The capture was quick and neat,
It was the habit of those members of the crew not on duty to stay at the small inn in the village. This late at night, the entire town was abed, including Blake and his crew. Except for Vila; he was wandering the garden, deep in thought, While it was true that Cally had not openly rejected his tentative advances toward her - even seemed to enjoy them, in face - Vila was still left with the impression that they were operating on two separate levels. Cally wanted - no, needed - companionship right now. He had sensed the extreme loneliness that plagued her as a result of being cut off from her people. She needed the attention, the close contact, that Vila was giving her,
But was that really fair? Vila had asked that question of himself over and over these past several days. Was he taking an unfair advantage of the Auron's need for companionship? Would Cally have shown any interest beyond a sisterly affection in him under any other conditions?
Vila was honest enough to admit that the answer was probably no. While not selling his own charm short (and Vila never sold himself short), his honest affection for the alien woman led him to a course of serious introspection - particularly regarding his relationship with her. With a sigh, Vila realized that he and Cally would have to have a long, serious talk on the matter, and he was reasonably sure which direction it would take.
This not-entirely pleasant train of thought was interrupted by a flash of movement that was so quick that Vila was unsure whether he had seen it at all. Instinct kicked in, and Vila automatically flattened himself in the shadows of a conveniently placed tree, trusting in his superb gift of camouflage to keep him from sight. Was it an illusion? No, there it was again.
A man's form came briefly into view, silhouetted against the white plank of the inn, then vanished through the door. More men, all silent as ghosts, followed.
An ambush? Vila raised his arm, intent on calling Liberator, and was dismayed to find his bracelet missing. No way to warn them, then, he thought with a trace of panic. Cally - No, Cally was on duty aboard the ship. Vila silently blessed the caution that had made them decide to leave at least one person aboard Liberator at all times.
Blake, Jenna, Avon. He had seen them all preparing to retire scant hours ago. They would be asleep - helpless. And Gan?
Vila struggled to recall. Gan had mentioned planning to spend time with Shel tonight. He should still be with her. And Gan would have his teleport bracelet handy. He had to reach Shel's house at once.
Stealth gained through years of being one of the best thieves on Earth now came to the fore. Vila literally blended into the landscape, silently moving from shadow to shadow until he had safely attained the boundaries of the garden. When beyond it's perimeter, he finally gave in at last to that heart-pounding, mind-numbing panic that hovered just on the edge of his senses. Vila began to run. Intuition alone carried him in the direction of Shells little home, but Vila never faltered, never slowed. He knew that the lives of his friends depended on him reaching that little vine covered cottage, and, for their sakes, he would not fail.
***
Some instinct prevented Blake from moving a single muscle save for slowly opening his eyes. Once opened, he wanted nothing so much as to simply shut them again. A leering, black-clad figure stood over him, casually poking his midsection with a Federation-issue blaster. "Get out of bed, Blake. Slowly. Try anything and you're all dead."
All? Obediently he sat, then rose. The blaster poked him again, harder, and he allowed himself to be prodded into the sitting room, taking a good look around. Two more guards kept careful watch at the doorway and window. Blake took only brief notice of them; his attention was wholly focused on the other prisoners.
Jenna stood quietly against the wall, hands raised. She looked so feminine, so helpless in that long, pink nightgown, that Blake longed to take her protectively into his arms. One look at the hellfire raging in her eyes dispelled that illusion instantly. If there was one thing in this galaxy that he had never known Jenna Stannis to be, it was helpless.
But that thought was a purely secondary one. Blake's attention locked in on Avon, who was sitting on the floor, shaking his head dazedly. Blood matted the dark hair, dripping rapidly to the floor. The guards made no effort to stop him kneeling at his companion's side. Rather, they seemed to enjoy the spectacle of Blake's concern --- the gloating of victor over the vanquished.
"Avon?" Blake dropped one arm around the man's back, supporting him, while gentle fingers probed beneath the dark hair. Avon flinched when Blake encountered the bloody bruise, then pulled away from the other's grip.
"I'm all right." The dark eyes were slightly unfocused, but Avon seemed to be recovering his wits rapidly. Blake squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, released him, and turned his attention to their captor.
Brown eyes hardened, stone and steel, met the mocking ones of the troop commander, and it was the commander who felt his confidence dwindle under their twin onslaught. Blake straightened slowly, and the commander had to resist an instinctive urge to step back, away from the inherent threat - the sheer power - radiating from the man. The smirk vanished, replaced by a faint unease, the first traces of real fear. This man, Blake, was not one to be underestimated.
Blake spared Jenna a sideways glance. "What happened?"
"They took us one at a time. I woke up with that one's -"~ she glared at the again-smirking commander, "--sweaty paw over my mouth and a gun in my face"
"And Avon?"
