Sirens blared. Smoke from blasters hung in the air like a thin fog. No way out. In a situation where a lesser man might surrender, Avon stood his ground.
Around him were several Federation troops, their guns aimed at him. On the floor lay his friends, and at his feet was the corpse of the closest friend he ever had, Roj Blake. Avon gazed at Blake’s corpse mournfully for a moment, then looked up and stared death in the face.
Raising his gun, he smiled.
The firefight was short. The troops were good, but he was the better gunman. No matter how quick or close their shots would get, Avon would always manoeuvre out of the way and send the attacker to their maker. All of them dropped soundlessly to the floor as Avon mowed them down.
After a few minutes, Avon was the last man standing. He surveyed the mess with indifference before kneeling down to pay his respects to Blake. Arlen got up, retrieved her gun and blasted him while he was down. Avon tumbled backwards and lay motionless on the floor. Arlen exited the room, satisfied.
*
Servalan sat in her office, sipping a particularly bitter cocktail. As usual, she dressed in an overly-flamboyant outfit at odds with the uniforms of her colleagues. For someone attempting to lay low, pretending to be a mere Commissioner, she wasn’t doing a particularly good job at being discreet.
Arlen’s face appeared on the screen in front of her. “Mission accomplished, Commissioner,” she said. “Blake and his cohort have been destroyed.”
“Excellent,” Servalan replied. “I was informed Scorpio was seen in the vicinity?”
“Avon and his crew have been dealt with,” Arlen responded. “Their bodies cover the floor of the Control Room, as well as a few of our own who fell victim to Avon’s blasts.”
Servalan sat back in her chair and took another sip. “Gather the bodies. A transport will be sent in twelve hours to dispose of them, but ensure everyone is accounted for. I want to make an example of Avon’s failure to dissuade future rebels - we don’t want another Blake on our hands. And whatever you do, find Orac!”
Arlen nodded. The screen went blank.
The former Supreme Commander of the Terran Federation mulled over the events of the past few years and was almost downhearted that it had all ended quite abruptly. But then the idea of milking the rebels’ misfortunes came to mind, and any remorse Servalan might have felt for her former enemies’ imminent deaths quickly faded, replaced with her trademark crocodile smile.
For a brief moment, she pictured Avon in chains, standing in front of her desk with a demanding expression.
“Godspeed, Avon. It hasn’t been pleasant,” she could hear herself saying. “I imagine the crew were struck with the sedative projectiles I had manufactured by the Federation stronghold on Dolos Minor - a planet that will become wholly occupied by Federation forces in the near future. As you for you... well... you don't have a future.”
The mental image faded.
“Dolos Minor will be ours... assuming the cretins arranging the invasion force don't let me down,” she muttered to herself and drank the rest of the cocktail.
*
The stillness of the Control Room didn’t last long.
Vila Restal sat up and rubbed his eyes before taking in his surroundings. All his friends were on the floor. Blake was dead. The realisation that he was the sole survivor hit him like a stone and he immediately began panicking. What would he do? Where would he go? What was Avon thinking, bringing them all here to die?
“Focus, Vila. Focus,” he said to himself. “What would Blake do?”
He looked at Blake’s corpse as though expecting the dead man to answer him. After a moment, Vila’s nerves finally got to him and in desperation, he grabbed Tarrant’s gun.
“Sorry,” he muttered and rushed toward the nearest exit without looking back.
Down corridors, through the silo and out into the forest he ran without stopping. Night had fallen, and a cold breeze weaved in and out of the trees as Vila raced through the vegetation to find somewhere adequate and stealthy enough to hide.
Panting heavily, he leapt into the undergrowth and lay flat on his back. A million thoughts ran through his head at once. The comforting fact that he was, in fact, alive, did nothing to quell his insecurities - sure, he was alive, but the friends he’d made along the way weren’t. He had no protection, no means of escape and no way of survival. He was a goner.
As he was contemplating his sorry state of affairs, he could make out a familiar whirring sound somewhere in the distance. Slowly but surely, he followed the noise and eventually came to a shoddily dug hole, covered over with leaves. Vila peeled the leaves off and couldn’t believe his luck. He reached into the crevice and pulled out Orac; the computer was lightly covered in muck and very cross.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Vila exclaimed, happy the computer hadn’t been destroyed.
“Your eyes are not defective,” the computer replied. “Where are the others? I demand to speak to Avon at once! I am not designed to be crudely stowed away in alien soil!”
Vila didn’t reply. He grabbed Orac and ran further into the woods.
