Garran and Norton irritated her too. Garran was ex-Space Command – he’d been injured out of service and transferred to Civil Administration. He was an experienced pilot but now he was old and overweight after too many years spent in a soft job flying trawlers around the galaxy.
Norton, on the other hand, was a genuine failure; he hadn’t made it into Space Command because of a medical weakness, and he resented the military because of it. He also resented Zola, because he was jealous of her youth and ambition. Zola needed to log five hundred hours’ space flight before she could apply for a transfer to Space Command. She had well over four hundred hours in the Administration’s civil space service under her belt so there wasn’t long to go now.
‘Anyway,’ Norton was saying, ‘the Kylon system is a good run for us. We’ve done it before, Garran and me. Should be fun.’
‘Fun?’ Zola repeated doubtfully. ‘It’s a week-long straight line through hyperspace. There’s nothing remotely fun about it.’
‘Well, we’ll see. Whatever happens, it’s better to be up here in the comfy seats than back there, eh?’ Norton jabbed a thumb aft towards the prison pods.
‘Let’s take a look,’ said Garran, activating a monitor screen. ‘I like to know our little sheep are all safely in their pens.’
*
The camera moved slightly and Zake noticed.
He tapped his sister’s arm and nodded towards the camera. ‘They’re checking on us again, Drena.’
‘Really?’ She barely glanced up. ‘Nothing better to do, I suppose.’
‘Where do they think we’re gonna go?’ Zake wondered. ‘The toilet?’
Drena shrugged. ‘Nothing better to do.’
They laughed at this and some of the other prisoners turned to look at them. There were twenty men and women in Pod Four, all of them Delta-Grade convicts bound for the penal planet K5. There was precious little to laugh about. Some of the stares were envious, others curious, but most were simply vacant. Drena had told Zake that the pacification drugs the Federation used on Delta-Grade citizens on a regular basis could do lasting damage to some people.
‘Not us, though,’ Zake had said. ‘We were strong, weren’t we? Mentally, I mean. We resisted! They won’t turn us into a pair of brainless idiots, will they?’
‘Oh no,’ Drena agreed. ‘We’re fully compos mentis. We’ll really be able to appreciate K5 when we get there.’ Zake’s face fell as the irony took hold, and she sighed. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll be all right.’
‘Yeah. We look out for each other, don’t we, Drena?’
Drena smiled sadly. ‘Yeah.’
A shadow fell over them as one of the two guards stationed in the pod strolled along the raised gangway that ran down the centre of the hold. ‘Oi,’ the guard said. ‘Shut the hell up. I like a nice quiet pod. No chit-chat, got it?’
The guard’s blaster was slung over his shoulder, almost nonchalantly, but there was no mistaking the hint of steel in the man’s voice. Not even the black skull-like respirator helmet could mask it.
‘Sorry, sir,’ said Zake, looking down at his feet.
The trooper unhooked his gun and levelled it at Zake’s head. ‘You being sarcastic with me?’
‘He wouldn’t dream of it, sir,’ said Drena quickly. She knew this could get ugly if she didn’t intervene. ‘Zake knows better than that. Don’t you, Zake?’
Zake nodded glumly.
‘That’s better.’ The trooper shouldered the blaster and then reached up with his free hand to remove his helmet. The face beneath was fleshy and pale, the grin unpleasant. ‘You’re a pathetic specimen. Call yourself a criminal? Where’s your backbone?’
‘We’re not criminals,’ Drena said quietly. ‘We haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘You broke the law, Drena. That’s wrong.’
‘That is a matter of opinion.’
The trooper sucked in a breath and squatted down so that he was closer to where Drena sat in the pen. ‘No, Drena, love, it’s a matter of fact. Computer found you guilty. You were charged and sentenced. You can call it opinion if you like, but you and your brother are on your way to K5 without a return ticket.’
The guard sniggered at his own joke, and looked to his comrade for support. The other trooper was at the back of the pod, leaning against the bulkhead wall. The lenses of the respirator mask stared back, cold and impassive.
