Blake's 7 - Liberators
The sequel to Blake's 7 - Survivors
"I was expecting Avalon..."
"And I was expecting an old man with a scarred face."
Neither the young woman's attention nor her gun-arm wavered for so much as a moment, and Blake moved forward slowly, hesitantly. "Well, I'm doing my best..." she said, trying to disarm the situation - "Give me time..."
A galaxy in chaos... A rebellion reborn... A legend returns. This is the Fourth Century of the Second Calendar, 27 years after Gauda Prime - Avon is gone, perhaps forever, but his actions have consequences...
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Disclaimer: This story is for my own entertainment and hopefully that of a few others. I don't own these toys; just playing with them.
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Prologue
The human race, just after the intergalactic wars of the late third century of the Second Calendar... Depleted, worn out, exhausted by the toll taken by the long struggle for their very existence. A new age had begun, for good or ill.
Yet, in the aftermath of the second war, there was optimism. The oppressive regime of the Terran Federation was gone, its military might destroyed - old notions of democracy, fairness and equality cautiously reemerged, as new political structures gradually took shape. Hope reigned... but it was not to last.
If there could be said to be a single day on which that hope died, it was this one.
The planet Karstus, year 299 of the Second Calendar - 18 years after the death of Roj Blake on Gauda Prime and 6 after the climax of the second war against the Andromedans...
The spacecraft touched down in haste, ignoring all safety protocols, and having disembarked its small party of passengers and allowed them to reach a safe distance it lifted off to return to orbit. The arrivals hurried across the vast rocky plain as best they could with their burden, tiny against the wilderness.
The surface was largely barren, with barely enough vegetation around the equator to furnish an atmosphere breathable for humans - at a push. Hostile, but in a far more generally hostile galaxy it had often proved a valuable resource for human spacefarers. Even the electromagnetic emissions of its star, which interfered with technological devices, could be overcome with proper shielding. Karstus was, for those accustomed to its challenges, an oasis in the vast desert of space, and never more so than now.
It had been a long time since cold, arid Karstus had oceans, but a relic of that very different phase of its existence offered the new arrivals the refuge they sought. They trudged toward the dark opening in the rocks, one of the blowholes leading to the ancient sea-cave system below.
Safety, at last.
"What happened...?" he demanded, clambering with difficulty through the dark cavern and down the treacherous steps. When he got no answer, he seized a convenient sleeve and refused to let go. "What happened?" he demanded again more insistently.
"You should not have left your post," said the arrival, a young, sharp-featured man, coldly, glancing at the offending hand.
"This is my post." The owner of the hand, a stocky man in his fifties with careworn features and the bearing of a soldier, did not look away, except to glance over at the limp body being carried on a makeshift litter. "My post is wherever she says it is."
"And I foolishly thought it was your job to protect her...!" the younger man hissed petulantly.
"I agree," the older one said matter-of-factly. "No one blames me more than I do. I should have insisted on coming"-
-"Stop it, both of you..."
The voice was heard first, then a slender arm emerged from the bundle on the litter and a pale, smooth-skinned hand settled on the closer of the two men, the younger one. The drawn face which looked up at them was that of a still-youthful woman in her forties, slight of build, strands of dark hair plastered to her forehead with sweat - her eyes were clouded with fever and pain medication, but the voice was perfectly lucid. "Dannen, you're a lawyer. Leave judgment on military matters to those whose... province it is, and perhaps they'll... allow you the same courtesy." A faint smile played over her lips, and the situation was quietly disarmed.
The younger man pulled away and continued down the steps, and the older one crouched down to talk to her. "I'm sorry..." he said quietly. "But once you're settled, we must speak." His manner was formal and business-like, but his voice betrayed him, as did his eyes - Just how badly was she hurt...?
"Of course. Make it soon." The outstretched hand touched his briefly, as if for reassurance, as her litter was borne away. The older man watched her go, face schooled by long habit to display very little.
He stepped into the private chamber, carved from rock long ago by the forgotten inhabitants of this world, ducking his head as he passed through the low doorway and immediately almost colliding with one of her attendants rushing out on an errand, sparing him not a glance. Never was he allowed to forget entirely that most of them had been with her a long time, some were devotees of more than twenty years standing, and all of them were inherently more trustworthy than the mercenary who had only joined them when the war was almost over.
Still... It was what she thought of him that actually mattered.
