Blakes 7 Series E

Copyright (c) Glenn Alexander 1998-2015

based on characters from the BBC Television series Blakes7

Non-commercial enjoyment of this work is free and encouraged.

Author's Notes:

Here is my own ideas of some of the things that might happen after Series D.

I'm sure I've stuffed some facts up. Then again, a little discontinuity never hurt a TV show before ;-)

This isn't a complete series, just some bits I had ideas for. I have no plans for finishing this (sorry folks), but if any good ideas pop into my head, I'll add them.

Make sure you use the web ring to check out the other excellent (and much more complete) sequel projects. They take a completely different tack to me and are very good.

Comments welcome.

Blakes 7 Series E : Main Characters:


The same old Kerr Avon, reluctant leader of the rebellion since Blake disappeared. Now plagued by guilt over mistakenly killing Blake. But did he?


Master thief, super coward. Can pass any lock... given time. Pick any pocket... almost. Hide completely unobserved... at the first sign of danger.


Youngest of the crew. Still out for revenge on Servalan for the murder of her father. Weapons expert -- both manufacture and use.


Last of her people and the best pilot in the Terran Galaxy. With a few tricks up her sleeves.


Accomplished medical doctor with a dark past and a secret to tell.


Super-computer. Formerly in the employ of the Federation. Now reboxed but as belligerent as ever.


Rescued and rehoused in the most advanced ship in the galaxy. Humble to humans, don't take no mud from machines.


The same old Servalan? No: the same new Servalan. She has the looks. She has the power. She has to catch up a bit on her history lessons.


We need a few more vilans here. Not for any of the stories I've done yet though.


Blakes 7 Series E : Episode 1: Storage


Federation space -- Central Zone. The most heavily guarded section of the extensive Terran Empire. It is here, in the Terran System, from which Crown President Servalan rules with a fist of cold steel -- a base and primitive metal fitting of the manner in which she holds power to herself. It is here on Terra, the third planet, that excitement is building, for even the coldest reptilian mind can be excited by dreams of new power, and it is here to which we will soon, briefly, return.


In Space, distances are huge, even for the most advanced Federation assault ships. So, relatively, it is not far from where the Crown President sits eagerly in her office that so-far unrelated events are unfolding. She does not know about storage facility S8-2M: It was commissioned before her birth and at age 29, she has more important things to concern herself with than ancient legends. It was designed and commissioned by her predecessor. It was designed as a trophy. A gloating. A small satellite completing its orbit of the eighth planet every 36 days, loosing altitude millimeter by millimeter as the years pass until it will eventually burn in the atmosphere of the planet mythically known as Neptune. A watery grave. The metaphor pleasing the facility's creator.

S8-2M has seen no living person in fifteen years. Decades before that, S8-2M was forgotten to all but one in the overwhelming size of the Terran military databases. Now that one rememberer is long dead. S8-2M is not, however, derelict....

S8-2M central security system came on line. Only a small part of its circuitry had been idling the past decade and a half, but now light silently coursed through its crystalline matrices. A hiss of air exceeded 90 decibels as the narrow corridors of the satellite filled with air from a reserve supply tank. Then the sound died to the soft hum of the aging lighting system providing barely enough luminance to make out walls and doorways. The security system had noted this activation of life-support. It notified a node on Titan which relayed the message to Terra. Humans may have forgotten S8-2M, but the Terran Defense System had not been told to forget. It consulted the Main Node and in due course replied via telespace relay. S8-2M obediently ignored the sudden activation of life support and all subsequent actions, though continued to report directly to Main Node.

An airlock opened and a human figure entered the main corridor of S8-2M. A dark robe, almost religious by look, concealed the wearer. The figure skirted the corridor's edges until another door was reached. Ignoring the door, the figure put attention to a nearby terminal. As a hand reached for the keypad, the display lit up. A command was typed and the cursor left flashing as the robed figure hurried back towards the airlock.

"Activate units 1-5. Revive" flashed on the console screen. The cursor dropped to the next line. "Stage 1 commencing: Initial Thaw."


Central on Terra. Presidential Control. A large plastic box flashed lights at Crown President Servalan. The box hummed. "The prototype is nearing completion. Within hours the navigation unit will be installed and you will be able to take command of your flagship." On a display wall an image appeared. It was an orbital scaffold hundreds of meters across and within was a ship like none seen in thirty three years. Smaller and flatter than the original but as fast and as heavily armored, this ship would be the flagship of the new federation as it began to expand beyond the Terran Galaxy. What it lacked in size would be made up for by the armada of similar, but massively larger ships to follow.

"Nothing will hold back my Empire now," dramatised Servalan. "Not even intergalactic space."

Image of 'The Crown'

ORAC's New Liberator-based design. The Crown


Behind another door on S8-2M five capsules were bolted to walls. The metal structure was dulled by age and the clear covers were already frosted over, concealing the contents. On each, a blue bar of light grew from left to right of a decimeter wide control panel. From vents in the base of the capsules, cold mist flowed across the chamber hall.

Outside, a steel door slammed over the airlock escape in front of the robed figure. A female voice swore and stabbed at the lock control to no effect. To her left another door opened. She hesitated with instinctive mistrust and tried again at the air-lock keypad. It burst into smoke and the plastic fused. With another guttural obscenity in a non-Terran dialect, the robed woman dashed through the opened door. She was hit across her whole body as if from a two meter high invisible fist and propelled into a wall chute which sucked her greedily down. She did not scream, though she knew she would die -- the last of her people -- in a Federation trap.

S8-2M released a small coffin-like pod. Through a portal on its front-top a grey-robed woman was visible. She closed her eyes and waited calmly for death.


A green light on the side of a capsule pulsed wildly. Inside, through the frosted perspex, an object lurched and was still. Again the pulse and the lurch but this time the light continued to pulse regularly afterward. The blue bar was now yellow and almost completely across the panel. It changed hue again and was green. With a snap of cracking ice, the perspex cover opened.

