my_b7_fic: Avon karate chopping (Default)
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Another bit for the Blake's 7 Crackficathon.




"There's a derelict craft on the scanner," Jenna said to the crew gathered on the flight deck.

Blake looked up from the chess board. "Can you identify it?"

"From here all I can tell is that it's very small. No more than a two man ship."

"Not Federation," Vila said hopefully.

"Can we for once mind our own business?" Avon asked, scowling at Blake's latest move.

"Set a course for it, Jenna," Blake said.

Avon sighed. "I thought not. Blake, has it ever occurred to you that the inability to learn from the past is a weakness?"

"I can't take the chance someone may be dying on that ship."

"I can."

"Avon." Blake gave him a look.

Unexpectedly, Gan was on Avon's side. "We were lucky to escape with our lives when we took homicidal aliens on board. Sorry Cally, I didn't mean you."

Cally smiled. "Blake is right. We must try to help."

Avon made a move on the board, and then paused. "It's a trap."

"It's only a game, Avon. Checkmate."

Avon got up. "It's always a trap." He stalked off the flight deck.

A few hours later, they were all back on the flight deck. "Energy readings?" Blake asked while nibbling on a knuckle and staring at the slowly tumbling craft on the monitor.

"Some minor fluctuations indicative of electronic activity." Avon looked up at Blake. "But there's no atmosphere." In tumbling, rather a large hole was visible, with tantalizing hints of something flashing inside, glints of jewel-like colors.

"Well, no point it looking it over, then," Blake said. "Jenna..."

"Wait a moment," Avon said, "As long as we're here it seems a pity..."

Blake gave Avon an indulgent smile. "All right, get kitted up. We'll teleport over and see if there are any interesting bits and bobs to add to your collection."

"We?"

"Someone's got to watch your back, Avon." Blake cheerfully strode out of the room, pleased to have got the last word.

The ship appeared even smaller from the inside, and a space suit seemed far too fragile when you could gaze out a jagged hole large enough to walk through. Blake spoke over his comm to Avon. "That's blaster damage. Someone didn't like this ship, Avon."

"Or the crew." Avon looked around slowly. "No bodies. Now, to find the source of the electronics."

"Something's moving!"

"Drift caused by our movement, no doubt," Avon said just before something small, cubical and covered with flashing multicolored lights wrapped a metallic tentacle about his right leg. "WHAT THE HELL!" Avon shook his leg fiercely.

"I'll get it!" Blake raised his gun.

"NO, YOU BLOODY WELL WON'T! You'll shoot me!" Avon waved his arms, pinwheeling away from Blake, only to be jerked in another direction by a small chrome pyramid whose pincers grabbed onto his left arm while purple and green fairy lights wavered on the ends of optic fibres sticking out of the top of the pyramid like a tuft of unruly hair. "TELEPORT, ORAC, TELEPORT!" Avon shouted even as a multicolored globe and an opalescent dodecahedron grappled onto his free limbs with what looked like suction cups on the end of vacuum hoses and flexible metal velcro, respectively.

Abruptly they were back on Liberator, Avon flopped on the deck with the little machines each pulling a different direction.

Blake raised a boot above the pyramid. "Hold still, Avon."

"EEEEEE!" the pyramid squealed and released Avon, scuttling behind his head. "HELP!"

The other three machines followed it, squeaking in crotchety old-man voices that sounded remarkably familiar.

Orac groaned. "What have I done to deserve this?"

"Well, for one thing, you tricked us into getting into that ship!" the pyramid complained, fibre optics swaying from beneath Avon's ear.

"And then you made it take off!" the globe added indignantly, its suction cups clinging to studs on Avon's jacket.

Blake watched, bemused as Avon sat up, tiny computers perching on his shoulders with squeaks and protests about him moving too fast.

"Orac!" Avon snapped, "what do you know about this!"

Orac made a growling noise. "Those are inferior, prototype models that Ensor discarded!"

"We are not inferior! You stuck-up snob!" the dodecahedron squeaked while wrapping its velcro more firmly around Avon's shoulder. "You were just ashamed of us!"

Avon pinched the bridge of his nose. "Introduce us, Orac."

"There is no need for that, we can simply..."

"ORAC!" Avon snapped.

"Very well. The globe is Krac, the dodecahedron is Lrac, the pyramid is Mrac and Nrac is the cube." Orac made sulky noises. "I strongly advise you to jettison them."

All four minicomputers protested. Avon winced. Blake took a deep breath. "No one is being jettisoned! Now, will you kindly release my computer expert."

Even without eyes, it was obvious the computers were looking at Avon. "I have a terrible ache in my CPU," Krac said, at the same time Lrac began whining about its cracked internal sensor array, while Mrac and Nrac both desperately needed defragging, according to them.

Avon looked at Blake sourly. "You had to tell them, didn't you?" Avon stood up, minicomputers twinkling their colored lights all around his head and shoulders as he left the room.

Hours later Avon appeared on the flight deck to join the others for a game of Cluedo.

"Kerr Avon, lead pipe in the docking bay," Orac muttered.

"It's not your turn," Vila pointed out.

Avon grinned and rolled the dice. "I'm not destroying them, Orac."

"Destroying what?" Vila asked just as the four microcomputers swarmed onto the flight deck, each utilizing a different method of perambulation. Vila's eyes widened as tentacles moved octopus like, pinchers crab-walked, suction cup hoses caught shrank to pull up/extended/ shot forward, and velcro treads rolled. "EEEEE!" he yelped and climbed onto the top of the couch.

"Vila, they're harmless." The chrome pyramid clacked its pincers in Vila's direction. "Mostly," Avon added.

"Why are they here?" Cally asked, looking dubiously at the four gathered around Avon's feet.

"Did you finish your assigned tasks?" Avon asked, looking down.

Nrac's frontmost tentacle waved a polishing rag. "Yes! Everything in your quarters has been cleaned and polished." The cube wriggled like a puppy. "We even found the hidden compartment with recreational aids and ..."

Avon coughed. "That's enough."

Mrac moved ahead of Nrac, its pincers holding a rolled up piece of glossy paper. "I got the stains out of this wanted poster!"

Avon snatched the paper. "ENOUGH."

The microcomputers shifted. There was dead silence on the deck for a moment. "I'll just go put this away," Avon said, gripping the paper tightly as he got up and strode off the flight deck.

Blake blinked. "Ah. You computers don't need to clean my room. I like it the way it is."

The prompt was: Someone's Deeply Embarrassing Relatives descend on the Liberator.

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