Criminal Intent

By Trevor Baxendale

‘We will be risking our lives for a consignment of criminals,’ Avon objected.

‘I don’t see anything wrong with that,’ said Jenna.

‘There’s a chance of picking up some new recruits, too,’ Gan added.
They looked at him and he smiled, jabbing a finger at the transport ship on the view screen. ‘We were in their place, once, remember. Prisoners of the Federation, on our way to Cygnus Alpha. Now look at us.’

‘I was going to say, “You can’t be serious”,’ murmured Avon, ‘but then I saw the earnest look in your eyes – and the fanatical gleam in Blake’s.’

Blake is planning a raid on a prison ship – the perfect place to recruit more rebels looking for a chance to strike back against the Federation. But the crew of the Liberator find more than dissidents hungry for freedom. They find desperate criminals, shocking betrayal, and a secret so terrible that not even the Federation knows the full truth…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Big Finish Productions
• Release date: Nov 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781781783825

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BOOKS

BLAKE’S 7

CRIMINAL INTENT

By Trevor Baxendale

www.bigfinish.com

Dedication

This one is for Pete Stam, old friend, and loyal follower of Blake

And for Dad, who always enjoyed the show when it was on

And also Eddie Dibble because you wanted more Blake’s 7...

*

Thanks to

Terry Nation

The original cast and crew of Blake's 7

All at Big Finish Books, especially Xanna Eve Chown

And last but never least, my family: Martine, Luke and Konnie (sorry about all the Blake's 7...)

First published in November 2014 by Big Finish Productions Ltd

PO Box 1127, Maidenhead, SL6 3LW

www.bigfinish.com

Executive Producers for Big Finish: Nicholas Briggs and Jason Haigh-Ellery

Blake’s 7 Producer for Big Finish: Cavan Scott

Executive Editor for B7 Media: Andrew Mark Sewell

Managing Editor: Jason Haigh-Ellery

Production Editor: Xanna Eve Chown

With thanks to Peter Anghelides and Matthew Griffiths

Dramatis personae by Peter Anghelides

Cover design: Anthony Lamb

Copyright © Trevor Baxendale 2014

The right of Trevor Baxendale to be identified as the author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. The moral right of the author has been asserted. All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information retrieval system, without prior permission, in writing, from the publisher. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Blake’s 7 ™ © B7 Enterprises Ltd 2014. All rights reserved.

Blake’s 7 wordmark and logo are trademarks of B7 Enterprises Ltd and are used under licence.

Based on the original television series Blake’s 7 created by Terry Nation.

Blake’s 7 television series pictures © BBC 2014 and used under licence.

ISBN

eBook: 978-1-78178-382-5

hardback: 978-1-78178-383-2

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

CRIMINAL INTENT

CONTENTS

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

PROLOGUE

PART ONE: VIOLATION

PART TWO: IMPRISONMENT

PART THREE: DEATH PENALTY

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

THE LIBERATOR AND CREW

Liberator: A powerful spacecraft that far exceeds anything known to Earth technology, it is equipped with neutron blaster weaponry, force wall defences, auto-repair systems, and a teleport. The main computer, Zen, is the speech interface to the ship’s systems.

Kerr Avon: A technical expert, particularly with computers, Avon’s attempt to embezzle millions from the Federation saw him exiled from Earth. He escaped to the Liberator, where his instinct for self-preservation meant that he became the most unwilling member of Blake’s team – perceived by the others as a man whose cold calculation is primarily self-serving.

Roj Blake: Once leader of the Freedom Party and a charismatic opponent of the Terran Federation, Blake was captured in a lethal ambush by Travis. When their attempt to brainwash him failed, the Federation trumped up charges and banished him from Earth. Blake escaped and commandeered the derelict Liberator. Since then, he has cajoled or bullied his reluctant outlaw crew in a renewed fight against their enemies.

Cally: A telepath from the planet Auron, who can communicate her thoughts to others. Sole survivor of a guerrilla attack on a Federation facility, Cally felt unable to return to her isolationist homeworld. A mutual distrust of the Liberator crew mellowed, and her growing empathy has made her an instinctive medic.

