by Tony Attwood
‘You mean we weren’t part of the plan?’ asked Vila.
‘Not at all. It didn’t matter too much because we’d kept several divisions of the Federation’s senior officers on the hop over Blake for nearly a year. But your sudden appearance took everyone by surprise. We had told the Federation command that Blake was on Gauda Prime, but we certainly didn’t tell anyone else, and Blake had no real way of communicating beyond that one star system. So I was rushed in to find out what you’d got up to. Only by the time I arrived all I could find was Kerr Avon.’
As Korell finished her explanation she heaved a sigh of relief, letting out the tension of a long campaign. She turned her weapon to one side and brought her mouth close to it, and spoke a soft word of command. In one corner of the room a blue haze began to appear, grew deeper, took shape and turned into an eighteen year-old with cropped hair. As the girl’s form completed she stepped forward and handed a ring to Korell. Korell turned to Avon and Vila. ‘Let me introduce you,’ she said with a smile. ‘This is Daareen. Supposed mastermind of Servalan’s strategic operations, but in reality, a loyal agent of the Administration.’
The words had little effect on Vila. He continued to stare at the corner from which Daareen had appeared. ‘Teleport,’ he said. ‘You’ve got teleport.’
Korell adjusted the ring on her hand and looked at the thief. ‘Poor Vila,’ she said, ‘you still don’t follow, do you? It’s not about Servalan and Avon – it’s not about people at all. It’s about systems – technologies – progress. Our Empire has always been based on rational logical thought and that remains the only route of true progress, because rationality supercedes all individual deviance. That has been the strength of the Administration since it was founded one hundred and fifty years ago. And that logical thought reached its summit with Ensor, and through Ensor, Orac. For five years it has been the central aim of the Administration to bring Orac back where it belongs. At the heart of the Federation, on Earth.’
‘But Servalan took Orac,’ protested Vila, looking down at the grisly corpse on the floor.
‘And why do you think Avon had so few worries about letting Orac go? Because he knew that Servalan’s political ambition was so great she would use Orac for nothing more than concocting strategies to fight her way back to the Presidency. She didn’t even notice when Daareen suggested that she might have a little time with Orac to solve one or two problems, especially since we’d arranged for her to have Caro as well. Caro talked to her, relayed messages from Orac, told her what she wanted to know. After a while she didn’t realise that she hadn’t seen Orac for days on end. As long as something was there to give Servalan her battle projections she didn’t care. It actually took Orac about three weeks to design and test out a teleport system that we could build with materials available on Earth. Servalan didn’t even know it had been done.’
Korell turned to Avon. ‘I should shoot you here and now. Your kind has no place in the future. You are a vagrant, nothing more. For a while we all respected your technical skill, but once you started tinkering with the idea of MIND you were lost. All these wild games you play; they are meaningless. Skat, and the black hole – a useful theoretical construct, and probably one of Servalan’s best strategies, but it’s a dead end. Just like the sound projections of the Ghammarans. One weapon and an effective one too, and you were the only man in the Galaxy who could have found a way of negating it so quickly. The Administration owes you for that, I recognise it. But it is still an aside from the main thrust of development.
‘Orac is the first twentieth generation computer and we need more, and you should be using your skills to build them to help us continue to develop. Orac has given us teleport, and within months every Administration ship will have the facility. The existing Federation command structure will be replaced and a new Federation created without the likes of Servalan in control. You could have been part of it, Avon. But there is something rotten in you that is slowly eating you from within. I won’t kill you Avon. You’ve lost yet again. Take your revenge against Blake now. You’re dead already.’
Korell looked at Daareen and together they touched elements on their rings. Within seconds they had vanished.
Vila had no hope of explanation from Avon. He looked at the body of Servalan, bent over it, and struggled to pull it to the door. Without a word Captain Telon moved across and gave Vila a hand. Together they pushed the inert form into the extractor bay. The body fell into the central disintegrator easily. Servalan was no more.
By the time Vila and Telon got back to the main control room events had started moving again. The sphere had moved lower whilst the skies above Terminal had cleared as the Administration forces regrouped to make a final assault on the fleets of Servalan and Yardyan. However, one of the captains had clearly either developed the notion that Terminal was a hostile planet, or had the intention of diverting the attention of whatever it was that was in the sphere elsewhere. Whichever the reason the result was clear enough: a series of plasma bolts were unleashed. A series which would, in time, destroy the whole planet.
‘Get the shields on!’ shouted Avon.
Vila fell into his chair and turned on the defences just in time to deflect the first bolt.
‘Two further bolts running,’ announced Terminal Computer.
‘Keep the shield up,’ called Avon.
‘But the energy drain,’ protested Vila. ‘These things were never built to withstand this sort of bombardment. They were supposed to take little more than meteors.’
‘It doesn’t matter, keep them up,’ Avon replied as a second pair of bolts struck the planetary atmosphere.
‘Why didn’t you kill the women while they were here?’ asked Telon above the vibration.
