~oOo~

The flight deck was empty, warm with the glow of Zen's glittering fascia, all signs of damage from the battle gone. Avon - very aware of the guns pointed at his spine - was careful to look around as if he'd never seen it before.

Jarriere was burbling away about computers, voicelocks and needing one of the original crew to get control of the ship. Avon was only listening enough to be irritated by that strangely archaic accent, waiting for the man to recognise him. Surely someone on Servalan's staff - even if only for a short time - would have seen...

Jarriere met his gaze with a brilliantly candid, insufferably sweet smile.

"If Blake or one of the others has survived," he went on, "they'll try to communicate with the ship. The computer will identify the voice then direct the ship to within teleport range. At least we hope so, we really do hope so."

"Why?" Dayna asked.

"You need one of the original crew back on board to put the ship under your control," Avon offered, flicking a glance at her. Zen will ignore her, but if they force me to...

Klegg came too close again, lips thinning in what was not a smile. "That's exactly right," he said with heavy meaning.

"Have you heard any transmission yet?"

"Of course," Jarriere shrugged. "Thousands. Even one that claimed to be the S- the President herself, though I couldna' follow the story. Very confusin', something about being stranded on a hospital ship and demanding to be picked up." He sighed gustily. "We couldna' follow it, mainly because the ship wouldna' follow it."

"Subcommander -" Klegg gritted.

"Yes, yes, Section Leader. You see, Chevron, there is one, one special one it seems, keeps coming in every hour or so. Every time we hear it the computer registers a power surge as if it was reacting to the voice."

One of the others. Damn. "And if your -" Avon paused, "- the Section Leader's man's theory is correct, it could be a member of the crew."

"It does make sense. We think." Jarriere's forehead wrinkled in one of his expressive frowns. "Well, more sense than anything else we could think of."

You surprise me.

"In any case, the ship's gone into direct line flight now, maybe homing in on the signal."

"But just before it settled on this flight path," Klegg said, "the ship went through some very precise manoeuvres which took it close to a planet."

Avon shrugged. The little man might be stupid, Klegg was probably not. "A navigational check, presumably."

"Yes, maybe," the Section Leader's voice dripped disbelief. "But shortly after that you two appeared."

Avon turned a cold stare to him, met an ugly, violent glare in return. "And you suspect us of -what?" he said finally.

"Section Leader Klegg is a very doubting man, Chevron," Jarriere said placidly. "He didn't even believe me at first."

"Can't be faulted for that," Klegg said, a peculiar note of bitter defensiveness in his voice. "I've accepted your authority, Subcommander Jarriere, as long as the reports show that my men and I boarded this ship before you."

"O' course, you've seen the report I've prepared for the President herself, haven't you?" He glanced at Avon, who had stiffened slightly at the words but kept his face impassive. "As soon as we have the ship under control, we'll be sending that report, and there's no doubt that the men who actually took it will be rewarded."

"And that is my squad."

"An' that it is."

Klegg calmed down; Avon wondered briefly at the man's defensiveness. "Thank you, sir," he said gruffly. "Now in the meantime and with your permission I suggest we confirm that neither of these two are members of Blake's crew."

"I don't think they are, Section Leader. I'm sure I'd recognise them, though I have to say Blake himself is the only one of any importance to Space Command." Jarriere beamed at Avon as he spoke; Avon wondered savagely if the man could be as honestly stupid as he seemed. "The others really don't count, do they? Chevron here hasn't even heard of Kerr Avon -" a pause? Surely not, "- or the others."

"Important or not, they've got a very worthwhile price on their heads, dead or alive. With your permission...?" Or without, Klegg's tone seemed to say.

"Oh, for sure."

Klegg waved them towards Zen's fascia with his gun, and spoke harshly. "You will each speak a line into the computer's audio command circuit. If the computer does not recognise the voice it will not respond."

"You don' mind, of course," Jarriere added beamingly.

"As a matter of fact," Avon snarled, unwilling to give in quite so flagrantly, "I do. I am getting a little tired -" Something ice-cold touched his neck, and he froze. Jarriere was suddenly beside him, the muzzle of his gun brushing Avon's skin. The little man was fast...

"I'm sorry, Chevron," he said, apparently sincere, as he lightly ran the gun around Avon's throat. "I'm sure you'll understand when the President explains it. She does explain things so well, you know."

"I'm afraid I wouldn't know," Avon said, voice a little strained, as he raised a hand to the muzzle.

"Oh, I'm sure she'll be willing to see you herself, to explain. But obey the Section Leader, please. He'll apologise later, won't you, Section Leader?"

Klegg's lips stretched again, and waved them forward again with the gun. "Over here. You will say "Indicate if my voice pattern is registered in the memory banks and confirm identity." He looked at Dayna. "You say it."

She sighed very pointedly and obeyed.

"You're clear." He turned to Avon, standing very still with Jarriere's gun still at his throat. "Now you."

A sound like a mechanical cough cut him off - he turned sharply as the communicator chimed. "What the -?" There was a harsh, scratching noise, startlingly loud, and Avon could feel the subliminal force of the ship's power surge. "That's not the same signal as before..."

Avon stared at the panel, vaguely surprised to feel breathless. Whoever it is, they can't be brought - and then the voice, a bare, ragged whisper but he knew it at once. "Zen... Zen, please respond... I can't..." and it fell away in a choked cry of pain.

Without thinking, he started forward - and damned himself in the second before the weapon at his throat dug in. He stumbled a little, trying to twist away - then something slammed into his jaw, and darkness crashed in.

~oOo~

"No!" As Avon fell, Dayna jumped forward - and found herself staring straight into the muzzle of the little man's gun.

"What the hell -?" Klegg snarled at the same moment.

Jarriere spoke to Klegg with improbable mildness, without taking his eyes from Dayna. "I'm not sure what happened, Section Leader, but I rather think I hit him."

"You've hurt him!" Dayna tried to judge her chances of taking them both - looked at the guns - discarded the idea. "Let me -"

"No, don't move. Section Leader, that voice."

"What about it? We still got to check this one's voice print."

Jarriere tilted his head, reminding Dayna of a rather comical little blackbird, as he looked down at Avon. "Maybe, when he wakes. Maybe not."

From the communicator, another high-pitched scratching sound, then that voice again. "Zen... where - is Avon -"

"I know that voice," Jarriere nodded happily. "All of Space Command knows that voice. Most of Space Command's waking nightmares have that voice, though I've never quite understood why... that's Roj Blake."

~oOo~