Blake's 7

by Gillian F. Taylor

  ‘Zen has,’ corrected Avon.

  ‘I was rather hoping we wouldn’t,’ muttered Vila.

  Station Amber was one of Servalan’s pet projects. It specialised in advanced weapons development, and she seemed to enjoy boasting about the advances they were making. Until just over six months ago, she’d mentioned the station in almost every speech she broadcast. Then, suddenly, and with no explanation, she’d stopped. The station and its full complement of personnel vanished overnight. There was an instant media blackout. Even friends and families of station staff could only repeat the official explanation: that a design fault in the station had created a safety hazard and the station had been fully evacuated, its staff transferred to other projects with no access to communication facilities.

  ‘So they towed it here,’ said Gan.

  ‘Yes.’ Blake nodded to the screen. ‘This sector of Federation space is off-limits to virtually everybody. If it hadn’t been for the Liberator’s superior speed and Jenna’s piloting skills we’d have been shot down before we even reached the cordon.’

  Jenna acknowledged the praise with a small smile.

  ‘Zen,’ Blake called. ‘Life form and environment status of the space station directly ahead.’

  ‘NO LIFE FORMS PRESENT,’ Zen answered. ‘RADIATION NIL. AIRBORNE TOXINS NIL. LIFE SUPPORT SYSTEM STILL IN OPERATION. OXYGEN CONTENT IN MOST AREAS AT SAFE LEVELS. AMBIENT TEMPERATURE WITHIN HUMAN TOLERANCE. INTERNAL DEFENCE AND SECURITY SYSTEMS DEACTIVATED.’

  ‘So the station’s not completely shut down,’ said Jenna. ‘Curious.’

  ‘It’s what I suspected,’ Blake said. ‘Servalan announced the development of a weapon that could wipe out all resistance on the fringe planets before the station disappeared.’ He looked round at the assembled crew. ‘That’s not something she’s just going to give up on. I think something happened to prevent the weapon’s completion. But Servalan doesn’t let go of things easily. The station is still functioning because at some point she plans to come back for it.’

  ‘Unless we get it first,’ Gan said.

  Jenna looked at the dark object on the viewscreen. ‘We could go across, I suppose,’ she said.

  ‘You suppose?’ mimicked Vila. ‘That sounds dangerous!’

  ‘So was getting here in one piece, but we made it,’ said Blake. ‘Everything in life is dangerous. Even having a meal – if you take into consideration choking.’

  ‘I’ll never eat again,’ Vila said, rolling his eyes.

  ‘You heard Zen,’ said Cally. ‘The station is safe. There’s nobody there and the internal security systems have been disabled.’

  ‘But what about whatever got the station shut down in the first place?’ Vila said. ‘We don’t even know what that was.’

  He looked at Gan for back-up, but Gan just shrugged.

  ‘It’s worth a chance,’ Gan said finally. ‘Perhaps the station was moved out here to give the danger time to pass on its own.’

  ‘That’s a possibility,’ Jenna agreed.

  ‘We can check,’ said Blake. ‘Zen, scan for potential hazards giving priority to serious threats to human life.’

  ‘THERE IS NO CLEAR AND PRESENT DANGER ON THE STATION,’ said Zen.

  ‘Just the kind that lurks quietly in the dark and creeps up on you so you don’t notice until it’s too late,’ said Vila.

  ‘I vote we go and look round,’ said Jenna. ‘Besides, we can’t just head back now. We’ve come so far out that the power cells are only at one-third optimum capacity. That’s enough for life support, but not for the force wall or weapons. We need time to recharge, or a power source that we can siphon off.’

  ‘Well, that’s very interesting,’ said Avon darkly. ‘In that case, there’s one other thing we need to factor in.’ He looked up from the screen he’d been fiddling with. ‘Did anyone know that we’re being tracked by three Federation pursuit ships?’

  TWO

  VARIOUS PURSUITS

  Drav Cashlan took two pins out of the silken fabric that hung from Supreme Commander Servalan’s new dress and lifted them to his mouth. There were already pins clenched between his teeth, so he handed the surplus to his assistant, Keelian.

  Cashlan smiled ingratiatingly at his prized customer. ‘Now hold still please, my dear,’ he twittered in a sing-song voice.

