Blake’s 7: Warship Page 5

  Blake gave another big shudder. ‘I can’t see an alternative route.’

  The hoods on these suits made it difficult to simply turn your head. Cally shuffled around to look for a different way to reach the entry hatch. Even this slight change of position was enough to crack the ice. She felt it move beneath her feet, and staggered back in surprise. As she did so, Blake abruptly dropped half a metre into the ice and slush. He flung his arms up in alarm, though there was nothing to cling on to.

  Cally reached out her hand, and helped him struggle to a firmer surface. Together, they watched the ice where he had been standing rise up again.

  ‘That’s very unstable,’ yelled Blake.

  The storm seemed to be worsening, which Cally hadn’t thought possible. The stinging rain was turning into a vicious hail. Her goggles were frosting over, and her lips were numb.

  ‘We can’t just stay here. We have to get to that access shaft.’

  Blake shuffled cautiously to his right. He tentatively probed the ground in front of him with an outstretched foot. ‘This way,’ he shouted back to her, gesturing with his arm. ‘Come on! We can lean against these boulders.’

  Cally hesitated.

  ‘It’ll take our weight,’ he reassured her.

  A further alarming crack in the ice beside her was what convinced Cally to move. She scuffed her way cautiously after Blake. Every step made her wonder if the surface would suddenly give way and plunge her into icy water.

  The short journey felt like it took forever. Even the thermal suit wasn’t coping with this environment, and by the time they reached the hatch she no longer trusted the impression of the ground beneath her feet because she could no longer feel her own feet inside her boots.

  There was a clear patch of icy water between them and the hatch. Blake jumped across it, almost lost his balance, but then fell forward onto the rock with a yelp. Cally forgot her worries about the ice, and leapt over next to him to check that he hadn’t injured himself further.

  She crowded next to him in concern. What at first sounded like grunts of pain turned out to be his unsuccessful efforts to turn the hatch wheel.

  ‘No good,’ he grimaced. ‘Frozen stiff. And we will be, too, if I can’t get this open.’ He gave another great tug at the hatch.

  ‘Stop!’ Cally admonished him. ‘You will make your injury worse. Let me try.’

  She shuffled around him, aware that the ledge of ice on which they both stood was dangerously narrow. She took as firm a grip as she could, forcing her thick gloves hard against the spokes of the locking wheel. Which way did the hatch turn, she wondered? Was she opening it, or locking it tighter? Whichever way she tried, it would not budge.

  ‘It’s either frozen solid, or rusted shut.’

  The ice jolted beneath Cally’s feet. A large crack split the surface between her and Blake. Further out, the ice shelf from which they had jumped had already disintegrated.

  Blake scrabbled at his teleport bracelet. There was nothing but static hiss.

  The storm howled around them with a renewed intensity, battering them with sharp hail.

  Cally stared at the unresponsive hatch. No way in. No way back. And no way to contact Liberator.

  Chapter 9

  All Mine

  Avon hared down the Liberator corridors, charging towards the flight deck. The swooping alarm that filled the air around him was new. He’d never heard it before, in all the time they had been on Liberator.

  Avon didn’t have to flatter himself about his own abilities as a technician to know that he understood Liberator better than any of the other crew. His was an understanding based on fact. Not the instinctive connection that Jenna had as a pilot, and because of her initial connection with Zen that had named the ship. Nor the emotional attachment that Blake seemed to have for the vessel, ever since he had commandeered it. They had taken charge of Liberator when it was abandoned after a huge space conflict. Were they about to lose it during another?

  The Zen computer’s usual reluctance to provide comprehensive information had not prevented Avon discerning the basics of the Liberator‘s capacities. Then Orac had managed to glean additional technical specifications for him after their encounter on Space World with the System, the vessel’s creator. Whether it was enhancing the ship’s detector shield, or tuning the neutron blasters’ recharge capacity, or even improving the quality of the food machines, Avon was the unchallenged expert. And once he had fulfilled his promise to Blake, the ship was all his.

