Articles Home » Fan Fiction » PART FOUR of New Identities, by Ian Armstrong

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• 18 Mar 2026
• Fan Fiction
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PART FOUR

Vila’s attempts to unlock the door to the stairwell were not proving successful – and time was running out. Beside him, Dayna sat slumped on the floor, breathing heavily but barely conscious. Vila too was struggling to remain awake. Sweat was pouring down his forehead, and his hands were shaking, as he applied a delicate tool to the lock mechanism again, having done so more times now than he cared to remember.
Dayna glanced up, and struggled to speak,
“Running out of time, Vila,” she croaked.
Vila needed no reminder, and panic overcame him, “I can’t do it, Dayna. I can’t do it!”

Dayna glanced up again, registering the distress on Vila’s face.
Summoning her last reserves of strength, she struggled to her feet.
One arm reached out weakly to Vila for support.
“I can’t,” Vila repeated, apologetically.
“Hold me steady,” whispered Dayna.
Vila did as he was asked, while Dayna drew out her gun with her other hand. At least their guns were still working, even though their teleport bracelets were now no longer functional, even as short-range communication devices. Vila’s alarm, however, increased, if that was possible.
“Don’t!” he urged Dayna. “Fail-safes! It… won’t… work,” he implored her, gasping for breath.
“We’ve got nothing to lose,” Dayna pointed out. And without waiting for him to reply, she aimed and fired.

When the smoke cleared, they were looking at a door still closed, but with a yawning hole where its lock had been.
Vila either shoulder-charged the door or collapsed into it – Dayna wasn’t sure which, though in hindsight she was inclined to reckon the latter as being more characteristic of him.
A second later, and the door was lying wide open, while Vila was lying on the ground, mouth equally wide open, gratefully gulping in the air from the stairwell.
Dayna also took in mouthfuls of air, holstering her gun, and placing her hands on her knees while she recovered.
After a moment she straightened up, and glanced down at Vila, who showed every indication of falling asleep.
“Vila!” she shouted.
Vila’s eyes remained closed, “Just leave me here,” he protested.
“I’m tempted,” replied Dayna caustically, “But you might yet come in useful for something. Come on – I suggest we try and get to them before they get to us.”
And with that, she headed down the stairwell.
Vila groaned, opened his eyes, and lay for a moment longer, hearing Dayna’s footsteps gradually receding. Suddenly alert to his isolation, he sat bolt upright.
“Dayna!” he shouted, “Don’t leave me here!”
“Get a move on, Vila!” Dayna’s impatient reply floated up towards him.
Vila scrambled to his feet and hurried down the stairs after her.

* * *

Avon, Cally, and Tarrant were concealed behind a ridge overlooking the main base, lying flat on their stomachs. Avon was surveying the ridge through electro-binoculars, but a spaceship was clearly visible beside the base, even to the naked eye.
“What do you think?” said Cally to Avon.
“There’s a perimeter fence… some kind of security gate. Vila will get us in,” Avon glanced at Tarrant, “Can you fly that ship?”
“I already have,” replied Tarrant confidently, “It’s a Deep Space Interceptor. I trained on one at the Academy.”
“Before your smuggling days,” replied Avon drily. Tarrant flashed him a suspicious look, but Avon was peering into the binoculars again. Before Tarrant could reply, Cally suddenly tensed and looked over her shoulder.

“What is it?” Tarrant asked her, also looking around. Avon lowered the binoculars and glanced at them.
“Something… not right,” murmured Cally, her eyes scanning the terrain.
“Guards?” suggested Avon.
His question was answered abruptly, not by Cally but by the eruption of a large black snarling mass of fur that reared up before them, wielding a heavy club. As it swung down, they all rolled and scrambled out of its way, the club landing harmlessly where Cally had been lying only a few seconds before.
Avon and Tarrant regrouped a few yards down the hill, standing back-to-back, guns drawn. Cally stood several yards away, also ready with her gun. The gigantic Link that had attacked them whirled round to face them, grunting and roaring, while all around them other Links began to emerge from concealment. They focused on Cally, as if sensing her greater vulnerability. Avon and Tarrant began firing, felling several, but unable to stop the Links forming a wedge between themselves and Cally.

