Alpha checked the controls on the casket’s side panel. One of the lights was flashing red, indicating a malfunction. For a few seconds Alpha considered the possibility that the mutoid had simply lapsed into a fully dormant state. If that was indeed the case, then its brain-processor cortex would be too badly damaged to make further attempts at revival worthwhile. Alpha dismissed the dead mutoid and walked back to the steps which led up from the hatchway to the pod. The other mutoids followed her silently.
*
On the way out of the storage hold Alpha collected a sealed transparent jar.
‘Only three?’ asked Kilus Kroe as Alpha led the mutoids out of the hold.
‘One of the stasis units has a malfunction,’ said Alpha. ‘The occupant is inert.’
‘All right. Five of you will be more than enough, anyway.’
‘There is also this,’ Alpha said, handing Kroe the transparent jar.
‘Ahh…’ Kroe held the jar up and examined the contents. Dark things moved inside the vessel, unnatural things. He shivered with pleasure. ‘You remembered the biovores.’
‘You gave us orders to bring them,’ Alpha said.
Kroe nodded. ‘Of course.’ He placed the jar very carefully on top of an instrument panel at the side of the pod. He took great care that the jar was not near the edge. As he left it, the dark things writhed madly inside. ‘There. I think we’re all set now.’
The mutoid designated Beta was handing autoblasters to each of the newly activated mutoids. They checked the weapons and cocked them for firing.
*
‘Something’s definitely up in Pod One,’ said Zola.
‘How would you know?’ Norton asked. ‘The camera isn’t working.’
‘None of the cameras are working in any of the pods,’ Zola snapped. ‘But they never worked in Pod One, presumably because we weren’t supposed to be able to spy on Kroe.’
‘So…?’
‘There’s been a power drain from the stasis chargers,’ Zola explained, indicating the controls console before her where several panels and gauges were glowing brightly. ‘I’ve traced it back to Pod One.’
Garran frowned. ‘Stasis fields for the pods weren’t due to be switched on until we cleared Zotral.’
‘This isn’t for the pod stasis fields. It’s for something else. It’s routed through the main engine stack.’
‘So what are you suggesting, Zola?’
She looked at both of her superior officers in turn and spoke as confidently as she could manage. ‘I’m starting to realise that a detour to Space City was the least of my worries. We’re effectively blind with no communications. We’ve come under fire from an unknown vessel and we have a top secret Category A-Zed prisoner in the pod right behind us. Now some kind of stasis charge has kicked in and the readings here would indicate that it’s not something being put into stasis.’
‘Meaning?’ asked Norton.
‘Something’s being taken out of stasis,’ Garran said. He was now looking pale and sweaty. Zola guessed the old man had never expected this kind of complication in a million years.
‘So I ask again,’ said Norton, ‘what are you suggesting we do? Seems to me we’re stuck here for now.’
‘I’m going to take a look myself,’ Zola announced, getting up from her seat.
‘What? How?’
‘She means the engine stacks,’ Garran said.
Zola made her way to the back of the flight cabin. It wasn’t very big, and the airlock at the rear that led to Pod One was narrow. But she ignored the airlock, and knelt instead by a small access hatch on the floor.
‘That’s an inspection hatch leading down to the engine stacks,’ Garran explained. ‘As you would’ve known if you’d bothered to familiarise yourself with the ship specs.’
Norton stiffened beneath the withering glare. ‘How was I to know we’d need access to the engine stacks?’
Zola was unscrewing the locks on either side of the hatch. ‘Just an old space tug, eh, Norton?’
‘What’s the point of looking at the engine stacks? I doubt even you could fix them.’
‘Get past the main stack and you’re by the propulsor units,’ said Garran. ‘Squeeze past them and you have one small hatch to get through to the storage unit beneath Pod One. The pods are connected above and below the floor deck.’
The hatch slid open and Zola looked down into the cold, dark space beneath. She hesitated.
‘You’re mad,’ said Norton.
Zola shot him a black look. ‘Because I want to try to find out what’s happening back there?’