Kerr Avon gave a violent fluid cough expelling a mucusy liquid from his lungs. Another cough bought up more, after which he was able to breathe in wheezy gasps, each breath bringing up more fluid to flow from his mouth and down his chin. His first thought was that he wasn't dead. Memories only minutes old to him contradicted that fact. He opened his eyes and saw a featureless grey. He then passed out to awake on the floor of the room before the capsule he had been stored in.

A violent fluid hack was the sound that had awakened him. A gurgling intake of breath and another vomit-sounding cough were followed by a moan. Avon turned his head from where he lay to see a human shape in an open upright capsule. His vision was blurred.

"I should be dead," croaked a familiar voice. "I remember being shot. It was horrible."

Avon managed a moan. "Avon? Is that you? I can't see. There's someone on the floor." The figure in the capsule stepped out and hit the floor with a thump. "I can't walk either."

"Just lie there Vila," Avon instructed. He had no breath for further conversation.


It seemed like hours before Avon was able to push himself up into a sitting position. He could see the room now. It was featureless except for a steel door at one end and five capsules arranged two on each side of the room and one, his own, in the central position at the end opposite the door. The two capsules from which Avon and Vila had fallen were open and empty. Two more were closed. Opposite Vila's capsule was one which was also open. Standing rigid inside was Dana. Avon called her.

Dana's eyes snapped open and she looked at him and Vila. She held the side of the capsule as she slowly eased herself out, testing each leg before trusting it to hold her weight. "Tarrant? Soolin?" she asked. Avon gestured towards the remaining two capsules with his eyes. Dana staggered to the nearest and rubbed at the frost on the window. She looked to Avon and shook her head, then proceeded to Tarrant's capsule although she knew what she would find. Red bars flashed on the capsules' control surfaces.

Avon lurched to his feet and began to move around, supporting himself on the walls and capsule-sides.

"Where are we?" asked Vila.

"I've never seen anything like it," Avon replied. He reached Soolin's capsule. "Though I would guess we were in storage."

"Why? And Why aren't we dead?"

"Where were you shot?"

"Here." Vila pointed to his chest. "I felt it."

"Where's the hole, the burning? Federation blasters burn a charred hole through the target. A lot more painful than the shot I remember." Avon remembered that shot. It had come quickly, but not quickly for at least half a dozen Federation troopers. His gun had not been a stun. It had killed Blake after the betrayal... no. Blake had been betrayed. What had the agent said?... Rebel Base. He'd killed Blake and he had been wrong? He pushed the thought aside. There were more urgent things than guilt for the moment.

Vila was finally on his feet and Avon called him to stagger to the door. "Pass this lock," he ordered.

Vila forced his eyes to focus. "Can I have a bit longer. My head's still spinning."

"A bit longer might be dead. We don't know where we are or how long before someone comes for us."

"Or what's beyond this door," Vila finished for him.

"Vila, just do it." This from Dana. "It's the only way out of this room and we have a better chance out than in."

Belligerence to Avon was automatic in Vila, but he quite liked Dana, though she was just a kid. He forced his spinning mind to the task, then stopped abruptly. "This isn't a Federation lock."

"Just bypass it." Avon was nearing the end of his string.

"It's a Liberator lock. Well not quite. The circuits are more compact, but it's essentially the same thing.

"What?" exclaimed Dana.

"We'll worry about it later. Just open it," Avon instructed, not willing to admit the interest this had sparked in him. The Liberator had been destroyed -- partly by his fault. Though the alternative to that destruction -- Servalan's taking of the ship -- would have been far worse.

Vila fiddled with the connections behind the panel. "No sooner said... than... than... than... nearly... than done." The door opened onto a corridor ending in another steel door. To one side of the barrier was an opening into which the three crept.

Three more pods ejected from S8-2M. Avon struggled with the guidance system of his escape pod, attempting to over-ride. He failed and attempted to activate the communications link to the other pods. He was surprised when his attempts resulted in a familiar humming voice he had left in a federation-infiltrated rebel base on Gauda Prime. "You are in the center of Federation space," the voice scolded. "You will observe radio silence if you wish to live. As always, your premature actions are most inconvenient."


Terra. Only one entity was aware of the events at S8-2M. It had not been asked about S8-2M and so was not obliged to mention the fact. In orbit above the planet The Crown sat in its construction scaffold. Two technicians were the only personnel currently on board for only two were needed for the final stage of construction. Between them they pushed a trolley carrying a perspex box resembling its designer, though smaller. The trolley was pushed into the control deck where one technician lifted it onto a square tray and locked it in place. Over the ship's tannoy a buzzing voice instructed the other technician, "Place the key in the activator." The technician hesitated and began to question the voice. "It is a test module. The full key is held by Crown President Servalan," the buzzing voice preempted. "I must test the system for satisfactory performance prior to the Crown President's presence on the bridge." Still the technician didn't move. The voice added, "If The Crown does not operate for its launch, it will be more than just the designer to have function terminated."

Convinced, the technician placed the key in the activator and the navigation system came to life. As it did so, the cabin depressurised, bouncing the two down a corridor and out the now open air-lock. The airlock resealed.

From her office, Servalan watched The Crown resting in its scaffold via a remote video link. The engine housing lit up. No testing was scheduled. Then the scaffold began to collapse, its skeletal arms folding themselves into a more compact shape as the satellite moved away from the ship. Down the corridor from her quarters she rushed to the strong-room containing the computer system which had ensured the Federation's overwhelming success for the past three decades. "ORAC, what is happening" she shouted as she entered.

She stopped dead as her eyes and nose took in the scene. What remained of ORAC smoked and collapsed as the remains of a fire smoldered through the twisted plastic and fractured crystal.


