A Dream Deferred, a blakes 7 fanfic

Straining his eyes, looking through the bars down the dark corridor, Gan watched Blake leave noiselessly. He still couldn't believe that he had just seen him here, in the temple on Cygnus Alpha. Blake and Avon and Jenna were free, Gan thought, they had a ship that they could take anywhere, to any part of the galaxy; and yet Blake had chosen to come here and try to free the rest of the London inmates. Gan looked around the cell, wondering whether it was possible he was the only one who appreciated what Blake had done. But perhaps, he surmised, the others were too ill to even give it much thought.

He sighed and sat again on the bench next to Vila, who was doubled over, moaning. Gan didn't feel well, either; the disease which the priests called the Curse of Cygnus caused fever, stomach cramps and joint pains. He wondered when the drug they had been given would finally begin to take effect. He leaned back against the wall, trying to find the most comfortable position on the crowded bench. At this moment, there was nothing to do but wait: wait for the drug to start making him feel better; wait for Blake, who had promised to negotiate with the priests and convince them to release Gan and the others, whom he would then take away on his ship.

Still, when Gan closed his eyes – hoping for sleep to come and assist the process of healing – he didn't think about Blake, or Blake's ship, or the war Blake was planning to wage against the Federation. He was thinking about Kara. He didn't even try to explain it to himself: it simply felt good to think about her, to play the images and impressions in his thoughts over and over. It seemed to take his mind off the illness and pain. He could still feel the soft pressure of her lips, and see before his eyes the smile that lingered on her face after their lips had parted. Then Kara took his hand, greeted them all and brought them to the temple where they were given a warm meal. The kiss and the touch of hand were quite chaste and didn't even awaken Gan's desire. He was simply moved by kindness, which had been absent from his life for such a long time that he had almost forgotten what it felt like. When he had said to Blake, 'The priests have been very good to us', he really meant to tell him about Kara – but for some reason, the words stuck in his throat. Perhaps they were difficult to utter because Kara reminded him of another woman: the one he had loved and lost a lifetime ago, on his homeworld, Zephron.

If we hadn't resorted to violence, perhaps they wouldn't have, either? It was the question that kept troubling Gan. The annexation of Zephron had been quietly prepared for at least four years. First the general elections were rigged; following that, the puppet government – manoeuvred, behind the scenes, by the secret service of the Terran Federation – worked consistently on weakening the planet's economy and deepening the financial crisis. Finally, one day, it was announced to the general public that joining the Federation was the only remaining way to avoid total economic collapse and bankruptcy.

Like most of the other inhabitants of Zephron, Gan and Lana took to the streets to protest against the act of annexation. Living in the capital, they joined the large crowd of demonstrators who were gathering in the main square in front of the parliament building. Gan was shocked to discover that the entrance to the building wasn't guarded by Zephron's police forces, but by the cordons of the Federation troopers. It was the first time he had seen them in his life. They were black-clad, masked and equipped with truncheons and paraguns. The politicians called this 'annexation', but what Gan saw before him was the vanguard of an invading army. Someone in the crowd standing next to him commented bitterly on how the Federation would soon impose a ban on all public gatherings, and then protests such as this one would become impossible.

In spite of the ominous presence of the Federation troops, the demonstrations were peaceful at first. The protesters chanted slogans, waved the flags of their home world and listened to the speeches of the opposition leaders, whose holograms were displayed at several locations throughout the square. The opposition argued that the annexation was illegal. They demanded a new round of elections and promised to use all diplomatic means to re-establish Zephron's independence. Gan supported those demands; he thought that they made sense and that diplomacy could succeed. He never wanted to take part in any violence.

He didn't know how it started. More and more people seemed to squeeze in the center of the square, until Gan felt he could hardly move or change his position; he placed Lana in front of him and enveloped her slender figure with his arms, shielding her from the bodies which now seemed to press from all directions. He felt uneasy about it and suggested that they should leave, but Lana refused: 'No, it's important, Olag, let's stay'. Then the shouting grew louder; everybody began moving forward, as though all the individual human forms had somehow melted into one gigantic tidal wave, a single body of water that rushed towards the parliament building. Deafened by the roar, yielding to the general excitement, Gan followed, not even certain if it was his own will to move in that direction.

