a significant upgrade over the featureless maximum security cells they had occupied for three days. “You’ll be a little more comfortable here,” Ranmor said brusquely, not making eye contact. “I’ll make sure you both get standard rations from now on.”

Patel had helped Cally onto the bunk and fussed about her until Ranmor, waiting in the corridor, gave a pointed cough. With a slightly embarrassed expression, Drew quickly joined his colleague, then looked back at his prisoners. “You’re a hell of a commander, Avon. Almost wish…” Without finishing the thought, he quickly slammed the cell door shut.

Chapter Text

Avon watched the closed door for a long moment, considering, then turned to sit on the bunk opposite Cally. His movements were slower and more pained than they had been  in Katrin’s office, as if he had exhausted all the energy he had for concealing weakness. 

Cally was lying on her back, looking up at the ceiling. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been in interrogation for three days.” He stretched out his aching legs with a sigh. “It’s not as fun as it looks.”

“I know. At least they have treated your injuries now. And put us together.” It was you who insisted that we make them think you are the only one worth interrogating, she reminded him. So that I would be unimpaired and able to fight when it is time. And it worked, I am unharmed. Mostly.

He did not physically react, but she felt a surge of violent anger radiate from him at the caveat. 

Avon, we talked about this before. It was predictable. It is so common as to be practically routine practice for female prisoners. It is not important. I was not seriously injured or impaired. 

The anger did not subside, but she could feel his rigorous self-control focusing it down, containing it, transforming it into an ice-cold deadly rage to be set aside and brought out at some future time.

That is a problem for later, Avon. Our current problem is not to be given to Servalan. “Are we under surveillance?” she asked aloud. 

“I don’t think so,” Avon said, catching her eye and giving two slow blinks.

Cally recognized the code they had worked out long ago. We are being monitored, but you want them to think that we do not know that. You have a plan. 

Blink, blink.  “Well, I suppose our good deeds on Ararat paid off after all,” Avon said with forced lightness. “This is much more pleasant.” 

Cally nodded, playing along. “Katrin is kind. And Drew and Cris are good men.” Our best chance of winning them over is to get them to identify with us. To see us as people who have hopes and fears and emotions that they can sympathize with. People like them. Avon shot her a look that suggested he didn’t see any way that he could resemble a FedSec officer. I know that you dislike showing emotion. But from where we are right now, I think that is our best chance of survival. 

He gave her a twisted smile, but his words acknowledged her advice. “Kind, yes. Regrettably not kind enough to refrain from turning us in, but one can hardly expect otherwise.”

“They have only their own experience of the Federation,” Cally replied. “They have not experienced the horrors that we have. They did not even know the mutoid conversion plant was here, they can hardly have seen what it does to its victims. They are good people, and good Federation officers.” Do you think we can win Katrin over?

The tiniest shrug of one shoulder. Maybe. Avon wearily leaned back against the wall. “Cally, your capacity for tolerance never fails to astound me.” 

“You should try it sometime,” she retorted teasingly, “you might find it makes you less unpopular.” 

“Unfortunately, it seems I shall have little opportunity to experiment with such a novel approach to social interactions.”

His bleak assessment of their future drained the momentary lightness out of them both. 

Cally considered whether the subject of her abuse by the interrogators would be useful in winning over their unseen audience. She thought about Avon’s silent reaction when she mentioned it before and decided this was not the time to do so. 

“At least we destroyed that conversion plant,” she said finally. “Perhaps Katrin and the others will watch the vid we took. If we could have gotten that to the Rebellion, it would have been great propaganda.” She shuddered.

Avon’s eyes were haunted. “I will never get those people out of my mind. The two redheaded girls, that the suppressants hadn’t taken on.  The look on their faces as they were being strapped down, their screams when the surgery started… if I believed I had a soul, Cally, I would say that it hurt.” 

Though Cally knew Avon was choosing his words intentionally to sway Katrin and any other unseen observers to their side, she had felt his genuine horror inside the conversion plant. Avon was a creature of his mind. The thought of the Federation transforming it into a tool for their exploitation would be his worst nightmare. She telepathed understanding and support to him. 

“I am not a good man, Cally. But destroying these mutoid factories…freeing those people… when I die I will know that I did one good thing in this life.” He gave a rueful shrug. “Even though it ended us up here.” 

Well said, she sent encouragingly. I know that speaking of feelings is difficult for you, but that was excellent. She decided to run with it. “Avon, you are a good man, despite what you want people to think,” she said aloud. “You risked your life to disarm that Solon bomb and save the people of Albion. You saved Jenna and Meegat’s people on Cephlon, though it gave you nearly-fatal radiation poisoning. You captured the murderess on the Destiny ship so they could get their nutratope into orbit to save the planet. You saved us all when Kline double-crossed us on XK-72, at the cost of your own freedom. You freed the slaves on Horizon. You helped me kill the Csrill on Ararat. When will you stop pretending to be a villain?"

Avon looked so comically taken aback at her unexpected diatribe that she almost laughed. “Cally, I should get you to write my wanted posters.”

It is all the truth and you know it.  “So, what do you think happened to the ship? Why hasn’t it come for us?” she asked, changing the subject entirely. 