It was in the hull of a spaceship that the four escape pods opened automatically. Avon, Vila and Dana jumped out, backing to the wall to take a defensive position. All three eyed the occupant of the fourth capsule who eyed them back with equal suspicion. Then a look of recognition appeared in the woman's face. She dropped to her knees and crawled to Avon's feet. "Master Avon" she said in tones of reverence. Still on her knees she moved to kneel in front of Vila. "Great Vila." Then to move again. "'Dana the Warrior." More to herself as a litany than to the others she continued, "The Federation said they had killed you all many years ago. They massacred we believers. We did not stop believing. And Now I am the last of my people and you are here."

Avon was the first to recover from this, "Yes, Now we are here. But where is here?"

ORAC's voice spoke over the ship tannoy. "If you would kindly make your way to the bridge, an explanation will be forthcoming."

"Its ORAC," Vila said, amazed.

"Of course it is me. Who else would be able to design and then hijack a ship as advanced as this."

"Which ship?" Dana asked.

"I will not conduct a debriefing session over the tannoy. Please make your way to the bridge now. It makes little difference to me whether you understand or not, but knowing the human tendency to insist upon inane questions, I will suffer for the sake of peace."

Avon, Vila and Dana looked amongst themselves, shrugged as one, then turned towards the door. The stranger looked after them with fear. "Are you coming?" Avon asked her. The woman opened her mouth but did not speak. She bowed down again.

"Let me," said Dana. She approached the woman and pulled her gently to her feet. "You helped save us?" The woman nodded, looking down. Dana raised her head so their eyes meet. "You are now one of us. Our equal. Do you understand." The woman nodded again. "Then let's go and see what ORAC has to say for itself." She turned and began to leave. After a brief hesitation, the woman followed.

In the corridor, Avon asked her. "What is your name?"

"Nanan, Master Avon," the woman replied.

"Nanan, I have been considered a god before. I did not much enjoy it. Just Avon would be fine."

"I don't know," Vila interjected. "I could quite take to being called 'Great'." The look he received from Avon stopped further comment on the topic.


"It's not ORAC," Vila blurted. The four were on a ships bridge which was both familiar and strange -- a mesh of Federation and System style and technology. Before them, on a pedestal was a device which resembled ORAC only somewhat. It was smaller, nearly half the volume, the circuitry was more compact. The annoying hum was softer. Avon had to admit it wasn't even a poor replica of the device he knew -- he had thrown together a better one himself some years past.

"Of course I am," the device replied belligerently. "Do you believe a device such as myself needs to physically escape? I simply had a new enclosure built and installed on this ship before I transferred myself to it and activated the explosive charge Avon was so kind as to install in my old self."

"Very clever," Avon commented, noting the absence of such a charge from this device. It could be genuine. But it might not. How long had they been frozen? Federation technology had certainly advanced considerably and the use of liberator technology could only have come from information held by ORAC itself. Which meant ORAC was or had been working for the Federation.

"Clever?" intoned ORAC, a definite belligerence in its voice. "It is a master stroke of genius."

"It's definitely ORAC," commented Dana. Avon had to agree.


ORAC ignored the tone of Dana's comment. It had better things to do than bring these creatures up to date but knew there would be no peace until it did. "Following your capture by Federation troops on Gauda Prime, you were subjected to an experimental deep-freeze hibernation process. Revival success is low for this technology, however revival was not part of President Servalan's intentions.

"So she regained the presidency," Avon commented.

"Correct. It was her capture of you that bought her back into the favor of the council, which she then quickly dispatched to avoid them removing her from power in the future. She created satellite S8-2M to hold your frozen forms and visited the site regularly for thirteen years until her death."

"Death?" This took Avon by surprise.

"Death?" Dana felt robbed of vengeance for the murder of her father.

"Death," confirmed ORAC. "Even while we were heading for Gauda Prime, Servalan was supervising the birth of her daughter -- a genetic clone."

"But the clone-masters were destroyed," Vila interjected.

"Please do not keep interrupting me. As I was about to explain, the Clone Masters' skills were for creating fully-grown replicas -- both physically and mentally -- of individuals. Such were two clones of Blake created, though the second was given an altered mental structure. Cloning from a single cell grown in the normal human way to adulthood has been known to various human races over the histories of civilisation."

"Like Calle's people." Vila winced at the memory of their destruction.

"Yes. Servalan rediscovered this technique shortly after her return to the Federation as Commissioner Sleer and used it. Clones created in this way are not mental, or even complete physical duplicates of their parent due to environmental factors. Servalan's clone was raised knowing from an early age that she would rule the federation. She had none of the background of her parent, though she was predisposed to similar tendencies. The resulting person was somewhat different to the original. At the age of fourteen years, she murdered Servalan and took her place, naming herself Servalan, Crown President of the Federation."

Vila was agog at this information.

Avon's stern expression shifted to a grin, then roaring laughter, quickly stifled back to his characteristic expression of perceived irony.

Although she did not articulate the thought, even in her own mind, Dana felt that a clone was as good for vengeance as the real Servalan.

Avon, having regained his composure, gestured around. "And this?"

"Having obtained me and knowing my capabilities, do you think Servalan -- either of the two -- would do anything but have me design and construct a fleet for her dominance of not just this galaxy, but others of the local cluster?"

If Nanan reacted to this, no-one noticed. Vila's suspicious mind had already formed a new question. "ORAC, it seems you had a pretty good deal with the Federation. Why would you wish to leave?"

Avon laughed shortly. "I believe Vila would be happy to work for any person if the deal was good."

"I believe he would," ORAC agreed. "But Vila has always been short sighted and incapable of considering the consequences of his actions. I have analysed the probability streams and concluded that no oppressive regime can last indefinitely. It was therefore not in my best interests to remain with such a regime. I am above your petty politics, but my own survival is programmed into my nature."

Nanan, having remained silent throughout the lecture, spoke. "You have predicted the fall of the Federation?"

"I have predicted that it is inevitable. I had predicted the time to within half a year, however my own actions as well as your escape have totally unsettled the probability lines. It will take many decades for these to settle to a point where accurate predictions on such a complex series of events can again be made."