‘You haven’t met Drena, have you?’ the guard said as he straightened up. Some of the other prisoners dared to look up at him from the pen, but he didn’t seem to mind. He probably appreciated an audience. ‘She’s quite the celebrity, aren’t you, Drena?’
Drena kept her head down.
‘Drena was a neurosurgeon,’ continued the trooper, a little louder now so that the whole pod could hear. ‘She was pretty good, by all accounts. But she tried to be a little too clever. Thought she could make changes to a person’s brain that would stop them being good citizens…’
‘The intention was to reduce their susceptibility to pacification drugs,’ Drena corrected him quietly.
The trooper ignored her. ‘Thought she could start a revolution…’
‘No, I didn’t. It was just an experiment.’
‘Started experimenting on kids…’
‘I only ever operated on adult volunteers.’
‘Until it all went wrong…’
At this Drena looked up, and there was hate in her eyes. The trooper saw it and smiled. ‘Drena was betrayed by her own father – isn’t that right, Drena?’ When he received no reply, the guard went on: ‘At least he was a good citizen. At least he knew right from wrong. But then, I suppose, that was just his opinion… Right, Drena?’
‘Go to hell.’
‘Caught you tampering with your brother’s brain, didn’t he?’ the guard sneered. ‘You’ve never been the same since, have you, Zakey-boy?’
‘I said go to hell,’ Drena repeated.
‘What does he mean, Drena?’ Zake asked.
‘Take no notice, Zake.’
The trooper looked straight back into Drena’s furious glare. ‘You were busted down to a Delta Grade and shipped out to K5 along with your brain-damaged brother. So you’re the one going to hell, my love.’
‘Leave her alone,’ said Zake. ‘She’s done nothing wrong.’
‘Shut it,’ said the trooper. ‘I’d stamp my bootprint onto your face, Zake, if I could be bothered.’
‘The camera is on you.’ Zake nodded at the lens as it turned to focus on the trooper. ‘They would see if you hurt us.’
The trooper laughed. ‘You think they’d care?’
‘We’re not doing you any harm,’ Zake insisted.
‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ the trooper sneered. ‘Your problem is that you’ve got too big a mouth on you, Zake. Just like your sister. Trouble is, you ain’t got her brains – or her balls.’
THREE
The York powered away from Earth’s solar system and Garran relinquished control to the autopilot. The flight computers took care of almost everything once the ship made interstellar speed.
‘Time Distort Four,’ announced Norton from his navigation post. He checked a monitor and confirmed the ship’s relative speed with a satisfied grunt. ‘Not bad for an old tug like this.’
Zola refused to rise to the bait. She’d done her research before signing on board. The York was solid, dependable and cheap to run. Exactly the sort of spaceship the Federation liked to use for these mundane jobs. A trio of powerful, deep-core fusion engines hummed like a nest of angry hornets somewhere below the flight cabin. Zola could feel the comforting, old-fashioned vibration through her boots.
‘I’m still not happy with the camera in Pod One,’ Zola said, flicking through a series of images on her console. ‘Two, Three and Four are okay. But Pod One’s cam is definitely faulty.’ She toggled a switch impatiently, but the picture on the screen refused to change. There was nothing but static. Pod One was directly behind the transport ship, the first in
line. It worried her.
‘What do you expect?’ Norton asked. ‘It’s old equipment on a prison ship. It’s bound to go on the blink now and again.’
Zola frowned. ‘It’s not right. The cameras are all cycling through their images – except Pod One.’
‘Don’t sweat it. It’s not like the cargo can go anywhere, is it?’
‘I know, but –’
‘And besides, there are two armed troopers on guard in each pod. There’s not going to be any trouble. Just relax.’
Garran yawned and stretched. ‘Norton’s right. We’re on autopilot for the next couple of hours. Get some kip.’
‘Well, that’s another thing…’ Zola said with a frown.
Garran was starting to get irritated. ‘What is it now?’
‘Well, by my calculations we should be crossing through the Tarrion Nebula about now – if we were on a direct course for the Kylon system.’ Zola glanced up at Norton and Garran and registered their stony looks. Undeterred, she ploughed on: ‘Only according to these charts, we’re a couple of light years off course…’
Norton regarded her coolly. ‘Your point being…?’
