‘Please, friends of Roj Blake, your attention.’ The woman spoke with a heavy accent, not the more urbane tones they’d heard in Kartvel City. ‘My name is Borena. Accept my apologies for necessity of threat. Sometimes is no other way. Now, the hour very late. We expected you sooner at St Mark’s. But now too late to see Zviad Khurdia. You stay here until tomorrow. There is food,’ she added, opening a cupboard, ‘and vodka in the freezer. You should not be uncomfortable. Shevard’s people have been told that you are in no danger. They surely will contact your ship to reassure your colleagues. Truly, my friends, we simply wish to exercise our right to put our case.’
‘Then we aren’t your hostages?’ Cally asked.
‘Hostage most inappropriate. We are hospitable people. Permit us to entertain you.’
Avon said, ‘You’ve begun well. I don’t know when I was last kidnapped so effectively.’
‘You may discuss our methods with Mr Khurdia in the morning. Now, we are all tired. I am certain you wish to rest,’ Borena said. ‘I wish you a good night.’ She closed and then locked the apartment door from the outside.
Avon went immediately to the door and tested it. He frowned, then tested the windows. Also sealed. He began to remove his jacket. The air outside had been so cold that its metallic fibres had sharply chilled. But inside the apartment, the air was warm and smelt faintly of sweet resin.
Cally opened the fridge and brought out a few things from inside. There was a wheel of cheese wrapped in waxed paper, some sliced sausage, six blue-grey eggs, butter and a fruit that looked rather like apples. A paper bag contained a sliced loaf of brown bread.
She removed the bottle from the freezer, found two glasses and poured a measure into one. It was a very pale green colour, tasted very crisp, clean and had a smooth, grassy aftertaste. She poured out a second glass and turned to face Avon with it in her hand.
‘Plan?’
‘I don’t think there’s any point trying to escape,’ he began. ‘And anyway, I want to meet this Zviad Khurdia. There are a few things about this planet that interest me.’
‘For instance?’
‘The relative ease with which Shevard managed to persuade the Federation to let the colony secede. It struck me as odd the moment Blake showed us the broadcast. There are a fair number of these little worlds. In general, the Federation is loath to let go of any of them. In the case of Kartvel, it seems even more unlikely. Look at these mountains for example. Mountains this big often contain useful natural resources: bauxite, copper ores, precious metals.’
‘Yes, I see.’ Cally handed him the glass of vodka.
‘Then there’s the image Kartvel likes to give of itself,’ he continued, ‘of a religious outpost. Most people hear “religious” and they think of primitives worshipping idols. Yet what we’ve seen is a sophisticated culture. Certainly the type of culture that might become a threat to the Federation. It’s as if the Kartveli are keen to give an impression of being a cultural backwater.’
‘Avon, what about that painting that Shevard showed us? He treated it like some kind of holy relic.’
‘The Federation doesn’t generally tolerate organised, literate religion. On Earth it’s illegal. Something’s going on here, Cally.’
‘You think we’ve walked into a trap?’
Avon sampled the vodka. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time that Blake led us astray.’
‘If you disagree with him so much, why do you stay?’
‘On the Liberator?’ he shrugged. ‘Survival. I’m a wanted man, what other realistic option is there?’
She shook her head. ‘That might be true, perhaps, of Vila. But you, Avon? No. You’re too involved for it simply to be a matter of survival.’
‘Everyone needs a purpose.’
‘I thought yours was to get rich?’
‘The money was always irrelevant. The goal was security. To have safety, freedom.’
‘And now, you have neither.’
They shared a moment of silence. Cally’s eyes lowered, she began to turn away. ‘We shouldn’t stay up too late. We’ve no idea what Khurdia has in mind for tomorrow.’
‘You’re wrong, you know.’
She turned to face him again. ‘Wrong about what?’
‘I have safety, and relative freedom. The Liberator is the fastest ship in the galaxy. Some might say that I am as close to freedom and safety as you can get.’
