Blake's 7

by Gillian F. Taylor

  *

  At what Blake calculated was thirty minutes before the start of morning classes, Jenna teleported him and Vila into a car park on the edge of the Kartvel City campus. A freezing mist hovered above the ground. Both men were glad of the insulated jackets they’d chosen, which not only kept out the deep chill but also concealed their hand guns.

  The university was built like a grid, with two long horizontal blocks connected by a series of vertical ones. In between each vertical block was a garden. As Blake and Vila strolled between carefully manicured lawns and shrubberies, Blake noticed that the campus was patrolled by a discreet security presence. By the time a third uniformed guard had fixed him with a curious stare, Blake was beginning to wonder how safe this place could be.

  Within five minutes they’d found a metal board, that displayed a map of the faculty buildings, and located the engineering block. Raisa’s office was on the second floor. The faculty itself was open but access to the administration section was via a card scan. Vila took a look for a few minutes and asked Blake to wait. Before Blake could agree, Vila had disappeared towards the vending machines, around which a handful of students in their twenties were chatting. He returned and flashed a grin at Blake.

  ‘Let’s go.’ Vila opened his right hand to reveal a plastic card that he then scanned beside the door. ‘Best way to open any door is to swipe someone else’s key.’

  ‘Ah. I take it you couldn’t have cracked it.’

  ‘I could have cracked it,’ Vila said, sounding a touch offended. ‘But I’m a professional. The simplest solution is always the most elegant.’

  Professor Raisa Beridze Orbeli wasn’t at her desk, but Blake found her in the faculty lounge, from where the smell of fresh-baked bread had penetrated into the nearby corridor. The staff were lined up next to the window, taking their turn to choose a pastry and to make hot drinks. Blake stood quietly, just to Raisa’s left. When she turned, it took her a few seconds of gazing into Blake’s gently amused features before she reacted with a small cry that stuck in her throat. Within a second, any joy she’d expressed had vanished. The colour seemed to drain from her face. Blake noticed that despite Raisa’s efforts to control her response, several of her colleagues were glancing in their direction.

  Carefully, she took his arm. ‘My dear Roj…’

  ‘Shall we go to your room?’

  Raisa gave a quick nod. She led Blake and Vila back to her office, which was a few doors along. She closed the door behind them and snapped shut the vertical blinds in front of the glass. Then wordlessly, she embraced Blake.

  ‘I’d heard the rumours… So it’s true?’

  Vila clicked his tongue, watching them hug. ‘Oh yeah. All true. Everything you’ve heard. And a fair bit more.’

  Raisa pulled away from the embrace. With one hand she smoothed back the lock of dark brown hair that had fallen across her face. She had a tired-looking face that showed her almost-sixty years, her lips thinned and concealing a row of slightly greying teeth. But her neatly bobbed haircut and bright, lively, almond-shaped eyes lent her a sudden youth, mischievous and spritely. She gazed up at her former student and reached out a hand to touch, quite gently, his face.

  ‘Roj Blake. How strange to see you here. You might be walking into one of my classes, you’ve changed so little.’

  Blake laughed. ‘I hope I’ve changed a good deal since then.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘This election, Raisa. What do you make of it?’

  She glanced at Blake and Vila in turn. ‘That rather depends on why you’re here.’

  ‘Shevard asked me to be an election monitor. Instead, I sent him two of my crew. My friends, Raisa. Now Shevard tells me they’ve been kidnapped by a man named Zviad Khurdia.’

  Raisa shook her head and sighed. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me.’

  ‘It’s the kind of thing he’d do?’

  In a noticeably lower voice, Raisa told them, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Shevard thinks they’re going to ask for a ransom.’

  She looked momentarily surprised. ‘I… would wait and see.’

  ‘You don’t think that’s likely?’

  Silently, Raisa disconnected a wire from what looked like a communication device. In a voice barely above a whisper she said, ‘Lately on Kartvel, things are never what they seem.’

  Blake frowned. ‘Are you saying that Shevard’s misleading me?’

  ‘I’m saying that you need to leave, as soon as possible. Shevard has his people everywhere.’

