Blake's 7: Criminal Intent

by Trevor Baxendale

  Blake couldn’t think of anything useful to say in reply to that, so he kept quiet. He still felt spectacularly vulnerable, but suddenly everything had changed. And what was holding his real attention now was the power play between Travis and Kilus Kroe. They were bristling like a pair of rival stags.

  ‘I ought to blow your brains out right now, Kroe,’ Travis growled.

  ‘Then why don’t you?’ Kroe appeared to have recovered his composure.

  ‘Because I don’t want you to drop that jar,’ Travis said. ‘Whatever it is you think you’re doing here, I doubt things will be improved by releasing those abominable things.’

  ‘Good point.’ Smiling again, Kroe held the jar of biovores out between finger and thumb. The slightest sudden movement would dislodge it and the contents would be free.

  Bonded to his chair, Blake started to sweat again.

  *

  ‘Jenna! Wake up, Jenna!’ Vila gently tapped the side of Jenna’s face, but there was no response. She was still sleeping peacefully. She was beautiful when she was awake and beautiful when she was sleeping. Vila hardly dared touch her at all.

  ‘Jenna, if you can hear me, it’s really important that you wake up,’ he said. ‘Please?’

  No response.

  ‘Jenna!’

  Vila got to his feet and slammed a hand down on the control console in frustration. Why would nothing ever go right for him? He’d been sent to his first penal planet when he was fourteen and it had been pretty much downhill since then.

  For all he knew Melson could find his way back to the flight deck before Cally caught up with him. Vila’s mouth went dry at the thought. He poured himself a stiff drink from a flask he’d stashed under his console and swigged it down. He needed something to calm his nerves, that was all. Maybe he should get a gun. He crossed over to the rack on the far wall and took out a blaster and gunbelt. He strapped it on and checked the weapon was fully charged. Perhaps he should help Cally find Melson. Two against one were better odds, surely. Three against one would be even better.

  ‘Zen!’ Vila said. ‘What can I do to wake Jenna up?’

  ‘INFORMATION NOT AVAILABLE.’

  Jenna let out a low moan as she turned onto her side and started to push herself up on one elbow.

  ‘At last,’ Vila said, relief flooding through him. ‘Here, drink this…’

  Jenna took the glass and sipped and then coughed and opened her eyes. ‘It’s foul, Vila,’ she said groggily. She sat up and pushed the glass back into Vila’s hands. ‘Water would have done…’

  ‘If you say so,’ Vila said, and quickly downed the rest of the drink himself. ‘Ah – that’s much better. How do you feel?’

  ‘Terrible,’ Jenna scowled at him as he helped her to her feet. She slid gratefully into her flight seat. ‘Where’s Cally? Where’s that man – Melson?’

  ‘I don’t know. Cally went after him – she told me to wake you up.’

  ‘INFORMATION…’ said Zen suddenly, his voice ringing out loud enough to make Jenna wince.

  ‘What is it, Zen?’

  ‘THE FEDERATION TRANSPORT SHIP HAS ALTERED COURSE. NOW HEADING DIRECTLY FOR THE PLANETARY RING SYSTEM. ESTIMATED TIME TO IMPACT FIFTEEN MINUTES TWENTY-SEVEN SECONDS.’

  Jenna ran a hand through her hair and checked the main viewer. ‘Magnify,’ she ordered.

  The image zoomed in on the York. The transporter was pulling three pods down in what looked like a perfect arc towards the gas giant. Right across its path was the brilliant, curved expanse of the rings.

  ‘What will happen?’ Vila asked.

  ‘Those rings are nothing but rock and ice streaming through space,’ Jenna said.

  ‘Is that good or bad? I’m guessing bad.’

  ‘Very bad. Billions of tons of stone and ice circling the planet, travelling so fast they form a ring pulled almost flat by the force of gravity.’

  ‘So impact really does mean… impact?’

  ‘It’ll be like flying into a storm of rock. The transport ship will be smashed to bits.’

  *

  ‘Put the biovores down very, very carefully on the floor,’ said Travis. His handgun was aimed at Kroe’s head.

  ‘And if I refuse?’

  ‘I shoot you like the mad dog you are.’

  Kroe shrugged. ‘Biovore chaos.’

