Maps and Legends

The crew of the Liberator tried to gather, when they could, for dinner. During the day they might be scattered on individual projects, or working in pairs in isolated parts of a very big ship. But all of them, and particularly Blake since Gan's death, liked to regroup in the evening, to eat together in the cramped lounge nearest the kitchen unit. Even Avon took his turn at cooking and clean-up detail.

Today, however, he was late, arriving with his hair still damp from a hasty wash just as the others were beginning to grow impatient. Muttering his excuses, he dropped into the vacant chair next to Blake. Vila, barely waiting for Avon to get settled, cut himself a healthy wedge of bread, then handed the plate to Jenna at his side. Cally, as cook, stood to carve the cloned-meat steak, topping each slice with one of Zen's unidentifiable, but savoury, faintly-vegetable puddings.

"Where were you, Avon?" asked Blake, accepting a plate and passing it on to the technician. "Something come up?"

"My curiosity," answered Avon shortly. Blake shut his mouth, recognizing the danger signs of Kerr Avon annoyed. He exchanged a glance with Jenna, who smiled slightly and shook her head.

"About what?" asked Vila, undeterred.

"This food, for one thing. Do you realize, Blake," he turned to face the other man, "that we do not know how Zen created this meal?"

"He didn't do it alone," pointed out Cally, mildly insulted.

"It," emphasized Avon, "uses a decision-making process which I have not been able to trace, to synthesize the particular flavour of the pudding. You'll have noticed that it changes occasionally." He lifted a forkful of the stuff to illustrate his point, then swallowed it.

"But aside from detached curiosity, Avon, how important is that, really?" asked Blake around his own food. "You're obviously not too concerned, since you're eating it."

"It's a minor point, Blake, but it typifies a very important one. Do you realize that we have no idea how the deepest functioning of this ship proceeds? I have been unable to trace the programming beyond a level well above that at which fundamental decisions are made. I know what this ship does, and to a certain extent how. I do not know why."

"So ask Zen," suggested Vila. "Or is that too simple for you?"

"On the contrary, Vila; you are." Pricked, Vila looked aggrieved as Avon continued. "Zen is incapable of reporting on its own motivations and heuristics. Just as a human being cannot accurately report his own thoughts, since the act of observing them of necessity changes them, Zen cannot completely know its own schematics and workings."

"Do we need to know them?" asked Cally.

"Don't mind him," put in Vila soothingly. "He just can't stand the idea that there might be a computer somewhere, somehow, beyond him."

"Don't be an idiot!" Avon snapped. "Do you want to rely on a piece of machinery which we can neither understand, nor improve, nor repair?"

"But, Avon," responded Vila, wide-eyed, "we rely on you."

Blake hastily interrupted before Avon could untangle the implications of that one. "The Liberator's technology is far beyond anything the Federation, and therefore we, are familiar with. We've always known that, Avon, even before we met its creators. With Zen and the auto-repair circuits, not to mention your own skill, do we need any more assurance, really?"

Jenna leaned forward. "No, Blake, you're wrong. I thought that way once, until a lucky shot from a patrol fused my ship's governors." She pulled a face, remembering. "I limped into a station on favours it took me years to pay off, and I never shipped out again unless I knew I could jury-rig every piece of equipment on board. I agree with Avon; we need to know more."

Blake washed a bite of steak down with a fizzy fruit drink, then cocked his head at her. "Well, that's what has kept Avon so busy, right?"

"Wrong. I am investigating the on-board systems, but they cannot tell us what we need to know."

"Why not?" asked Cally.

"Zen is this ship. It controls every part of the Liberator, down to the smallest subsystem. There is nothing it does not oversee. And Zen cannot know its own workings. Therefore ship and computer schematics are not on board. Oh, given twenty years and unlimited resources for study, I could reconstruct them. But such luxury--" the words were tinged with irony-- "is not available."

"Then the only people who would know," mused Vila slowly, "are the System itself. You can't mean to go back there! Avon, we barely got out with our lives! Not to mention the ship you're so on about!"

"Vila's right, Avon," agreed Blake, "the risk is too great. Work out what you can, but it's too dangerous to return to the System."

"Since when have you been so solicitous of our safety?" inquired Avon snidely. "You've been ready enough before to drop us hip-deep into trouble."

"Only when the goal is worth it," answered Blake stubbornly. "Only for the cause of rebellion, of freedom. You know how I feel about that."

"Ah." Avon leaned forward. "And a thorough knowledge of this ship, the best weapon you have for that fight, is not enough. I see. And freedom--what a slippery word that is."

Blake shifted uneasily, but Cally cut in first. "Stop playing games, Avon," she said sharply. "What do you mean?"

"Blake's great cause. Freedom. The end of slavery. Slavery, for example, such as that suffered by the majority of the System's population. You told us about them, remember, Blake? How a valiant rebel had helped you, and died of it. How impressed you were. But you'll leave them to rot, now, won't you? Not important enough."

