Blakes 7 - Afterlife Page 6

  ‘Good... I think,’ said Vila. He frowned and looked at Korell for help, but found none. ‘So what’s the catch? I mean if the stuff is there and it’s valuable enough for us to travel across the galaxy without plasma protection, why doesn’t everyone go after it?’

  ‘That is something we have to find out when we get there.’

  ‘And we can’t ask Orac because Servalan has Orac.’

  ‘Vila,’ said Avon walking back to his position and retaining his smile, ‘your grasp on contemporary events is improving. In a few hundred years you’ll be up to the level of dunce.’ And with that he returned to his analysis.

  Korell kept a closer eye on Vila than Avon seemed inclined to. Since take-off Vila had been deeply involved in his three boxes. The contents of the largest had been predictable – alcohol, adrenalin, soma, and para-hyrene – a thick black drink that removed reality in seconds and replaced it with a set of alternatives that could be wonderful or tragic depending on the recipient’s mood. It was rare, not because it was difficult to synthesise nor because the base ingredients were hard to obtain, but because it was neither habit-forming nor addictive. As such it had no use for Federation commissioners like Servalan.

  But if the first box contained what Korell had anticipated the other two had taken her by surprise. One contained a tiny computer, whilst the other was made up of medical supplies. She was willing to accept that Vila had happened upon the supplies and brought them back expecting Avon’s schemes to end in damage to Vila. But knowing that however good a thief he was he was certainly not a computer expert, Korell passed several minutes watching Vila’s actions with the boxes. Eventually she worked out what he was up to, smiled and simultaneously rebuked herself for taking quite so long to see the obvious. With that solved she turned away and put her mind back to Avon and the problem of Skat.

  The approach to Skat proved uneventful. Avon worked with the computers and charts, Korell worked on her logical analyses and Vila played with his boxes. Never known as one to indulge in much future planning, Vila had learned over the years that interstellar travel could be infinitely tedious – even with time distort facility in an Avon-modified craft. At best nothing would happen. At worst they would meet aliens, Federation troops, Servalan...

  To Vila the boxes were his insurance. During his days on Earth insurance had been an in-word among the thieves with whom he associated. You had insurance against the door you were opening exploding in your face – you used a young apprentice to prime the final sequence. You had insurance against getting caught – you put away enough credits to bribe the first line official who would draw up the charges. You even had insurance against being deported to Cygnus Alpha. But Vila had never been much good at setting up insurance. That was why he had been such a good thief. He had done it all himself. Not through bravery, but through a genuine interest in solving the problems he found himself up against. He liked his work.

  Now, however, he had turned to insurance. The medical kit was insurance. So was the para-hyrene. Dangerous, stuff, but sometimes any reality was better than the nightmare worlds Avon took them to. And the little computer was insurance. When he had first found it on Gauda Prime Vila had had no idea what it was. The box was little more than six inches square and most of the top surface was taken up with a brown, slightly sunken contact point. The rest of the top surface contained a speaker box, and nothing more. There were no controls, no dials, no touch contacts, just a series of green and red stripes. Fascinated, and with time to pass on the planet whilst the androids did their work, Vila had touched the box, spoken to it, prodded it and finally, bored, tried to open it. Turning to his hip flask he had then taken a sip of blue wine, but at that very moment an android had sneaked up behind him and announced its presence. Vila had jumped and spilt some of the precious liquid on the box.

  ‘Auriga wine dated 117 or 118 from Mu Eta. Rating minus three.’ It was a voice from the box. Vila was so surprised he not only dropped it but also dropped his flask. More wine fell onto the box. ‘Auriga wine date 117 or 118 from Mu Eta. Rating minus four.’

  Vila objected. He had a feeling his taste was being criticised. ‘It was minus three a second ago,’ he said.

  ‘Sir, there’s a limit to how much Auriga I can take,’ came the reply. The voice was deep with a well-rounded quality which combined a mischievous humour with a degree of pride.

  ‘What are you?’ asked Vila.

  ‘Kinesthetic Analysis and Transmission, Sir.’

