‘Shevard has been trying to contact me on the Liberator. Jenna has stalled him, but…’
‘He’ll soon become suspicious. Use your communicator to reply.’
‘I could,’ Blake said. ‘But if he traces the signal back here…?’
‘We can let you use our relay. We have a satellite for bouncing signals from other locations.’
‘Could you make it look as though it’s coming from our ship?’
‘If you can supply co-ordinates.’
‘Thank you,’ said Blake.
Khurdia took a piece of bread and dipped it in gravy. He took a bite and chewed, with thoughtful glances at Vila and then Blake. ‘I know that your ship has a teleport device.’
‘If I had one, wouldn’t I be using it to rescue my friends right now?’ said Blake, staring directly at Khurdia.
‘Shevard will have removed the communication devices from your friends to stop you bringing them back,’ said Khurdia with a shrug. ‘Of course, you could teleport to the shuttle yourself to get them…’
‘Yes,’ said Vila, quickly.
Blake winced.
‘… but Shevard would report it to the Federation as election tampering. Then you alone would be responsible for the return of Federation control to Kartvel. I’m sure you are aware that their response is likely to be… brutal. And I’m not sure you could live with that.’
Blake took a sip of vodka while he examined Khurdia’s guarded expression. To anyone else, he would have denied having a teleport facility. But Khurdia’s network of contacts seemed to be widespread.
‘Shevard knows you have a teleport,’ Khurdia said, gently. ‘You must be aware of that by now. He was a senior officer in Federation Security until last year. Not, after all, in one of their prisons, as you may have been led to believe.’
Blake didn’t reply right away. Instead, he wondered which of his other assumptions about Shevard had been as dangerously mistaken. The treachery involved was starting to look labyrinthine. And its architect, Blake realised with a sinking heart, was probably none other than Servalan herself. Servalan had probably calculated that Blake or his crew would serve as credible verifiers of a genuine victory by Shevard, convincing even those least likely to side with the Federation. If the election rigging were to fail, the election might be called into suspicion for precisely the same reason: the electorate had somehow been ‘influenced’ by Blake’s dissidents. Either way, the Federation kept their influence, either through their secret puppet, Shevard, or directly as a Federation-governed world.
But she hadn’t anticipated everything. Servalan probably had Edu Shevard in her pocket. Blake could well imagine the kind of bargain she’d struck with a former Federation security chief. He’d think he had autonomy, but his natural loyalty to a long-time leader who’d facilitated his transition to power would be a valuable bargaining chip.
Yet she didn’t seem to have any grip on Khurdia. He was the real wild card here. A genuine, verified victory at the poll by Zviad Khurdia was the one outcome that whichever Federation schemer had planned this would wish to avoid.
Avon and Cally would be safe only as long as their lives were the direct responsibility of Shevard. Once they left Kartvel, the clock was ticking. With a shudder, Blake reminded himself that the plan had probably been formulated with the idea that he himself would serve as one of the monitors. Under the protection of law. Until the very last minute.
Urgently he said, ‘I need to find Avon and Cally. You say they’re on a transport shuttle?’
‘Yes, within the last hour. They won’t come to harm on Kartveli territory. It would invalidate the election. Shevard thinks he’s won – he won’t want that.’
‘But once they’ve left Kartveli space? He might allow the Federation to take them.’
Khurdia set down his own glass. He gazed back at Blake. ‘First help me defeat Shevard. Defeated, his orders to that shuttle mean nothing. Then you can rescue your friends.’
‘I’m listening,’ said Blake.
‘I want you to teleport me and a small team to the central broadcasting studios. The visual media are crucial here. We have very few outlets for information. If can get inside, I can broadcast a message to the population that Shevard’s victory is a fraud.’
Iveri seemed to be hearing this plan for the first time. ‘They’ll shut down the transmission the minute you begin!’
Blake considered. ‘Not if we re-route the transmission via the Liberator.’
Khurdia smiled. ‘Then we have an agreement?’
Vila interrupted. ‘What about Cally? And, you know, Avon?’
Blake said, grimly, ‘I rather fear that Shevard plans to have them handed over to the Federation.’
Vila was no calmer. ‘Won’t we be provoking Shevard? Do you think he’d actually kill them?’
