Blake's 7 - Liberators
The sequel to Blake's 7 - Survivors
Chapter 2
The planet Atlay - year 295 of the Second Calendar
One ship each. No weapons brought to the surface. All parties had adhered to these two simple rules, or if they hadn't they all managed to get away with it without being caught. And so the conference could proceed.
Atlay was one of only a few planets which offered the facilities, had actually survived the war and were accessible and relatively safe, and in the end it was the only location that all parties could agree on as a meeting place. The basic agreements that had notionally founded the Unified Systems Alliance were long since ratified by all, but there were still a lot of clauses to be settled in detail.
Avalon was there. So too was President Scarn of the Proxima system, and a hundred other rulers, mainly former Federation officers. Having seized power in whatever system they had found themselves at the end of the war, they were all basically the last man standing, the one who had managed to kill or drive off all his rivals. Even she had been invited by open communiqué, just on the off chance that the notorious war criminal, the one most associated with the worst excesses of the late Federation, could be tempted out and captured by such a base appeal to her vanity. It did not work, surprising no one. Sleer did not come.
All attended many meetings, some important, some very trivial, but the most important meeting that took place on Atlay in the course of the three-day summit, the one with the greatest long-term repercussions, happened in secret.
"Let's make this quick." Erno Scarn shifted his bulk through the narrow doorway and eyed the small mess room with faint distaste, brushing a chair down with his great slab of a hand before settling on it.
"Yes, before we're missed..." Sol Brintun peered out into the corridor before closing the door.
"Whatever," said Scarn. "I just don't want to be here any longer than necessary."
"The Federation is finished," said Brintun resolutely, and paused to collect his thoughts.
"That's what you wanted to tell me?" Scarn raised an eyebrow. "That I could have told you years ago."
"I mean... anyone who thinks they can just rebuild along the same lines, continue as if nothing had happened, is deluding himself. A drastically new approach is needed."
"Oh yes?"
"Yes, President Scarn. And I..."
"Go on."
"I hold the key to a weapon that may just swing the tide of history decisively in your favour. Not today, but in the years and decades to come. I suspect you and you alone have the vision to take the steps necessary."
"A vision your current masters lack?"
"Yes," Brintun replied without hesitation.
"I alone, you say?"
Brintun smirked, and looked away for a moment. "With the right advisors."
"And what's wrong with my advisors?"
"For your current needs, nothing. They have served you well enough. But they're not me."
Scarn chuckled. "And if I take this leap, to believing I need you... What then?"
"We-"
"-I mean, I could just have you killed. Have you considered that?"
"You won't."
Scarn let that go. "What about our illustrious Chairperson? Why haven't you offered her your services?"
"Need you ask?"
"I am asking." The smile still played over Scarn's cherubic face, but the eyes were cold.
"Avalon plays well, for now," said Brintun. "There will come a day, perhaps very soon, where she is no longer needed."
"Finally..."
"What?"
"A matter on which we are in total agreement. Perhaps you are worth taking on, after all..."
The Presidential launch, en route to Storm Mountain - year 301 of the Second Calendar
"She's my wife." Scarn's face was impassive, and many would have stopped right there, perceiving the danger signals, but Brintun just moved around the President's imposing command chair to press the matter. "What would you have me do?" Scarn demanded.
"She is your wife," Brintun acknowledged. "And also a traitor."
"And a Mekatir," said Scarn. "A Mekatir! Lest we forget, a lineage far older and prouder - so much prouder! - than my own."
"This is the fourth century, now," said Brintun quickly, having clearly anticipated that and rehearsed his response. "Power, in its purest sense, is what matters. Not bloodlines."
"Tell that to the other houses."
"The other houses do not listen to me. And why would they? But they have to listen to you..."
"And I listen to you... Why do I do that, remind me...? Where is that army you promised?"
"You have an army... and you will have the even greater one promised, in time. But an army is not necessary for what has to be done today."
"You want me to kill my wife."
"I want you to do what you must, and have given my advice. Only you can decide."
Proxima II - year 308 of the Second Calendar
"What is the nature of his ailment...?" Lady Shilena had inquired, almost certainly indifferent to the subject's well-being but perhaps concerned that he might expire before reaching his audience with her.
