Blake’s breathing echoed around his helmet as, with a blast of compressed gas, the wide cargo bay doors opened onto the vacuum of space.
He gingerly stepped towards the edge of the cargo bay, making sure to step over the coiled anchor line that snaked from the heavy belt circling his waist to a large winch. Encased in his own suit, Boyd stood ready to pay the line out as he ventured into space. Blake gave the man a thumbs up, but it wasn’t returned.
Turning, Blake paused on the threshold, trying to keep his breathing under control as he peered out into the void. For a man who, like most citizens of the Federation, had lived most of his life beneath the steel sky of a domed city, being exposed to the elements was something to relish. He knew the dangers of space travel, even in this technologically advanced era, but what he saw was truly breathtaking. No stars, just the swirling mass of nebula.
He turned his helmet slowly to the left, and saw the reassuring sight of the Liberator, waiting patiently as she hung in space. And there, directly ahead, the escape pod. He had no choice but to do this, Lant was more than capable of killing any of them, and if this gained his trust… Plus, there was a definite opportunity here.
Karter had explained how he’d developed rudimentary thruster systems for the station’s few spacesuits to help perform maintenance on the exterior hull over the years. Blake activated a control, and a short blast of air hissed from a studded nodule bolted onto the back pack. Slowly, imperceptibly at first, his booted feet began to rise off the ground as the gas burst propelled him forward and out into the nebula.
*
‘Ever the hero, Blake,’ mused Avon to himself. He watched on the flickering screen as Blake gently rose into the air and floated out of the airlock doors.
Alexa sat monitoring Blake’s progress at the console. Halla stood a little way off, watching Avon with suspicion, the rest of Lant’s men lounging on chairs or across dead control consoles. Lant himself leant forward, his arms wide against the rim of a viewport.
‘This ship of yours,’ he said, not looking back. ‘I’ve never seen a Federation design like it.’
‘That’s because the Liberator isn’t of Federation design,’ replied Avon, walking across to where Lant stood.
‘Come now, Avon, you must think me a fool. Only the Federation would have the resources to develop a ship of such power. In the wrong hands, it could be a powerful weapon.’
‘It’s probably already in the wrong hands,’ said Avon with a mirthless laugh. ‘I’ve heard the stories about you, Lant. A bloody revolutionary, hell-bent on destroying the Federation. Blake’s not much different, a fighter. Just a little less…bloody.’
Lant laughed. ‘I’m beginning to see that I’ve misjudged Blake. For 20 years I’ve been expecting the Federation to come and finish the job,’ he said, slamming his fist onto the viewport in sudden anger. From the corner of his eye, Avon saw Alexa look over and frown worriedly. ‘20 years. Instead, it seems the fates have finally smiled on Farrow Lant and provided the means of his return.’
*
Blake breathed in a gulp of regulated air and activated a short blast from a thruster to modify his approach course to the pod that grew closer with each second.
Blake felt dwarfed by the bulk of the research station rising up impressively behind him, the two-tiered superstructure gleaming in the light of the nebula. From here he could see the damage
to the main ring in greater detail, jagged rents torn through the metal.
Focusing on the pod, he fired another burst from his lateral thrusters, pushing him forward, the anchor line stretching back to Boyd. He shot forward, careering towards the pod. Too fast. If he barged into the pod at that speed, it would be catapulted off into space. He jabbed at the controls and fired a blast in the opposite direction, slowing his approach.
As he glided the final short distance toward the lozenge capsule, he could see that his guess had been right. It was a standard escape pod, one of three that could be jettisoned from the undercarriage of a pursuit ship. Designed for a sole occupant, there wouldn’t be much room in the pod. And there was no guarantee its life-support system would even still be operational. Was he about to discover a corpse?
And what about the other two capsules? Were they floating out here somewhere, drifting through the nebula, lost for ever?
He drew up beside the pod, reaching out and spinning it slightly so he could check the small viewing window set into its lid. There was his answer, slumbering beneath the reinforced plexiglass.
A man who would abandon his crew without a moment’s thought. A man who had butchered Blake’s friends and comrades. A man who had chased him halfway across the galaxy, dressing his revenge-fuelled vendetta as Federation justice.
Travis.
There was no way of knowing whether the Commander was dead or alive. Even through the condensation on the glass, Blake could see his pale complexion, his bloodless lips parted.
Could it really come down to just this? Two men, drifting in the blistering cold of space, the bitterest of enemies. One at the mercy of the other.
Blake felt the metal skin of the pod through his gloves. It would be easy to give it a gentle push, to send it spinning out into the nebula. Or even better, pull the manual release, to watch as explosive bolts detonated, ripping the hatch from its housing. He would watch as Travis’s unconscious form was plucked from the pod, pulled out into space. Blake imagined himself triumphant as he watched the bastard’s body ripped apart by the hungry vacuum of space.