  Avon knew he had barely scratched the surface of Liberator‘s potential. He had tested its capacity at speed, optimised its asymmetric thrust computers, refined its weaponry after skirmishes with the Federation, and even explored its connection with negative hyperspace. Yet the more he learned about Liberator, the less he realised he really understood. And this unexpected new alarm, filling the corridors around him with its alien insistence, reinforced that thought as he ran onto the flight deck.

  ‘Vila, what the hell is going on?’

  Vila’s head jerked in his direction. ‘Where the hell have you been?

  Avon wasn’t sure whether Vila’s wild look signified relief or fear.

  There was no such difficulty working out Jenna’s feelings. ‘Where’s Cally?’ she demanded. ‘She went to look for you.’

  ‘Otherwise engaged,’ Avon replied. He took up his usual position at the controls. The undulating wail of the alarm continued all around them. ‘All right, Zen, turn that racket off. We’ve got the message.’

  ‘CONFIRMED.’

  The alarm gave one last chirrup before it stopped.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Avon. He paused for a moment while his hearing returned to normal after the dissonance of the unknown alarm. The after-effect seemed to be a distant clanking sound. Or maybe it was more like metal scratching on metal. An irregular noise, somewhere in the distance. Was he just imagining it?

  ‘That doesn’t sound better at all,’ moaned Vila. ‘In fact, I think it sounds a whole lot worse.’

  So, not his imagination, Avon concluded. ‘Zen, what was that noise for?’

  ‘THE SOUND IS FROM LIBERATOR‘S PROXIMITY ALARM.’

  Avon didn’t understand. ‘But we’re well away from the main battle. The conflict is far from here.’

  ‘Not far enough,’ grumbled Vila.

  ‘Closer than you’d imagine,’ Jenna said. Her fingers moved swiftly over her controls, and the main view screen flickered and changed. A view of the distant conflict near Star One was replaced with the external view of a spaceship in extreme close up. The camera showed a lattice of bonded metallic plates, interlocked and stretching off into the distance. Service robots, squat little devices that scuttled to and fro, were attending to impact damage. The surface of the vessel was pockmarked with craters, as though it had come off worse in close combat. The robots didn’t seem to be making much impression on the damage, and were perhaps fighting a losing battle of their own.

  Avon puzzled how it was possible to get such a clear and detailed view from this kind of distance of one of the warships engaged in the battle. Maybe he knew less about the Liberator‘s capacity than he’d assumed.

  Then he worked it out. It wasn’t the hull of a distant warship. Jenna was showing him this because it explained the noises they could hear. That was an image of Liberator‘s hull.

  ‘That’s the alien ship that disintegrated earlier…’ she began.

  ‘The one Vila shot down,’ Avon noted sourly.

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Then what, exactly?’

  Jenna didn’t react to his anger, he noticed. ‘Vila didn’t shoot it,’ she explained calmly. ‘And it didn’t explode. The ship just split apart. Into dozens of limpet mines that have attached themselves to the outer hull.’

  Avon stood up, to study the view screen more closely. No wonder those service robots were not keeping pace with the damage inflicted on the hull. They were causing the damage. As he watched, one of them scuttled across
near to the camera and clamped itself to the hull. There was a bright flash and the camera image cut out completely.

  ‘They’re locked in place,’ Vila explained plaintively. ‘We can’t shake them off.’

  ‘They’ve already disabled the port sensor array.’ Jenna alternated the main screen’s display to illustrate her point. Image after image revealed only static. ‘We’re blind on that side.’

  From outside the vessel, they could hear the continued scratching and scraping of the alien devices.

  Avon stalked angrily across the flight deck. ‘Zen! Are those things able to penetrate the hull?’

  ‘THAT INFORMATION IS NOT AVAILABLE.’

  ‘Oh, come on! Give me something useful!’

  Jenna had moved across to stand beside Avon. ‘It’s alien technology. Zen can’t tell how dangerous they are.’

  ‘It could tell enough to activate the proximity alarm,’ Avon snarled at her. He closed his eyes to concentrate on what his next line of inquiry should be, but that only meant that he focused more on the scratching sound of the mines on the hull. ‘Zen, can you confirm that these devices pose no danger to the continued safety of the Liberator?’