"Avon, that's not fair," Jenna said angrily. "We can't save everyone."

"Blake certainly tries. Occasionally. And fails, frequently. But I tell you this, our chances of surviving, never mind succeeding, may well depend on a thorough knowledge of the Liberator. You know that as well as I, Jenna; you said so yourself. And if Blake cannot see that, it will be on his head. But of course," and his chair scraped back as he shoved himself upright, "it will be on all our heads." He evaded Blake's "Avon, wait!" and outstretched hand with a quick turn, and the door sealed shut behind him.

Blake slumped forward. "Damn him!" Jenna burst out. "He's trying to needle you, Blake. You know that."

"But he's right about the ship. You said so yourself."

"Well, yes." She nodded grudgingly. "But he's a lot more smug about it than I am."

"Still," Cally pointed out, "he is correct. We need to know more about the Liberator, and the System is the only place to learn. If the need outweighs the risk, we must go. And if we can help the slave population as well, it seems well worth it to me."

Vila finished his drink morosely. "All this because Avon can't predict the menu," he groused, just to make clear his own lack of enthusiasm, though he knew no one would pay attention. Still, it didn't hurt to put a little perspective on things, sometimes. He jiggled the pudding bowl. "Doesn't look like much of a mystery, does it?"

Cally raised an eyebrow. "The mystery, Vila, is whether you'll remember that it's your turn on clean-up."

"No, it's not! Jenna's on tonight!"

"Ah," declared Jenna, thus appealed to, "not since you begged me to take your shift the other day, I'm not. Have fun!" She pushed her empty plate toward him and stood up. "Thanks, Cally. I liked the marinade. Tell me what's in it, sometime?"

"Why, I don't know," said Cally, straightfaced. "I just had Zen make it!" They all laughed, and Jenna, Blake, and Cally trooped out the door, leaving Vila alone with the cluttered table. "Pudding." He shook his head, still laughing. "Of all the things to get Avon curious..."

Blake and Jenna left Cally off at her cabin; she had the wee-hours' shift and would go to sleep early. The two of them went on to the observation lounge, which was located, paradoxically, in the very center of the ship. While the flight deck provided course projections and coded sensor displays, small and numerous on the console readouts, the walls and ceiling of the lounge formed an image of the space actually surrounding the ship, as if the room's occupant were standing on the hull. Blake liked the effect; for him, even a ship the size of Liberator could become claustrophobic, and the illusory expanse of space let him breathe more easily. Jenna, used to the cramped confines of her freighter, was usually faintly uncomfortable there. Now, however, she followed Blake's desire, seeing the tension in his face.

Within the lounge, lights glowed dimly at floor level without washing out the glinting stars around them. A half-circular yellow couch occupied the center of the room, and someone's forgotten coffee cup lingered on the low table tucked into its curve. Blake dropped his burly frame into the couch, and Jenna settled herself more carefully, far enough away that she could see him easily. She watched as he gnawed absently at a knuckle, musing.

"What do you think, Jenna?" he asked abruptly. She didn't answer.

"I get so furious with him, sometimes," he went on after a moment. "Why can't he ever come straight out with something?"

"Avon is an old problem."

He sighed. "And the question he's raised is a new one, I know." He noticed the cup, peered briefly inside and grimaced. "You think we should go back, don't you?"

Jenna leaned back against the cushions, looking deliberately up into the void. There were not many stars, here on the edge of the spiral arm.

"Yes, I do. I hadn't thought of it before; I know the nav systems pretty well, and I've been relying on Avon to keep the rest well-tuned. But I shouldn't have. I'm ashamed that it took Avon to point it out, but I've been lazy, what with Zen and the automatics. It's time we knew what we were dealing with."

Blake got up and paced, the empty coffee cup hanging forgotten from his fingers. He ended at the far side of the room, his face only centimeters from the invisible wall, not quite close enough for contact to break the illusion of space. His free hand flexed, as if it wanted to reach out and feel the wisps of nebula brush through its fingers.

"Ah, Jenna," he sighed, not turning. His voice was low, forceful. "I have a lead on where they've moved Central Control, did you know? Avalon says one of her people may have heard something. And she suggested I have ORAC trace personnel who worked on it; it's a good idea. Have I the right to leave that behind, to take off after some concern of our own?"

Her voice, answering, was as low as his. "Avon was right when he said this ship is our best weapon. Can you allow yourself to leave that behind?"

He came to her, offered her a hand up from the couch. "We should go, then."

"Yes, we should." She clapped him lightly on the shoulder, and he laughed. "What would I do without you, Jenna?"

"Learn to pilot?" She arched an elegant eyebrow.

#   #   #  

Vila was yawning his way through the morning watch when Blake appeared on the flight deck, casually dressed and still somewhat rumpled from his shower. Cally stretched on the couch, a book propped in the reader before her. She held a mug of tea cupped in her hands, and the sweet steam rising from it made Blake's mouth water.

