by Tony Attwood
Terminal Computer remained silent. Vila looked at the massive array of contacts in front of him thoughtfully produced by Terminal Consortium. Sadly the Consortium members had not seen fit to provide indicators on most contacts to show what they were supposed to do, and he had already eliminated those which he knew how to work. Vila pushed a few points of light at random but nothing happened. On the screens the approach of the fourth set of ships continued. From nowhere and everywhere came sounds.
Vila’s hand was held in suspended animation midway through the air. He stopped breathing.
‘Vila!’
‘Shut up you drunken heap of junk,’ replied Vila, before thoughtfully telling Terminal Computer that the reference was to KAT and not him, or rather it, or rather...
Vila bent his head forward. There definitely was a noise. It seemed to come from the mainframe itself. On the screens a few of Servalan’s ships were turning away from the main fleet, moving to face the unknown column.
‘Vila!’ KAT was getting insistent. ‘Shut Terminal Computer down. Sir, shut it down now. Vila!’
Vila was entering a dream. Slightly outside his new vision was the sound of KAT urging him to do something. It seemed an effort; too much effort. Not worth considering at all. Perhaps if it were important KAT would talk again, but it looked as if KAT had given up the unequal fight... Better that way. No need to move...
12
Avon was summoned into an enquiry room. He was faced by a senior official wearing the gold and dark blue braid of the Administration’s financial division. Avon took a seat. The questioning was run of the mill, concerning the financial status of the planet Skat and the inevitable questions of residual rights to minerals, airspace, and the fact that the Federation retained the right to use up to forty percent of the planet’s surface for military purposes if the need arose. The Federation, it seemed, would choose which forty percent. Avon made up information about the other life forms on the planet, assured the unnamed official that it was all non-sentient, told him that there were no other planets in the area that were the slightest bit habitable, and that this was why, as their record books showed, the planet had been colonised some five hundred years before only to find itself unable to persuade others to come out and visit. They had not even known of the Federation until a short while ago, so lacking were they in basic technological equipment. Only when a broken-down Federation ship happened on them was the secret of interstellar flight rediscovered. And now the decision had been taken to rejoin the fold of mankind and end the isolation that had lasted on the planet for half a thousand years.
Avon enjoyed his speech. It was so very different from anything he would normally do, and he found himself rather good at it. He resisted the temptation to elaborate too much. It had to sound as if he had explained the story too many times before.
The official was bored. He pressed contacts and gave Avon his clearance to enter the Dome for the specific purpose of discussing trade relations and funding. ‘You will need to contact Finance-7,’ the official concluded. Avon feigned surprise. The guard yawned, took a final look at the screen in front of him (but hidden from Avon’s gaze) and then got up and left without a word. Avon moved to follow, but was beaten to the door by the entry of a more senior (or at least less bored) officer. He pushed Avon back to his chair with ill conceived disdain. ‘You are Morstern Jarno?’ asked the new official.
‘I am.’
‘Are you sure you have never been known by any other name?’
‘Quite sure.’
‘Like perhaps Kerr Avon?’
Avon pressed hard on the contact of the bracelet on his left wrist. On board the docked Revenge the battle stations command echoed through the empty ship.
Vila awoke slowly. Part of him felt as if it were suffering from the greatest hangover of all time. Another part felt refreshed and happy. The problem was he wasn’t sure which part was which. The thief rubbed the back of his neck, in case someone had hit him, but he found no bump. He looked up at the screens, and the sight that met his eyes brought him back to life. Most of the sky around the planet was now covered by space ships of varying shapes, sizes and allegiances. The tendency spotted by Terminal Computer before it had shut down had come to fruition. The first major battle of the Civil War was being fought in the skies above Vila’s head. Without thinking, Vila punched controls on Terminal Computer to bring some of the scenes into sharper focus, but nothing happened. He repeated the commands but to no avail.