  ‘I’ll take the risk if necessary. I dare say I could make it out of the pod in time. But you’d be dead, and the worms could have whatever was left.’

  ‘Do I have any say in this?’ asked Blake.

  ‘None.’

  ‘I take it you two know each other?’ Blake asked.

  ‘Travis and I go back a long way,’ Kroe said. He smiled at Travis, who simply stared back murderously. Kroe had made no move to put down the biovore jar, carefully or otherwise. It was a stalemate. ‘Travis was in Space Command and I was in Federation Intelligence. A couple of rising stars in Servalan’s firmament. I worked for the Inquisition Service. Important work. Insurgents and rebels were my speciality.’

  ‘You were a criminal psychopath even then,’ said Travis bleakly.

  Blake raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s quite an accusation, coming from you.’

  ‘Be quiet.’ Travis never let his eyes leave Kroe, or the aim of his destroyer hand waver. ‘You overstepped the mark, Kroe.’

  ‘Is this still about the Thorne case?’ Kroe sounded genuinely surprised.

  ‘That, and others.’

  ‘Thorne?’ Blake repeated, frowning. The name was familiar to him, although he hadn’t heard it for a long time. ‘Jol Thorne? He died of radiation poisoning on Nexus 7.’ He looked from Travis to Kroe. ‘Didn’t he?’

  ‘No he didn’t. Thorne was picked up by Federation security and transferred to Earth for interrogation. He was one of the initial resistance leaders, a member of the so-called Freedom Party with Bran Foster.’

  ‘I never met him, but I know the name.’

  Travis twisted his lips into a smile. ‘He was a fighter, Thorne. A warrior.’

  ‘A worthy opponent?’ Blake injected some scepticism into his voice. He had no idea where all this was leading, but he needed to keep them both talking and – in all honesty – he was interested. He had heard of Jol Thorne back in the day, of course, but never actually met him. He had died, or so Blake had been led to believe, early on in Blake’s career as a rebel leader. But then Blake had been led to believe so many things in those days, it was sometimes impossible to keep track of what was true and what was not.

  ‘Don’t flatter yourself, Blake,’ said Travis. ‘You weren’t in Thorne’s league. Like I said, he was a soldier. In those days you were a nothing more than a political agitator, a protester, a rabble-rouser… stirring up insurrection wherever you could, until the Federation found you and stepped on you.’

  ‘At least he wasn’t a traitor, like Thorne,’ said Kroe.

  ‘Traitor?’

  ‘Thorne was in Space Command,’ said Travis. ‘Captain. Great future ahead of him.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘It doesn’t really matter, does it? Maybe he was suffering from shock trauma. Maybe he had his head turned by a pretty woman. Maybe he got religion.’ Travis smirked at the thought, but there was no real humour in it. His tone was steely. ‘Either way, he turned against the Federation. Became quite the embarrassment.’

  ‘Until you found him and stepped on him?’

  ‘I captured him on Nexus 7. Brought him back to Earth. Handed him over for questioning.’

  ‘And that’s where you come in?’ Blake asked Kroe.

  ‘Thorne was quite a challenge,’ Kroe admitted. ‘Tough. Top-rank Federation military from a good family. He’d had intense training and quite a bit of brain manipulation to help cope with most interrogation techniques. I tried to crack him but there didn’t seem to be any way in.’

  ‘Not at first,’ Travis said darkly.

  ‘Not at first. Took a while, but I got there in the end. I always do – with a little h
elp.’ Kroe gave the jar a shake. The creatures writhed inside, impatient and hungry.

  ‘The use of invasive parasitic lifeforms was completely prohibited,’ Travis said through gritted teeth. ‘You were warned. You were found.’

  ‘And stepped on?’ suggested Blake.

  ‘Arrested,’ Travis said. ‘By me.’

  ‘Tried and sentenced to mind wipe and a penal colony,’ Kroe said.

  ‘I thought you’d been left to rot on a prison planet years ago,’ Travis said.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Blake.

  ‘I can guess what happened,’ Travis said. ‘Servalan.’

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Cally stopped running. Her boots were making too much noise, every step echoing through the brightly lit corridors. She was at an intersection, of which there were quite a number on the Liberator, and it was easy to get lost. She waited and listened, hoping to hear a sound that might indicate which way Melson had gone.