“Run, Cally!” shouted Tarrant.
Cally snatched at her last opportunity, darting through the only substantial gap left in the encroaching circle of Links, firing at them as she did so, to scare them off.
Tarrant and Avon, meanwhile, were forced to retreat in the opposite direction. They fired wildly at the Links, to attract their attention, but this only served to discourage the Links from pursuing them, and to focus instead on going after Cally.
Just as Tarrant and Avon paused, however, something seemed to change the minds of the Links, whose pursuit of Cally abruptly halted. They milled around, snarling and barking ferociously at something out of sight, before suddenly seeming to remember their alternative option.
Avon resumed backing away slowly, while Tarrant stood his ground as the Links turned to face them.
“Back away, Tarrant!” snapped Avon.
“What about Cally? We can’t just leave her!” replied Tarrant desperately.
“She’s as good as dead,” observed Avon coldly, “Back away now, unless you want to join her.”
But it was too late. The foremost Link was already lunging for Tarrant. Instinct kicked in, and Tarrant swung and fired, killing the Link with a single shot. Others had already circled behind him, however, separating him from Avon.
As Tarrant vainly searched for an escape route, Avon could see his own way clear behind him. He turned to run, paused, hesitated, then, cursing under his breath, raised his gun and fired at the Links surrounding Tarrant.
With Avon attacking them from behind, and Tarrant continuing to shoot and kill from within the circle of his would-be assailants, the Links faltered and panicked. Soon, they had scattered, retreating down the hillside in all directions.
Tarrant looked at Avon gratefully, as Avon came back up the hill towards him,
“Thanks,” said Tarrant, but Avon brushed past him, saying,
“Let’s get after Cally.”

* * *

Tarrant followed, as Avon headed down the hill in the direction Cally had gone.
It wasn’t long before they caught a glimpse of her and realised why the Links had given up pursuit. She was now surrounded by six Federation troopers, who were marching downhill in the direction of the base. Avon crouched down behind a bush, as an instinctive precaution, although they were already too far from the Federation troopers to be noticed. Tarrant joined him.
“What now?” said Tarrant.
“I suggest we follow at a distance,” replied Avon,
“Why?” snapped Tarrant angrily, “I say we rescue Cally now, while we still can.”
“And even assuming we succeed, then what?” replied Avon.
Tarrant looked lost for an answer.
“One way or another,” murmured Avon, as he viewed Cally and her Federation captors receding in the distance ahead of them, “We need to get into that base and take control of it.”
“But we don’t even know what we’re up against,” protested Tarrant.
“It’s that or spend the rest of our lives hiding underground in this manmade hellhole, Tarrant!” Avon exploded, with an uncharacteristic outburst of emotion.
Tarrant replied quietly, almost menacingly,
“Alright, Avon – you lead, I’ll follow. Why not? After all, you got us into this mess in the first place.”

One side of Avon’s face twisted into something halfway between a smile and a grimace. He got to his feet, gun still drawn.
“Stay close,” he remarked, “There may be Links still around.”
He began to scurry downhill, Tarrant following after him, eyes peeled as he did so, for further attacks.

* * *

The underground rail car had, fortunately, been designed for ease of use. Dayna had figured out the controls almost as quickly as Tarrant, and she and Vila had set forth without further delay.
“Do you think they know we’re coming?” asked Vila anxiously, as he stood behind Dayna, peering over her shoulder while she operated the controls.
“They’re expecting us, one way or another,” replied Dayna with unwelcome conviction, “Even if we didn’t set off an alert when we started this thing… well, it stands to reason we’d put it to use. It was our only way out of the base, after all.”
“That’s a cheery thought,” replied Vila, “You mean they’ve smoked us out?”
“I suppose that’s what we’re about to find out,” said Dayna.

It occurred to Vila that if they were driving into an ambush, there was no-one he’d rather be hiding behind than Dayna Mellanby, who he’d seen fight her way out of many a scrape since she first came on board the Liberator. Nevertheless, there surely had to be a better option than rushing blindly into danger.
“How far is it now?” he asked.
“Can’t be much further,” replied Dayna. “Then let’s stop and walk the rest of the way.” Dayna glanced over her shoulder at Vila.
“Nervous?” she asked, with a raised eyebrow and a wry smile. She was starting to enjoy this. Being stuck with nothing to do and nowhere to go did not play to Dayna’s strengths. But having a physical enemy to confront and challenge… that was something she could relish.
“Yes,” replied Vila.
Dayna would have rather enjoyed teasing him further, but she knew his suggestion made sense.
“Alright,” she replied, “Perhaps there’s some kind of service door we can access, before we get to the main stop.”
“Exactly,” replied Vila, as Dayna brought the rail car to a halt.

They climbed out of the car and were able to step straight on to a narrow ledge, most likely for the use of maintenance workers - a little too narrow for Vila’s liking. He pressed his back nervously against the wall and began to inch along the rail tunnel, following Dayna, as she crept cautiously forward, gun drawn and eyes peeled. The tunnel was lit, albeit dimly, by lights set into the wall at intervals. Scared as he was, Vila couldn’t help admiring the view of Dayna from behind.
“Vila,” breathed Dayna softly.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Stay focused.”
“Right,” Vila nodded, guiltily shifting his gaze upwards and forwards, with the uncomfortable feeling that Dayna must have eyes in the back of her head.
Fortunately, it was mere moments before they found exactly what they’d been hoping for – a door in the wall, evidently for maintenance access.
“Right, Vila, get it open, quickly.”
Vila set to work, while Dayna kept guard.

