Madame President was perturbed. Not worried; she never admitted to worry, but disturbed. Uneasy.

"What basis do these rumors have?" she demanded of the anxious young officer standing at attention before her desk.

"We don't know yet, Madame," he replied nervously. His three immediate superiors had vanished after displeasing the President, so he could be excused a measure of anxiety. "But if the first part is true, if Blake did survive Star One, then the rest could be true as well. He was an engineer and he had two years to study the Liberator's design. If anyone would be in a position to build another Liberator, it would be him."

Servalan strummed her long nails along the desk top, furiously reviewing her options.

"What can we verify? When can we know more?" she snapped.

The young man squirmed inwardly, knowing his answer would displease her. "There are some leads we can follow -- technicians reputed to have worked on the new ship, planets which supplied materials. But it will take time. Perhaps several weeks to check it all..."

"All?" she sneered. "Very little you have, I'd say, and none of it pertinent to the most important issue. Is it Blake?"

He started to shrug, but shivered instead under her icy gaze. Cautiously he answered, "Considering the seriousness of the matter, and how it may affect our current plans, it would be prudent to anticipate the worst. Blake is alive and will return."

Servalan's brows knitted together in a look of fury, and the officer cringed, certain he'd sealed his death warrant. But when she spoke her tone was calm and measured.

"Very well. Contact our people at Terminal and tell them there will be a change of plan."

The officer nodded eagerly, realizing he was still in favor. "Won't you be going there, or don't you expect Avon there?"

"Oh no," she smiled, "we'll both be there. But I won't be using the dream sequence I'd planned."

"Is there another?"

"Yes." She stood and crossed over to him. She stroked his cheek, then kissed him as he stood in shocked silence.

"I always prepare for every possibility. That's why I am where I am. There is another dream sequence, a very special one, to be used for just this eventuality. It will destroy Avon and Blake, both."

She placed firm red lips to his mouth again, pressing until his teeth parted and he felt her moist tongue lave his. Terrified and excited, he raised his arms to hold her, but she slipped gracefully away.

"Go now, deliver the message. Have them prepare for me and for our alternate plan."

He nodded, dizzy, and turned to leave.

"Stop. What is your name?"

"Ja... Jarrett," he stammered.

"Jarrett." Her voice caressed the syllables. "When you've finished your work, come back. There are other matters I wish to explore."

"Yes, Madam," he gulped, and hurried on his way.

She settled back at her deck and keyed up the image of a restraint couch on her compuscreen. The couch was softly padded but bristled with wires, straps, electrodes, probes, and other sinister-looking devices. "And things I'll need to practice," she murmured to herself.

Avon fought to stay awake as he and Orac performed yet another inconclusive voice analysis of the subspace message he could neither confirm nor ignore. He'd been working at it for days with little sleep, pressured by the short time limit he had to respond. But he wouldn't tell the others what he was up to. They would be delighted to search for Blake, he knew, and he couldn't let them waltz into such a dangerous trap with him. For he was going to respond. He had to. There was just that chance that it might really be Blake, and he couldn't leave him to die if the message were genuine.

"How much time left?" he asked wearily.

"Twelve point one hours," Orac responded. "But we have far to travel. If you do not decide to go soon, even Liberator's superior speed will not be sufficient to arrive within the time limit."

That clinched it. No more time to debate. He keyed the coordinates into Zen's navigation system.

There were obstacles, but they were surmountable. The others kept trying to take the watch, and he kept ordering them off the flight deck. A turbulent cloud of fluid particles arose to block his path, but he had Zen fly on through it. And naturally, there were objections when they arrived at Terminal and he was prepared to teleport down alone. He was too tired to argue effectively, so he bullied and threatened and waved a gun before leaving. It was badly handled, he knew, but his concentration was elsewhere.

That was also why he noticed neither the beginning corrosion to the ship before he left, nor the shadowing by Tarrant and Cally shortly after he'd arrived on Terminal's surface.

Concentrating only on his goal, he made his way to the seemingly deserted scientific installation buried below ground.

Avon stalked the corridors of the strange installation warily, but was unprepared for the tiny blowdart which rendered him unconscious in seconds. Several people emerged at that point, and carried his limp form to a very special room.

The room had been designed to Servalan's specifications; or more correctly, the equipment in the room had been. Taking up the most space was a restraint couch modeled along the lines of the couch Servalan had keyed up on her compuscreen. This version had been modified to capitalize on the discoveries she'd made testing the prototype on Jarrett.

Servalan was present now, and watched with approval as her people moved efficiently to strip Avon, position him on the couch, and secure him properly in place.

He lay on his back, oblivious and unresisting, as they stretched his arms above his head, and clamped his legs widely apart. Every inch of his body was exposed, vulnerable, accessible. They began to attach stimtabs along pathways of major nerve ganglia. These soft, flexible mesh discs, connected by slender wires to the master computer at the head of the couch, were capable of delivering a tremendous range of electrical charges to the host's skin surface -- and the nerves below. Depending on the output from the master computer, they could mimic sensations from the tingle of a feather's touch to the wrenching jolt of a heavy blow.

Having fixed the tabs along his neck and solar plexus, the technicians switched on the charges, testing that all the wires worked properly. Servalan watched, fascinated, as Avon's muscles twitched reflexively. She hadn't realized just how much she was looking forward to this, the start of Avon's and Blake's destruction. She'd been so busy with preparations that she hadn't been able to really enjoy it. But now Avon was here and completely malleable, and she intended to savor every moment.

Dear Avon , she thought, you're usually very wise. You don't care about anyone but yourself, and you don't trust anyone at all. But you do care about Blake or you wouldn't have risked coming here. And you do trust him -- which is why you'll kill him for me when this is done .

"Are we ready to begin?" she asked aloud.

Balvor, the chief technician, finished adjustments to the visualizer aimed at Avon's forehead. Its powerful beam would broadcast directly into the victim's brain. "He's still unconscious," Balvor informed her. "We'll need to raise him to a hypnotic level where he'll be receptive to the programming." He checked the IV line which had been inserted into Avon's wrist, and injected new drugs through it. The monitors above Avon's head danced in new combinations of light displays, then steadied to a slow, regular pulsing. The tech looked satisfied. "Now I'll begin the dream sequence," he announced, and reached for a panel on the master computer. Servalan's hand closed over his, stopping him.

"If everything is ready, you can leave. All of you. I will direct the dream sequence, and I will call you back in when it is completed. Until then, I am not to be disturbed. Is that understood?"

The technicians shifted uneasily. "Madam President," one of them ventured, "this is a very complex procedure..."

"When these indicators rise, he is responding to the programming," Servalan interrupted. "When they go down, he is blocking, and needs more of the drug, or more stimulation. I can control every sensation he feels. I do not need you, and I do not want you here."

They shuffled out reluctantly, some concerned over the excesses she might indulge in without witnesses present, but most of them annoyed at being cheated of watching. Servalan kept her eyes on the steady rhythms of the monitors, knowing the others were angry, but not caring. When they'd cleared from the room, she locked the door. "Just you and I now, my sweet Avon," she smiled. "You and I and Blake."

She pressed the master panel.

Avon looked about his cell foggily. It was dark but not impossible to see. Gloomy was more like it. He wasn't sure where the light came from though. That bothered him, for he didn't like such untidiness. If he could see, there had to be a light source, only there wasn't one.. .

Servalan frowned at the falling levels of the indicators on the monitors. He was fighting it already, testing the reality of the construct. She couldn't have that; it was crucial that he accept unquestioningly the events which would follow. She increased the dosage of drugs dripping through the IV.

A wave of dizziness swept through him. Avon sat down heavily, and was surprised at the softness under him. Looking down he saw that he was on a heaped pile of furs. The incongruous sight surprised him at first, for it seemed most unlike the Federation to provide such amenities in a detention cell. But perhaps it wasn't a Federation cell.