But what then of Avon? What of Cally, Jenna, Vila and Gan? Any one of them could be killed if he acted rashly. Even now, he knew that Lant would be watching his every move, and could easily order Avon to be killed in a heartbeat.
And Blake refused to let Travis be the cause of any more deaths.
He reached for the magnetic bolt that secured the anchor line to his suit. He pressed down on the control, felt the magnet shudder as it was flipped within the unit, releasing it from his belt.
Blake’s mind had gone numb. He had stopped questioning why he was doing this now. It was a mechanical process without emotion. Resisting the urge to look through the window again, he slapped the bolt onto the side of the pod, releasing the magnet and feeling it clamping to the capsule.
Checking it was secure, he gave the line a tug and watched it go taut as Boyd began to winch their haul in. Still fighting the temptation to open the pod there and then, exposing Travis to the rigours of space, Blake clung on to the capsule and allowed himself to be dragged back into the station.
*
Avon gazed down from his vantage point at the viewport, out into the nebula. He had watched Blake’s progress towards the drifting escape pod, a tiny figure in the void. And now he was being towed back in. I hope you know what you’re doing, Blake.
‘I would like to see this Liberator of yours, Avon,’ mused Lant, still standing next to him. He had stared intently out at the ship for several minutes, as if trying to see within, his shrewd eyes darting rapidly from side to side. ‘If I’d had a ship like that, the Federation would be a distant memory, burning in the flames of history.’
‘She’s not exactly at her best right now,’ conceded Avon, ignoring Lant’s lapse into colourful hyperbole. ‘We had quite a time getting her here.’
‘Yes, but you did! An achievement in itself to get through the nebula. Liberator must truly be a powerful vessel. Think of what you could do with a ship like that.’
‘I do. Frequently.’
Lant laughed. It was an almost familiar, comradely laugh. ‘I sense you do not quite share Blake’s idealistic outlook?’
‘Idealistic isn’t in my vocabulary.’
‘But you’re here, fighting alongside him. Blake must have something to influence a man like you, Avon. If not, why do you stay?’
Avon chose not to answer, instead turning to look back out of the viewport. Blake was no longer visible; his space excursion must have been successful.
Avon remained there, staring out into the deep tones of the nebula, the reds and blues leeching together into one as he watched. Why indeed?
*
Blake removed his helmet in a hiss of air and stood back in the corridor to watch Boyd manhandle Travis out of the capsule. The blond-haired man glared up at him angrily, his cheeks ruddy with the exertion.
‘You could give me a hand,’ he complained as Travis tumbled onto the airlock floor. ‘It was bad enough winching you both in.’
‘Do stop complaining, there’s a good chap,’ Karter muttered as he reached forward and placed two fingers against the unconscious man’s neck. ‘He’s alive.’
Shame. Blake had hoped that the pod’s life support would have failed or at least Travis’s air supply had ran dry.
With a grunt, Karter rolled Travis onto his back as Boyd snatched up his gun. His eyes fell on the insignia emblazoned over Travis’s uniformed chest. ‘A Federation officer,’ he said. ‘You know him?’
‘Oh yes, I know him,’ said Blake quietly. ‘Karter, meet Space Commander Travis. Possibly the most evil man you’ll ever encounter.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Karter, examining the plastic patch that stretched across Travis’s face. ‘I’ve met a few in my time. What happened to him?’
‘I happened to him.’ Karter looked back questioningly, and Blake waved a hand vaguely. ‘It’s a long story.’
Karter continued his examination. ‘And this arm is a prosthetic,’ he noted, leaning further forward. In a flash of black, Travis’s biological arm shot up, his hand clamping around Karter’s thin throat. The old man gagged and frantically grabbed at the Commander’s forearm, trying to claw it away. He didn’t stand a chance. Travis’s eye flashed with fury as he began squeezing the life from the scientist.
Blake dropped his helmet to the floor with a clatter, leaping forward to grab at Travis’s hand, trying to pull Karter away. Boyd had his gun up and trained on the three struggling men, but hesitated, not knowing who to fire at first.
‘Help us, damn you!’ Blake shouted. At the sound of Blake’s voice, Travis’s hold relaxed and Karter sank to the deck, gasping for breath.
‘Blake!’ snarled Travis, and thrashed himself into a sitting position, his single eye gleaming with hatred. He heaved forward, hand grasping out, but Blake countered by grabbing his wrist and twisting it round savagely. Travis grunted in pain, his cybernectic arm hanging uselessly by his side.
Blake gave a snort of laughter and twisted Travis’s arm even further. The Commander snarled but didn’t cry out.
‘What’s the matter, Travis? Arm giving you a little bit of trouble? Not doing what it’s told?’
Another twist and Travis’s shoulder would pop out of his socket.