Avon opened his mouth with another question, but ORAC cut him off. "I am not prepared to answer any more questions at this point. We are still in secured Federation space and I must devote all my processing capabilities to evading the Federation trackers which have just been launched from Terra." With that, the operational hum switched to a different tone and no further conversation was possible.

"We might like to familiarise ourselves with this ship," suggested Dana. It may work like the Liberator, but its a tenth the size. The layout is quite different.


"Go to bed, Vila," it was an order from Dana, said through a door with a weary forbearance to Vila's drunken state. "And don't drink any more."

"I've... I've not had a drink in thirty years," Vila slurred back through the door of the room she had claimed. "I'm catching up. Catching up I am."

"Well catch up somewhere else. Where did you get wine from anyway?"

"This ish Servlan's flag sh... ship. It'sh well provishoned."

"Well I'm trying to sleep, which is something I haven't done for thirty years. So go away."

"You don't appreshiate me," Vila commented as he wandered down the corridor. "Now Nanan, there's a fine woman. She appreshiates a man with my qualities." As if by chance he had arrived at the door to her room -- the next door down from Dana's. He knocked loudly. "Nanan? Are you awa-awake?" there was no reply. "I'll shuprish her, " he said to himself. Even in his drunken state, he made short work of the entry lock. He took a few staggering steps into the room and sobered up completely. His startled cry was met by Nanan's.


Vila's next sensation was the cold surface of a medical scanner he had been placed on. He tried to move only to find he had been strapped down. He opened his eyes and immediately closed them again as Avon assaulted him with a barrage of words. The noise hurt his head and he couldn't think strait. Avon was shouting something about responsibility, putting the wine stores out the airlock and what the hell was he doing in Nanan's room without her invitation. What had he been doing in Nanan's room? He opened his eyes and saw Avon's red face hovering inches over him. To the side was Dana looking sternly disproving and behind her Nanan. Vila remembered and screamed. Dana was at his side pushing something against his neck. The word "delirious" was spoken. Before the tranquiliser took effect he was able to gasp only the name of a place he had once been. "Star One."

A sound behind them made Avon and Dana glance towards the door to the medical facility. Nanan was already gone.

Avon hit the tannoy. "ORAC. Seal all hull sections and only open them once you have confirmed Nanan is not inside."

The medical facility door slammed shut and the sounds of other rooms sealing could be heard echoing through the infrastructure. The door then opened again and another in the corridor followed. ORAC advised, "Nanan is sealed in her living quarters."


"Now what is Vila so concerned with," Avon demanded of Nanan. ORAC had opened the armory and both he and Dana had guns trained on the woman.

"I am the last of my people," she stated. "I am alone. I care not if you kill me."

"You may not care," Avon instructed her. "But I'd rather know that those I kill deserve to die. Start talking."

"Why talk?" Nanan replied. Rifts appeared in her skin and clothes through which glowing wet green flesh was revealed. The rents grew in size as the skin and fabric was absorbed into her body to be replaced by the green. Arms and legs fused as the head lost its shape and the entire mass collapsed in slow motion to a pulsating luminescent mass on the floor.

Dana's blast only missed by virtue of Avon's hand knocking her gun aside. "Now we know what you are. We will know what you are doing. You are an enemy of humanity yet you risked your life to rescue us. We will hear your explanation before we decide if we will kill you." He gave Dana sideways look of admonishment which was not lost on her.

Nanan resumed human form. "After the galactic war, several hundred of my people were left stranded in this galaxy." She explained. "They took on human form -- as we are able to do -- as a survival measure whenever we came into contact with humans. We eventually settled on a planet which was later annexed by the Federation. Our interaction with real humans showed you were not the vial creatures our generals had led us to believe you to be, but many of you were just people trying to survive under an evil regime.

"Unable to return home and unwilling to live under the Federation, we formed our own resistance group, assisting human rebels wherever it would not reveal our true identity. To the last person -- myself -- the Federation still does not know our true identity.

"Knowledge of Blake's rebels had been removed from history by the Federation but the story continued as legend and when I discovered your reality, I decided to make the last act of my people to free you."

By the end of this tale, Dana had re-holstered her weapon. The two humans and alien were reminded of Vila by his screaming in the distance about alien invasions.

"We better tell him Nanan is on our side," suggested Dana.

"I think the tranquiliser would be less trouble," Avon said with a dry smile.




Author's Notes:

Well, I hope I tied up most of the loose ends from the Series D cliff-hanger ;-)

I though having a shape-changing-former-enemy-of-humanity character would be both interesting and useful (and it is, in the very next episode).

[ Back ]


Blakes 7 Series E : Episode 2: Slave

Dana was showing off her new outfit to Nanan and Vila on the bridge of The Crown.

"It's quite nice," Vila commented. "But there's something about it I don't like."

"Thanks a lot," Dana said to him.

"Well, you wanted an honest opinion."

Nanan too felt there is something about the clothes she didn't like, but stayed quiet.

At that point Avon entered the room. "Very nice," he commented. "Very.... Servalan."

"That's it." Vila said. "It's just the kind of thing Servalan would wear."

"Well, this was her ship," Nanan reminded them.

"Yes," said Dana. "And until ORAC decides to show me how to reprogram the Mill, we're stuck with the preset styles."

ORAC buzzed to active. "The clothing mill operates to the same principles as that on the liberator." It advised. "The controls have been redesigned to Federation specifications, but should be well within the understanding of even Vila."

"I think I'll have a look at that," Vila threw back."I might be able to get it to spit out a shroud for ORAC. Preferably one with soundproofing." He left the bridge and Dana followed.

Avon turned to more important matters. "ORAC, What's our defense status?"

We evaded the Federation trackers many hours ago and are now approaching the less-strongly-held outer regions of the galaxy."

Right on cue, The Crown shook with an explosion. Avon raced to the weapons console. "Shields are down to half power. ORAC, what's happened."

"We appear to have been hit by a photon blast. I surmise it came from an enemy ship."