Avon seemed to welcome the topic change. “I don’t know. I think the Commissar would have known if it was captured or destroyed by the Federation, and she wasn’t lying to us, so I don’t think that’s what happened. But there are any number of other possibilities. Pirates, an asteroid storm, a solar flare. Or perhaps they just got bored and left us here.”  

“You know full well they would not have done that.” 

 “In any case, it’s been over three days. If they could have come for us, they would have by now.”

“So what happens next?” 

Chapter Text

Avon drew one knee up to his chest and wrapped his arms around it. “I expect Commissar Shaw has already called Servalan. Either she’ll have us delivered directly to her, or, depending on how impatient she is, she’ll come personally.”

“You told Katrin that Servalan wants you for your knowledge about the Liberator. What about me? I know nothing about the ship’s systems, and very little about Blake’s plans or the Rebellion’s resources.”

Avon answered reluctantly, but, as ever, honestly. “She will endeavor to use you to make me do what she wants.”

Cally let her eyes go wide and her voice quaver nervously. “Avon…would you…let her hurt me, to keep that information from her?”

He blinked. “To protect the galaxy from Servalan’s blood-thirsty, sadistic, egomaniacal deprivations?” He was silent for a moment. “I will try to make them kill me. When I am dead, you will be of little use to them. I think Servalan would execute you quickly.” 

“Thank you… I suppose.”  Well, that’s bleak. Hopefully that will appeal to their kindness. 

Avon gave her a thin smile. “Think nothing of it. I could be wrong. Knowing how vindictive Servalan is, she might convert you just to keep you around, Young, fit… you’d make a fine mutoid for her entourage.”

Cally’s expression was genuinely horrified. “If it comes to that, I would rather die.” Please. I can think of no worse fate. 

“If it comes to that,” Avon said softly, “I will try to make certain that you do.”

Watching from her desk via the concealed surveillance camera, Katrin sat stunned by Avon’s matter-of-fact plans for their short future. She knew, of course, what happened to captured terrorists: imprisonment, interrogation, execution or conversion. But these were not faceless, anonymous rebels… these were people she had known, had worked with. People who had saved her life, and that of her men…and a planet…

Cally changed the subject again. “Avon, long ago, you told me that regret is a part of being alive.” 

“But keep it a small part,” he added wryly. 

“What do you regret, Avon?” 

He was silent for so long that she thought he would not answer. “I’m tired, and I hurt. Is this really the time for truth-telling, Cally?”

“It seems unlikely there will be another time.”

Avon sighed, and looked directly into her eyes. “Among my many regrets, Cally, the biggest one is that I never gave you the child you want.”

Avon! Cally was stunned, both by his confession and the insightfulness it revealed. She had never mentioned, never even hinted, of her occasional daydreams of a dark-haired, dark-eyed child who would bring their lives together. 

After a long moment of struggling to order her thoughts and find a response to that totally unexpected confession, Cally came to her senses. Of course, she finally realized with an unavoidable sense of betrayal, this was another ploy on his part, another tool to build sympathy from their captors. You are clever, she told him, trying to maintain a neutral tone in her mental voice. An excellent tactic. Katrin is a romantic, as is Drew. A very clever ploy to win them over. “I did not know that you wanted to be a father,” she assayed. 

Double blink. He confirmed the strategy. “Well now, there has seemed little point to raising the topic for conversation. On the run from Servalan, fighting pursuit ships with one hand and blowing up mutoid conversion plants with the other, it is hardly a life to bring a child into.”

“It would have been a life with you and me,” Cally managed. “Someone who could share our future.” She tried to mentally match his expressionless tone. Nice. The story of star-crossed lovers, cheated of the opportunity to express their love, tugs at the very heartstrings of sentient beings across the galaxy.  A classic manipulation.

Blink. No. To what was he disagreeing? “Though given present circumstances, that future seems likely to be brief.” His words held the usual sardonic edge, but there was a strange intensity in his half-closed eyes. “It would have been a novel experience, in any case.“

I cannot believe that you brought this up. I am impressed. Excellent strategy. “Can you imagine children running around the Liberator?” she mused aloud. “Leaving toys on the flight deck, dirty clothes in the teleport bay, sticky handprints on the pilot’s console?”

Blink blink. “Jenna would have a heart attack.” He almost smiled.

“Uncle Blake, Uncle Vila. Vila loves children.”

“Reasonable, since intellectually he is one.” But the insult was half-hearted. 

“Someone to fight for.” 

“Someone to protect.” Avon sighed. “I am sorry, Cally. Not only for losing our lives, but for losing the life we never had.”

Chapter Text

The prisoners lapsed into silence, Avon lay back on the bunk and appeared to sleep. Katrin realized that these two were far more than friends…and yet Avon had just promised to kill Cally - at her request - to save her from conversion. Reaching for her console, she queried for data on recent rebel activity regarding Destiny, XK-72, Albion, and Horizon. Then she slotted the data cube that had been taken from Cally into the console.

