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It had been an unusually good day, Blake thought. Jenna and Avon had returned from Absconditus II on time and with all the components they needed for a major upgrade to the steering system. Though most of Liberator's workings were a complete mystery, Avon had come up with a relatively simple way of modifying the thrusters which had a good chance of increasing the ship’s agility and responsiveness. Blake and Avon had spent a companionable afternoon in service hatch six, stripped down to shirt sleeves, welding connections and analysing readouts on a diagnostic unit. Avon, Blake felt, had been even more acerbic than usual. In the cramped heat of the hatch, Blake, all sweaty fingers and aching joints, had dropped a circuit probe, which skittered away into an inaccessible corner. Avon had glared after the probe, narrowing his eyes.
“Sometimes, Blake, I'd like to line certain of my shipmates up against a wall and shoot them, along with whoever designed these fucking inconvenient service tubes,” said Avon with seemingly genuine venom.
Blake had tried to stop himself smiling. The afternoon had passed quickly and enjoyably: he had steadfastly refused to rise to the bait, placidly fielding Avon's jibes, which in response had grown gradually nastier and more ridiculous. Despite the heat, the inconvenience and the needling, the modifications were almost complete. There was some tidying up to do, and Zen would need to do some major alterations to the gravitational adjusters before a test run the next day.
Now, in the quiet of his cabin, with only the high hum of the air conditioning and the distant comforting rumble of the engines, Blake could feel waves of drowsiness washing over him, when - out of nowhere - he felt the ship lurch sharply to the right, then left, then right and then BANG: he was tipped unceremoniously out of his bunk and onto the floor. As pain shot through his knee, the ship swung very steeply up…and up, and he just about managed to grab hold of the leg of his desk. What the....?
“Blake!…flight deck … now would be good!” Avon - on speaker - though he could barely make out his voice above the screech of now straining engines and the beat of loud music. He didn't stop to dress, instead sliding out into the corridor and seizing hold of a conveniently located hatch handle - just in the nick of time as the ship tilted sharply in the opposite direction. BANG! Another jolt. He slipped and stumbled his way to the flight deck through a series of long precipitous dives first in one direction, then - WHAM - a nausea inducing lurch towards the other.
The floors were momentarily horizontal when he emerged onto the flight deck, and here the music was so loud that he could feel the beat through the soles of his feet. Jenna was at the controls. Her normally immaculately coiffured hair was scraped back into a makeshift ponytail, and her eyes were focused with laser-like intent on the viewscreen and a series of densely packed meteorites and accompanying debris towards which Liberator appeared to be hurtling at top speed.
“Jenna!” shouted Blake, waving desperately across at her. She was oblivious. He was reluctant to make his way across the flight-deck, in case - yes - now she was attempting another ridiculously ill-advised manoeuvre. Blake looked around for Avon and saw him sprawled on the floor entangled in a series of probes and spanners. As the Liberator lurched upwards, both Avon and the tools went dancing off across the floor and clattering into the wall.
"MUSIC," Avon mouthed desperately to Blake, who immediately understood and crawled over the now sharply tilted floor to the hi-fi module, reached over and pressed a big red ‘off’ button.
“Jenna!” Blake announced to her back. “Slow down! What do you think you're doing?”
Jenna turned her head for a moment, looked at him and then there was another lurch and an extended sound of grating metal. “That one’s on you, Blake! Don't distract me,” she said icily. Her eyes were back on the screen as she took the ship into a sharp, accelerating dive to avoid the next oncoming mass of rock.
"Zen, OVERRIDE. Set to automatics. Identification: BLAKE. DOUBLE VERIFICATION. SEVEN TWO 23,” Blake recited.
“AVON 683,” completed Avon without a pause.
The ship, eerily still and quiet, gently righted itself and then moved through the meteor field with controlled precision. Jenna looked accusingly at Blake and Avon. "To hell with me. What do you two think you’re doing?”
By now Cally was emerging from the corridor, closely followed by an alarmed looking Vila.
“Are you all alright?” Cally asked, gazing around the room until her eyes fixed on Jenna. “Whatever’s been happening?”
“The roller-coaster ride’s over for now,” said Blake, wiping his hand over his face.
“Jenna’s been playing ping-pong with the Liberator,” explained Avon. “So we can safely say that she’s not quite herself.”
“Piloting’s my responsibility,” said Jenna, with a snort. “And it's standard procedure - my standard procedure, anyway - to test out new steering systems in a meteor field. It wouldn’t have been such an issue if you two hadn’t left your upgrade job half-done. Bloody amateurs.”
Blake’s eyes widened and he approached Jenna, holding her gently by the shoulders. “Jenna, what's the matter? This isn't like you.”
“Isn't it?” said Jenna, shaking off his hands. “You don't have a clue what goes on inside my head do you, Blake? Eleven months. That's the average working span of a free-trader. And I managed five years without losing one crew member. But I don't suppose you knew that, did you?”
“Jenna…
“Time and time again, day in, day out, you push us into inadequately-planned, life-threatening situations, and yet you can’t cope with five minutes of aggressive piloting,” she said, staring at Blake coldly. “Sometimes, Blake, your head's stuck so far up your own backside that you can't see what’s bloody well in front of you.”
A cough from the other side of the room moved her attention away from Blake, and now she advanced towards Vila, who hastily took a few steps back. “And you’re no better, standing there gawping. Hiding half your skills and pretending that you don't know your arse from your elbow. An utter waste of space.”
