DECONSTRUCTING BLAKE
Part One
Guttering flames provided shafts and pools of weak yellow light amidst the suffocating gloom of the basement; a stinking hole sprinkled with dust, debris and webbing.
Two people descended a wooden staircase at speed, the woman reaching the floor first then reaching back to help the man who winced at her touch, the bloody bandage on his left arm now mostly crimson.
Like the woman his face was smudged with soot and filth, his clothing somewhat ragged and his eyes bright with shock and danger.
"Sit here," indicating a crate the woman began to carefully unravel the bandage, "I think the bleeding's finally stopped, it's a deep wound though."
Tone dismissive the man gritted his teeth, "I'll survive," he looked like he'd survived plenty already, "Unlike some," he added bitterly.
"Why did they open fire like that; we'd surrendered," the woman found something else to sit on she was trembling and pale, her dark hair swept back into a ponytail.
"Didn't you see who was in charge the troops," the man snarled?
"Yes I saw him," shuddering with revulsion she blinked away tears, "All those poor kids killed, and our friends I don't think any of them survived."
"We did, others must have," even now he refused to give up hope it was something that had attracted her to him in the first place.
"What are we going to do Blake, where can we go; they'll never stop looking?"
He winced in pain, "We have to get out of the city, there's nowhere safe here now."
"Leave the dome," Ravella spoke as though the idea was incredible to her unthinkable, nobody left the dome?
"I know a place," he said, "About two kilometres to the east, a warren of caves cut into the side of a cliff."
"A cave," shivering again Ravella looked down at her once beautiful nails now chipped and crusted with dry blood.
"I know it's not what you're used to with your privileged upbringing," his tone wasn't harsh it wasn't her fault she was high-born with executive grade parents; he was an alpha himself so he couldn't pass judgement.
"It isn't that Blake, it's just the idea of being outside and exposed to the elements the cold and wet," like him she'd lived her entire life in the dome, grown up there, gone to school, got her degree and begun working in records; she knew nothing else.
"You get used to it," he said, "After a while you get to quite enjoy air untainted by chemicals and drinking fresh natural water, I've even eaten live game."
Appalled she did her best to hide it, but the idea of killing, skinning and eating an animal was hideous, "How often have you been outside?"
Blake shrugged like it was too many times to remember, "They lied to us you know there's no radiation now, no mutations and there's even fruit growing on some of the bushes. I feel more alive out there somehow, more...human."
The sound of approaching gunfire made them both jump and he directed her attention to a circular metal door, its lock broken, "There's a crawlspace leading to perimeter section G," he said, "It's none too clean but there are no sensors."
"We'll go together Roj; I'm not leaving you here," her hand stroked her face tenderly and he kissed its palm.
"I'd slow you down."
"Hush," taking his face in her hands she drew it to her lips and kissed him fully on the mouth, hating the idea of abandoning him when they'd been forced to abandon so many people already the dead and the dying.
"Ravella I couldn't bear it if you were harmed in any way," he said softly, "You're very special to me."
Reaching down he gently touched the gold ring she wore on her left hand, his gift to her to symbolize their engagement.
Cheeks warming she dipped her eyes, "I love you Roj and I want to be with you, we'll go together," easing over to the circular hatch she grunted as she prized it open. The brick tunnel beyond looked bleak, dark and damp doubtless home to creepy crawlies of all kinds.
He handed her his torch, "Here take this," he said.
"I'll go first but you follow," she insisted, he moved his injured arm slightly but even this was excruciating.
"I don't think I can make it."
"Then we'll go slowly," no way was she leaving him to the tender mercies of the security division and the psychopath leading them, a sadist and mass-murderer who should be on trial himself.
Gun fire close and sharp, a man screamed, another swore then the door above was kicked.
Kissing Ravella Blake propelled her towards the hidden tunnel, go said his eyes go now but she held back.
"Roj," her tone was pleading.
"They mustn't arrest you," he grunted.
"Or you," she threw back as the door above was kicked open and boots began to descend.
With his last vestiges of strength he pushed her into the tunnel and closed the hatch, twisting its lock with gritted teeth then wedging a bar into the gap.
He'd just finished when they stormed in 5 men in masks and one without, his cruel face twisted into a triumphant grin, "Blake," exultant he aimed his gun at Blake's head, "I've been looking forward to this."
Not moving but also not flinching Blake betrayed no fear go ahead kill me his expression defied.
Yet for once Travis hesitated; odd for a man who had killed so many already, the gun slowly rose its snout aimed at the ceiling. Why did the brass want this man alive, why him and none of the others; what was it about one miserable rebel.
"My orders are to take you in Blake," with a kick Travis propelled his prisoner onto the dirty floor then placed a boot on his neck, "If I had my way," spitting into the gloom the commander gave a nod, "Your party is finished, your revolution is never going to happen and your friends are all dead."
Not all thought Blake not quite, "Pity you aren't," the croak enraged Travis who stood back and kicked Blake again harder, "Get him up," narrow eyes surveyed the basement, "Then search this place for any other rabble."
Reaching down to the communicator on his forearm Travis spoke coldly, "Strike leader to cobra team, mission accomplished; we have our prime objective; repeat Blake is in custody."
As he was raised and drew level with Travis, Blake grimaced in pain, "One day," he gasped, "I'll hold you accountable for this."