It wasn’t long before Vila’s absence from the carnage in the Control Room was discovered. A small squadron of troops exited the base and congregated outside. Arlen divided them all into four groups of four, tightly clutching Avon’s rifle in her right hand.
“He can’t have gone far,” she barked. “First group, head east. Second group, west. Third group, south. I’ll go with the fourth group and head north. Search everywhere. Meet back here in five hours. Got that?”
The troops indicated ‘yes’, switched on their torches and spread out as directed to search for Vila.
Vila had hidden himself and Orac inside the hollowed-out trunk of a large tree on the edge of a clearing. In the time that had passed since escaping the base complex, he’d fallen asleep.
“Vila? Vila!” Orac hissed.
Vila opened a sleepy eye. “Can’t a man have a quick nap?” he yawned.
“You may return to your slumber at a more appropriate time,” Orac retorted. “Auditory sensors indicate that we are not alone in this forest!”
Vila sat up quickly. “Who? Where?” he demanded.
“By the sound of their footsteps, several Federation troopers. They are converging on this area.”
Vila instinctively yanked Orac’s key out of its socket. Carrying the computer under one arm, he gingerly climbed up the tree and peered through the leaves. Sure enough, there were the third group of Federation troopers rounding the corner.
Vila held his breath as the troops started searching. He twirled Orac’s key in his hand to try and calm his nerves. The troops’ torch beams swept past his hiding spot and Vila tensed up, praying they wouldn’t see him.
The troops seemed satisfied that they couldn’t find him and began to move off. Vila breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed - but as he did so, he accidentally let go of Orac’s key. He only realised his mistake when he heard it hit the ground. The troops heard it too and immediately swung back around.
Vila cursed himself extensively as the somewhat confused troops examined the key. Deciding there was nothing else for it, he raised Tarrant’s gun and fired. The lead trooper keeled over.
The others spotted Vila. Two of them raced forward and began climbing the tree - Vila fired on the second and fumbled with the gun to try and quickly reload it when the third reached up and throttled him!
Vila struggled to shake his attacker off, but he was fighting a losing battle. As the asphyxiation began to take hold, he shut his eyes and prepared for the end…
A shot rang out, and the attacker’s grip loosened. Vila opened his eyes to see the third trooper fall off the tree branch and hit the ground below. Confused, Vila looked through the leaves again, only to see the fourth trooper gesturing for him to come down in what looked like a friendly gesture.
Cautiously, Vila descended, taking Orac with him. The trooper placed their gun on the ground and raised their hands in surrender. Vila was even more perplexed.
“Vila Restal?” the trooper asked. Vila nodded in reply, surprised the trooper’s voice was female. He’d been informed the taskforce was all male. “Perhaps they’re branching out,” he thought.
The trooper removed her helmet. She was shorter and younger than Vila, with short, Fuchsia hair and freckles. Her crimson-coloured face was fixed in a permanent frown, reminding Vila of Avon’s trademark scowl.
“Sara Cortess, member of the resistance force from Dolos Minor.” She stuck out her hand. Vila shook it.
“Thanks for the save,” he said, somewhat sheepishly. “How did you know who I was?”
“Process of elimination,” Sara mused. “Avon and Blake were too recognisable - their faces are on every wanted poster and public hologram in Federated Space. You couldn’t have been Tarrant, as he’s one of the bodies.”
She prised Orac’s key from the dead trooper’s hands and gave it to Vila, who put it in his pocket.
“We don’t have much time,” Sara continued. “There’s more where they came from.”
Vila grabbed Orac and the two of them ran as fast as their legs would carry them.
*
Arlen’s communicator beeped. “Yes?” she asked, irritably.
“We ventured into Southern territory on our way back to base,” came the voice of a trooper. “The third squadron has been destroyed, and one of them has gone missing.”
Arlen’s face hardened. “Where?”
“By the base of a large tree on the edge of sector four,” the drone replied. “There is a technicality you should know, however.”
“What is it?” Arlen demanded.
“The troops’ corpses appear to have been fired upon by a Federation-issued firearm.”
Arlen’s blood ran cold. “A renegade…” she whispered.
She adjusted her communicator to an all-range frequency. “All personnel to sector seven! I repeat, all personnel to sector seven! I want everyone accounted for - there is a traitor in our midst, and I want them weeded out!”
“And now we wait,” she thought, reloading Avon’s rifle.
She angrily glared into the endless rows of trees, cursing Vila’s survival.
*
In a storeroom, the bodies had been laid out in a corner, ready for the transport to take them to a Federation holding vicinity as per Servalan’s orders. A trooper had been placed on guard and was idly humming a tune as he waited for the transport to arrive.