‘I must be getting soft,’ came the reply. Avon continued watching the screen intently. ‘Now!’ He said it to himself, but loud enough to catch Vila’s attention. A beam was passing out of the sphere. It hit the ship responsible for the bolts, and must have caused some damage, for immediately the attack on Terminal was broken off and the ship made a rapid departure.
Distractedly they watched as the sphere came lower. It landed, gently, only feet away from the main exit bay. A door in the side of the ship opened up and a short ladder came down to the ground. Then all was still. Avon stood up.
‘Bring KAT,’ he said to Vila. ‘And your tool box.’
‘What for?’ Avon began to walk away to the main shaft. ‘I said “what for?”’ repeated Vila, breaking into a run.
‘It is hard to justify your existence at the best of times,’ Avon told him. ‘Without your tools for opening locks it would be impossible.’ And with that he began to climb the long stairway.
‘You are not going into that ship? Avon! What for? Who are they? Telon, are you going too?’ Telon evidently was, although he failed to reply. Finding no answer Vila lowered his voice, but kept talking to himself as he climbed behind Avon. At one stage he paused for a moment and looked back down. They had left the lighting systems on full, illuminating the passageway now two hundred feet below. The possibility of a fall made him feel sick. He clung to the rails, and looked upwards. Avon was making rapid progress. Vila glanced back down one more time. In two hundred years the battery cells would run down and need replacing. Then the lights would go out. Vila carried on climbing.
On the surface the bats seemed to be resting. In fact there were no immediate signs of wild creatures of any variety, although that hardly reassured Vila. Tarrant hadn’t seen the white tigers.
The enormity of the sphere was overwhelming but it wasn’t just the size that impressed Vila. It was more that it seemed impossible that anyone – anything – could have landed so huge an object so close to the target – presuming that the entry port was the target. Avon walked calmly in his space suit across the few feet of frozen ground, with Telon and Vila close behind.
The sphere had put out a series of shafts which dug straight down into the hardened ground, presumably to hold it upright. At le
ast twenty could be seen in the gloom. The single door appeared designed for a conventional humanoid, about seven feet high and three feet wide. From this angle there were no signs of propulsion units, docking hatches, external screens, nor anything else normally associated with a deep spaceship. Black stripes crossed the whole machine.
Avon walked under the shadow of the sphere and put a gloved hand against it. It was perfectly smooth. He pulled a fist back and hit it hard. It gave out no sound. He seemed to be in no hurry to walk inside. Vila, on the other hand, was now starting to get very cold even with the thermal protection of a Terminal spacesuit. His attitude changed and he urged Avon to abandon his stroll around the ship (which he estimated was going to take about half an hour) and start up the short metal stairway. A loud howl in the background encouraged him to urge Avon even more strongly. At last Avon accepted the suggestion and led the way up the short ladder and pressed on the control panel at the top. The door silently slid back and allowed them to enter an airlock which rapidly closed behind them. The inner door opened and Avon moved forward, drawing his laser gun. Vila did the same, keeping one pace behind, shuffling along uncertainly. Silently Telon brought up the rear.
They were in a short corridor, red and black like the outside of the ship itself. Two armed guards approached but pulled back into a side corridor as soon as they saw the guns. A voice came on the intercom.
‘This ship is now in motion. Please lay down your weapons. If you refuse we will wait until you drop from hunger or thirst. If you try to fight it out we have several hundred armed troops on this ship and you are certain to lose eventually. Lay down your arms.’
‘Avon,’ said Vila. ‘Couldn’t we do as we’re told for once? I don’t fancy starving to death.’
Avon laughed, and laid down his gun. Vila and Telon followed suit. KAT and the tool kit remained on Vila’s shoulder. The guards reappeared and moved forward tentatively. They wore the same red and black stripes on their loose fitting uniforms as seen on the outer hull. With their weapons they indicated the way forward.
It was clear the three men were being led round part of the rim of the ship. Eventually they paused beside a door, which moved back to allow them to enter. Roughly the guards pushed them inside, and by the time they could turn round the door was locked.
Vila inspected the door, glad of a chance to show his professional prowess. Before he could pass an opinion KAT spoke. ‘MIND is near,’ the machine said.
‘I always said you should lay off the hard stuff,’ said Vila. ‘MIND is a myth. Didn’t you hear Korell?’
Avon stood dead still, right hand slightly raised in characteristic fashion.
‘MIND is on the sphere,’ reiterated KAT.
At that moment the door slid back and two men entered. One carried a weapon, the other a communicator on his wrist. The latter spoke. ‘The transactions in this room will be recorded, as is everything on this ship.’
‘Making an archive?’ asked Vila, but the comment had no effect.
‘Your names?’
Vila had an idea. ‘We are wanted men. The Federation, the Administration, Servalan’s troops, the Ghammarans –they are all after us, and if they know we are on this ship they’ll be bound to attack you. So why don’t you just put us back down on Terminal and we’ll get back into the control room there and stay put, and you won’t have any further problems from us. We’re the enemies of everyone. Just like you, I expect, only for different reasons. Well maybe the same reasons. Or maybe no reasons at all. Or perhaps you’re not enemies of the Federation. Well we’re not either. Not in the full sense. You have your war, we have ours. No point in getting all mixed up is there?’ Vila stopped talking. It wasn’t so much that he had finished saying what he meant to say, as that he had actually lost track of what it all meant.
