Lucifer: Lamentations (2022)

 

Author's Note: This story is set during the Blake's 7 novel "Lucifer: Revelation". 

The sun was high. A farmer toiled under its blaze, tearing up roots from a trench garden. His arms were strong and wiry, and his skin browned and wrinkled from many such days. His hair, once curly brown, had straightened and bleached into a silvery color. The farmer swore, as a particularly obnoxious root refused to budge under his ministrations. "You think you can get away from me, do you? Think I was born yesterday?" He spat on the ground and leaned heavily against a rake. There was once a time when the farmer could've cleaned out the whole garden by lunch, but his flesh was growing steadily weaker by the day and there was no apprentice to maintain things. His wife was long gone, the planet was abandoned by most everyone. The farmer didn't regret a thing, save for the loneliness and the approaching end. He had no doubts about the life he'd lived. All he could ask for was the strength to pull out that damnable root, and a companion to laugh at his obstinance. Well, he was about to get one of those things.

"Blake."

The farmer turned around. A vaguely familiar man stood in his garden. He, too, was nearing the end of his wick, though he seemed less willing than Blake to accept the fact, judging from the black combat fatigues that hung on his frame, and the shotgun slung over his shoulder. Blake couldn't immediately identify him, but he knew he'd seen the hard, calculating eyes somewhere before.

"Who are you?" Blake growled, gripping his rake. "What do you want of me?"

"My name is Avon. We met once before."

The voice stirred memories in Blake. "Yes. Yes... you were with him. My progenitor."

Avon didn't respond. He looked wistfully at the farm building behind Blake, and then at Blake himself, as if trying to marry what he'd expected with what he was seeing.

"I imagine there's a reason he didn't come himself?" Blake asked.

"He's dead."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Feeling tired, Avon sat down onto the ground. Blake did the same. Both of them groaned at the individual aches their bodies produced. Blake fanned himself with a floppy hat.

Avon continued: "I imagine there were a few million mothers who sighed in relief, knowing that he wasn't going to lead their children off on his crusades anymore. But what was once the Federation is on the rise again. Love him or hate him, Blake was an effective detergent."

"And you want me to take his place?" Blake cackled with great amusement.

"No." Avon replied coldly. "I'm not interested in heroics. It's just that the last time I was on this planet, you were left in custody of a valuable weapon. IMIPAK. The most perfect assassination tool ever devised. All you have to do is mark someone, and they're dead when and where you choose. Sound familiar?"

"Oh, yes. Whoever owns that weapon could change the fate of the galaxy."

Avon gave a comradely smile. "Precisely. I don't have much left. And I have no desire to start over. IMIPAK could bring the war to a quick and clean end."

"I'm not interested in war." Blake said.

"You don't have to be. Aside from myself, there's none alive that know you're here. You can continue to stick your head in the sand and enjoy the fruits of your isolation in peace while I take care of business elsewhere."

Blake shrugged. "I'm not going to give it to you."

For a moment, it looked as if Avon might attack him. But then he sighed, and slumped.

"You really cared for him, didn't you?" Blake asked. "My original self?"

Avon frowned. "I cared for what he could do for me. Blake was a very powerful man. I happened to find myself orbiting his success. Now he's gone, and I'm still flying around in circles."

"One world is quite big enough for me, thank you. I remember when the Federation brought me here. I was still a slave to my programming then, but I remember the stars flying by the port window. I'll never forget that. I never felt so small. Tell me, Avon, what business do I have to go to some strange planet on the other side of the galaxy and tell the people there what to do?"

"That's a nice little sentiment, but what's stopping other people from coming here and telling you what to do?"

Blake smiled. "IMIPAK."

"Ah."

Avon stood up. Blake followed suit. The two of them stared, waiting to see if the other will make some move. Then Avon walked away.

"Avon!"

He stopped, and turned around just in time to catch an apple Blake had tossed him. "One for the road." Blake said. Avon pocketed the apple and left.

*

"How did it go?" Orac asked.

Avon wiped the sweat off his face with a towel and sank comfortably into the pilot's seat. "He didn't give it up."

"What a shame."

"I never really expected him to."

"Then you shouldn't have spent fuel coming here."

"Saying 'I told you so' isn't good manners, Orac. In any case, you said the planet was listed as uninhabited."

Orac tsked. "What does it matter?"

"It matters, because it means the Quartet - and others - have no reason to suspect we would come here. We are, at least temporarily, safe."

"Could that not be the very reason for anyone to suspect that we are here? Particularly if your enemies know your record."

Avon frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The events that once took place here were covered up so that the then-Supreme Commander Servalan could avoid embarrassment for her many failings. But the Liberator is far too recognisable for even the High Council to deny that it was here. And now, all these years later, you've run back to this sector again, seemingly for no reason. Someone well versed in your exploits could put two and two together."

"And realise that I have history here." Avon finished. He scowled, and switched on the ship's primary systems. "Boot it up, Orac. We're leaving."

*

"There are four Quartet heliplanes concealed behind the dark side of the moon." Orac reported smugly. "Most likely waiting in the wings to snatch us up just as soon as we've exited this sector."

"Heliplanes? Those never fly far from their masters. Any warships in the vicinity?"

"None in the immediate, but the static warship known as the Hub is close enough for the planes to have made it here in three days."

Avon laughed. "Well now, I am a rare breed! So rare that their leader is unwilling to wait for better equipped reinforcements. I wonder if they want to mount my head on a wall?"

"Focus, Avon! I propose we enter stealth mode immediately. We are still far enough from their scanning range. If we were to, shall we say, 'misplace' ourselves now, they would not be able to pinpoint our position."

"Then they'll investigate the planet for clues. That would lead them to IMIPAK and Blake."

"That will happen regardless of what we do. Your visit to this planet was obviously predicted."

Avon shook his head. "I would already be dead if that were the case."

"Unless they are curious to know what your intentions are."

"Then let's make them clear, Orac. Arm one hellfire rocket."

"Just one?" Orac asked, baffled.

"Just the one. Aim it directly at the moon, as close to the position of the planes as you can manage. Fire at will!"

One golden rocket shot out from underneath Avon's stolen ship and sped towards the distant white moon. A powerful explosion ensued, kicking a mighty cloud of dust and gravel up into the atmosphere.

Orac whooped. "It worked, Avon! The planes are blinded, some malfunctioning."

"Now, ease our way in. I'll take care of the rest."

Avon climbed a ladder to the ceiling of the flight deck and unlatched a door leading to a glass dome on the top of the ship, with a machine gun attachment. Avon shut the door behind him, opened a compartment of the machine gun and slid a belt of ammunition inside, then closed it. Orac's piloting was without fault. It guided the ship near - but not into - the dust cloud, allowing Avon to fire in rapid bursts on the heliplanes. He then watched with mild interest as the enemy pilots were sucked out through the bullet holes, now little more than mushy red porridge. The planes, left bereft of guidance like hapless orphans, disappeared into the depths, never to be heard from again.

Satisfied, Avon returned to the flight deck and began setting new coordinates.

"Once the Quartet realises what has occurred, they will retaliate." Orac warned.

"Quite." Avon smiled. "They'll concentrate their main forces on this sector, and Blake will hold their attention for a while. By the time they realise we have no connection, you and I will be long gone."

"Blake will die."

"Fighting for his cause. Blake would have wanted it that way."

As the ship flew off, Avon took the apple out from his pocket and bit into it.