"Smells good, Cally," he commented appreciatively. "What is it?"

"Would you like some? There's plenty. It's an Auron blend; I asked Vila to keep an eye out for it at supply stops, and he did." She set the cup down and swung to her feet. "Coffee, Vila? You look as though you could use it."

"Please," answered the thief plaintively, and Cally nodded and headed off, returning in a few minutes with a tray of three mugs, which she set on the side table.

"Three?" Blake came over and sniffed at the steam, identified two mugs of Auron tea, and sipped at one experimentally. It was sweet but not cloying, pleasantly gingery. Cally took the third mug and handed it up to Vila at his position over the sensor scans.

"Plenty of sugar, no milk, Vila. That should keep you alert for a while. The third one's for Avon, Blake; he'll be here in a moment and he's fond of it too."

"Fond of what?" Avon's voice was brusque, and Blake started as the other man brushed past him. "Yes, thank you, Cally." Avon took the tea in a quick sweeping motion without stopping, moving on to stand at his customary console and glare at Blake almost challengingly from behind its shelter. "Well?"

"Good morning, Avon." Blake did not rise to the bait.

"Have you decided?"

"It isn't solely up to me, you know. You've made that clear often enough, yourself." Blake sat on the couch below Avon's position and twisted to look up at the other man.

"True. But the others generally follow your lead."

Blake sipped at his tea, waiting until his flare of irritation settled before he answered. That the words were true didn't make Avon's tone any more tolerable.

"Then you'll be glad to know I've decided that you're right. This ship is vital to us, and we need to know more about it. Jenna concurs, and the two of you are the experts. We should go back to the System, find out whatever we can."

"Oh, wonderful." Vila slouched further over his coffee. "Look, Blake, risking my life for the cause of freedom and all that is all right--I mean, no, it isn't, but I've come to expect it, rather. But abstract scientific curiosity's pushing it a bit far, don't you think?"

"It's necessary, Vila." Blake had expected the outburst, was rather grateful for its postponement of Avon's unpredictable response. "The Liberator is our best chance to destroy Control."

"I'm glad you recognize that," said Avon coldly. He seemed a little nonplussed, thought Blake privately, as if he had not expected Blake to give in so soon.

"We'll start discussing a strategy this afternoon," he said aloud, controlling the faint urge to smile. "We can hardly go in openly, considering how they treated us before."

"ORAC can protect Zen from being overridden," said Avon. "All I need is some time in the main memory vaults; a few hours, no more."

Cally set her mug down. "What about the slave population?" she asked sharply. "We must do whatever we can for them, as well."

Blake turned to her, startled. In the emphasis on the Liberator, his concentration on the mystery of Control, he had all but forgotten Avon's other point. Avon himself looked fractionally taken aback, he saw.

"We'll do whatever we can," he assured Cally. "But our first priority is information on the Liberator; I've been convinced of that. And we can't afford to spend extra time there beyond what Avon needs. It's too dangerous, and we can't take the time away from our concerns here."

"I see." Cally picked up the booktape reader in one hand and turned away. "I've got some work to do. I'll be in sub-four." Her footsteps echoed bluntly on the deck as she left.

Blake watched her go, startled at her abruptness. He turned to look at Avon, but the technician raised an unhelpful eyebrow and knelt before his console, prying the access plate off and effectively removing himself from all possibility of conversation by burying his head and shoulders in the tiny workspace beneath.

"She's angry, Blake," came Vila's voice from above him. The thief had one elbow propped on the sensor banks as he gazed down, the coffee cooling before him. The brown eyes met Blake's, but Vila offered nothing further.

Blake turned away, exasperated. Central Control, the Federation's vulnerable fulcrum, beckoned tantalizingly, but this mission had to have priority; and though he understood the reasons, they still rankled. Now even his capitulation wasn't enough, it seemed. Couldn't they see how urgent the prize was? He gulped the remainder of his tea and headed for the exit opposite the one Cally had used. Maybe a good hard workout would burn off some of the frustration; there were weights and a treadmill in the medical unit. Vila watched him go, then shrugged thoughtfully. Avon did not look up.

#   #   #  

Blake called them together in the afternoon to discuss the planned return to the System. He, Jenna, and Cally settled in the central well of the flight deck, while ORAC hummed, familiarly annoying, to one side. As Vila, the last to arrive, ambled in, Avon snapped the access panel back into place on his console and stretched his shoulders before taking a seat opposite Blake's.

"All set?" asked Blake, and got a murmur of agreement. "All right. We're agreed that we need to return to the twelfth sector, to the System, and learn all we can about this ship. They're hardly likely to answer questions politely, so we'll have to steal the information."

"That's my cue, isn't it?" asked Vila.

Blake smiled. "Not yet. Avon, what is it you need?"