The no man's land, the small unclaimed area between the Federation cordons and the protesters, now disappeared completely. The sheer pressure of bodies wedged apart the double line of the black-clad troopers. There was commotion in the front that Gan couldn't see clearly, yells and the waving of hands and clubs; dozens of gas cartridges were fired at the crowd. Gan found himself choking on chloric fumes, his eyes tearing profusely; he pressed Lana's face against his shirt in a vain effort to protect her from the effects of the gas. In spite of it, the charge continued. Through the thick clouds of white smoke, blinking his burning eyes, Gan now discerned a group of young men who had emerged at the front and seemed to have taken the lead of the protest. They were running upstairs towards the entrance into the building. Many of them had gas masks; Gan wondered where and how they had obtained them. Although they had civilian clothes, the masks gave them uniform appearance of an army, and they acted together in an organized manner. It flashed through Gan's mind that those young men had come prepared for violence, for the gas and clash with the troops – but he didn't have time to ponder on it. Nearing the stairs, he spotted the body of a Federation trooper lying motionless at the bottom. His helmet had fallen off; he had a youthful face, clean shaven, with full lips slightly parted. There was a pool of blood forming on the stairs behind his head. His skull had clearly been smashed against the concrete steps. Gan gazed in horror. It was the first time he had seen someone murdered.

Soon he was to see many more. The Federation troops regrouped and started shooting at the crowd. At first Gan thought those were stun blasts, but then he saw impact charges exploding and people dropping on the stairs clutching bloody wounds. There were screams, confusion and panic. Some of the protesters were still rushing upstairs, some trying to retreat, all of them desperately attempting to run away from the troopers and their blazing guns. In the chaotic movements of the crowd Gan somehow got separated from Lana. At one point she failed to cling to him, let go, and was dragged by the mass in one direction while he was carried in another. He cried her name, pushing his way mindlessly through the crowd, searching for her among faces and hands, staring and ignoring the sound of gun blasts and the gas which kept stinging his eyes. He practically stumbled over her bloodied body, lying on a stair landing.

Everything that happened afterwards Gan could later recall only as a blur, a nightmare that didn't seem to have a definite beginning or an end. He knew that his hands were smeared with blood: some of it must have been his own, as he was hit in the arm; the rest was Lana's, as he kept massaging her fervently and shaking her shoulders in a vain attempt to revive her. The next thing he remembered was those same bloody hands, his hands, squeezing the neck of a Federation trooper; he remembered breathing heavily, his eyes burning with tears and rage, as the man's face before him turned dark red. Then the trooper's hands ceased clawing at his own, and went limp; and Gan himself passed out due to the loss of blood from his wound.

When he came to, he was in a Federation flyer, cuffed and lying on the floor. Sitting close to him was another prisoner, a young men whom Gan recognized as one of the leaders of the protest. The youth had been badly beaten, his face swollen, blood running down his nose and torn lip. Gan thought he should feel pity, but he didn't feel anything. He wondered vaguely how many of such young men and women there were among the protesters – those who had come carrying hidden gas masks and probably also hidden weapons, and waiting for an opportune moment to take charge of the demonstrations and turn them into an uprising. They were obviously a part of some organized resistance force, he realized, the agitators, they had planned it all from the start. They had come prepared for violence because they knew that they would initiate it.

Gan didn't know what to think about it. His thoughts were random and disjointed. Stronger than any thought, an image impressed itself on his mind, of his own bloodied hands squeezing a man's neck; and looming in the background, like a black abyss on whose edge he was standing but didn't dare look at, was the horrible awareness of Lana's death.

Perhaps an hour passed since Blake had said he would negotiate with the leaders on Cygnus Alpha. Or maybe more; Gan wasn't sure. He had spent the time in a semi-conscious reverie, probably dozing off briefly, since he opened his eyes to see Vila's head leaning on his left arm. Vila was sleeping, snoring a little, and some voices in the cell were talking in a whisper; but the sound that actually made Gan open his eyes, he realized, was that someone had softly called his name, several times. Gan looked up and saw Kara, standing at the cell's entrance.