  Normally Servalan was nobody’s ‘dear’ but Cashlan was an excellent tailor and dressmaker, one of Earth’s professional elite. She could just about tolerate his informality and affectionate joie de vivre for the sake of the fabulous dresses he made for her. Servalan liked dresses made the old-fashioned way – every stitch, every measurement made by a human being rather than a machine. There were not many people who could afford this luxury.

  It was her third fitting in Cashlan’s studio for this particular dress: silver for a change, shiny and eye-catching, full-length as was her usual preference, but with a slightly flared hem to make walking comfortable, and cut generously around the upper chest area to reveal a flattering cleavage. Servalan was Supreme Commander. She was tough, ruthless, confident and strong – a leader, a climber, a vertebra in the backbone of the Federation. But she was also a woman who knew the importance of a well-cut dress.

  At this moment, Servalan wanted a lot of things. She wanted Roj Blake’s head delivered to her by hand on a silver tray with the eyes removed and accompanied by a glass of rich, red wine. She wanted Travis to stop making excuses and do his job. She wanted the Liberator. She wanted this fitting to be over and Cashlan to be far, far away.

  She looked at Keelian, who stood meekly beside him, quietly doing her job. She approved of this new girl. She knew that the assistant wouldn’t dare to use the words ‘my dear’.

  ‘Clean pins, Cashlan,’ Servalan snapped. ‘How many times have I told you not to put them in your mouth? You may find it convenient, but it’s extremely unhygienic.’

  ‘Of course, Madam,’ Cashlan grinned unapologetically. ‘Shan’t happen again.’ He threw the pins into a small disposal unit and put his hand out to receive more. ‘Clean pins, Keelian.’

  ‘It had better not,’ Servalan said firmly, as Keelian obediently handed Cashlan the pins. ‘I don’t want my outfits to stand as examples of your oral care. Goodness knows what goes into that mouth besides dressmakers’ pins.’

  Cashlan was about to protest, but the door alert chimed. ‘I wonder who that can be?’ he declared.

  Servalan’s irritation was turning into anger. ‘You did tell your staff you were not to be disturbed?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course!’ blustered Cashlan. ‘Keelian, go out and tell whoever it is that I’m extremely busy.’

  The young girl trotted to the door and pushed the button to open it. When it slid away to reveal a man in Federation military guard uniform, Servalan made no attempt to suppress her groan of annoyance. This could only prolong the fitting.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt you, Supreme Commander,’ the guard announced curtly. His orders were, Servalan knew, to treat her with respect at all times but not to be soft with her. ‘There’s an emergency communication on the secure channel from Commander Travis.’

  ‘Can’t someone else deal with it?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s a report, ma’am,’ the guard explained, ‘but it’s locked to secure level fifteen. No-one below your rank can view it.’

  A level fifteen communiqué from Travis? It sounded ominous. Clearly he’d locked the report at this level for a good reason. She dismissed the guard, then waved a hand at Keelian, who seemed to guess exactly what she wanted. The girl rushed forward with the silver box holding the clothes the Supreme Commander had been wearing when she’d arrived.

  ‘Listen, Cashlan,’ Servalan said. ‘Don’t lay another finger on that dress until I come back for the remainder of the fitting, is that clear?’

  Cashlan gave the graceless theatrical bow of a hired sycophant. ‘Of course, Madam.’

  If Travis was just being melodramatic, she thought, her next dress would be made from his h
ide.

  *

  On board his ship, Travis was growing impatient. What could Servalan be doing all this time to keep her from answering his priority call? She would want to know about what he had just discovered. In fact when she finally returned to her office and read his hastily written report she would probably be angry with herself for procrastinating.

  Blake was in Sector H of the Fringe Planets’ Restriction Zone, a sealed-off area on the outskirts of Federation territory. The Restriction Zone was a dumping ground for failed projects, situated behind a tight military cordon. No-one was allowed to go there. No-one was even supposed to know it existed. Robot sentinels patrolled the cordon at all times, programmed to attack anything that moved. Yet somehow, the Liberator had outmanoeuvred them.