  Immediately, Blake understood. ‘I’m sorry Raisa, I didn’t mean to implicate you in anything.’

  She inclined her head, very slightly. ‘Your people are missing.’

  ‘What should we do? Shevard doesn’t want us to attempt a rescue.’

  ‘Naturally. He needs to see the card that Khurdia will play.’

  ‘Why my people though, Raisa?’

  ‘Shevard wants his election endorsed, most especially by someone connected to the famous Roj Blake.’

  ‘If Khurdia is aware of that, might he try to kill them?’

  She hesitated. ‘Khurdia has no interest in having the election declared null and void. That would only bring the Federation back.’

  ‘So what can he want with my people?’

  Raisa fixed him with her gaze. ‘Perhaps… he simply wishes to tell the truth.’

  TEN

  They were taken directly to the First Ministerial Palace. Shevard himself was waiting on the pavement, standing next to his own limousine. He greeted Avon and Cally, his tone all concern as they were transferred seamlessly from one car to the second, and he got in beside them.

  ‘Thank God those gangsters did not harm you! Now we can tell your ship that you are safe. And that the ransom will not be necessary. Avon, my friend, how did you escape?’

  Shevard claimed that Khurdia’s followers had sent word out that Cally and Avon had been captured and were being held hostage, that they would be released only if Shevard conceded his position as Acting First Minister and allowed Khurdia to campaign openly for the top job. Neither Avon nor Cally moved to contradict him, it seemed plausible that Khurdia had told his opponent such a story to hide the fact that that he had tried to convert them to his cause. As it happened, they were not required to invent any truths because he was curiously uninterested in anything they had to say about the experience.

  The limousine stopped in front of another opulent, marbled building, this time on the edge of the lake. From the lobby to the water stretched a colonnaded promenade. Street vendors were wandering along its periphery, offering roasted nuts, flowers and sweets.

  Shevard escorted Avon and Cally down the promenade until they could lean on the enamel-painted, metal fence that bordered the water’s edge. The lake was a silver mirror, mist-covered from about halfway across, a gauze of white vapour through which the sunlight scattered, a white curtain.

  ‘What do you think of Kartvel?’

  ‘It’s stunning,’ Avon admitted, flatly. He had never seen mountains as craggy or high, snow as thick and powdery, a lake of such natural beauty in both form and context. The city itself was an architectural wonder. It was obvious to Avon how the citizens might feel a pride about their planet that would lend itself to the desire for independence.

  When Shevard spoke, a fine mist appeared before his mouth. ‘I tell you truly, my friends, there are few places in the Federation – or outside of it – like Kartvel. The love and respect we have for our history is unique.’

  Avon doubted that was true, but he didn’t contradict him.

  ‘I’m glad you admire our world, Avon,’ Shevard said. ‘Because Kartvel could be your home, too. Apart from the Liberator, I mean. A guaranteed safe base for you, for Blake and your other crew-mates. I could arrange for a suite of rooms in our best hotel to be on stand-by for you. Or a house. It could be here in Kartvel City, so that you could enjoy the city life: arts, music. Or perhaps you have developed a taste for the m
ountains? You could have your own ski lodge. Waiting for you both here, whenever you need to recuperate. I’d let you vet your own security detail. Or, if you prefer, no-one would know. I’d handle everything personally. Total discretion.’

  Avon listened carefully as Shevard spoke. A couple of times his eyes met Cally’s. It was impossible not to visualise the picture that Shevard was painting: the scent of warm wood, the blinding white of snowlight streaming through windows, mornings of clear blue mountain air, the smell of freshly brewed coffee. On the Liberator, it was impossible ever to relax, he realised. Enveloped in a protective shell of technology, he was never at rest. Always on edge, always mistrusting. Technology was a barrier as well as a shell. On a planet like Kartvel, he might find another way to relate.

  ‘I’ve wondered if perhaps we might have a base,’ Avon conceded. He noticed that Cally seemed rather taken aback at this, but she said nothing.

  ‘A base, exactly. Blake should think about it.’

  ‘The problem is – knowing who to trust.’

  ‘Friends know they can trust each other.’

  Avon smiled, cynically. ‘Blake doesn’t have friends.’

