“Project Avalon was a disaster, Servalan. What were you thinking?”

“Star Killer,” Servalan cooed, looking up at the man now standing opposite her desk. “How delightful to see you. It’s an honor.” She inclined her head. “Would you care for a drink?”

Samor’s expression remained stony, and he did not move, standing at ease. “It greatly concerned me when you reinstated Travis after that massacre he instigated on Serkasta. And he has displayed nothing but gross incompetence since! He certainly botched the Centero affair, and that was nothing compared to the reports coming in on Project Avalon.”

Servalan’s smile did not waver as she leaned back in her chair. “Samor, did you really come all this way to lecture me about Space Commander Travis?”

“He has been relieved of duty?”

“But of course,” she said. She looked momentarily surprised. “You really did come here to discuss him. Well, get on with it, then.”

“I wonder if his incompetence has begun to rub off on you, Servalan.”

Servalan’s smile faded. “Watch yourself, Samor.”

“I’m Fleet Warden General, Servalan. Not even you could touch me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Get to your point.”

“You had a perfect android replica, Servalan. You flawlessly infiltrated Blake’s ship. Why, then, did you insist on equipping the android with some foolish new device instead of giving it a gun to shoot Blake with? An android like that could have been programmed to release a toxic gas that could have killed the entire crew! Project Avalon as devised was ludicrous. It’s no wonder it failed so completely.”

Servalan had found her smile again. “Is that all?”

“What do you mean ‘Is that all?’ It reflects just as badly on you as it does on Travis.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “And you misunderstand the purpose of Project Avalon. Indeed, of Travis’ very existence. He lives to kill Blake.”

“Every man in the fleet knows that.”

“And in pursuit of that goal he works harder and longer than any other man in the fleet. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Samor clasped his hands behind his back. “Perhaps. His dedication is to be admired.”

Servalan’s smile broadened. “So, what do you think would happen to Travis if he ever succeeded?” She waved a hand, speculatively. “If he ever actually killed Blake.”

Samor stared blankly over the top of Servalan’s head for several seconds before his brows beetled. He blinked and looked down at her. “Just what are you implying?”

She turned cold. “I engineered Project Avalon, Samor. It was never intended to succeed. Oh, I was meant to get Liberator, yes, but Blake was never meant to die. Travis may not be much to you, but he’s the best thing I’ve got. With Blake dead, he’d be of no use to anyone.”

“But he’s dismissed the service! He’s of no use to anyone now!”

Servalan shook her head, her smile returning. “That’s where you’re wrong, Samor. Travis still wants Blake and I still want Travis. He will still do anything I tell him; convince himself any plan--no matter how absurd--will work, so long as he thinks it will lead him to Blake. Only now he doesn’t have to answer to you.”

It was clear that Samor was stunned. “That you would jeopardize your own reputation to . . .” He shook his head in disbelief. “Just what do you think you’re doing, Servalan?”

“I’m moving, Samor,” she said, rising to her feet. “All the way to the very top.”
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