Blake's 7: Criminal Intent

by Trevor Baxendale

  ‘Jurgens-Heckard three-fifty boosters with a low pulse ionic stack,’ Zola responded instantly. ‘They’re positioned directly beneath the transporter.’

  ‘We can’t do anything unless we can reach the York’s flight cabin,’ said Gan. ‘And to do that we need to go through Pod One.’

  *

  Melson had Cally around the throat from behind and he was squeezing the life out of her.

  ‘You rebel types,’ Melson hissed in her ear. She could feel the heat of his breath in her hair. ‘You’re so dull. So predictable.’

  Cally heaved and twisted but she couldn’t break the man’s grip. She could hear the blood rushing in her head now as he slowly started to crush her windpipe with the bone of his forearm, turning his wrist so that it dug in harder and deeper.

  She went deliberately limp, sagging against him. The pressure on her throat increased dramatically but now she was a dead weight in his arms rather than a person fighting to stay on her feet. The weight was awkward for him to hold and he naturally had to bend forward, lowering her slightly towards the floor. Cally felt the slightest release of pressure and suddenly kicked down with her heels against the deck, propelling herself backwards into Melson. Her skull smashed into his nose and he flung himself back with a grunt of pain.

  Cally fell on all fours but sprang quickly to her feet, driven by sheer adrenalin. She’d been in close-quarters combat before. She knew that the victor was invariably the fastest and most efficient. She launched herself at Melson and they fell to the floor, rolling, punching and scratching, but Melson was a man and he was much bigger and stronger. Cally’s wiriness would only take her so far in a fair fight. Melson was forcing her away with his arms and she could feel her fingers losing their grip on his neck. So she jabbed her knee hard into his groin, doubling him up. She pulled herself away and kicked out again, catching him on the side of the head. Decent blow, but nowhere near hard enough to do anything but disorientate him for a second.

  She used that second to back up, get her balance, get ready to kick again. She had long legs and the training, so she knew she could do the damage. For a few moments the two of them faced off, Cally crouched and ready to strike, Melson circling her, waiting for her to make the next move. Both were breathing hard. Both could hear the sound of their own hearts beating. One of them was beating out its last remaining seconds.

  ‘Come on then,’ Melson said. There was a smile on his lips. He beckoned her forwards, inviting her to kick.

  Cally feinted, her foot twitching off the deck, and Melson went for it, stooping slightly as he tried to grab the non-existent kick. She did kick then, straight and hard, and the heel of her boot connected solidly with his jaw with a loud crack. Melson staggered back, lost his footing, fell and skidded down the steps towards the cargo doors.

  Cally moved in after him and then jerked to a halt as she saw the man’s hand land on his fallen blaster. He snatched the gun up and pointed it at her.

  He paused, enjoying the victory. His chest heaved up and down. Blood bubbled from between his lips.

  There was nowhere to hide in the corridor, and Cally was perfectly silhouetted. A sitting target in effect. But Cally stepped to one side nevertheless. Behind her, at the end of the passage, was Vila.

  The gun howled in Vila’s hand and a bright flash of energy erupted from Melson’s chest. His arms spasmed and the pistol clattered to the floor. He stared at Cally in complete shock, his mouth hanging open.

  Cally picked up his fallen pistol and shot him through the head.

  *

  Blake caught the jar between his knees just before it fell. If he squeezed too hard it would pop out and hit the floor. If he didn’t grip hard enough, it would slip through.

  He could feel the biovores swarming around inside the jar. They were in a frenzy. The lid was barely on. The creatures were all squirming at the join, sensing freedom, sensing the meat of his leg, driving them mad with bloodlust.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so desperate,’ said Travis calmly.

  Blake didn’t reply. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even take his eyes of the jar. His knees were trembling and the jar was slipping, slipping…

  Travis leaned forward and very gently took the jar between the finger and thumb of his bionic hand and lifted it free.

  Blake sank back in his chair with a shuddering groan. ‘Thank you,’ he breathed.

  ‘Well this mission has been just full of surprises.’

  Blake looked up at him through bloodshot eyes. ‘You don’t need to tell me that.’

  ‘Kiera, deactivate the molecular bonds on the chair,’ Travis ordered.