He gently pushed Vila aside, trying not to wake him up, and then walked up to Kara. She gave him a warm smile, reaching for his hand between the bars. 'Gan. Are you feeling better?'

'Yes,' he replied, smiling as well. 'I've been sleeping and the pain is gone. The drug has helped. Thank you.'

'His blessings are upon you,' she declaimed solemnly. Then, with a sudden urgency in her voice, she added, 'Gan, I need your help – I need it right now. Will you help me?'

'Of course,' Gan said without even thinking. 'I'll be glad to. What is it?' Kara, however, didn't reply, but motioned to the guard to unlock the door.

'Oi! Gan!' someone whispered behind his back. He turned and saw Vila, who was now awake, wink at him. 'Good luck with God's servant... Ask her if she's got a friend for me.' 'Shut up, Vila, I'm trying to sleep,' Arco muttered from across the cell.

Gan walked out of the cell and watched with unease as the guard locked the door behind him again. 'Kara,' he said. 'We have all recovered. I think there is no further need for confinement. When will you let my friends out?' 'Soon,' she said. 'Very soon, I promise. But we need to settle this matter first. It is very important. Come. I'll explain on the way. Brother Laran is waiting for us.'

Gan didn't know who Laran was. He wondered why Kara was so mysterious and wouldn't explain to him right away what kind of help she needed. He also wondered what was going on with Blake.

In the prisoners' quarters aboard the London, Gan watched from afar as a small group of inmates began forming around the notorious resister Roj Blake. As soon as he joined the others in the common room, Blake started asking questions, inquiring about the door panels, guards, security, the ship's characteristics, gathering information about the individual prisoners and their special skills. He explained he was devising a plan for taking over the ship. They listened to him, intrigued – perhaps somewhat incredulous and reserved at first, but also hopeful.

Gan didn't join in. Instead, he withdrew to the part of the room where the bunk beds were lined. Although it wasn't separated by a wall from other sections, it was somewhat quieter there. He tested the strength of the rails on the top bed, wondering whether they would withstand his weight if he pulled himself up to claim it for himself. It would be a safe place, he thought, discouraging anyone who might want to attack him during sleep. He hadn't picked a fight with any of the inmates, and he was hoping he wouldn't, but anything could happen during an eight-month journey.

Exactly at that moment, he noticed that an incident was going on among other bunks. It appeared that a prisoner tried to place a bag with his belongings on an empty bed, but a group of others prevented him. It wasn't a real fight yet, but they jeered and chuckled and spat insults, jostling their victim. The man backed off, emerging from a row of bunks, and Gan was now able to see him clearly. He was dark-skinned, with an aquiline nose and coal-black hair, plaited and gathered in some peculiar kind of bun. The bag he held in his arms looked unusual, but rather beautiful, Gan thought – hand-woven with intricate white and blue patterns, and decorated with blue feathers. Gan had heard that when the Federation had colonized some of the planets in the Ninth Sector, they'd come across indigenous populations living in tribal cultures. The dark-haired stranger seemed to come from such a background. Indeed, one of the thugs who had bullied him called him 'a savage' and muttered something about 'the stinkin' Silmareno' – probably the name of the stranger's homeworld.

Annoyed, the guard barked an order and the hustle immediately stopped. He switched on the com link, asking for assistance. Very soon the door to the prison compartment slid open and Raiker walked in, accompanied by another guard. He asked the guard on duty what was going on.

'The prisoners claim there is no bed for Paura, sir. They say all the beds have been taken.'

It was a blatant lie, Gan knew: there were quite a few unoccupied bunks in the room, at least seven or eight. Surely Raiker and the guards had to know it, too? Raiker clasped his hands behind his back and turned to the dark-haired man.

'Haven't I said, Paura, that I don't want troublemakers around here?' he asked, as though Paura was to blame for the incident. Gan expected that the man would defend himself, try to explain that he hadn't started it, that he was in fact the victim; but Paura kept obstinately silent.