* * *

Several hours had now passed since Servalan’s edict to shut down the auxiliary base, and much had changed in the interim. Panic was spreading through the personnel on the main base. The catalyst had been Carnell’s execution. Whilst Servalan’s ruthlessness was infamous, and whilst she was, after all, now President, and, as such, effectively the unquestioned ruler of the galaxy, still… no President had ever executed a puppeteer, still less in such a casual, off-hand manner.
Of course, times had changed, the Federation was a shadow of its former self since the destruction of Star One, and Carnell had long since been an outlaw. But it was a measure of the awe and reverence, the mystique that surrounded the Criminal Psychology Division, coupled with the fact that Carnell had been the mastermind and leader of Project Terminal, that his death had caused so much shock. If Carnell could be dispatched so boldly and heedlessly, then no-one was safe.

It was perhaps not the most conducive time, then – as far as Servalan was concerned – for news to filter through from Earth that an organised coup had been mounted against her Administration. First reports were that the coup had been suppressed, but others to the contrary had followed, and all that was clear at present was that it was very much an unfolding situation.
Servalan was all too aware of the mutinous atmosphere on the base, and she was anxious to get back to Earth as quickly as possible. But she had unfinished business. She had expected Avon to be dead by now. That he wasn’t, concerned her.

The door to her temporary office slid open, and Cally was marched in, flanked by Federation guards, who stood to attention.
Servalan reclined confidently in her seat, smiling at Cally.
“Still alive, then?” she said brightly.
Cally concealed her own astonishment on seeing Servalan also still alive, and she made no reply. Instead, she fixed her despised foe with a penetrating stare that, unfortunately, appeared to have no effect.
Servalan was toying with a small probe she was holding.
“I want Avon and Tarrant,” she went on, “I expected to have them by now – preferably alive, but dead if need be. However, as you’re no doubt aware, my plans went somewhat awry.”
“Yes, I’m so sorry about the Liberator,” said Cally quietly.
“Oh, I’m sure you are,” replied Servalan sweetly, still smiling, “After all, being an outlaw, and having been exiled by your own people, I suppose it was a home to you. And now it’s gone.”
Cally’s eyes flickered with resentment, but she made no reply.
Servalan leaned forward, and fixed her eyes on Cally,
“I won’t ask why it exploded. For just now, at least, the details don’t interest me. I have… pressing matters to attend to, and I can’t afford to waste any more time here. Therefore, I want you to contact Avon and Tarrant.”
“I can’t,” replied Cally.
“Can’t or won’t?” queried Servalan icily.
“Can’t,” said Cally firmly, “Our teleport bracelets no longer function – not even as communication devices.”
“How disappointing,” replied Servalan, “Still… you’re here. And Avon is on his way – with Tarrant in tow, no doubt.”
“What’s so special about Tarrant?” asked Cally innocently.
Servalan scrutinised Cally’s expressionless face. She recalled that Cally was the telepath, and took a moment to consider her reply.
“Nothing is special about Tarrant,” she responded, at length, “Nothing at all. But perhaps Tarrant doesn’t realise that. Yet.”
“Tarrant is special to me,” said Cally, “To all of us. As we all are to one another.”
“Oh, how touching!” replied Servalan condescendingly, “I’m so pleased to hear it. I really had my doubts as to whether Avon would come looking for you. But you reassure me that he will.”

Cally gritted her teeth, vexed at her inability to confound Servalan.
“There’s something you don’t realise, Servalan,” she announced, with such confidence that Servalan could not help a flicker of surprise and curiosity passing across her face.
“When we met on Auron…” Cally paused.
“Yes?” asked Servalan impatiently.
“My sister Zelda died trying to save your children.”
Servalan’s mind flashed back to the image of the replication centre explosion, in which her cloned offspring had perished. She recollected Zelda – herself the image of Cally. And, instinctively, she recognised the truth in Cally’s words.
She felt shaken, and her expression grew solemn.
She held Cally’s gaze for a moment. Cally returned it, unflinching.
Finally, Servalan snapped her fingers at the guards, who immediately stood to attention.
“Confine her,” ordered Servalan, “See that nobody talks to her.
Nobody. Understood?”
The guards nodded, and marched Cally out of the room.
Servalan sat back in her chair again, the probe pressed against her lips. She was deep in thought once more - but, had anyone been there to witness it, the faraway look in her eyes was most unlike her.