‘Vila!’ It was KAT. ‘Sir, if I may be so bold, you should listen to me sometimes. Terminal Computer has been taken over by the sonic beams of Ghammar. Sir, it is totally dysfunctional. Fortunately the Ghamrnarans are exercising their forces over such a wide area that the signal is weaker than before. I was able to remove some of the controls prior to the power becoming too great.’
‘So what brought me round?’
‘The planet is now isolated from tarriel cell interference since all commands have to be passed through me.’
‘You mean you are running this planet?’
‘Alas no Sir, that is beyond my capacities although I am working on it. However I do control life support, security and that sort of thing.’
‘And can you also tell me what the Ghammarans are doing turning up in the middle of a battle between Servalan, the Federation’s Military Command and the Administration?’
‘Again, Sir, alas, no.’
‘Thank you for that simple answer.’
‘But I can tell you that the Ghammarans appear to have neutralised the ships of the opposing forces. They are working their way through the fleets now without resistance.’
‘Marvellous. The Galaxy is about to be overrun by people from the planet we just tricked out of a teleport device, I’m sitting here unable to move and Avon is down on Earth fiddling with the currency computer of an Administration that is about to cease to exist. I need a drink.’
‘No,’ said KAT to Vila’s total surprise.
‘What do you mean "no"? Since when did you become teetotal?’
‘Sir, I have always been able to restrain myself when the task in hand was more important than a drink or injection of other intoxicating substances. Look at the screens Sir.’
Avon stepped forward into the cell. If he realised the irony of his situation he didn’t show it. The last cell he had been held captive in had been on Gauda Prime and his warder had been Korell.
Avon checked the room carefully. The walls were whitewashed and otherwise bare. The door appeared to be a standard military treble-reinforced affair with a handprint lock which Vila would undoubtedly have been able to bypass, but was not something that Avon could solve. In the top right hand corner was an observation camera. Below it was the single piece of furniture – a hard bed. Avon sat down and waited.
Moments later four guards came to the cell, removed him with all the violence they could muster and pushed him down the brightly lit corridor past more cell doors into a reception room. By the time he arrived much of Avon’s anatomy was bruised, bleeding or both.
Sitting at an impressive desk facing the doorway was a senior official of the Administration wearing the arm decorations of an Official Interrogator. The woman looked across the desk at Avon, flanked by the guards. He was not invited to sit. A cruel smile played across her face. This, she knew, was going to be her day.
‘You are Kerr Avon, one of the ten most wanted men in the Federation.’ She announced the fact with ill concealed pride. She promised herself she was going to dine out on every moment of this interview for the rest of her life.
Avon had taken his decision in the cell. Denying the charge could only buy a small amount of time and a lot of pain, and that time would only be valuable if Korell was on her way, which he rather doubted. ‘You have me at a disadvantage,’ he said with a smile which hurt his lips.
‘That is how it is supposed to be,’ replied the Interrogator returning the smile. Beneath the hardness and ingrained violence the woman could onc
e have been attractive. Now the lines on her face showed only the enjoyment of inflicting pain.
Probably a psychopath thought Avon. He logged the thought. Even psychopaths have weaknesses.
‘You have come back to Earth, Kerr Avon. What was your plan? And don’t tell me it was to negotiate credits with Finance-7. Is it Blake? Where is he?’
‘Incorrect assumptions, Interrogator,’ replied Avon quickly. ‘The planet Skat exists and I am its official negotiator.’
‘Don’t play with me Avon. You may have tricked lesser mortals during your years on the run, but this time you’ve tried your luck too far. This is Earth, and this is the heart of the Administration, and I hold the rank of Senior Consultant Interrogator. You’ll get away with nothing here.’ Despite her speech the Interrogator was still enjoying herself. It was as if she wanted the interview to take a long time so that she could break him down. With care she could bring in not just Avon, but also Blake, Vila, Cally, Soolin –the whole lot of them. ‘I find it hard to believe,’ she continued, ‘that the almighty Avon, arch criminal with Blake, has now settled down to be financial advisor to a planet humbly taking its place within a Federation which he and Blake aimed to destroy.’