‘No,’ said Norton, getting out of his seat and moving aft to join her. ‘You’re mad if you think I’m going to let you go down there.’
‘Well, tough, I’m going.’
‘You’re still a Federation officer,’ said Norton tightly, ‘and therefore you’ll follow orders. Now stand up and get out of the way. I’ll go.’ Zola looked at Garran, who pursed his lips. ‘It’s no good looking at me, Zola. Orders are orders.’ Norton had drawn the little blaster pistol he had brandished earlier. ‘We don’t know what’s going on down there. I’ll check first and then report back.’
Zola glanced back down at the black hole. ‘Well, if you’re sure...’
‘It’s nothing to do with whether I’m sure,’ Norton said. ‘It’s what’s right. Now move.’
FIFTEEN
Norton fumbled for his belt communicator and activated the torch it contained. A dim circle of light appeared before him, spilling over the narrow bulkhead walls and the engine buffers. Above him, Garran and Zola peered down from the flight cabin. ‘Stop dithering and get a move on,’ urged the captain.
‘It’s a bit tight down here, actually,’ Norton called back. ‘Some heavy machinery. I think it’s the old emergency flight seat release system. It’s right under the pilot’s seat – bloody useless.’ He strained to keep the irritation – and fear – out of his voice. He wasn’t a small man and there was very little room to move.
‘Never mind that,’ said Zola. ‘It’s bound to be cramped down there. It’s only meant for emergency access. I’ll go if you like; I’m smaller.’
‘No thanks,’ said Norton, edging forward. ‘I can manage.’
It was very warm and he could feel his skin prickling with sweat. Without allowing himself any time to change his mind, Norton crept forward, squeezing past the buffer units until he was level with the engine stacks themselves. Even though the powerful Jurgens-Heckard propulsion units were offline, there was a steady, deep hum of power vibrating the machinery all around him. It was much hotter here and the sweat was soon running down his face.
His torchlight probed further into the darkness, picking out a section of access controls and then, beyond those, a very narrow gap between a pair of massive power couplings and the bulkhead. Norton took a deep breath. He didn’t like confined spaces, but it would be a mistake to let Zola attempt it. For one thing, he was her senior officer and he had to be seen to take the initiative. And for another thing, he couldn’t allow her to take all the credit if the idea worked out well. He had his career to think of, after all.
He wiped the perspiration from his eyes and pushed on, turning sideways to squeeze between the bulkhead wall and the coupling units. He hit a snag when he had to make an awkward right-angled turn past the sealant foam tanks. Norton had very little faith in these. The cylinders contained quick-solidifying foam that would be injected into the cavity between the bulkhead wall and the outer hull of the York if the latter should be punctured. This was supposed to prevent catastrophic depressurisation of the spacecraft in the event of a stray meteor overriding the force shields and tearing a hole in the hull. Norton doubted it would work.
But the faint possibility of the process being put to the test was the least of Norton’s concerns now. Forcing himself into the darkness beyond the sealant tanks, he found the connecting sub-airlock to Pod One. He raised the communicator to his lips and, for no reason he could really thin
k of, whispered carefully into the transmitter. ‘I’ve reached the pod. I’m about to go through to the storage hold beneath Pod One.’
‘Go on, then, lad,’ Garran’s voice replied. ‘And get a move on.’
‘That’s easy for you to say,’ muttered Norton, activating the airlock. It hissed open and he crawled awkwardly through the narrow access tunnel. ‘There’s barely enough room to breathe down here.’
He felt the temperature suddenly drop as he emerged into the storage space beneath Pod One. The perspiration cooled on his face and a tremor passed through his whole body as the moisture turned icy beneath his uniform. Suddenly, the dampness of the material was clammy, like a chilly hand pressing against his skin.
He aimed his communicator light into the gloom ahead. This was a much bigger space, containing a series of long, low caskets beneath a ceiling festooned with power cables and wiring. A narrow central walkway ran between the units.
Cautiously Norton got to his feet. There wasn’t quite enough room for him to stand up straight. He bent awkwardly over the first casket, which was some kind of stasis unit by the looks of the control panel on its side.
