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water is not going to be enough.
- A rainstorm might be.
But it never rains on Virn.
Maybe we can change that.
It's not perfect, but now that we have cleared
the sand away from here,
these instruments make some kind of sense.
I believe that we can nurse this ship
through a controlled nosedive.
What?
Where we are now,
we are causing massive atmospheric disturbance.
Let us get closer. Let us make it worse.
Eventually, there may be enough of a build-up
to create some kind of rain.
Or to knock us out of the sky!
This is not just a rescue mission
for poor, gallant Tarrant!
While the sand remains active
the planet will not let go of us.
The instruments are unreliable.
We have Virn hanging on our heels.
How do you think we are going to get away?
I take it that means "yes".
Well, how could we refuse, Avon?
You are the dominant male, aren't you?
Dayna! Emergency lighting.
You can't kill me.
If you do, your value to the sand is over.
You'd be dead in half an hour.
You forget. My pilot is still alive on the ship.
One man, one woman.
I can kill you.
It's raining.
The rain will destroy the sand outside.
How soon before the sand in here
realises we can escape and kills us?
Water. We'll break the windows.
Stand back.
- What was that?
- Just some glass breaking.
- What happened?
- You wouldn't be any happier if I told you.
Oh.
- What happened to me?
- Not a lot.
- There wasn't enough of it to kill you.
- Kill me?
- It didn't.
- I'm not so sure.
- Slave.
- Yes, master.
Nice to have you back.
Put the automatics online. Check Orac.
How are you feeling now, Orac?
"Feeling” is not a term which can
under any circumstances be applied to me.
Would you care to comment on the teleport?
The teleport is fully functional.
You gambled, Avon, but you won.
Do I get a prize?
This is working now.
It should take me about an hour to reach the ship.
You don't have to see me home.
What makes you think I'll let you go at all?
I mean so much to you.
- Tarrant! Tarrant!
- Yes, Avon?
We're bringing you up. Now.
All right. Oh, by the way,
I've found out what the magic chemical is,
but I can't bring it back with me.
Tell me when you get here.
Thank you.
- Servalan...
- Goodbye, Tarrant.
Homeward bound.
You know, we might just as well
not have bothered to come.
The whole thing's been ridiculous.
One consolation.
Though we can't get the preservative,
neither can the Federation.
You never said what the woman was like, Tarrant.
- Didn't I?
- Pretty?
Pretty familiar. Servalan.
- Servalan?
- Yes. She explained her survival.
And did she excuse it, too?
Presumably she was after the same thing
as the Federation,
but for private purposes.
Don Keller was supposed to have been her lover.
- She told you that?
- Yes.
- You believed her?
- Not necessarily.
I think it was a gambit to gain my sympathy
in a nervous situation.
And she got it, too, didn't she?
Your sympathy, I mean.
Yes, Avon.
I've said all I'm going to.
Orac has theorised that the planet
makes its own sand.
It's probably cooking up a new batch right now.
Servalan may not get off Virn alive,
which would make you the last man in her life.
That's ironic, isn't it?
The others are dead.
We haven't time to discuss it now.
We're in danger.
Don't ask what. Just take this ship up.
- But the instruments won't even respond...
- They will. Do as I say.
All right, I'll try.
- Was there any sand in the ship?
- Yes.
I didn't like the look of it.
After the rain had cleared us I threw it outside.
Then I felt... I must've fallen asleep.
- This is almost normal. What the hell has been...
- Stop talking and take this ship up.
I have a negative report to prepare.
Don Keller.
You waited five years to show me you were dead.
And Del Tarrant,
I had the gun...
but I didn't kill you, Tarrant.
Yet.- I'd better take a spare mag.
- So who is this Keiller?
- An acquaintance.
- He says he's an old friend of yours.
Well,
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