‘I’ve been assigned by the Federation Intelligence Bureau to the Inquisition Service,’ Melson said. ‘Kilus Kroe is my controller. We’ve done a lot of good work together over the years – me infiltrating various resistance cells, bringing in the leaders for questioning by Kroe.’
‘Nice work,’ said Vila, ‘if you can get it.’
‘You missed your chance, Vila, that’s all. Chose the wrong side. A man with your talents, and not much in the way of scruples… We can always use people like you.’
‘Is that a fact?’
‘Absolutely. It’s not too late, either.’
‘Is that a job offer?’
‘You’re a born survivor, Vila. No matter where you are or what happens or who you’re with – you always come out of it with your skin intact. It’s not cowardice. It’s cunning.’
‘Oh, I know what it is all right,’ Vila said. He let out a miserable sigh. ‘No-one knows me better than I do.’
Cally bit her lip. Vila was feeling guilty. But she didn’t want him wallowing in self-pity. Melson was right – Vila was a natural survivor: if there was a way to get out of trouble, he’d find it. So she had to let him know that she was here.
Like a cat stalking its prey, Cally edged the side of her face around the corner. She could see part of the flight deck. She could see Zen. The portside controls stations. And then, in the sitting area at the front of the deck, Vila. He was sitting with his arms stretched along the back of the seat, one foot resting on his opposite knee. Fake casual. She knew that his brain would be working hard, his thoughts running like rats through a maze, frantically searching for any possible way to escape.
‘So – this Kroe person,’ Vila was saying. ‘Can I work for him too?’
‘I don’t see why not.’
Cally couldn’t see Melson, and she didn’t want to risk being seen herself. If she poked her head out any further then there was a real chance the Federation man would notice her. She had to find a way of getting behind him.
Vila still hadn’t seen her, though. His eyes were on Melson. More than likely Melson was pointing a gun – or at least the neural stunner – at him.
She watched as Vila started to turn his head – any minute now he would see her. But then she realised that if he was still watching Melson, then Melson must be moving.
The Federation agent stepped into view, a blaster in his hand.
Thankfully he had his back to Cally. Now was her chance – at least she thought so, as her fingers closed on the grip of her blaster. But then Melson half-turned, as if he had heard something.
Cally whipped her head back and stopped breathing. The slightest sound or movement would betray her.
She needed Vila to distract Melson before she could move. But how?
*
Drena couldn’t stand any longer. Gan didn’t know if she was injured, ill, or just too weak, but she was standing next to him and when her legs started to buckle Gan caught her by the arm and hauled her upright. ‘On your feet,’ he whispered. He tried to sound positive. ‘Don’t give them the satisfaction…’
The mutoids would kill anyone they thought was weak or already dying. They wouldn’t care one way or another, so the bit about not giving them satisfaction was a meaningless lie. But it was all Gan could think of.
Drena looked up at him and nodded weakly. ‘Th-thanks. I don’t how much more of this I can take.’
‘Keep your chin up. At least we’re still alive.’
‘That’s the problem. I can’t stop thinking about Zake. It was all my fault, I was meant to look after him. Protect him. And I let them shoot him.’
‘There was nothing you could have done,’ Gan assured her.
‘You don’t understand…’
‘Shut up,’ hissed Stygo. He was standing on the other side of Gan, facing the pod wall like all the other prisoners. ‘You’re just attracting attention. Let her go.’
‘I’m not going to stand by while she collapses,’ Gan hissed back.
‘Then you’re an idiot.’
Gan turned back to Drena. ‘Don’t give up.’
Drena shook her head sadly. ‘I don’t think I can go on.’
‘I said shut up you pair of idiots,’ snarled Stygo.
‘Silence!’ barked one of the mutoids. She strode past Gan and Drena and jabbed the butt of her gun right into Stygo’s kidney. He let out a huge huff of air and staggered against the wall. Stygo was a big man, strong too, and proud of it. Gan was surprised at how badly he seemed to be hurt; but then a mutoid had superior strength, and, more than likely, was able to pinpoint the vital organs with great efficiency.