  ‘I think he does. You, Cally.’

  ‘That’s different. We’re… colleagues.’

  ‘I don’t think so. When Blake believed you might be ransomed, he was desperate to send other colleagues to find and free you.’

  ‘Yet he didn’t.’

  ‘I managed to persuade him to stay away. It wouldn’t have been in your interest. You see, Avon, I’m trying to be your friend.’

  *

  They were shown to their accommodation: separate rooms, each with an armed guard. ‘Takha and Georg will protect you against Khurdia’s men, should they dare to try to kidnap you again,’ was the explanation given.

  It was clear that Takha and Georg did not intend to leave them unattended even for one minute, so there was no possibility of talking with Avon. Cally had felt his growing despondency since their night in the mountain lodge. She’d been close to saying something at breakfast the next morning, when Avon’s normal manner had tipped almost imperceptibly into hostility. For all Avon’s apparent coldness, she’d caught occasional glimpses of a brittle fragility within. Something had happened there, either in his childhood, or possibly more recently. It was enough to make it easy for Cally to keep her distance. She sensed that any woman would trifle with Avon at considerable risk.

  But Cally sensed that Avon’s mood was darker than could be explained by something as trivial as a shared moment of awkwardness. It had to be that, like her, he was anxious. They needed a chance to discuss what was happening on Kartvel. It seemed clear that Shevard wasn’t going to make that easy.

  The morning of the election began loudly, with the almost deafening clamour of the bells of St Mark’s Basilica. Cally stared blearily out of the window as she heard a knock at her door. It was Avon.

  ‘You slept well?’ It seemed that he might want to say more, but as was often his way, Avon kept it brief.

  Cally glanced around, quickly. The guards didn’t seem to be in the vicinity. ‘I must admit, I spent quite some time trying to work out just what is going on here.’

  ‘I think we’ve avoided making any crucial mistakes so far,’ was his careful reply.

  On an impulse, she touched his hand. ‘That’s good to know.’

  For a second, Avon glanced at her hand. ‘The guards went to fetch coffee,’ he said. ‘And I, I keep wondering about Shevard. It worries me a great deal that we weren’t allowed to keep our teleport bracelets.’

  ‘Or offered a chance to talk to the Liberator.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  The voices of Takha and his colleague alerted Avon and Cally to their approach. They handed them each a cup of coffee.

  ‘And now my friends,’ beamed Takha, ‘To the labours of democracy!’

  ELEVEN

  In the rear car park of the university, Blake and Vila waited with Raisa Beridze. In the hour since they’d arrived, the mist had given way to stark clarity. Beyond the car park to the south, a fringe of white-topped mountains that bordered the city appeared so close that you might reach out and touch them.

  After a few minutes, a small, rather boxy car appeared. It was identical to about a quarter of the vehicles around them. Vila glanced about him, trying to conceal how impressed he was. On Kartvel, university workers owned cars. Unheard of, on Earth. The more Vila saw of Kartvel, the more he could imagine the people fighting for their independence. This was no poky Federation colony, packed with addled soma-heads. There was a sense of culture, of civic pride and magnificence in the city he’d seen so far. Not the kind of world the Federation would simply allow to secede.

  It made all kinds of sense to Vila that Blake had fallen for a ruse. Unlike Avon, however, he couldn’t find it in his heart to despise Blake for the occasional mistake. Eventually, everyone made them – even Avon. Vila preferred the kind of mistakes that didn’t lead to his own death. The longer they lingered on Kartvel, the more dangerous things would get. So when inside the car Vila heard Blake’s instructions to the driver, he boggled.

  ‘We’d like to see the sphinx.’

  The driver didn’t bother to turn around. Instead, rather mechanically, she answered, ‘And yet the sphinx inspires horror.’

  ‘We dream the sphinx to explain the horror,’ Blake replied.

  The car began to move. Raisa had already gone, disappeared behind rows of cars on the way back to her office.

  Blake asked, ‘Will this take long?’

  The driver didn’t answer his question. Instead she said, ‘There are blindfolds in the folder behind my seat. Please fasten them in place and sit well back.’

