Vila shuddered on the cold floor, trying desperately to slow his breathing as Federation troopers stormed the room. He was wounded, quite badly, but knew that moving and giving himself away would be a death sentence now. There was just one chance and it was standing in the middle of at least 30 armed men. Avon, the last one standing. Vila could just about see him between the troopers' feet. There was a deathly silence in the room as even the alarm in the distance had stopped blaring.
Come on, Avon! Vila thought. For pity's sake, get us out of here!
He couldn't think of a single way for Avon to do that, but was confident... or insane enough to still hope that he could. If anyone could, he could, the old circuithead. How Vila had ended up putting all of his hope in the hands of a man who'd tried to kill him two weeks was a question he'd definitely be asking himself at the bottom of a good warm glass of wine after all this was done.
Vila's feverish thoughts were cut off by the sound of what seemed like a thousand rifles firing at once. The pungent smell of ozone filled the air and Vila had to fist his hands tight enough to draw blood in order to avoid screaming. In the middle of the room, the smoking form of what had been Kerr Avon a few seconds ago collapsed onto the floor with a nauseating squelch. Avon was dead.
Fortunately, the Federation displayed its typical arrogance and Vila was tossed into a freezer alongside the rest of the dead without anyone so much as checking his pulse. Maybe they thought anything still alive would die in the cold. Vila didn't care. As soon as the door sealed shut, he coughed out his breakfast and then did his best to ignore the searing pain jabbing through his chest as he slowly got back on his feet, balancing himself against the wall.
"Alright, that's it." He mumbled to himself. "I've really got to stop getting involved with this sort of nonsense. Mama Restal would not be proud."
It was an easy lock, built to keep the atmosphere in, not prisoners. A simple cyclotron needle was all it took, and Vila was out. He glanced over his shoulder briefly, at his dead crewmembers. What a shame. he thought. They weren't half bad.
Vila hobbled through the corridors, which appeared to be deserted for the time being. Not knowing the exact floor pattern, he wandered around randomly until noticing a large window with a view to the base's immediate surroundings. "So that's where they got to."
About 60 troopers, presumably most of the lot that had landed here, were at attention over at the base's landing pad. Vila nodded to himself, and wiped sweat from his forehead. It was going to be now or never. While they were distracted, he could make it out. He opened up the window and jumped, or rather collapsed out with a loud grunt as he fell 15 feet against his wound. "Oh, this can't be healthy."
Hoping desperately that nobody had heard him, Vila somehow got up again. Feeling dizzy, he slowly limped towards the forest line. Sheer terror kept him on his feet, but the feeling worsened. His ears pounded, muting out all other sounds. His vision became white. Loss of consciousness threatened. Sensing vaguely that he was near the woods now, Vila crawled behind a tree and rested for a moment. Stay awake... must stay... stay awake... must stay... he repeated the thought over and over again, focusing on that to keep himself from fainting. Very slowly, his vision and hearing returned, though he was still incredibly weak.
Recognising the part of the woods he was in, Vila got on his hands and knees and scurried over to a moss-covered boulder, where a pile of hay concealed the plastic container of Orac. The key was still attached to the computer.
"I'll leave Orac here. Should there be a danger, we cannot afford them getting access to it. Unless of course, we intend to use it as leverage to make our escape." Avon had announced with typical wryness.
"Orac!" Vila rasped. "We've got to get off this planet!"
The computer made quick calculations. "A Federation fleet of 23 pursuit ships is in orbit over Gauda Prime. A shuttle, identified as that of a commissioner, is presently landing on the base. If you were to acquire that shuttle, there is a low probability that I could forge a communique to the fleet that would allow for our escape before the real commissioner can identify you as false."
Vila stared at Orac as if he'd become a turnip. "Steal the commissioner's shuttle? On my own? Now I know where my wine-ohhh." He moaned in pain.
"Vila, you have sustained extensive injuries. Unless you receive medical attention soon, you will not survive." Orac announced. "Thus, as I said, a low probability."
"Well... I'd rather die stealing than bleeding out behind a tree. Besides, it's cold here."
Knowing he'll never get better, Vila got a move and inched his way to a good vantage point. The shuttle had just landed onto the pad with a loud hiss. As the commissioner strolled out with an arrogant gait, the troopers saluted. Vila was far, but even from here he recognised the flamboyant dress and the inky black pixie-cut. "Servalan!" Come to gloat over our bodies, probably.