‘Shevard will give the order to kill your friends as soon as Khurdia starts transmitting,’ Gedia said, firmly.
Khurdia nodded. ‘Then we must prevent that order from being received.’
‘That’s possible?’
‘The Federation own the infrastructure for interstellar communication. But we own the Kartveli communications satellite. We could use it to send a scrambling signal to the transport shuttle containing your friends. That would stop any communication from Shevard getting through.’
‘That should be possible,’ Blake agreed.
Khurdia looked longingly at his unfinished plate of food before nudging it away. ‘We should leave immediately.’
Blake reached into his pocket for the spare teleport bracelets he’d brought for Avon and Cally. He handed two to Khurdia. ‘Let’s start with you and Iveri. He can come back for the rest of your team. I’ll come with you, Vila will do the doors, and we’ll bring another of my people.’ Then he stood, and lifted the bracelet to his mouth. ‘Four to bring up, Jenna, Ask Gan to stand by. Ready.’
FIFTEEN
As Zen predicted, by early evening a freezing fog had enveloped the eastern flank of Lake Paravan, where the state broadcasting facilities were clustered. Blake and Vila waited with around twenty of Khurdia’s fighters, including Iveri and his wife. All had been teleported into a warehouse used to store studio equipment. They’d been brought across, returning their teleport bracelets to Blake. He’d noticed a certain reluctance to hand them back, which made him even more determined to personally supervise the transfer to the warehouse.
Blake had declined Khurdia’s request to let them use the teleport bracelets from the Liberator as communication devices. There was too much of a risk that they’d fall into the wrong hands, he explained, an answer that Khurdia didn’t appear to find convincing. Once Blake had refused this favour, he noticed that Khurdia’s interest in talking to Blake practically vanished.
Vila noticed it too. Darkly, he said, ‘These Kartvel people are all very charming when you’re giving them what they want. But they’re not a lot of fun when you turn them down. I wouldn’t want to be in Avon and Cally’s shoes.’
He had a point. Helping Kartvel choose its ‘rightful’ leader was one thing. But it wasn’t worth losing two of Blake’s crew in the process.
Vila had jacked into the security cameras almost as easily as if he’d been Avon. Now it was simply a matter of waiting for the evening broadcast to begin. Almost everyone in Kartvel watched first the evening news and then the exotic mixture of romance and high drama that followed in the world’s most popular serialised entertainment. They’d be a captive audience.
Khurdia gave the signal for silence. With all radio signals monitored by the Federation’s successors on Kartvel, Khurdia had taught his team a system of elaborate hand signals that could be used over short distances and a line of sight. It was far from ideal, but in a close-range raid, could work well.
Blake handed Khurdia two teleport bracelets. ‘You’ll need these to get inside the studio. Gan will meet you there. He’ll help you to get the rest of your people through. You can hand the bracelets back to him.’ Blake off
ered his right hand. ‘Good luck.’
Khurdia seemed somewhat taken aback. ‘Don’t you want to see our victory?’
‘I’ve helped you. Now I need to help my friends.’
‘There’s time for that. With that jamming signal there’s no possibility they’ll receive orders from Kartvel. They left yesterday – it’ll be days before they arrive at the nearest planet.’
‘Even so,’ Blake said, with an air of finality. The two men looked at each other uncomfortably. ‘So, your courts will deal with Shevard?’ he asked finally.
Khurdia didn’t look at him, but Blake could see the edge of his mouth curling into a wry smile. ‘There’s no precedent for his crime. What do we charge him with – selling us into slavery? The traditional punishment for treason was hanging. But I rather think I’ll drag him through the streets by his ankles and then shoot his brains out through the roof of his mouth.’
Blake gazed in silence at Khurdia. He thought of the rather effete yet world-weary Sarkoff, restored President of Lindor. It wasn’t hard, after all, to imagine how the man had been hoodwinked by Shevard. Avon had warned him once that Sarkoff was a nostalgic fool. With a trace of bitterness, Blake realised that he was probably right.
At least they’d been able to leave that world feeling a measure of assurance that they’d helped to restore order. On Kartvel, Blake wasn’t sure what would happen. But he was very sure that it wasn’t worth the lives of Avon or Cally.
