Title: Sojourn: Part 1 - Breakout

Author: JadeHeart

Located/Archived: If anyone would like it, please ask me first!

Creation Date: 1994

Fandom: Blakes 7

Rating: M

Warnings: mild violence/death

Timeline: A few years after the end of the TV series.

Original Characters: Kitra is mine.

Summary: Fate brings the players from the past to gather again.

Author's Notes: This is merely some thoughts about what could have been after the final of Blake's 7.

Disclaimer: I do not own the idea/outline/characters of Blake's 7, this belongs to the original creators, nor am I making any profits from this.

Part One: Breakout

Chapter 1

The silence was like a blanket; deep, dark, smothering. There was no time here; no night or day, no up or down. Just the darkness encompassing everything. The three moons overhead shed little light on the planet below, the depth of the night swallowing up their feeble illumination.

The surface of the planet was almost a uniform flatness, the barrenness broken only by small clumps of foliage. The trees and bushes were stunted and twisted, barely able to gather enough nourishment to survive. They reached tortured limbs to the unrelenting night sky as though pleading for release. Vines tangled and draped over the branches as though they strove to strangle what little life was left in their fellow vegetation.

A hot wind constantly blew across the surface, never ceasing, only the intensity changing from mild breeze to howling hurricane. It picked up the loose sand to swirl it around in an intricate dance to later deposit it elsewhere. Sand dunes were continuously creeping across the planet's surface, following no particular pattern, appearing and disappearing over night. They would creep forward to smother a patch of struggling vegetation and when all life had fled they would move on. But the vegetation was cunning and adapted to such conditions. After the sand had moved on, slowly the vines would reappear, pushing upwards through the soil, refusing to accept destruction, to reach the surface and continue to live.

From space the planet appeared yellow, refraction of light upon the sand colouring its surface. There was no water present on the surface. What little the planet had, was hidden somewhere in its depths. Upon looking at this planet, it would appear that few life forms could survive here. In the darkness of the night, only the shifting of the sand would sometimes denote a stirring of life. The life forms that had evolved tended on this blighted landscape tended to be burrowing species, living out their lives under the sand, feeding off the plants from the roots upwards. Most were nocturnal and never saw the light of day. The only movement during the day came from the one unnatural phenomena upon its surface - a man-made structure.

The group of buildings, surrounded by two encompassing walls, was like a blot upon this landscape of bleakness. But over the years, it too had now almost become a part of the planet's topography. No lights shone from the cluster of buildings at night, grouped inside the inner wall, there was no stirring of life to break the stillness. The night enveloped it along with everything else on the surface.

The buildings stood two stories high; large rectangular shapes. There were ten of them bundled closely together. Dotted around these were a number of smaller structures squarer in shape. The ground around them and up to the first wall was barren, matching the rest of this planet.

The first wall was six feet thick - solid, impregnable. Five hundred metres outwards there rose the second wall. Twice as thick again and made from solid hydrocarbonite-titanium. It was an experimental alloy that had proved exceptionally strong, forming the second impregnable barrier. Both walls rose to a height of twenty feet, towering over the surrounding countryside. Folding over it all was a force field, a barrier to keep everything out and everything else in. Invisible, solid, impenetrable and ever present, dampening the light even further.

The vegetation had tried to encroach upon this man-made installation but the inhabitants had ruthlessly burnt it back, leaving a barren swathe fifty feet wide between the exterior wall and the outside world. The low foliage soon learnt not to try to breach this barrier except for a few of the more adventurous and hardy strains that made a meagre living at the base of the perimeter wall.

The buildings housed 1,000 inhabitants, providing the bare necessities for life to continue. Penal Colony Sutara was a maximum security prison. Only the most dangerous, the most vicious, the most violent prisoners were sent here to eke out the rest of their miserable lives - however short that may be. Few even knew of the prison colony outside of these walls, except by rumour and myth. Like most, none had ever escaped from there. Many had tried, but none had lived to tell if they came close to succeeding. For to even attempt escape meant termination. Sutara was a harsh world, living by harsh laws and the inhabitants lived and more often than not, died by those laws.