He shrugged the question off as moot. He was sleepy anyway, and the furs were very comfortable. He started to lie down, but stopped. That wasn't right; he needed to start looking for a way out. If only it weren't such an effort. Trying to shake off his lethargy, he began to look for a door.

He found it very easily, for it was suddenly opened from the outside, and a man entered, shutting it behind him.

Avon stared at the sturdy, bearded form a moment, then said, "So, Blake, it is you. I wasn't sure about the authenticity of that message."

The man grinned and crossed the room with easy strides. "What did you question, Avon? The content or the source?"

"Both. It would have been nice bait for a Federation trap. But here you are," Avon observed.

"Here I am," he agreed, coming to a stop directly in front of Avon.

"And here is... a detention cell?"

"Yes," Blake agreed again.

"All right, let's not play games. I came looking for you, as you intended. I've found you, and a not very attractive meeting place. I'll believe you if you tell me this is not a Federation cell. You wouldn't have such freedom. So what is this place, and why am I here?"

Blake smiled again, a not altogether pleasant smile. "You want to know quite a lot, Avon. This place... let us say this place is mine. My people control it. And you are here because I wish it."

Avon regarded him for a few silent moments. "I remember your parting words, Blake: 'For what it is worth...' Has that changed?"

"For what it is worth, Avon, I have changed. My methods have changed. It's been a long time, Avon."

"Long enough for us to be enemies?" Avon asked cuttingly. "Long enough for us to forget the debts we owe one another? You still need me, Blake. You need my knowledge."

"True," Blake admitted, and put his hand on Avon's shoulder. "But I take what I need." And he shoved down hard, sending Avon sprawling to the floor.

Avon gazed up at him, too stunned for the moment to speak. Part of him cried out at the wrongness of it all; that this was not Blake, could not be the Blake he'd known, the Blake he'd searched for. But another part of him was suddenly very afraid.

Blake took advantage of Avon's surprise to plant his boot firmly on a fold of Avon's tunic, effectively pinning him to the floor.

"I'm going to make things clear to you from the start," Blake said, looking down over crossed arms. "You'll follow my orders this time. You'll do exactly what I tell you, when I tell you. You're not working with me; you're working for me."

"And my reward for slavish devotion?" Avon snapped. "Your undying gratitude?"

"Survival," Blake replied. "It's very simple, Avon. Obey, and you live to fight another day. I know you're not a believer in rosy futures, but hope is a good motivator. Disobey, and you'll be punished. I'm not talking about a reprimand, either. I can make you scream."

"Don't bet on it," Avon said through clenched teeth.

"Try to refuse me and you'll end up dead. As I said, very simple."

Blake moved his boot away and grabbed the front of Avon's tunic, hauling him back up to his feet. Avon had never felt more acutely aware of the difference in their sizes and weight. Still, his anger spurred him, and he spat on Blake. "I'll slave for you in hell!"

Blake's hand cracked against his mouth before he'd finished speaking, and sent him reeling backwards. His jaw went numb, then suddenly fiery hot, and he tasted blood inside his cheek.

"That was a mistake," Blake informed him coldly, and followed through with a blow to Avon's stomach which doubled him over.

Avon turned his protective crouch into a roll, and threw himself at Blake's legs. He managed to bring him down, but Blake twisted and grabbed Avon's arms. Wrenching them up behind Avon's back, he forced him into a kneeling, bowed position on the floor.

"Time to apologize, Avon. I can dislocate both your shoulders with this hold."

Tears smarted at Avon's eyes from the painful pull on his arms, but he shook his head and remained mute.

Changing his grip so that one hand secured Avon's crossed wrists high in the air, Blake knelt beside him and used his other hand to turn Avon's head to face him.

"Time to be sensible, too. Give in. It will go hard with you if you don't." Blake's hand let go its bruising hold on Avon's chin and patted lightly, almost affectionately, at his cheek. "I don't want to have to hurt you, Avon." He leaned in close and whispered, "I have so many better things in mind for you."

Avon's heart welled up at the sudden flood of memories these words evoked; memories of another time Blake had held him, and used that same comradely, conspiratorial tone. He'd wanted Blake's touch then. Had invited it. Heart trembling, but cooly assured on the outside, he'd gone alone to Blake one night, laid a hand on his shoulder and quietly said, "I've been waiting for you to ask me something. But you haven't." And he'd waited tensely for Blake to pretend to misunderstand. But Blake had smiled back knowingly and answered, "I was waiting for some indication that the reply would be favorable." Avon had inclined his head -- the briefest of nods -- and Blake's smile had broadened. "No more waiting, then," he'd told Avon, and they'd spent the ensuing hours together, learning to please each other. Being made love to by Blake had been aching satisfaction. He was power, controlled; strength, contained. The sweep of passion tempered by infinite care.

How could that caring person he'd known in every intimate fashion have become the monster tormenting him now? Avon shut out the memories. The past was dead. The important issue now was to survive. Survive to avenge these humiliations. He let himself slump, dead weight, against Blake, biting off the shriek of pain from his arms. As he'd expected, Blake relaxed his hold and caught him to keep from being knocked over by him.

From his close vantage point, Avon slammed his knee into Blake's groin as hard as he could, and scrambled for the door when Blake fell back, cursing.

He'd succeeded in releasing the latch when, to his astonishment, Blake's hand wrapped around his ankle and yanked him back down to the floor. They wrestled furiously, but Avon was handicapped by his bewilderment. How could any man recover from such a blow so quickly? It just wasn't possible...

Servalan watched the indicator readings uneasily. They'd been fluctuating quite a bit, but now they were definitely falling. She was reluctant to increase the dosage of the drugs much more, for they had a sedative effect, and might render Avon physically incapable of cooperation during the next stage of the dream sequence. Watching the indicators sink lower, she finally administered a sizable but temporary increase of the medications.

Avon's body, which had been straining within the couch's bonds, relaxed almost immediately, and his harsh breathing quieted. Servalan smiled and readied stimulants in case they were needed later to counteract the drugs.

Blake pinned Avon in a crushing bear hug, and began squeezing the air from his lungs. Avon tried to squirm free, but he was overcome with dizziness. Everything seemed heavy and clumsy and fogged. He stopped struggling and lay passively within that cruel embrace, wondering vaguely if he were going to die now.

Blake was talking to him again, low-pitched and angry. "You won't learn, will you, Avon? And now I have to punish you. I have to teach you. You are mine, Avon, mine to do with as I wish. Pay attention, Avon. You're never going to forget this."

Something snapped around Avon's wrist, and he looked down to see a pair of shackles. Blake spun him over on his stomach and pulled his other arm behind his back. Click. The second shackle closed on him, securing his hands together behind him. His arms were folded snugly across the small of his back, with no slack to move.

Avon lay quietly, trying to conserve his strength, recognizing that resistance was futile for the time being. He shook his head a few times, trying to clear it of the fog which had again descended. Blake shoved his boot against Avon's hip, rolling him onto his back once more. He stood over him, straddling him, looking down with immense satisfaction.

"Why, Blake?" Avon asked. "At least tell me why."

Blake shook his head. "You don't ask the questions any more, Avon. You just do what you're told. What I tell you."

He pulled a knife from his belt and Avon flinched. Blake knelt beside him and slipped the blade under his collar. "Pity to spoil such a nice outfit, but it's in the way." And he neatly slit through the cloth and leather from throat to waist. A few more rapid cuts reduced the tunic to scraps which Blake tossed carelessly aside. He didn't stop there, but slid the knife under the waistband of Avon's trousers next. Avon jumped at the shock of cold metal reaching down his abdomen, but Blake's hand slammed down on his chest, holding him still.