Grinning the soldier placed his gun under the man's chin, "You're pathetic Blake, do you know that; you and your freedom party are history; what's left of them will soon be buried in unmarked graves."
"Proud of yourself are you Travis, of your butchery?"
Bored now the other man turned away, "Get him out of here," one more word and he'd kill Blake whatever the order; the man deserved to die.
"Success," unable to keep the glee out of his voice Ven Glynd lowered his communicator over which he'd just received the good news. Stood in a luxurious lounge with full sized windows overlooking the rooftops the politician allowed himself to feel a degree of smug satisfaction.
To one side stood his female aide a young lieutenant in her twenties, beyond her stood Councillor Tyram a man of about sixty with hooded eyes and a somewhat cadaverous expression.
"How many died," he asked taking a sip from a tall glass, his voice betrayed neither concern nor regret?
"Over 200," Glynd beamed.
"Did any escape," the other man asked with a degree of mockery?
"We have Blake," Glynd responded like this was the only thing that mattered, "The others are of no consequence."
"I wish," said his colleague, "That I shared your optimism."
Feeling criticised Ven Glynd put his own drink down, the purge had been his idea and it seemed to have worked perfectly, the hated freedom party had been smashed at last and good riddance to it.
"We can mop up any stragglers and we'll soon find Foster and the others, they can't hide forever."
"A job well done then," said Tyram like he didn't mean it, "So what are you going to do with Blake now you have him, how will you use your prize?"
"He must die of course," there was no doubt in Glynd's mind, "A show trial then an execution, once he's dead its over."
"Is it," Tyram remarked.
"What do you mean?"
"Dissent on 400 worlds, objections and protests everywhere, groups springing up, petty acts of sabotage even voices raised in the administration itself with talk of democracy."
"Democracy," Glynd said it like an obscenity, "Never."
"Give them a martyr and there'll be no end to it, Blake could do us far more harm in death than he even did in life."
This hadn't occurred to Glynd and now it did he felt a frisson of disquiet, a martyr indeed.
Then his aide spoke up, "There might be a solution," her voice was soft but carried an unusual confidence that grabbed both men's attention, "Mind reshapement," she added quickly, "Reprogram Blake then get him to make a public statement recanting his previous beliefs and condemning the rebellion."
For a long moment there was a heavy silence then Glynd coughed as he mulled it over, it wasn't a bad idea he decided and it might even work, a propaganda coup.
"He's a tough man it won't be easy," he said.
"Psyche One could do it," enthused the aide, "They've made some real progress recently in attitude adjustment and false memory."
Yes he'd heard that even read a report by the chief doctor, "How long would it take," time was crucial they couldn't wait too long?
"Let me find out for you," said the woman, "If we can get Blake to denounce his rebels it will make them look like terrorists and us the voice of reason."
Chuckling Tyram finished his drink, "An astute suggestion, I like the way you think young lady; what is your name by the way."
Telling him she headed for the door knowing she'd made a good impression this evening with two powerful and useful men. But then Servalan never wasted an opportunity to enhance her career.
Part Two
"Ah doctor there you are," Ven Glynd smiled as the woman glanced up from a clipboard. Somewhere in her thirties she was of medium build with dark blond hair and a good figure under her science uniform he noticed.
"Good morning sir," the voice was firm and the look challenging, she didn't seem impressed by his rank he liked that.
"I just thought I'd pay a personal visit to ask how things are going with..."
"Blake," she cut in quickly knowing all about his pet project. When he nodded she went on, "He's an interesting subject."
"Oh in what way," Glynd hoped that wasn't admiration in the woman's voice, Blake had to many followers as it were he seemed to inspire devotion for some reason?
"Intelligent, mature, well educated, good background and yet," considering her next words carefully the doctor frowned, "He rejects all the benefits our modern society offers."
"He's a resister," said Glynd like this explained everything, "It's a kind of mental illness, one I was hoping you could treat successfully," he offered a smile.
"Reprogramming Blake won't be easy; if we can't use extreme measures then it's a case of entering his thoughts and memories, tracing his beliefs to their root causes."
"Blake isn't to be damaged doctor; he's no use to us as a gibbering wreck."
She was aware of that, of the televised broadcast Blake was due to make, his apology, "The treatment began 2 days ago and so far he's fought us all the way, his sense of self and will power are impressive."
"But not," said the tall man, "Unbeatable."
Was that a criticism; she felt judged and under pressure, "I don't think so."
"How quickly can you make progress, with insurrections and disobedience on the increase we have to act soon," already some of the outer words were talking about leaving the federation and panic was in the air, the administration was seen to be under pressure.
"Give me a week; it shouldn't take too much longer than that."
His gaze was doubtless, "a week; you're sure?"
"We've never failed yet," said the woman.
"No you haven't but this is critical, the Blake situation must be resolved. There have been a number of large scale protests and calls for his release," all put down but with a degree less savagery although Bran Foster remained at large.
"We'll do our best of course sir," she said neutrally.
"Of course you will," he said genially then move din closer to rest a hand on her arm, "By the way I was sorry to hear about the death of your husband. Shuttle crash wasn't it? Tragic, such a waste."