Not long after, having completed their various duties, Drew and Cris returned to the office. “Sit down,” Katrin said absently, her eyes still on her desk console. The officers did so, Drew scuffing his boot through the small puddle of smeared blood where Avon had been sitting. “Well, that was…interesting,” he said as Katrin finally looked up from her console. Drew noticed that she was pale, with near-feverish spots of red on her cheekbones.

“That’s one word for it,” she agreed tightly. “Impressions, gentlemen?”

Ranmor turned to Drew, as the superior officer, to speak first. Drew considered his words very carefully, watching Katrin’s reaction closely. “I am having some trouble reconciling their words and actions with their reputation,” he said finally.  “Obviously you hear things in the rebel propaganda about how heroic they are, when of course the plain facts are that they’re terrorists and murderers. But…hell, Katrin. I liked the people we knew on Ararat. Yes, I know of course they were playing a role to further their own agenda, Avon outright admitted it. But… they could have taken their supplies and run. They didn’t have to stay and fight the Csrill with us. And what they did during the Andromedan war…” he trailed off.

Ranmor nodded. “As far as I can tell, Commissar, they were both speaking truth, as they see it. About the hospital, about the woman Keera, all of it.”

“They are both first-class liars, of course,” Katrin observed, but she sounded unsure of herself.

Ranmor frowned. “Begging your pardon, Commissar, but I actually disagree. Yes, they came to Ararat in disguise and under false pretenses, that’s true enough. But all that fell apart pretty quickly when they were under pressure.” He looked pointedly at Drew. “The people who rescued us from the marsh dragon in the caves… that was Avon and Cally, not Quibell and Wing. They didn’t outright name themselves then, but if you think about it, they also didn’t really put much effort towards maintaining their cover from that point on.” He shook his head. “I actually don’t think either of them is a particularly good liar.”

Katrin did not want to agree. “Here. Both of you, watch this.” She replayed the conversation from the prison cell onto the main screen for her officers to watch as she turned back to her console to read the data returned from her search query.

Chapter Text

“What do you think she’s got going on now?” Ranmor asked Drew as they responded to Katrin’s peremptory after-hours summons.

“Don’t know. She’s been either out of the office or locked into it since yesterday morning. I’ve not heard a single word from her until this summons just now,” Patel responded. “I’ve been heads down trying to keep this bloody colony running and covering for her absence. How are the, um, prisoners?”

“Peaceful and quiet. Almost suspiciously so.”

“Suspiciously?” 

“Well, per orders, I’ve kept them isolated. Avon’s recovering from interrogation. He did ask for a chess set, polite as pie. But overall they just do as they’re told, neither of them causes trouble at all. Somehow not what I’d expected. ”

“Anything interesting - damnit! Again?” Drew stopped walking, irritated, as the lights flickered erratically. “Power on this base is bloody unstable. That’s the third time today it’s been cutting in and out. It’s wreaking havoc on the security and monitoring  systems.”

“What does maintenance say?”  Ranmor pulled a torch from his belt and used it to illuminate their path as they resumed walking.  

The lights flickered again for a few seconds, then returned to normal. “‘They’re working on it.’ Lazy bastards. What were you saying about the cell surveillance?”

“Per the Commissar’s orders, I’ve locked the logs to Eyes Only: you, me, her, and I’ve been monitoring almost constantly. The recordings and my summaries are on your terminal, you can take a look when you like.  But short form, nothing of what you’d call strategic value. Not that I’d expect it, honestly… you’ve got to figure with their experience and background they wouldn’t risk saying anything significant in a prison cell even if they don’t think they’re being monitored. But they’ve not tried to escape, not given the guards any trouble, seem to be just…resigned.” He paused, then continued, his voice carefully expressionless. “They expect us to hand them over to the President any time now. Avon told Cally he’s going to try to get them both killed when that happens.  She thanked him.”

Drew narrowed his eyes. “Katrin has not sent any message to the President, as far as I know.”

“I haven’t told them that, obviously. Haven’t talked to them at all.”

“So what DO they do?”

“Play a lot of chess. Avon always wins, but he’s also teaching Cally. Reminds me of one of my professors at academy. They’ve talked a bit about things they’ve done, but nothing strategic, nothing political, even.  Mostly personal stuff. Friends they’ve lost, that sort of thing.  Vacations they’d like to have taken. Whether their child would have been a genius like Avon, or ‘just’ a telepath like Cally. Avon doesn’t think much of the Federation schools, incidentally. He’s partial to the Beryl Academy on Teal.” He shook his head. “Makes me feel a bit voyeuristic, actually.”

“It’s not voyeurism, it’s surveillance. Don’t forget how dangerous these two are, Cris.”

“I know, I know. It’s just…they don’t act dangerous. They act like… hell, like any normal couple would do spending their last few days together. It’s just… it’s not what you think of when you think of terrorists, y‘know?” He shook his head. “Well no, not quite normal.  Avon really is a bloody genius. When they’re not playing chess or talking about irrelevancies, he’s been designing of a new subspace communications protocol, purely mentally. And I guess just for the challenge, since they sure don’t seem to expect rescue or escape. It’s far too technical for my understanding, but from how he occasionally describes it to Cally, it would be something like fifty times more efficient than the best we have now, and encryption that would be intrinsically unbreakable. If he actually were to be able to create that…well, not having it is going to be a loss to the Federation, no question.”