The sound of a sudden movement caught the trooper off-guard. He fell silent and drew his weapon, looking around to see where the noise came from. Nothing seemed to have changed.
The trooper, spooked, clutched his gun tightly and began to hum again to settle his nerves.
The noise happened again. The trooper spun around a second time.
Still nothing.
He was about to write this off as his mind playing tricks on him when he realised something wasn’t quite right. Deciding to indulge his sixth sense, he became determined to figure out what it was. He checked every nook and cranny of the room. He opened the door and looked outside. He turned to the bodies -
One of them had gone!
Alarmed, he fumbled in his pockets to try and find his communicator. Wham! He stiffened and fell.
Del Tarrant emerged from the shadows, a wry smile spreading across his face.
“Sorry about that.”
He took the trooper’s gun, mock-saluted, exited the room and dashed outside.
Manoeuvring through unknown terrain is one thing, but doing so while trying to avoid being spotted is a different matter.
Tarrant narrowly avoided the troops that were converging on Arlen’s location and hid behind a fallen tree stump with bated breath to see what their next move would be, judging his moment.
He stayed as still as a corpse as he watched Arlen go through the troops one by one, determining who the interloper was.
A cold sweat overcame him as he watched Arlen bark at the troopers to follow her.
He waited until the troops had cleared before following them at a distance.
“So, Vila’s alive,” he thought as he tore through the shrubbery. “If I stand any chance at survival, it’s with him. But where could he have got to? And who’s helping him?”
*
Vila, Sara and Orac were hiding in the upper branches of a tall oak. From here, they had a good view of the forest floor and could see if anyone was coming or going.
“So,” Vila began, “what exactly are you doing here?”
“The resistance needed Blake’s help. The Federation is in the process of taking over Dolos Minor, despite the majority of people being against their control,” Sara said. “We discovered that Blake was on Gauda Prime and they sent me to get him on side. I arrived just before the firefight. He was our only chance. And now he’s dead. Maybe we should just throw in the towel.”
She broke off. A tear rolled down her cheek.
“As long as I’m alive, I’ll fight for what Blake stood for. Your resistance still has hope. Don’t give up!” Vila declared.
Sara turned to look at him, not entirely convinced by what he was saying. Vila returned the look with a hardened expression. There was a short silence.
“What’s the plan?” Vila asked.
“A Federation transport is arriving in approximately seven hours to collect the bodies of Blake and your friends,” Sara said. “If we’ve any chance of getting out of here, we’ll need to nab it.”
Vila didn’t seem particularly fazed by this information. “Bit of a downgrade from Scorpio but it’ll do until we can get something better,” he remarked. “Are there any more of your group on Gauda Prime?”
“No, just me,” Sara replied. “I was the only one who the uniform fitted.”
In spite of himself, Vila laughed.
The communicator on his teleport bracelet crackled and hissed as a transmission attempted to break through. It took Vila a moment for him to register what was happening and hurriedly held it to his lips.
“Hello?” he asked.
Static.
Vila rolled his eyes. “Orac, increase the range of this stupid thing.”
“Only under protest. This is a grave misuse of my capabilities!” Orac replied.
The static quickly cleared and revealed the hushed tones of someone that Vila knew well. “Vila? Do you read me?!”
Vila beamed from ear to ear. “Tarrant! I’ve never been so happy to hear your voice!”
“I don’t recall you ever being happy to hear my voice,” Tarrant replied. “Where are you exactly?”
Vila did a quick mental estimation. “In a tree, about 1000 yards from the complex.”
“That’s not exactly helpful,” Tarrant retorted. “Are there any landmarks?”
Vila bit his lip and looked through the branches to try and find some sort of indicator. Sara tugged his sleeve and gestured toward a large wooden statue nearby; the sculpture resembled that of a large man, carrying an axe. “There’s an effigy of an old Earth woodcutter,” Vila reported. “We’re in the big oak on the left of it.”
“We?” Tarrant asked.
“No time to explain, just get over here,” Vila rasped. The communicator went dead.
“So, Tarrant did survive,” Sara mused. “Is he a good pilot?”
“He has his moments,” Vila replied.
“Well, we’ll make use of his piloting skills when we steal the Federation transport,” Sara said. “If he’s worth his salt, we’ll be out of here by sunrise.”
Vila didn’t look so sure.
*
The troopers waded through grass and smog, slowly converging on Vila’s location. Tarrant kept a short distance behind, keeping in shadow so as not to be spotted.
