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Blake's 7

Page 18

by Gillian F. Taylor


  Avon and Cally followed her into the car. After a ten-minute drive to a larger village, dominated by a steeple with a bulbous shape at its summit, it became obvious that they were going to another church.

  This church had nothing of the resplendence of St Mark’s in Kartvel City. The interior was simple, lacking any ornate features whatsoever. In spite of this, the spiritual ambience was somehow more pronounced. The benches were half-full and the singers stood only a short distance away from the back, by the door. Avon seemed to recognise the music, the same chanting and chorusing as the previous day. The sounds were alien to him, yet not unpleasant.

  Borena left them at the back of the church and made her way towards the front, where she touched the shoulder of a grey-haired man kneeling in prayer. Zviad Khurdia stood, turned to face them and followed Borena. A noticeable number of the congregation turned discreetly to watch him pass, regarding Avon and Cally with a certain amount of curiosity. They left the church and began to talk in the cobbled yard outside.

  ‘How do you like our church?’ was the first thing he said. He wasn’t a handsome man. The ravages of age had brought a droop to already solemn features, giving his jaw and eyes a mournful quality, particularly on the left side of his face. His hair was thinning, gun-metal grey and parted neatly at one side. There was the suggestion of a moustache, a narrow line on his upper lip. His neck disappeared within the bulk of a padded, forest-green jacket.

  ‘We don’t really know what to expect,’ Cally interjected with a smile. ‘We don’t have a great deal of previous experience.’

  Khurdia’s gaze travelled from Avon to Cally. ‘Of course not. I’ve been to Federation worlds. You have nothing like this.’

  ‘Cally isn’t from the Federation.’

  Khurdia’s surprise showed for a second in his eyes, but his lack of information didn’t appear to trouble him. ‘You’re colleagues of Roj Blake, yes? This tells me everything I need to know about your feelings towards the Federation.’

  ‘Did you also know that it was Edu Shevard himself who requested our presence on Kartvel?’

  ‘It doesn’t surprise me in the least. He intends to win this election as unequivocally as possible. All election monitors will no doubt be encouraged to say that there’s no fraud. With you, he has the extra assurance that you, more than most, would do anything to prevent the Federation regaining the mandate to rule in Kartvel.’

  ‘Is he going to win “unequivocally”?’ Avon asked.

  Khurdia’s lips twitched, as though he were suppressing a smile. ‘Very little in life is unequivocal, wouldn’t you agree?’

  Bluntly Avon said, ‘What are we doing here?’

  ‘I wished you to see the daily service, as it is celebrated in every village on Kartvel.’

  ‘Thanks to Shevard.’

  A sullen anger showed for a brief instant on Khurdia’s face. ‘Shevard isn’t the man you believe him to be.’

  ‘Who is?’ Avon countered, mildly.

  ‘It must be interesting,’ said Cally, ‘to feel some connection with something genuinely ancient, with your own past.’

  Khurdia seemed relieved to have an opportunity to return to a favourite subject. ‘Quite simply, that is what our life here is about. I wonder if you realise how special that makes us, within the human-populated worlds.’

  ‘There are others, no doubt,’ Avon observed.

  ‘Oh, indeed. And do you know who has a current list of every single “suspect” world upon which religion is practised? Ask Edu Shevard.’

  ‘You suspect the sincerity of his faith?’

  Khurdia guffawed. ‘Of his faith and a good deal more.’

  Avon’s eyes narrowed. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘Is it not obvious? He has made a pact with the Federation. He may even be foolish enough to trust that they will honour it.’

  Khurdia began to walk, leading them towards a large house on the plaza. Neither Avon nor Cally spoke for a minute, both considering the implications of Khurdia’s statement.

  ‘You see, my friends, you have been deceived. Shevard is an outsider on Kartvel. He’s barely been on the planet in the past fifteen years. He may have been born here, but he’s a Federation apparatchik. A member of the nomenklatura.’

  ‘Explain, apparatchik, nomenklatura.’

  ‘Old words, with bitter meaning for my people. Shevard was part of the apparatus of a foreign, imperial power. And not an insignificant member! Once, he was one of Servalan’s closest advisers.’