* * *

Tarrant and Avon had had no difficulty keeping Cally and her captors in sight as the guards made their way back to the main base. But even to Tarrant, the prospects of a rescue mission looked bleak. The guards had kept a sharp lookout as they marched, both for Cally’s comrades and for the constant threat of Links.
They watched Cally being escorted into the base via its entrance hatchway. Tarrant sighed.
“What next?” he asked and instantly regretted it. Why was he always conceding leadership to Avon? “Because Avon’s a natural leader,” he answered himself immediately, “And I’m not.”

“We won’t get in that way,” Avon confirmed, as he surveyed the entrance. There were still guards at the entrance hatchway, which was of the same type as Base B. Even if they were able deal with the guards and then to open it – unlikely in itself, without Vila – they would have to descend a long ladder, making a surprise attack virtually impossible, “I suggest we try getting in through the underground tunnel,” he went on, “There must be an access point somewhere hereabouts.”
“Fine,” said Tarrant curtly, wary of sounding too compliant. Avon was not yet off the hook, as far as he was concerned. After all, they were still very much stranded here. Tarrant set off without waiting for him.
“What did Cally say to you?” Avon called after him.
Tarrant paused. He hadn’t expected such a direct question, nor indeed any attempt on Avon’s part to force a confrontation. He was confused, and lost for words. Slowly, he turned to face Avon.
“I suppose you could say we talked about loss. And about leadership,” he stated, in a neutral tone.
“About Blake?” replied Avon bluntly.

Tarrant made a non-committal gesture.
“She mentioned him. He seems to have made quite an impression – on all of you.”
“How about you?” queried Avon, eyeing Tarrant keenly, “What sort of impression did he make on you?”
“I never met the man,” said Tarrant smoothly.
“No,” replied Avon, and his eyes narrowed, “But perhaps you wanted to.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not,” Tarrant sighed, “Where’s all this going, Avon? I’d have thought rescuing Cally came first.”
Avon walked towards Tarrant, until they were only a foot apart.
“I questioned Blake – constantly. Because I knew, in the end, that he was going to get us all killed. Is that how you feel about me?” he asked.
“Well, here we are…” replied Tarrant, gesturing to the bleak terrain that surrounded them, “It’s not looking good for us.”
“True,” replied Avon, “But I believe I will get us off this planet. And when I do –”
“If you do,” interrupted Tarrant.
One side of Avon’s mouth twitched upwards in a cold, half-smile.
“Alright then – if I do… I will consider my reparations to be settled.”
“Really?” replied Tarrant, “I’d say that’s up to the rest of us to decide.”
“I’m just telling you how I see things,” said Avon evenly, “As far I’m concerned, a line will be drawn under this – all of it. What happens then is indeed up to the rest of you. But I’ll need a ship and I’ll need a crew.”
“Well, right now, I’d say that the ship, and the loyalty of its crew, are both very much hypothetical, Avon, wouldn’t you?”
“Maybe,” replied Avon, in a low voice, “But sooner or later, we will have to resolve this.”

“There’s nothing to resolve,” said Tarrant dismissively, suddenly realising that he no longer had any will to contend with Avon. He had railed, relentlessly, against the man he had considered his chief obstacle to taking command of the Liberator and its crew. Avon’s intellect, his evident closeness to Blake, his ruthlessness and battle experience – all had impressed Tarrant. In fact, if he was being honest with himself, he had been somewhat in awe of Avon.
But now the Liberator was gone, its crew was stranded and scattered, Cally was hostage, and Avon had turned out to have feet of clay. In the end, what did it matter who was leader? As long as they survived. In any case, Tarrant had come to understand leadership as more of a burden than a reward.
“Let’s get going,” continued Tarrant, “Like you said, there’s probably a door somewhere about here.” He turned and set off at a brisk pace.
Avon’s eyes narrowed, as he watched Tarrant go, unsure of what Tarrant’s reply had signified. Then, after a moment, he followed.

* * *

Deep in the bowels of the main base was an access hatch for the rail tunnel. Had minds remained focused, it would have been guarded. But confusion and panic had spread rapidly throughout Servalan’s minions, and little thought was now being given to the auxiliary base, or to the fate of any potential survivors, beyond those troopers charged with guarding Cally and locating Tarrant and Avon.
Thus, Dayna and Vila crept into the corridor via the hatch, unnoticed.
It was dimly lit, and deathly quiet.
“I don’t like this,” muttered Vila, as he looked around him.
“You never do,” sighed Dayna.
“And am I wrong?” asked Vila plaintively, “Look where Avon’s fearless heroics have got us. Maybe you should all listen to me sometimes.”
“And maybe next time we will,” Dayna placated him, “But right now, we need to keep moving. Unless you want to wait here until somebody spots us.”
“Where are we moving to?” wailed Vila, “What’s the plan?”
Privately, Dayna had to admit that there was no plan, as such.
“We’re here to find a way off this planet,” she replied, with more confidence than she felt, “Right? So, let’s start looking.”