‘I only need one arm to kill you, Blake,’ Travis spat, before pitching forward on his face as Blake pulled his arm round viciously. This time he couldn’t help but vocalise his pain.
‘Really? Doesn’t look like it to me.’
‘Stop it!’
Karter’s voice was angry, strong. Blake didn’t look at the old man. He didn’t need to. The disapproval in his tone was obvious.
‘Tell me, Blake, did Lant torture you when you came on board this station?’
Blake didn’t answer.
‘Did he?’
Breathing heavily, Blake let go of Travis’s wrist. The Commander pitched forward, landing on his face. When Blake finally turned, Karter was watching him through narrowed eyes.
‘Ask me again if I think you and Lant are cast from the same mould.’
On the floor, Travis was struggling to sit back up. Blake set his jaw and bent down, grabbed the Federation officer’s uniform and hauled him back unceremoniously onto his backside.
‘I hope you don’t expect me to thank you,’ he growled, glaring murderously up at Blake.
‘Can you walk?’ Karter asked, suddenly every inch the commanding officer, a glimpse of the man he used to be.
‘Of course,’ Travis replied, using his good arm to try to push himself to his feet. Almost immediately his knees buckled, but Blake slipped a hand beneath his cybernectic arm and pulled
him up. Travis staggered back, before shrugging him off.
‘I am Space Commander Travis. This man you’re harbouring is a known terrorist. I demand you surrender him to me immediately.’
‘I’m afraid you’re in no position to demand anything,’ Karter sighed, leaning forward on his walking stick. ‘And I wouldn’t go waving around your Federation credentials in front of the likes of Boyd here. They’re likely to get you shot.’
Travis took in Boyd’s noticeably shaking gun before looking back at Karter.
‘Who are you people?’
‘All in good time, Commander,’ the old man replied, indicating the airlock door with a thin hand. ‘I suggest we get you to the ops centre before Boyd’s trigger finger gets any more twitchy. After you.’
*
‘I’m afraid there’s little I can do with these systems.’ Avon stood up from the access hatch he’d been exploring at the foot of the computer console. ‘Frankly, I’m amazed you have this much operational.’
Lant slapped a hand onto Avon’s shoulder. The old rebel certainly seemed to have taken a shine to him. Lucky me.
‘It doesn’t matter any more, Avon. Not when we have your ship.’
Avon frowned at the choice of words.
‘If you release us, we could easily get you to safety. Well, as easily as we arrived at least.’
‘To safety?’ Lant bellowed. ‘Who wants to be safe? Don’t you see, Avon? This is fate. You, me and Blake. Thrown together like this. Do you know how many nights I’ve lain awake dreaming about the revolution, wondering if people were still standing up against the Federation, standing up for what they believe? And now, here you are.’
‘What are you saying?’ Avon asked, crossing his arms across his chest. ‘That you believe we are who we say we are? That we’ve proven our worth?’
Lant clapped his hands on Avon’s shoulders.
‘If the roles were reversed, would you have acted differently? Would you have been quick to trust me, Avon?’
I’m not even sure I trust you now.
‘Honestly?’
‘Honestly.’
‘Not in the slightest.’
Lant roared with laughter, giving Avon’s shoulder another joint-rattling slap.
‘You fascinate me, Kerr Avon. I look forward to finding out more about you.’
‘And I you.’
‘Hang on, boss.’ Halla had been watching the entire exchange with a look of severe displeasure written all over his face. ‘What are you saying?’
‘What am I saying, Halla?’ Lant’s voice boomed around the ops centre. ‘What am I saying? That this is our chance to rejoin the fight, remind the universe of our names. Isn’t that what we’ve always wanted?’
Halla didn’t look convinced. ‘Yeah, but we don’t really know who these guys are. They say they’re on our side, but I’ve never seen a rebel ship like that before. And this one stinks of the Federation.’
Avon resisted the opportunity to tell Halla what he stunk of.
‘Farrow,’ Alexa cut in before Lant could reply. She rose to her feet, gently removing herself from the grip of the boy who was still sitting cross-legged on the floor. She stepped forward to Lant, placing a hand on his chest. He looked into her eyes as she spoke. ‘You’re right. This is a chance, but not to fight. It’s a chance to live. Blake can take us from here, all of us. Let the rest go where they want, but there must be independent worlds out there, where we could
settle, where we could be a family. Think about it. To truly be free…’
Lant smiled and covered Alexa’s frail hand with his own. ‘Don’t you understand, my love. That would be like swapping one prison for another.’
Alexa reacted as if she’d been slapped in the face. She whipped her hand from beneath Lant’s and took a step back towards her boy. As Avon watched, Mikel shrank even further away from his father, pressing against the base of Alexa’s console. And I thought we were a dysfunctional crew, Avon thought. Somehow he couldn’t see Blake wanting to form an alliance with these people.