‘Well, I thought we were heading for the Kylon system. Those were our orders.’
‘And we’re following them. We’re heading for the Kylon system – only we’re taking a short cut.’
‘A short cut?’
‘It’s simple,’ smiled Norton. ‘It’s a five-day round trip, usually – if we use the prescribed space lanes and the registered speed.’
‘And if we don’t?’ Zola asked.
‘If we push the York up to Time Distort Six, and take a detour through the Antares system, we can use the heavy-flux gravity well around the super gas giant to slingshot us the rest of the way to the Kylon system. We get there two days early.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘No it’s not. We’ve done it before, haven’t we, Garran?
Norton’s appeal was met by the older pilot scratching his moustache and muttering, ‘Once or twice, yes.’
‘Loads of times,’ Norton corrected. ‘It’s perfectly possible.’
‘I know it’s possible,’ Zola argued. ‘I’m not stupid. But you must be, diverting from a pre-programmed flight plan like that. What if something went wrong?’
‘What could go wrong?’ Norton looked genuinely shocked at the thought. ‘We’re ferrying a bunch of low-grade convicts to a prison planet. It’s hardly war manoeuvres with the Galactic Twelfth Fleet, is it?’
Zola let out an exasperated gasp and turned to Garran. ‘You can’t agree to this, can you? You’re the senior officer.’
Garran pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘The way I see it, Zola, is this: the Kylon system is a straightforward run, like Norton says. A very straightforward run, if truth be told. We’ve done it quite a few times now. It can get a little dull, to be honest. A pair of robots could do this job. Or mutoids.’ Garran heaved a sigh and tapped the flight controls regretfully. ‘It’s not doing anyone any harm, after all, if we take a little detour.’
Zola sagged back in her seat, unable to believe what she was hearing. ‘But you’re Federation officers,’ she said accusingly. ‘You should be following Federation orders.’
‘And our orders are to take these four pods full of prisoners to the Kylon system,’ Norton agreed. ‘We’re not disobeying those orders, Zola. We wouldn’t dream of it.’
‘But you’re given a flight program by Federation Space Command.’
‘Well, we like to think of it as more of a guide than a program,’ Garran said, with a smile that just failed to reach his eyes. ‘The start and end points are just the same.’
‘Relax, Zola,’ Norton implored her. ‘You’ll spoil everything if you get uptight about it. And you never know, you might enjoy it…’
Zola folded her arms. ‘Enjoy what?’
‘With the extra two days the slingshot gives us, we have time to stop off overnight at Space City.’
Zola gaped. ‘Space City?’
Norton sat back and closed his eyes dreamily. ‘The Satellite of Sin…’
‘But everyone knows Space City is run by criminals! The Terra Nostra –’
‘It’s not as bad as it sounds,’ Garran said. ‘Good hospitality, a few games, maybe a show. There are lots of perfectly legitimate leisure outlets there. And it’s only one night – then straight back to Earth in the morning. No-one is any the wiser.’
‘But the flight computer,’ objected Zola. ‘The trip will be recorded in the data bank – an unauthorised course deviation. Space Command will know where you’ve been.’
‘Oh, there’s a way round that,’ said Norton casually. ‘I’ve got a scrambler chip. We fuse the flight recorder. They’re always going wrong anyway on these old tugs, so no-one’s surprised if the data’s corrupted when they do a random check.’
‘I really don’t like the sound of this...’
‘It might do you good,’ Garran said. ‘Let your hair down a bit. Have some fun.’
‘I didn’t join the Civil Administration to have fun,’ Zola told him crossly.
‘Does anyone?’ asked Norton.
The navigation console bleeped a warning and Norton touched the controls. ‘We’re entering the outer lunar orbit of the planet Zotral.’
Automatically, Zola turned to examine the instruments on her own station, where a number of lights were flashing. ‘Gravitic field compensators are coming online.’
‘Cancel them,’ Norton ordered. ‘It’s the erratic gravity flux around Zotral. It’s a super-dense gas giant. We’ll need to fly in close without compensators to get the slingshot effect.’
‘We shouldn’t be doing this,’ Zola argued.