“Interesting.” Drew was remembering that precise, clipped voice orchestrating a chaotic horde of volunteer civilian ships, calmly giving battle orders for hours on end to prevent an alien invasion. And he was remembering watching that beautiful young woman walking alone into a monster’s den on Ararat, risking more than her own life to single-handedly save the galaxy. “Anything else?”

“Not really.” Ranmor hesitated. “Avon has nightmares. Screaming, agonized. He’s been interrogated before. Really…” he searched for the right word, and finally quoted Avon, “comprehensively.” 

“That’s correct. Katrin showed me his file.” Drew suppressed a shudder at the memory of what he’d seen in that file. “And his assessment of what the President wants from him, and what she will do to them … is also probably correct.”

On that uncomfortable note, the two Federation Security officers arrived at Katrin’s office. 

Chapter Text

The Commissar greeted them with an unusually distracted expression. Her face was pale and her eyes red-rimmed, her uniform rumpled as if she had been wearing it too long. “Sit down,” she said absently, pouring them each a drink. “Thanks for coming, I know it’s late and you’re both impatient to get home. But I needed to talk to you about… something both sensitive and urgent.”

“No problem,” Drew said, and Ranmor nodded puzzled agreement.

Katrin was pacing slow circles around the office. “Drew, Cris…I find myself in a position I never expected to be in. And this is a conversation I never thought I’d be having,” she said finally, coming to a stop and looking out the window. “Now I’m afraid to have it, because I am afraid of putting you two into the same position. But you are the only people I can trust. So I’m going to give you both the chance, right now, to tell me this is a responsibility you don’t want, and walk out. No harm, no foul, no way this will ever come up again or impact you in any way.”

Drew blinked, baffled for a moment, then nodded. “Of course. We’ve always had each other’s trust, nothing is going to change that now, Katrin.”

Ranmor hesitated for a moment, then he too nodded. “Whatever you have in mind, Commissar, I’m with you.” 

“Thank you.” Katrin resumed pacing. “I’ve been looking into some of the things that Avon and Cally talked about,” she said finally. “The hospital, the suppressants in the civilian food and water supply, the people who have gone missing. And from what I can tell, they were speaking level truth. The people here are terrified of the Federation. And it’s not unjustified. People are disappearing. Innocent people. It’s been going on since the war, and it’s getting worse recently. The red-headed sisters that Avon mentioned were named Bett and Rami Solrac, whose father wrote a article denouncing the rationing. The father has disappeared too.” She dropped heavily into her chair and poured herself a glass full. “Watch this.” She hit a button on her console and Cally’s vid from the mutoid conversion plant started playing. 

“It’s possible, of course, that this is a complete fake,” Katrin said in a brittle tone into the stunned silence that filled the office when the vid came to an end. “But I don’t think so. And assuming that Avon’s not lying in the video and it’s not a fake…I… I can’t even think of what to say.” She shook her head and resumed her nervous pacing around the room. 

“From what I’ve been able to find out, what Cally said about Albion, Destiny, and Horizon is also mostly true, if you can,” and she was struggling a bit to say it, “if you can manage to look at it from a rebel’s point of view. The Commissar on Horizon was using the natives as expendable slave labour in the mines. Blake and his people led a revolution there. The Space Major in charge on Albion, in response to a rebel attack on his base, ordered the release of a Solon radiation device which would have wiped out the entire population of the planet. Five million people. Avon and another rebel disarmed the device. Saved the planet. Again.” 

“What about that XK-72 that Cally mentioned?” Ranmor asked. 

“XK-72 was a nonaffiliated research station. Official reports are that the Liberator destroyed it, an unprovoked attack. But I dug a little deeper, and it seems that Blake went there looking for medical help for one of his crew, nothing else. And somebody on that ‘neutral’ base called in a squad of pursuit ships to take the Liberator. Survivors say that Avon did come aboard for a while, then disappeared after the pursuit ships were notified. They also say the Liberator never fired a shot.” She paused. “Unofficial reports from the salvage missions indicate that the station was destroyed by Federation pursuit ship plasma bolts.”  

“Friendly fire strike on a neutral station?” 

“Appears to be the case.”

“My gods.”

The three officers sat in silence for a long moment.  Finally Drew had to say something. “You know, when you look at it that perspective, it’s…not so hard to understand where the rebels are coming from.”

“It’s certainly some things that don’t make the Federation look good,” Katrin agreed slowly. 

“The Federation… we … would have destroyed Ararat,” Drew added after another pause. “Two million people. It was Cally who insisted on fighting the Csrill and saving the planet. And Avon who made it possible with those bombs he made.”

“I’m not sure how to say this without it sounding like it’s coming out wrong, and I hope you will forgive me for saying it,” Ranmor said finally to his superiors, “but with everything you’ve just said… right this second I’m not too comfortable wearing this uniform.”

“Neither am I, Cris,” Katrin confessed after a moment. 

“Nor me,” Drew admitted. 