  ‘Eh?’ Long words could have the effect of reducing Vila to the shortest syllables he knew.

  The voice repeated itself, and then added helpfully, ‘KAT, Sir, if you prefer.’ There was a pause as Vila looked at the little machine uncertainly. KAT tried to help out. ‘Sir, if you have anything which requires analysis I can perform that humble task.’ The words were spoken in a slow drawn out way that gave the effect of powerful reserves of knowledge, and seemed to add to the little machine’s status.

  ‘That’s what you just did with the wine?’

  ‘Wine? Wine?’ KAT seemed affronted. ‘Quark oil Sir! Do not demean the name of that holiest of liquids. No wine was ever produced from that mud heap called Auriga! Now, Sir, if you would care to try some real wine...’

  Vila was all attention and edged closer. ‘But no – after that vile liquid what would you taste? No my friend, no! Your taste buds are doomed for ever. For you, Sir, life ahead must revolve around cell acid and sluice mud.’

  ‘No no,’ Vila protested. ‘You misunderstand. This is the first time I’ve had this wine. I can still taste the better things of life. I know a good wine.’

  ‘Such as?’ With just two words KAT managed to make a dramatic point, using the sounds where a human might have gestured with arms and hands. The second word rose, adding to the withering criticism KAT seemed to find necessary to pour upon any being found in possession of an inferior intoxicant.

  Vila was suitably nonplussed. He hesitated, started speaking, stopped, was about to take a drink from the flask, thought better of it and tried to concentrate.

  ‘Mirphak.’

  ‘What?’ KAT seemed disinclined to believe what it had heard.

  ‘Mirphak,’ Vila repeated sticking to his point. ‘Mirphak mead.’

  ‘Well... What year?’

  ‘130, 140 they were all good around then.’

  A change came over the little machine’s deep voice. ‘Sir, I see now you are a man of taste and discernment forced temporarily on hard times. If I can be of any assistance.’

  Vila looked at KAT and a broad grin passed over his face. ‘Can you seek out substances?’ he asked.

  ‘Liquid, solid, gas, Sir, whatever you require I can tell you its nearest location.’

  ‘Fine fine.’ Vila looked around almost afraid that he would suddenly be discovered and KAT taken from him. ‘Just find me the best wines on this base.’

  And KAT had done just that, leading Vila into storage areas picking up not only wine but also adrenalin, soma and, inevitably, since it was to be found on Gauda Prime, para-hyrene.

  On Revenge Vila delighted in giving tiny drops of varying substances of quality to his new found companion. One unlooked for facet of KAT turned out to be its abilities to offer subtle advice on the delicate question of the making of cocktails. It kept Vila happy for every hour he was off duty, and gave him something to look forward to during the boring hours in the control room.

  Skat, from two thousand spacials, looked unimpressive. There were no signs of civilisation, no pools of deadly radiation, little foliage, a spot of wildlife in the oceans, and that was about it. Only the highly sophisticated satellite in geo-stationary orbit, at just over 1500 spacials, struck an ambiguous note.

  The master computer on board Revenge took the ship towards the object as slowly as the crude controls on board the ship would allow.

  Korell, returning to the bridge as fresh as ever, found the need to reveal another of her talents. ‘You need to go in on manual,’ she s
aid.

  ‘Very true,’ Avon told her. ‘But I am not a pilot, unless perhaps you are suggesting Vila...’

  ‘Come back Tarrant all is forgiven,’ said Vila irreverently.

  ‘He may well do that,’ Avon told him mysteriOusly. ‘But in the meantime we do not have anyone among our crew of three who has spent the six years at a Federation Academy, which is the normal pre-requisite for this sort of work.’

  ‘Let me try,’ said Korell.

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ said Vila. ‘In addition to five years spent training in logical psychology and sociology, plus three years at the Institute of Human Technology and Behavioural Control, you also trained as a pilot in your spare time.’

  Korell said nothing.

  ‘Not talking any more?’ asked Vila.

  ‘You asked me not to tell you.’

  Korell moved to the pilot’s position. ‘Disengage the flight computer, Avon,’ she said calmly.

