Avon paced up and down on the empty flight deck. He would never have let the other crew members see that he was this agitated. It didn’t suit him to let them suspect he had uncertainties or doubts. And usually, he’d prefer to be on his own anyway. It wasn’t unusual for him to spend plenty of time alone, away from the others, with only Orac for company.
This was different. Despite his clear desire to keep the crew together for this confrontation, they had ended up scattered who knew where. Cally off with Blake in the forlorn hope of finding salvation for them on some icy rock in the middle of nowhere. Jenna in the clutches of the enemy. Even Vila was taking his own sweet time getting back from his excursion outside the ship.
Avon stared up at the fascia of the ship’s computer. It flashed pensively in response to his most recent command.
‘Come on, Zen. Jenna can’t be all that far away yet. Can’t you get a signal from her?’
‘NEGATIVE.’
Avon glared at the computer.
‘Can you locate Blake and Cally?’
‘NEGATIVE.’
‘Damn it, Zen. What can you do?’
‘THAT QUESTION HAS TOO MANY PARAMETERS.’
Avon laughed at this. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have assumed the computer was being sarcastic. But it was, after all, only a computer.
He pressed the ship-wide intercom. ‘Vila, what’s keeping you?’
There was a pause, presumably while Vila located a wall communicator. And then presumably tried to operate it.
‘Vila?’
‘What do you want?’
‘I want to know where you are.’
‘I’m on my way,’ Vila replied evasively.
‘Where?’
There was a telling pause, before Vila replied. ‘I’m in the weapons section.’
Avon grunted in disapproval. ‘That’s an odd route to take from the airlock to the flight deck. Did you get lost, or are you taking the scenic route?’
‘I had a few things to… er… locate on the way.‘ The intercom conveyed an apologetic cough. ‘Tidying up.’
Vila didn’t sound any more convincing than usual, decided Avon. But there was no time to berate him further. Zen was interrupting with an important update.
‘INFORMATION. THERE IS AN INCOMING MESSAGE FROM THE FEDERATION FACILITY ON MEGIDDO.’
‘Put it through,’ snapped Avon.
The main view screen crackled and spat, resolving itself sporadically into an image of Blake. He was crouched close to the camera, and his tone was urgent. ‘Come in, Liberator! This is Blake. Two of us to teleport up. Quickly!’
The sound continued to crackle through the flight deck speakers, but the image had frozen. Blake’s earnest face stared across at Avon.
‘All right, Blake.’ Avon switched back to the ship’s intercom. ‘Did you hear that, Vila? You’re needed in teleport.’
‘I heard him.’
‘That means now, Vila. No detours.’
* * *
No matter how many times Vila had run through them, the Liberator corridors never seemed any shorter. His heavy boots weren’t helping. Avon’s insistent voice continued to squawk demands over the intercom system. Hounding him along to his destination.
‘Oh, hang on, won’t you?’
He stumbled across the final junction, and raced into the teleport room.
‘Vila, what’s keeping you?’
‘Keep your hair on,’ he muttered breathlessly. ‘I haven’t even had time to get out of my hull suit.’
He stumbled to the control desk and dumped himself heavily into the nearest seat, his heart thumping. After a moment to catch his breath, he flicked the intercom switch. The comms connected with a chime.
‘All right, I’m in teleport.’
‘Not before time,’ said Avon. ‘Bring them back. Get a move on!’
The comms chimed off again.
‘Thank you, Vila,’ grumbled Vila to himself. ‘Very grateful, Vila.’
The teleport controls were still set for the surface of Megiddo. He patched the communications connection from Blake into the coordinate tracker on the desk. Not from Blake’s teleport bracelet. That was odd. Some unfamiliar Federation channel instead. A weak signal, but it should do.
The coordinates aligned, and he left the rest to the automatics. He pressed home the teleport controls, and a shimmer of power filled the arrivals alcove.
Blake’s shape had barely finished coalescing before he was stamping over to him. ‘What kept you, Vila?’
‘Much appreciated, Vila,’ muttered Vila to himself.
At least Cally looked pleased to see him. Her smile of thanks melted into a look of puzzlement. ‘Why are you wearing a hull suit?’
Vila thought about some smart rejoinder about the grimy-looking thermal suits that Cally and Blake both wore. Instead he indicated his own torn suit. ‘Jenna and I went out to do some repairs.’
Blake stood over him at the desk, ‘Where’s Jenna now?
‘Not sure,’ Vila explained guardedly. ‘Can’t get a signal from her suit comms. She must be out of range.’
‘Then fix it!’ demanded Blake. ‘Or get back out there and look for her.’
Easy for him to say, thought Vila. ‘Bit of a problem with that, actually.’
‘Such as?’
Vila waved his hands in a vague approximation of the devices they had been facing out there. The devices that, until a few minutes ago, he had been hunting in the weapons section.
‘Infestation of aliens,’ he said.
Blake was looking increasingly suspicious.
‘On the hull,’ added Vila. ‘Well, mostly on the hull… you see…’
Suspicion had changed to incredulity. ‘What about Jenna?’
Blake’s shouting provoked a coughing fit. He clutched his hand to his chest, as though he was in considerable pain. Cally moved to his side, placed a calming hand on Blake’s shoulder, and took the opportunity to turn down the heating dial on his suit. ‘Let me try to find Jenna,’ she said soothingly.
‘There’s something you should know about the aliens…’ Vila began.
‘Not now, Vila!’ snarled Blake. His coughing fit had subsided, but his temper hadn’t. ‘Just let Cally concentrate.’ He was quieter when he spoke to Cally. ‘Go on, try now.’
Cally sat at the teleport console with Vila, and closed her eyes in concentration. Vila recognised the signs of her entering a trance state, just as she had earlier on the flight deck when she had picked up the thoughts of the human fleet.
Her eyes fluttered behind her closed lids. ‘Jenna?’ she said softly, barely audible. ‘Jenna?’
There was a pause. Cally’s lips moved wordlessly, until she said clearly and distinctly. ‘She is not on the hull. She is some distance away.’
‘I could have told you that,’ grumbled Vila.
‘Hush, Vila!’ Blake moved closer to Cally at the desk. ‘Where is she? Is she all right?
‘She has control of an alien space vehicle,’ Cally said softly. ‘The original pilot is dead. I sense Jenna is… so alone. So determined. She cannot contact Liberator.’ Cally’s serene expression was hardening, and her brow furrowed. ‘She is steering the ship… away from us… towards…’
Cally’s eyes snapped wide open. Her expression was appalled. ‘No!’
Vila was startled by her explosive change of demeanour. ‘What is it?’
‘I think Jenna is steering into the alien fleet.’ Cally stared at Blake and Vila, an anguished look on her face. ‘It’s a suicide run.’