“And that leads us to the crisis of the moment,” Katrin said flatly.  “I just learned that someone notified the office of the President that we have Avon and Cally in custody.  There is a squadron of pursuit ships and a destroyer en route to take them to Earth for delivery to Servalan.”

The two junior officers stared at her. “What are we going to do?” Drew asked.

“The obvious thing is we turn them over, and I do some fast talking to explain why I didn’t already notify the President.”

“Honestly, Commissar…I have to say I’m not entirely comfortable with that,” Ranmor said slowly. 

“Neither am I.” Katrin fingered the badge on her collar and sighed. “I’ve been a Federation officer my entire life. I took the oath the day I got out of school. Never once questioned that I was doing the right thing. Until now.” 

“From what they’ve said,” Drew said, “they’d rather die than be given to Servalan. Actually, I think that’s what Avon is intending.”

“It could be the kinder alternative,” Katrin agreed reluctantly. “We could kill them, and explain that they died trying to escape. No one will fault us for that, given their record.” 

“Or… we let them really escape. Again,” Ranmor concluded. 

“Which is a career-ending, and quite possibly a life-ending, choice,” Drew said into the silence. “Again to be totally honest, I will say, I do respect them. I think I respect and maybe even a little bit agree with what they’re doing. Personally, I like them. But I’m not prepared to die for them.”

“Neither am I,” Ranmor said. “Should we talk to them again? They’re still our prisoners, so we wouldn’t really be taking any risk. We can always decide to kill them later,” he added dryly. 

Katrin drummed her fingers thoughtfully on her desk, then nodded slowly. “We’re on a dangerous road, but as you say, we can always decide to turn back. Bring them up here, Cris. Don’t tell them anything.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He set his glass on the desk, pushed himself out of his chair and departed.

Chapter Text

The prisoners were in considerably better shape than on their first visit to Katrin’s office. They were clean and dry, for one thing, and looked both better rested and less gaunt. Avon was still limping but the marks of his previous interrogation were mostly healed. He nodded politely to Katrin and Drew as Ranmor’s troopers marched him and Cally into the office and again secured them to the chairs.  “Well now, Commissar, this is an unexpected pleasure,” he said with an ironic half-smile.  “What can we do for you today?”

“You can actually answer some questions,” Katrin replied sharply. 

“What would you like to know now?” Drew found the man’s relaxed, authoritative tone unnerving… it almost felt like the three officers were visitors in his office.

“Kerr Avon.” She looked down at the records on her console. “Scientist, engineer, mathematician. Youngest ever honor graduate of the Federation Central Science Complex. Seventeen patents before the age of twenty-three. Lead analyst on the Aquitar project. And you went from there to a life of crime and terrorism. How many people have you killed, Dr. Avon?”

Avon looked at her thoughtfully before he answered. “Excluding people who were trying to kill, torture or enslave me or my friends, not very many.” 

“How did a man of science like you decide to become a rebel?”

“Blake, Jenna Stannis and I were fortunate enough to run across the Liberator and escape the prison transport taking us to exile on Cygnus Alpha. The ‘rebel’ part is really all Blake.” He glanced wryly at his compatriot. “And Cally. I was just along for the ride.” 

“‘Along for the ride’ doesn’t get you to number two on the Federation Most Wanted list, right behind Blake,” Katrin pointed out. “The record of your personal actions on behalf of the Rebellion is both long and involved.” She tapped the console on her desk. “So again I’m asking you, why?” 

“Why do you want to know, Commissar?” 

“Maybe I’m trying to understand how someone with so much to gain from the Federation would choose instead to fight it, condemning himself to an early, unpleasant, and largely futile death.” 

“Well now, the futility of it remains to be seen,” Avon murmured dryly. “Although in the current circumstance, early and unpleasant does seem quite likely.”

“Well?”

Avon leaned back in his seat, apparently perfectly relaxed. ”If you want inspiring reasons and lectures about freedom, choice, and the greater good of the common sentient, you’ll have to talk to Cally or Blake,” he said calmly. “If the files you are reading from are at all complete or accurate they will indicate that idealism and altruism are not numbered among my many faults. You may safely assume that my own motivations are far more pragmatic. I have seen first-hand what the Federation does to independent thinkers, anyone it cannot control. It should be obvious that being who and what I am, for my own personal safety, life under the Federation’s rule is not acceptable.”

Katrin leaned forward intently. “Which is a good argument for escaping it, not fighting it,” she insisted. 

“There is no escaping the Federation,” Cally said. “Not for us, not for anyone. It grows, it conquers, it corrupts. Worse than the Csrill, it cannot be ignored or avoided.” 

“What would you replace it with then? People must be governed.”

“There can be governance without control,” the young woman responded. “There can be coordination and organization without coercion. There can be autonomy and self-rule for the planets as well as efficient interstellar communications, commerce, coordination and defense.”

“As I said, she is the idealist,” Avon commented. “If you talk to Blake you’ll get more of the same, only louder and more emphatically.” Cally gave him a disapproving look, which he ignored. “Where are you going with this, Commissar?”

“I want to understand,” Katrin repeated. She decided to raise the stakes. “Before I hand you over to the President.”