  ‘But that was before he turned against her.’

  Khurdia smiled. ‘My dear Avon. I took you for a man of the world! It is I who am the true choice of our people. I was on the point of gathering enough forces to oust the Federation presence myself, with the full support of the people. In an election held fifteen days before Shevard’s arrival, I was elected by eighty percent of the public. Ah, but then Shevard claimed himself as the saviour of the people. Before I could be inaugurated, he engineered this “secession” from the Federation. As though we needed to secede by then! We had the best part of the Federation administration packing their bags.

  ‘Now Shevard hovers over the seat of power, aided, I am certain, by his old friends in the Federation. It should be obvious the extent to which he is eager to ensure that the favourable outcome for him of this election is seen to be fair and just. That is why you and the other election monitors are here – you will put the final and necessary seal of approval on his new regime. And then he will ally himself with the most powerful of the non-Federation worlds: a veritable wolf in sheep’s clothing.’

  EIGHT

  They sat outside the only café, the whole village bathed in the brilliance reflected from the snow. Despite the sunshine, the mountain air was almost painfully cold and Avon and Cally were grateful for the wood-burning brazier that provided enough heat to warm their stiffened fingers.

  A young, ruddy-cheeked woman smiled as she invited them to pick from a basket of warm pastries. Avon took a flaky horn-shaped one filled with a kind of custard. He tore off a section. Hot mint tea was placed before them; on Khurdia’s recommendation they’d avoided the “coffee”, which was apparently no such thing.

  Avon considered Khurdia’s speech. ‘I’m assuming you can prove what you say?’

  ‘Given enough time I could, Avon. About my election – all you need do is to ask the people. Shevard, most certainly, will accuse me of having staged an ill-conceived and illegal election, prior to his return to Kartvel, the celebrated “dissident” now “freed”. You must trust me, I was fairly chosen.’

  Cally asked, ‘Can you at least prove that Shevard has links to the Federation? And can you substantiate your claims that he intends to act as an informer and spy?’

  Khurdia dipped a pastry into his tea. ‘Mr Shevard has neither deported nor imprisoned the remaining Federation security troops. He merely “holds” them in a complex outside the capital city. In reality, they are his guests and you can be sure that he calls on them whenever he needs a few extra troops. In disguise, naturally: no-one recognises their faces, since they used to wear masks. When he takes up power, you will find that these people will be assumed into the population and will soon occupy similar roles to those they held previously.’

  ‘You make serious allegations,’ Avon said. ‘You cannot believe that we’d act on your advice without evidence. You cannot expect us to trust you blindly.’

  Would that I had the time to reassure you, Avon.’ Khurdia didn’t seem surprised by Avon’s reaction, but Avon sensed a guarded disappointment. ‘But there is none. The election is tomorrow. You must trust your own instincts and you must trust me. Does it not strike you as unlikely that the Federation would allow this world to secede with such scant opposition? Do you not wonder about the timing? Shevard must have planned all of this as soon as he heard about my election. Then there is the question of Shevard’s suddenly revitalised interest in religion. Do you suppose that a man of faith could advance anywhere in the
hierarchy of the Federation?’

  Cally said, ‘What about his nationalism?’

  ‘That, I suspect, is genuine enough. I believe it is the key to his motivation. I think he truly believes that after he has taken control, with the Federation’s help, he will then be able to rid himself of them and personally take charge.’

  ‘Assuming that what you say is true,’ Avon said, ‘what do you want us to do about it?’

  ‘No more than your duty. Pay special attention to the conduct of the election. Report widely the truth of the fraud. Do not allow Shevard to intimidate you, as he undoubtedly intends to do.’

  ‘So far, it is only you who has forced us to do anything against our will,’ Cally commented.

  ‘I had to see you,’ Khurdia spread his palms. ‘Who else but the colleagues of the most celebrated Federation dissident, Roj Blake? Your word will carry more than that of any of the other monitors. I had to tell you the other side of the story. Without any access to information, you would have no means to guess at the truth.’