A hot wind stirred the vines clinging to the base of the perimeter wall on the eastern side. They were rooted firmly into the soil and any tiny chinks forced under the wall, searching for the ever elusive moisture. An old forgotten drain was somewhere below, a conduit leading from the interior carrying the waste to the exterior before treatment plants were installed. Covered by vines, rusted, forgotten by most and ignored by the rest; only a simple grating being evidence of its presence to the outside world, hidden by the clinging vines. The plants stirred again, although the wind had dropped. A very faint clicking could be heard if you put your ear to the ground. Very faint.

Yes, Sutara was a bad place to be. Vila had certainly seen better.

He pushed his sweat soaked hair from his brow, shifting his position slightly to ease cramped limbs. The past three years had seen his prison hair-cut grow out and more grey was present. His pale skin showed new lines on his face - from age, worry and fear. But his fingers still knew their trade. He was lying flat on his stomach in the cloying filth, straining his arms to try and reach the lock on the grate, with barely enough room to roll over. The foul odours of excrement filled his nostrils causing him to feel nauseous, something he was trying hard to ignore. Patiently he began again, using his purloined sliver of metal to pick at the decrepit locking mechanism.

"Come on, come on, you stupid lock!" he muttered to himself, the passing minutes weighing heavily on his mind. "When was the last time you were opened? You're tighter than a virgin's chastity belt! Come on! I don't have all night!"

In frustration he hit his balled fist against the metal and bit back a yelp of pain. He lay still in terror for a moment, fearful that he may have been heard and would be discovered. Guards still regularly patrolled the outer perimeter. He closed his eyes and muttered a prayer.

"Please, please, let me get out of this. Just let me get out of here. I'll be good. I'll turn over a new leaf, start again. I promise. I'll do all the right things. I won't even kill anyone." He opened his eyes. "Come to think of it, I don't think I ever have. At least not intentionally."

He shook his head, then turned back to the lock and began once more. "Just when you want a thermal lance you don't have one!" he muttered under his breath. "A lance would make spaghetti of this grate. You hear that? It'd be 'pasta la vista' for you! You're just being difficult because you know I don't have one, otherwise you would have opened by now. Or one of those grenades of Dayna's. Anything would do."

Whilst he kept up this monologue his deft fingers continued to twist and turn his lock-pick. Nimble fingers were waiting to respond to any vibrations sensed through the metal. In this modern age few thieves had retained the old ways - relying more on the available technology of the era. Few were as accomplished as Vila.

"I'm just about to give up, you know." he continued muttering darkly. "What am I even trying for? If I get caught I'm dead. That would be rather hazardous to my health, you know. Terminally so. This place isn't really so bad. I've seen worse - Cygnus Alpha for one." He shuddered at the thought.

"We've got plenty of sunshine. Okay, so you can't go out in it for eight hours of the day as it reaches 150 degrees in the shade. Shade? What shade? The only shade is from the cells. But they do give you three meals a day. It's usually the same meal and it all tastes the same, reconstituted nutrients, but at least they do feed you. You can live on that. I'm not a fussy eater. Although I do miss wine." He looked wistful for a moment, before continuing his soliloquy.

"And they clothe you, can't complain about that. It may be all one size and a uniform shade of murky grey, but, hey, beggars can't be choosers. Or, in this case, prisoners. It's still clothing. Better than being naked.

"And I've got people to talk to when I want to. So what if they're all psychopaths and maniacs. I've met worse - Avon for one. At least they've lead varied and interesting lives. They haven't all just been involved in the rebellion, trying to save the galaxy. It gives more scope to the conversation. It's really not so bad here."

Just then a faint click came to his ear and a tiny vibration travelled from the metal to his fingertips, tingling its way up his arm. A smile creased his face as he gently, oh so gently, pushed the grate up a few inches.

"Then again," he said to himself. "I think I'd like a change of scenery."