"Steady, Avon," he warned. "You wouldn't want me to cut you now." He slashed the trousers to shreds as Avon held rigidly still. The chill of the floor seeped through his naked flash, and he shivered. Blake raked his gaze over Avon's body.

"You've lost weight," he commented. "Never mind. I like you lean. I think I'll keep you that way. No, don't talk back," he added, as Avon opened his mouth to respond. "I still have this," -- he caressed the knife -- "And it could get thirsty."

He bent down and gathered Avon into his arms. Walking him across the room, he abruptly released him, letting him tumble to the floor. Avon twisted frantically as he fell, trying to protect his head from cracking against the hard floor, but his bound arms prevented him gaining his balance. He cried out as he hit the floor, but it was an instinctive yell only. He'd landed on the soft pile of furs on which he'd first awakened.

Blake chuckled. "That's not so much for your comfort, Avon, as mine," he informed him. "I'm going to have my fun now. I expect I'll enjoy this immensely. I'm afraid you're not going to like it much, but then that's the idea. Consider this lesson the first step in your training.

He took a scrap of Avon's ruined garment and wadded it into a ball. Forcing Avon's mouth open, he stuffed the material in and tied a second strip across Avon's mouth to keep it in place.

"Sorry you won't be able to converse much, but I can't really trust you not to bite."

Avon's eyes glared back stonily above the gag. Don't let him know how it's affecting me, he thought to himself. Don't give him the satisfaction. Just endure. He will pay dearly later.

Blake began wrapping something soft around his ankle. Avon shifted onto his side to watch. He expected to be hit for moving without Blake's prompting, but Blake was more intent on fastening leather cuffs to Avon's legs. The thick bands fit comfortably but securely around his ankles. They each had a clasp attached, and Avon waited for Blake to lock them together, immobilizing his legs as he had his arms.

Instead, Blake drew a metal bar, the length of his arm, from under the furs. He snapped one ankle clasp to a ring at the end of the bar. Avon looked on, uncomprehending, as Blake took hold of his other leg. Then he saw the matching ring on the opposite end of the bar, and his stomach froze. He bucked and kicked, tearing his leg free of Blake's grasp. His urgent "No!" was muffled behind the gag, though he also shook his head violently in denial.

He had a good idea of what was in store for him, had seen it coming once Blake had begun abusing him. But part of him needed to pretend he still had some measure of control. To be rendered utterly helpless, completely exposed and vulnerable...

He fixed despairing eyes on Blake, willing him to relent. But Blake casually delivered a stinging swat to his hip, and took hold of his free leg again. Drawing his knees widely apart, Blake snapped the other cuff to the opposite end of the bar. Avon's legs were splayed open before him, and Blake reached forward to fondle his unprotected organs. Avon closed his eyes and turned his head aside, not wanting to reveal his humiliation. The Blake who had been his lover would never have degraded him so. What had transformed him?

Servalan drew a high dose of the special stimulant from the ampoule carrying it. She injected it into the IV line inserted in Avon's wrist, and waited calmly for its aphrodisiac properties to take effect. Avon's pale face flushed deeply, and his breathing grew labored.

She walked back around the couch, and touched his exposed penis. A quiver ran through him, and she knew that he had felt her in his dream world. Feeling omnipotent, she laughed and began toying with his body, stroking and petting him as he fretted in his bonds. The drug was affecting him considerably, and he strained to her touch as the blood flowed to his genitals, making him fully, achingly erect.

Blake continued his fondling, intimate touches, cupping Avon's organs in one hand, and tracing over the sensitive surfaces with probing fingers. Avon twisted on the cushioning furs, trying to draw away from the exploring touches which had begun to excite him. Blake had no trouble keeping him where he was however, and the rigid bar ensured his staying open to any assault.

Avon's thoughts churned, aghast at the unexpected sensation of pleasure. Rape he'd expected, swift and brutal. Something to be passively endured with no participation on his part. But Blake was pacing himself slowly, coaxing responses from Avon. He could feel his blood pounding, his skin tingling. His body was betraying him, and he could not control it. Burning with shame and fury, he felt himself become erect in Blake's caressing hands.

"Very nice," Blake said softly to him. "I knew you wanted this. You need to be forced, don't you, Avon? You want me to take you."

No, it wasn't true. He wanted Blake to stop. He wanted to be left alone, with some shred of dignity and the freedom to choose his own fate. Yet he couldn't deny that he derived pleasure from what Blake was doing. His body trembled to Blake's touch, and while he hated himself for it, he could feel the craving for completion .

Satisfied that he was responding properly, Servalan brought a blunt metal probe to the couch. The approximate size and shape of a male member, the probe was equipped with features no man had ever sported. She coated it liberally with lubricant, and parting Avon's buttocks, attempted to insert it. His muscles clamped down at the first nudge of it against his bottom, denying it entry. She tried forcing it past, but he moaned and tensed up further.

"All right, Avon," she relented. "We'll do this slowly." She put the probe aside and dipped her fingers in the lubricant. Stroking his still-erect phallus with the other hand to relax and distract him, she began trailing her oiled fingers up and down the soft skin around his loins. His buttocks gradually untensed and she teased at the cleft between. Gently, she pressed one slender finger to the opening and worked it in. Avon shivered again and his passage closed tightly around her, but she pushed carefully and her finger sank all the way in. She stroked him internally, marvelling at the velvet tightness. Sinking a second finger in alongside the first, she worked at widening the opening. His muscles resisted, but the sensation from her squirming, probing digits was clearly affecting him. He was breathing short, rapid gulps of air, whimpering and shuddering as she touched sensitive areas within him.

Withdrawing her fingers slightly, she held him open and pressed the metal probe once more to the entrance. This time it took little effort to slide it past the guarding ring of muscles to the vulnerable passage beyond. He clamped down again as the bulky intruder stretched the walls of his rectum uncomfortably, but now that the probe had gained entry the clenched muscles served only to lock it in place. His hips writhed in protest, impaling him further. Servalan laughed at his seeming discomfort. "Is Blake hurting you, my dear? How you must hate him. But there's a bit more to do yet."

She pressed a small panel at the end of the probe, and it began to pulsate. Expanding along Avon's passageway, it crammed him full, while giving off a low charge every few seconds, stimulating nearby nerve endings. A side bump flicked against his prostate bulge at random intervals, making Avon moan. Servalan gazed at his parted lips and suddenly kissed him deeply, tasting the salty sweat from his skin. He was beautifully helpless, and she adored him thus.

She'd been toying with an idea since making the others leave. Now she abruptly decided to go through with it. He was so lovely and there would not be another opportunity if her plans worked out.

She kissed him again, running her tongue over his, tasting the warmth of his mouth. Reaching down, she fondled between his legs, then slowly caressed the length of his erection. It was very firm, waiting to be taken care of.

"You want to make use of this too," she murmured to him. "My dear Avon, you shall."

She slipped her gown from her shoulders and let it slide along her body to crumple on the floor.

Blake opened a section of his garment, and pulled his thickening penis through. He made no further effort to undress. Avon was almost relieved, for the touch of Blake's skin against his own would have been yet another reminder of their vanished intimacies.

Blake hooked his hands under Avon's knees and lifted, bending his legs until Avon's tethered feet were pushed back to his bottom. His legs were still splayed widely open, with no barrier between Blake and the object of his intentions.

Avon's heart beat wildly, strangely excited, and though he tried to relax for what he knew would happen, his entire body tensed to the feel of Blake's erection pressing at him. Blake was crouched over him, his pelvis just above Avon's, his hands reaching around behind Avon's hips to hold his buttocks open. He strained forward and Avon moaned in pain. Blake heard him, or else he decided he was not making good enough progress. At any rate, he eased back and lowered his mouth instead to Avon's loins. Caressing Avon's erection with his hands to keep him simmering, Blake began licking him as well. His warm wet tongue nuzzled at Avon's loins, sending shockwaves of pleasure through him.