"Myocardial infarction..." Doctor Guld had replied. "Almost unheard of in this day and age. The doctors had to consult their databases before venturing on treatment. I understand it was a very... traumatic experience, and has left him somewhat weakened."
"Good."
Sol Brintun made a conscious effort to keep his pace slow and steady as he advanced along the hallway of the Presidential palace, remembering the doctors' advice, ignoring the stony faces on all sides and the almost tangible waves of hatred emanating from the assembled courtiers. That, he was used to. Being summoned, however, by anyone but President Scarn himself, was something he had not been accustomed to for many years.
He had failed. He would not admit that, dare not admit that, to anyone else, but he could and did admit it to himself. Tomorrow, he would fix that, he would find solutions to the mess they were in, and he had absolute confidence that would be possible. He had always achieved anything he had set his mind to, despite the massive obstacles placed in his path by his low birth, his poor health, and a thousand other factors that would have halted a lesser man.
That was tomorrow. Today, his goal was to survive, and he would, he had no doubt that would be possible as well. He was a man of destiny, and whatever the difficulty he faced it would be overcome. The doors were opened, and he shambled forward to face his latest obstacle.
Shilena Mekatir, First Lady of the Proxima system and of Unified Systems, was waiting to be overcome. By his wits, by his words... By the forces of destiny. Their eyes locked, and Brintun's narrowed behind the thick lenses. He moved closer, cautious but resolute - It would be necessary to pick his words with care now...
"Lady Shilena-" he began.
"You recognise me, then?"
He frowned, thrown off guard. "Of course-"
"-Good." A slight nod from the First Lady brought several shots fired from behind Brintun - back arched and face contorted, he dropped to the floor like a sack of meal. Lady Shilena's eyes remained on him, watching his body twitch for several seconds, a very faint smile on her face.
"I wanted him to know it was me," she explained calmly. Business done, she clapped her hands in front of her. "Clear that away, please, someone..." she said casually, moving past the prone body on the ground, long skirts brushing over Sol Brintun's outstretched clenched fingers.
A bitter chapter of her life was over. Now, a new one could properly begin.
The Liberator, deep space
"Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up, hurry up..." Rissa murmured, silver eyes fixed on the monitor built into her station. "Hurry up!" This accelerated learning wasn't nearly accelerated enough for her taste.
"I'm not sure that's conducive..." said Blake, standing off to the side and periodically seeking reports from Zen while the others each occupied one of the five stations. "I think you're supposed to relax."
"I am relaxed..." said Rissa, smiling. "This is how I relax, haven't you noticed that yet?"
"INFORMATION..." said Zen. "PROJECTILES HAVE ALTERED TRAJECTORY AND ARE ON COURSE TO INTERCEPT LIBERATOR IN SEVEN MINUTES."
"Intercept..." said Juni. "Why doesn't it just say hit?"
"Zen...!" said Darvin. "Transfer my station to manual."
"PILOT TRAINING IS INCOMPLETE."
"I think we're all going to be pretty incomplete in a few minutes, if we leave this to you... No offence, big guy."
"Are you sure...?" asked Blake. "You think you're ready?"
"Please..." said Darvin. "Do I look like someone who ever reads the instructions?"
Blake shook her head, and waved an arm toward him in a helpless gesture. "Well... On all our heads be it!"
The missiles hurtled onward, slowly gaining despite Liberator's attempts to shake them off. Zen's evasive maneuvers were thorough and, unfortunately, entirely predictable by the missiles' automatic guidance systems even before the remote operators in the closing Pursuit Ships were taken into account. The range narrowed as they closed on their target.
"IMPACT IN FOUR-POINT-SEVEN-FIVE MINUTES," said Zen. "PILOT STATION SWITCHED TO MANUAL CONTROL." Blake wasn't sure if the computer's disapproving tone was only in her imagination - she shot an anxious look at Darvin, fierce in his concentration, leaning forward to plug his artificial hand into the waiting port.
"Darvin..." said Caul. "Do you want me to fire a few shots from the rear blasters? Try to break them up a bit?"