  Travis had been tracking the rebels’ ship for some time, and had been in pursuit since she left the vicinity of a small moon orbiting one of the fringe planets. The Liberator could move fast and she had been really pelting across space when he first picked her up. She was a long way in front but Travis had managed to project her course and knew that if he kept up he’d eventually close the gap. There were no other ships this far outside the populated areas of the galaxy, and certainly no craft for light years possessed the technology to commit such a sophisticated act of piracy. Travis wondered what Blake would want inside the cordon, though it wasn’t difficult to work out an approximation of his plan. He was bound to have come here eventually. There were plenty of dangerous bits and pieces out here and a lot of the experiments related to weapons technology.

  ‘We’re approaching Sector H, Commander,’ a mutoid helmsman reported. ‘Sentinel L one-seven-fifty has issued a warning.’

  Knowing he had only seconds to respond, Travis darted from his command chair to the helm console and punched the clearance code in. A short message of acceptance flashed on the screen and they passed through the inner cordon.

  Travis returned to his seat. ‘Computer link-up with all inner cordon sentinels.’

  The mutoid obeyed. They always did, and that was one of the reasons why Travis always chose them rather than unmodified human crewmen.

  ‘Sentinel R three-nine-twenty received a clearance signal on an unsecured frequency and admitted an unidentified craft three point six hours ago, Commander,’ she reported.

  ‘What are you up to, Blake?’ Travis murmured quietly to himself. Blake wasn’t the kind of man to choose targets according to whim; he was here for something specific. Which of the dangerous top-secret rejects was he after?

  Then Travis looked at the long-range scanner and instantly knew.

  Station Amber was one of the biggest and most complex space stations ever built. It was a dark grey hulk, long and rectangular with its aftersection divided up into three elongated blocks. It used to be called the Devil’s Fork by some, and not just because of its shape. Travis called up the image and stared at the enormous trident on his screen.

  He would need to update Servalan. If she ever got back to him.

  INTERLUDE I - STATION AMBER, EIGHTEEN MONTHS AGO

  ‘I’ve had enough, Servalan!’ Ban Kerralin shouted, throwing his goggles on the tiled floor and cracking them.

  ‘Supreme Commander,’ Servalan corrected sharply.

  ‘To hell with your formality,’ snapped Kerralin. Hell was just an old word since the Federation abolished religion. It had no real meaning any more, but whatever it was, Servalan and her precious formalities could go there. ‘You’ve perverted this entire project. I agreed to work on weapons that would pacify by way of remote neurological adjustment. Tissue vaporisation was never part of the plan. I’m dropping everything. I’m not going to do another stroke, do you hear? AE105 will never exist!’

  ‘Oh, it will,’ Servalan said coolly, not even slightly intimidated by Kerralin’s ranting. ‘You will do exactly as you are told. Otherwise, there will be consequences. Remember the reason you took this job in the first place? I do.’

  Kerralin remembered. He had never been keen on Servalan or her ideas. He had even secretly cheered on the resistance whenever word reached him that they had struck a blow against her, but when he was offered the position on Station Amber as Head Consultant Weapons Technician he wasn’t in much of a position to resist.

  He’d worked in robotics and computer intelligence development on Earth and had saved every credit he made to fund the side project he was working on. It was his passion. The new type of android he was developing could, he felt certain, revolutionise the practical application of artificial intelligence to real-life situations. But no matter how hard he saved, he couldn’t afford to get the project even one-eighth complete, and no-one was interested in investing in what they considered to be a fool’s dream. Except for Servalan. While she wasn’t interested in his side project, she was interested in the opportunity to exploit Kerralin’s talent. She offered him the funding to work on his machine on top of his standard pay, as well as access to a fully equipped and technologically advanced laboratory. All he had to do was sign a contract to work on Station Amber for the next five years…

  And now he was asking to break the contract.

  ‘I didn’t know what I was getting myself into,’ he shouted. ‘If I keep on, I’ll be turning my back on everything I believe is right.’

  Servalan perched her behind on the edge of a workstation, still smiling. Kerralin could see she was fully aware that her confidence made his blood boil. ‘I think you have a great deal more than your “beliefs” to be concerned about right now,’ she replied.

  ‘My family?’ Kerralin said.

  ‘We shall see.’