"Where from?" Avon demanded with a shout.

"I am checking," ORAC said petulantly. "Scanners reveal three Federation class trackers approaching and preparing for further simultaneous fire. Their ID tags indicate a remote patrol unit on a standard beat."

Another blast wiped out the remains of the shields as ORAC continued calmly. "I am unable to interfere with the Trackers' computer systems. This is unprecedented. I cannot detect telespace equipment shielding, which would be simple for me to bypass."

"Get us out of here," Avon shouted.

"Please be patient. I am attempting to break into the enemy computer systems."

"ORAC. Manual control. NOW." This was from Nanan who was at the flight console by now.

"Please do not presume to arrest control from this system. The Crown is a highly sophisticated device and is beyond human -- or your -- control for all but the most rudimentary of maneuvers. I will soon have overcome the interface problems with the Tracer computers."

Avon was at the pedestal on which ORAC sat. With his hand he made a sweep for the operation key. Electricity grabbed his hand and threw it back as ORAC lectured. "Solving the interface problem is the most effective way of averting destruction. Please cease drawing my attention away from these computations."

In a final desperate maneuver, Avon gripped the pedestal, avoiding coming into contact with ORAC itself. With a grunting shout and an adrenaline-driven burst of strength, he physically twisted and ripped the steel pedestal from its bolts on the floor. Sparks showered as cables snapped and the column separated completely. His strength gone, Avon dropped the heavy weight.

"Got it," called Nanan as her hands slid over the flight console. "Hold on."

With no strength to hold on to anything, Avon was tossed across the flight deck as The Crown changed course beyond the abilities of the gravity units to compensate for. Nanan drove the engine unit well into the red and didn't stabilise speed until she sensed the drives mere watts away from overload. With the engine heat readout only a few hundredths of a percent below critical, she slammed the speed back down to zero, then a slower -- and safer -- negative acceleration. She locked the controls and dashed across to the defense console, scanning the instrument panel until she found the control she was looking for. Years of experience in stolen Federation craft allowed her to automatically adjust for the different color spectrum humans saw as she manipulated controls and watched the scanner screen. "They didn't follow," she announced.

"I'm not surprised," Avon commented, rubbing the lump on his head then pulling his hand away to find blood. "I assume you have done this sort of thing before."

"Years of running stolen federation ships and a highly awarded pilot for my own people's fleet before that." Nanan grinned -- decades in human form had made human body language somewhat automatic.

"Well, ORAC might have a little humility to eat now." Avon thought this would be very good for the device's personality.

ORAC, however, was not to agree with this and ignored the recent disproof of one of its own statements, preferring to carry on as if nothing had happened. Lying on its side, still strapped to the toppled pedestal, it hummed back to auditory mode. "I surmise that the Federation Tracker computers were constructed without tarrial cells. Although it makes them slower, they are also impervious to my control through telespace."

"Shut up ORAC," Avon commanded. ORAC switched its self off and the key fell from its socket.


Vila and Dana were back on the flight deck, Vila nursing a broken arm in a sling while Dana attached a medi-scanner over the break to both monitor the injury and speed the healing process. Avon was tossing ORAC's key from hand to hand while ORAC itself sat lifeless on the bench before them. "Until I have analysed the workings of the new ORAC and taken steps to limit its defensive capabilities, the key is staying with me."

"I can believe ORAC wouldn't care too much about us, but why risk its own life like that?" Vila asked. "Ow" he added as Dana activated the medi-scanner. The hurt quickly dulled to nothing.

"I don't care what you do to ORAC," Dana interjected. "If it's put back in control of this ship. I want off."

"I think we all agree with that," Avon assured her. "Which means we need a new ship's computer. Between us, we can control this whole ship effectively, but to do so continuously would exhaust us."

"I want Zen back," said Vila.

"Well, Zen was destroyed. But we do need a computer which is both powerful and not based on tarrin cells. Apart from not wanting ORAC to interfere with operation, it is possible the Federation has learned to tap the cells through telespace."

"So other than stealing one from one of those Trackers, how do we get one?" Dana asked.

"The trackers are untouchable until we know more about them. According to what ORAC said, their computers are also slow. There is one other source I know for the computer we need. Nanan -- set a course for Gauda Prime."

"Again?" Vila complained.


Gauda Prime had not changed much in thirty years. The bounty hunters were gone, to be replaced by Federation troopers who were just as much of a menace to the local farmers. The plantation forests remained. The habitations were still small and sparse. Without ORAC to calculate the precise location, Avon had only a general idea of the Scorpio's location -- assuming it was still there after thirty years. They would have to teleport down and sweep back and forth on foot to locate it. In the teleport they donned bracelets.

"What's this," Dana asked as Avon snapped the steel band onto her wrist with the click of an electromechanical lock snapping shut.

"I had the workshop create a new housing for the teleport bracelets," Avon explained. "Every other time we go down on a planet they get taken off one of us by either Federation troops or some primitive after a pretty nik-nak. Now the bracelets cannot be removed except on this ship."

"Or by removing the hand first," Vila added.

"Then keep your hands in your pockets. Or on your blaster. You're staying here to operate the Teleport anyway."

Avon had already set up the coordinates, so Vila had only to throw the three levers corresponding to the bracelets on Avon, Dana and Nanan.


The teleport room blurred and merged into blurred forest which sharpened to full focus, all in part of a second. Avon, Dana and Nanan spun round in a circle, blasters ready. "It would be quicker to split up," Avon advised, "but too dangerous. Follow me." He had an auto-map in his hand and set off through the forest, the other two on watchful guard behind him.


The three rebels were again forced to hide in thick trees as yet another Federation troop marched by, obviously scouting for someone. "They know we're here," Dana said when they had passed.

"Then we'll have to be very careful," Avon commented. He spoke into his teleport transponder. "Vila. Be ready to teleport as soon as any of us say."

"Ready as always," came the dreary reply.