"He made a try for his gun. He didn't have a chance."
A fourth trooper came in and saluted briskly. "We've searched the house, Commander Mozz. Except for the caretaker and his wife, there is no one else here,"
"Question them, then dispose of them." He turned his attention back to Blake. "You are going to tell me where the rest of your crew is. Then you will call your ship and have myself and my men transported up."
The steel never left Blake's eyes, but his mouth quirked with amusement. "And just why would I want to do something like that?"
The smirk faded, tinged now with deliberate cruelty. "You'll do as I say, Blake," Mozz said confidently. "Maybe not for yourself, but you do have a woman and a wounded man to think of."
Mozz paced restlessly, coming to a stop before Jenna and the still-kneeling Avon. A quick glance at Blake's rigid form confirmed that he was on the right track, at least for a start.
He glanced from Jenna to Avon to Blake and back again. The Supreme Commander had left orders that none of Blake's crew were to be harmed - seriously - but Blake had no way of knowing that. Perhaps pressure could be put to bear on the man - or more likely, the woman. She looked weak - soft. Yes, probably the woman would break without much trouble.
Mozz aimed a vicious kick at the man on the floor, connecting squarely with his rib section. Avon gasped, unsuccessfully biting back a cry. He doubled over again, fighting down the blackness that threatened to overwhelm him. Reality tilled for a second, then re-established itself as the darkness lifted. Black eyes glittering, Avon lifted his head, squarely meeting the amused smirk of the trooper, and Mozz again felt that slight apprehension. No fear there. Another dangerous man.
For his part, Blake barely damped the explosive response which leapt to his muscles. His strongest desires at this point were to protect his friends and to smash a fist into that leering grin, but he restrained himself. He couldn't help them - not yet. Jenna's face was a study of stoicism.
Blake's, and especially Jenna's, lack of reaction puzzled Mozz. Blake's control he could understand. Blake was a leader, a commander. He would understand the principle of sacrifice. But the woman... The frail, beautiful blonde had shown even less reaction to the abuse of her comrade than had Blake. She must be strong - far stronger than she looked. Mozz made a hasty re-evaluation of the man and his crew.
He moved again, to stand deliberately provocative, in front of Jenna. "It would be a great shame to damage such a beautiful face." Jenna's lips tightened as he began to stroke her, but she did not otherwise react. The smuggling world had taught her many things, including patience and the sweetness of a planned revenge. She would personally kill this one - slowly.
Blake again held himself under rigid control. He kept remembering Jenna's admission to him on the little hillside, and silently prayed that she wouldn't have to go through that particular kind of hell again.
Mozz soon tired of his game. The Supreme Commander would be pleased enough to have the infamous Roj Blake. He would leave her the privilege of breaking them. Twin shots, muffled but unmistakable, cut short this pleasant notion. Within moments the fourth guard reappeared. "The innkeeper confessed that a fourth member of Blake's party has a woman on the edge of town. The fifth is has visited this establishment but is presently unaccounted for."
The Subcommander nodded curtly. "Take a scouting party and check it out. Report when you find them." Blake and Jenna exchanged a saddened look. The old innkeeper and his wife had been good, gentle people. They had not deserved to die this way. "We'll take these three back to the ship," the leader continued. "Notify the others."
Two troopers bent to pull Avon to his feet, but Mozz halted them with a gesture. "Let him walk himself," he snapped. "I don't want you too close."
Again, Blake flashed defiance. "He can't walk--" His words were cut off by the Sub-Commander's vicious blow to his stomach. Blake doubled over in red agony.
"Listen to me, criminal." The blaster dug painfully into Blake's throat. "I don't need three of you; I only need you. He either walks or I kill him now. Your choice." An agonized rasp and half-nod were the only answers Blake could manage. He cast a worried glance at his fellow prisoner but needn't have worried. Chance at freedom momentarily annulled, Avon grunted, then straightened, fully able to walk on his own.
Mozz stepped forward with three pair of plastic cuffs and bound their wrists tightly. After Jenna's hands had also been bound, the party started out for the short trip to the Federation ship. Again, Mozz had covered his chances by sending only a small scouting party to locate Shel's cottage. First priority was given to getting these three most important prisoners to a place of safety.
It was now that Blake allowed the first traces of despair to tinge his normally optimistic spirit. A man with a limiter and a cowardly thief; neither of them exactly inspired confidence in him for rescue. Maybe Cally - but Cally was on the Liberator and had no way of knowing what was happening to them.
It was not in Blake's nature to give up hope, but the fear and despair settled heavily on his shoulders, resolution did not end. He would find a way to survive, for his friends to survive. And Mozz would pay. This thought sustained him all the way to the ship.