Avon weakened for a moment at the delicious sensation, and Blake eased a finger inside him before he realized what was happening. Tensing quickly in reaction, he was too late to prevent Blake reaching up into him. Blake forced another finger within, and began stroking and teasing at the tightly clinging walls.

Avon tossed his head and whimpered as Blake's probing fingers worked away at him. He could feel the stimulating touches inside, the maddening erotic pressure from within.

Blake laughed softly and poised himself over Avon again. "You do want it, Avon. You won't admit, but you're longing for this." And he thrust home, planting himself deeply in Avon's rectum.

Avon's cries were muffled by the gag, but Blake seemed spurred by them, and strained further inside him. Avon struggled, but could not displace him. His motions seemed only to excite Blake more. Tears smarted at Avon's eyes again as Blake began moving within him, stretching and tugging at his tender passage. And yet Avon never lost his own erection. Painful as the invasion was, it still stimulated him unbearably. The same organ which battered at him also pressed tantalizingly on sexual nerve endings, sending astonishingly powerful jolts of pleasure through him.

"You're so tight, Avon. It's marvellous," Blake exclaimed, lowering his body onto Avon's, pinning him with his weight. "Do you feel me inside you, taking possession?" He thrust strongly again, gripping Avon's shoulders when he moaned and squirmed in reaction. "Yesss... try to resist. You can't. You are mine, and your body is mine." His hands squeezed at Avon's shoulders as he moved strongly within him. Avon felt overwhelmed with sensation -- Blake's weight crushing down on him, his steady rocking stimulating him, and the aching pressure in his bottom commingled with increasing pleasure. For each thrust that stabbed pain through him, another would send shivers of delight.

Blake suddenly grabbed up his knife and ripped through the gag around Avon's mouth. "If you bite, I'll slit your throat," he warned, and withdrew the wadded cloth. Avon swallowed and started to ask him to remove the shackles as well. He got no further than, "Please, Blake..." before Blake's hands gripped his hair, forcing his head back. Then Blake's mouth crushed down with bruising force on his. Blake's tongue pushed inside, forcing his to yield, claiming his mouth as he claimed his body.

Her fingers twined in his hair, Servalan rained burning kisses on Avon's upturned face. She shifted about on him, reveling in the sensation of her smooth skin gliding over his naked flesh. His swollen member radiated heat where it pressed along her soft belly, trapped between their bodies. It throbbed at her as she wriggled over it, and she felt her loins tingle in response.

She ran her hand lightly over his body, caressing and tickling as she nuzzled his face and neck. The probe still pulsed inside him, and she didn't disturb it for it made him twist and shudder in a most stimulating manner. She squeezed at the muscles of his arms, testing their strength. His biceps were knotted, straining at the restraint cuffs. Those arms were strong enough to crush her spine where they free, and she shivered delightedly at the menacing idea.

"You are enchanting," she told him, drawing a polished nail along his throat. "Like a fine, deadly weapon. So dangerous, but so exciting. I would like to keep you in a secret room somewhere, naked day and night. I would have a soft bed in there, and satin sheets, and fine wine. I would slip in whenever I liked, and have you perform for me. And I would keep a gun pressed to your temple just to make you angry and remind you that only I allow your every breath."

She kissed him again, molding her lips to his. Her legs slipped to either side of his hips and she moved back and forth, gliding herself along the length of his erection. Her loins began throbbing, wanting fulfillment. He seemed just as eager, straining against her yielding flesh, moaning each time her warm creamy center slipped over the head of his organ.

She positioned him for entry. Pressing down slowly, she sighed with satisfaction as he filled her. The effect on him was electrifying. He thrust himself strongly at her, lifting her as his back arched in ecstatic spasm. The sensation was thrilling, but she pulled free of him, quickly squeezing at the base of his scrotum to stop his orgasm.

"No, Avon," she chastised. "You will not have release until I permit it. And I intend to enjoy myself for a while yet."

She reached over to the master computer and keyed in a changed combination of drugs. When his trembling eased, she nestled against him and once more guided his member inside her. She lay quietly for a time, letting his restless movements excite her as she licked delicately at his lips. At last the longing grew too strong within her, and she began moving with him, all her concentration centered on the gliding, churning thrusts melting inside her.

Blake wrapped his arms around Avon, pulling him close. His back flexed again and again as he pushed into Avon with a steady rhythm. Avon tossed feverishly in that tight hold, unbearably aroused by the pressure of Blake's body rubbing over him, stroking his own erection. Blake's tongue played over his features and he made no effort to resist its exploring touch, parting his lips readily when it probed at them.

"You're behaving now, Avon," Blake approved, groaning with pleasure. "You get a little reward for that." He pushed himself back on his haunches, pulling himself partly out, but leaving the head of his organ inserted to keep Avon stretched and submissive.

"I wasn't going to let you come," Blake announced, "but I've changed my mind."

Somehow, Avon dredged up the will to refuse. "No," he whispered hoarsely. "Keep your damn 'favors'. I want nothing from you, Blake."

"You tell me no, but your body says something altogether different." Blake grinned wickedly. "I got you worked up, didn't I? And now I'll finish it, for both of us." He massaged at Avon's penis while he spoke, making Avon weak with desire. Then he dropped his head suddenly, plunging the straining organ into his warm wet mouth. He licked it all around and Avon felt a welling up of excitement surge through him, making him thrust wildly into that fantastic haven. Blake released him just as suddenly, and clamped his hands forcefully over Avon's aching genitals, halting the headlong rush to climax.

"Not yet, Avon," he warned. "You'll have to wait for me."

So saying, he lowered himself to Avon, sinking the length of his swollen member into him once more. His hand worked its way between their bodies and gripped Avon firmly but seductively. His thumb circled the tip of Avon's penis, making him shudder, while his fist kept a slow, steady pumping motion. At first he seemed content to let Avon's involuntary muscle contractions squeeze his buried organ, but he soon began rocking in and out in turn. It quickly built to the same hard thrusting he'd been engaged in, but now his hand gripped Avon's organ tightly; squeezing, pulling, controlling it in matching rhythm.

Servalan ground her hips on Avon's pelvis, thrilling to his helpless response. Each push, each pulse, triggered shivers of delight in her until she felt drowned in electrical bursts of pleasure. She rocked faster, and keyed the probe to begin the final phase.

Avon arched into her, gasping a the increased stimulation. He met her thrusts eagerly, straining into her soft flesh and rippling muscles.

He had her sweating now, writhing with pleasure. A hard touch within sent a shower of sparks through her. Another touch, and another, and the sparks multiplied till her body began to spasm. She clung to Avon as the contractions swept through her. She was gripping his back and shoulder, and the fingers on his shoulder dug at his flesh until she saw blood and realized she'd scratched welts across his skin.

He didn't seem aware, for he was thrusting furiously into her, twisting and writhing to each movement of hers. His back arched again and she collapsed over him as he shuddered and bucked in climax.

Avon tried to block out the shattering stimulation, but was helplessly swept up in Blake's passionate assault. His hips twisted and flexed in eager response, and Blake's tempo increased till he battered violently at Avon, straining to bury himself between his legs. He began shaking and bit down sharply on Avon's shoulder, groaning aloud as he penetrated Avon one last time, ejaculating deep inside him with long shuddering pulses. He pumped furiously at Avon's organ, and the overwhelming sensations built in Avon till they burst through and the sweet agony of orgasm wracked his body.

Servalan raised herself from the couch, still weak-limbed but wonderfully replete. "Magnificent," she told Avon, and kissed him gently on the forehead, smoothing his hair from the ruffled state she'd left it. She keyed the master computer one last time, flooding his system with sedatives to render him deeply unconscious.

