Zoe and River made their way silently and rapidly through the darkened concrete stairwells and utility tunnels of the stadium, heavily armed, searching for the main ventilation access panel and hoping to avoid any wandering security and maintenance personnel. The unused areas of the massive coliseum felt strangely peaceful.

Zoe checked the tiny communicator in her ear for the ninth time, all too aware of the million things that could go wrong with their shaky rescue plan. She noticed she could no longer hear River's footsteps behind her, and turned. River was standing with her body pressed against a huge metal panel in the wall of the arena, her hands exploring it as though it was an animate object.

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River's eyes closed as she listened and felt the music streaming through her body. A woman's voice, the music peaceful and sad, but somehow uplifting and comforting all at once. The words a blur, irrelevant.

She saw a vast arena, the thousands of people in the audience barely skimming her consciousness. Carpeted floors....maroon carpet with a gold pattern. Blood won't show. A bizarre attempt to distract from the brutality of the spectacle. Patterns, pictures flowing through her mind with the music. An image fades into view, distant, hazy, unmistakable. She gave a low moan, her body shaking at their pain, her eyes closing, the image refusing go away.

The woman's voice was low and soft, comforting her as her gaze flowed upwards to the head and chest of a familiar figure, a friend. Rumpled blond hair, cheerful, kind face. Wash. Unconscious, his head limp. Tears formed in her eyes, yet she relaxed as the vision played in front of her, showing an oddly contented expression on the young pilot's face. Somehow, he was at peace. She felt the urge to wrap him in her arms, to hold him and shelter him.

Knees. What were they doing there? The very edge of a burly arm. Angry. Hurt. Anger covering for fear. Can't see him, but