Skin crawling she withdrew her arm as tactfully as she could, not needing his fake sympathy any more than the bodily contact. Glynd had a reputation as a womaniser and it was well deserved.
"Thank you, well I must get on," eager to be away she took a step back, glad when he didn't follow.
"Of course, don't let me keep you," why did she get the impression he knew more about Pierre's death than he was saying?
Around Travis stood his sector commanders, gruff, hard-faced and ruthless men handpicked by him, there were a dozen of them all combat veterans, none squeamish about shooting civilians.
To one side stood a dark-haired woman in a white wrap, she was Ven Glynd's aide, and it was rare for someone like her to be part of a briefing.
"This girl," Travis held up a photo, "Was seen with Blake at the protest, and later hurrying away. A scan of the basement where Blake was hiding indicated the presence of someone else, probably her. We need to know who she is and where she escaped to," Travis indicated a pile of identical photos.
"What if she's gone outside the dome," asked a brutal looking man with fire scarred skin over much of his face?
"Additional units will be sent outside the dome," Travis confirmed, "But first we need to confirm that this girl is not within our confines. Leave no stone unturned, use your snouts and apply all the pressure you need to. I want a result on this and quickly' no excuses."
The commander stiffened, "Dismissed," he watched his men file out and once they'd gone he turned to Servalan, "Congratulations on your promotion," he purred, "I guess sucking up to the boss works after all."
If she was offended by this it wasn't obvious on the slim alabaster pale features, few things ruffling this woman's feathers.
"Once you know the game you play the game," she lectured, "It's the only way to win the game."
"Is that what this is to you," he frowned, "A game?"
"Oh yes," the tone was unapologetic, "Power is the only game worth playing and I play to win every time."
"My word you are ambitious," he was part sarcastic and part admiring, he'd never met any girl like this one she was a cool and dangerous fish to be sure.
"I know exactly what I want from life Travis; it's the key to success."
"Having a rich family can't have hurt," not like me he was thinking, I had to fight my way up through the ranks through blood and fire in one battle after another.
Smiling demurely she regarded him, "Your envy is understandable but any success I've achieved has been down to astute planning and meticulous timing."
An ego too he was impressed, "Is that why you're here Servalan; to boast?"
A soft hand came to rest on his chest, "Not exactly, I haven't rewarded you for capturing Blake," pressing her palm onto his suit she splayed her fingers, "And a man should always be rewarded for doing the right thing," the smile was pure temptation pure lust.
He felt his loin's enflame as she led him towards a door that led to a small bedroom, and he knew he wouldn't be joining in on the hunt for Blake's friend just yet.
Wiping tears from her wan cheeks Ravella hugged herself it was cold in the cave, cold and dark and she felt angry with herself for leaving Blake. Water tricked down the rocky walls to drip and pool on the uneven pitted floor and in the distance she could hear the squeak and snap of small winged creatures.
"Here drink this," an older man with iron grey hair had appeared behind her, he wore dark robes that had seen better days and his craggy features spoke of pain and disappointment in equal measure.
Taking the warm mug she took a sip, the liquid was bitter – how appropriate, "Do you know where he is," she asked turning to face Foster, the grand old man of the revolution as some called him, a veteran protester?
"A special clinic in the red zone, it's highly guarded," his gravelly voice held the hint of a warning; "I don't think a raid would succeed."
"So you're not even going to try," tone shrill with anger and disappointment she looked right into the moist soft brown eyes?
"I'm sorry Ravella I like him to but with the security clampdown we have to be very careful," Foster led several groups and had helped Roj form his own cell.
"They could be torturing him right now Bran; we have to do something."
His sigh was world weary, "I'm open to suggestions."
"Direct action is the only thing that makes sense," she was ready she'd lead the attack herself against any odds, she'd do anything to help Roj to free him she owned him her life.
"I know you love him," the old man admitted, "But we've lost a lot of good people; I can't risk losing anymore."
"Just Blake," she snapped, "its okay to sacrifice him is it?"
Hurt by this remark he moved from foot to foot and she instantly regretted the outburst; none of this was his fault, "I'm sorry," she said.
"I'm sorry to Roj has been a real driving force for change and political awareness these last 2 years, he's probably the single most important person in the resistance but we can't get to where he is now and to try would be suicide."
Ready to sacrifice her own life if that's what it took Ravella realised that she did love Blake and when you loved someone you were prepared to risk everything, "Just give me the name of this place, I take care of the rest,"
As she made to leave Foster's voice reached her sharp with rebuke and alarm, "Don't do anything foolish we might all regret; you're important to."
Ravella kept walking.
Entering the private room Dr Benoit could still feel Ven Glynd's paw on her arm, and was still seething about his fake sympathy. Pierre had been openly critical of men like him, careerists who feathered their own nests at the expense of others.
Then Blake's eyes seized her alert and quizzical, angry and insistent. Strapped to the bed he looked anything but helpless and she was struck by his determination, his self-belief.
"I'm Dr Benoit," she began, "How are you?"
"The electro shock therapy was painful and the drugs I've been given have irritated my sinuses," he wasn't in any way humble or apologetic.
"I'm sorry that side of things is now over, I should explain that you are in Psyche One a special facility for..."
But he cut into her carefully rehearsed speech, "Brainwashing."
"We no longer use such outdated and politically incorrect terminology; I like to think that what we do here is..."