  Blake watched the mutoid move to the control panel and press a sequence of buttons. The hum of the chair faded and Blake felt his arms and legs come gradually free of the metal. It was a painful but very welcome sensation. He sat for a moment and rubbed the circulation back into his wrists. ‘Kiera?’ he said, raising an eyebrow.

  Travis’s single eye blinked, realising his mistake. ‘It’s a convenience, nothing more.’

  ‘Aren’t all names, at the end of the day?’

  ‘Stand up,’ Travis said, aiming his laseron destroyer at Blake. Slowly Blake got to his feet. He had pins and needles running through his legs. He wondered briefly if he could actually stay upright, but then his pride took over and he refused to let Travis see him weaken. He straightened up and looked directly at the Space Commander.

  ‘I never thought I’d glad to see you,’ he said. ‘But I rather think my delight will be short-lived.’

  ‘I’m taking you into custody, Blake. I’m finishing what we started on Sinofar’s world.’

  ‘You and I started a long time before that.’

  At that point the ship lurched again, like a raft slipping through rapids. The deck thumped beneath them and there was a loud metallic groan from the forward airlock.

  Travis kept his feet and so did Kiera. Blake, however, had to grab the chair for support.

  ‘This ship is out of control,’ Blake said. ‘You can feel the artificial gravity straining.’

  ‘It’s heading straight for the rings of the planet,’ Travis said. He moved towards the airlock connecting the pod to the transporter ship and pressed the control to open it. The mechanism hummed and there was a dull grinding noise as the pneumatic gears engaged and then failed. The airlock stayed shut. ‘It’s jammed,’ Travis said, banging the door with his fist, as if that might release the blockage.

  ‘Stress damage to the hull,’ Blake said. ‘The gravitational pull of the planet is twisting the frame out of shape.’

  ‘We have to get in there,’ said Travis.

  ‘Sir, let me try,’ offered Kiera.

  Travis stepped aside and Kiera dug her fingers into what there was to grip on the door – a recess here, a protrusion there. She braced herself and started to exert her full mutoid strength. The plasteel buckled slightly where her hands gripped it, but the door refused to move.

  ‘It’s an airlock door,’ said Blake. ‘It’s designed to withstand massive pressure. You won’t shift it by brute force.’

  Travis turned away, thinking furiously. ‘Can we burn our way through?’

  ‘With the right equipment,’ Kiera said. ‘In about an hour.’

  ‘Then there’s only one thing for it. We’ll go with Blake to the Liberator.’

  Blake looked at him in astonishment. ‘You are joking, of course.’

  Travis levelled his laseron destroyer at Blake. ‘You’re welcome to laugh.’

  ‘Even if I wanted to teleport you onto the Liberator – which I don’t – I can’t,’ Blake said. ‘Kroe’s right-hand man has already taken the ship for himself. Someone called Melson.’

  Travis didn’t blink. ‘I’ll deal with that. Just call the Liberator.’

  ‘I can’t.’ Blake held up his wrist. ‘No communicator. No teleport. You’re struck here with me, I’m afraid.’

  The ship rocked again and the artificial gravity w
hined in protest. Blake felt a moment’s weightlessness. He held the chair for support. On the floor, Kilus Kroe began to groan.

  Undeterred, Travis said, ‘There’s more than one way off this ship. We spacewalked here – we can spacewalk back.’

  Blake frowned. ‘I haven’t got a spacesuit.’

  Travis walked over to the bulkhead storage unit next to the airlock and thumped the release mechanism. It slid open with a hydraulic hiss to reveal a couple of transparisteel fishbowl helmets and a bulky wad of silvery transpex material. ‘Emergency spacesuits for the two guards. One for you and one for Kroe.’ Travis turned back to Blake and smiled grimly. ‘As I have said before, I’m a very, very bad loser.’

  THIRTY-SIX

  The ship shook again, more violently this time. There were a dozen prisoners left, plus Avon, Gan and Zola.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ asked Drena. ‘You say this ship’s going to crash. Isn’t there anyone on the flight deck?’

  ‘It’s complicated,’ said Avon.

  Drena gave a short laugh. ‘No it isn’t – either there is or there isn’t someone on the flight deck. This ship needs a pilot.’