“What about the others?” asked Vila.
“They’re either here already or they’re on their way.”
“Or they’re lost. Or dead,” Vila suggested gloomily.
Dayna gritted her teeth and declined to reply. She drew her gun from her holster and started creeping down the corridor, towards a ladder fixed to the wall at the far end. Vila followed her, peering nervously over his shoulder.

* * *

Servalan was pacing anxiously up and down her office, when her guard commander hurried in, with next to no ceremony.
Servalan spun to face him.
“I summoned you ten minutes ago!” she snapped.
“My apologies, ma’am. I was aboard the ship, overseeing the preparations.”
“Is it ready?” she asked, in a tone that implied there could only be one answer.
“Yes, ma’am,” the commander assured her confidently.
Servalan strode to her desk, and, tapping a key to open up her monitor, she studied the information flowing across the screen.

“You may as well know,” she informed the commander, “That I’m being told I’m no longer President.”
“Ma’am….?” the commander replied, sounding bemused.
Servalan smiled icily.
“Oh, come now, Commander, no need to be so disingenuous. I’m sure it’s common knowledge by know. In fact, I’m surprised I haven’t been arrested.”
The commander considered his words carefully. If Servalan felt she had been backed into a corner, he was all too aware that he might be the first to feel her lash out.
“There is talk, ma’am, it’s true. But the news, as we’ve heard it, seems less certain. I can say, frankly, that loyalties are divided. My loyalty, however, ma’am, is not in question, and I trust those under my command to carry out my orders and to see you safely aboard your ship.”
“Excellent,” replied Servalan, “And can I trust this ship not to explode when I board it?”
“The ship has been scanned and is being guarded by my men. It’s good to go. All staff will evacuate with the ship. Anyone who still wants to question your authority can -” he paused and corrected himself, “Will remain behind.”

He paused again, and Servalan noticed his hesitancy.
“Go on,” she encouraged.
“May I speak directly, ma’am?” he asked, with surprising earnestness.
Servalan waved the fingers of one hand, in a grand gesture of consent.
“Ma’am, If I wanted to betray you, you’d be under my arrest already. Or dead. I say this only to emphasise my loyalty to you, Madam President.”
“I understand,” she replied, smiling. She stepped up close to him, and ran a finger down his cheek, “I will not forget your loyalty, Commander.”
The ghost of a smile twitched at the corners of the commander’s mouth.

Servalan stepped back to her desk, to continue reviewing the reports on her monitor.
“What about Avon and the others?” the commander asked Servalan.
“Avon can wait,” replied Servalan, without looking up, “Indeed, Avon will wait… I can’t see him going anywhere, can you?” The commander smiled complicitly.
“And the prisoner, Cally?”
Servalan stared at her monitor screen for several seconds.
“Release her,” she said.
The commander looked startled.
“Madam President….?”
“Don’t ask questions, just do it!” snapped Servalan.
The commander snapped to attention.
“Yes, ma’am!” he shouted in reply. He turned on his heels and exited the office.
Servalan sighed, wondering how everything had managed to go so horribly wrong in the space of a few hours.

* * *

Only Cally’s guards knew that she was being escorted to the front entrance. Cally believed that she was on her way back to Servalan’s temporary office, and when she and Vila turned the corner and encountered the guards, Dayna believed in shooting first and asking questions later.
She took out both guards while they were still raising their guns to aim at her.
“Run, Cally!” shouted Dayna, still at the other end of the corridor.
Vila led the way, pelting down another corridor with such determined confidence that Dayna automatically followed him. Behind them, a surprised but grateful Cally was catching them up.
Vila rounded another corner and came face-to-face with a locked door – nearly breaking his nose on it as Dayna collided into him.
“It’s a dead end!” she shouted, “Why did you bring us this way?”
“I didn’t!” pleaded Vila, “I was following you!” he argued, somewhat illogically.

Dayna didn’t have a chance to reply - she heard shouting and a gunshot.
“Cally!” shouted Dayna. She darted back round the corner, to see Cally lying slumped on the floor, with three guards running towards her. Dayna fired and again took down two of the guards in the blink of an eye, but even she was not quick enough to deal with all three, and she found herself in the sights of the surviving guard. Then, as his finger began to squeeze the trigger, a shot rang out from behind her, and the guard dropped dead, a gaping hole burnt in his chest.
Dayna looked round, to see Vila trying to holster his gun, his hand shaking.
“Thanks, Vila,” smiled Dayna.
“Any time,” said Vila absent-mindedly, his eyes on the smoking corpse.
“Really? That’s good to know,” replied Dayna slyly.
Vila opened his mouth to qualify his rash promise, but Dayna was already running towards Cally. Vila hurried after her.