  ‘NEGATIVE.’

  ‘What about the auto-repair systems? Can they clear these limpet mines?’

  ‘NEGATIVE RESPONSE.’

  Vila seemed to share Avon’s exasperation. ‘We could do with something more positive, Zen.’

  Avon glared at Vila. ‘We could do with something more positive from you.’

  ‘What did I say?’ protested Vila.

  What indeed, thought Avon. Perhaps that was the answer. He stood behind Vila’s seat, placed his hands on the back of his chair, and spoke softly. ‘You said they were locked in place.’

  Vila was obviously suspicious at Avon’s more emollient tone. ‘So?’

  ‘So suit up and get out onto the hull.’

  ‘What?’ Vila turned his chair around so quickly that he almost knocked Avon over. Avon merely laughed at the appalled expression on his face. ‘You can’t be serious,’ squeaked Vila.

  Avon didn’t say anything.

  ‘You are serious!’ said Vila. He was evidently struggling to find the right way to protest. Avon folded his arms, enjoying this rare moment of Vila being lost for words. In the end, all he could manage was: ‘Why me?’

  ‘Firstly, you’ve been out on the hull before, so you know your way around. And secondly, you can pick a lock.’ Avon smiled at the logic of this. ‘It’s your area of expertise, you said it yourself. Well, now’s your chance, genius.’

  ‘But thirdly,’ blustered Vila, ‘I don’t want to!’

  ‘Two out of three is good enough,’ Avon told him. He was already walking back to his own control seat, deeming the discussion to be over. ‘Get suited up, Vila. You’re wasting time.’

  Jenna came over to put a supportive hand on Vila’s shoulder. Avon knew that she wasn’t going to disagree with the suggestion. What other choice did they have? Perhaps she would even persuade him.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ she told Vila. ‘I can help.’

  ‘This is a mine clearance,’ Avon told her sharply. ‘It’s not a sightseeing tour.’

  Jenna clearly wasn’t going to be bullied by Avon. ‘It’ll be faster with two. And I can watch out for any other incoming attacks until the hull sensors are back online.’

  Avon studied her as she explained this rationale to him. She was talking to Avon, but all her comments were directed towards Vila. Encouraging and reassuring him.

  ‘All right,’ said Avon eventually. ‘You can both get out there. I’ll work with Orac on alternatives.’

  Jenna smiled at him. Whether to thank him, or because she’d got her own way, he wasn’t sure. Not that he cared either way. ‘Hurry up,’ he said. ‘There’s no time to lose.’

  ‘Oh great!’ complained Vila. He remained in his flight seat. His eyes were fixed on the console in front of him, unwilling to meet Avon’s gaze. ‘You’re staying safe in here, Avon, while me and Jenna go out and face death by alien bomb.’ He folded his arms in a feeble gesture of protest. ‘You saw on the view screen what those things did to the scanner. Blew it to pieces. I’d quite like all my pieces to remain firmly attached to each other, if it’s all the same to you. And even if it isn’t all the same to you, for that matter.’

  He fell silent. Alongside the usual ticks and hums of the flight deck, he thought he could hear the scratching of the devices out on the hull, with the occasional small explosion.

  Avon placed himself right in front of Vila’s position, so that he could not miss his presence. ‘Do you think you’ll feel any safer here on the flight deck?’

  ‘Yes,’ Vila replied. He looked up hopefully at Avon. ‘I really think that I would…’

  ‘Safer here on the flight deck,’ continued Avon in a dangerous tone, ‘with me?’

  Vila stood up at once. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’ll get suited up. Come on, Jenna.’

  And with that, he turned on his heel and walked straight out of the flight deck.

  Jenna eyed Avon thoughtfully as he chuckled to himself. ‘You really know how to motivate the troops, Avon. You’re very persuasive.’

  ‘Well,’ he replied, ‘I know how to persuade Vila.’

  Jenna shook her head disapprovingly, and started after Vila. As she reached the exit, a thought seemed to strike her. ‘Where is Cally, really?’