Again he broke in, "What kind of society detains, restrains, tortures, terrorises and brainwashes its citizens and why are you cooperating with it doctor?"
They hadn't over estimated his forceful personality or sense of outrage, "You're here for treatment Roj to be helped to see the error of your ways."
"Is thinking for yourself an error," he batted back?
"Delusional statements and false beliefs are," she replied with more heat than she'd intended.
"What about mass murder," he wasn't remotely impressed?
"I don't understand," she said and she didn't.
"Three days ago over 200 people were slaughtered by the security forces, unarmed civilians most of them students."
The accusation took her breath away, what was he talking about there had been nothing in the media?
"Can you prove that?"
His reply was not what she'd expected, "Yes I can," he said grimly.
"How," the delusional never offered up evidence so what could he have?
"Are my clothes still here?"
"Yes in a locker I believe."
"In the sole of my left shoe you'll find a key, it opens a compartment in the lost luggage section of metro 7. In there you'll find a vis-tape taken from the surveillance cameras on the concourse; go and watch it."
"What does it show," hadn't there been a protest on the concourse recently?
"Watch the footage doctor then come back here and tell me I'm delusional," Blake snapped he didn't seem to be lying or irrational and if he had a video then maybe his story wasn't so insane.
Of course she should report this to her boss at once even security, such evidence would be classified beyond her pay grade, so why wasn't she?
Then he shocked her with a question, "Do you have children?"
"That's a bit personal," but she told him anyway, "A daughter aged 13."
"In a few years time she might come to question the system, to object and protest; to ask difficult questions. What will you do then, hand her over to Travis; bring her here?"
Now he was openly mocking but it was a valid point she had to concede; increasingly the young were becoming discontented and radical far more so than her generation.
"If there's nothing you need," it was time to leave to gather her thoughts, to think about her next move very carefully.
"What's your first name," said Blake suddenly like it was vital?
"I hardly think that's any of your business."
"You're going to wipe my memories; what harm can it do to tell me."
Oddly touched she considered it, with her hand on the door coder she made a decision, "Kasabi," she said.
Part Three
The fire scarred trooper was called Pavel. Entering a dark tunnel that led to sub-basement 9 he wrinkled his noise against the foul aromas of human poverty.
"Come out where I can see you," he barked and a small, shifty looking man in a dirty blue tabard appeared his informant.
"You said you had something for me," said Pavel eyeing his watch, "This had better be good."
The snout winced, "You said something about 200 credits."
Grabbing him by the collar and slamming him against a pillar Pavel drew out his truncheon, "Don't waste my time skunk, you get paid if and when your info leads to an arrest if it does."
Terrified the little man eyed the truncheon like he'd felt its bluntness before, "All right take it easy, there's no need to turn psycho on me."
"Keep talking," Pavel purred.
"It's this girl I think I know where you can find her."
"You think," Pavel spat on the ground, "You either know or you don't; which is it skunk?"
The eyes widened, "She's been calling in favours, trying to get into a certain location, buying a fake access card."
"What place," the truncheon lowered as the little man took out a grubby piece of paper and handed it over. Reading it Pavel frowned.
"Are you sure about this?"
"I sold her the access card."
Disgusted by the creepy little runt Pavel let him go, "This had better be kosher or I'll cut your thieving fingers off, are we clear skunk?"
When the big scary man had gone the thief opened his left hand - in it was the door card to Pavel's apartment – neatly palmed from his belt. A smile of triumph on his lips Vila Restal crept away.
Placing the vis-tape into her home entertainment system with a shaking hand Kasabi Benoit hit 'play' aware she was breaking the law by just having it.
She hadn't believed Blake but there was something compelling about the man he was so earnest, so sure about his beliefs. The least she could do was watch the film and make up her own mind.
The camera gave a clear view of the concourse were hundreds of protesters were assembled, many looked like students and a number carried banners like DEMOCRACY NOW and STUDENTS FOR AN HONEST MEDIA.
One girl rose to speak turning her back to the camera, there was a loud bang and flash and a scorch mark the size of a fist appeared on her back, she fell face down.
A man cried out, there was another flash and he fell clutching his chest. After that panic and hysteria took over, there were loud screams and cries but they were blotted out by more and more bangs, shots Kasabi realised now.
Bodies fell left and right, just kids mostly but a few older people ruthlessly gunned down.
Hands to her mouth Kasabi felt tears prick her eyes and run down her cheeks; oh god this was horrible.
She saw Blake dragging a dark-haired girl from the main crowd, ducking shots and bodies to try and reach an exit.
A blond girl screamed and fell down some stairs, a ginger youth (hit in the neck) fell from a high balcony, another youth was punched right over a table blood pouring from his mouth.
More bangs, they grew ever louder; some of the protesters tried to surrender. They were brutally gunned down by troops who marched into view. Then there was Travis, he wore no mask and he was grinning wolfishly delighted by the slaughter.
"No survivors," he could clearly be heard saying this, "Search the concourse, nobody escapes," then he frowned, "Where is Blake, I can't see him?"
The reply was muted and Travis stormed off-camera leaving a river of bodies, shocked expressions on their lifeless young faces.
Turning the film off Kasabi sat back weeping, her body ripping with shock and mind reeling.