She then cleaned herself and dressed and carefully disposed of all evidence of the tryst before recalling the technicians to the room.

They eyed the welts on Avon's shoulder suspiciously and looked askance at her, but she ignored it.

"Take him to the cell," she directed, and paused to finger Avon's cast-off garments. "Someone burn these. They're supposed to have been ruined. It's gone perfectly so far; we can't let little details slip by."

Cally and Tarrant cautiously worked their way through the underground maze of corridors. Except for the vicious creatures on the planetoid's surface, they'd seen no one. A noise stopped them, and they pressed into the scant shelter of a recessed doorway. Cally fumbled at the lock, wishing Vila were with them. Tarrant pushed her hands aside, pressed the muzzle of his blaster to the stubborn mechanism, and fired its lowest voltage. It made enough noise for Cally to flinch, but the door swung ajar. They slipped behind, then peered around to watch as a group of people walked by. Nothing happened for a while, but they could hear voices close by, so they stayed put. Presently, the people walked back, this time carrying a naked man. His face was hidden, but at the sight of him Cally dug her fingers into Tarrant's arm.

//It's Avon,// she telepathed to him. //I tried telling him we're here, but he didn't respond. He may have been knocked out.//

He may be dead, Tarrant thought, but kept it to himself. "All right, give them a minute to get ahead," he whispered back. "I'll follow where they're taking him; you check on where he's been. And see if you can find him some clothes. He'll be wanting something to wear when he wakes up."

It wasn't a bad effort as such plans go, but in short order both of them were discovered, disarmed, and confined. Tarrant thought of several more unpleasant things to say about Avon, but didn't want to waste his breath.

Balvor watched as the disguised security guards dumped Avon on the pile of furs in the specially prepared cell. They left the loop-ended bar and shackles lying visibly to one side. Balvor kicked Avon when they had finished.

He groaned and pulled away. Balvor kicked again, and Avon's eyes snapped open.

"Get up," Balvor directed.

Avon considered breaking the man's legs but the odds didn't seem favorable for the moment. He stood.

The man thrust a one-piece coverall at him. Avon donned it silently.

"I am Balvor, Blake's lieutenant, and leader in his absence," the man informed him.

Avon raised an eyebrow. "He's gone?"

"He's checking on our new base. But he'll be back for you. He said you're going to need a good deal more training."

Avon's muscles knotted, and he wondered if the "training" was to continue under the auspices of this group.

Balvor produced Avon's teleport bracelet, but did not offer it to him.

"You'll call your ship now, and have your crew teleport down. One person is to remain to bring us up, then we will send him down."

Avon smiled. "Certainly."

Balvor looked at him suspiciously, having been prepared to deal with strong resistance. He gestured for the guards to prime their weapons, and held the bracelet up for Avon to speak.

"Come in, Liberator," Avon called calmly.

"Avon?" Vila's worried voice came back. "About time! Tarrant and Cally--"

"Vila," Avon cut in sharply, "get the ship out of here now! Run and keep running!"

Balvor struck him sharply across the face, cutting him off. Vila's voice chattered anxiously in the background, asking what was going on, and trying to explain that he couldn't leave yet. Balvor moved to discipline Avon further, but was diverted by the arrival of security guards with two new prisoners.

"Found these two snooping," one of their captors announced. Balvor smiled at Tarrant and Cally, then looked back at Avon.

"Well now, let's try this again," he suggested.

Servalan directed the evacuation of the base. No person, no shred of evidence could be left to compromise the story planted in Avon's mind. She waited until her own people had taken control of the teleport system, sending Vila to the same cell as the others, before she went up. None of Avon's people had seen her.

She planted a record of events where it was sure to be found -- too late to prevent a murder, but in good time to wrack Avon with (hopefully) suicidal guilt. She cleared out the hidden explosives before she left. It would have been sweet to have dispatched all of Avon's crew, but she needed Avon alive for this alternate scheme.

The last thing she did before teleporting up was to trigger a new subspace broadcast. Set to the same frequencies as the one which had brought Avon to Terminal, this message was intended for the purported sender of the first.

Triumphant with the success of her plans and the capture of Liberator, Servalan strode to the flight deck to take command. So swelled with pride was she, that she scarcely noticed the sickening phosphorescent slime which coated the walls around her.

Vila was ushered into the cell, and Dayna started at the sight of Orac in his hands. She wanted to ask him how he'd managed it, but Tarrant nudged her and shook his head. Vila plopped the computer down and sat on it, obscuring it from view.

"Nice accommodations you've found," he commented glumly to Avon. "Made a reservation, did you?"

He hadn't expected a reply, but Avon looked at him from across the cell and shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said. "I told you not to come after me."

"Was he the last?" Balvor asked his men. They nodded and handed him Vila's teleport bracelet.

"Right," he said, activating it. "All clear at the base. Bring us up." He gave Avon a chilling smile and added, "We'll be back. With Blake."

They winked out of sight, leaving the Liberator crew alone in the cell.

"Have they left anything to eat?" Vila enquired, looking about the spartan cell.

"Get to work on the door," Tarrant ordered him. Vila sighed, shook a variety of instruments from his sleeves, and moved to comply.

Cally turned her attention to Avon. "What was that he said about Blake? Is he here? Is he a prisoner, too?"

"He was here," Avon informed her. "They say he's gone for a while. He's their leader, you see."

Vila paused in his work on the door. "Blake?! You're crazy, Avon. Blake doesn't go in for this sort of thing. He likes to blow up things and incite the natives. This isn't his style."

"If Blake is here," Cally said firmly, "he'll put things right when he returns. They must not have known that we're his allies."

Avon swung on her and barely kept from shaking her. "We are not his allies; we are his captives," he snapped. "And we're not going to sit here and await his pleasure. We've got to get out, arm ourselves, and get away. Off this planet. And if I can destroy this place first, I will." He glared at Vila. "So get that door open."

"It's coming," Vila said defensively. "I'm being distracted, is all."

Cally caught at Avon's arm but he pulled it away at once. "Avon, how can this be true? Have you even seen Blake?"

"I have," Avon replied. "He's changed, Cally. I didn't believe it either at first, but it's true. Don't wait here to see for yourself. You won't like what you'll find."

"This Blake of yours," Dayna asked. "What did he say? What was he like?"

"Does it matter?" Avon shouted. They all stared at him, and he drew a deep breath, struggling for control. "He's no better than the people he used to fight. If any of you want to stay and see for yourself, you may. I don't intend to do anything so stupid." He looked down at Dayna. "Give me a weapon."

She laughed. "Avon, I asked them politely if I could take the blasters, and they regretted that it wasn't allowed."

"Vila brought his tools. You generally carry something lethal on you. Several somethings."

She hesitated, then slid a long thin metal blade from the seam of her boot. "It's too flexible to stab well," she warned him, "but it's very sharp. It'll cut across most anything."

He nodded and took it, clenching his hand so tightly over the handle that his knuckles stood out in white contrast.

"Tarrant, Cally, did you have time to see anything of the base before they caught you?"

"A little," Tarrant admitted. "It looks to be a scientific installation, not a military base. Lots of labs, no one in uniform."

"We saw them taking you down the corridor before we'd gotten very far," Cally added. "They caught us soon after."

Avon frowned. There'd been a tremendously long interval between his arrival in this cell and theirs. Long enough for Blake to shatter his world.

"Did they bring you here at once?" he started to ask, but Vila's smug, "Got it! Told you had it sussed," interrupted him.

They exited cautiously and began a careful exploration of the area. The utter stillness and quiet puzzled them, until they realized that the underground base had been evacuated.

"No rush, then," Vila declared, perching himself on an abandoned desk. "Let's find some dinner and few useful supplies before we leave. Nowhere to go to anyhow."