'In fact,' Raiker went on, 'I don't see what your problem is. As far as I've heard, your people don't even know what beds are. They live in caves, don't they?'

There was a muffled snigger at these words from the gang of prisoners who had mistreated Paura, as they realized that the subcommander shared their disdain for the 'savage'. Raiker walked up to the nearest bunk, pulled down a blanket and threw it on the floor, in an empty corner of the prisoners' quarters. Then he took Paura's bag and threw it on the floor, too, next to the blanket.

'There, this is your place from now on. It should feel like home.'

Gan clenched his fists in helpless anger. He had wanted to step in and defend Paura from other prisoners; but now that Raiker and the guards had gotten involved, any attempt to protest seemed suicidal. Hadn't Raiker impressed it on them immediately after take-off? Understand this clearly, he had said. You have no rights whatsoever. None. The truth was, Gan thought grimly, that the subcommander could do to them whatever he wanted – and he was demonstrating it right now, by humiliating Paura on a sheer whim.

'HOLD IT!' someone yelled behind Gan's back.

The voice was powerful, authoritative; it sounded like an order (and it actually made the guards freeze) and yet it came from one of the prisoners. Puzzled by this incongruity, Gan turned and saw Blake.

Looking angry and intense, Blake walked straight to Paura, ignoring Raiker and the guards. He bent down, picked up Paura's belongings, and handed them back to the man respectfully. 'The bunk above mine is available. You're welcome to have it. If it suits you.'

Throughout the incident Paura hadn't spoken. The hard lines etched on the sides of his mouth never moved, showing no reaction to the injustice that he was being exposed to. Now his proud expression softened a little; he looked at Blake and nodded briefly, and Gan could clearly see gratitude in his eyes. At the same time, Gan's heart began to flutter wildly, as he wondered what would now happen to Blake. There are other rules, Raiker had told them sadistically – not the prison ship regulations, but the rules that the prisoners would only discover when they break them. Gan wondered how many of Raiker's unwritten rules Blake had just broken.

The initial shock and surprise that had made the two guards stand still for an instant, and enabled Blake to pass through, now wore off. Acting in unison, they grabbed Blake by the arms and pushed him forcefully towards the nearest wall. One of them kept him pinned, pressing his face and shoulders against the wall, while the other twisted Blake's right arm behind his back. They remained like this, waiting for Raiker's orders.

If Raiker had been unbalanced by Blake's action, he hid it successfully. His face remained an expressionless mask. With eyes half shut, he observed Blake as the guard increased the pressure on the twisted arm. Blake turned pale and sweaty with pain, but still did not cry out. One word from Raiker, Gan knew, and the guard would break Blake's arm, or his wrist. Gan's heart raced as he was suddenly overwhelmed by an irrational urge to rush in and protect the man he hardly knew...

When Raiker finally gave the order to the guards to release Blake, it didn't seem to Gan that the subcommander was in a forgiving mood, or willing to dismiss the whole matter. It just seemed as though he had decided to postpone it; a sense of menace remained in the air. Raiker muttered something about 'a piece of cargo' and left the room.

Finally, the ship went into night cycle and the lights in the prison compartment were dimmed. Gan waited until everything quieted down. Some voices could still be heard whispering in the darkness, but the sound of deep regular breathing from the bunks surrounding his own convinced him that most of the prisoners were asleep and gave him a sense of privacy. He climbed down from his bunk and sat on the edge of Blake's, which was in the next row.

'Blake. Are you awake?'

Blake stirred but did not reply right away. He moved quietly and sat next to Gan so that they could talk in whispers. Gan noticed that Blake was nursing his right arm: his shirt sleeve covered it, but Gan suspected it must be bruised and swollen after what had happened earlier that day.

'What is it?'

'My name is Gan. I am a friend of Vila's. Vila and I found out something about Raiker today... I thought you should be warned.'