‘If only Blake didn’t insist on getting in the way.’
He tried to suppress a grin. ‘You may have a point. But that may not be permanent.’
‘Do you see Blake giving up the Liberator?’
‘To him it’s a means to a very different end, one that might eventually be accomplished.’
‘So that’s a yes?’
‘It’s a qualified yes.’
‘What about us?’
‘What about you?’
‘Are you going to throw us off the Liberator, if it becomes yours?’
He reflected. ‘Tempting.’
‘It’s a pointless argument, really,’ Cally said. ‘I think Blake’s a long way from overthrowing the Federation.’
‘That’s because you see this as a recent venture. But for Blake, this began years ago. Remember the Freedom Party?’
‘The Federation disbanded them, didn’t it?’
‘And yet here’s Blake, a convicted criminal, leading the rebellion from the galaxy’s most powerful spaceship. Blake – so well networked within the community of revolutionaries and dissidents that newly elected leaders call on him for support. Insurrection isn’t new to Blake, Cally.’
‘It isn’t new to me either.’
‘Hence your great value to Blake.’
‘So if you get your wish, Avon, the Liberator for youself, would there be a place for me?’
‘I think you know the answer to that.’
SIX
When Blake had first suggested that Avon and Cally should accept the invitation to act as election monitors, he had felt rather proud of himself. He didn’t usually find it easy to delegate. He told himself that it was a natural leader’s fear of placing his crew in danger. But Blake understood that his true reasons were more complex.
His reservations began the moment that Avon and Cally took the shuttle to Kartvel. Avon was cunning, resourceful and strategic. Cally added bravery and loyalty to the team. But this mission was a diplomatic one, and Shevard had very clearly wanted him for the task. Now, Blake had introduced an unexpected element to the equation. A niggling instinct had warned him that the outcome of such interference would not be good. Yet he’d ignored that instinct and sent them.
Anxiously, Blake checked the logs for any missed communication. There hadn’t been any word from Avon or Cally since they’d reported briefly from Kartvel City spaceport. All attempts to contact them had failed, which meant that the teleport bracelets must have been removed.
Nothing in what Shevard had told Blake about the election had warned them that this might happen. Yet later, when he’d contacted Shevard’s office, they’d confirmed that indeed, all election monitors were required to respect the communications protocol: Avon and Cally were free to send any message via the official channels, he was told. Otherwise, they had to remain neutral, and therefore cut off from all off-world communication.
Vila ambled onto the flight deck, yawning. ‘Any news from Avon and Cally?’
Blake shook his head.
‘You reckon they’re living it up in some fancy hotel suite, getting to know each other far too well, if you know what I mean?’
‘I somehow doubt that,’ Blake said, dryly.
‘Yeah well, you would,’ Vila said. ‘But Avon, on the quiet I reckon, is a bit of a ladies’ man.’
‘Hides it rather well, if that’s the case.’
‘He’s a bit surly with Jenna and Cally, sure. But he’s not a bad-looking fellow, is our Avon. Oh yeah, I’d put a bet on him finding some pleasant female company down on Kartvel.’
‘It
’s reassuring to know that two of your crewmates can be out for contact for this long without you getting anxious.’
‘You’re worried?’
Blake nodded and said, slowly. ‘I am.’
‘Well,’ Vila remarked in a mild voice, ‘maybe you should have listened to Gan. He said it was probably a trap.’
‘A trap?’ snapped Blake. ‘Yes, of course, there’s always that risk. But almost any invitation could be a trap. I checked – the other election monitors have received exactly the same treatment.’
Vila raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh, you checked?’
‘Despite yours and Avon’s persistent doubt in me, I don’t send people into the field without a pretty good idea of what they’re going to face.’
Vila shrugged. Blake could see that he was simply arguing for the sake of it. He probably didn’t really care much one way or the other. So long as Vila himself felt safe, he was usually pretty calm. ‘What time is it, in Kartvel City?’
‘Late evening. I’d have thought they’d check in with us before going to sleep.’