‘Lant, I’ve got someone to introduce you to.’ Talk of the devil. Avon turned at Blake’s voice but his eyes were immediately drawn to the figure limping before him.
Travis.
Avon had to admit, seeing the sadistic Federation officer being led side by side with Blake had a perverse humour to it that appealed to him.
Boyd shoved Travis towards Lant. He stumbled, looking like he was going to slump to his knees, before managing to find his footing and face Lant’s glare with his back straight and head high.
Nobody spoke as Lant looked Travis up and down, taking in every detail of his disfigured face and his black uniform, eyes lingering on the Federation insignia emblazoned across his chest. Lant’s face twisted in a flash of seething rage, his eyes blazing as he brought his hand smashing back across Travis’s cheek.
‘Federation scum!’ he screamed as Travis’s head snapped round.
Travis staggered but kept his footing, turning back to regard Lant with his single steely eye and spat a gobbet of bloody spittle to the ground.
‘I am Space Commander Travis of the Terran Federation. You are harbouring dangerous, wanted terrorists and I demand that you release them, and their vessel, to my authority immediately.’
The deck broke out into a wave of laughter from Lant’s followers.
Lant laughed along with his men. ‘You demand? This is the domain of Farrow Lant, and you are in no position to make demands, Federation.’ Lant spat the last word in disgust.
‘Who? Is that supposed to impress me?’
Lant’s face darkened, the smile immediately dropping from his lips. He stepped forward, his nose perilously close to Travis. Avon tensed. If Travis attacked now…
‘There was a time when the Federation quaked in fear at the name of Farrow Lant, when I threatened to rip its heart from a corrupt and evil body.’
Blake stepped next to Avon, and they watched the exchange side by side, Avon still waiting for Travis to whip forward, to spread Lant’s nose over his face. But Travis was no fool, he knew that such a gesture would only lead to a bullet in the chest from one of Lant’s followers. Shame.
‘Like most revolutionaries, you overstate the importance of your cause,’ drawled Travis, glancing coolly towards Blake and Avon. ‘Give me Blake, his associates, and the Liberator, and I will allow you to go free.’
Lant visibly calmed now and stepped back to stand beside Avon and Blake. ‘So these men are important to you?’
‘They are criminals and terrorists.’
Lant’s eyes sparkled.
‘My kind of people.’ Blake and Avon exchanged glances. The tide really was turning. ‘Which of course begs the question of what we’re going to do with you, Federation.’
‘Easy,’ called Halla from across the ops centre. ‘Kill him.’
‘What do you think, Blake?’ This is it, thought Avon, the final test. Get it right and we’ll be out of here. Get it wrong and we’ll be right back where we started. ‘Do you think we should kill Space Commander Travis?’
Blake paused, staring straight at Lant before letting his gaze wander over to meet Travis’s eye. The Space Commander glowered back at him.
‘This man has murdered my friends,’ Blake began, taking a step forward. ‘He has hounded me from one side of this galaxy to the other.’ Another step. ‘I should want revenge, I should want to see him dead.’ So far, so good. Blake stopped two strides from the Federation officer.
‘But…’
Avon felt his heart sink.
‘…knowing he is out there makes me strive to be a better man,’ Blake continued, ‘to be stronger. He reminds me what I’m fighting for.’
‘You’re fighting for nothing,’ Travis screamed, lurching forward, lashing out wildly with his arm, but Blake was ready. Grabbing Travis’s arm, he slammed his fist into the Space Commander’s jaw, sending him flying across the ops centre. Travis crashed to the deck and lay still.
‘Besides,’ Blake concluded, rubbing his knuckles, ‘his tactical knowledge of Federation systems will be invaluable to us.’
‘To us?’ Lant wasn’t slow in picking up on the meaning in Blake’s words. Blake regarded the older man with cautious eyes.
‘Release Cally now and we can discuss getting you and your people off this station.’
‘As passengers?’
Blake shook his head. ‘As partners. There’s a war still raging out there, a war that needs people like you, people who don’t give up even when all the odds are stacked against them, people who want to fight.’
Avon took a deep breath. Blake was playing a dangerous game. He glanced back at Karter and Alexa and saw the same concern etched on the old man’s face. Yet, while the scientist looked horrified, Alexa just looked lost.
In the middle of the ops centre, Blake held out an open hand. ‘Will you fight alongside me, Farrow Lant?’
For a moment, no-one spoke and then Lant took Blake’s hand and shook it vigourously. ‘Gladly, Roj Blake.’
From across the chamber, Lant’s men exchanged looks, not sure what to do. Halla meanwhile was glaring straight at Avon.
Avon smiled at the wiry Australasian, wondering if Lant’s lieutenant was also asking himself how the hell this would work.