‘At least not to me,’ he muttered, two fingers on his bracelet. ‘Gan – are you there?’
‘Standing by. I’m inside the studios.’
‘Did anyone see you?’
‘No – I found a cupboard. It’s a squeeze but I just about fit.’
‘Good work, Gan,’ Blake smiled. ‘What about Khurdia’s team?’
‘Have Jenna teleport them over to the same room. Once Khurdia gets here with the security codes, he can open the back door to let the rest inside. Tell them to come across with their weapons drawn. Best to be prepared.’
‘Will do. Blake out.’
Vila was staring up at him, blowing on his fingers and shuffling. ‘Can we go now? I’m turning to ice here!’
Blake shook his head, slowly. ‘Change of plan. I’m not sure it’s a good idea to leave Gan without any support.’
Vila’s face fell. ‘Really? But I can go, right? If it’s muscle you need, I’m no help at all…’
Blake gripped Vila’s shoulder and turned him around. Khurdia’s men were already streaming out of the warehouse, headed for the broadcast studios. No-one was looking at him and Vila any more.
‘You might not be the muscle of the team, Vila. But right now, you’re the next best thing.’
They arrived in the studios, cautious, trailing well behind the last of Khurdia’s men. Vila glanced around the rather shabby, poorly-lit facility. Narrow corridors with unpainted walls, light fittings that buzzed, as if the electricity supply was erratic. It felt makeshift, even temporary. Apart from the pounding of boots on the plastic-coated floor, there was no sound.
‘Not a lot going on in here,’ Vila observed. ‘Where is everyone?’
Blake stopped walking. ‘Good question.’ A finger hovered above the communicator button on his bracelet.
From behind the both came a familiar voice. ‘Not one word.’
Blake stood still as Iveri’s wife came into view. In one hand she held a teleport bracelet, broken in two. In the other, a blaster.
From further down the corridor came sounds of gunfire. Two screams.
‘Zviad Khurdia is a murderous gangster,’ Gedia said.
Vila said, ‘I thought you were the best of pals?’
Gedia’s face screwed up, twisted with hatred. ‘You think you know us? After only a few hours? Just because Roj Blake’s friend Raisa sides with Zviad Khurdia, it doesn’t matter that he is a known murderer? This is civil war, where uprisings begun by people like you lead. Brother against sister. Husband against wife.’ She lifted the gun. ‘I should kill you for interfering.’
‘I’m not the one who tortured your brother to death, Gedia,’ said Blake calmly. ‘Your fight is not with me.’
There was a sharp bark of laughter. ‘Koba is alive, you fool. We needed Khurdia here – what better way to bring the man running than to “torture” one his favourites?’
‘He wasn’t tortured?’ Vila sounded confused.
Scornfully, Gedia said, ‘I knew that Khurdia would believe a story like that. It is the way he deals with dissent himself.’
Blake paused. ‘I see.’
Vila frowned. ‘I don’t.’
‘It’s a trap, Vila.’
‘Oh.’ Vila stalled for a moment, confused. Then, ‘Oh. They’re going to…’ he drew a finger across his throat. ‘You know? Khurdia? And all the rest?’
Gedia seemed eager to press her point. ‘Koba and I used to believe in Khurdia. Until we saw what he’s capable of.’
‘So you both switched allegiance to Shevard?’ asked Vila. ‘You’re his spies?’
‘Khurdia wants to take this world back to the dark ages,’ Gedia replied, defensively.
‘The Federation are so much more humane?’ Blake said, acidly.
‘The Federation know how to keep order without resorting to tearing their citizens apart limb from limb.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t have any illusions about the Federation if I were you,’ Blake said, his voice suddenly brittle. ‘They’ll use any method that gets results.’
For a fraction of a second Vila’s eyes lifted. If Gedia had noticed him looking sooner, she’d have turned to see the solid, heavy hand of Gan swooping in to land at the base of her neck. Her eyes flickered, rolled in her head for a second before she toppled to the ground.
Blake held his own bracelet to his mouth. ‘Jenna, three to teleport. Centred on me. Now, Jenna!’
The moment they’d fully materialised on the Liberator, Blake handed Jenna a gun. ‘Bring up the rest of Khurdia’s men,’ he said urgently. Jenna activated the teleport, and Gan, Vila and Blake waited, weapons ready.