‘Maybe they’re at a drinks party. Wouldn’t there be some kind of reception?’
‘You’re right. I’m going to call Shevard’s office again, see if they can get a message through.’
‘I’m going to make a hot drink,’ Vila said. He turned towards the kitchen. ‘Fancy a cup?’
*
It took a few moments to get through to someone on Kartvel who’d actually speak to Blake. Then, to his surprise, he was told that Acting First Minister Shevard himself wished to address him. When his face appeared on the screen, Blake saw at once that there was trouble. The man’s voice was calm, but carried an undercurrent of urgency. ‘Blake, talk to me, what have you heard?’
‘Shevard, what’s going on?’
‘Don’t be alarmed, Blake. That’s the first thing to remember.’
‘Alarmed? I think you should let me be the judge of that.’
‘We have every assurance that Avon and Cally are alive.’
Blake blinked and drew a long, slow breath. ‘Shevard, I entrusted you with the safety of two of my team.’
‘And we let you down. I know. You have my most heartfelt apologies, Blake. I trusted my security forces. Most regrettably, it appears that Zviad Khurdia’s supporters may have infiltrated their numbers.’
‘Who is Zviad Khurdia?’ growled Blake.
‘He’s of no consequence, really. A local warlord. Towards the end of the Federation’s time here, things fell apart somewhat. Something of a power vacuum. Khurdia took control in some mountains regions.’
Vila looked doubtful. ‘Yeah. Had a lot of experience with warlords, have you?’
‘Primitive societies sometimes have them.’
‘So that’s a “no”?’
Blake shrugged. ‘I don’t see why it’s relevant.’
‘I dunno. I worry easily, you know me. People with the word “war” in their title, they especially worry me.’
‘Why can’t we reach Avon and Cally?’ Blake asked Shevard. ‘Did you take their communicators?’
‘The election monitors are required to be kept in seclusion for the duration, Blake. These are the Federation’s rules.’
‘You might have explained that earlier.’
‘Would it have made a difference?’
Blake suppressed an exasperated sigh. Shevard had no way of knowing that the communicators were also a sure-fire way of pulling any of the Liberator crew out of harm’s way.
‘What now?’
‘We wait. A ransom, no doubt, will be requested at some stage.’
‘Shevard, why don’t you just tell me where my crew have been taken and leave the rest to us?’
‘Impossible, my friend. We don’t know.’
Bitterly, Blake repeated, ‘You don’t know?’
‘They were taken outside St Mark’s Basilica. They may still be in the city. Or they may have gone further.’
‘Where?’
‘Into the mountains.’
‘Unbelievable.’
‘Zviad Khurdia must be desperate for funds. He’s not likely to harm them; he’ll want you to pay some kind of ransom.’
‘Was anyone else taken?’
‘Just Avon and Cally. Their driver was betrayed, attacked.’
‘Were they targeted – because of me?’
‘Blake, all the election monitors are individuals with some connection or status. This was merely bad luck. It’s a last gasp. Sheer desperation.’
Blake was silent for a moment, weighing the possibilities. Gan’s warning, his own doubts about sending Cally and Avon, came to the fore. There could be no coincidence in the choice of the Liberator crew. He wasn’t even sure he could trust Shevard’s testimony thus far. Without being able to actually speak to his crewmates, Blake was wary of everything he was being told.
‘Shevard, I’m going to send two more of my crew down.’
‘All our shuttles are in operation.’
‘We can arrange our own transportation.’
‘Blake, I’m already responsible for two of your crew. I can’t accept any more risk.’
‘You won’t be responsible – I will.’
Shevard’s tone hardened. ‘Regrettably, Blake, I’m going to have to forbid it.’
Blake hesitated. Vila had just walked back onto the flight deck, carrying two insulated mugs. Blake gestured at him to take them to the seating area. He ignored Vila’s silent, implied question.
‘At least tell me where your own men will be searching.’