Avon wiped his hands fastidiously on a cloth, then put it aside. "Some time in the central vaults. If the System's information storage is similar to the Federation's, complete schematics ought to be stored in a data repository, probably under strong guard. I need to get access to the vaults and load everything into a portable database of our own. Once I have that, we can leave; there's no reason to hang about while I start analysis."

"Why get into the vault at all?" asked Jenna. "Why not just have ORAC do a remote access?"

"The vault is almost certain to be shielded," pointed out Blake.

"And I want to do it in person," added Avon. "ORAC's ideas of what is important do not always coincide with mine."

"Besides, ORAC's going to be busy," said Vila, and then shrugged when the others looked at him questioningly. "He's the only one who can keep Zen from being taken over again."

"He could do both," pointed out Jenna.

"No." Avon's voice was firm. "ORAC's reaction time might be dangerously slowed under those conditions. We must maintain Liberator free from outside interference, or there is no sense in returning at all."

Blake leaned his elbows on his knees. "True. And I want Jenna to stay aboard as well. There are some decisions ORAC cannot make; we may need her instincts to get out in a hurry."

"A getaway driver!" crowed Vila. Jenna glared at him, and he grinned cheekily back. "Keep the engine running, will you?" She swatted at him; he ducked. While he was still pantomiming terror, Jenna frowned as a thought occurred to her. "Why should we assume that the System's method of information storage will be similar to the Federation's?"

"It stands to reason," offered Blake; "parallel technological evolution."

Jenna grimaced. "Wishful thinking."

"Not really," cut in Avon. "The System's computer technology, like our own, is based on tarial cells. That is why ORAC could override their computers and free us, and that is why I have been able to make what headway I have in deciphering Liberator's control systems. There are only a few ways to efficiently store large amounts of information in a tarial matrix, and of those, the Federation uses the cheapest. I see no reason why the System should not do the same."

"All right." Blake shifted in his seat, leaning back again. "We need to get Avon some undisturbed time in the main vaults--a few hours, you said." Avon nodded, and Blake went on. "So we need to work on how to get him in, and out again." He looked at Vila.

"Doesn't sound like much," said Vila brightly. "A top-security vault, location unknown, security systems alien, basic technology unfamiliar--piece of cake, trust me." Blake regarded him steadily, and after a moment he dropped the smile.

"I don't know," he said more seriously. "Like Avon said, there's only a few ways to do most things, and I know all the best ones. But they might have something new." He snorted. "I once lost a hundred-credit bet because I couldn't get into a flat. I showed up with every tool I had, micro-amp probes, the lot. Stupid bugger'd put a fifty-kilo bar across the door."

Jenna raised an eyebrow. "Remember your saw," she instructed him gravely, "and I'll keep the engine running."

"A pin-laser's quieter than a saw," he told her. "I haven't forgotten it since."

"All right," Blake broke in. "Vila can get him into the vault. Can we get near enough to the station to put them down?" The System's center, where they had been brought unwilling before, was not planet-based, but rather a massive space station. "ORAC can maintain our systems' integrity, but if possible, I want to avoid being seen at all. I don't want us to find ourselves in a pitched battle against people who know this ship better than we do."

"We have Avon's detector shield," suggested Jenna. "Unless the patrols are extremely dense, I should be able to dodge them with the edge that gives us. With luck, they'll never notice us, except perhaps when we come in close for teleport."

Cally has been silent throughout the discussion, her lips tight. Now she broke in, anger in her voice. "And what will we do then? Drop Vila and Avon off long enough for them to read the files, then turn around and leave? Blake, what about the slaves?"

"I'm getting to that," answered Blake, stung. "I'm trying to--" he caught himself before he could say, 'get through the important parts first.' "I'm trying to go through this in order. Let's work out how much time we'll have, and what our options are, first." He was angry, he realized; he wanted to learn everything they could, quickly, and return to the fight against the Federation with Liberator an even better weapon than before.

But what about the System's population? Was he turning his back on one injustice to fight another? Guilt tinged his anger, and he said, more gently, "I haven't forgotten, Cally. There isn't much we can do in the time we'll have. The Federation is my first priority; you know that's true. But whatever we can do, we will."

Cally's face was pale, but she nodded strongly in response. "All right. If Avon needs Vila to get him into the vault, and Jenna stays aboard the Liberator, that leaves you and me, Blake. What shall we do?"

Blake pulled the fingers of both hands through his hair, thinking. "The man I spoke with last time was a recent runaway; in fact, I'd seen him on a work gang earlier. He showed me a whole system of maintenance tunnels that the authorities had forgotten about. The escaped slaves use them for hiding places, travel. If there is any organized underground, that's where we'll find them, or they us." He looked at Avon. "How do we locate the data vault?"

"Analysis of information flow," the technician answered. "I can do it in a half hour or so, with ORAC to monitor."

"Security systems, too," put in Vila; "they'll likely center on the vault." Avon nodded acknowledgement.