He swept his torch quickly around the remainder of the storage area but could see nothing and no-one else. Despite this Norton could not shake the feeling he wasn’t alone.
‘Found anything?’ Garran’s voice crackled loudly in the confined space and Norton nearly dropped the communicator in fright.
‘Nothing,’ Norton’s voice hissed back over the communicator held in Garran’s hand. ‘Just stasis units, all empty.’
Garran looked up at Zola and shrugged. Zola said, ‘Stasis units would explain the power surge. But there must be something in them.’
‘Are you sure the units are empty?’ Garran asked over the transceiver.
Norton’s voice came back hot with impatience: ‘Yes!’
‘What? Nothing in them at all?’
‘I’ve checked all four. Each one is empty. They’re fully functional, though. What’s the point of that?’ There was a momentary buzz of static and then Norton continued: ‘Wait a second. There is something down here. I saw something move...’
‘What? What is it?’ Garran asked.
‘Hang on. It’s down in the shadows at the back of the unit…’
‘I don’t like this,’ said Zola. She could feel the skin crawling on the back of her neck for some reason, as if all the things that had gone wrong with her day so far were about to pale into insignificance.
‘I think there’s someone down here,’ said Norton’s voice over the communicator. He sounded unsure, worried, a real note of apprehension in his voice that did nothing to help Zola’s nerves.
‘Norton, be careful.’
‘Who is it, lad?’ asked Garran.
‘It’s –’ began Norton, and then his voice was suddenly cut off by a rush of movement.
Garran and Zola looked at each other. ‘Norton?’
The screech that came over the communicator was so sudden and so loud that Garran jerked it away from his ear with a shocked curse. The noise, distorted by the speaker, turned into a wretched sob and then more frantic scuffling.
Zola moved towards the hatch at the back of the cabin. ‘He’s in trouble, I’m going to help!’
‘Wait right there,’ Garran ordered with such sudden authority that Zola halted in mid-step. ‘We don’t know what’s happened. It could be anything!’
Zola looked incredulous, but before she could speak, the communicator sounded again. This time Norton’s voice, ragged and desperate: ‘Open the hatch! Open the hatch!’
Instinctively Zola pulled the hatch open and looked down into the access area. Norton was at the bottom, on his hands and knees, scrabbling to get up. His face was white and wide-eyed in terror.
‘Norton!’
Garran thrust his hand down into the hatchway to help the co-pilot up. But just as Norton reached up, he was suddenly dragged back down with such ferocity that his head banged loudly on the deck plate below.
A dark figure swarmed over him and dipped its head like an animal about to feed.
‘Norton!’ Zola screamed.
The dark figure froze. A pale face beneath a misshapen black headpiece looked up at Garran and Zola. The eyes blazed darkly in recessed sockets, and the mouth was a bright scarlet smear of glistening blood.
Zola caught one brief glimpse of Norton lying on his back with his throat torn completely out, blood gushing from the wound, before Garran pushed her aside and slammed the hatch shut with a resounding clang.
‘What – what was that?’ Zola gasped.
‘Mutoid,’ said Garran tersely. He quickly screwed the locking nuts down on either side of the trapdoor. ‘Vampire drones used by Space Command. They feed on blood. Looks like that one’s gone rogue.’
Zola stared at the sealed hatch. ‘But – but what’s it doing here? On a prison ship?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ Garran wiped a hand down his face, thinking furiously. ‘For some reason there must have been a batch of mutoids in stasis beneath Pod One.’
‘Norton said the stasis units were empty…’
‘I know. But that mutoid was still down there and it killed Norton…’ Garran pulled himself back into his flight seat and sat down heavily. He stared at the empty co-pilot’s seat next to him.
‘Killed him? Are you sure?’
‘You saw the state of him! No-one could survive that.’
‘Maybe we should check –’
‘And let that thing up here? Not a chance. The hatch stays shut.’
Zola struggled to bring her breathing back under control. She shut her eyes and concentrated on slowing down her heart beat. Now was no time to panic. ‘So what do we do now?’