He explained to Blake how Vila befriended one of the guards, Dainer, and Dainer told them that during their previous tour to Cygnus Alpha, Raiker had killed a prisoner. Only the captain had the authority to order execution, but Raiker got away with it by making it look like an accident. He selected the man for work detail, took him to another part of the ship and made him enter the service channel, allegedly in order to make some repairs. Once the prisoner was inside, the hatches closed on both sides of the channel and the entire section was flooded with sealing gel. Later Raiker ascribed it all to a malfunction. Gan was puzzled at first that a guard would share such information with two prisoners – until he realized that Dainer had told the story with relish, admiring his commander's ingenuity, and enjoying the sense of power that he and the other guards had over the prisoners' life and death.

'Well, this isn't real help,' Gan concluded grimly, looking at Blake. 'But I thought that if you knew what to expect, it would at least give you some advantage.'

'It doesn't surprise me of Raiker,' Blake said. 'At the moment, though, there's nothing we can do about it. On the other hand, it might be useful to find out more about that service channel. Thank you, Gan.' A smile creased the corners of Blake's eyes and gave his expression incredible warmth. Somehow, it made Gan feel very special. It also made him feel upset. He looked aside.

'Listen, I'm sorry... I avoided you at first.'

Blake frowned.

'Because – you believed in those charges?' he ventured.

'Charges?' Gan realized that Blake was referring to the child-molestation charges with which the administration had tried to discredit him. 'No – it's not that! I never believed that about you. Besides, I would be the last person to have faith in the Federation judicial system. Do you know, they charged me with murder, when all I did was defend myself with my bare hands against an armed Federation guard.'

Harrowing memories came flooding back, and he felt a strong urge to confide them to Blake. He went on talking – about the large-scale demonstrations on Zephron and the outbreak of violence, and how it had ended with the Federation troopers opening fire on unarmed people. Ended, for Gan, with Lana's death.

'I am sorry,' Blake said. He bit his forefinger and remained thoughtful for a while, gnawing on it.

'You don't just blame the Federation,' he said finally. 'You blame the resisters as well.'

'Yes,' Gan admitted.

'This was why you avoided me.'

'Yes... Until I saw how you stood up for Paura.'

Gan lifted his eyes again. He was amazed at how effortlessly Blake had understood him. He went on, faltering and stammering as he struggled to unburden his emotions. 'I appreciate what you have done today. This is something I understand, and admire. Helping someone – protecting a person... being loyal to a friend. These are the values I believe in. But political violence doesn't make any sense to me. I never wanted a part in it. I – I never wanted to see people's brains spilled in the street, or take a life myself, or witness the murder of someone I loved –'

'I understand,' was all Blake said.

For a long time afterwards, Gan couldn't fall asleep. He lay awake on his back, with his large hands behind his head, staring into the darkness. He was thinking about Blake, thinking how Blake didn't try to justify the resisters on Zephron, or convince him that it was necessary to take up arms against the Federation; did not, in fact, try to convince Gan of anything at all.

Gan knew that, if they managed to organize a riot and take over the London, he would have to decide whether to stay by Blake's side and join his struggle against the Federation. Still, at that moment, the hope of freedom seemed unreal and distant, and he thought that the time for that decision might never really come. Meanwhile, there was the harshness of prison routine to cope with: Raiker and the guards and the threat of violence among the inmates. And perhaps, Gan thought, there was no point in thinking about anything else except how to survive.

Suddenly, from the corner of his eye he caught a movement, something like a shadow noiselessly shifting between the rows of bunks. The shadow had a hand: the hand extended and searched the pockets of a pair of trousers that had been carelessly thrown over a bed frame. Then the shadow moved on to explore a jacket hung on a nearby chair. Finally, it withdrew and slipped under the blankets of one of the beds, still not making a single sound. It was Vila, Gan realized. If he had managed to find any loot, in the morning he would use it to bribe one of the guards, in exchange for some small favour.

'Gan,' said Kara. 'Ever since the novices landed on Cygnus Alpha, you have stood out among them. I have observed you. You were the first to leave the launching area and set foot on the soil of our home world. The first to come when I beckoned. The first to obey your God's command. The others followed. They look up to you for decisions and guidance. You have the qualities of a leader. Our Lord Vargas... may soon be leaving on an important mission. We will need capable men to run this society in his absence, to take charge of the duties in the temple and the seasonal works. You could be one of them.'