‘That, Interrogator, is a simplification of the truth which even the Administration ought not to make. I have used the planet as a base because I needed a base on which to work. However, and not for the first time, I have decided to come to your aid.’
‘And exactly how are you coming to my aid?’ The Interrogator had a half feeling that this was not the line that the questioning ought to be taking.
‘A major revolt is about to be started by Servalan...’
The Interrogator’s laugh made Avon pause. It was raucous – far louder than seemed possible from such a slight frame. ‘You are too late, Avon. You are losing your touch. Servalan has launched her attack.’
‘Then you have few moments left,’ Avon told her. ‘As soon as Servalan moves in the Ghammarans will counter attack, and they have a weapon which will disable everything you have.’
‘You are making it up Avon. Your crimes are clear. But this time you will not be sent to a penal colony. You will be put on display as a lesson to all the other malcontents. We’ll leave your brain functioning but suspend the rest of your miserable body in eternal animation. You’ll be a total cripple, Avon, moved from planet to planet to show off to all the other little men who grow too big and think they can take on the Administration. Now, enough nonsense. Where is Blake?’
‘Blake is dead,’ said Avon his temper rising, ‘And, before you get any further carried away with your own insanity, check the latest battle reports from the fleet, because I am the only person who knows how to counter the force of the Ghammarans and with me dead or out of action there is nothing to stop their total overthrow of the Administration and its precious Federation.’
The Interrogator sneered. ‘I’ve never heard of the Ghammarans. Avon, you do not seriously suggest...’
Something in Avon’s face made the Interrogator stop despite herself. She turned to a screen on her desk and pushed three contacts giving code messages in response to buzzes coming from the screen. She recognised the implications of her information at once.
‘Let us assume,’ she stated casually, ‘that there is something in what you say. What do you offer the Administration that will be of interest to it?’
‘Computer knowledge,’ said Avon simply.
The Interrogator laughed. ‘We have our own experts Avon,’ she said.
‘Then call them in,’ said Avon, ‘and let them evaluate the situation and my knowledge.’
A light flashed on the Interrogator’s desk. She pressed a contact, and the door slid open. Korell walked in, smiling as ever.
‘Defences,’ said Vila to himself. ‘That’s what we need. Armaments. And defences. And a force field. Terminal Computer.’ As he spoke he remembered the mainframe’s problem. He turned to KAT. ‘Do we have defences on this planet?’ he asked hopefully.
‘The planet is unarmed, but does have primitive shielding, anti-glare screens, quantra locking on all hatches...’ Vila stopped listening, groaned and sank back into his chair. KAT tried further reassurance. ‘The doors are all sealed, and there is nothing on the surface to suggest that the planet is occupied by anything other than the latest mutations. It is also still severely cold on the planet’s surface, which will make it impossible for anyone to travel more than the smallest distances. You should remain unharmed and safe as long as you do not venture onto the surface.’
‘Tell my heart that,’ said Vila. ‘It doesn’t seem to accept computer logic.’ He looked back at the screens in dismay. Ships from all fleets seemed to be constantly drifting closer. As he watched he saw one ship head too quickly towards the surface of Terminal and the subsequent vibration from the crash could be felt even deep in the interior. There was silence, until a second ship came down. This one seemed to be more under control, almost as if it were still being piloted down despite the loss of computer guidance. Even in his state of panic Vila could spare half a second of admiration for that sort of piloting.
As the ship manoeuvred towards the gloom of the planet’s surface Vila could make out its markings. It was an Administration ship, a ceremonial craft refurbished as a war cruiser by the look of things. The pilot appeared to have some sort of idea where he was heading as the ship glided gently through the thin atmosphere. But even the expert at the controls had difficulties at the last moment and the ship crashed, with a sickening thud, to a halt a few hundred yards away from the main air locks and entrance to the tunnels.