Jenna stretched her arms bonecrackingly above her head. "All right," she said. "We go in, using ORAC and the detector shield to keep us off their screens. I drop you two off," looking at Avon and Vila, "as close to the vault as I can get you, and the others in a side corner near a maintenance shaft. Then I wait. When Avon's done, everybody comes back on board and we burn ether out of the sector. Right?"

"Right," said Avon. Cally nodded, and Vila made a show of resignation, though privately he was already running through likely alarm set-ups and corresponding bypass strategies.

Blake stood and pressed his hands to the small of his back, arching his shoulders. The morning's workout had left him pleasantly exhausted and sore, but in the long period of sitting he had begin to stiffen up.

"If that's settled," inquired Avon, "perhaps we could declare this caucus at an end. I have dinner to prepare."

"Wouldn't dream of keeping you," said Vila promptly, delighted. Avon was by far the best cook among them, when he took the time his preferred dishes required. "Go right ahead." Vila's own cooking leant heavily on pre-packaged meals and Zen's mysterious menu; Avon's intricate preparations were worth being on clean-up duty. Which, he abruptly realized, he was. Again. He sighed and followed Avon off the flight deck.

Cally got up from the couch and glanced at Blake before turning to walk away. Hastily he stood and caught up to her, touching her arm lightly.

"Cally, wait. Is something wrong?" Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jenna politely ignoring them. He pulled gently on Cally's arm, turning her to face him. "I get the feeling you're angry with me."

Cally met his gaze and sighed. "Perhaps I am, Blake. But I don't want to discuss it now. I'm going to go lie down." She disengaged from his hand and moved away. "We'll talk later, Blake. I'm very tired."

He watched her leave, and then sat down resignedly beside Jenna again. She looked inquiringly at him.

"People keep walking out on me, and then I complain to you about it," he said. The words fell a bit flatter than he expected. She laughed and patted his shoulder.

"Poor baby. Don't take it personally, but I've got some old business I've got to get to. Besides, it is your watch, isn't it?" She swung to her feet and waved as she went out.

#   #   #  

The next few days were uneventful but shaded with ever-increasing tension, as the Liberator cautiously began infiltrating System space. Jenna was not willing to risk the fantastic speeds at which they had arrived before. "When we've got the knowledge we're going there to get," she declared, "it might be safe. Not before." But moving slowly was also dangerous, exposing them as it did to detection by any patrols. So they went in quick dodges followed by careful reconnaissance, with the detectors always at maximum. Jenna spent hours studying Zen's course projections, choosing the least likely avenue on which to suspect invaders, and then plotting a course straight through it.

They had little idea what to expect when they reached their destination. When they had escaped before, the System had been in disarray as ORAC freed the Liberator from its control: "ORAC's methods," Avon had remarked, "are not delicate." But once they had fled to a safe distance, ORAC had ceased to interfere with the enormous computer complex, and they did not know to what extent it had been damaged, or how much repair might have been carried out.

They saw several patrols, trios of the small bulb-and-needle ships that had shepherded them before. With the advantage Avon's detector shield gave them, they were able to shadow the ships, remaining hidden until the sentries veered off and Liberator was free to proceed. Once they were surprised by a single ship, which opened fire; but by quick working they managed to jam its communications and destroy it before it could call for reinforcements. Nevertheless, Jenna took them a long way away from that sector of space before moving again toward the station.

Finally, by boosting the detectors to their limit, they located the immense space station while still remaining hidden some distance away. Vila whistled respectfully at the image on the screen, then hurried to help Avon pinpoint the location of the data vault.

Within a short time, they had found what seemed certain to be their goal: a large vault, shielded in every way they could measure. Judging by the amount of information traffic into and out of the area, the System had thoroughly recovered from ORAC's interference. Informed in terse words by Avon of their discovery, Blake congratulated them and went to get kitted up. Shortly the five of them were gathered in the teleport bay, last-minute preparations made. Blake and Cally brought extra guns, and carried radio beacons and medical supplies as well. Vila was carrying nearly every tool the others had ever seen him use, and several that they hadn't, from a bulky sound-scan slung across his back to a set of hair-fine probes carefully tucked in their padded case in his belt. His gun was almost buried under his equipment. Avon carried only a portable data store, about half the size of ORAC but quite as heavy. His hand rested smoothly on the butt of the blaster on his hip.

Beside the four of them, Jenna looked rather incongruous in her soft slippers and loose blouse. "If I've got to stand on alert, alone, for who knows how long," she pointed out, "I'm going to be comfortable, at least!" She flicked on the intercom and gave an instruction to Zen, then turned to face the others.

"All right. I've given Zen a flyby trajectory; on my command he'll bring us in as close as he can, and very fast. We'll have about ten seconds to find a place to put you down; I'll put Avon and Vila down first, then you two. After that we're out of range, so let's hope I find a spot quickly. At this speed there isn't much likelihood of our being spotted, but if we are I'm hoping they won't realize we put anyone down. If pursuit comes after me I can shake it and come back for you." She brushed away Cally's look of concern. "Into the bay, now." Avon and Vila took their places, Blake and Cally stood to the side, and Jenna reached for the controls. "Now!"