The nurse looked like all the other nurses, white jumpsuit, white boots, a small white mask over her nose and mouth. But she wasn't like the others, for one thing she wasn't a nurse and for another she had no authorisation to be in isolation.
Room 3G she was looking for but where was it, she'd been up and down the corridor twice.
Hearing voice she ducked into an alcove as administrator Bant and a tall imperious woman came into view it was she who was talking, "So where is Dr Benoit, why isn't she here?"
"She didn't come back from lunch commander Servalan; I've no idea where she is."
Not impressed by this Servalan rolled her eyes, "Damn woman I'll have her job for this; can you continue the treatment without her?"
Bant was quick to say, "Oh yes, it's mostly automated now anyway."
As they passed her by Ravella crouched in the alcove shaking with fear, was she insane to try this alone? Well she'd done okay so far, just getting into Psyche One was an achievement.
Then she saw it a narrow door leading off from the alcove set well back from the others, trying her stolen card she got in and blinked in shock. The walls were pulsing and throbbing with bright light, faster flickering light can from the ceiling.
Roj lay strapped to a bed with phones over his ears bombarding him with sound so bad his body writhed and twitched, his face twisted into a mask of agony.
She looked for a power switch and saw something, going over to twist it. The blinding light show eased, toned down and finally stopped. Going to Roj she tore the phones from his ears, a burst of white noise filled the air so she wrenched the phones from their socket and hurled them aside.
"Roj it's me," she took him by the shoulders his body rippling with pain, mouth making inarticulate gasps and grunts, eyes open but pupils like tiny dots.
He was heavily drugged she realised, his brain blasted by hypnotic lights and sounds for god knew how long. It was torture pure and simple they were brainwashing him, tearing into his mind with chemicals and electronics.
The touch of him, his sold strength, and the smell of his hair made her pulses race in a different way and she kissed him on the cheek and ear, missing his curly hair with her lips.
"Can you hear me," she gasped but his vision remained unfocused, he looked in turns drunk, stoned and shell-shocked. The bastards they had totally dehumanized him.
Knowing she had little time Ravella applied herself to the straps, the ones around his arms just had manual buckles and were easily beaten for the others she produced the slim tools she had acquired she began to pick their magna-locks aware she had little skill. Vila had told her what to do but practise was very different from theory.
"Help me," Blake slurred.
"I'm doing my best Roj, I'll get you out of here," confident words but the locks refused to budge no matter which way she twisted and tugged. Face beaded with sweat and heart hammering she beavered away then heard a click and one of the straps fell away.
Thank god; she applied herself to the next maybe she could do this after all, what would Bran Foster say then? She'd have a few choice words to say to him.
"Stop," the cold voice caused her to drop her tool and a scarred face grinned down at her, a security officer with a truncheon in his meaty fist, "So the little skunk was right after all," Pavel sniffed knowing he wasn't going to pay 200 credits for this he'd just kill the punk.
"Help me," Ravella pleaded, "What they do here is barbaric."
But if she was appealing to the man's better nature it soon became obvious he didn't have one, "They'll be doing it to you soon enough darling," and he advanced slowly.
Blake looked around his features slowly clearing, "Leave her alone."
"Shut up," Pavel grabbed Ravella by her slim arm and swung her around, much taller and a lot stronger but as he turned she shot a leg out to trip him and he fell over the bed, fell onto Blake and into Blake's arms.
Before he could tear free Blake tightened his grip and gave a sharp twist, a loud crack filled the air and Pavel went limp, his big body sliding to the floor.
Clutching her mouth in shock Ravella gazed at the man's bulging eyes frozen now in death.
"Give me the tool," Blake called out and she retrieved it knowing he was a better lock-pick, "Watch the door," he told her setting to work with trembling hands.
They both heard the alarm distant but strident, it was soon joined by running boots and a man called out, "Check Blake."
Looking up despairingly Roj shook his head, "Go Ravella."
"No," the word cut the air; how could she leave him again?
"If they catch you here," he didn't finish the sentence because they both knew what he meant, a security officer was dead.
Going to Pavel she took out his gun a big dark blaster, "This time I'm going to stand and fight," she declared but the gun shook in her hands.
"And die," Blake questioned?
"If I have to," what did she have to live for without him?
"I love you," Blake declared simply and powerfully and she almost went over to hug him, "I can't watch you die," he added.
"And I can't leave you to die," she threw back.
"There are too many of them Ravella, if you go now you might just make it."
Logical, reasonable and probably right but she didn't want to hear it, "What about you," she asked, "I've seen what they're doing to you to your mind."
"I'll survive," he looked weak, worn out and ten years older; how much more could he take?
"As what," she cried, "A vegetable."
"You can escape I can't," close to tears himself he took her by the arm, "I'll only survive if I know you're out there somewhere alive and safe."
She could see he meant it that the situation was hopeless, boots were approaching the guards would be on them in seconds. Tears dripping off her chin she kissed him long and hard then as the door opened she turned and fired, a guard fell; she fired again, a second guard dropped.
Dashing into the corridor and dropping onto one knee she felled a third, but more were on the way she could hear them; if she didn't go now she was dead and she was no use to Blake dead.
