~oOo~
"Stay here."
Avon had led the way back to the room they'd been locked in; Dayna, protesting every step, had followed.
"But -"
"Dayna. Stay. Here. I can do it faster on my own."
"Do what?" He could see it in her eyes - why do you keep everything to yourself? - and didn't really want to think about the answer.
He handed her the gun, instead. "Anyone who comes through the door, shoot them. Anyone," with a wintry smile, "who isn't me, that is." He could only hope she'd obey, but he had no more time to waste. He had to get to Orac. Or Zen. Or Zen through Orac.
But Orac was gone.
Avon swore, coldly and viciously, under his breath and kicked the teleport table. He'd managed to shove the little computer under the control counter with one heel when that idiot Jarriere had arrived; he still had the bruises to prove it. After the disaster on the flick deck, and waking in the locked cabin, he'd realised fairly quickly - well, quickly for someone with possible concussion and a blinding headache - that Orac's key was gone, and that should have meant that the Death Squad were in control of the smug little computer... and therefore the ship. Since they still clearly weren't, that meant something.
What, he wasn't sure, and couldn't bring himself to care, except that they would still be trying to force control out of the injured Blake. Avon knew full well they'd have a better chance of getting it from Orac, but that didn't help Blake, or himself.
Well, Orac was gone, so he had to get to Zen.
~oOo~
"Have you found Relfe?" Jarriere asked.
Klegg gritted his teeth again, so hard they might crack, and looked around. "He went to find Moules -"
"Who went to find Jecks and Pocki." Harmon added harshly.
"Who haven't been seen since before those two were found on the ship."
It didn't take a genius to see where Klegg was heading - which, he thought savagely, was lucky, since rank didn't give this aide-de-camp-to-the-President any genius at all. Klegg's men were disappearing, the prisoners who could have given them the ship had escaped, and all he had was this pathetic, bloodied excuse for a rebel at his feet.
Well, at least he could do something with Blake.
He took out his gun and small, electrified whip. "Permission to question this prisoner, sir?" And god help you if you try and stop us, he thought.
"Och, go ahead," Jarriere returned to the couch, watching without emotion or interest as Stahl pulled Blake up. The man's eyes fluttered, opened - and stared straight into his.
Blake didn't know him, of course.
~oOo~
Avon heard the first scream from his hiding place near the flight deck, a short, choking cry of agony. He froze.
"Why aren't you worried about your Blake? Why aren't we trying to rescue him?" Dayna's clear, clarion tones mixed with the sounds in his mind.
"I want to be free of him." His own voice, from days ago, now like a harsh, thin shadow of thought.
"You really do hate me, don't you?"
"When we have dealt with Star One, I will take you back to Earth and then the Liberator is mine, agreed?"
"Agreed..."
There was a second scream.
"You really do hate me, don't you?"
"When we have dealt with Star One, I will take you back to Earth..."
And a third, which choked off into a wavering, dying moan.
He realised that he had stopped to listen. Shaking himself free of - whatever - he continued down the corridor. Turning the corner, he stumbled and fell... over the black-clad body of yet another stranger, another intruder.
If this was Zen's doing, he thought, staring down at the small, neat, bloody hole in the back of the man's neck, Zen had previously unimagined skills with very thin, very sharp... knives.
~oOo~