"You're forgetting that they'll return," Tarrant said grimly. "We'd better find some way off this planet soon. Suggestions, Avon?"

Avon was staring blankly at the wall. He could feel Blake's hands on his naked body, positioning him, parting his legs, reaching down between them to finger him while he turned his head in helpless shame.

"Avon, are you listening?" Tarrant put his hand on Avon's shoulder and was nearly slashed across the face as Avon whirled round, metal blade raised and ready. They stared at each other, Tarrant astonished and Avon shocked by his own loss of control. He lowered the razor-sharp instrument and Tarrant fell back a step.

"Avon, is something bothering you?" Tarrant asked mildly. "Or do I just offend you?"

Avon looked down at his hand holding the blade, and saw that it was trembling. The others were looking as well, and he closed his other hand over the first, steadying it.

"There's something I've got to do," he told them, not looking up. "You look for the way out. See if they've left any transport. I'll... you let me know when you're ready to go. I'll try to join you. But don't wait for me.

He turned and walked out, clutching his arms tightly before him to keep the others from seeing the trembling worsen.

They looked at each other, wondering how to respond. Vila spoke up uneasily. "All very well for him to say, but what's he up to now? And where do we find him when it's time to go?" He slid off the desk and peered out of the room. "Hey Avon, where can we find you?" But the corridor was empty.

Just far enough away to remain unseen, Avon heard Vila's call. He continued on without reply, for he was fairly certain the others would strongly disapprove of his actions, should they realize what he intended to do. One did not always need a hand weapon to kill. Twenty minutes with the power generators would give him enough of an explosion to destroy the installation. And everyone in it, if need be.

Tarrant was trying to lead the others back to the surface when he ran into a snag. It consisted of six men and women in combat gear, heavily armed. Recognizing the futility (and likely fatality) of resisting, Tarrant raised his hands in surrender. The other crew members followed suit.

"Short trip," Vila observed sadly. "Just went for a turn about the park, and back for dinner?"

One of the woman shouldered her way to the front of the group, slinging her disruptor across her back. "Vila? Cally?" she asked, and pushed back the floppy, fur-lined hood of her jacket.

"Jenna!" Vila almost tripped over Tarrant in his stampede to her. He grabbed her up in a bearhug and kissed her full on the lips. It was something he'd imagined doing in the past, but he'd never had the nerve. Cally came forward with a glad cry and also embraced Jenna. "We didn't know if you'd survived," Cally explained joyfully.

They made introductions of their other companions, and the Liberator crew was heartened to hear that Jenna had a shuttle waiting on the surface.

Dayna alone remained suspicious. "It's wonderfully convenient," she observed, "that after looking for Avon and Cally and Vila for so long, you suddenly find them here and now."

Jenna laughed. "Not guilty," she exclaimed. "I told Blake not to come, that it was a trap, but he would insist--"

"Blake?"

"Blake's here?"

"You're working with Blake?!"

"Well of course," Jenna answered, surprised at their reactions. "We've been together since we met in that detention cell on Earth. Did you think I'd desert him?"

The Liberator crew looked at each other uneasily. Vila spoke up. "It's just that Avon says he's seen Blake, and Blake's... I dunno... gone bad."

Jenna's mouth tightened in irritation. "Really. Quite a trick, as Blake certainly hasn't seen Avon. Not since Star One."

"Have you a fellow named Balvor working with you?" Tarrant asked. Jenna shook her head.

"But Balvor knew Blake was coming," Cally added. "He said he'd be back, with Blake. And Avon...well..." She looked embarrassed.

"Avon's convinced that Blake is behind this all. Us being held here, and losing the Liberator. Is he right or not?" Tarrant challenged.

"He's not," Jenna asserted. She turned to one of her companions. "Where is Blake now? Is he off by himself?"

The man nodded. "He told me he wanted to check the lower levels. Something to do with that last transmission we got."

Jenna swore angrily. "Come on," she ordered them all. "There's trouble brewing. I can smell it. I want to find Blake before he finds it."

Several levels below, Avon worked feverishly on the generators. He heard the door to the room open and footsteps approaching, but didn't spare time to look round.

"I'm almost done," he called out instead. "Get out. I'll follow in a minute."

A voice answered, "That's all right, Avon. I'll wait."

He froze, an icy coldness sweeping through him at the sound of the voice. Dear lord, why had the man returned so soon? Then adrenaline primed him and he whirled and sprang at the hooded figure behind him, the ferocity of his attack carrying them both to the floor.

"Avon! Don't be a fool! It's Blake!" the man cried out as Avon grappled with him.

"I know you full well," Avon snarled, and bared the blade Dayna'd given him. He grabbed at Blake's hair to force his head back and expose his neck. The hood was flung back and Avon saw Blake’s entire face. He stared in confusion.

This was Blake; there could be no denying this was Blake. He even had the same beard, albeit trimmed shorter than before. But now he also had a prominent scar across his brow and cheekbone, pulling the eyelid half shut.

"You're scarred," Avon exclaimed. "You didn't have that before!" He pressed the knife blade to Blake's throat. "How did you get a scar in just an hour!"

"It's not so very new," Blake answered. His voice was deceptively steady, though his heart was racing as fast as Avon's. "I picked it up during the fracas at Star One. I've got another on my chest, from the same explosion."

Over a year? "But you didn't have it before," Avon whispered, feeling a rising panic inside. Nothing made sense, then suddenly all the inconsistencies were screaming the obvious to him. He let go of Blake, backing away but still holding the knife.

"You're not him," Avon said levelly. "I know who I saw, but you're not the same one."

Blake sat up gingerly, rubbing his neck. "I'm glad to hear it," he said wryly. "Though I admit I'd pictured more heartwarming greetings. Hello, Avon."

"If you're not the same," Avon continued, "one of you is a fake." He tightened his grip on the knife. "Or both of you are fakes."

Blake ran his hand through his hair, rumpling the tight curls. "Ah. Someone has pretended to be me, and now you want proof that I am me. Yes?"

Avon nodded. "I don't have to do this," he warned. "I could kill you now and be done with you." But I want you to be the real Blake, he thought to himself. I want anyone to be the real Blake, and not that monster.

Blake raised an eyebrow. "Ever gracious, Avon. Well, what do you want to hear? Reminiscences of our time on the London? How we found the Liberator? Del Grant? Orac? Avalon?"

Avon shook his head. "Others know all that. Tell me... tell me what kind of pet you kept on the Liberator."

"What?" Blake laughed.

"Come on! Fermese shepherd or a Samora sight-hound! Which?"

"Avon, I never owned a dog. I still don't."

Avon relaxed a bit. "I know."

Blake grinned up at him. "All right for me to get up then?"

Avon gave him a hand and pulled him to his feet. "One last question." He looked at him searchingly. " 'For what it is worth...' Has that changed, Blake?"

Blake regarded him seriously. " 'For what it is worth, I have always trusted you.' And, for what it is worth, I still trust you." He clasped Avon's arm. "But I'll be damned if I know why."

Avon smiled shakily. "I'm glad it's you, Blake. I wanted it to be you. This time."

"What's happened here?" Blake asked.

"Later. We'd better get out of here. The generators are going to blow up soon. Perhaps ten minutes, perhaps less."

Blake swore at him, then yelled a bit about the waste of destroying a perfectly good installation which they'd barely explored. Avon listened impatiently, unmoved. He knew he still had time to shut down the power and prevent the explosions, but he hadn't the slightest intention of doing so. Someone, something had humiliated and abused him here, and he was going to blast the filth clean. "Eight minutes," he commented when Blake paused.

Blake growled and marched out, making sure that Avon followed. They met up with Jenna and the others, and Blake ordered a retreat to the surface.