  There was a chorus of agreement – mostly noises and mumbles – from the other prisoners.

  ‘The pilot and the co-pilot are both dead,’ said Zola.

  ‘So who are you again?’ Drena asked.

  ‘I said I’m the navigator.’ Zola gripped her gun a little tighter. The mood of the prisoners – the criminals – was getting uglier by the minute. They were trapped and fearful and they didn’t like the look of her Federation uniform.

  ‘So get up on the bloody flight deck and navigate,’ Drena said.

  ‘Don’t speak to me like that,’ Zola snapped. ‘I’m a serving officer –’

  ‘You’re just Federation scum to me.’

  Zola found herself pointing her gun at Drena. It was reflexive, defensive, but she knew instantly that it was a mistake.

  Drena gave her a withering look. ‘You people never stop, do you?’

  ‘All right, that’s enough,’ rumbled a deep voice, startling them both. Larn Stygo had stepped up and twisted the pistol out of Zola’s hand. ‘We don’t need to start shootin’ each other.’

  ‘Give me that back,’ said Zola.

  ‘Nope,’ Stygo said.

  ‘Not so tough now, are you?’ Drena spat at Zola.

  ‘None of this is my fault,’ Zola said.

  ‘Don’t really matter now,’ said Stygo. ‘She’s got a point, though, girl. You should be on the flight deck doin’ something about this.’

  ‘The problem,’ interrupted Avon, ‘is this door. It’s locked from the other side and we have no way to get through it. And even if we did, Kilus Kroe and at least two mutoids are on the other side.’

  ‘Well, I ain’t scared,’ Stygo said. He looked around the pod and squared his shoulders. ‘There’s plenty of us.’

  ‘Then perhaps you’d like to go first?’ Avon graciously stepped aside, allowing Stygo access to the door.

  ‘You said it was locked.’

  ‘What we need,’ said Gan, ‘is Vila. He could open it in a couple of seconds.’

  ‘Vila’s gone, probably dead,’ Avon said.

  Gan was stung by his dismissive tone. ‘That’s very cold.’

  ‘Hot or cold, it makes no difference.’

  ‘Look, we can’t just stand here arguing,’ Zola said. ‘Let me through. Space Commander Travis will listen to me –’

  ‘What did you just say?’ Avon snapped, his eyes narrowing.

  ‘Travis?’ echoed Gan incredulously.

  Zola nodded. ‘Yes. Space Commander Travis. He’s on board ship. He’ll listen to me.’

  ‘Well, now...’ Zola suddenly found herself looking straight into the barrel of Avon’s gun. ‘Why would he listen to you?’

  ‘He… he helped me. He saved my life!’

  ‘Remarkable. But what’s he doing here, on this prison transporter?’

  Zola quickly recounted her spacewalk along the hull of the York.

  ‘But if Travis is here –’ said Gan, when she had finished.

  ‘It changes nothing,’ Avon said. ‘The ship is going to crash into the rings. The engines are out and there’s no-one at the controls anyway. Travis’s presence here is immaterial.’

  There was a sudden, hard thud and the pod vibrated.

  ‘First strike,’ said Zola. ‘That was probably a fragment of ice floating right out on the edge of the rings. There’ll be more.’

  Another thud, this one louder and harder. The pod shook and the lights flickered. The prisoners started to crowd together near the middle of the pod, as if that would do them any good. They listened in terrified silence as a series of impacts peppered the exterior hull.

  ‘One big hit and this pod will be smashed wide open,’ said Avon.

  Everyone jumped, startled, as a blinding white glare filled the pod and then suddenly contracted into the outline of a dark-haired woman.

  ‘Cally!’ Gan exclaimed with delight as she materialised fully. ‘You’re making a habit of rescuing us.’

  ‘You’re making a habit of needing to be rescued,’ she replied.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Avon demanded. ‘I assumed you were dead – or had deserted.’

  Cally flashed him a dark look. ‘We’re not all like you, Avon. I managed to get away when Kroe started the massacre. Vila and Jenna are standing by on the Liberator.’ She hefted a large plastic box, put it down on the deck next to her and flipped open the lid. Inside was a rack of teleport bracelets. ‘Give these out. We have to get everyone off this ship before –’

  Another strike – this time hard enough to knock people off their feet. The lights faded in and out and the pod began to make a metallic groaning noise. Vapour started to hiss from around the airlock connecting it to Pod One.