The patient was installed in a camp bed raised up on a plinth, propped up by cushions and swathed with layers of coverings. She smiled weakly and beckoned him closer, seeming a little better but still clearly racked with pain. "How are you...?" he asked, arriving at her bedside. "Or is that classified?"
"They wouldn't tell you anything?"
"No. I'm not even sure they'll tell you," he replied. "Do they...?"
"They've kept me informed," she said, voice neutral, almost cheerful. "I'm inclined to think surviving an assassination attempt is probably a good sign."
"Almost always, in my experience," he said, and they shared a grim smile.
"I wanted to"- she began, breaking off when someone ran across the chamber and buried their head among her coverings - Taken by surprise, she laughed, and he was the only one who saw the pain that registered on her face. "Avral..." she said, hugging the child close. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry... I know... You should have been the first. Only..."
"That's all right..." The girl looked up - she was eleven, and such was their resemblance few could fail to deduce that they were mother and daughter. "I understand. Your work is important."
"Yes," her mother replied. "But not more than you are." Her eyes were suddenly intense. "You believe me...?" she asked, seeming genuinely desperate for reassurance on that point.
"Of course." Avral smiled, and her mother hugged her again and kissed her forehead through thick dark hair - the girl's brow was cool and dry against her own hot, clammy skin. "Perhaps..." Avral ventured in a whisper, "Blake will return..."
"Where have you heard that...?" Her mother's tone was a little sharper than intended, such was her surprise.
"It's something people say."
"If you know who Blake was, you must also know that's impossible." That was said gently.
"They say he's not dead... and that he'll come back when we most need him." Both the adults present shared a look that said If only... "If he did, wouldn't that be a good thing?"
"Perhaps... I think we will only really know that if it were to happen. And I don't think it will happen today, and so..."
"We go on,"Avral whispered.
"Always."
"It's a good thing you still had this place to come to..." he said a few minutes later, after the girl had been ushered away. "Almost like you knew you might need it again someday."
If she had heard what he had said, she effectively brushed it aside and beckoned him closer - He leaned in, and with great effort she raised herself up to speak directly into his ear. She continued for some time, and at one point he closed his eyes and breathed in and out slowly - Finally, sinking back into the cushions, she awaited his response.
"So that's it then..." he said in a clipped voice, jaw set determinedly, eyes fixed on a point just past her and not quite able to look at her directly. "You're convinced there's no other course."
"Aren't you?"
"How do you...?" He stumbled over his words. "How...?"
"Because I have to." She took his hand and squeezed it with all the strength she could muster. "Because there's no other way now. Scarn has to be fought. You know that."
"Yes. But does it have to be you...? Haven't you earned the right to... let someone else...?" He shook his head, as if angry at his own weakness, and stood back a little. "Whatever you want me to do... I am yours." Now he had said that, he seemed eager to escape, to get away as far and as fast as possible.
"Make the arrangements," said Avalon decisively. Nodding, Del Grant turned to go.
Interstitial
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(Relevant extracts follow from the annals of the August Siblinghood of Morphenniel; Data adjunct 593A - The Federation Falls: From the Ashes... An Albatross)
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The 3rd century of the 2nd calendar
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99th year
The key year in the formation of Unified Systems (UniS) on its final model. The agreement in the previous year to form a small centralized military corp had been passed with some reservation - not least from Avalon, former insurrectionist and now-Chairperson of the Provisional Council - as an effective counter-measure against the outbreak of space piracy and in response to a series of atrocities committed by political extremist groups. Many of the pirates and terrorists, of course, were demobilized troops from the Andromedan war, abandoned to fend for themselves, and warnings of the danger they represented had largely gone unheeded.
Commercial and traditionalist interests, represented most visibly - and opportunistically - by Erno Scarn, President For Life of the ten planets of the Proxima system, demanded far greater investment in a centralized military structure. Probably the true breaking point of the original vision for UniS came when an attempt to assassinate Avalon, very nearly successful, led to her withdrawal from public life for almost 6 solar months. Rumours of her death circulated widely.
By the time Avalon returned - notably more hard-line in her approach, more akin to the guerilla leader she had been in her youth - it was too late. The Proximan dominated Council closed ranks against her, and her attempted coup to oust Scarn was unsuccessful, forcing her to retreat. The new 4th century was to begin, some thought, with the return of the Federation in all but name...
But the reality was to be far worse...
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(Extracts concluded. Exiting backdoor... Deleting data retrieval signets... Deleted)