  ‘Shall we?’ he asked bitterly. ‘You told me they were under house arrest, but I have no way of knowing if they are unharmed. You are toying with me. Perhaps they are already dead.’

  ‘Would you like to see them in person?’ asked Servalan.

  Kerralin barked out a short laugh. ‘I know the Federation version of “in person” only too well: a screen between me and an empty room with a few holograms inside it. I told you, I’m not a fool.’

  ‘You’ll be allowed an hour alone with them. You may examine them to the full extent of your capacity for suspicion if you so wish.’

  Kerralin was silent. His mind was reeling. Could his wife and daughters really still be alive? She seemed to be promising private personal contact, and he knew the Federation hadn’t the technology to come up with anything sophisticated enough to trick him under such circumstances. After all, he was an expert, the best the Federation had. If the family he spent an hour alone with was artificial, he’d know in a second.

  ‘Why?’ he said finally. ‘Why would you let me see them now?’

  ‘So that you can see they are alive and well,’ Servalan answered, ‘and therefore still a viable proposition for torture and execution.’

  ‘You really are a poisonous bitch, aren’t you?’ Kerralin hissed.

  Servalan smiled almost sweetly. ‘Oh yes,’ she purred. ‘Another of my self-given reputations.’

  THREE

  EVERY SECOND COUNTS

  ‘Station Amber may have been completely shut down,’ Blake said, ‘but Zen assures me that it hasn’t been stripped down. A tap on its generators will give us a sufficient jolt of power to get the cells to maximum in two or three hours. The pursuit ships are due to arrive in six hours. I’ll go with Vila. I’m going to need his lock-picking skills.’

  ‘Couldn’t we just clear off?’ whined Vila.

  Jenna shook her head. ‘With the power so low, our best speed would be Standard by two. Not nearly fast enough to outrun Travis.’

  Vila groaned. ‘So we either break into that station and take our chances in there, or sit here and wait for to be blown into atoms.’

  ‘Which would you prefer?’ Blake asked pointedly.

  ‘I’ll get my toolkit.’

  ‘Bring an emergency air plug with you,’ Blake called after him.

  As Avon watched, the ends of his mouth curled into something that
floated between a sneer and a smile. ‘So how long have we got?’ he asked.

  ‘If we don’t come up with a solution to our power problem in less than five hours, we won’t have the time or speed to get away and we’ll be defenceless,’ said Blake.

  ‘And whose fault is it that the power’s drained?’ Avon challenged. ‘This sector is a long way out of our way, Blake and we’ve rushed here on a fool’s errand.’

  ‘I thought it would be worth it,’ Blake said. ‘I still do. Whatever’s inside that station, it’s going to be worth getting our hands on.’

  ‘At the risk of all our lives?’

  Gan and Cally appeared at the door to the flight deck in time to hear this. Blake didn’t answer. Instead, he looked down the corridor they had come from. ‘Vila’s taking his time.’

  ‘He was nervous when he passed me,’ said Cally. ‘On his way to his quarters.’

  ‘Vila’s always nervous,’ Blake said. ‘He should be fetching tools.’

  ‘He was muttering something about that.’

  ‘Good. Perhaps that means he’s actually doing it.’

  At that moment, Vila appeared at the end of the corridor, carrying the heavy-duty box that contained his best breaking-and-entering gear.

  ‘I’ve got everything I need,’ he told Blake with confidence. The only confidence he had was in his indisputable talent for thievery, Blake thought. ‘Shall we teleport?’

  Blake couldn’t help but smile. ‘I’m afraid we won’t be teleporting on this occasion, Vila,’ he said. ‘We need to connect powerlines directly to Amber from here, and that means spacewalking.’

  ‘Walking in space?’ hooted Vila. ‘There’s no air out there, Blake! And it’s freezing cold!’

  ‘We have the hull suits,’ Blake said.

  ‘But why do I need to come? Can’t you just sort out the powerlines and then just teleport me and Gan over?’

  ‘We’re running on minimal power, Vila. Using the teleport will drain the energy even further. Right now, we have to save the teleport for emergencies, in case one of us gets trapped in space and has to be pulled out.’ He grinned at Vila’s alarmed expression. ‘Come on. I’ve got to help Jenna check the powerlines before link-up.’