Arlen, leading the pack, clutched Avon’s rifle tightly. Bringing Blake in had been her main task, so capturing Avon and the Scorpio crew was a bonus that undoubtedly would have meant instant promotion. She desperately wanted the rank of Space Commander and the only thing that stood in her way was Vila and Sara. She cursed both of them under her breath as she shone the beam of her torch into the trees, hoping to catch sight of either of them.
A rustling in the bushes caught her attention, and she signalled for the troops to stop. She waited to hear it again, hoping she wasn’t going mad. The wind whistled through the trees. The troopers breathed heavily. Arlen could hear her pulse thundering through her head.
The rustling happened a second time. She swung her torch beam in the direction of the sound, a large bush, and gestured for the troops to wait. She headed towards it and peeked inside. Tarrant leant forward, grabbed her, and pulled her through it. He held her in a headlock, covering her mouth with his hand as she struggled to free herself. As she did so, she dropped Avon’s rifle.
Tarrant let go of Arlen and lunged towards it. Arlen fell flat on her back. She squirmed on the ground, trying to grab the coveted weapon, but Tarrant was quicker on the mark. He struck Arlen with the butt of the gun and bolted as she cried out in pain, firing on several of the troops as he went. Half the troops chased after him, with the other half heading round the other side of the bush to check Arlen’s condition, despite protestations that she was fine.
Tarrant sprinted swiftly toward Vila’s hiding spot, taking out five of his six pursuers. The sixth caught up and began to strangle him. Tarrant was struggling to prise his attacker off him when a shot from above rang out and his assailant dropped to the floor like a stone. Tarrant rubbed his neck as Sara leapt from her branch and landed beside him. Vila climbed down, bringing Orac with him.
“Thank me later,” Sara said to Tarrant. “Sara Cortess. Resistance member.”
“Del Tarrant. Glad to be alive,” Tarrant said, and smiled.
If he was intending to leave a positive impression on Sara, it didn’t seem to work; she looked as stoic as ever. Somewhat uncomfortable that his charms had failed, Tarrant redirected his attention to Vila.
“Good to see you’re still alive,” he remarked. “Their shot got me in the leg. What about you?”
“Lower back, though I overdid it to look like it was a much worse shot,” Vila answered. “I always knew those acting classes would pay off. Never like to see a man die, especially when it’s me! Are the others dead?”
Tarrant shrugged. “Blake certainly is. I didn’t get time to check the others, but they certainly seemed to be. I know the smell of death anywhere, though that might also have been Blake. Couldn't find Avon.”
There was a brief silence. The wind howled through the trees. Bat-like creatures flew overhead and came to rest on the statue of the woodcutter.
“We’ll have to be quick, there are at least six other troopers out there ready to kill us on sight,” Tarrant reported. “Arlen’s leading them.”
“That’s all we need,” Vila groaned, rolling his eyes. “Alright, here’s the plan. We’ll make our way back to the silo, kill the guard on watch and nab the transport. Noting Arlen and her whole host of hostile accomplices, we’ll probably have to take them out as well if we can’t avoid them.”
“Hold on a minute,” Tarrant complained. “Who made you the leader?”
Vila’s face hardened. “I am the last member of Blake’s original cause, and that makes me more qualified to lead by default. If you have a problem with that, suck it up and accept the facts of life.”
“Which are?” Tarrant asked, confrontationally.
“That I can sell you to the Federation at any point. I didn’t ask for you to join the party, Tarrant - you did so of your own accord. You depend on me and Sara to get you a ride off this planet, so I would suggest that you keep tight-lipped and do as I say if you want to stay alive.” Vila declared, staring Tarrant down with a dead-eyed expression Avon would’ve been proud of.
Tarrant hadn’t expected such a reaction from Vila and was about to object to these terms when Vila drew his gun and aimed it squarely at Tarrant’s chest. He threw his hands up in defeat. “Alright, have it your way,” he muttered, backing off slightly. Vila gestured to Orac and Tarrant picked up the computer, all the while keeping his eyes on the gun.
“Thank you. Sara, lead the way. Tarrant and I will follow.” Vila ordered.
Sara saluted and started to head back as instructed. Tarrant followed, with Vila taking up the rear, the gun still pointed at Tarrant.
*
Arlen and her six troops rounded a corner and came face-to-face with Vila, Tarrant and Sara. The two factions stared each other down for a moment, waiting to see what the other group would try.
Tarrant put Orac behind him and aimed Avon’s rifle at Arlen with the other. Sara aimed her Federation pistol at Arlen. Vila slowly raised his own gun.