  Reality once more tormented Vila. He started to plead the case of the navigational instrumentation. For the briefest moment Avon looked uncertain. Everything about the girl had been a surprise so far. Why not an unrevealed ability to fly a space freighter? He needed help: the memory banks of Revenge lacked anything that could remotely be called up-to-date knowledge of the star system, and without that the computers would do little more than assume all was normal. He shrugged and pressed two contacts.

  ‘The ship is yours,’ he told Korell. ‘If we are going to crash, let me know first. I might just have time to hand back to the flight computer.’

  ‘And after you’ve told Avon,’ said Vila, ‘tell me too. I might just have time to get drunk.’

  Korell nursed the primitive controls in the same calm and gentle way that she undertook every task. A slight smile played across her face. Once she passed a hand through her long fair hair, pushing it back. Once she coughed slightly and even found time to cover her mouth with both hands and apologise to the rest of the crew. Vila, his face drenched in sweat, heard neither the cough nor the comment.

  Cautiously the old ship made its way to the orbiting satellite. As they approached Avon kept all short range scanners on the object, whilst Vila watched the long range monitors for any sign of hostile action. Both men reported blanks.

  At one spacial Korell brought the ship into a position where it was motionless in relation to the satellite. Avon turned to the ship’s ID log, matching the view through the scanners with everything in the memory disks.

  ‘It’s old,’ she said after a few moments’ concentration. ‘Very old. About five hundred years. And no sign of functioning. According to the log it was used as a sort of unmanned communications device, beaming information received from one part of the surface to other locations.’

  ‘Before the tarrial cell came along with its instant communication this type of thing was quite common,’ Korell added.

  ‘Historian too?’ commented Vila, moving out of his seat and taking a drink from a supply he had stashed under the rear view screen placed behind the three controller’s positions. He didn’t even bother to ask KAT’s advice, but drank straight from the bottle. Korell ignored his taunt. Vila put the bottle down, resumed his seat and put his feet up on the controls. ‘Shall we shoot it down just in case?’ he asked.

  ‘Don’t you think that might be a little premature?’ asked Korell, as always taking every comment seriously. ‘For all we know there might be some remnants of that civilisation down there, and the sudden shooting-down of the last artefact of their past might be considered a little hostile?’

  Avon returned to more practical matters. ‘Do you want to pilot this thing down or shall we make a dramatic breakthrough in the use of pure logic as a controlling force?’ he asked sternly.

  ‘With the computers you’ll probably get down safely, but we’ll follow the most obvious path, which any Skat instrumentation that exists will predict. With me you’ll also get down predictably, but with a less obvious course. We might even get up as well.’

  Korell’s descent started off as well as she predicted, with a few bumps through the atmosphere. As the surface rushed towards them Avon kept close watch on the screens for any sign of electronic activity that would give away the presence of civilisation – a society civilised enough to attack Revenge with something more than rocks, arrows and boiling oil. He found nothing and neither did the ship’s computers. Indeed all data screens were still registering blank when the attack began. Vila spotted it first on the rear monitors. An array of plasma bolts aiming straight at them from behind.

  ‘Put up the shields,’ shouted Avon as Vila announced the news.

  ‘That’s the whole point,’ called back Vila. ‘They aren’t showing on the main screens, only on the rear screen.’

  ‘Put up the shields.’

  ‘That’s still no good. Even if the computers could see them we couldn’t do anything. We can’t stand plasma attacks. That’s why we’re here, remember?’

  ‘Then check for computer malfunction, Vila, unless you propose to defend the ship by the force of your argument that we are irreparably doomed.’

  Vila performed the checks rapidly. The computers checked out normal. He told Avon.

  ‘Then put up the shields anyway. They may not be using plasma bolts, Vila, they may just look like them. There’s nothing to lose by putting up the shields. Korell – change course, get us up – and on the far side of that satellite.’

  Korell worked hard at the controls. As the ship picked up speed the roar of the fusion engines could be heard on the flight deck. ‘I thought this place was uninhabited,’ she called above the din.