  ‘If that’s a hull breach,’ said Zola, ‘we’re dead.’

  ‘What about the breach sealant?’ asked Gan.

  ‘It’ll seal small tears and microscopic holes. It won’t be able to deal with explosive decompression.’

  ‘Then there’s no point in wasting time,’ Avon said. He tossed one of the bracelets to Zola. ‘Put that on – and help give the others out!’

  ‘Fasten these around your wrists!’ Gan handed out bracelets to the prisoners, and told them to stand by. Puzzled, some of the prisoners simply clicked the bracelets shut around their wrists. Others weren’t so compliant.

  ‘I don’t want one,’ said Drena.

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ Gan said. ‘Put it on. We can all teleport off the ship.’

  ‘I don’t want to go. There’s no point.’

  Gan was stunned. ‘What do you mean? Of course there is!’

  ‘You don’t understand. Zake was my responsibility. His condition was my fault. I was trying to find a way to stop the pacification drugs from working. I tried surgery, I thought it would help him. But it made everything worse.’

  ‘But that was never your intention. You tried to do what you thought best.’

  ‘What does intent matter? It’s the result that counts.’

  ‘But there’s nothing you can do about that now.’

  ‘I know. And that’s the problem. I had my chance to make things right and I failed. I made things worse. I made his life worse. I tried to look after him but I couldn’t even do that…’

  ‘Drena, you’re being too hard on yourself…’

  She shook her head. ‘I saw Zake shot dead at point-blank range, and there’s no making that right. There’s no way to make any of it right any more.’

  ‘We don’t have time to argue,’ Gan insisted, holding out the bracelet again. ‘Put it on, Drena!’

  ‘But they’ve won. The Federation have won. They always win.’

  Gan grabbed her wrist and snapped on the bracelet. ‘Never,’ he said.

  ‘What’s it for?’ Stygo demanded, refusing to take the bracelet proffered by Cally.

  ‘It’
s a teleport bracelet,’ Cally told him. ‘It goes on your wrist.’

  The pod groaned again and a loud rattling started to come from the airlock. Steam gushed around the seal.

  Stygo pushed Cally’s hand away. ‘I ain’t puttin’ any handcuffs on again,’ he said.

  ‘It’s nothing like that. Put it on!’

  ‘Leave him, Cally,’ said Avon. ‘He can stay here and die if he wants.’

  Cally glared at the crimo. ‘You are being very stupid.’

  ‘I’ll wait and see what happens to you lot first,’ Stygo growled.

  ‘Very well.’ Cally held her own bracelet up to her lips. ‘Vila! Teleport the first group up now. And hurry!’

  ‘All right!’ Vila voice crackled back, flustered. ‘But it’s tricky! The prison ship’s moving all over the place.’

  ‘We know,’ Avon said into his communicator as the pod swayed violently. ‘Just get on with it!’

  ‘You’d better prepare yourselves for a bit of a shock,’ Gan told a group of prisoners nearby as a halo of bright white light enveloped them. Moments later it expanded and disappeared, taking the men with it.

  ‘What the hell was that? What happened? Where did they go?’ asked Stygo.

  ‘They’ve been transferred to our ship, the Liberator,’ Gan said. He had to raise his voice now over the noise of the ice fragments hitting the pod. It sounded like a meteor hail.

  ‘Gan, you and Zola go with the next batch,’ Avon said. ‘I don’t like the idea of Vila and Jenna alone with a bunch of criminals.’

  ‘Why not?’ Gan said with a grim smile. ‘They usually are, after all.’

  *

  On the Liberator flight deck, Jenna was still at the controls. ‘How’s it going, Vila?’

  Vila’s voice drifted from the intercom: ‘First lot are up and safe. I’m recalibrating for the next lot. But the ship’s moving too much.’

  ‘It’s just reached the outer rim of the rings,’ Jenna confirmed, checking the forward viewer. There was a haze of stellar material, almost a glow, right on the edge of the rings. The York was just knifing through a blizzard of ice. Dangerous, but not yet lethal.