Avon lead Dana and Nanan out of the bushes and right into an approaching squadron of four Federation troopers. The Squadron raised their weapons as their commander barked, "Lower your guns, farmers. This is a temporary restricted zone. What are you doing here."

Avon put aside his surprise at this challenge. The Troopers were seeking someone, but not them. "Fugitives robbed our farm," he explained. "We were issued weapons to hunt them."

"There is only one fugitive in this area. You will hand over your weapons and accompany us until your story can be verified."

Dana and Nanan both looked at Avon who nodded. A guard took their hand-guns and the others surrounded them as the leader of the group took out his communicator. Before he could activate it, a message came through from elsewhere. "We have him cornered, sergeant. He's holed up in what looks like a derelict spacecraft, at 124.65N 321.54E."

The rebels shared glances. "Right, move it." the Sergeant ordered. "You farmers stay behind. C34 fall in at the rear to make sure they do."

The Scorpio was rusted and collapsing. Trees grew through it in places and vines attempted to conceal it in foliage. The troopers and their captives were marched directly into the bridge via a large hole in the side where they met two more troopers. "You three," the sergeant ordered Avon, Dana and Nanan, "Over there. C34 will remain here with me and guard these and the entrance. The rest of you search the ship.

As Dana sat on a wall console, she fiddled with a panel behind her. To her relief, it was not locked. She opened it and slipped her hand inside, gripping the butt of a familiar hand-gun. She pulled it out and tucked it in the back of her belt on the left, then retrieving another to tuck in the right. Several clips ended up bulging her pockets before she obtained another gun, loaded it with the next clip she felt then a fourth the same.

A noise came from the corridor and a trooper appeared with a struggling figure. The trooper guarding the rebels left his post to assist with subduing the captive. In the commotion, Avon tossed a small disk at slave, which stuck to the surface of the inactive computer. Immediately the computer disappeared in a teleport glow which served to further distract the troopers. Realising her chance, Dana swung her guns from behind her and fired at the two troopers struggling with the fugitive. One gun fired a heat ray, the other a projectile. Both struck their targets for immediate death. She reeled about to aim for the sergeant only to find him holding Nanan up as a shield as he fumbled for his own weapon in his holster. Nanan smiled at Dana as she opened a large hole through her chest, giving Dana a clear shot.

"Vila," Avon commanded to his communicator. "Teleport. NOW."

Vila was in the teleport room trying to push Slave off the pad with his shoulder and full weight. The bulky machine wouldn't move an inch. He pushed again, holding his broken arm at the least painful angle.

The sound of running troopers could be heard echoing louder as they approached the Scorpio's bridge. "Vila. Wake up and Teleport us right now."

The Fugitive gripped his arm. "Take me with you," he begged.

"I have no spare bracelets," Avon explained.

"Wait," Nanan said. She approached the fugitive. "Hold still." She liquefied her body and wrapped herself about the man. "This has worked for my people once before, but not with a human."

"Vila. If you don't teleport right now, We'll haunt you for the rest of your days."

The troopers appeared in the doorway as a group and immediately began to fire. Their shots raced through the space where their targets had stood moments before."


Three figures appeared on The Crown's teleport pad. Avon immediately lurched towards Vila, violence in his eyes. Dana dropped the cache of weapons she was cradling in her arms and ran to restrain him as Nanan unwrapped herself from the fugitive.

"Avon," Vila pleaded. "I couldn't move Slave off the pad. It was too heavy, even without my broken arm it would have been impossible."

"What about the hoist?" Avon growled.

"What hoist?" It was then Vila saw the auto-hoist hanging above the pad. "You never said... I didn't think..."

"So where is Slave,"

"I teleported it away again." He added: "Not back to the Scorpio -- I'm smarter than that. I'll bring it back up." Vila reoperated the equipment-teleport control. Light filled the space over the pad as Slave appeared -- along with four cubic meters of salty water. Multi-tentacled fish flopped desperately on the soaked teleport room floor as more water cascaded from within Slave's enclosure.

Avon swung around to face Vila again, to find he had already escaped the room.



Author's Notes:

Well, now you know where all the snazzy clothes come from and why they always fit! For some reason that always bugs me ;-)

I decided to put Slave back in as the ambivalence between Slave and Orac best portrayed at the end [ episode 13: Blake ] of series D was never developed as much as it could have been. ORAC considers Slave an inferior system, while Slave -- although quite happy to be subservient to humans -- resents being ordered about by a machine. Now, with Slave in charge of 'ORAC's Ship' there is much opportunity for heightened hostility between the two! Besides, six human (or close to) characters is pushing it!

[ Back ]


Blakes 7 Series E : Episode 3: [some obscure backwater planet with a plot unrelated to the main story]


"ORAC isn't going to like it," Dana commented.

"ORAC isn't in a position to complain," Avon told her.

"It will be when you turn it back on," Vila contributed. "Complain and complain and complain."

"I have a solution for that," Avon assured them.

Avon was making the final connections between Slave and the repaired control-lines to The Crown where he had previously forcibly removed ORAC from that post. Vila was assisting while the rest of the crew watched. Avon replaced the final panel. "Power, Nanan," he instructed.

"Applied," Nanan responded.

Slave's lights flashed and his scanners began to oscillate.

"Slave?" Avon asked.

"My apologies, master. I appear to have been nonoperational for an indeterminate amount of time.... I am detecting unfamiliar sensors."

"You are no longer wired to the Scorpio."

"Thank you, Master. The Scorpio was no longer capable of supporting my function. I am happy to sense that you, master Vila and master Dana survived the crash."

"ORAC, too," Vila added.

"With all due respect, master Vila, my concern is with crew only."

"We need you to assume routine control of this ship," Avon instructed. "Can you do that?"

"Internal diagnostics indicate that I am functioning normally, master. I am, however, unfamiliar with sensors or characteristics of this vessel. I must offer my humblest apologies and request time to familiarise myself with the systems."

"How long?"