In the darkness Vila could just about make out the main air locks on the ship opening, and a single figure emerging. He had a slight limp.
‘Can’t we put some light on him?’ asked Vila.
‘Only if you wish to advertise your presence,’ replied KAT. ‘The animals will get him.’
And, as the machine spoke, Vila saw a tall grey figure appear from behind the ship. The object must have only recently evolved for Vila could not recall seeing anything quite like it before even on this forsaken planet. Something strange had happened to the creature. The two front legs were used for walking in a slow ponderous way, but the back legs appeared to reach over the body and act as grotesque arms ending in six long pointed fingers. The body itself was covered in a dark thick fur and in the gloom it was difficult to see where body ended and head began. But what there was no mistaking was the mouth. It was huge – half as large as the rest of the creature and alternatively snapping with vast teeth and lashing out with a giant red tongue. On top the ears merged with a vast pointed horn. The eyes too, evolved for the planet’s current dark climate, were huge – almost pulsating. Vila could feel the thuds as the creature made its way towards the hobbling stranger.
For once Vila had the start of what was almost an insight. ‘What made him leave his ship?’ he asked half to himself. KAT offered no opinion. ‘I mean it’s freezing cold out there, and there are the creatures – so why does he get out of his ship?’ Vila could have said (but he didn’t because the thought was too worrying to acknowledge) that it was almost as if the man knew where he was going. And where he was going was towards the main entry lock with the creature not far behind.
Handicapped by a limp and the cold the man’s progress was painfully slow, but it did take him to within a few feet of the secondary hatch which Avon had initially used to gain access to the underground passages of Terminal. On top of the hatch was one of the cameras that was used to keep an eye on the surface. As the man made it to within a few feet of the camera position the creature made its first attack – half shuffle, half hop, mouth open so wide it was possible to see the furrows on the bright red tongue and count the searing white teeth. The man turned at the last moment and pulled a weapon. The creature, shot in the mouth, reared backwards, its hind feet flapping in the air. As it fell one leg came down towards the man, lacerating him badly so that he fell onto the frozen ground und
er the impact.
As he fell Vila saw two things. One was a second creature emerging from the gloom. But that hardly seemed to register in his mind. What grabbed his attention and held him paralysed were the features of the man now desperately trying to pick himself up and resume his journey towards the entry bay. His hair was dark, slightly curly. His nose straight and firm, his eyes deep and piercing. It was a young face, hardened by experience – perhaps too much experience. Beneath the dirt and grime, the scratches and the blood Vila could not fail to recognise it. At the same time the man saw the camera, and caught its movements. He crawled across the hard ground and grabbed it. ‘For pity’s sake,’ he cried, ‘if there’s anyone down there, open up.’
Vila reached across and touched the control mechanism. Half a mile above him, the service hatch opened. For the moment that was all he could do. There was no microphone up to the surface to allow him to communicate with the barely moving form. Either he would see the entrance, have enough strength to climb into the hatchway and take his chance or the second creature would get him. Vila could only watch.
Slowly, painfully, the man half rose. He saw the opening and crawled towards it. With an enormous effort he pulled himself upright on the lid of the hatch and began to climb over. He looked up at the second creature, saw it and fired a shot. But his aim was poor and he merely succeeded in wounding the creature. The man got his legs over into the shaft, but seemed unable to start lowering himself down the ladder. Bleakly he kept peering at the frightening manifestation that was once more coming at him. Vila touched the controls. The lid of the shaft came down, forcing the man to lower his head, and trapping the pointed fingers of the creature’s rear legs. Vila waited and listened for a moment. Either the man had hung on and was now slowly making the climb down the shaft or else he had let go and by now would be lying dead at the bottom of the pit. At least, thought Vila, it was probably a better way to die.
‘Avon certainly does know about the Ghammarans, and he also knows that the only way to overcome their power is to bypass the tarriel cells.’ Korell spoke as if nothing had changed. Her voice and her manner were all as they had always been.