"I'll come back Roj," she called out, "I won't let this happen," a fourth guard fired and didn't miss by much, blasting the man Ravella turned and shot away up the corridor blinded by tears of rage and frustration. To come so close and fail was unbearable it was almost worse than dying.
More troops bled into view faces hard and eyes like flint but there was no sign of the intruder, just four smoking bodies with holes in them and Pavel with his neck snapped.
They almost shot Blake, they wanted to but they had their orders. There'd be hell to pay for this; Travis would be fuming at their incompetence.
"Find her," barked Morris the most senior man, "She mustn't get away," if she did it would mean his head. Turning back to Blake he spat, "There's no escape for you rebel."
But for once Blake didn't seem all that concerned.
Part Four
"It's a shambles," his voice booming off the walls Travis stormed into the office with tightly clenched fists, "A complete and utter shambles."
For once sheepish and defensive Ven Glynd avoided the caustic gaze, "Yes I agree."
Refusing to be mollified Travis kicked a chair out of his way, "Five of my men dead and the girl still escaped," he looked ready to kick something else.
"At least we still have Blake," if Glynd expected this to impress the other man he was sadly mistaken.
Swinging towards him like an enraged tiger Travis snapped, "I should damn well think so," then realising who he was talking to he reined in his fury a little, "You assured me Psyche One was a high security installation yet this girl just walked in off the street with fake ID and nobody thought to check?"
"Apparently not," Glynd was pink cheeked.
"Right," a gloved fist smacked a gloved palm, "I'm taking personal control of security here from now on."
Travis was actually exceeding his authority in saying this but nobody dared to object, "Where is Dr Benoit," he bawled?
"Nobody knows, her apartment is deserted and her bank account has been closed."
"I'll issue a warrant for her arrest," said Travis, "With her gone I want Blake's treatment accelerated, no more pussy footing around."
Glynd swallowed, "But we may damage him."
Taking a menacing step towards the politician Travis let his teeth show, "It's the damage he's doing to us that bothers me; and it ends now."
Thinking it prudent to say something to defuse the situation Servalan broke her silence, "We found this in Blake's room, it must have fallen from the girl during her struggle with Pavel," opening her fingers she let them see the small glittering gold coloured object.
"Is that a name engraved on it," Travis blinked.
"Most likely, after all lovers usually exchange rings," she cooed.
"You think Blake and the girl are...," Glynd seemed astonished. Not rolling her eyes took a major effort but Servalan managed it. Men, they were so stupid; of course Blake and the girl were lovers why else had she taken such a risk alone?
"This is the key to our success," she smiled wondering if these two would catch on. When neither spoke she asked, "Do you have an Empathic Synch device here?"
"Yes of course," the older man was frowning, to Travis he said, "It allows one mind to enter another, to interact through dreams and memories."
"My mind," Servalan declared, "Will interact with Blake and this," she raised the ring, "Is my winning card."
Letting them have a few moments to absorb this she added the rest of her plan, "Glynd I need your permission to offer Blake a deal."
"No deals," Travis spat, "We should kill him."
"What did you have in mind," the devious mind of the political operator was weighing the odds of success?
"After Blake makes his broadcast we use memory and docility drugs to turn him into a model citizen and we keep him alive."
It was too much for Travis, "No," he bellowed, "Not a chance, we'd be letting him off the hook the man's a menace."
"He's more use to us alive," Servalan reasoned," it makes us look compassionate and liberal and it will defuse the current situation."
The current situation was deteriorating by the hour with mass protests and demonstrations on a hundred worlds, demands to leave the federation and tear up binding treaties. Ven Glynd knew they were staring into an abyss and crude physical violence wasn't the answer.
"Kill Blake," Servalan pleaded, "And there'll be civil war, the federation could be torn apart. We already have strikes, walk-outs, sit-ins and riots breaking out."
"They can be crushed," Travis boasted.
"Can they or is it pouring oil onto fires already out of control?"
All too aware of this Glynd strode the room knowing his career was on the line, he had staked so much of his personal authority on this that if it failed he could expect no mercy. He was impressed by this woman's shrewd political mind; her plan made a certain sense.
"You'll have to be quick," he muttered and Servalan knew she had him that he had played right into her hands; this was her big chance and she wasn't going to waste it. She could come out of this looking like the saviour of the hour and the people who mattered wouldn't forget.
Ducking back into the alleyway Kasabi took a deep breath and held it; had they seen her was she being followed? She'd covered her tracks pretty well since leaving her home and making for the only safe refuge she knew. Her daughter was already there, tucked safely out of the way.
The film had made up her mind for her; she could no longer bury her head in the sand and deny the obvious.
A shoe kicked a bottle and this rolled up the street causing her to tense up, reaching into her long coat she took out the blaster. She was licensed to carry one and was glad now she'd thought to bring it.
"Over there," grunted a voice and two figures moved past the alley, they might be muggers or they could be security she wasn't sure. All she knew was they mustn't find her or she was finished.
What she was going to do with the rest of her life she wasn't entirely sure, but whatever it was it would have something to with exposing the truth and bringing down the administration.
She was sure her husband's death had been no accident, he'd been too outspoken and she had no illusions they'd kill her to.
Once she was convinced it was safe she darted out of the alley and jogged up the street, a hood obscuring her face. She thought of Blake and wished she could help him, but he was doomed. With her gone they'd destroy his mind, a good mind it was to and a good man.