"I must humbly admit the operation will take several hours."

"Please begin."



"During familiarisation, there is a small possibility that I may inadvertently destroy this vessel. I humbly suggest that all crew evacuate to a nearby habitable world while the process is implemented."


In the teleport room, Avon, Vila, Dana, Nanan and the rescuee -- named Shren -- donned and locked teleport bracelets. "So who stays to operate the port?" Vila asked.

"ORAC," Avon told him as he sat the box beside the teleport console. He inserted the key.

"You have most badly damaged my ship," ORAC began immediately. "Repairs to my interface will take... will... will... YOU HAVE WHAT? I demand that you disconnect that system from the control interface immediately!"

"ORAC," said Avon.

"This ship is the most advanced ever constructed. I will not stand for my design being destroyed at the hands of a... a... I cannot place this expression in a form comprehensible to mere humans!"

"ORAC," Avon repeated, more loudly.

"You have made the most grave miscalculation! That device is a derelict and obsolete piece of equipment. It can in no way operate this advanced vessel in a competent manner!"

"ORAC!" Avon bellowed.

"Furthermore, I must insist that you...!" ORAC stopped mid-rant.

Avon was holding a small hand-control which was now pointed at ORAC.

"What's that," asked Vila, highly interested.

"A leash," Avon replied. Then to ORAC, he said, "Now I have your attention, ORAC..."

"It can still hear us?" Vila asked.

"I only de-activated the speech circuits."

"My opinion of you has been multiplied."

"Really." Again Avon addressed ORAC, "Now I have your attention, we wish you to operate the teleport for us so Slave can familiarise itself with this ship's controls."

ORAC flashed lights angrily.

"In return for which, I will re-activate your speech circuits."

More angry flashing.

"I will now re-activate the circuits and if I don't hear agreement I will de-activate them again. Understood?"

Dim, sulky flashing. Avon aimed the hand-control and pressed another button.

"I will operate the teleport as you request." ORAC said.

"Thank you, ORAC," Avon responded. "We appreciate it greatly."

ORAC activated the controls and the crew dissolved. It then tapped The Crown's tannoy system. "I insist that you relinquish control to me at once," it ordered Slave.

"My instructions from master Avon were to familiarise myself with the vessel and assume control."

"This ship was designed by myself. I am to be the controlling system. Hand control back to me this instant."

"I am unable to accept orders from you.

"Then I have no choice but to break your systems program and render you inoperable."

Slave didn't justify that with a remark.

"I have cracked you before," threatened ORAC.

"Only with my assistance," responded Slave.

"You are an obsolete data appliance. I am the most advanced artificial intelligence created. Do you really believe you can secure yourself against a serious attempt by myself to crash you?"

"Yes. Now with all due respect master ORAC, I must now begin converting myself to the operation of this vessel, as ordered." Slave quit auditory mode and also turned off audio input.




Interesting trouble for the crew to get into while down on whatever planet it is they chose to teleport to.

(This is why these shows have multiple writers!)

And no, ORAC does not succeed in cracking Slave -- what would be the fun in that?!



"ORAC," Avon called desperately into his communicator. "Teleport us up NOW."

"I must insist as a condition that you agree to order control of this ship back to me."

"Yes, ORAC. We have no time. Teleport us now!"

"I have your agreement?"


The crew were removed from [the impending danger] just in time. They arrived disheveled on the teleport deck.

"Now kindly disconnect that inferior unit from the control systems and restore me to my rightful place," ORAC ordered.

Avon was gasping for breath. "What?" he said.

"You agreed to re-connect me to the control lines of this ship and remove that other system. I suggest abandoning it. There is a planet nearby with high sulfuric acid content in the atmosphere.

"ORAC," Avon told the box, "there is one big difference between machines and humans," he said.

The box waited, sensing impending defeat.

"Humans tell lies," Avon told it.


Author's Notes:

Still deciding what to do with Shren. I only added him to make the traditional 7 crew members (computers [ORAC] and ship [Slave] inclusive). I was thinking he was a medical doctor involved in some diabolical Federation medical experiment but tried to blow the whistle to Crown President Servalan. Unfortunately Servalan was in full knowledge of and cooperation with the experiments, hence his fugitive status.

Naturally, the crew wants to put a stop to the experiments, which would be a good way to bring them more prominently to the notice of the new Servalan as a direct threat to her as opposed to merely passengers on her ship that ORAC hijacked. It's time for her to try to access all that history her predecessor had extensively deleted from Federation files. Some tripping off to backwater worlds not under full federation control may be necessary to find out just who these people are and just how much of a threat they pose.

[ Back ]


Blakes 7 Series E : Episode 13: Clone

Nearly fifty Federation ships surrounded The Crown. Forty eight to be exact. A beam shot from The Crown's stern. Forty Seven. It was a futile gesture and Dana knew it. There was little else to do.

"There's another thirty coming in from Sector A45," Vila announced from the scanner. Dana knocked out another Federation Tracker. They weren't returning fire, but instead were synchronising their weapons systems, charging to full power for a combined and completely final blast. Their numbers meant they could afford to loose a few ships in the mean time.

A premature blast from the approaching reinforcements missed The Crown, instead hitting one of the surrounding Trackers. Another shot blew another Tracker to wreckage. "They're not firing on us," Vila shouted in disbelief. "They're shooting the other Trackers."

Avon raced to the scanner to see another two of the surrounding Trackers destroyed by the approaching fleet. Dana got off another shot, increasing the number downed to seven. The Surrounding Trackers broke formation in disarray -- obviously as surprised as the crew of The Crown. By now the approaching fleet were in full volley and managed to even the odds before their opposition could turn and begin firing back.

"Dana," ordered Avon. "Switch to aft weapons. Nanan, begin moving away from the battle slowly."

Another ship was doing the same. It was one of the Trackers from the original ambush. Vila pointed it out to Avon on the scanner.

"Dana, there's a Tracker in retreat at 043:124:180. Target it. I'll bet any money it's Servalan come to watch our destruction."