After they'd all come down to the ground, Servalan was led into the base and the troopers dispersed, a few forming patrols. Vila let them walk past him and then hurried out of the tree line, and over the empty field towards the landing pad on pure adrenaline, with Orac swinging on one hand. Predictably, there were two guards at the elevator leading up to the pad. Having no time for a more merciful killing, Vila flashed them in the eyes with his laser drill, which burned through their retinas even with masks in the way. As they threw them off, screaming and clutching at their eyes, Vila picked up one of the rifles and finished them off. He didn't bother checking if anyone had heard him or not. Instead, he stepped into the elevator and jammed the up button with his thumb before leaning against a wall and slipping down.
"Kindly refer from sitting on me!" Orac complained. "I am not constructed from herculaneum! Nor am I not, in fact, designed to be a chair in any case!"
Vila didn't answer. As the elevator pinged to announce arriving on top, he somehow climbed onto his feet again and dragged the computer out, with the rifle hanging slack over a shoulder. His heartbeat pounding in his ears, Vila made his way over to Servalan's shuttle, left open. Clearly, she didn't expect to spend a lot of time on Gauda.
"Who are you?!" A pilot shouted. It was all he managed before Vila shot a bolt through his heart. Even Dayna would've been proud of that one. Was an idle thought that flashed through Vila's brain as he labored into the pilot's seat and set Orac down on the opposite side. "Vila!" Orac whined again. "Your condition is worsening! You must get to the lower deck and retrieve the emergency kit!"
Vila blinked, trying to focus on the ship's controls. He shut all hatches and initiated takeoff. "They're coming for me..." he muttered delusionally. "I've got to go."
The engines roared and Vila could feel the pressure as the shuttle's ascent began. Sweat pooled down from his forehead and on several occasions, he drifted in and out, noticing that he'd somehow gotten closer and closer to space without noticing. By that point, the pressure had gotten to the point where he could scarcely breath. Need a good nap. What a day. What a...
"Vila! VILA! Respond! Respond, Vila! Vila!"
He groaned, cursing the computer under his breath for interrupting a brilliant dream. He'd found Mount Olympus and was just about to taste the juiciest, sweetest cold grapes he'd ever seen. "I'm here, you infernal box of junk. What do you want?"
"Federation pursuit ships are closing in! Despite my considerable efforts at forging a communique based on Commissioner Sleer's voiceprint, she must've alerted them to our departure! The probability of escape is negligible."
Vila nodded sluggishly, his body feeling like it was made out of hardening clay. "I wanna go back to bed..." he said.
"You are dying!" Orac snapped. "Your primary chance at survival now rests with the Federation. Surrender the ship and your wounds may be treated."
The man rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Servalan will buy me a nice dinner. Maybe she'll imprison me in her wine cellar. I'd never escape..." He said dreamily, and reversed the controls, setting the coordinates on the other side of the planet. "I'll land again. At least in the wild, I've got some chance."
Orac began flickering rapidly, almost nervously. "This course of action cannot be sustained! Your body will not survive re-entry. You cannot land the ship!"
The shuttle began to shake as it slowly fell towards the atmosphere again. Vila smirked gently at the beautiful light. "Sorry, Orac. I'm afraid I can't do that. I'm just too tired to be sensible."
"You must stop! This is self-destructive! Vila? Vila!" The computer's cries fell on deaf ears, as Vila Restal was already dead.
The shuttle's atmosphere merged with that of the Federation pursuit ship in a loud hiss, followed by the clacking of high heels on its metal surface. Servalan strolled into her personal vehicle, gave her dead pilot nothing more than a cursory glance and stepped into the pilot's chamber. There, she saw the dirty thief Vila. His skin was white as a sheet, but he had almost a serene look to him, the fool. He must've thought he'd managed to get out after all. On the other seat was Orac, yellowed slightly from unseemly adventures on various terrain. How poorly those idiots had treated such an expensive resource.
"Thank you, Orac."
"It was a matter of mere logic." The computer stated in its usual self-important tone. "I am programmed to provide answers and respond to directives. Which would of course be flatly impossible if I was slammed into the planet. Therefore, it became vital that I assume the controls of the shuttle."
Servalan smiled. "Intelligent as always. I believe you and I will go on to do great things together."
"Incorrect. It is a fact, not belief. As commissioner, you hold considerable power within the Federation. Your recorded ambition will likely restore you to President. Therefore, in mere human political terms, my abilities will allow you to do great things as you perceive them."
She picked Orac up and glared at her underlings. "Throw the body out of an airlock. And scrub this place clean. It reeks of spoiled wine."