In many ways he reminded her of her husband and she bit back a sob of loss.
Lying on a table next to the bed with a complex looking contraption wired to her head Servalan tried to stay calm to show no fear. The doctors had voiced their misgivings and been overruled, she had to do this, she couldn't trust anyone else to do it properly.
Looking down at her Travis was frowning and clearly not happy; but his heavy handed tactics wouldn't resolve matters.
Blake lay still he was in an induced coma; he had been sedated and weakened as much as possible so this was her best chance.
"You'll be closely monitored," voice oddly tender Travis touched her cheek with a finger, "We're allowing you a maximum of thirty minutes."
Was that enough; well it would have to be, "I'm ready," she made herself say and a white glove moved closer holding a hypo gun.
"Good luck," said Travis, "I didn't think Glynd would agree to this."
"What choice does he have," she was withering, "Where is he now?"
"Calling in favours and trying to save his worthless neck, some of his cronies have been forced out already, there's even talk of a new president."
She smiled as she thought about the presidency, one day she mused one day I will sit in that big chair, "Let's get on with it."
The needle was icy cold and the last thing she saw was Blake's serene face as she turned her head to look at him. Just one man but look at the trouble he had caused. Could one person be so powerful, would she ever wield such influence? The prospect excited her beyond words because she knew what the answer was.
Part Five
Blake loved his grandfather, the old man told him things his parents wouldn't; when Roj was 7 the old man shared an amazing secret.
"The federation wasn't always in control of the earth, I have found records and books that talk of a time before they assumed power when different areas of earth called countries had their own governments; some voted into power by the people in a process called democracy."
The old guy's collection of rare films and photos intrigued Blake for they were a window onto a past he had never been exposed to at school. Official history began and ended with the federation, as if nothing existed before it but it was clear something did.
"Elected leaders," young Blake had marvelled at the idea, it was so radical so unusual?
"Yes these societies had debate, protest, accountability – all the things we are denied – people had civil liberties that put our culture to shame."
To prove it granddad produced photos of parliaments and senates, he even had copies of speeches made by old leaders that referred to liberty and justice not total obedience.
"The federation is a prison," Blake was told, "It suffocates the human spirit by denying it the only thing worth having, freedom to choose."
At eight years old Roj's mind was opened to another way of thinking, to odd ideas heresies that on earth got people arrested.
"You're saying we're not free granddad?"
"How can we be boy when objection is a crime, when thinking for yourself is discouraged; why there are even questions that can get you detained; does that sound like freedom to you?"
Blake wondered why his mum and dad never told him this stuff, why they didn't spend time with granddad, why they didn't ask any questions.
The old man had an answer for this as the boy munched on a freshly grown apple, "The food tastes different here doesn't it Roj? That's because it isn't treated with mood altering drugs that deaden the critical functions of the brain and induce a kind of dull passivity. I grow my own stuff I always have, that's why my thinking processes are so clear and incisive."
The idea of being drugged had never entered Blake's mind, why would the state put such chemicals in food and water?
"It's all about control lad, power, the rule of the few over the many. The only way that works is if the masses are reduced to mindless conformity like so much cattle."
Aged 11 Blake had gone to secondary school and one day a key moment in his life played out. The sound of shouting voices drew him to a huddle of kids, who formed a ring around two others, was it a fight? No one kid was beating another but he smaller kid wasn't fighting back he was cowering, no not he but she it was a girl, a girl with auburn curly hair and two ponytails.
She was being assaulted by a tall, skinny black haired lad with harsh, cruel eyes. Outraged he forced his way through the melee as the boy landed a cuffing blow to the girl's head that knocked her to her knees then he drew back his leg to kick her.
Without thinking Blake shoved the youth back then swung a left hook that connected hard to his chin, felling him, "Leave her alone she's a girl you idiot; what are you doing?"
Those cruel mocking eyes regarded him as the bully rubbed his sore, bruised chin. He began to rise, "I'm going to make you pay for that new boy," he grated at least three inches taller and a year older.
Standing his ground fists raised Blake steeled himself for a beating, whatever happened he'd go down fighting rather than let the girl be picked on.
"What's going on," Mr Dyer the form teacher shoved the throng aside.
"Nothing sir," said the bully in an oily voice, "She fell over, we were helping her."
Blake blinked, "With your fists and boots," he hated liars, "This thug hit her sir."
Face blanching with fury the bully advanced on Blake but Mr Dyer caught him by the arm, "My office Travis – NOW."
Jerking with shock Travis threw Blake one last hate-filled look, "Later new boy," and he trudged reluctantly away.
"Thank you," the girl stammered wiping blood from her left ear.
"Are you all right," Blake asked still shaking?
"I will be," she gave a coy grin, "Who are you?"
"Roj - Roj Blake and you?"
Blushing furiously she said, "Ravella," she was his age but much smaller, a timid little thing.
"Why did that boy attack you?"
"Travis likes to pick on everyone weaker than himself, he's horrible."
At eighteen Blake went to university, upon his arrival on campus the first thing he saw was a student protest, young men and women shouting at anyone who'd listen, students and staff.
Roj had no idea what it was about but then a figure broke ranks and ran over to him, she had straight black hair and wore the lime tunic of an economics student.
"Roj hi it's me, Ravella."