And the mutoid wasn’t finished yet. As Stygo sagged and held onto the wall for support, she drew back her weapon and slammed it down onto the junction of his neck and shoulder. The crimo gave a gasp of agony as pain flared through the massive junction of nerves.
‘Don’t do that,’ said Drena with sudden anger. ‘You’re hurting him! Don’t you people ever stop?’
‘Be silent!’ hissed the mutoid. She pulled the gun back again, high over Stygo’s head, ready to put her full weight and power into the next blow. With that kind of accuracy and strength, it could well be fatal, realised Gan.
The mutoid swung the blaster once more – and then stopped. Her arm was rigid above her head, the butt of the gun centimetres from the top of Stygo’s skull.
Gan had grabbed her wrist. His fingers went all the way around, quite comfortably. But she was so strong. The muscles hardened and bulged in Gan’s forearm as he struggled to pull her wrist away and down, sapping the force of the blow.
The mutoid turned to stare at him. There was a clear, cold resolution in her eyes. She intended to kill Gan on the spot. She twisted her arm free of his grasp, spun the autoblaster around and aimed for his chest.
Gan stared straight down at the barrel.
In the split second before the mutoid could pull the trigger, Stygo’s heavy fist crashed into the side of her head with such force that he dislodged the black carapace. Sparks flew from the crack and the mutoid staggered sideways. Stygo immediately followed up with another massive blow, with the same fist and with his full weight behind it, right into the same spot. More sparks flickered from beneath the cracked black plastic and something wet and pink bulged inside. A punch like that would kill a strong man outright. But as the mutoid simply sank to one knee, she turned her gun to point it at Stygo.
The other mutoid had already come to the aid of her comrade. She stepped adroitly past the stricken guard and pushed Stygo back with the flat of one hand, like an adult intervening in a fight between unruly children. Stygo was walked back and rammed into the wall, the mutoid’s blaster hard against his forehead.
All the other prisoners had turned to watch. There was a moment when everything seemed to stop. Everyone waited for the gunshot that would blow Stygo’s brains out. Every one of them jumped as a shot rang out and the back of the mutoid’s uniform was torn open, black blood erupting from the wound. She turned, eyes wide with surprise. Standing in the airlock door at the back of the pod was a young woman and – Avon. Both had guns, and a curl of smoke was rising from the barrel of the pistol in the woman’s hand. She pulled the trigger again and the mutoid crashed to the floor, spurting luminous slime from her chest.
The mutoid who was still on her knees following Stygo’s assault turned her head slowly to look at the intruders. There was an uncomprehending blankness in the dark eyes now, as if they could see perfectly well, transmitting images straight into the computer cortex, but the damaged brain behind them was no longer capable of processing the information.
Avon stepped forward, aiming his own weapon. The barrel flared and the mutoid flopped to the floor, smoke trailing from its shattered skull.
‘Well now,’ he said. ‘Looks like I’ve arrived just in time.’
*
Vila suddenly sat bolt upright.
Someone had just whispered his name.
He glanced quickly
around the flight deck but he couldn’t see anyone. Melson was fiddling with one of the control podiums, trying to find a way to get Zen to reply. Thankfully the computer was staying stubbornly silent.
Vila!
There it was again. Vila looked around, trying not to make it obvious. Melson was distracted, but he still had the gun pointed in Vila’s direction. No doubt Blake or Avon would try something clever if they were in his position; Vila wasn’t nearly brave enough.
Vila. It’s Cally. I’m speaking to you with my mind.
‘Telepathy,’ realised Vila, surprised.
‘What?’ said Melson, looking up sharply.
‘I said… tell… me about it.’
‘About what?’
‘About… working for the Federation.’
‘What’s there to say?’ Melson shrugged. He seemed quite relaxed. It was obvious he thought Vila didn’t pose any kind of a threat, and probably he was right. But did he have to look so calm and assured about it? ‘Do your job right and they look after you.’
‘Ah – there’s my problem straightaway.’ Vila clicked his fingers.
‘What?’
‘The word “job”. Ugh. Gives me the shivers. I never could stand the sound of it.’
Cally’s voice came into his head again: That’s it, Vila. Keep him talking.