‘Your name?’ repeated the questioner.
Vila gave the truthful answer. The questioner’s communicator clicked and pictures appeared on the miniature screen.
‘You were with Blake?’
‘Blake, oh yes. We were with Blake. Like I said, enemies of the Federation. You know Blake, greatest outlaw of the age. Died you know...’
‘It seems the computer thinks you are who you say you are. And if you are, the commander would undoubtedly like to see you. Sir. Would you step this way, Sir?’
Vila was bemused. The weapon which had previously been pointed at him was now raised in ceremonial salute. He was being called Sir. He looked nervously at Avon, who could do nothing but smile back. Vila seemed for a moment to be out of words, but he tried to put on a dignified air as along with Avon and Telon he was shown (rather than led) through further corridors all decorated in the ubiquitous red and black, and into a circular room. It appeared to be an important meeting point on the ship. There were relaxing couches in front of a low level table with firmer chairs around the edges. Half the room was split in two by a mezzanine floor with a spiral staircase linking both levels at the back. Towards one wall near what could be described as the front of the room was a small stage with a lectern. Slightly to the right was a large screen currently showing pictures of the rapidly-receding Terminal.
Interesting though these features were, they were as nothing compared with the one aspect of the room that struck all three men immediately they entered. What they saw, what dominated their total perception, was an enormous engraving etched completely into the wall and running some fifteen feet tall from floor and ceiling. It was undoubtedly designed to be easily visible from both floors and from all points in the room. It also appeared to have holistic properties for as Avon moved to left and right the engraving took on new dimensions. Whichever way it was viewed there could be absolutely no mistake of what it was. A little idealised perhaps, a little unreal, and somewhat larger than life; but still unmistakable. The face of Roj Blake.
‘I wonder if these people know who killed him?’ asked Vila with mock innocence.
The door opened. Two guards appeared dressed in full battle fatigues plus medals and other decorations. The senior of the two spoke formally. ‘Gentlemen, the Captain would be pleased if you would honour us with your presence on the Bridge.’ The guard led the way.
Vila began to play the part, uttering a variety of phrases from ‘Why yes’ and ‘Of course’ through to ‘This way?’ and ‘Oh that way’ as he rapidly lost his sense of direction.
They moved in fact towards the centre of the ship. A door opened and they entered yet another circular room. Vila made a joke about going round in circles. Avon remained silent. Half a dozen people sat at control desks. Around the walls giant screens showed various aspects of nearby and distant space, except in one spot where a red and black flag had been unfurled. The officers at their posts, all neatly decked out in loose fitting red and black, smartly stood to attention as Vila, Avon and Telon entered. The captain staring intently at one of the wall screens took a moment to turn. As she did a broad smile crossed her face. To Vila she was beautiful. More beautiful than Korell. More beautiful than anyone. Everything about her suggested something deeper than Korell, from her heavy fighting boots to her shoulder-length brown hair. There was also something a little disturbing; something vaguely familiar about her.
Whatever reservations Vila had about the woman, they were not enough to make him not want to make full use of the circumstances that fate had pushed him towards. He seemed to be a hero. He had been with Blake from the beginning, and these people seemed to have a thing about Blake. So maybe the captain could have a thing about Vila too.
‘Kerr Avon.’ The captain moved towards Avon with an outstretched hand. Avon took the hand, kissed it gently with mock ceremony and looked at the girl. Vila rubbed his eyes. Just his luck. The woman knew Avon. She was probably his long lost lover. Vila coughed and gained Avon’s attention. ‘Won’t you introduce me to the lady Captain?’ he asked uncertainly.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Avon with feigned politeness. ‘This is Vila Restell. Good at stealing, worse than useless at anything else
. And this is Telon, a captain in what was Servalan’s fleet.’ He turned back to the Captain of the sphere. ‘This is Tor.’ He paused for a moment and looked back at the woman. ‘Tor Avon. My sister. Also, I presume, if not MIND then the creator and operator of MIND.’
‘I see you have been using your little box. Most ingenious.’
‘If you mean KAT,’ said Vila, ‘it was actually discovered by me.’
‘But built by my brother,’ said Tor. ‘He always has been too modest!’
Finding Avon’s sister in charge of a ship with a massive hologram of Blake on the wall, combined with the news that Avon had built KAT and then presumably deliberately let him find it, was starting to threaten Vila’s sanity. But to have Avon described as modest was too much. Vila asked Tor for more information in the hope it might convince him he wasn’t going mad after all.
‘The ship is called Blake’s 7.’ The statement didn’t help Vila’s state of mind. ‘It’s named after your one-time compatriot and yourselves. It was designed by MIND – which is myself, as you guessed, operating in conjunction with a computer system I designed and which is now fitted into the ship. This is the flag ship of the revolution. We are taking the opportunity of this in-fighting to destroy what remains of Federation and Administration power, and to liberate the Galaxy once and for all.’