That sparked a definite reaction in the prisoners. Cally’s eyes widened, Avon’s narrowed. Drew felt the danger level in the little office rise, and instinctively shifted his grip on his rifle.  “Well, now,” Avon said softly, “it seems you will soon become a very rich woman. What is the bounty on our heads up to now?” 

“Four million for you,” Ranmor volunteered. “And three for Cally.” He too was holding his rifle more firmly.

“Yours was only two and a half last time. Congratulations,” Avon said to Cally. He looked back at Katrin. “Seven million credits will go a long ways. As well as promotions and medals, I have no doubt.”

“If you’ve already called Servalan, what more do you want from us, Katrin?” Cally asked bluntly. “Why are we here now?”

“Humor me,” Katrin repeated. “Let me pose a hypothetical question. If there were no Federation security or military presence on a planet, say for example this one, how would you maintain order, safety, and welfare of the population, given the destruction of Star One and the disruption of interstellar communications?” 

Avon blinked in obvious surprise. A tense silence filled the office for a long moment before Cally spoke. “It does not need to be hypothetical, Katrin. You can look at other planets which have thrown off the Federation’s shackles.” She rapidly threw out a dozen names. “All of them have freed themselves from Federation control, and yet maintain reasonable order.”

“Those are all Outer and Rim worlds, not Inner or Central planets,” Katrin objected. “And you haven’t addressed how you’d handle interplanetary communications or security without Federation resources.”

“With Servalan’s arrival imminent there seems little point for us to tell you about any such plans, were they to exist,” Avon said. With a bitter smile he added, “I’m certain it will come up in interrogation, you may observe if you wish.”

“Unless,” Cally said slowly, her bright eyes fixed on Katrin’s, “you three are trying to figure out how to free Pyxus from the Federation without yourselves being executed as traitors or converted into mutoids.”

Chapter Text

In the silence that followed Cally’s unnervingly accurate insight, they were all startled by a sharp, officious knocking on the door. “I gave orders not to be disturbed,” snapped Katrin angrily, rising to her feet. Ranmor, who was nearest the door, had just taken a step towards when it burst open and an officer in the gleaming uniform of the Presidential guard strode into the room as if he owned the place, flanked by four troopers bearing rifles, who stood in formation just inside the open door. He was tall and thin, with dark hair, a supercilious air, and a zealot’s eyes. Drew instantly wanted to punch him in the nose. 

“Commissar Shaw? I’m Commandant Raiker, President’s personal chief of security.”  His lip curled as he surveyed the two prisoners bound to their chairs. “Here to collect two pieces of rebel scum.”  He rested his hand threateningly on the butt of his pistol.

Avon looked up sharply at the Commandant‘s entrance, and an unpleasant smile spread across his face. “Well now. This is unexpected.” 

“Remember me, Avon?” purred Raiker. “You and Blake left me to die in space, but the London managed to retrieve me in time.” 

“Pity, we shall have to do better next time.”

Raiker backhanded Avon across the face. “There’s not going to be a next time, Avon. The President has plans for you and your little friend that are going to make you wish you had gone to Cygnus Alpha. On your feet!”

“Just a minute,” snapped Katrin angrily, “Commandant, these are my prisoners.” 

Raiker stepped up to her desk, looming over her. “Not any more, Commissar. In fact, the President is very interested to know why the notification about their capture did not come from you. I’m sure you’ll be able to explain yourself to her.”

Katrin was utterly unintimidated. “I’m certainly not required to explain anything to you, Commandant. In fact, I’ll need to see proof of your identity and your authority to take custody.”

“Proof? What are you talking about, Commissar? Don’t you recognize this uniform?” He glowered at her. 

“Any fool with a hundred credits can mock up a uniform and insignia,” Katrin retorted. “For all I know you’re one of Blake’s people in a uniform you stole. I would be failing in my duty not to require proof that you are who you claim to be.”

With a superior smile, Raiker reached into his chest pocket for his ident wallet. “You’re going to regret this, Commissar,” he started to say, when the prisoners attacked. 

Faster than a striking snake, Avon was out of his seat and had Raiker’s gun pressed hard against the back of his neck, bending the Commandant forward over the desk. In a blur of motion, Cally was suddenly across the room, holding Drew’s rifle leveled at Katrin. Drew and Cris froze as they realized they had lost the initiative and their commanding officer’s life hung in the balance.

Katrin’s small pocket gun was in her hand and aimed at Avon’s head. 

“Please don’t, Commissar,” said Cally politely. “I do not want to kill you but I will if I must.”

The restraints dangled from Avon’s left wrist as, bleeding slightly from the mouth, he gestured for Ranmor to drop his rifle and take Cally’s seat. “Never turn your back on a prisoner, Raiker,” he snarled, “you never know if they might have gotten out of their restraints when you weren’t looking.”

Her blue eyes flashing angrily, Katrin grudgingly set her pistol on the desk and raised her hands, looking at Cally. “You’re going to regret this,” she said, unconsciously repeating Raiker. 

“I shall add it to my list of regrets,” Cally replied equably. “Please sit down and put your hands on your head.”