Dayna crouched over Cally and gently felt for her pulse.
“Is she alive?” asked Vila.
“She’s alive,” replied Dayna, detecting both her pulse and her breathing, “Let’s get her out of here.”
Together, they lifted the unconscious Cally, and started heading in what was, hopefully, a more promising direction.
But Vila, eyeing Cally with concern, suddenly stopped.
“She needs treatment, Dayna.”
Dayna looked flustered and uncertain.
“We’ll find the ship first – maybe there’s medical equipment onboard.”
“On a shuttle?” replied Vila, “We’ll be lucky if they have a First Aid kit. Anyway, this place is still crawling with Federation guards. We don’t stand a chance.”
“Well, we can’t go back, Vila,” Dayna shot back, “We’ve come all this way to try and get off this planet – and anyway, they’ve shut off the life support on the other base, remember?”
“We have to, Dayna,” urged Vila, “It may be Cally’s only chance.”

Dayna looked at Cally remorsefully. A broad black scorch mark was visible on her jerkin, but the jerkin itself was intact. The guard had clearly been shooting to stun, but at such close quarters as to have caused Cally perhaps mortal injury.
“Listen,” Vila went on, “We opened a door already, so there must be air getting into the base. We’ll figure out the rest as we go along.”
Dayna still hesitated, but suddenly they heard voices and footsteps approaching, and she made a snap decision.
“Fine,” she replied, “Let’s go.”
“Only… I can’t remember the way,” said Vila, meekly, as he surveyed the various corridor entrances.
“I think I do,” Dayna replied, “Follow me.”
Dayna was grateful to Vila for saving her life, but happy to be back in charge again.
Slowly, they raised Cally to her feet, and set off, holding Cally between them, and slightly at an angle, with Dayna leading the way.

* * *

By a combination of deduction and good luck, Avon and Tarrant had found a maintenance hatchway to the underground rail tunnel. Unfortunately, it was locked.
Tarrant inspected the electronic lock.
“I’d say we need Vila.”
Avon clicked his tongue in frustration, raised his gun, and fired straight at the lock, as Tarrant dived aside, with a shout of alarm.
“Try it now,” said Avon, as the smoke cleared, just as Tarrant was getting to his feet again and preparing to launch himself at Avon. Tarrant let out a deep breath, glanced at the door, which now had a gaping hole where the lock had been, and then reached out a hand tentatively.

The door swung inwards.
“Some lock!” said Tarrant.
“I expect Links were their only concern,” replied Avon, “And, thus far, I haven’t seen a Link with a blaster.”
Mention of the Links caused Tarrant to look around nervously,
“They may not fire blasters, but they can hear them.”
Avon conceded the point, conducted his own rapid survey of the surroundings, and then followed Tarrant through the hatch and down yet another set of ladders.
When they reached the bottom, they were met with another maintenance hatch. This one, however, was sealed by a simple, old-fashioned manual wheel mechanism, complex enough to confound a Link, but presenting no problem to Avon and Tarrant.
Soon, they were standing in the rail tunnel, looking up and down it.
“Which way?” said Tarrant.
“How should I know?” drawled Avon, and Tarrant was galled to realise that somehow he had indeed been relying on Avon to come up with the answer.
“I think it’s this way,” suggested Avon, after a moment, pointing to the left.
“Why that way?” asked Tarrant.
“Just a hunch. I might be wrong,” came the reply, with uncharacteristic humility.
Tarrant was on the verge of a sardonic response, then sighed and thought better of it. What was the point? What’s done was done. All that mattered now was getting off this miserable man-made planet.
“Alright, we’ll try it,” he said to Avon.

They set off but had only gone a few yards when they heard heavy footsteps coming towards them.
Before they had time to retreat to the maintenance hatch, Vila and Dayna had appeared out of the darkness, carrying the still unconscious Cally between them.
Names were exclaimed in surprised unison.
“How did you get here?” asked Dayna.
“Through a maintenance hatch, just back there,” said Tarrant, gesturing over his shoulder.

Avon was scrutinising Cally.
“She might not live,” he stated, matter-of-factly.
“The rail car’s back that way,” said Dayna, nodding in the direction Avon and Tarrant had come from.
“Hopefully,” added Vila.
“Let’s move,” suggested Avon.
“What about the other ship?” Tarrant reminded him.
Avon paused, seemingly indecisive.
“Vila and I have been in that base, Avon,” said Dayna. She shook her head, “It’s hopeless. There are too many guards”.
Avon glanced at Cally again.
“We’ll head back to Base B,” he announced.
“That ship could be our only way off this planet,” Tarrant reminded him.
“And it won’t be any use to us if we’re all dead,” replied Avon, in an even tone.
“Avon’s right, Tarrant,” said Dayna, “We have no choice – not with the state Cally’s in.”
“I’d be touched if I thought it was Cally he was worried about,” snapped Tarrant.
Avon’s eyes narrowed.