  ‘Will you now take us back to the city?’

  ‘Eventually, my dear, yes.’

  Avon said nothing. It was difficult to believe in this man as a warlord. The tranquillity of the village had quietly impressed him, as had the discreet hospitality. There was nothing about Khurdia that suggested the forceful nature that Avon would expect of a warrior. He seemed more like an academic, perhaps a senior administrator, than anything else – quite a contrast with Shevard, who from the beginning had exuded urbanity, and a familiarity with institutional power. There had to be another side to Khurdia, Avon mused. One that he was well practised at hiding. The ruthless reputation he enjoyed couldn’t be squared with the character who faced them now.

  ‘What is your personal connection with Shevard?’ he asked.

  Khurdia’s mouth set into a hard line. ‘We were boys together. We studied together. That is the way we are here on this world – we are few and consequently, we remain close. Then, Edu Shevard went to the Federation Academy. I did not. I stayed here. Shevard became Federation.’

  His speech slowed down. ‘When I was taken in for questioning about my anti-Federation protests, it was he who interrogated me.’ Khurdia’s eyes closed, briefly. ‘Such horrors. Things I will never forget, nor forgive. As you see, Avon, I have some insight into what that man is capable of.’

  ‘Shevard was tortured, too.’

  A brittle smile appeared on Khurdia’s face. ‘Ah yes. The sheer originality of the man. He took the records of my ordeal and altered them to fit his own history.’

  ‘We only have your word for that,’ Cally pointed out.

  Khurdia’s smile froze, his eyes became glassy. ‘A man’s word is often all there is.’

  Avon said, ‘You have our sympathies.’

  ‘I can rely on you?’

  Avon shrugged. ‘Why not? All you’re asking is that we monitor the election, as we have been asked to do. If you are being cheated in any way, we will report it.’

  Khurdia beamed in gratitude. It was the first time they’d seen him smile properly, and it utterly altered the man. For a second, Avon could see what others might follow in such a man. He might just be chameleon enough to be a credible leader.

  ‘Thank you, my friend. That is all I ask.’

  Khurdia saw to it that no more time was wasted. The drive back to the city would take at least four hours and the election was to be conducted the next day. They were driven to the forest at the base of the hills and then along the twisting, hidden pathway through the trees. Then, for security purposes Avon and Cally were given the keys to the car – a fairly standard Federation road vehicle. The satellite navigation was programmed to guide them back to their hotel in Kartvel City. To be accompanied further by Khurdia’s men would surely have resulted in their being shot at on any approach to the city.

  As they took their leave, Khurdia leaned his head inside the car.

  ‘You will not be sorry, I promise you. I have powerful friends who will be willing to help Blake. Not Federation – other, independent thinkers like myself.’

  *

  It was only when they were once again alone that Avon and Cally began to discuss their impressions of the encounter. Cally was fairly convinced that, from the few facts of which they were actually certain, it was not possible to believe either man’s story. Thankfully though, there was only one realistic course of action: to do the job they had been asked to do.

  Night had begun to fall as they approached the outskirts of the city. The streetlights cast a pale russet glow over the valley as they descended from the hills. They strained their eyes looking for any potential threat from the roadblock ahead, in front of St Mark’s Basilica. There must have been fifteen armed guards waiting as they slowed to a halt. They appeared to be expecting them and made some show of relief that Blake’s envoys were unharmed.

  Avon recognised one of the bodyguards outside St Mark’s as the driver who’d been assigned to them the previous evening.

  ‘The incident was regrettable,’ the man acknowledged, drawing attention to his heavily bruised eye. ‘We were betrayed from within. You see the treachery that First Minister Shevard must contend with? The battle is relentless.’

  Cally corrected him. ‘Don’t you mean, Acting First Minister Shevard?’

  Dismissively, he replied, ‘It is just a matter of time. Khurdia has no support outside of the backward people of his mountain villages.’

  ‘You’re describing most of the population,’ Cally said.

  This drew a surprised reaction from the driver. ‘What did they do to you?’

  Avon replied, ‘Nothing.’ His eyes met Cally’s in a calm, silent warning.