  Cally had an advantage over Melson, though: local knowledge. He was lost, running for his life, and wounded… but all those things made him a very dangerous opponent. She must not underestimate him. One single chance was all he would need to kill her.

  There – the slightest sound, a muffled step, or perhaps the breath of a man in hiding.

  Cally took the left passage, treading as lightly as she could. Directly ahead was one of the main storage bays. The doorway was closed. Cally paused, removed her boots as quietly as she could, and then crept forward. Melson hadn’t been that far ahead of her. She would have heard him go through those cargo doors – or at the very least she would have heard them shut behind him. So he wasn’t in there.

  That left port or starboard. Port would take her back around to the teleport bay. Starboard led to some of the living quarters and medical centre. She chose that direction and crept forward, moving silently. Her hand was sweating on the hilt of her gun. Cally would have preferred to have someone with her – Blake or Avon, preferably, someone ruthless in this kind of situation – but she would have settled for Jenna, or Gan. Someone else with a gun to watch her back, or to help corner an intruder. But Cally couldn’t afford to think like that. She had to concentrate on the immediate threat.

  And right now, she was sure the immediate threat was waiting for her around the next corner. Quietly. Stealthily. Cally, senses heightened, took a silent step forward. This is the moment. Kill or be killed.

  Another step.

  And then an arm wrapped itself around Cally’s neck from behind and she was dragged backwards, gasping, the barrel of a gun hard against her back.

  *

  ‘What are you doing?’ Vila asked.

  Jenna concentrated on the flight controls a moment longer. ‘I’ve asked Zen to match course and speed with the York.’

  ‘So now we’re heading for the storm of rocks too?’

  ‘Blake and the others are on board that ship, Vila. We have to do something! At the very least we need to stay in teleport range.’

  ‘INFORMATION: FEDERATION PURSUIT SHIPS ARE MOVING ONTO AN INTERCEPT VECTOR.’

  ‘What are they doing?’ Vila cried in exasperation. There was nothing he could do now except worry, which was what he was best at.

  ‘They’re doing exactly what we’re doing – plus keeping an eye on us, presumably.’ A pair of tiny red dots appeared on the viewer, curving through space in the wake of the York as it plummeted towards the rings. ‘At this range the pursuit ships are faster than us. They’ll reach the York first.’

  Jenna gripped the flight controls and steered the Liberator towards the prison ship, increasing the speed as much as she dared.

  ‘IMPACT IN NINE MINUTES.’

  ‘Does Zen have to give a countdown?’ wailed Vila. ‘I hate countdowns. They never count down to anything good.’

  ‘Never mind about that. Get on the astronavigation console and give me a reading.’

  ‘What? I can’t read astronav data! One wrong co-ordinate and I’ll plunge us right into that planet!’

  ‘Then get a gun and help Cally.’

  ‘What? Track down a murderous Federation agent? Do I look like an idiot?’

  Jenna shot him a long-suffering look.

  *

  ‘Servalan’s not convinced you’re the right man for the job, Travis,’ said Kroe.

  ‘Is that a fact?’ Travis said.

  ‘She thinks I’m the only one who can stop Blake.’ Kroe nodded to where Blake sat bonded to the prison chair. ‘Looks like she was right, too. I’ve got Blake, I’ve got the Liberator. You’ve got nothing. You’ve lost, Travis.’

  ‘So Servalan did set this up?’ Travis kept his voice flat, indifferent.

  ‘She left it all to me. Commuted my sentence. She told me that if I got her the Liberator, I could have your job, Travis.’

  ‘My job?’ Travis sounded scathing. Such was the disgust in his voice that Blake almost felt he wanted to cheer.

  ‘Well, you’re something of a liability to Servalan. That massacre on Serkasta for a start. Well over a thousand people, wasn’t it?’

  Travis gritted his teeth. ‘I’m ready to give a full explanation of my actions on Serkasta to the appropriate authorities.’

  ‘And what about Auros?’

  ‘I’m not prepared to discuss my service history with the likes of you. This conversation is over. Put the jar down.’

  ‘You never could stand to be beaten, could you, Travis?’ Kroe laughed softly.

  ‘That’s why I always win in the end.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Servalan sent me here too, Kroe. Perhaps she didn’t quite trust you to get the job done after all.’

  ‘You think she’s trying to play us off against each other?’