#   #   #  

Avon and Vila materialized in the corner of a hallway; the white, featureless walls stretched perhaps ten meters in each direction before turning again to cut off vision. Avon's eyes and gun were sweeping the area almost before he was completely solid. No one was in sight, and he straightened from his half-crouch but did not reholster the weapon. "Which way?"

Vila, no gunman, had muttered quickly into his bracelet to confirm them down and safe, then moved to scrutinize the markings inscribed on the turning of the wall. "We're right on top of it. One level down, I think."

"Lift?" Avon's voice was tense.

"Ventilation shaft," was the thief's response. "Right here." He unslung the sound-scan from his back and passed its funnel-mouth over the wall in careful sweeps. "Aha!" Setting the instrument down, he drew a large square with the tip of a probe. The outline of an access panel abruptly appeared, and he crouched to begin worrying at it.

Avon moved to stand beside him, back against the wall, restlessly eyeing the empty corridors. Footsteps sounded, then moved away. He fingered the hilt of his blaster, shifted the weight of the datastore in his left hand. "Hurry up, Vila."

The panel opened slightly. "I am. Don't rush me." An Alta woman hurried around the turn of the corridor, and Avon fired as her eyes widened in shock. She collapsed to the floor, writhing feebly; Avon was on her in a moment and, remembering their previous experience, ripped out the plug from her metal neckpiece. She convulsed, gagged horribly and was still. Avon dragged the body back to where Vila huddled against the wall. "Hurry," he said again, harshly.

Vila gave up on the last restraining bolt, snatched his pin-laser and burned it quickly and messily through. The panel sagged open as he reached into the wall to attack the ventilation shaft. It rose past them at a gentle slant, a translucent cylinder just under a meter in diameter. Through its walls they could faintly see bits of papery debris, drifting upward.

Two quick sweeps with the pin-laser cut an oval window in the shaft's wall big enough to crawl through. He held the pane in place with one hand while he put the tool away and spoke over his shoulder to Avon.

"Right. We crawl in here and work our way down; I'll cut us a way right into the vault." He reached down with his free hand and slung the sound-scan over his shoulder again. "I'll go first; you come after and pull the access panel and this one shut again. It'll seal after us."

Avon blinked, reminded again how fast the thief's habitual terror could vanish when he was in control, in his element. He nodded and heaved the body of the dead woman into the crawl space within the wall, beside the air shaft. It would be out of sight there, for a while; it might keep the alarm from being raised a little longer. "All right. Let's go."

#   #   #  

Blake and Cally materialized less than twenty meters behind a marching convoy of security guards. They froze, not daring to move, until the last blue-clad back had vanished through a heavy doorway and the bolt had audibly clanged home. Quickly and silently, then, Cally dodged into a shadowed area in the corner of the vast hall they found themselves in. Blake followed, shaking his head.

"I'll have to have a word with Jenna," he whispered. "That could have been very nasty."

They scanned their surroundings rapidly: a deck perhaps a hundred meters across, dotted with heavy open-roofed vehicles parked here and there. Catwalks criss-crossed the ceiling and arched out from second-story walkways, and they felt horribly visible with their backs pressed against the bare wall. Sliding sideways, Blake ducked behind one of the jeep-like bulks, noting as he did so a light coating of dust on its side.

"We've got to get under cover."

"A maintenance shaft was the idea," whispered Cally, joining him in the inadequate concealment. "See anything?"

Together they scrutinized the walls, but it was Blake who spotted the hidden doorway, nearly as invisible as the one the ragged-clothed man had dragged him into, months before. He touched Cally's shoulder and pointed. A party of slaves crossed a walkway overhead, escorted by silent guards; when the plodding footsteps faded he and Cally dodged quickly to the door. A moment's worrying at the latch and it swung silently open, then closed behind them.

They stood panting with relief in a dim-lit corridor, tiny after the hanger. Dust was thick on the floor; clearly no one had used the door in years. "Just what we were looking for," murmured Blake.

"And now?"

"Look for signs of life." He set off down the corridor. Cally drew her gun and followed him. Scuff-clouds of dust settled slowly in the wake of their boots.

#   #   #  

Jenna sprawled in the couch of the Liberator's flight deck, worrying at a nail. The time since she had put the others down had crawled along, and even the challenge of pursuit had not materialized. They drifted through space, and ORAC hummed in a corner, monitoring the long-range sensors. Every time a System ship spotted them, which had happened twice so far, ORAC simply erased the record from the other ship's memory banks before any action could be taken, then shifted Liberator's course enough to keep them from being seen by that patrol again. Boring in the extreme.