The change in her appearance startled him, gone was the nervous chubby little girl with ponytails he had rescued, in her place was a confident, outgoing woman.
"What's going on," he asked after they had hugged and she'd led him into the canteen?
"We're protesting about the abolition of the student union, of all unions; it's outrageous they've no right to deny us a voice."
So she was a radical now a protester; he'd never imagined she'd turn out like that.
"Is there much demonstrating here," he asked?
"There is now the freedom party has opened a branch on campus," she gushed?
"What is the freedom party," he'd asked confused?
"Come to our next meeting, Bran Foster himself is addressing it; he's a famous liberal thinker."
Having come here to knuckle down and study to pass exams Blake was intrigued, he'd never seen himself as a rebel mixing with other trouble makers. They reminded him of his late grandfather all those years ago, a man who had disappeared mysteriously from his life with no real explanation.
Put into a home his mother had said but Blake had never been able to find it; the next thing he knew he was attending the old man's funeral, "It was so sudden some kind of seizure, there was nothing they could do."
Looking at Ravella now he recalled all the guy had shown him, "Maybe I will," he said.
Ravella had a room just off the campus; she and Blake often went there after protest meetings, their heads full of defiance, liberty and other high minded ideas until they fell into bed.
He'd just awoken when he found her sat on the bed fully clothed her back to him, "Oh what time is it," had he missed yet another lecture?
"Blake listen to me," her voice was odd, distant, colder and somehow older in a way he didn't understand, "I've entered one of your memories Blake, you do know that you're in a coma reliving old events."
He blinked bewildered yet somehow it made sense, "Ravella," he began.
"My name is Servalan," and when she turned he saw a different face, slim, high necked, imperious; closer to 30 than 20.
"Who are you," heart hammering he recalled some kind of clinic where he'd been hurt, blinding lights, loud noise, hypnotic commands to obey?
"I'm here to help you Blake but there isn't much time."
Rubbing his temples he felt suddenly weak and sore all over his mouth dry and sinuses tight.
She went on, "You must make a statement denouncing the freedom party and all it stands for, saying you were misguided, deluded, that loyalty to the state is all that counts."
He snorted, "You must be joking."
"I've never been more serious, your life depends on this. Travis is ready to pump you full of psychotropic drugs that will destroy your nervous system. The only way to prevent that is for you to make the statement; if you don't you'll die."
Stunned he gazed at deep dark eyes and was reminded of a serpent he'd seen in the zoo.
"Betray all I believe in, betray all my friends."
"Blake you have no friends, they're all dead Travis killed them; all except one," and she played her ace, she opened her hand and let him see the gold ring, the one with Ravella's name inscribed on the side.
"She is our prisoner, she didn't escape Psyche One. If you turn me down she'll be killed; she's our insurance against your loyalty."
Loyalty; the word sounded horribly ironic coming from this woman's lips, "You're lying."
But she held up the ring, "You know I'm not."
"Ravella escaped," he shouted desperate to believe it.
"She was picked up within a minute of leaving you."
"How do I know you haven't killed her already," his throat felt raw with emotion not Ravella not his lover?
"You have my word Blake, help us and she'll be freed."
"And me, what happens to me what future do I have in Psyche One?"
The smile was smooth and polished like it had been used by this woman often before and to good effect, "for you," she soothed, "This is the way back."
Part Six
Sat huddled next to Bran Foster and few others, the few survivors who had made it back to the temporary HQ Ravella used the hanky to wipe her eyes, her hand trembling.
She and this lot were all that was left of the freedom party, a handful of men and women in a state of shock. Most of their cell leaders dead, shot down in cold blood.
All except for one, and now there he was on television being piped through the entire dome speaking words that curled her guts tight and filled her heart with cold sickness.
She couldn't believe what she was hearing, it didn't seem possible. How could Blake do this, how could he betray them so brazenly?
He said he'd been wrong, deluded and misled that he had fallen in with a bad lot a mix of fanatics and terrorists who were completely wrong in their strange beliefs.
They had violated every trust and acted criminally against a benign state committing appalling acts of violence and vandalism.
"Turn it off," Ravella sniffed, "Please."
Muting the TV Foster left it on, his old face worn and weary the many lines somehow deeper than ever like they were carved into his flesh.
"Why," on her feet she paced the small cabin with its mouldy walls and cold stone floor, "Why would he do it?"
"He had no choice," Foster grunted, "They broke him down, twisted his mind."
"He's a traitor," said one of the others, "A dirty liar."
"That's enough," voice sharp Bran glared the youth down but a girl spoke up.
"But it's true Foster and you know it, Blake sold us out he's stabbed us in the back."
Having no answer to this the old man made his way over to Ravella who was hugging herself tightly in one corner, able to see the stars through a gap in the ceiling joists.
"What do we do now," she wondered out loud, "Where do we go from here?"
If Bran knew he didn't say anything just squeezing her arm gently, "All we can do is lie low for now then regroup, the movement isn't dead but it is serious depleted."
Finished more like she thought, wrecked, how could they come back from this?
"Don't give up on Roj," said the old man, "Don't lose your faith in him; I haven't."
Turning to study him she gave a puzzled frown, "You haven't."
"No Ravella, whatever's happened whatever he's said – there's always a way back."