  Vila jabbed a finger into Blake’s arm. ‘What the hell is going on? Are they taking us to Cally and Avon?’

  Calmly, Blake tied a blindfold around Vila’s head. ‘Raisa assured me that Cally and Avon have been released. They’re at the Palace.’

  ‘Nice of Shevard to let us know,’ said Vila. ‘Or has he contacted the Liberator?’

  ‘He hasn’t,’ Blake said. ‘Which is one of the many reasons why I think it’s time we met this… sphinx.’

  ‘What is a sphinx?’ Vila said, exasperated.

  ‘I’ve no idea. Raisa told me to say it.’

  ‘My name is Borena,’ the driver said. ‘Raisa Beridze has vouched for you. And I have already met your other friends.’

  ‘My good friends,’ Blake said, a steely note in his voice. ‘I’m anxious to talk to them, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘Your friends had a private audience with Zviad Khurdia, yesterday. They returned safely to the city. They are back with other monitors, under supervision of Shevard’s men.’

  ‘In that case, it’s good to meet you, Borena,’ Blake said. Vila recognised the reappearance of Blake’s comradely charm. ‘You’re taking us to meet… Mr Khurdia?’

  ‘Better that we mention no names.’

  ‘You think we’re being observed?’

  ‘Tiny devices can be used to monitor conversations. Who is to say you don’t have such a device planted on you?’

  ‘Did my friends have such a device?’

  ‘We didn’t risk taking them anywhere secure.’

  ‘Well, you can set your mind at ease. We haven’t been anywhere but the university. Shevard’s people don’t even know we’re here.’

  ‘How do you know that? Perhaps you know the face of every one of Shevard’s informers?’

  ‘Ah,’ Blake said. ‘I see. In that case, I understand.’

  Borena hesitated for a long time. Vila guessed that she was negotiating some tricky traffic. ‘It is better we do not talk about your friends.’

  ‘Borena, I need to know they’re safe.’

  ‘The election has begun. All monitors have reported for duty, including your friends.’

  ‘So why haven’t they contacted me?’

  ‘The process requires sequestration of monitors for d
uration of the election.’

  ‘Oh great,’ Villa muttered. ‘Makes me feel really safe.’

  ‘Be at ease, Mr Restal. You will not be harmed.’

  The drive was longer than Vila had anticipated. He could tell that they were ascending because occasionally there was pressure in his ears. After four hours they stopped and were allowed to remove their blindfolds.

  Borena took their coats away to be searched for hidden transmitting devices. Vila rubbed his eyes, stared at the huddle of two- and three-storey buildings that comprised the tiny village. In a darkened, cosy room inside one completely timbered building, a lunch of hot, meaty stew with dumplings was brought to them, in deep ceramic bowls. A strong, clear liquid was served to them in small glasses.

  ‘Drink,’ Borena said. ‘You have much further to go. From here, Iveri will drive. You should sleep.’

  ‘You don’t have air travel?’ Vila grumbled.

  ‘All air travel is monitored by government,’ she replied in a level voice. ‘If Shevard gets his way, soon enough all road vehicles will be controlled also.’

  ‘That’s how it is on Earth,’ Vila acknowledged.

  ‘Each of our freedoms has come at a price,’ Borena said. Her voice was suddenly passionate. ‘Do not imagine we give up so easy.’

  Vila decided he might as well give in to the bottle. As they were about to leave, both coats were returned to them, apparently free of any transmitting devices.

  He was awake just long enough to meet Iveri, a man about the same age as Blake. He was broad-shouldered and tall with a face that resembled, Vila thought, a granite wall. A scrub of immaculately neat black hair bordered the steely features: sharp cheekbones and eyes that were almost as dark as Iveri’s hair.

  Back in the car, Vila was asleep within ten minutes. When he woke, the sky had darkened. Blake, no longer blindfolded, was chatting in a low voice with Iveri, who drove.

  ‘Ah, Mr Restal,’ Iveri announced. He glanced at Vila through the rear-view mirror. ‘You’ll be glad to know we’re almost there.’

  ‘Where is there?’

  ‘The home town of Zviad Khurdia.’