"Knock yourself out, my friend."
"Clearing neutron blasters for firing... Firing now!"
Caul's salvo of shots from Liberator's neutron blasters blazed their way across the space between the ship and the oncoming missiles, and though they failed to hit their target, they succeeded in forcing the missiles off course and in making their remote operators waste precious seconds correcting their trajectory... Time for Darvin to prepare.
Liberator swung round in a tight arc, straining the entire structure of the ship, and hurtled back and through the missile barrage, missing several of them narrowly, and into a collision course with the squadron of Pursuit Ships not far behind.
The crews of the Pursuit ships took precious time to realise their danger, and they did so too late. As Darvin pulled Liberator out of its death-dive onto the enemy ships, the missiles impacted on the very ships that had fired them. Liberator emerged from the expanding cloud of debris, its electronic force wall becoming visible with each impact of the wreckage, gleaming and resplendent in the fiery glow.
Suddenly, survival seemed like a real possibility. There was a kind of restrained glee on the flight-deck, and general congratulations heading in Darvin's direction, but none of it interrupted his concentration for a moment. "Not over yet!" he cautioned.
"Did we get them all?" Blake demanded.
"Don't know yet," said Juni, studying the readings. "Wait... One survivor!"
"And what will they expect us to do now...?" Blake demanded, and they all thought about that quickly.
"Retreat," said Faal. "We have barely escaped with our lives, it would be logical to retreat."
"They'll regroup and come after us," said Darvin. "Standard procedure in my day. I mean, we might be fast enough in this ship to make retreat a viable alternative, possibly."
"We're not retreating," said Blake, resolute. "Darvin, you have the deck. Caul, Rissa - with me."
The retreating Pursuit Ship found itself pursued, and under Darvin's increasingly deft handling, Liberator got very close and then matched its adversary's speed precisely. "Ready!" Darvin called over the comms. "Don't know how long we can maintain this, so best do whatever you're going to do!"
If being pursued was a surprise, that was nothing compared to the shock the crew of the Pursuit Ship received when two of the enemy crew appeared among them in a momentary blaze of white light. Rissa shot them down, one by one, with ruthless efficiency, while Blake hurried to the cramped flight-deck and, after a little more killing, a job she detached her emotions from entirely, she worked quickly, hunting through the instrument panels furiously. Trying to avoid the sightless eyes of the two men she had just killed. They would have killed you... It was necessary... Get on with it...!
"Blake...!" came Darvin's voice from her teleport bracelet. "Nowish would be a good time to come back, if you want to come back that is...!"
"Get us back," cried Blake, bringing her bracelet up close to her mouth. "Now!"
The UniS warship Xerxes rumbled onward, crew on high alert, expecting at any moment to receive news of victory, or for its sensors to register the flare from the destruction of the enemy ship. The longer they went without incident, the more tense the situation became.
"Xerxes to Pursuit Ship squadron... Xerxes to squadron... Respond, please... Respond, please..."
"Sir... Picking something up... It's..."
"Pursuit Ships? The enemy? Speak up, man!"
"Um, negative, sir... That is, not Pursuit Ships. Just one returning, sir - it seems to have suffered some damage."
"Xerxes to Pursuit Ship, Xerxes to Pursuit ship, report situation... Report situation..."
"Comms must be down, sir... Receiving signals... Old code, sir... Indicating their comms system... Yes, it's down... Short range radio is functioning..."
"It won't work at this range... Let it come in closer..."
"Sir, I..."
"What is it?"
"Sir! Destroy it, sir! No, too late! We have to-!" The Pursuit Ship's engines overloaded, and the explosion devastated Xerxes, almost ripping it in half. Within seconds, a chain reaction of further explosions completely engulfed the UniS warship.
If Liberator's crew had expected to feel any kind of triumph at their victory, complete though it was, they were to be disappointed. In fact, they just quietly completed the learning programs and ran their stations through a diagnostic process, before all responding with quiet relief to Blake's softly-spoken suggestion, "Let's get some rest."
Caul volunteered to stand the first watch, and, after offering to do it herself, Blake accepted his insistence. When both Juni and Rissa volunteered to stay too, it momentarily looked like conflict might flare up, but Darvin defused the situation with a few quiet words.