Vila Restal: A petty thief, a conjurer, but most of all an expert lockpick who can breach even the most complex security systems. Vila has been in trouble with the Federation since he was a juvenile. He prefers to be lazy, even if that might look like cowardice, and has a weakness for drink and an eye for pretty women. Vila is smart enough to know that playing the fool is a good way to stay safe.

Olag Gan: When a security guard murdered his woman, Gan killed the armed man with his bare hands. He was banished from Earth, but not before he was fitted with a limiter implant in his brain. This prevents him killing again, despite his great strength and size. Rescued by Blake from the penal colony Cygnus Alpha, Gan is brave, selfless and trusting.

Jenna Stannis: A smuggler sentenced by the Federation to exile on the penal colony Cygnus Alpha. Jenna assisted Blake’s mutiny and commandeered the Liberator. The ship’s name was taken from her thoughts when she first came aboard. Jenna’s expertise has made her the Liberator’s principal pilot. Although she has some reservations about their fight against the Federation, Jenna is loyal to Blake.

THE FEDERATION

Servalan: Supreme Commander of the Federation’s entire military organisation. Servalan is responsible for the brutal repression of all resistance, and has been charged with destroying Blake and his crew – though she wants to capture the Liberator for the Federation. In an organisation governed by men, Servalan is a rare, powerful woman who has exploited her seductive charm and amoral ruthlessness to fight her way to the top.

Travis: A brutal Federation Space Commander appointed by Servalan to lead the capture of Blake and the Liberator. Travis previously encountered Blake on Earth, when he ambushed a group of Freedom Party rebels and slaughtered them after they had surrendered. In the attack, Blake severely wounded Travis – who required a cybernetic eye replacement, and a prosthetic limb that incorporated a laseron destroyer.

PROLOGUE

It was dark in Pod One.

The prisoner preferred it that way. It allowed him to concentrate, free from all distractions.

Well, not quite all.

There was the nerve-shredding hum of the containment field that surrounded him in a perfect, shimmering energy cylinder from floor to ceiling. To the naked eye, the cylinder was a thing of beauty – a faint, coruscating glow in the darkness. It looked harmless enough, but it was not harmless. The frenzied buzz that the field generator made was a clue: it sounded like a metal box jammed with hornets that had been genetically engineered to exist in a state of perpetual, mindless fury. The containment field was like that; motionless but angry. Very angry. Touch it and it would have your hand off.

So the prisoner was careful not to touch it. He simply sat very still in his metal chair. He could afford to be patient.

‘They made a mistake when they put me in here,’ he said.

Outside the humming energy cylinder were two guards – elite Federation troopers, X-class, seconded from the Supreme Commander’s secret personal guard. They had red visor bands around their black helmets and carried multicharge autoblasters that could cut a man in half with one shot.

Neither of the X-class troopers turned to look at him, or gave any indication that they had heard him.

‘I know you can hear me,’ he said. ‘The energy field nullifies living tissue, not sound or light waves.’

The troopers did not respond.

‘You can see and hear me,’ the prisoner continued patiently. ‘Just as I can see and hear you.’

The troopers ignored him. They might have been carved from solid rock.

‘I can see your eyes behind the visors of those helmets,’ the prisoner said. His voice was low and soft, the quietly assured tones of a man who is used to getting his own way. ‘I can see when you blink, even in this light.’

Neither trooper acknowledged him. The prisoner knew that they had a weakness, however. It was true that X-class troopers were incorruptible, but they were only human, and so not infallible. Behind the two troopers, standing on either side of the pod, were two mutoids.

Once, they had been women – hand-picked from the elite ranks of the Federation’s finest martial servants, brain-wiped and rebuilt with military-grade bionics. They were emotionless, relentless and beautiful.

Both mutoids were positioned to face the containment field where the prisoner sat in his steel chair. They were there to guard the guards. They did not tire. They did not grow bored. They did not even blink.

At regular intervals, each mutoid in turn would take a phial the size of a man’s thumb, located in a storage tank at the rear of the pod, and insert the tube into the specially designed cavity in their chests. The blood serum contained in each phial was the mutoids’ only sustenance. They did not require food, water or sleep. Only blood. Because of this, some people, ignorant of the bionic rebuild and computer-like brain of the mutoids, referred to them as ‘vampires’.