“Captain Patel, if you would be so good as to have a seat as well?” Avon’s glittering dark eyes darted to Raiker’s troopers clustered in the doorway. “Don’t move, gentlemen, or your Commandant’s brains will make a terrible mess all over the Commissar’s desk.”  He grabbed Raiker by the back of the collar and forced him to his knees, the pistol still pressed to the back of his head. “I watched you murder unarmed prisoners,” he growled. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t pull the trigger right now.”

Raiker’s face was red and contorted with fury. “You’re going to pay for this, Avon!”

“Well now, that’s hardly a good reason.” Avon looked up, and as he met Katrin’s eyes across the desk, reversed the pistol in his hand and brought the butt down hard on the back of Raiker’s neck. The man slumped, instantly unconscious, to the floor. Avon brought the gun to bear on Ranmor and Drew as the high-pitched whine of a paragun on stun sounded from outside the office. All four guards collapsed, to reveal behind them a slender man with sandy hair and a gas mask, holding a gun in one hand and a small bag in the other.

“It’s about time,” Avon grouched at him. “He could have killed us both while you were dawdling.”

“Had to pick my moment, didn’t I?” was the cheerful retort. “Besides, Cally was here to save your arse. Hi Cally.” Beyond him, Drew and Ranmor could see that the outer office was full of slumped, motionless figures. The new arrival closed the office door as he pulled five sets of restraints from his bag, tossed one to Avon, then knelt down to quickly and efficiently secure the troopers. “Really, prison-khaki isn’t your color, Cally. Looks good on you though, Avon.” 

“Thank you for the fashion advice.” said Cally gravely. 

Avon bound Raiker’s wrists behind his back then turned back to Katrin. “See, Commissar? There’s someone I didn’t kill.”

“Yet,” snarked the newcomer.  He removed his gas mask, revealing bright eyes and a winning smile.

“We apologize for putting you into this awkward position,” Cally said, lowering the barrel of her rifle to point at the desk instead of Katrin’s head. “We had intended to have a more extensive conversation about the Rebellion and its objectives, but I’m afraid the Commandant’s arrival has forced our hand. I believe you were saying something about wanting to free Pyxus from Federation control? I would be more than happy to discuss options with you.”

Katrin was looking at the newcomer. “Who the hell are you? And what did you do to my troops out there?”

That got her a slight bow and a charming smile. “Good afternoon, lovely lady. Vila Restal, at your service. Don’t worry about them, just a bit of sonovapor to keep them from disturbing us. They’ll recover perfectly fine when it wears off in a few minutes. ” 

“I should have guessed. Restal. Number seven on the FMW.”

Vila perked up. “Seven? What’s the reward at?”

“Million and a half,” volunteered Ranmor, watching Avon remove Raiker’s gun belt and fasten it around his own waist so he could holster the gun.

“Nice. Wonder if I could turn myself in and collect it,” Vila speculated. 

“I’m rather inclined to turn you in and collect it myself,” snapped Avon. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Solar flare. Perhaps you hadn’t noticed, but the red giant is rather unstable. ‘Bout knocked us into the little star, and shorted out half the systems in the ship. Not my fault you two managed to get yourselves captured and lost your teleport bracelets. I let you know as soon as I got back on station.” Vila sounded affronted.

“Yes, we got your message,” Cally said placatingly. “We’re glad you’re all right.”

“See now, she was brought up with manners, unlike some people I could mention,” said Vila to Katrin, with a sly glance at Avon. “I hope he hasn’t been too unbearably obnoxious, my lady.”

Katrin, baffled, looked back and forth between Vila, the unconscious Commandant and his guards, and her two erstwhile prisoners.  “What message?” she demanded finally. “There are no comms into the prison block, and I’m damn sure smart enough not to have let Kerr Avon near a computer.”

Vila looked smug. “Didn’t know where they were, so I had to signal the whole city and hope Avon picked up,” he explained obliquely.

“Of course I did.” Avon looked disdainful. “But you’re late. You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago.”

“Did you happen to notice the destroyer and three pursuit ships in orbit? They made my life just a little more complicated than I like.” 

“But how - “ Katrin started again.

“The power surges!” exclaimed Drew. “It was a code?”

Vila grinned at him. “Hat tip to the fine gentleman in black. Had Orac send a interference pattern into the municipal power grid to signal we were back on station.”

“If we could please focus,” said Cally rather sharply, “I think that Katrin and Drew and Cris have some decisions to make. Commandant Raiker will be waking soon.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” said Avon nastily. “Which I do.”

“Raiker? Huh, never thought to see him again.”  Vila’s affable expression disappeared as he crossed the office to look at the unconscious man on the floor. “Done well for himself, hasn’t he?”  He kicked Raiker, hard, in the ribs. 

“Not helping, Vila,” said Cally. 

“He deserves that and worse,” retorted Vila, all humor gone. He planted a second kick. “Filthy, sadistic bastard.  Tortured prisoners for fun. Ask Jenna about him sometime.”

“She has told me some of it,” Cally admitted. “And I cannot disagree with your sentiments.”

“Now, Commissar, Cally is correct. Raiker’s arrival has unfortunately limited your options. We can simply leave. I’m sure you’ll be able to explain to Raiker and Servalan why you didn’t turn us over immediately and how we got away from you.” Avon smiled wolfishly. “Or we can first work out a plan for how you will take this planet out of the Federation."