Blake left the flight-deck on her first day in command of the Liberator with a lot to think about.
In one of the districts of the Kapital known colloquially as Downtown, in the shadows between the massive monolithic Extractors, lived a significant proportion of Proxima II's population, and therefore of the Proxima system as a whole. And therefore, it followed, and this was a sobering enough thought for those to whom it occurred, a significantly large proportion of the entire human race.
Best not to think about that, on the whole.
It was an ideal place to get lost, or more precisely to hide oneself. For criminals, both minor and major, for the disgraced, the dispossessed and the disinherited, as well as flat out enemies of the state. One of those enemies made her way by the darkest and most fetid of alleys, snaking her way through puddles of the condensation that ran down the walls of the buildings on either side, to a watering hole that could charitably be described as... quite dangerous.
Nodding to a couple of familiar faces on the way in, the young woman kept to the edges of the dank interior till she found a suitable booth, one that was quiet enough for her purpose. Then she waited.
It wasn't very long before he arrived, and the young woman, straight-backed and contained, calm and disciplined, was very aware of her surroundings the whole time. None would sneak up on her - it had been tried, and the attacker had always come to grief. She may not look very threatening, this slender, pale-skinned girl who if anything looked a little younger than her twenty years, but she was well-known enough not to be trifled with.
"Why now...?" he said abruptly, before slumping down into the bench seat opposite and hunching forward. The man was in his sixties, and did not particularly look younger than that - his craggy face was one that had been lived in. He ran a hand over his sparse, cropped grey hair and scratched his stubbly chin. "We weren't supposed to meet for another-"
"-Why wasn't I informed we had lost our contact in the palace?" Avral leaned forward a little, lowering her hood, and the muted lighting shone on her fine dark-brown shoulder-length hair, and were reflected as bright dots in brown eyes currently stern with contained anger. The sleeves of her black leather tunic emerged from the loose sleeves of the burgundy-coloured hooded coat as she tapped her slender fingers on the damp tabletop.
"I only just found out myself," said Del Grant, and signaled for a drink. She shook her head slightly to decline one for herself, and he sighed. "You'll draw less attention if you behave like everyone else in here. It's bad enough you don't look like anyone likely to frequent this place."
"Like you do?" It wasn't entirely an angry retort - there was genuine concern for him there too, and a sort of rueful affection. "You need to look after yourself, Del."
"Why?" One word, spoken plainly, but she knew the pain behind it.
"For the cause?" That was said with a cynical smile. "Like it or not, Del, and let's be honest, I know you don't, I'm a senior operative now." Ignoring his quiet chuckle at the word senior, Avral continued. "I'm not happy about your attempts to sideline me. I understand why, which is the only reason-"
"-Do you? Understand why? Or do you only think you do?" They looked at each other across the booth for a long moment.
"I need to find out as soon as you do, if not before..." she said, calm again. "It's not for the sake of my ego, it's not to somehow get one up on you, it's because others depend on me too." She looked away, and then back. "Also, I recruited her. I need to find out what happened."
"As a senior operative, why don't you make your own periodic reports?" asked Grant with the air of a man who already knew the answer.
"Walar, he's... Walar is better at them, and if she wants to talk to me directly then she knows where I am."
"And what does Walar think of that?"
"Who cares?"
"You should!" Aware his voice had carried a little, Grant made himself speak more quietly. "Think about it." Another long stare-out, before she relented.
"I'm going in," she said straightforwardly and sat back, ready for his objections. "I'm sorry to do this to you, I really am... but if I ask her, you know what she'll say."
"She'll say yes." His response was so low it was almost a whisper.
"She'll always say yes... You could try to overrule her, of course, but how do you think that would play...? The great Avalon overruled... What would Walar think of that...?"
He looked at her without speaking, and his gaze was, she thought, more sad than angry. She had expected anger, but this she had dreaded. "You need to see something," he said at last.
"I'm not sure what you'll make of this..." said Grant, leading Avral across the murky main floor of the establishment. "I'm not even sure what I make of it." They stopped, and he indicated one of the three-dimensional holographic displays broadcasting the news media to mostly indifferent patrons. "Wait, it'll come around again shortly."