'I have no ambition to be a leader,' Gan chuckled. 'But if I can do anything to help this community, I'll be glad to.'

Blake is a born leader, he thought, not me. And Paura was a leader once, too, on his home planet... On Silmareno, Paura had explained to Gan, he had been one of the chieftains, a close kin of Movo the ruler and his son Ro. The Federation had turned his people into slaves – forced them to work in the mines, digging poisonous ore that took lives daily. Unlike Gan, Paura had never had any doubts about the necessity of waging a war. If he could ever return to Silmareno, he had said, he would fight the black-clad men, and keep on fighting until all were driven away from his homeworld.

Paura would never return to Silmareno. Before his eyes, Gan could still see the room filled with armed guards, and himself and other prisoners standing in the center with hands on their heads as Raiker threatened to kill them all, one by one, unless Blake surrendered. Everyone knew where Raiker would point his gun first. Paura screamed when Raiker shot him and then coughed and choked as he lay on the floor, still living, while the blood kept gushing simultaneously from his mouth and chest –

Gan snapped out of the horrible memory and noticed that Kara had slipped her hand into his. He hardly dared admit to himself how much it moved him. After the shattering experiences aboard the London, her presence felt like a balm, or a peaceful haven. Kara was a lovely woman; she spoke kindly, and found things about him that she appreciated and admired. Overwhelmed by a great sense of weariness, Gan longed to yield and have faith in everything she told him. And if some things continued to trouble him – such as, why the priests still kept his friends locked up, or why she wouldn't tell him openly what sort of help was required of him – he suppressed those questions, letting her lead him like a child.

He allowed himself to daydream: perhaps he would decline Blake's offer to join his crew, and instead stay here on Cygnus. Perhaps Kara would have him – as a partner, a spouse. They could live a quiet life: from what Gan had gathered, the main occupation on this world was agriculture. On Zephron, Gan had some relatives who worked the land, and he was quite knowledgeable about it, too. It would be primitive, here, in a penal colony, with hardly any technology to rely on, and the harsh climate probably meant that the crops were poor and everyone always on the brink of starvation. But life could still be good, rewarding, if he could find bliss in a personal relationship. He would pay lip service to the priests and their religion, and meanwhile start a family and look for contentment in private affairs.

There was another matter. He still hadn't told anyone, not even Blake or Vila, about the limiter. For all his immense physical strength, Gan felt that he was, in truth, an invalid. He had heard rumours in prison, folks saying that a limiter was like a postponed death sentence. The technology was far from perfected: there were horror stories about all sorts of brain damage the limiter could cause if it malfunctioned. One could end up brain dead, paralysed or half-witted; lose memory, go blind or aphasic. If any of these things happened to him, Gan wanted to know he had someone with him he could trust, someone who would take care of him. He wondered if Kara could be that person.

They descended a flight of stairs, walked the length of a short corridor and found themselves in front of a heavy wooden door, guarded by two priests with spears in their hands. Kara turned to him, looking solemn – and, for some reason inexplicable to Gan, also upset.

'Gan, before we go in, you need to understand. We know about your friend... Blake... who came here in an alien ship.'

'All right.' Gan still didn't feel any reason to get worried, and he didn't understand why Kara seemed to be. Blake had said that he would talk to the priests. Kara's words simply confirmed that to Gan: apparently, Blake had made contact.

'Lord Vargas needs this ship. It is immensely important. Gan, there are so many souls in the galaxy that need to learn about the One True God. Lord Vargas has to take the Word beyond.'

'He wants Blake's ship?' Gan laughed, then forced himself to stop, realizing how seriously she considered the matter. 'No, this is impossible, Kara. Blake needs this ship for his struggle against the Federation. He would never part with it. However – he might be willing to transport your lord Vargas and some of the priests to another planet, where they could try to spread their religion.' Gan recalled that Blake had mentioned some such possibility himself. 'I would probably be able to talk him into it. I could take part in negotiations. Is this the sort of help you wanted from me?'