Avon drifted along silently as they boarded Blake's shuttle and Jenna flew them out. Delayed shock reaction was setting in, but all he realized was that he couldn't follow the conversation and control his shaking at the same time. Opting for control, he tuned out Vila's account of the Liberator's doom and Blake's explanation of how he'd intercepted the first message from Terminal, purportedly from Blake and intended for only Avon to hear. That broadcast had Blake and his new crew on Terminal well before they were meant to arrive.

Avon was too preoccupied to follow the discussion, but he was aware of Blake's unvoiced concern, the way Blake studied him surreptitiously, then looked away suddenly when Avon looked back at him.

Avon wiped his palms on his coverall leggings repeatedly, but they wouldn't wipe clean. He tried folding his arms across his stomach as well, to warm the iciness in his middle that threatened to make him shiver with chill. He could still feel the hands on him, stroking, probing, pressing inside him, insistent, inescapable, unbearable. He suppressed it, but couldn't quite vanquish the sick feeling inside. Now Vila was watching him covertly too, making a great show of not noticing. Vila slipped something to Cally and whispered to her. She looked at Avon and he twisted around in his seat, turning his back on them both in a fit of pique.

Cally spoke into his mind. //It's all right, Avon. You're very tired. You haven't slept for days. I have something to make you feel better.//

Yes, he was tired. Exhausted. He needed sleep, was all. Everything would be all right if he slept awhile. Unprotesting, he took the vial she offered him, and drank its contents. Amused by the taste of soma, he sank back into his cushioned seat. Trust Vila to sneak soma off...

"Is he asleep?" Blake asked presently.

"Yes," someone replied.

I'm not, Avon thought, but it was too great an effort to say so.

"Deva, I want you to look at him when we get back to base. Blood tests, all that. I want to know what's been done to him."

No, Avon thought, trying to open his eyes. No, I want to be left alone.

Then someone -- Cally? -- was stroking his hair, soothing his fears. He wasn't alone any more. He'd never needed company, never minded a solitary existence before. But now he was reassured and comforted by the presence of comrades. Brave friends, he thought drowsily. I have brave and loyal friends. He also thought, I shall have to watch what I say when I've had soma. And he glided easily on to sleep.

Avon shifted in a warm bed, groping to pull the comforter up further and shut out the chilly draft puffing at his shoulders. He heard a door close and the draft subsided. Curious, he opened his eyes to see Blake settling down at a desk across the room. Blake turned up the desk lamp, the only source of illumination in the room, and Avon saw that he'd changed clothes. That reminded Avon of the coverall he'd reluctantly donned, and he swept a hand over himself, under the covers, to check if he still wore it. No, it had vanished, though he had on a loose, overlarge pair of pajamas in its place. Avon frowned, wondering who'd performed the exchange.

Blake turned in his chair and caught Avon looking at him. He grinned back. "Well good morning!"

"Morning?" Avon asked.

Blake checked his wrist chronometer. "Morning somewhere. It's early evening here actually. How do you feel?"

Avon considered. "Hungry," he decided.

"Ah, I'm afraid you've missed dinner. Also two breakfasts and lunches. But I think I can find you a sandwich and some juice."

He left to get them, and when he returned Avon was out of bed, stretching.

Avon accepted the tray from him, and began nibbling at the food. He was ravenously hungry all of a sudden, but he went slowly in case the sick feeling inside welled up again. It would not do to be ill all over Blake's bed.

"Your room?" he asked, for confirmation.

Blake nodded. "We're a bit cramped for space at this base. We'll be moving on soon, but it's dormitory living for the time being. A few of us have private rooms, mostly for working in peace and quiet. They thought I should have one of them, and I decided not to be noble about it."

"Have I displaced you?"

"Well, Deva said you needed quiet, so I had them put you here. I've come and gone, and slept on a bedroll in the corner, but I've kept everyone else out. They're anxious to see you, you know. Cally and Vila and those two new ones. I don't think those two quite trust me after the tales you told them."

Avon winced. "I was deceived."

"You're not the first. Though they practiced particularly insidious methods on you. Do you want to tell me about it?"

"No. It wasn't pleasant. You wouldn't enjoy hearing it, and I certainly wouldn't enjoy telling it."

Blake sighed. "I didn't expect you to tell me much. But the others have. Deva found the drug traces in your system. Stimulants, narcotics, hypnotics, depressants, hallucinogens... Deva's never seen so many chemicals in one person."

Avon rubbed slowly at his sore shoulder, trying to take it all in. He believed Blake, but it was disconcerting to discover this from an outside source. "I don't remember getting anything," he confessed. "Just a dart hitting my wrist, and then I woke up in the cell with you. With your double."

But it made sense. The periodic dizziness, the sudden weaknesses and excitements, the constant fog in his mind...

"Something wrong with your shoulder?" Blake asked, and Avon realized he was still gripping it. He laughed mirthlessly. "It's still tender where you bit me. Your double, again."

"Not quite," Blake replied. He pulled open the collar of Avon's pajamas, baring his shoulder. "Have you looked?"

Avon twisted his head. It was an awkward angle, but he could clearly make out the red welts on his skin. Scratches. Not bite marks at all. Scratches.

"I don't understand," he said at last. "I believe you about the drugs. But I know what I saw, and I know what I experienced."

Blake drew a deep breath. "You don't know. Or rather, you know only part." He went to his desk and pulled out a small disc. "This is the rest. They recorded everything on this, and Jenna found it before we evacuated Terminal. I've gone over it with Orac and I've got a pretty clear idea of what happened."

Avon's face was burning. "They watched? They recorded it all? And now you and your people have had a chance to enjoy it!" He slammed his unfinished tray aside. "You had no right!"

Blake's voice hardened. "Avon, you tried to kill me. You stopped yourself, and I'm very grateful, but they programmed you to kill me. This disc shows how they did it. I had every right. But I'm the only one, Avon. Just Orac and me. And it's not what you think."

Avon closed his eyes, angrily tuning Blake out as the sickness inside rose up, threatening to overcome him. Memories of those hands, drawing his knees apart, touching him intimately, obscenely...

"It didn't happen. Are you listening, Avon? It was a dream. A programmed, monitored, and electronically augmented dream, but only a dream. They created an artificial construct, and made it seem real, but it never existed. It didn't really happen."

Avon turned away from Blake. He was silent, and Blake wasn't sure how he was taking the news. Then, in an almost inaudible voice, he spoke. "It seemed real. It felt real. When he... Blake, I thought it was you. I did; I thought it was really you. You made me helpless and forced yourself on me, and all the time I wished you dead. And now you tell me none of it happened, but it did." He turned back toward Blake, his face haunted. "It did happen, Blake, even if it was all just in my head, because it happened to me! I had to go through it, minute by minute, hurting and hating and being used, so I don't really care what you say is real. It was real to me!"

"Avon..." Blake put the disc aside. He'd wanted to be honest, but Avon's emotions were still too raw, too fragile, to take this burden of knowledge. "Avon, it was a horrible mockery of our friendship. You suffered; I know that. But it was a lie, Avon. The whole thing was a lie. This is what's real. Now is real." He put his hands on Avon's shoulders, steadying him, then suddenly he was hugging Avon tightly, clinging to a precious soul that had almost been lost.

Avon's first instinct was to pull away, but something unexpected stopped him. Up close like this, he could smell Blake. His hair, his skin, his clothes, they all carried Blake's individual scent. That scent had been absent throughout the dream sequence, and he hadn't even noticed. But now it was present; clean, spicy, and so reassuringly Blake. He leaned into Blake's ferocious hug and drank in the presence of him. It felt so wonderfully real; his warm skin, warm breath, clean and solid body. His hair was still damp from showering and Avon reached into it, watching the curls twine themselves around his fingers.

Then Blake's mouth was covering his, not hard, but firm and tantalizing. His hands loosened their hold to stroke gently along Avon's back.