"What are we-?"
"-Just wait."
"That's one of the independent vid services..."
"Yes."
"Is this the one that claims the world is going to end in four and a bit years?"
"Possibly... Here it is." To Avral's astonishment, the muted report was accompanied by a few seconds of video footage - on a loop - that purported to show the identity of the infamous insurgent space vessel responsible for the recent attacks on UniS ships in the vicinity of Earth. Her mouth fell open at the sight of the vessel, eyes wide, and she turned to Grant. "Careful," he warned, and she contained her excitement for the benefit of those who might be watching.
"It's him," she said, voice breaking a little. "He's back! I always-"
"-That's the best case scenario," said Grant, unable to quite stop the faintest of smiles appearing on his habitually grim face. "Don't get too excited, though. If Blake is alive, he'll be a little creaky these days. Like me."
"I hope he's just like you, Del," Avral said playfully, gripping his arm. He scowled at first, but soon relented. He hadn't seen Avral respond like this to anything, not for many a year, and just that was enough right now. Looking at Liberator as it flashed up again and again, he couldn't quite rid himself of that peculiar sensation. He had felt it before, fleetingly. Certainly on Albian, nearly thirty years before, but seldom since. What was it, that sensation...?
Oh, yes. Hope.
"So, you really think he's not dead...?"
In the Liberator's refectory, a long low-ceilinged room lined with gleaming white tables and bench seats, Darvin was sitting alone, picking at a square tray with various edible substances deposited in differently-shaped indents by one of the dispensers - alone till Blake came to join him. They were the only two present for now.
"You want me to show you how to get some of this..." Darvin hesitated. "Food?"
"Not hungry."
"Get hungry, Blake. You're going to need food, like all of us. You're human."
Her expression was half frown, half-smile. "Of course I'm human."
"Sorry... Just trying something out," he said, and sampled a mouthful of purple mush, finding it surprisingly pleasant. "It's just... back in the old days, I mean right back, important people, great leaders and all that, they would sometimes have people whose job it was to whisper in their ear, when they thought they needed it, You're just a man..."
"I'm not a man," said Blake lightly. "But I see your point."
"I don't really know what my point was..." said Darvin, looking down at his tray, considering what to try next. "Don't mind me. I don't know where I am any more."
"You seem to know where you are on that flight-deck," said Blake, and paused. "Will you do that for me, Stev?"
"Do what?"
"Remind me, when I need it."
He continued eating, and it was a little while before he next spoke. "Yes, I'm pretty sure he's not dead," he replied to her original question.
"Avon?"
"That's who you meant, wasn't it...? But I don't think we'll ever know for sure either. I think he and Servalan are far away right now. They've gone... I don't know, somewhere... Avon's been planning what happened there on Earth for years... Oh, I don't doubt some stuff went wrong and he had to make adjustments, but we were all his pawns from start to finish."
"And we still are."
"Only if you want to be."
"What do you mean?"
He pushed the tray away, and looked at her levelly. "We had good reason to go after those UniS ships today. They were a direct threat to us, probably. But now..."
"Now...?"
"They're not pursuing us right now... I see that as a hint. And an opportunity."
"I hadn't thought about it that way. Not yet." She sat back, without breaking their eye contact. "Did Avon assume we would pick up where they left off, all those years ago...? I suppose I was assuming it too."
"Or... We could just turn this ship, the most powerful ship in existence right now, turn it around and head out there, and find something better for ourselves..."
"Leave...? Leave them all?"
"Leave."
"But... the others. The human race, what's left of us... How can we leave them with Scarn? And... with the Children of Light?! Had you forgotten them...? I can't. I never will!"
"That's a very complicated life right there," said Darvin. "I like a simple life, myself." He stood up. "There's a lot of sights out there, Blake. Still. Even now. A lot of places to go, and this is the ship to take us to them. We've got ourselves a good bunch of people here... a good crew... once we've sorted out a few kinks." He smiled. "I think you really should start thinking about it." With that, he left.
Alone now in the refectory, she did think about it.