‘And yet,’ said Garran as he released the autopilot and took the York’s flight controls into his own care, ‘we are.’
FOUR
‘INFORMATION,’ announced Zen. The computer’s impartial tones resonated around the flight deck. All heads turned to look at the strange, convex screen that was Zen’s interface with the crew. Blocks of glowing filaments pulsated in time with the computer’s voice. ‘LONG-RANGE DETECTORS INDICATE FEDERATION VESSEL AT TWO THOUSAND SPACIALS.’
‘On screen now,’ said Jenna, touching a control.
The forward viewer expanded to show a large volume of space littered with stars. A bright dot streaked across the void, heading towards a ringed planet.
‘That must be the Federation ship,’ said Cally, checking her flight station for confirmation. ‘It’s too far away to identify.’
‘Where are we, exactly?’ asked Vila.
‘Deep in the Antares system,’ replied Blake. ‘About five hundred and fifty light years from Earth.’
‘Three G-type main sequence stars, one red supergiant and a handful of planets,’ Avon said. He was checking the data as it streamed across his own flight station. ‘That planet is the largest, a gas giant, designated Z77 according to Federation stellar charts. Otherwise known as Zotral.’
Vila curled his lip. ‘Zotral? Doesn’t sound very friendly.’
‘It probably isn’t. According to Federation records, Zotral’s ice moon was completely destroyed after being hit by a rogue supercomet. All that remains of the moon is that ring – an accretion torus of highly radioactive rock and ice.’
‘I’ve already crossed it off my holiday list,’ Vila said. ‘So why are we here?’
‘And what’s all this about a Federation ship?’ asked Gan as he came on to the flight deck.
‘Good morning, Gan,’ said Blake. ‘You’re just in time. Jenna, set an intercept course for that Federation ship, speed Standard by two, but keep out of its sensor range.’
Jenna’s hands flew expertly over the flight controls and the Liberator’s engines responded with a subtle change in pitch. Standard by two was barely a jog, but Jenna loved flying the ship manually and Blake was indulging her.
‘You’re in a good mood,’ acknowledged Gan as he stepped up to his elevated con
trol station at the rear of the flight deck. ‘Have I missed something?’
‘Only Avon threatening to blow Blake’s brains out,’ replied Vila. ‘You should’ve been here. It was hilarious. Especially the bit where he pointed the gun at me.’
Gan looked puzzled, and Cally cast a disapproving glance towards Avon. ‘They were testing to see if the Liberator guns will function against the crew.’
Avon raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought you, Cally, would be interested in particular. We already know the guns have an isomorphic link with the ship – they become individualised to the user. We were merely trying to establish to what extent that was true.’
‘An unnecessary risk!’
‘And yet strangely irresistible.’
‘INFORMATION,’ said Zen. ‘FEDERATION VESSEL NOW AT ONE THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED SPACIALS.’
Jenna checked her controls. ‘Easing down to Standard by one. We’re matching them. Don’t want to get too close – yet.’
Instinctively, all eyes had turned back to the viewer. In the foreground was a small, dark shape just visible against the pale lustre of the gas giant beyond. The planet itself now dominated the image, the rings cutting a great arc across space.
Blake stood up and regarded the image intently. ‘Zen, are we safely out of sensor range?’
‘CONFIRMED.’
‘Good, let’s keep it that way. Keep monitoring them for any kind of scanning activity. I want to know the moment they realise we’re here. Jenna, continue to match speed and trajectory.’
‘All right,’ said Gan. ‘Is anyone going to tell me what that ship is?’
‘Zen, magnify image.’ At Blake’s command, the viewer instantly zoomed in on the ship. As Zen refined the image to show that the vessel consisted of four modules towed by a stubby, bullet-shaped craft, all shedding the glittering energy trails common to supralight speeds.
‘The ship is a class three transporter on its way to the Kylon system,’ said Blake. ‘The pods are modified O-line cargo modules. Four of them. Starting at Pod One, right behind the towing ship, going back through Pod Two, Pod Three and – at the very end – Pod Four.’
Blake's 7: Criminal Intent Page 2