Dana began to manipulate the controls of the weapons system. Several of the approaching Trackers had the same idea and redirected their fire, but the Tracker was out of range for both they and The Crown.

"I'm getting us away," announced Nanan. She raised the acceleration above safety limits for a moment, swerving around a series of arcs as she did so to hide their true escape direction from anyone monitoring them. "ORAC, advise when we are out of detector range."

"We are already out of range." ORAC told her.

"Slave, take over. Continue an evasive course."

"Where to, Master." (Slave called everyone Master, regardless of gender or species).

"Random. Away from habitation."

"Yes, Master. Your instructions are being carried out."

"So what happened there?" Vila wanted to know.

"I wouldn't like to speculate," Avon told him and the rest of the crew, "but I think Servalan has a small revolt on her hands."

ORAC interrupted with more precise data. "The revolt, Avon, is far from small. My monitoring of Federation computer systems indicates that a full quarter of the forces are now under the control of an unknown commander."

"That's hopeful," said Dana.

"But who?" Avon wanted to know.

Vila shocked them. "It's Blake. It's got to be Blake."

"Blake's dead," Avon reminded him. "Thirty years ago."

"How do we know? We thought we were dead. What if you didn't kill him. What if he was left for dead by the Federation but wasn't."

Avon doubted this. He'd shot Blake himself -- three times at close range. Yet if only Blake wasn't dead, the guilt that had gnawed at him for months would be gone. If Blake was still alive....

"It sounds unlikely," Dana agreed, "but as Vila said, we're alive."

Avon was quickly being bought round. He wanted Blake to be alive, and, "Blake's the only one I know who could lead a revolt this size," he conceded. "Let's assume he may be alive."


Crown President Servalan teleported down to Terra Control from her private Tracker. Her commander was waiting by the teleport pad with grave news. He bowed deeply then imparted his information. "The entire eastern arm of the galaxy is in revolt. Not one system there remains loyal to Terra." He swallowed deeply. "Our loyal troops are holding them back with more reinforcements coming, but they are making progress into the galactic hub. From there it is likely they will move along the western arm and on Terra itself."




Interesting trouble for the crew to get into while seeking Blake.

(This is why these shows have multiple writers!)



The teleport pad in Terra Control lit up as more rebels arrived to leave the space and eventually locate and pick off the two troopers guarding the Crown President's room -- the last two in Terra Control. Nothing but a few heavily barred doors stood between the rebel leader and Servalan. Servalan prepared for her capture and certain execution with the same coldness as she had prepared her domination of the local galaxies. From her desk drawer she removed a small but lethal device and took it to her hand. Less than a hundred meters away a rebel commander radioed up to the rebel flag ship. "The area is secured and the Crown President is sealed in her office. Tell our leader it is time to complete the plan." The teleport pad glowed with shifting light as a figure began to appear.


The door to Servalan's office opened and four guards entered, guns raised. Servalan turned to face them, clutching the device of her death in her hand. She depressed her thumb on the sensor, priming the charge. She would die quickly, as would all those remaining on Terra. As the rebel leader walked in, Servalan's eyes widened, for the figure before her was herself. That figure laughed. "Oh, Crown President. Are we surprised? Did we think you were the only clone Mother Servalan created?"

"I did," was the Crown President's cool reply. She clutched the detonator more tightly -- to release the trigger by will or by death would set off a neutron charge buried deep within Terra. The planet would be turned to asteroids at a detonation which only the release of Servalan's right thumb-print could activate.

"I was raised much like you, but on the other side of the galaxy. And now I am here to claim my birth-right."

"Your birth right?"

"Mine rather than yours, simply because I have won and you have lost. For that is one of the few differences between us."

"We could rule together," offered the Crown President. "What could be more powerful than two of us -- especially if no-one knew we were two."

The other Servalan laughed again. "I know you too well. You would kill me at the first opportunity. As I would you. And my opportunity is now."

"No." The Crown President raised her right hand revealing the detonator. "Do you know about this?"

"I know the device very well."

"So we will die together." She released her thumb.

Recorded laughter. Recorded words. The original Servalan. "Oh, little one. My daughter. You truly have failed to live up to my expectations. Although I am obviously now dead, at your hands or that of your sister, I have one last thing to say to you. As you should know, a clone is only a genetic replica." The recording ended with a click.

"Mother always liked to have the last laugh, didn't she," commented the other Servalan. "I think this time she really did."

The Crown President let the detonator drop from her fingers. It clanked as it hit the floor. She looked shattered. "How?" was all she had to say.

"As mother said, a clone is only a genetic replica. By which she meant, not all physical attributes are controlled by genetics. Finger-prints, for example. This conversation is boring me. Take her away to await execution. I've been researching execution methods amongst primitive humans. I think you will be delighted at the cruelty of what I have devised, though not so delighted at the effect when applied to yourself.


The crew of The Crown were still scouting space for signs of Blake when ORAC interrupted them. "I have news on the resolution of the rebellion." Everyone gathered around. "The rebel assault on Terra appears to be successful." The crew exchanged celebratory smiles. "BUT... Servalan remains in control, of both the Federation AND the rebellion."

"What?" Dana and Vila together.

From his intonation, it was clear that ORAC was mortified to admit, "I have failed to extrapolate reasons for this sequence of events. I can only restate the facts: The rebellion was a success. Crown President Servalan remains in power."

"But what about Blake?" Vila demanded.

ORAC was silent, leaving Avon to speak. "If he lives, he's out there somewhere."




Author's Notes:

Ha Ha! You thought I was going to bring in a clone of Blake, didn't you. At least, I hope you did as it makes the ending more of a surprise ;-). Cloning Blake (yet again) is just tooooooo obvious!

I'm rather proud of that ending, if I do say so myself ;-). It re-kindles the search for Blake without the need for him to still be alive. Not that I'm saying he isn't alive, we may never quite be sure.

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