“Well, well, well,” Arlen said. “It’s all come to this.”
Tarrant and Sara looked at him expectantly, as did Arlen. Vila didn’t reply. He looked at Tarrant, then at Sara, and finally back at Arlen, and nodded.
Sara and Tarrant opened fire on the troopers. Vila aimed at Arlen’s leg and fired twice. Arlen cried out, clutched it and fell. Sara and Tarrant continued firing on the other troops as Vila approached.
“I do hate when someone has to be violent to get information out of people, especially when it’s me,” he said. “Tell your troops to stand down.”
“Never!” Arlen cried. Vila rested the barrel of his gun against Arlen’s head. She hesitated.
“Do it.” Vila hissed.
“Tell them the order can’t be countermanded!” Sara added.
Arlen reluctantly complied “All troops, stand down. This order cannot be countermanded. Return to your quarters.” Arlen put away her communicator. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” said Vila, and shot her.
He stood up and moved off, Sara and Tarrant following.
“We can’t just leave her body there!” Tarrant exclaimed.
“That is exactly what we’re doing,” Vila replied.
“If Servalan wants to poke her nose into Arlen’s doings, she’ll have a nasty surprise waiting for her,” Sara laughed.
“Precisely,” Vila affirmed.
The morning sun was beginning to rise when the Federation transport arrived. The trio stood by the door to the silo as the large, sleek, silver vessel descended from the sky. They waited with their guns drawn, expecting a platoon of troopers to emerge from the ship and for a fight to break out. The hatch opened, but nobody exited the craft.
The three rebels looked confused. “Where are the troops?” Sara asked.
Orac spoke up. “FD-81 capsules such as the one you are all gawping at are auto-piloted by an onboard computer not too dissimilar to Zen or Slave. The Federation quite rightly recognise that a simple carrier ship powered by a basic flight computer does not always require passengers, so sends these craft unmanned most of the time to pick up cargo from designated areas.”
“Is the flight computer restricted in its trajectory?” Tarrant inquired.
“Yes, unless its path is interrupted by an alternative data stream,” Orac replied.
Vila grinned. “Could you redirect it?”
“I do not understand why you would have to inquire that!” Orac exclaimed, sounding almost offended. “You have witnessed me performing similar tasks before.”
“Slipped my mind,” Vila said, lifting the computer. “Come on, you two.”
All three ventured inside the craft and made their way to the flight deck. The room was furnished with wood panelling on the walls, leather chairs in front of control panels set in marble blocks and a grey tiled floor. On one wall was a large triangular monitor screen displaying sorting algorithms, which Vila reasoned was the flight computer. “Alright, Orac,” he said. “Grant us access.”
Orac made a flurry of high-pitched beeping noises, sending a stream of data to the flight computer which overrode its Federation programming. The screen went blank for a moment. Tarrant and Sara glanced at each other.
The computer came back online. “Identification needed,” it said in a monotone voice, a thin waveform moving in time with its speech.
“I’m Vila Restal, these are my companions Del Tarrant, Sara Cortess and this is our resident pain Orac,” Vila declared. “If this junk heap’s done its job correctly, you should now be under our command.”
“Yes, Lord Vila,” the machine responded. Vila was initially taken aback by the title, but this was soon replaced by a wide, smug grin.
“What is your designation?” Tarrant asked.
“I am Quail,” the machine said. “Ready to serve you as required.”
“You can start by getting us out of here,” Tarrant barked.
“Understood. Please state location and velocity,” Quail replied.
Vila and Tarrant looked expectantly at Sara. “Dolos Minor,” she said. “Standard by seven.”
“Input has been recorded,” Quail replied. “Journey will commence now. Please be seated.”
They all sat down and the craft began to ascend.
“We’ll be on Dolos Minor before you know it,” Vila called to Sara. “Then we'll drive the Feds out, just you wait and see!”
Sara laughed. “Thank God for that!”
*
A Mutoid surveyed Arlen’s body. “Arlen is dead, sir. Direct hit on the right temple.”
“I never liked her much anyway,” her superior said, with little interest. “Contact control and get them to send a cleaning unit to GP. I want the whole place quarantined.”
He turned and looked toward the heavens with his single good eye, almost expecting to see Vila's face sneering down at him. “Run for your life, Vila,” Travis muttered. “The Federation will find you eventually.”
“Commander, what shall we do with Avon's people?” the Mutoid interrupted.
“Wake them up and put them on my ship,” Travis growled. “Vila will come and get them once he realises the troops only put the others to sleep. He'll try anything to get the gang back together - then we'll have him right where we want him.”