Vila was already leading the way, with Dayna forced to follow him, Cally still supported between them, as Avon and Tarrant stood facing one another.
“Come on!” hissed Vila, looking back at them, “Or do you want to stand and argue till Cally’s dead?”
Avon and Tarrant fell into line behind the others, and they shuffled on into the darkness.

* * *

Servalan reclined behind an opulent desk in yet another luxuriant temporary office – this one aboard the shuttle, whose engines could be heard priming in preparation for departure.
As she looked around, she contemplated how much longer she might have left to enjoy such luxury. And whether she would make it back alive to Earth – or whatever safe port of call the pilot might divert to.
The main base personnel had proven predictably loyal, as soon as they realised that Servalan retained control of the only means of departure from Terminal: however, now that they were all aboard, and once the ship was in flight, that would not necessarily remain the case. And was she really being protected by her personal security guards – or held prisoner? Perhaps the leaders of the coup were keen to ensure that she arrived back on Earth alive, to face her judges.

Idly, she flicked on her monitor. The news had been growing steadily worse, yet she could not resist the constant stream of updates on her own downfall. She reflected on the irony of how her preoccupation with Avon, Blake, and Blake’s son had cost her the Presidency.
But it was not updates that appeared on the screen, as it flickered into life. To her astonishment, Carnell’s face filled the screen, smiling at her with his usual insufferable smugness, as if he had even managed to cheat death.
“Congratulations, Madam President – ex-Madam President, I should say,” he announced, “You’ve survived – so far. I, of course, have not.” Servalan’s eyes widened. She did not like being wrong-footed.

“Matters, I daresay, have proceeded more or less exactly as I predicted they would…” Carnell continued, “Or in accordance, that is to say, with one of my predictions. I had to allow, you see, for the eventuality that, for whatever reason, the Liberator would not be captured. As you are now aboard your shuttle, I can safely assume that that is what happened. It was not the likeliest outcome, but it was a possibility, and I made allowance for it.”
Slowly, Servalan opened a bottle sitting on her desk, and poured some of its amber liquid content into a small glass. She had a feeling she was going to need this drink.
“Project Terminal, I can therefore assume, has been a failure. In which case I am now dead. I know you too well to presume on being offered any further chance of redemption. I am dead. But before I bid adieu forever, I leave you my parting gift.”

Servalan froze, the glass half-way to her mouth. She slammed the glass down and glanced around her office. She was in the process of checking under her desk, when Carnell resumed,
“Oh, don’t worry Servalan - it’s not a bomb. How sad that you live in a world where treachery is all that can be expected. No… my gift for you is a genuine gift.” Carnell reached down to something off camera, then held up a small blue folder for her to see, “It doesn’t look like much, does it?”
Servalan’s eyes narrowed.
“Check the drawer on your left-hand side.”
She opened the drawer and saw what she presumed was the same blue folder sitting inside it.
“That’s it,” Carnell went on. He paused and smiled, evidently anticipating Servalan’s uncertainty, “Well, go on! It won’t bite! Take a look.”
Curiosity got the better of Servalan, and she took the folder out of the drawer, and opened it. Having given its contents a cursory inspection, she then emptied those contents on to the surface of her desk.
“A new identity, Servalan. That’s my gift to you. I also predicted the possibility – no, the likelihood that your Administration would fall in your absence. You’re a fine military commander, Servalan, and you understand people’s baser instincts, but you are a long way from having mastered the intricacies of politics at the highest level.”

It occurred to Servalan that she would dearly like the opportunity to kill Carnell again.

“Therefore,” resumed Carnell, “I present you with a new identity: Commissioner Sleer. Your private guard – who, I should note, were selected, screened, and trained by me personally for Project Terminal – have been instructed to refer to you only by that name henceforth. And I can assure you that by the time your shuttle touches down – in the safe haven I’ve arranged for you – everyone aboard that shuttle will likewise know you only as Commissioner Sleer. If they want to live.”
Servalan examined the papers and saw several photographs of herself affixed to various ID documents.
“Everything’s in order, I can assure you. I pulled some strings with people who were, shall we say, less than delighted to discover I was still alive, considering what I knew about them,” Carnell smirked, “Sadly, of course, I’m no longer still alive – but, less inconveniently, neither is Servalan, now missing presumed dead. And Commissioner Sleer is in charge of the investigation. The icing on the cake, as it were.”