But no-one arrived.
‘They’ve taken off the bracelets,’ Blake said.
‘That’s a lot of teleport bracelets to lose,’ Vila said. ‘Avon’s going to be ticked off.’
‘Vila! He’s going to be dead if we don’t get to him soon,’ exploded Blake. ‘Zen, locate nearest Federation ships.’
‘INFORMATION,’ droned Zen. ‘FEDERATION SHIP. STARBURST CLASS. APPROACHING THE KARTVEL SYSTEM. ARRIVAL ESTIMATED IN TWO HOURS.’
Blake’s tone became urgent. ‘Zen, give the location of any Federation shuttle craft that left Kartvel in the past twelve hours.’
‘ONE SHUTTLE FROM KARTVEL ON COURSE TO RENDEZVOUS WITH THE STARBURST SHIP.’
‘Can we reach the shuttle before it reaches the Federation ship?’
‘NEGATIVE,’ Zen said. ‘LIBERATOR WILL ARRIVE ONE MINUTE FOUR SECONDS AFTER THE SHUTTLE DOCKS IF WE TRAVEL AT THE CURRENT SPEED.’
‘Then I suggest we move a bit faster!’ Blake snapped.
SIXTEEN
Avon had lost track of how long they’d been aboard. Like Cally, he’d fought sleep off as long as possible. Eventually he’d felt her relaxing against him and moved to the seat opposite so that she could lie down. Then exhaustion had engulfed him, too. The speed of it convinced Avon that there’d been something in the air. When he awoke, he still felt groggy.
‘Avon.’ Cally’s eyes were above his, soft and green, gazing at him. For a moment he remembered his dream and that she’d been in it. Shouting at him, some kind of instruction. Determined. You need to fight it.
‘Fight what?’
The sedative. It’s in the air.
He tried to sit up. He felt the firm grip of her arm underneath his, supporting him.
‘Why you and not me?’
‘Must have worn off,’ she said, with a hint of a smile. ‘My physiology. Not exactly like yours.’
‘Tired,’ he managed to
say. When he closed his eyes, in his mind she was there again. Her voice. No ambiguity. Fight.
‘They’ll be watching,’ she whispered. ‘When they see us both up, they’ll check. The doors will open and there will be clean air.’
He stared at Cally, trying to follow her logic.
Avon, focus on my voice. In your head. But let them think you’re sleepy.
He nodded. The sound in his head was becoming more sharply defined. ‘Won’t be difficult to pretend.’
Avon was dimly aware of Cally standing up, pacing around the small passenger cabin. She rummaged inside a storage cupboard and came up with an umbrella, which she promptly hid under the nearest seat.
The shuttle craft was adapted for small freight loads, with only a tiny capsule intended for a passenger load of six. The capsule must have been well insulated because Avon didn’t hear any sound from the corridor outside. The first he knew about the crew was when one of them started to open the pressure lock to their cabin.
Cally placed sat with her feet apart, hands loosely folded on her lap, directly above where she’d left the umbrella. Avon glanced around. It really was the only thing close to a weapon that was at hand.
Sleepy. Avon closed his eyes but let just enough light in so that he could see the door.
Neither of them moved until the first guard was fully inside the cabin. He seemed fairly relaxed to see Cally gazing at him with a groggy expression. Then she sprang to her feet. In one swift movement she’d swept a high kick to the man’s chest, sending his gun flying backwards. She kicked the umbrella across the floor to Avon. He was immediately on his own feet. Cally followed up her first attack with a spinning heel-kick. This one caught the guard on his face, the satisfying crack of a broken jaw. Avon was there a second later, using the umbrella as a club to crush the man’s windpipe.
In the outside corridor Cally picked up the discarded gun.
There was barely time to draw breath before two more guards burst into the corridor. Cally shot one in the gun arm. His blaster clattered to the floor, out of reach. Another two shots and the guard collapsed. Reeling slightly, Avon propped himself up in the doorway. From down the corridor, a third guard fired blasts into the panel that controlled the door. The door began to slide into the lock position. Avon and Cally leapt into the corridor, she behind him, providing covering fire until both were pressed flat against the wall. The gunfire stopped.
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