Kara shook her head sadly.

'Gan, you don't understand. To reject Lord Vargas is to reject the One True God. Your friend has defied the Word. He is an unbeliever.'

An unbeliever. Suddenly the word evoked in Gan's mind the memory of a horror he had seen immediately upon arrival to Cygnus Alpha – a mutilated body, a corpse tied to and decomposing on a wooden frame, with a sign still hanging from its skeletal neck: So perish unbelievers. Gan cursed himself. How could he forget it, forget the cruelty that these priests were capable of? A visceral dread gripped him and he had a vision of his friend strapped to that same frame, dying the same horrible death.

'What have you done to him?' he cried. Without waiting for an answer, he pushed aside the two priests, lifted the heavy latch from the door and rushed inside.

Gan ignored everything else that was in the cellar room – ignored Laran, who was standing by the door with a torch in his hand – and rushed towards the central part, where he saw Blake's motionless body lying on the earthen floor. Fearing the worst, Gan dropped next to his friend, urging himself to remain composed as he touched Blake's neck, feeling with his fingers for the carotid artery.

The pulse was there, although it was weak and irregular. Gan also noticed the movement of Blake's chest, likewise irregular, shallow. Blake was stripped to the waist and Gan could see immediately the injuries which had caused him to pass out – hideous burns on his abdomen and chest. Shattered, Gan slipped an arm under Blake's head and shoulders, intent to lift him from the dirty ground. At that moment he felt his own body roughly pulled backwards; two priests caught his arms and pulled him to a standing position, dragging him away from Blake. Gan would have shaken them off without much effort, but a third priest positioned himself in the front, pointing a spear at his chest.

Gan was breathing heavily and his eyes filled with angry tears. This was so unbelievably unfair, so insane, he thought. He knew Blake had never meant any harm to these people: what reason did they have to hurt him like this? Gan twisted his head around to look at Kara. She had to listen to him – if she really had feelings for him, if at least some of what she had said had been genuine, then surely she would listen? He had to try. 'Please,' he addressed her. 'Kara, he's badly injured. Please, let me help him. I need water and bandages, and something for his burns –'

Kara was about to say something, but Laran interrupted and spoke first: 'There will be no mercy for the unbeliever unless he submits.' Then he turned to Kara. 'You were wrong about this one,' he said, pointing his head at Gan. 'You said he would be willing to help us. You said he knew about Blake's weaknesses and would tell us about them.'

They wanted me to help them break Blake? That was the 'help' that Kara had been talking about.

Gan was staring at Kara, still disbelieving what he had just heard. There was no sudden transformation, no change in her appearance that would somehow support his revelation or coincide with the shattering of his illusions. She was still the same beautiful woman to whom he had felt attracted, and still looked at him with the same lovely, large eyes that emitted sadness. Yet that very sadness now made Gan cringe: he knew Kara wasn't sad because of what had been done to Blake. She was sad because Gan couldn't share her vision, because he couldn't accept this act of violence and approve of it as she did.

'Very well,' Laran said to Gan. 'If you won't help us, there are others among the novices who will. I will place Blake among them, and tell them that one of them will have to die unless Blake gives us the ship. To save their lives, they will do whatever it takes to make him yield. It will be curious to see how your friend Blake reacts when the very people he has come here to rescue turn against him.'

Gan swallowed. He knew that the scenario Laran had conceived was quite probable: there were thugs among the London inmates who would have no qualms about tearing Blake to pieces if that was the only way for them to save their own skin. But it won't happen, he told himself, because I will be there and I will be by Blake's side.

Suddenly, Gan realized that this was the moment of decision, that his path to the future was now clearly determined. Blake had never forced him to take that path, never tried to impose a choice on him; but the loyalty and affection that Gan felt for Blake now made it the only choice available. He didn't want to look at Kara again as they were taking him away, although he thought he heard her quietly whisper his name. If they survived and managed to get away from here, he would stay with Blake and join his crew. And as for his dream of a quiet, peaceful life – it would just have to be postponed. Perhaps for a very long time.