  ‘They took you away for the night, and nothing happened?’

  ‘We escaped,’ said Avon, breezily. ‘They should probably have taken some election monitors who had less experience of combat than us.’

  ‘You don’t appear to have been hurt,’ said the driver, suspiciously.

  Avon beamed. ‘Precisely so.’

  The driver didn’t seem convinced. Reluctantly, he let the subject drop. There was an urgency to his manner that suggested to Avon that he was under some time pressure. As they allowed themselves to be led to another armoured limousine, Avon placed a reassuring hand on Cally’s arm and briefly wished that he shared her telepathic gift. They should have left the moment that Shevard’s men had confiscated their teleport bracelets. This was a far more complicated situation than Blake had anticipated.

  A familiar sense of disappointment was rising within Avon. He wasn’t disappointed with Blake, but rather himself. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t suspected Blake’s enthusiasm had been misplaced – again. Yet he’d let that slip principally for the chance to get away from the rest of the crew, even for a couple of days. Avon only had himself to blame.

  NINE

  By the time that Jenna and Gan joined the others on the flight deck, Blake had asked Zen to search through all possible records in nearby public sector databases.

  ‘Who are you looking for?’ Jenna asked. She’d dressed quickly, Blake noticed, and had worn the same outfit three days running now. He concealed a smile. ‘I’m trying to find an old friend of mine, Raisa Beridze.’

  ‘An old girlfriend?’

  Blake acknowledged the gentle prod at his reserve of unanswered questions. On the Liberator, it was Avon who exuded the downright icy air of mystery about his personal life, another of the many things that Blake admired about the man. Yet Blake too, had managed quietly to deflect most of the questions about his past. A man didn’t get too many opportunities to completely reinvent himself. Blake’s own had come at a great personal, emotional and physical cost. Like Avon, he wasn’t about to let that count for nothing.

  ‘A former teacher, as it happens.’

  Jenna frowned. ‘All the way out here?’

  ‘Raisa wasn’t just my teacher, Jenna. She was one of the people who introduced me to the Freedom Part
y. Her family was originally from Kartvel. I’m fairly certain I remember that when things began to get difficult for us on Earth, Raisa transferred to a post at the University of Kartvel. Because of her family connections, it was the only way for her to get off-world without too much trouble.’

  ‘She ran out on you?’

  Blake found himself smiling at the implied criticism. ‘I wouldn’t call it that. It was all planned. We tried to place as many of our more senior party members out of harm’s way.’

  ‘I thought the Federation took you by surprise.’

  ‘They did,’ Blake said, curtly. ‘It happened months after Raisa left. We’d allowed ourselves to relax.’

  ‘Big mistake, when you’re on the run.’

  ‘I imagine that smugglers find it easy to remember that. But believe it or not, our first thought usually wasn’t the danger from the Federation. That’s the problem with politicals.’

  ‘An operation like that needs to be run like an armed conflict.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Blake admitted, ruefully. ‘Sadly, the Freedom Party was rather short on members who shared that mentality.’

  Gan asked, ‘Even if Raisa is on Kartvel, Blake, how is a university teacher going to help us with this?’

  Blake shrugged. ‘She’s the only person on this planet with whom I have any link.’

  ‘Do you trust her?’

  ‘The Raisa Beridze I knew on Earth? Oh, I should say so.’

  Vila couldn’t seem to stop himself from visibly fretting. He paced back and forth in front of Gan until Gan resorted to restraining him to maintain a line of sight with Blake. Irritated, Vila blurted out, ‘What if she’s changed?’

  ‘Everyone does, Vila. It’s called growing up.’

  Zen’s resonant tones sounded across the deck. ‘INFORMATION. PROFESSOR RAISA BERIDZE ORBELI IS LISTED ON THE FACULTY OF ELECTRONIC ENGINEERING AT THE UNIVERSITY OF KARTVEL.’

  Blake grinned at Jenna, then Vila. ‘Bingo!’ He headed for the corridor. As he walked, he called behind him. ‘Come along, Vila! Who knows what doors you may need to open for us.’

 

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