The mutoids simply stood to attention, staring straight at the prisoner. Their unblinking gaze never left him. The standard blasters holstered on their right hips stayed where they were, although the prisoner knew that a mutoid could draw and fire its weapon in less than 0.65 of a second. Accurately, too. There was little that could escape the attention of the laser targeting filaments incorporated into each mutoid’s optical nerve. That’s why they were only issued with standard blasters. They didn’t need anything flash.

‘I can hear you breathing behind those respirator masks,’ the prisoner told the troopers. ‘Every breath. In. Out. In. Out. Every breath.’

Finally, one of the troopers turned his head to look at the prisoner. The troopers were human, they got curious. It was inevitable. The prisoner stared up at his own reflection, distorted in the tinted lenses of the respirator helmet.

‘I can get out of here any time I like, you know.’

The trooper didn’t look. He didn’t even reply. He wasn’t allowed to enter into any conversation with the prisoner. Those were his orders.

‘I only have to say the word,’ said the prisoner, ‘and I will be free.’

No reply.

The prisoner smiled. ‘Do you want to know what the word is?’

PART ONE

VIOLATION

ONE

Avon pressed the gun against Blake’s head.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘Do I pull the trigger… or not?’

Blake didn’t move. He could feel the clear muzzle touching his scalp. It was as cold as crystal. He was, quite literally, a hair’s breadth from having his brains blown halfway across the Liberator flight deck.

The air around them felt as highly charged as the blaster in Avon’s hand. There was no other sound apart from the muted whirr of the starship’s advanced power systems. After a long moment of consideration, Blake licked his dry lips and said:

‘You must do whatever you think is necessary, Avon.’ His words were clear and precise, his voice perfectly modulated.

Avon extended his gun hand slightly, forcing Blake to tilt his head as the blaster barrel dug in.

‘Don’t you think this stupid game has gone far enough?’ said Cally. She was watching the two men carefully from her position at the communications console. To her immediate right was Jenna, also watching the confrontation with a look of strained impatience.

‘It’s not a game,’ said Avon stonily.

‘Cally’s right,’ said Jenna. ‘This is just stupid. Stop it, both of you.’

A rueful smile appeared on Avon’s lips. ‘Your faithful followers are leaping to your defence, Blake. Perhaps they’re not as convinced of your theory as you obviously are.’

‘I hadn’t expected my theory to be put to quite such a practical test,’ replied Blake. The gun was still trained on his skull at point blank range. He was being very careful not to make any sudden moves.

Vila walked onto the flight deck and stopped in his tracks. ‘What’s going on?’

‘An experiment,’ declared Avon. ‘Blake theorised that the Liberator handguns could not be used to harm another crew member on the flight deck. I was obliging him by finding out.’

‘Actually,’ said Blake carefully, ‘I don’t recall it being so much a theory as a momentary speculation.’

‘You speculate,’ Avon said, ‘I accumulate.’

‘For goodness’ sake,’ Jenna said. ‘Stop it now, before there’s an accident.’

Vila’s expression was pained. ‘That’s exactly what my mother said to my father.’

‘Jenna and Cally are worried that Blake is too valuable to lose in an experiment gone wrong,’ Avon explained. He removed the gun from Blake’s head and pointed it at Vila instead. ‘Perhaps I should try it on someone more expendable.’

Blake put his hand on Avon’s wrist and slowly pushed the gun down. ‘I think that’s enough of that nonsense.’

‘My thoughts exactly.’ Avon’s eyes narrowed menacingly as he aimed the blaster at Vila once more.

Vila looked straight down the barrel of the gun and swallowed loudly.

‘Put it away, Avon,’ said Blake.

After a pause, Avon smiled suddenly and returned the blaster to its holster. ‘Pity – now we may never know.’

‘What?’ Cally asked. ‘Whether these weapons can be used to harm one another?’

‘Whether Vila is truly expendable or not.’

TWO

The transporter ship was small but powerful. They said it was a refitted space tug, but Zola knew that wasn’t really true. The Civil Administration Ship York was a converted heavy trawler, designed to pull a train of cargo pods across a quarter of the galaxy. A space tug couldn’t manage the speeds the York could, not even without a payload.

‘Crossing the heliopause,’ Zola reported in measured, neutral tones. She double-checked the readouts on her navigation screens as the York officially exited the solar system. A series of energy flux shields came online automatically, protecting the ship from the sudden increase in cosmic ray bombardment encountered when leaving the system’s heliosphere. ‘Shields up and holding.’