  ‘And I thought you were designing a course that computers couldn’t predict,’ called back Avon.

  ‘Bolts still running,’ shouted Vila, petrified.

  ‘Sir.’ A new voice entered the control room. It was calm and clear, lacking in the urgency of the speech of Vila, Avon and Korell, but nonetheless it was a sound that demanded attention. It was a voice that found no need of shouting even with the ramjets operating at full pressure. Only Avon kept his attention on the job in hand. Despite herself Korell looked at Vila, and Vila looked at the source of the word.

  ‘Sir. May I have a little drink to steady the nerves? A little Beta Procyon 99 perhaps. The merest drop would suffice...’

  Vila looked at KAT in amazement. Of all the times to ask. And yet the Beta Procyon 99 did have a certain soothing tendency. Perhaps a little drop...

  ‘Have you got those screens up?’ It was Avon who brought Vila back to the present.

  ‘Yes but they’re draining power.’

  ‘Keep them up. Korell, are we gaining on them?’

  ‘No, yes...’

  ‘Make up your mind.’

  ‘That is difficult when most of the ship believes they are not there at all. Those things only exist on one set of screens and the computers deny any existence of them at all. But for what it’s worth their distance remains the same. When Vila called they appeared to be at 1200 spacials. They’re still at 1200 spacials.’

  Avon decided to act rapidly. ‘Vila, take the shields down. Divert the power back to the main drives. Let’s try and outrun them.’

  ‘Shields down.’

  ‘They’re gaining on us. They’re almost on top...’

  ‘Sir, about that drink. There is a container of Beta Procyon 99 in the recess eighteen inches behind your position. Perhaps now might be the time to consider...’

  A sudden vibration shook the ship and the three crew members found themselves hard pushed to stay in their seats. Avon was the first to pull himself back to his position.

  ‘Damage report.’

  Vila checked. ‘None.’

  ‘None? There must be. We were hit.’

  ‘No, we felt like we were hit,’ corrected Korell. ‘But we weren’t.’

  ‘Where are those bolts?’

  ‘Gone. They must have exploded all around us.’

  ‘But they couldn’t have. There’s no way th
ey could have made up 1200 spacials in five seconds.’

  ‘Unless they were waiting for the shields to go down.’

  ‘But then why miss us? If they have that sort of technology, plus the ability to make up a 1200 deficit when we were moving at time distort 8 they are certainly going to have the capability to hit us.’

  ‘Are we clear?’ The question came from KAT. Korell checked.

  ‘We are, and we’re on the opposite side of the planet from the satellite, except...’

  ‘Except,’ said Vila, checking his controls, ‘the satellite is sitting right on our doorstep.’

  ‘Then we’re on the wrong side,’ suggested Avon caustically.

  Korell stayed calm. ‘Right side, right position. There are now two satellites where there was only one before.’

  Avon pounded his fists. ‘Let’s go right out of this system. Ten thousand spacials. And then dead stop.’

  At dead stop, they sat in silence. After five minutes Vila went to get the drink that both he and KAT fancied. After an hour he went out to get some food. When he returned he found Korell and Avon still at their positions.

  ‘You must have worked out where the next source of sygnum is by now,’ he said as he took up his place once more.

  ‘It is three sectors away and we are not going there,’ Avon told him simply.

  ‘So where are we going?’

  ‘Skat,’ said Avon, jabbing a finger at the speck of light on the screen.

  ‘Even you can’t be that crazy,’ said Vila. ‘We’ve got no plasma protection. Now I know you don’t hold my intellect in the highest regard but I would say that the bunch of people (or whatever they are down there) is probably quite used to strange spacecraft coming to raid their backwater planet for mineral resources. And quite probably by now they have worked out that the people who raid all have one thing in common. A lack of plasma protection. So they fire plasma bolts.’

  ‘Vila, your powers of logical deduction are superb;’ said Korell. Vila grinned broadly. ‘Except for one thing.’

  The smile vanished as Vila asked uncertainly what it was. ‘They missed. All that technology and they missed.’