***
It was the habit of those members of the crew not on duty to stay at the small inn in the village. This late at night, the entire town was abed, including Blake and his crew. Except for Vila; he was wandering the garden, deep in thought, While it was true that Cally had not openly rejected his tentative advances toward her - even seemed to enjoy them, in face - Vila was still left with the impression that they were operating on two separate levels. Cally wanted - no, needed - companionship right now. He had sensed the extreme loneliness that plagued her as a result of being cut off from her people. She needed the attention, the close contact, that Vila was giving her,
But was that really fair? Vila had asked that question of himself over and over these past several days. Was he taking an unfair advantage of the Auron's need for companionship? Would Cally have shown any interest beyond a sisterly affection in him under any other conditions?
Vila was honest enough to admit that the answer was probably no. While not selling his own charm short (and Vila never sold himself short), his honest affection for the alien woman led him to a course of serious introspection - particularly regarding his relationship with her. With a sigh, Vila realized that he and Cally would have to have a long, serious talk on the matter, and he was reasonably sure which direction it would take.
This not-entirely pleasant train of thought was interrupted by a flash of movement that was so quick that Vila was unsure whether he had seen it at all. Instinct kicked in, and Vila automatically flattened himself in the shadows of a conveniently placed tree, trusting in his superb gift of camouflage to keep him from sight. Was it an illusion? No, there it was again.
A man's form came briefly into view, silhouetted against the white plank of the inn, then vanished through the door. More men, all silent as ghosts, followed.
An ambush? Vila raised his arm, intent on calling Liberator, and was dismayed to find his bracelet missing. No way to warn them, then, he thought with a trace of panic. Cally - No, Cally was on duty aboard the ship. Vila silently blessed the caution that had made them decide to leave at least one person aboard Liberator at all times.
Blake, Jenna, Avon. He had seen them all preparing to retire scant hours ago. They would be asleep - helpless. And Gan?
Vila struggled to recall. Gan had mentioned planning to spend time with Shel tonight. He should still be with her. And Gan would have his teleport bracelet handy. He had to reach Shel's house at once.
Stealth gained through years of being one of the best thieves on Earth now came to the fore. Vila literally blended into the landscape, silently moving from shadow to shadow until he had safely attained the boundaries of the garden. When beyond it's perimeter, he finally gave in at last to that heart-pounding, mind-numbing panic that hovered just on the edge of his senses. Vila began to run. Intuition alone carried him in the direction of Shells little home, but Vila never faltered, never slowed. He knew that the lives of his friends depended on him reaching that little vine covered cottage, and, for their sakes, he would not fail.
***
Some instinct prevented Blake from moving a single muscle save for slowly opening his eyes. Once opened, he wanted nothing so much as to simply shut them again. A leering, black-clad figure stood over him, casually poking his midsection with a Federation-issue blaster. "Get out of bed, Blake. Slowly. Try anything and you're all dead."
All? Obediently he sat, then rose. The blaster poked him again, harder, and he allowed himself to be prodded into the sitting room, taking a good look around. Two more guards kept careful watch at the doorway and window. Blake took only brief notice of them; his attention was wholly focused on the other prisoners.
Jenna stood quietly against the wall, hands raised. She looked so feminine, so helpless in that long, pink nightgown, that Blake longed to take her protectively into his arms. One look at the hellfire raging in her eyes dispelled that illusion instantly. If there was one thing in this galaxy that he had never known Jenna Stannis to be, it was helpless.
But that thought was a purely secondary one. Blake's attention locked in on Avon, who was sitting on the floor, shaking his head dazedly. Blood matted the dark hair, dripping rapidly to the floor. The guards made no effort to stop him kneeling at his companion's side. Rather, they seemed to enjoy the spectacle of Blake's concern --- the gloating of victor over the vanquished.
"Avon?" Blake dropped one arm around the man's back, supporting him, while gentle fingers probed beneath the dark hair. Avon flinched when Blake encountered the bloody bruise, then pulled away from the other's grip.
"I'm all right." The dark eyes were slightly unfocused, but Avon seemed to be recovering his wits rapidly. Blake squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, released him, and turned his attention to their captor.
Brown eyes hardened, stone and steel, met the mocking ones of the troop commander, and it was the commander who felt his confidence dwindle under their twin onslaught. Blake straightened slowly, and the commander had to resist an instinctive urge to step back, away from the inherent threat - the sheer power - radiating from the man. The smirk vanished, replaced by a faint unease, the first traces of real fear. This man, Blake, was not one to be underestimated.
Blake spared Jenna a sideways glance. "What happened?"
"They took us one at a time. I woke up with that one's -"~ she glared at the again-smirking commander, "--sweaty paw over my mouth and a gun in my face"
"And Avon?"