‘We’re on our way, then,’ announced Norton happily from his position in the forward navigator’s seat. He swung his chair back along its pneumatic rails and put his boots up on the control console. ‘K5 here we come.’

Zola hid a flash of irritation by checking her computer scans again. ‘Course Seven-Delta-Niner … ETA in the Kylon system: five days.’

‘Back end of nowhere,’ grunted Norton. ‘The arsehole of the universe, in fact – right where a penal planet should be.’

Garran, the senior pilot, glanced up from his flight console. ‘K5’s too good for this lot,’ he grumbled. ‘Should’ve sent them all to Cygnus Alpha. That’s a real hellhole.’

‘Too far,’ Norton said. ‘It’s a six-week haul. The Federation can’t afford to send a bunch of Delta-Grade subversives all the way out there.’

‘Damn cutbacks.’ Garran slumped back into his chair. ‘And get your boots off the console, Norton. You know I can’t stand that kind of thing.’

Norton quickly lowered his feet and slid his chair forward. ‘Works out better for us, anyway,’ he said. ‘The Kylon run, I mean.’

‘Maybe,’ Garran admitted. He shifted his bulky frame in the pilot’s chair and ran a hand over the controls. ‘Let’s get on with it, anyway. Move up to Time Distort Five and put some space behind us.’

‘It still seems a long way to haul a load of convicts,’ Zola said. ‘I don’t know why they don’t just line them up against a wall and shoot them.’

Garran turned to her and raised a bushy eyebrow. ‘We’re not barbarians, you know.’

Zola clicked her tongue disapprovingly. ‘It just seems like a waste of resources to me.’

‘Execution is always an option,’ Garran said. ‘But the thing about deportation to the penal colonies is that it’s a punishment. It’s not meant to be over quickly. The prisoners have plenty of opportunity to repent.’

‘He’s right,’ said Norton. ‘The Kylon system’s secondary star is a blue sun. The radiation from that baby will flay the skin off your back after a few years. The convicts have to work hard to dig shelters – K5 is practically made from granite.’

‘I suppose,’ Zola conceded reluctantly. As far as she was concerned the Federation was going soft. There were more and more dissidents and rebels and general troublemakers being arrested every day and, unless something positive was done about it soon, things would only get worse.

Garran and Norton irritated her too. Garran was ex-Space Command – he’d been injured out of service and transferred to Civil Administration. He was an experienced pilot but now he was old and overweight after too many years spent in a soft job flying trawlers around the galaxy.

Norton, on the other hand, was a genuine failure; he hadn’t made it into Space Command because of a medical weakness, and he resented the military because of it. He also resented Zola, because he was jealous of her youth and ambition. Zola needed to log five hundred hours’ space flight before she could apply for a transfer to Space Command. She had well over four hundred hours in the Administration’s civil space service under her belt so there wasn’t long to go now.

‘Anyway,’ Norton was saying, ‘the Kylon system is a good run for us. We’ve done it before, Garran and me. Should be fun.’

‘Fun?’ Zola repeated doubtfully. ‘It’s a week-long straight line through hyperspace. There’s nothing remotely fun about it.’

‘Well, we’ll see. Whatever happens, it’s better to be up here in the comfy seats than back there, eh?’ Norton jabbed a thumb aft towards the prison pods.

‘Let’s take a look,’ said Garran, activating a monitor screen. ‘I like to know our little sheep are all safely in their pens.’

*

The camera moved slightly and Zake noticed.

He tapped his sister’s arm and nodded towards the camera. ‘They’re checking on us again, Drena.’

‘Really?’ She barely glanced up. ‘Nothing better to do, I suppose.’

‘Where do they think we’re gonna go?’ Zake wondered. ‘The toilet?’

Drena shrugged. ‘Nothing better to do.’

They laughed at this and some of the other prisoners turned to look at them. There were twenty men and women in Pod Four, all of them Delta-Grade convicts bound for the penal planet K5. There was precious little to laugh about. Some of the stares were envious, others curious, but most were simply vacant. Drena had told Zake that the pacification drugs the Federation used on Delta-Grade citizens on a regular basis could do lasting damage to some people.

‘Not us, though,’ Zake had said. ‘We were strong, weren’t we?