  Avon considered what to tell her. It wouldn’t help Jenna focus on helping Vila if she was worrying about Cally and Blake down on the surface of Megiddo. And if she knew, she’d prevent Avon from any attempt to move Liberator out of the planetoid’s teleport range. But telling her nothing would raise further suspicions. And being caught in a blatant lie could backfire later.

  Jenna was persistent. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Looking after Blake,’ he concluded.

  ‘We could do with her help, too, at the moment.’

  ‘I know,’ Avon said. He smiled at the memory of his last conversation with Cally in the teleport area. ‘But not everyone is so easily persuaded.’

  Jenna hovered by the doorway, unsure.

  ‘You’d better get after Vila,’ he told her.

  He saw from her expression that she’d reached a decision. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll route the hull suit audiolinks through channel nine. Let us know if you come up with any better ideas.’ And then she was gone.

  Avon suspected Jenna was a reluctant participant in this foray outside the Liberator, but that she had concluded it was the best possible option. He located Orac and placed the computer on a table. Orac powered up as the activation key slotted into place.

  The scrabbling noises from the hull seemed to have intensified. It was time to investigate alternatives. Avon had some thoughts about his other options. But he knew that Jenna was going to like those even less.

  Chapter 10

  Beneath the Surface

  Cally shrank back against the locked metal hatchway, pressing close to Blake. The tempest swirled and howled around them. It pitched a flurry of stinging ice crystals at her face. She swiped at her goggles. The smeared view that this afforded her revealed that the storm had closed in. The curved horizon was now obscured by waves of sleet that washed inexorably towards them.

  Despite the raging clamour of the fierce storm, Cally could hear the splintering sound of ice sundering all around the raised platform to which they clung. The fierce wind tugged at their clothing, threatening to drag them aside at any moment to pitch them into the icy water.

  There was a sudden movement beside her. For a heart-stopping second, she thought that Blake had slipped and fallen. She struggled to turn, and saw that he had shuffled several steps away from the hatchway.

  ‘Get off the ice, Blake!’ she called out to him. ‘Hold on to the rock!’

  He was fumbling with his suit, desperate to remove something from the thick folds of its material. ‘No, Cally! Just stand back!’

 
; She couldn’t understand what he was doing, until she saw the handgun.

  Blake beckoned to her with his free hand. ‘Stand away from the hatch!’

  Cally hesitated before taking a few tentative steps out onto the ice. She was so cold that she could no longer feel her feet. Even so, the sensation of sinking into the melting ice was palpable. Her overriding instinct was to stay by the hatch. And her next was to slide over to Blake’s side, to check that he was all right. It only took a moment’s thought to conclude that this would put too much weight on the ice at the same point, and result in them both plunging through it. Besides, if she stayed away from him, it gave Blake more chance to aim his handgun.

  She scuffed to a halt on the ice, looked across to Blake, and gave an exaggerated nod to indicate she was ready.

  Blake braced his feet, aimed his gun, and fired.

  The shot sliced through the storm, a fierce column of steam boiling in the air. The metal hatchway rattled. Chunks of rock splintered from around it, scattering across the ice towards them in hot sharp fragments.

  Blake holstered his handgun, and gestured across to Cally. To avoid putting too much pressure on the ice, they sidled their way separately over to the hatch.

  Blake grasped the hatch wheel and tried to turn it. His grunt of effort became a cry of pain. He flapped his gloved hands. ‘That’s still quite stiff. And very hot!’

  ‘Let me try.’ Cally reached over and twisted. Even through her heavy gloves, she could feel the heat of the hatch wheel. With a shriek of final resistance, it turned.

  The hatch pulled up and out to reveal a pitch-black gap behind it.

  ‘Easy,’ smiled Cally.

  Blake’s eyes were unreadable behind his frosted goggles. ‘I must have loosened the thing.’

  ‘Keep telling yourself that,’ said Cally.

  There was an ominous cracking sound as the ice at their feet crumbled.

  ‘Quickly,’ she told him. ‘We must get inside.’