Avon's emotions were decidedly mixed. He desired Blake, he always would. But he was afraid too, afraid that what they'd once had was spoiled. The memories of the brutal assault tainted his earlier memories of tender lovemaking.

Blake eased back a bit and studied Avon. "Is it too soon?" he asked, and Avon was pierced through by the caring in Blake's tone. God, how he'd missed that caring, that concern. That love.

"Probably," he answered, "but don't let that stop you." And he drew off the pajama top. Blake's arms closed around him once more and he relaxed, feeling cherished and protected and safe.

Blake stroked large gentle hands along Avon's body, soothing and enticing him. Avon returned the caress, and listened to Blake's sighs. He knew that he excited Blake and it pleased him. It made him feel powerful, but also wanted. Needed.

They retreated to the bed, and Blake pulled the puffy soft comforter around them, creating a warm cozy nest. "Don't make it so comfortable," Avon murmured. "I'll fall asleep again."

Blake chuckled and nipped at his throat. "I dare you to fall asleep," he challenged, and began planting teasing kisses down the midline of Avon's torso. His fingers trailed softly over Avon's body, leaving a tingle in their wake. Avon squirmed and caught at one of the hands, bringing it to his mouth. He licked softly at each finger as they touched his lips. Blake shifted and pulled himself over Avon, lying full on him to reclaim his mouth in a long, satisfying kiss. His weight pressed down on Avon, but rather than the frightening helplessness of the dream, Avon felt secure and protected. This was the Blake he'd lost, the Blake who would never harm him, and never allow anyone else to, either.

He gripped Blake's shirt, burying his face in the crook of Blake's neck and breathing in the warm goodness of him. "You're so clean," he sighed, savoring it.

"I've just showered," Blake replied, not realizing what he meant. "And now I'll have to shower again. Both of us will. Shall we share one?"

"Whatever you like," Avon said absently, busy unbuttoning Blake's shirt. It was difficult because Blake was still lying on top of him and he didn't want to push him off. Blake also began nuzzling him, licking at his earlobes and catching folds of skin in his teeth to nip at gently. Avon gave up on the last few buttons and pulled the shirt open, tearing them off.

"Avon," Blake clucked reprovingly, and he pulled the damaged shirt off. Avon was unrepentant.

"You distracted me," he replied, and began tackling Blake's trousers. With Blake's assistance they were easily disposed of. Blake slid off Avon's pajama bottoms with one hand as the other cupped his bottom and squeezed. He brushed his hand up Avon's inner thigh and stroked him. His hands felt nothing like the other. They were as clean and caring as the rest of Blake.

Avon was fairly well stimulated, and the feel of Blake's hand closing over his organ brought it fully erect. Blake was straddling his legs, and he dug his fingers into Blake's thighs to urge him closer. Blake stretched over him again, massaging his organ as their bodies touched. Avon flexed his hips, wanting still more stimulation, and Blake slipped down to lick at his penis. It felt heavenly, sending waves of pleasure through Avon as Blake dipped his mouth over it, sucking softly and probing gently with his fingers below.

"Is that good?" he asked Avon, mischievously tickling at his scrotum. Avon squirmed beneath him, parting his legs and presenting himself for more. "Yes. Don't stop."

Blake lowered his head, drawing Avon further inside his mouth. It was warm and wet and his velvet tongue glided over Avon's member enticingly. Avon began undulating his hips, unable to get enough of the delicious sensation. He wrapped his fingers in Blake's hair, tugging at the curls to position Blake's mouth just so. His hips flexed faster, steadying into a smooth rocking motion awash with pleasure. Blake's hands held his bottom, squeezing and pulling on it as he moved his mouth faster in time to Avon's thrusts. His fingers probed and one slipped up into Avon, making him cry out at the added stimulus. Blake worked Avon's body to a fevered state, rewarded by his soft moans and whimpers of pleasure.

He was prepared to let Avon climax in his mouth, seeking no reciprocal arrangement for tonight, but Avon's hands pulled his head away.

"Wait... wait..." Avon gasped, as his organ throbbed demandingly. He drew several shaky breaths, and regained control. "Not like this. Together. I want to have you inside me, and finish together."

Blake was hesitant. "That can wait, Avon. You've been hurt. I don't want to hurt you too."

Avon was insistent. "I want to feel you and know it's you. The other, he dirtied me. Made me feel filthy. But you're clean, Blake. There's already pain inside, but it goes away when you touch me. And everything you touch feels clean again."

Blake gathered Avon in his arms and hugged him close, kissing him tenderly. He rolled onto his back, pulling Avon on top, straddling Blake's loins. "There. You can pace me." Blake drew his knees up, providing Avon with a comfortable back rest.

Avon settled back, feeling Blake's erect organ pressed between his cheeks. He shifted against it, testing its smooth warm firmness. Blake passed him a small tube of oil and he turned to apply it. "Isn't this for chapped lips?" he asked, and Blake laughed. Then he rose to his knees and positioned Blake, pressing himself down slowly onto the hard member.

"Mmmm," Blake sighed as Avon's tight passage squeezed down over him. Avon paused when the head of Blake's penis was inserted. He let the involuntary muscle spasms sweep by, then pressed down again. Blake's organ penetrated further. "That's so good," Blake groaned.

"Yes," Avon agreed softly, feeling Blake moving up inside him. It was not at all painful. Blake filled him completely and it was the most satisfying feeling Avon had known.

Blake began thrusting, sending shivers of excitement through Avon as Blake's member rubbed over his sensitive inner flesh. Blake massaged Avon's organ, then took it in both hands and began kneading and stroking it in time to his thrusts. It was marvelously, wildly stimulating.

Avon bent over Blake to taste his mouth again. They locked in a passionate embrace, Blake thrusting strongly, squeezing and stroking, and Avon pushing down to meet each motion.

Avon groaned, feeling the sweet tension build inexorably. Blake was panting, straining into him. There was a twisting stroke deep inside Avon which ignited a flame, a touch at the same instant to his genitals that sent another flame racing to the first. Fire consumed him. His body writhed and spasmed as semen pulsed through him, and he ejaculated into Blake's coaxing hands. His trembling body was then gripped tightly by Blake, who moved frantically in him, spurred by Avon's response and the overpowering demands of his own imminent orgasm. Avon swept his tongue over Blake's, urging him on to completion. Blake clung to Avon, straining deep within him as his body rocked in powerful waves of ecstasy. A new warmth surged up into Avon's passage, and he tightened, sending final shockwaves of pleasure through Blake's shuddering form.

After that it was some time before either of them moved. The intensity of their experience drained all energy from them. Avon, dazed but sated, was just too content in the afterglow of sex to do a thing. He lay with his head on Blake's shoulder, satisfied just to feel the rise and fall of his breathing, and hear the beating of his heart. Blake stroked one hand slowly along his back and Avon closed his eyes drowsily.

"Avon?"

"Hmmm?"

"You're not falling asleep, are you?"

"Yes."

"We're going to take a shower, remember?"

"In the morning, Blake."

Blake continued stroking his back, rubbing the tired muscles. "There's a lot to be done tomorrow."

"Mmmm." Clean hands. Such clean hands.

"I was hoping you'd give us some help building a teleport system."

"Tomorrow?"

"Well, start on one. I'm building another Liberator, Avon. It should have a teleport, don't you think?"

"I suppose so," Avon yawned, and burrowed closer to Blake.

"Then you'll help?"

"You pick the damnedest times to ask favors, Blake. Yes, all right."

Blake closed his arms around Avon securely. "Thank you."

I owe you my life and my sanity, Avon thought. You could ask me anything and I could not refuse you. But he worried that the soma was still affecting him, so all he said was: "You're welcome," and they slept peacefully through the night.