She had scored a point on the snide machine, pointing out that the System was uniquely vulnerable to such sabotage because it relied completely on computers. Any society which trusted human observation, such as the Federation, could never have been fooled by the simple trick ORAC had suggested. But ORAC had merely retorted that in the present circumstances it was invaluable to them, and since it was quite correct she had had to shut up.

She sat up and drummed her fingers on the table before her, then checked the time. Three hours gone by. "Come on, Avon," she muttered, "finish and let's get out of here." She glared at the communications board; stubbornly, it held its silence.

#   #   #  

Cally and Blake sat side by side, leaning against the wall of the corridor. Blake drew restless patterns in the dust with one finger, checked his watch, and paced for a moment before settling again.

"Should we move on?" asked Cally.

"I don't see the point. If we haven't found anyone by now, I don't think we will. We've been trying everything." He spun the dial on the com-sensor through its full range, then snapped it off in disgust. "No communication signal, no heat traces, no scratches in the walls, even. I don't know where to go from here."

"Blake." He looked up; she was regarding him steadily. "Why did you not wish to aid the slaves?"

He sighed. "I do want to, Cally, it's not that I don't. It's just that the Federation has priority for me. I've devoted most of my adult life to fighting it, years that I can't even remember! I've sworn to see it die."

"Why?"

He stared at her, open-mouthed. "You of all people ask me that? Cally, the Federation is evil, cruel; it destroys lives and minds with no more thought than a machine! It must be brought down!"

"And the System?"

Blake's enthusiasm stumbled slightly. "The System--is evil as well, Cally. But I've made my choice. The Federation murdered my family, my friends, and I'll see it pay."

Cally turned away, hugging her knees. "Is it personal, then? The Federation is worse because the Federation has harmed you, yourself?" Blake did not answer, and after a moment she spoke again. "Auron is an independent, neutral world. It has no diplomatic relations with the Federation, and minimal trade. The Federation never harmed me, until I fought against it. Should I bear it no grudge?"

"You're like me, Cally. We see the evil that is done, and it hurts us. I bleed, Cally, with the victims of the Federation's torture. I can never be freed until its slaves are freed. An injustice to one man is an injustice to humanity." Blake reached to touch her arm, but she pulled away and stood up, walking a short distance away to stare down the empty corridor.

"But why the Federation, Blake? The System holds slaves, as well."

Blake pushed himself to his feet and let his frustration show in his voice. "Do you want to stay, then? Start resistance movements here? I don't understand what you're getting at, Cally."

The muscles shifted in her narrow back as she leant against the wall. "No, Blake, I don't. I'm trying to understand you, your reasoning. You know that I have sworn to see the Federation die, even if I must die to accomplish that."

"And what do you feel about the System, then?"

"The System is evil, as well. How can one rank evils? To leave here without at least trying to help those fighting it would be wrong."

"Well, I'm trying!" Blake picked up the satchel, stuffed the com-sensor back into it. "But we can't help them if we can't find them. Or should we randomly sabotage something?" He slung the satchel over his shoulder and came around to where he could see her face.

"Cally. We've seen no signs of anyone. Perhaps there is no underground network of rebels, only stories passed among the slaves, and the occasional runaway. What can we do, then? We came to help; you're right, it would have been wrong not to. But there's no one here to help. Let's get back to our own fight."

She regarded him steadily. "It's so simple for you, isn't it? The Federation has harmed you, the Federation must die. You take on the wounds of its other victims, but not of the victims of others."

"I'd bleed to death," he said shortly. "Avon should be done in another hour or so. If we've found no one by then, I'll assume there's no one here to find, and we go back. All right?"

Cally nodded, once.

#   #   #  

Vila paced the length of the vault for the fifth time, then came to hover at Avon's elbow as he made a minute adjustment to the portable store, then hooked it into yet another of the massive databanks. They lined the walls, each taller than two humans and dully grey, indicator lights flickering amber and rose. "Aren't you done yet?"

Avon did not look up. "Don't rush me. To quote you, Vila. There is a great deal of information here, and I must select what we need."

"Just take it all! I'm sick of waiting here."

"Frightened, Vila?"

Vila flopped to the floor at Avon's feet. "I'm too bored to be frightened. We've been here for hours! And it's not as if you need me, once I got us in; just your bloody doorman, I am."

Avon spun a tiny thumbwheel, then disengaged the datafeed from the panel he had opened in the machine. He shut the panel neatly and coiled the feedline into its storage compartment in the case he had carried down.

"I should be glad to take it all, Vila; unfortunately, this device has a limited capacity. Some discrimination is therefore required."

"Well, have you got what we need?" Avon was fitting the datastore back into its case, and Vila climbed hopefully to his feet again. "Are you finished?"

"Yes. And no." Avon snapped the latches shut and punched at his bracelet. "Liberator, this is Avon. Ready for teleport."

"Avon, what--" Vila's confusion was cut short by the shimmer of the teleport effect.