  ‘I don’t doubt it.’

  Kroe smiled. ‘You’re such a bad loser, Travis.’

  ‘Yes. I am a very, very bad loser.’

  The mutoid standing next to Kroe gave a cough and took a step backwards, a hand to her throat. The noise was unexpected, and everyone turned to look. She coughed again and dark blood erupted from her neck. Something pushed its way out of the bulging wound, a tiny mouth gaping.

  The mutoid staggered backwards, clawing at the biovore as it oozed from the bloody hole in her throat.

  Travis was the first to react, closing the distance between himself and Kilus Kroe in two quick strides and grabbing the jar. Kroe twisted and fought but Travis had the element of surprise.

  Blake sat in his chair and watched helplessly as the two men fought in front of him. It was hard to say who he wanted to win, but his immediate concern was the jar of biovores.

  Travis had a firm grip on the jar – but so did Kroe. They struggled, each trying to overpower the other, and then Travis’s bionic hand chopped down, short and hard on the side of Kroe’s neck. The jar slipped out of his grasp but Travis lost his grip on it at the same time.

  The jar landed in Blake’s lap, the biovores seething inside. He stared in mute horror until he realised that the lid was still fastened. The creatures milled around the inside of the jar, maddened and hungry, searching for a way out. The jar tilted and swayed with their motion and Blake tensed again.

  Travis delivered another blow with the edge of his bionic hand and Kroe fell to his knees.

  Finally Kiera had a clear shot and she aimed her autoblaster at Kroe, but Travis held up a hand to prevent her shooting. ‘No, I want him alive,’ he said, pushing the man off his knees so that he sprawled semiconscious on the deck. Travis pointed at the other mutoid, who was on one knee, trying to get back to her feet but still choking on the biovore. ‘Kill that one.’

  Kiera immediately turned, aimed and blew a jagged hole in the side of the mutoid’s black moulded cranium. She slumped lifeless to the floor, trailing coolant fluid and wires from the wound. She had succeeded in coughing up the biovore. It squirmed on the deckplate, fat and glistening. Travis put the heel of his boot on the creature and crushed it flat.

  Silence.

/>   ‘Will someone please get this thing off me,’ said Blake. His eyes were locked on the jar of biovores in his lap. The revulsion was building inside him to breaking point and he was struggling to keep his voice steady.

  At that moment the whole ship suddenly lurched forward, the deck tilting alarmingly – and the jar rolled towards the deck.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Avon grabbed hold of Zola as the deck heaved. All the prisoners gave a yell of alarm and stumbled across the pod.

  ‘What’s happening?’ asked Gan, helping Drena back to her feet. The neurosurgeon was visibly shaking.

  ‘The ship’s heading deeper into the planet’s gravitational pull,’ Zola said.

  ‘But why the sudden change?’ Avon asked. The floor seemed to tilt again, forcing everyone to sway unsteadily.

  ‘I don’t know. Possibly the planet has some gravitational anomalies. It’s not unusual with large ringed systems like this. The ring was once a heavy-mass moon, and the gravity –’

  ‘All right, we’ve got it,’ Avon snapped. For a second it felt as if the ship was trying to level out, but Avon knew this was highly unlikely – it was out of control and the artificial gravity was simply trying to reassert itself.

  ‘Any more sudden moves like that and the AG won’t be able to cope,’ Zola said.

  Avon tried his wrist communicator again. ‘Liberator! Jenna – do you read me?’

  ‘No luck?’ wondered Gan.

  Avon bared his teeth in a moment’s frustration. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘It’s up to us, then,’ said Zola.

  ‘Can we stop the ship ourselves?’ asked Gan. ‘Restart the space drive?’

  ‘Won’t be easy, the engine units were shot out.’

  ‘Yes,’ Avon said, ‘Jenna was a little too efficient in that respect. It’s not normally something I would complain about, but in this instance… well, let’s just say things aren’t looking good.’

  Gan’s natural optimism would not lie down. ‘There must be something we can do. Perhaps Jenna only disabled the engines?’

  ‘Disabling a hyperdrive unit from that range using the Liberator’s neutron blasters would be like trying to shoot the stalk off an apple with one of these.’ Avon held up his handgun. ‘Nevertheless, it’s all we’ve got to go on. What kind of engines does the York have?’