‘A little hard work never hurt anyone,’ Melson said.
‘I bruise easily.’
Melson sauntered down from the flight controls and perched on the edge of the sill in front of Zen. He still had the pistol trained on Vila. ‘You’re a complete waste of space, Vila, you know that?’
‘It has been said before.’
You’re not a waste of space. Well, not all the time.
‘There’s not really any room in the Federation for passengers and hangers-on,’ Melson continued. ‘It rewards hard work, good work, and dedication.’
‘And do you get your rewards?’
‘Yes. Good pay, good opportunities, interesting work.’
‘I was thinking more along the lines of free booze and plenty of women.’
‘That’s your real problem, Vila: you aim low.’
‘You’re the one working for the Federation.’
Melson sorted. ‘You really are a miserable little worm.’
‘How much longer?’
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
Don’t talk to me out loud, Vila! Just give me a little more time!
‘There’s only so much criticism a man can take, you know,’ Vila complained.
A few more seconds…
‘Enough.’ Melson stood up. ‘I want this Zen thing online and responding to my voice. Give the necessary command, Vila.’
‘No.’
‘Give it, or lose a kneecap.’ Melson aimed his gun at Vila’s left knee. ‘Your choice.’
‘Please don’t. I need both knees for grovelling.’
‘On the count of three.’
‘I can’t. Really I can’t.’
‘One.’
‘I don’t even know the correct command protocols. Avon does all that stuff, he’s the computer expert…’
‘Two.’
‘Zen doesn’t even talk to me!’
‘Three.’
Melson moved the pistol slightly as his arm straightened to take the shot. Whether or not he saw Cally first, or just became aware of an unexpected movement out of the corner of one eye, Vila would never know. But Melson corrected his aim in an instant, spinning around and firing even as he dived to the ground.
Cally’s shot howled across the flight deck and blew a small chunk out of Melson’s left arm. His own gun blazed again and sparks flew from the bulkhead wall just behind Cally’s head. The Federation man’s shot was wide, but the diversion was enough.
Melson sprinted up the half dozen steps leading from the flight deck.
Cally hurtled after him. ‘Wake Jenna!’ she told Vila as she passed.
*
‘Avon!’ said Gan, full of astounded relief. Then his expression hardened slightly. ‘Where have you been?’
‘Dead, to all intents and purposes,’ Avon replied. ‘But I’m back now.’
‘He’s been hiding in the storage hold,’ said the girl who was with him. ‘Like a rat.’
‘Who’s your young friend?’ Gan asked Avon.
‘My name is Zola,’ she said. ‘I work for the Civil Administration.’
‘But don’t hold that against her,’ Avon said.
‘I may not be able to help it,’ said Drena bitterly. ‘She can rot with the mutoids for all I care.’
Zola stared at her. ‘I’m junior navigator aboard this ship. But as the captain and the first officer are both dead, I am assuming command.’
A chorus of bitter laughter and whistles greeted this.
‘Now the situation is this,’ Zola continued undeterred. ‘A criminal named Kilus Kroe has taken over the ship –’
Stygo cut her off. ‘He’s ain’t no criminal, girl. These are mutoids...’ He pointed at the dead figures sprawled across the pod deck. ‘Federation vampire troopers. They don’t work for criminals. So whoever Kroe is, he sure ain’t a criminal – at least, not as far as the Federation is concerned.’
Zola stared at the nearest dead mutoid, a haunted look in her eyes.
‘So what now?’ Gan asked. He watched Stygo warily as the crimo picked up the autoblasters belonging to the dead mutoids. ‘Every man for himself again?’
‘Sort of,’ Stygo replied. Then he held out one of the blasters to Gan.
Gan took the weapon and looked the crimo in the eye. ‘Are you with us?’
‘Well, I ain’t against you,’ he said. ‘Not while these things are around.’ He kicked the mutoid corpse. ‘Anyway – you’re not bad in a scrap. And I think there’s goin’ to be another one soon.’
Gan cocked the autoblaster. ‘I certainly hope so.’