"He made a try for his gun. He didn't have a chance."
A fourth trooper came in and saluted briskly. "We've searched the house, Commander Mozz. Except for the caretaker and his wife, there is no one else here,"
"Question them, then dispose of them." He turned his attention back to Blake. "You are going to tell me where the rest of your crew is. Then you will call your ship and have myself and my men transported up."
The steel never left Blake's eyes, but his mouth quirked with amusement. "And just why would I want to do something like that?"
The smirk faded, tinged now with deliberate cruelty. "You'll do as I say, Blake," Mozz said confidently. "Maybe not for yourself, but you do have a woman and a wounded man to think of."
Mozz paced restlessly, coming to a stop before Jenna and the still-kneeling Avon. A quick glance at Blake's rigid form confirmed that he was on the right track, at least for a start.
He glanced from Jenna to Avon to Blake and back again. The Supreme Commander had left orders that none of Blake's crew were to be harmed - seriously - but Blake had no way of knowing that. Perhaps pressure could be put to bear on the man - or more likely, the woman. She looked weak - soft. Yes, probably the woman would break without much trouble.
Mozz aimed a vicious kick at the man on the floor, connecting squarely with his rib section. Avon gasped, unsuccessfully biting back a cry. He doubled over again, fighting down the blackness that threatened to overwhelm him. Reality tilled for a second, then re-established itself as the darkness lifted. Black eyes glittering, Avon lifted his head, squarely meeting the amused smirk of the trooper, and Mozz again felt that slight apprehension. No fear there. Another dangerous man.
For his part, Blake barely damped the explosive response which leapt to his muscles. His strongest desires at this point were to protect his friends and to smash a fist into that leering grin, but he restrained himself. He couldn't help them - not yet. Jenna's face was a study of stoicism.
Blake's, and especially Jenna's, lack of reaction puzzled Mozz. Blake's control he could understand. Blake was a leader, a commander. He would understand the principle of sacrifice. But the woman... The frail, beautiful blonde had shown even less reaction to the abuse of her comrade than had Blake. She must be strong - far stronger than she looked. Mozz made a hasty re-evaluation of the man and his crew.
He moved again, to stand deliberately provocative, in front of Jenna. "It would be a great shame to damage such a beautiful face." Jenna's lips tightened as he began to stroke her, but she did not otherwise react. The smuggling world had taught her many things, including patience and the sweetness of a planned revenge. She would personally kill this one - slowly.
Blake again held himself under rigid control. He kept remembering Jenna's admission to him on the little hillside, and silently prayed that she wouldn't have to go through that particular kind of hell again.
Mozz soon tired of his game. The Supreme Commander would be pleased enough to have the infamous Roj Blake. He would leave her the privilege of breaking them. Twin shots, muffled but unmistakable, cut short this pleasant notion. Within moments the fourth guard reappeared. "The innkeeper confessed that a fourth member of Blake's party has a woman on the edge of town. The fifth is has visited this establishment but is presently unaccounted for."
The Subcommander nodded curtly. "Take a scouting party and check it out. Report when you find them." Blake and Jenna exchanged a saddened look. The old innkeeper and his wife had been good, gentle people. They had not deserved to die this way. "We'll take these three back to the ship," the leader continued. "Notify the others."
Two troopers bent to pull Avon to his feet, but Mozz halted them with a gesture. "Let him walk himself," he snapped. "I don't want you too close."
Again, Blake flashed defiance. "He can't walk--" His words were cut off by the Sub-Commander's vicious blow to his stomach. Blake doubled over in red agony.
"Listen to me, criminal." The blaster dug painfully into Blake's throat. "I don't need three of you; I only need you. He either walks or I kill him now. Your choice." An agonized rasp and half-nod were the only answers Blake could manage. He cast a worried glance at his fellow prisoner but needn't have worried. Chance at freedom momentarily annulled, Avon grunted, then straightened, fully able to walk on his own.
Mozz stepped forward with three pair of plastic cuffs and bound their wrists tightly. After Jenna's hands had also been bound, the party started out for the short trip to the Federation ship. Again, Mozz had covered his chances by sending only a small scouting party to locate Shel's cottage. First priority was given to getting these three most important prisoners to a place of safety.
It was now that Blake allowed the first traces of despair to tinge his normally optimistic spirit. A man with a limiter and a cowardly thief; neither of them exactly inspired confidence in him for rescue. Maybe Cally - but Cally was on the Liberator and had no way of knowing what was happening to them.
It was not in Blake's nature to give up hope, but the fear and despair settled heavily on his shoulders, resolution did not end. He would find a way to survive, for his friends to survive. And Mozz would pay. This thought sustained him all the way to the ship.
***