Garran turned to look at her, his fleshy face pale. ‘I don’t know. I just don’t know…’
SIXTEEN
‘Kilus Kroe?’ Blake repeated.
Vila and half a dozen other men turned their heads sharply when they heard the name. An awful silence filled the pod.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Stygo. He lifted the Federation gun and aimed it at Blake’s head. ‘It’s a trick.’
‘Wait a second,’ Blake snapped. He raised his bracelet again. ‘Gan. Are you sure about this?’
‘One hundred per cent, Blake. Kilus Kroe. The word of a dying trooper.’
‘He’s got to be jokin’,’ Stygo insisted.
‘No-one,’ Vila said, ‘jokes about Kilus Kroe.’ He picked up his toolkit and headed back the way he had come.
Jo East stopped Vila with a poke in the ribs with his gun. Vila looked at the crimo and smiled. ‘You don’t scare me,’ he said. ‘Not now.’
‘Wait, Vila,’ Blake urged. ‘What do you know about this?’
‘All I need to know,’ Vila replied. ‘If Kilus Kroe’s in the next pod, then I’m off. You may have noticed that I enjoy a healthy respect for all life, particularly my own, and that’s why I’m leaving. If you’ve got any sense at all – and I mean any – then you’ll do the same.’
He turned to leave again but East jabbed him once more.
‘Shoot me if you like,’ Vila suggested. ‘Either way, I’m a dead man if I stay here.’
Avon caught up with Vila in two strides and gripped his arm. ‘What do you know about this, Vila? What are they talking about?’
Vila was amazed. ‘You don’t know, do you? You really don’t know! Something’s actually missing from that computer you call a brain! This would be a great day if it wasn’t for the fact that I’ve just found out that the most notorious interrogation expert in the Federation is on the other side of that airlock. Bye.’
Avon kept his grip. ‘You’re not fooling anyone, Vila! You’ll use any excuse you can to get back to the Liberator.’
Blake’s communicator sounded again, this time with Jenna’s voice: ‘Blake – what’s your situation?’
‘Difficult,’ responded Blake tersely. ‘We were wrong about the prisoner manifest. One of the
pods is full of crimos and the last one contains, apparently, Kilus Kroe himself.’
There was a pause. ‘Do you want to teleport back?’
‘Yes,’ said Vila loudly.
‘No,’ said Blake. ‘Not yet.’ He cut the link and looked at Stygo. ‘Well, what’s your answer?’
Stygo watched him steadily for a few seconds before replying. ‘Nothin’ changes. We’re in here and Kroe is in the next pod. That’s okay with me. Let him stay there.’
‘My thoughts exactly,’ Blake said.
They all looked at the airlock leading to Pod One.
There was something wrong. It may have been a distant sound, or a subtle change in the background hum of the prison ship’s systems. Blake may have been tempted to call it instinct, but he sensed that something had definitely changed.
He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in a primal, uncontrollable response. He felt a flash of anger that, even after all these millennia of evolution, the human body still reacted like an animal in times of fear.
Because that’s what it was: fear. It spread through the pod like a virus. Vila was actually shaking. Stygo and East glanced nervously at each other, and the crimos behind them began to shuffle together, instinctively forming a protective group. The herd instinct: safety in numbers. Another throwback to more primitive times.
Only Avon’s face remained stonily impassive. His expression was as unreadable as ever. It was in situations like this that Blake valued him so highly. Avon didn’t panic. He thought quickly and he acted quickly but he never panicked.
Vila’s nerve finally broke and he turned to leave. Instantly, Jo East’s blaster moved, his finger tensing on the trigger.
‘I’m warning you!’ Avon snarled. His gun was pointing at East’s head, his arm as straight and steady as a signpost. ‘Shoot and you’re a dead man!’
Two lives were held in the balance for one infinitesimal moment; others would follow as Stygo and Blake reacted.
But then Vila had to step back from the door as Gan came through the airlock, stooping so that he didn’t knock his head on the arch. He was followed by Cally and the prisoner called Drena.
Blake's 7: Criminal Intent Page 7