#   #   #  

Jenna took them away from the System at top speed, relieved to have something to do again. Avon took the datastore from the teleport bay straight into one of the ship's scientific workstations and shut off his intercom, except to requisition ORAC from the flight deck. Jenna sent Vila to take the computer to him; "I'm glad to see the back of the little monster," she remarked.

"He hasn't got one," Vila pointed out over his shoulder as he left.

Cally had vanished on some business of her own after she and Blake were teleported back on board. Vila had brought them up, while Jenna prepared to bring them back to Federation space and Avon absented himself. Now only Blake remained on the flight deck with Jenna, and he came to rub at her shoulders as she sat in her position. She leant back into his strong fingers gratefully.

"How did it go? I take it you couldn't find anyone, down there."

The fingers paused, then resumed. "No. But I had a chance to talk some things out with Cally." Blake kneaded her neck a few minutes more, then came around and sat in the next chair, propping his elbow on the console, chin in hand.

"Jenna. Why are you fighting the Federation, with me?"

Jenna tilted her head back. "Because you have--I don't know. A cause I can believe in, somehow. Foolish as it sounds." She laughed slightly. "I suppose I believe in you." One eyebrow lifted curiously. "Why ask now?"

"Something Cally asked me."

"Cally?" Jenna's voice held surprise. A sensor light blinked, and she glanced down and adjusted their course slightly. "I thought she was the dedicated revolutionary."

"And you're not?"

"Not in the same way, no. Cally made an abstract choice, before she ever left Auron. I didn't fight the Federation, only avoided it, eluded it, until I met you."

"And you follow me." Blake stood up, walked down to the central well of the flight deck. "That's rather frightening, sometimes. What if I lead you wrong?"

"You'd better try not to. Besides--" She laughed, but the sound was slightly forced. "Avon's sure to tell you if you start."

"Yes. Avon." Blake was silent for a moment. "He's likely to be some time with the data he got, and if I know Avon he won't come out until he's good and ready. Are you hungry? Why don't I bring something here, and we'll eat together?"

"Why don't you? she agreed, and he nodded and headed off to the galley.

It was nearly two hours later that the intercom crackled with Avon's voice. "Blake."

Blake looked up from the booktape he was reading in the dining lounge, touched the wall control. "Yes, Avon?"

"I've finished investigating the data from the System's vaults. Why don't you come and hear about it?"

"Already?" Blake stood and dropped the reader on the table. "That was fast."

"Yes, well, there's a bit of a surprise. Are you coming?"

"No, why don't you come to the lounge? I'll call the others in as well."

"Five minutes," said Avon, and the intercom shut off. Blake put the reader away thoughtfully and paged the others.

They were all gathered in the specified time, and Avon came in, ORAC in his arms. He set the little computer on the table but did not plug in the key. Instead he sat down beside it and turned to look at them all, arms folded.

"Well?" asked Blake. "Don't keep us in suspense, Avon. What have you got?"

"I hope you've found out how the density sensors work," put in Jenna, only half-jokingly. "I haven't the faintest idea, and there's a wobble in the port secondaries."

"And the pudding?" piped up Vila. "Mustn't forget it."

"I'm sorry, Jenna," said Avon. "I haven't. Neither the density sensors, nor much of anything else. Nor am I likely to."

"Why not, Avon?" asked Cally.

Avon leant forward in his chair. "The System is a conglomeration of computers, which developed from one computer, created by a planet at war with its neighbors. This one computer, far more powerful than anything held by its opponents, rapidly subjugated and incorporated not only all other machines it could access, but eventually its creators as well. What we call the System is a society ruled entirely by computers, by one all-encompassing computer."

"Yes, that's what the slave told me," agreed Blake. "So?"

"One of the other planets," Avon continued, "had an experimental research project, designing vessels of enormous power. Records were top-secret, but I can deduce that two deep space vehicles were constructed. The Liberator, and its sister ship."

"It must have been an incredible project," mused Jenna. "The kind of minds who could create this ship--"

"Were human," Avon finished. "The System, despite its power, is only a machine. It has no originality, no intuition. Finding the DSVs, it appropriated them and used them. But it did not understand them. The System now has no more idea than we how the Liberator functions."

Four faces stared at him, stunned. "And the data you brought back..."

"Were test readouts, Cally, diagnostics. The same sort of thing I have been doing since Jenna, Blake and I first boarded her. Lacking true intelligence, however, the System made little more progress than I did, despite having had nearly two centuries in which to work." Avon leant back, folded his hands.

"Then we'll never fully understand the Liberator," Blake said slowly. "We'll just have to keep on as we've been, and hope for the best."

"We'll never know what makes Zen tick," mused Vila. He rubbed a hand across his mouth, slowly. "You know, Avon, ORAC destroyed that other DSV. If there were only two built...then Zen is the last of his kind. No one knows how to build another."

They were all silent for a moment. "We'd better take care of him," said Vila softly.