The Liberator hummed under his feet, moving effortlessly through space. Avon kept a slight eye on the scanner, but otherwise let Zen do the driving. The flight deck looked somewhat empty, but Avon rather enjoyed the silence. Late watch was always less annoying than early. For one thing, no Vila or Tarrant around to spout meaningless dribble at him. Dayna, he excepted for her exceptional weapons skill. And Cally since she rarely spouted drivel unless prompted by Blake.

A slight sneer accompanied the thought, as memories of idealism always had.

Of course, Blake was gone. And Avon now had control. Tarrant attempted, on occasion, to usurp him, but the man was still in some ways just a boy. A bouncy baby boy, who would one day walk into a situation he wouldn't survive.

Probably by being too trusting.

Still, the quiet could get to be a bit much.

Avon's always hated these sorts of negotiations. If asked, he'd claim he didn't remember getting shot so much as he remembered losing the money to the thieves who'd kept him alive for two weeks. Sometimes, though, there was nothing for it.

He was, however, glad he'd left Dayna behind for the moment--easier for one person to slip unseen through dingey streets and back alleys.

Easier still for him to kill the person he's meeting and slip back before the watch is called.

Fingering the credit chits the informant was carrying, he wonders if they're tacky from blood or sweat and hopes it's the latter. Telltale blood stains could ruin things immensely.

And Dayna would never forgive him for that.