Chapter Text

Hours had passed since Katrin had finished negotiations and the three rebels had teleported away. Drew sat at his desk, nominally reviewing supply inventories and mostly staring blankly at the screen, So… we’re traitors now. Rebels. Committed to overthrowing the government, the society, I’ve been a part of my whole life. He felt very… odd. It wasn’t that he disagreed, no, no. He and Cris and Katrin had hammered through all of the pros and cons in excruciating detail until Cally and Avon had answered every question and resolved every concern the three FedSec officers could think of. He had to admit, the rebels were prepared and very well organized. After Cally laid out the details of the other planets that were already in quiet rebellion,  Avon showed them the logistics and covert communications networks he had put in place to prepare for the collapse of the Fed. Confronted with the rebels’ dryly factual analyses and pragmatic plans, Drew had begun to realize the fragility of the institutions he had always thought inviolate. 

“So… when do you think this whole collapse going to happen?” he had challenged them. 

Avon had looked at him coolly. He had returned briefly to his ship and changed into jacket, trousers and boots of black leather, trimmed with silver piping, an odd, transparent weapon on his hip. Drew thought that the appearance of the man finally matched the seething sense of danger he almost always radiated. “Four years at the outside,” he had replied. “I am planning on closer to three. If you and your colleagues do your parts well, it will be sooner.“ 

The beep of his comlink startled him out of his reverie. “Patel? Ranmor.  I need to show you something. Can you meet me in the high-sec cell block right away?  It’s urgent.”

Drew tapped the comlink. “On my way.”

Minutes later he joined Ranmor at the open door to the maximum security cell previously occupied by Cally. Together, the two men surveyed its contents.

“Huh. I hadn’t expected that,” he said finally. 

“I don’t think they did either.” Ranmor didn’t move. 

“Who are they?”

 “Lead interrogators on Avon and Cally, according to the duty logs. “

Drew forced himself to step into the cell and examine the two very dead bodies there.  “Ugh. It looks like…”

“They were… mutilated. Yeah.”

“Before they were killed?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s… sick.” He looked up at Ranmor’s carefully expressionless face. “Avon?”

“Seems probable.”

Why?  He’s a civilized man… why would he do something like this?” Drew paused, reflecting on what he had seen in the interrogation recordings. “Well. Actually, I could understand killing the interrogators for what they did to him.  Hell, I could even understand him wanting to kill me for ordering it. But this sort of … mutilation… that’s just sadistic. I wouldn’t have thought that of him.”

Ranmor hesitated before responding. And when he did he picked his words carefully. “These two, uh, well.. seems they … took liberties. With Cally.”

“Oh!” Drew reluctantly thought about that for a while. “Well.”

“I think he was sending a message.”

“To who?”

Ranmor shrugged. “Interrogation Division? FedSec? Us? The universe as a whole?”

“Message received.”

The two officers studied the bodies on the floor a while longer.  Finally, Ranmor asked, “What do we put in the report?”

“Training accident?”

“Training accident.”

Chapter Text

“So you just…'persuaded' the loyal Commissar of a firmly Federation planet to throw in with the Rebellion?” Vila asked with disbelief.

“Cally did the persuading,” Avon replied, wrapping a fresh bandage around his knee. “I simply supplied logistical details and advice.”

“Oh, well, now, that I’ll believe. She’s much more convincing than you are.” 

Avon glanced up. “I don’t need to be convincing, I know when I’m right.”

“Which is practically all the time.”

“Correct.” 

“You really needn’t be so modest,” observed Cally, entering the medical bay. 

“False modesty would be deceitful,” Avon replied calmly. “I prefer to be honest whenever possible.” 

“That’s just because you’re a lousy liar,” Vila retorted. 

“How would you know?” Avon cocked an eyebrow at him. “The measure of a good liar is you cannot tell if they are lying. Is it possible to distinguish between a truthful person and a superb liar?”

“I can,” Cally replied absently, “and Vila is correct. You are not very good at lying. I think that is what Katrin sensed, and what convinced her to join the Rebellion.”  She examined Avon’s bandaged leg, tsked, and started rewrapping it.

“That’ll look good in the press.” Vila spoke into an imaginary microphone.  “‘Breaking news:  the planet Pyxus Major just announced they are leaving the Federation and taking up arms with the Rebellion because Kerr Avon can’t lie worth a damn.’ Blake will be so proud.”

Avon glared at him. “Blake will never hear about this,” he threatened. 

Vila was uncowed. “You just don’t want him finding out how easily you got captured and had to be rescued by yours truly,“ he teased. 

“The mission was successful, other details are irrelevant,” interjected Cally as the argument threatened to escalate. She tightened the bandage and straightened. “I’ve already given Katrin instructions on how to coordinate with Avalon’s people.”

“Good. We can wash our hands of this whole miserable business.” Avon put on his boot and stood up. “Now, let’s get moving. There’s a bank on Telfor I want to clean out. I’m going to find a way to profit from this damned rebellion if it’s the last thing I do.”