Servalan could not help but be impressed. But she also could not help but wonder –
“Why?” asked Carnell. He was the only person Servalan knew who could smile even when he was speaking. In ancient days, so she’d heard, it had been the art of a breed called ventriloquists.
“Why indeed?” Carnell continued, as if relishing his valedictory address.
Servalan raised her glass to her lips again.
“The answer, Commissioner Sleer, is quite simple – and extremely complex. The answer is love.” She choked on her drink.
“I always wondered what love was. And now, finally, I know. To have finally met someone who means more to me than myself. How ironic that it should be someone like you. Someone so utterly ruthless, so utterly selfish… so utterly, dare I say it, evil. But there it is. And here I am. Saying goodbye, wishing things had turned out differently.” He paused, as if to allow Servalan to drink without fear of choking.
“Goodbye, then, Commissioner Sleer. Goodbye, Servalan. Think of me now and then, on your way to the rainbow’s end.”
He smiled, one last time, blew her a kiss, and then disappeared, as the screen went dark.
Servalan continued to stare at it, her face solemn.
After a moment, she glanced down at the documents on her desk.
Her hand rested on them, and then, as she slowly spread them over the desk, her lips curled into an icy smile.

* * *

The ‘Liberator’ crew were in one of the medical rooms in Base B. Tarrant, Dayna, Vila, and Avon were gathered round an operating table on which Cally was lying. Vila cast an apprehensive look at the lights flickering overhead.
“You’re sure it’s all fixed, Orac?”
Beside the operating table, Orac’s lights also began to flicker, agitatedly.
“Of course I’m sure!” he snapped.
“I feel short of breath,” complained Vila, clutching his throat nervously.
“Then shut up,” suggested Avon.
Dayna was leaning over Cally, inspecting her injury.
“It looks bad,” she announced, “But with this equipment, and Orac, she ought to make it.”
“Good,” replied Avon curtly. Immediately, he headed for the exit.
“Hang on!” shouted Vila, “Where are you off to now?”
Avon gave no reply, as he disappeared through the door.
“Tarrant – keep an eye on Cally,” urged Dayna, “I’ll watch Avon.”
Dayna also headed for the exit.

Vila dithered for a second, then decided to follow her. Once in the corridor, however, he had second thoughts and went off in search of alcohol again.
Tarrant sat beside Cally. Her face was pale and lifeless, but she was breathing steadily.
Suddenly, he noticed the fingers of her left hand moving, and one side of her face slightly twitching.
He leaned towards her.
“Cally?” he murmured.
“Tarrant!”
It was Cally’s voice, but it was inside his head.
“Cally!” he answered aloud.
“He’s alive,” came the voice in his head, “And so is…”
Her body convulsed, and the readings beside the machine went haywire.
“Dayna! Avon!” Tarrant called towards the exit.
Hearing no reply, and on seeing Cally’s convulsions continue, Tarrant dashed for the exit.

* * *

In the control room, Dayna and Avon were studying the terrain outside on the monitor screen. Dayna’s hand was on her gun.
Tarrant came dashing into the room.
“It’s Cally!” he shouted, “I think she’s in trouble”.
Dayna headed for the exit, and Tarrant made to follow her.
“Wait for me, Avon,” Dayna shouted over her shoulder, as she ran out of the room.
“Tarrant!” called Avon, just as Tarrant reached the exit.
Tarrant paused, and turned to face Avon,
“Cally needs us now,” he protested.
“Orac’s dealing with it.”
“The hell with that!” replied Tarrant, turning again for the doorway.
“As you wish,” replied Avon, adding in a quiet voice, yet one that made Tarrant pause again, “I just wanted to say that Dayna and I are heading outside, once she’s finished with Cally, to check out the ship that Servalan promised us.”
“Fine,” replied Tarrant distractedly, without looking at him.
“You’re in charge,” continued Avon, “Until I get back.”
This time, Tarrant did glance back at Avon.
“Whoever gets us off this planet is in charge, Avon,” he remarked.
Avon’s eyes narrowed, and then he slowly grinned a wolfish grin.
“Naturally,” he replied.

As Tarrant exited into the corridor, he found Vila hovering outside, having evidently overheard the exchange.
“Can we trust him?” muttered Vila, in a low voice, nodding towards Avon, who had turned to face the control monitor again.
“Why ask me?” replied Tarrant, “You’ve known him longer than I have.”
Vila shrugged, as he continued to watch Avon.
“Blake trusted him,” he observed.
“Maybe so…” Tarrant replied, as he started to walk back towards the medical room, his thoughts bent on Cally and her survival, “But I’m not Blake.”

The End