‘If you two have quite finished,’ said Avon, ‘I think we should proceed. Zola here tells me that the ship is drifting towards the ring system around the planet. This is now our primary concern. If we don’t find a way to stop it, then the entire ship will be smashed to pieces.’
THIRTY-THREE
Blake watched the first biovore as it crawled rapidly up the inside of the jar and poked its tiny, blunt head out. It weaved to and fro as if searching for something. Blake couldn’t take his eyes off it; everything seemed to be happening in some kind of dreadful slow motion.
‘Oh, this is a hungry one,’ Kroe cooed. ‘And a leader, too, by the looks of it. They hunt in packs, did I mention?’
The biovore crawled out onto the rim of the jar, its stubby little legs moving with an abominable and remorseless rhythm. Behind it, the others boiled and squirmed.
‘Want a demonstration?’ Kroe asked. With a tiny jerk of his wrist, he flicked the biovore off the rim of the jar. It landed on the face of the mutoid standing next to him with a tiny smack.
The mutoid’s hand snapped up to remove the creature, but Kroe gave a sharp command to stop. The mutoid froze obediently and left the biovore where it was. Its legs worked frantically as it roved around the toughened white skin.
Blake watched in horrified fascination as the thing rapidly found the mutoid’s dark lips and disappeared between them. The mutoid’s expression became strained as she sucked in her cheeks and pursed her lips in preparation to spit the creature out.
‘Wait,’ Kroe commanded.
Once again the mutoid froze. Blake was both amazed and disgusted by her blind devotion to orders. He wondered at the blank look in her eyes. Was she genuinely unmoved, or was she simply overriding every natural instinct that must be screaming for her to eject the biovore?
‘Swallow,’ Kroe said.
The mutoid didn’t even hesitate, didn’t even spare a sideways glance at her master. Her throat moved as the biovore was consumed.
‘I love mutoids, don’t you?’ Kroe asked Blake.
Blake was finding it
difficult to breathe. The mutoid didn’t look too happy either. Somewhere in her gullet the biovore had probably stopped, fastened onto the flesh and started to eat. It would eat until it couldn’t eat any longer.
‘This could take ages,’ Kroe said. ‘That’s the trouble with mutoids, they’re so damned tough.’
‘Then I suggest you get on with it.’
The voice came from behind Blake. The chair was positioned so that Blake’s back was towards the front of the pod. Someone had entered the pod from the front airlock, unnoticed during the drama with the biovore. Not even Kroe had seen them, not until they spoke.
Kroe was a statue in his combined reactions of shock and dismay. He was staring wide-eyed at the newcomer, clearly unable to think of anything to say in reply.
Blake, too, was momentarily speechless. He had instantly recognised the voice that had spoken, although it seemed utterly impossible.
‘Travis?’
‘Blake,’ said Travis. He stalked into Blake’s field of vision like a black panther, silent and deadly. He was wearing a Federation combat spacesuit, darkly silvered armour over a tight-fitting vacuum suit. His left hand was rigidly extended, the laseron destroyer aimed directly at Kilus Kroe’s head.
‘Well, I have to admit,’ Kroe said, ‘that I didn’t expect this.’
‘Then you should have.’ Travis circled Kroe carefully, keeping out of striking range, the handgun trained on Kroe’s skull every second.
Blake’s head was spinning with the implications of all this, but he seemed to recover more quickly than Kroe. He looked at Kroe’s mutoid, to see how she would react to Travis, but she had simply raised her hands in apparent surrender.
Another mutoid stepped into view, this one with Travis, also in a combat spacesuit, aiming an autoblaster. All mutoids looked very similar, but this one seemed familiar to Blake. She looked in a bad way – scratched and bruised, as if she’d been in a fight.
‘Drop your weapon,’ the mutoid instructed.
Kroe’s mutoid complied after only a moment’s pause.
The autoblaster clattered on the floor.
‘I never thought I’d be glad to see you, Travis,’ said Blake.
‘Don’t start celebrating yet, Blake,’ he replied without taking his eye off Kroe. ‘The only reason you’re not dead already is because you’re bound to that chair.’
Blake's 7: Criminal Intent Page 16