Shevard shook his head, in vague disbelief. ‘There will be no search. Khurdia has taken the initiative, we have to give him that victory. He’s won the right to the next move. When we have some idea of what he’s demanding, then we’ll formulate a response.’
‘And when, precisely, will that be?’
‘It’s late. We don’t expect any news in the next few hours.’
‘I want to know, Shevard, the instant you hear anything.’
‘Naturally, naturally. Try not to worry. These are troubled times, but Zviad Khurdia is unlikely to risk the possibility of being disqualified from the election.’
Blake exploded. ‘Kidnapping the monitors won’t get him disqualified?’
‘It’s hard to prove they were kidnapped, unless they file a complaint.’
‘I think we can assume that they will!’
‘That’s where you underestimate Mr Khurdia.’
‘From where I’m standing, Shevard, it looks to me as though that’s the exact mistake you made.’ In disgust, Blake cut the communication. When he looked across the flight deck, Vila was staring at him with frightened eyes.
‘So Gan was right.’
‘No, Gan was not right, Vila,’ Blake said, not bothering to hide his irritation. ‘This wasn’t a trap. It’s sheer bloody-minded incompetence. Doesn’t Shevard realise that the election monitors were going to be a huge security risk?’
‘Pathetic!’
‘What are we going to do?’
Blake hesitated. ‘We’ll wake up Jenna and Gan. Then you and I can teleport into Kartvel City and take a look around, see if we can find out what’s going on.’
Vila’s eyes registered immediate panic. ‘But isn’t the city locked down, during the election?’
‘We’ll go incognito.’
‘And if we’re caught?’
‘Oh, we’ll be armed.’
‘Blake – you know how fond I am of Avon and Cally. Well, Cally, actually. Not so much Avon. But still, don’t you think we should just hold off a bit, like Shevard says? No sense throwing you and me into the mess now, before we know anything.’
‘Wait until morning? Avon and Cally could be dead by then.’
‘Blake,’ Vila reminded him, ‘if we’re dealing with the kind of people who’d murder them, they would already be dead.’
Reluctantly, Blake agreed, ‘You have a point.’
‘I’m hoping not! At least, not Cally.
I like her.’
‘All right, all right. You might want to remember that you owe your life to Avon, several times over.’
Vila muttered, ‘Oh, you think he ever lets me forget?’
SEVEN
Avon woke to a white dazzle of light from the snow outside, which streamed through vertical blinds and into the lounge. He sat up on the sofa and glanced at the bedroom door. It was open. The faint sound of drizzling water could just be heard from the bathroom. He strolled over to the kitchen, barefoot and dressed only in the loose-fitting pyjama trousers and short-sleeved knit shirt that had been left out for him in the apartment.
Within a few minutes, Avon had made one large omelette from the sausage and eggs, and prepared a plate of sliced apples and cheese. He toasted two pieces of bread under a grill. By the time he’d put the food on the table, Cally was emerging from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel.
‘You’re awake. Did you manage to get some rest?’ she asked.
‘I’m fine,’ was all he said. Avon had insisted that Cally take the bedroom, even though she’d suggested they introduce some randomised element to the choice. Cally accepted his gesture without a word.
They ate breakfast at a table made from solid, varnished wood that sat in the corner of the apartment, flanked by windows, which gave on to the steep rise of the snow-coated mountain behind the hamlet.
Avon said very little, which was characteristic of his mood in the morning. He disliked idle chat most of the time, but in the morning he refused to pretend otherwise. Cally was far from the worst offender amongst his crewmates, and now she ate in amicable silence, smiling her thanks for his efforts in preparing the food.
They’d barely had time to clear the table when they heard the key being turned in the door to the apartment. Borena had returned. She was stamping her feet, blowing into her hands.
‘Cold!’ she exclaimed in a friendly voice. ‘So, Cally, Avon. You spent a good night?’
‘Wonderful,’ Avon answered in a level voice, looking straight at Borena. ‘When do we meet Khurdia?’
‘Mr Khurdia is at the morning service. We meet him there.’
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