Vila was used to ignoring insults. “Look,” he said, “We all get on each other’s nerves. Feeling like you want to fling the crew - and Blake especially, come to think of it - around like a discarded lettuce: I get that. But pranging Liberator as if she's a pile of scrap. You love this ship. Something must be wrong, surely?” He looked around the room pleadingly. “What’s up with her?”
“Information,” announced Zen - if he hadn’t known better Blake would have said that the computer sounded upset - “Jenna Stannis’s circuits are not performing within the normal parameters and she is in need of urgent attention."
Cally seemed inclined to agree. "Come on, Jenna,” she said, “You’ve had your say. Let's leave these three to tidy up.” She looked at Blake who gave a quick nod. “Perhaps a cup of tea?"
Jenna still looked disgruntled, but followed Cally out of the room. Blake, Avon and Vila looked at each other in bewilderment.
A couple of hours later, with Jenna in the sickbay under mild sedation, the crew gathered to discuss the incident.
“Your analysis, Orac,” said Blake.
“It’s a simple matter. The magnetic fields around Absconditus have unique properties. My interrogation of Liberator's data banks suggests that magnetic fluctuations during teleport from the planet resulted in a significant but temporary change to certain aspects of Jenna’s personality: a type of reversal of neural polarities. This phenomenon has been recorded before in the vicinity of Absconditus. The condition is likely to reverse itself within 72 hours.”
“But Avon teleported up with Jenna. Why isn't Avon affected?” asked Cally.
“I have identified seventy three possible reasons why Avon may be unaffected. Firstly, there are indications that the surge may have been more severe towards the right of the teleport bay. Secondly, the metallic elements of Avon's clothing may have protected him from the worst of its effects. Thirdly….”
“Thank you, Orac. We get the picture,” said Blake.
“The important thing is that soon Jenna will be back to her normal self,” said Vila.
“Forget Jenna.” This was Avon, leaning against the wall with eyes closed and listening dispassionately to the discussion. “Let’s make sure this never happens again. Our priority should be to protect Liberator at all costs.”
Blake sighed and shook his head. “Life would be a lot easier if we had a better idea how this ship worked. Avon, can you use Orac to devise a teleport shield to stop this happening again? And next time let's not put the gravitational adjustments off until the next day.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” said Avon, picking up Orac and stalking out of the room.
Blake and Zen worked through the gravitational adjustments, checking and double checking every calculation, whilst Avon remained ensconced in his cabin with Orac, occasionally emerging to poke amongst the wiring behind the teleport panels, and giving short shrift to anyone who dared interrupt him.
On the morning of the third day Jenna woke up in the sick bay and reported feeling much better. She had no memory of anything since teleporting back from the planet. As she entered the flight deck, Blake smiled to see her returned to her usual collected self.
“I apologise sincerely to you all,” she said, tucking one or two strands of wayward hair behind her ears, “and to you, Zen, especially, for whatever I did to the Liberator. To be honest, I’m not sure that I want to know the details.”
“You were like a Space Rat on speed…” said Vila.
“Though you did make a couple of fair points,” added Cally.
“We don't have to go into it now,” said Blake hurriedly. “Jenna, no need to apologise. Having your neurons re-arranged seems to be an occupational hazard on this ship, perhaps even more so than on Earth.”
Jenna raised her eyebrows, and looked around at the crew, but for now they were all quiet, and she made her way decisively towards the pilot’s chair.
“All right then,” she said. “How about testing out this new steering system?”
As she settled down and put her hands on the controls, Blake could have sworn that the engines started purring a little bit more smoothly.
“By the way, Orac,” said Blake absent-mindedly a few days later as he and Cally were sitting with hot drinks working through lists of possible allies. “The teleport malfunction. Did you ever find out why Avon was unaffected?”
“But Kerr Avon was affected by the teleport malfunction.”
“What?” Blake's heart sank.
“Whatever do you mean?” asked Cally.
“Whilst Jenna Stannis was incapacitated, Kerr Avon spent approximately 27.4 hours devising a computer program that would give him complete control of the Liberator.”
Blake and Cally looked at each other.
“And what did he plan to do with us?” asked Cally slowly.
Blake only vaguely registered the sound of his mug smashing to the floor and the hot liquid scalding his legs. He spoke as if in a daze, “Just after he teleported up, he told me that he’d like to line us all up against a wall and shoot us, but fool that I am, I thought it was just Avon being Avon.”
Cally showed every sign of remaining calm. “And after that, Orac? When the effects wore off?”
“On the morning that Jenna Stannis left sick bay, Kerr Avon permanently deleted his computer program.”
Cally and Blake were both silent.
“You see what this means?” asked Cally eventually.
“Oh yes, thank God.” Blake put his head in his hands, and neither of them spoke. “Can you imagine,” Blake said eventually, “having a complete personality change but no-one even noticing because you’ve spent the greater part of your life hiding your true nature?”
“Or thinking you're hiding it,” said Cally.
They were silent again.
It was a few days later, and Blake was on his back working on a repair to the underpart of a console. He heard measured footsteps approaching and a cup of coffee appeared on the floor within arm's reach.
“To keep you going,” said Avon evenly. “Not a good idea to leave a job half-done, is it?”
Blake tried to work out the implications of Avon’s comment. “Thank you,” he said eventually, "…and not just for the coffee.”
Blake heard a sharp intake of breath, and then the footsteps moved away. And abruptly stopped.
“You’re welcome,” said Avon quietly from somewhere in the vicinity of the doorway before the echo of his steps faded away down the corridor.
Blake couldn’t stop himself from smiling. After a while he breathed deeply, returned his attention to the complexity of Liberator’s wiring, and focused on not doing a half-job.