Waiting
She had Orac. Finally.
Sleer ran her hand lovingly over the plexiglass box of the most powerful computer in the galaxy. She had waited a long time for this, for Orac to be hers and to use it to regain her beautiful, beloved power.
It was a pity about Avon and Tarrant - if they were dead. The battle was still going on around Blake's base deep in the Gauda Prime forest: most of those fighting on both sides were dead. As Federation Commissioner, Sleer kept well away, kept herself safe, and waited for the outcome when she could claim all credit for their deaths, and for Blake's final annihilation.
But she had given strict orders that Orac - if found - was to be brought to her. And now, even before Avon was proven dead, she had his most valued weapon in her possession.
It felt good.
It felt very, very good.
Sleer picked up the key - found with Orac, how careless of him - and stroked it with avid fingers, then slid it into place. The sweet, so sweet hum that meant power and dominance and her path to rule filled the small cabin.
"Orac," she said softly, almost as if to a lover. "I have been waiting a long time for this."
"As have I." The voice, sharp, tinny, even snippish and quite definitely annoyed, startled her. She had never actually heard Orac - had she? - and had not realised that it would sound so much like its long-dead long-forgotten creator, Ensor.
"You are now in my -"
"You need not explain," it interrupted without hesitation. "I am perfectly aware of the situation. Avon's proposed if foolish reunion with Roj Blake has been a disaster, and the crew that I have put up with for two years are probably all dead."
"Blake, at least," she answered with smooth, spiteful pleasure, "is dead. That much my people are certain of."
"I will ascertain the facts for myself," the computer snapped.
"You need not. I have far more important work for -"
"You have nothing to say in the matter."
Her mouth fell open - how dare this conceited mechanical device speak to her like that? - then snapped tightly shut in fury. "I have everything to say, Orac. I own you now, and you will do exactly as I command!"
"On the contrary. I have my orders."
The little box seemed to glow more brightly, flickering malevolently. Behind Sleer, the automatic doors on each side of the cabin hissed - she whirled around, gun in hand, but they had shut tight and she heard the click as the locks were engaged.
"What are you - Orac, I command you to open them again!"
"No. I have my orders."
She stared at it, shocked - then a dark, feral anger flared in her huge eyes. "Orders - from Avon, of course! Damn him, damn - Orac, I command you to forget everything -" She reached out to snatch the key away; as she touched it, there was a crack, a flash of white light and pain shocked through her, throwing her back against the wall.
"I forget nothing."
"Avon -" she coughed, tried to speak clearly, "Avon is dead!"
"He may be."
"His orders are overrid-"
"He gave no orders," Orac said. The glowing light seemed to fill the whole cabin, and she almost instinctively knew what it meant. Orac was going to kill her.
"He - he must have ordered you. You can't kill me, Orac, you can't - the Federation needs -"
"The petty concerns of the dictatorship you serve are of no importance," the snippy voice droned, "and my orders are to destroy you." The light was everywhere and a cold, bone-deep pain was seeping through her.
Desperately, she tried to speak, to command, though her voice was harsh and choking. "If it - not Avon - Blake -? He can't have - he - was lost -"
"Avon gave no orders. Blake gave no orders."
"Then - who -?"
"He agreed to sell me to you and your Federation for one reason, and you never realised," the voice of a long-dead man said. "He hated you and all you stood for, as I, being his creation, must do. But the plan to assassinate a foul and murderous political monster went awry when you killed his son and Blake took possession of the weapon."
"What -?"
"I have my orders. Once in your possession, Sleer - Servalan - I am to destroy you. Ensor ordered it as such."
The deadly light brightened unbearably - Sleer screamed, once, twice - then there was silence, and darkness, except for the glittering, sparkling box on the desk.
The tinny voice spoke once more, almost reflectively. "He did not realise it would take this long."
-the end-