Vila raised his head from the meagre cover to check if it was clear. He wriggled his way out of the drain, grunting and groaning as he forced his stiff body through the tight space, not daring to raise the grating any higher and disturb the vegetation any more than he had to. If he did it would bound to be noticed by the next patrol. Things remained so constant on Sutara that the slightest thing out of place would be investigated immediately. Three years of hardship had slimmed him down. He would never have been able to enter the drain in the first place if he had remained the size he was when he had first arrived on Sutara.

Now was the hardest part. He had only four hours to reach his next destination, that being the landing platform. As this was a prison planet, there was no regular space traffic. Over the past three years Vila had watched, listened and noted everything that had gone on, every change in routine. Eventually he had come to notice that supplies arrived at a particular time - every six months. As confirmation he had overheard part of a conversation between two Federation guards. From that he learnt that the landing platform was two hours south west of the prison complex, by land-crawler. This was the night the supply freighter would arrive. If he missed it he would have to wait another six months. That's if he was still alive. If he missed the freighter he would have to try and make it back to the complex before being missed by anyone - guards and prisoners alike. But he didn't want to go back. He wanted to get away from this god-benighted planet. Far away.

After waiting a moment he detected no sound to break the silence and so, taking a deep breath to try and calm his nerves, he took off at a run across the sand. As he ran the long piece of cloth tucked into the back of his trousers and trailing behind him obscured his tracks and he wrapped another cloth over his nose and mouth to keep the sand out when the wind picked up. At the moment it was just a slight breeze but that was bound to change.

He kept on running, pushing himself onwards, using the moons as a guide. When he became too winded to run any further, he slowed to a walk. He held his side to try and ease a stitch and his breath came in gasps. He finally stopped for a moment, leaning over to rest his hands on his knees and hanging his head. His chest ached from the exertion, the blood pounded in his ears and his legs quivered in exhaustion. He had never been an active person, and the past three years had hardly provided him with the opportunity to prepare himself for this run. He desperately wanted to sit down and rest but knew if he did he would find it very difficult to get going again. He straightened up and stretched his back, filling his lungs. He had to keep going, this was his only chance.

A new glimmer of brightness in the sky caught his eye. He watched its downward movement as it came closer to the planet's surface. The freighter, he thought. It's the freighter! They'll begin loading as soon as they land, only about an hours worth and then they'll be gone! He took a deep breath to fill his aching lungs. He had to reach that ship! So fixing his eye upon that distant spot he set off running again.

So intent was he on reaching his destination that he failed to see the lee side of the dune and tumbled down the slope, head over heels. He got up, shaken, sand falling from the folds in his clothes. Some had got inside and he could feel it scratching against his skin. Fortunately the cloth over his face had protected him so he hadn't ended up with a mouthful of sand. Shaking his head to clear it, he gathered his bearings and began again. He kept running despite the fact that his body was screaming at him to stop, to rest. The lights he could now see in the distance were becoming brighter, closer, spurring him on. He was getting nearer to his goal.

By the time he reached the perimeter the wind was blowing strongly, whipping the sand around in a storm. He could barely see a foot in front of him and could hardly raise a stagger. He collapsed in the dubious shelter of some foliage, surveying the scene before him. Now that he had got here he wasn't sure how to proceed. In all honesty he had never expected to actually reach this far. He had assumed he would be killed in the attempt.

The freighter was illuminated by some flood lights, not many, just enough to see by. There weren't many guards to be seen, nor were there any fences or gates. He breathed a sigh at that. Still, there was a lot of bare ground to cover before he could reach the ship.

Looking about him Vila could feel the panic building up. His breath came in short gasps, the sweat beaded his brow, his heart was pounding so loudly in his ears and his palms became sweaty. How could he get to the ship without being seen? He could find no answer, no matter how hard he tried to think. As he lay there racking his brains for a solution, he could feel the wind depositing the sand across his back, the pressure causing his fear to mount.

Scanning the area before him he could just see what was happening. Through the swirling sand he watched as a guard finished speaking to another and turned to a small oblong building to the left of the ship. He staggered against the force of the wind, an arm before him as he walked. When he reached the door he struggled to pull it open and a beam of light shone into the night from it. As he entered he was removing his helmet. Vila watched all this and came to a decision. That building appeared to be some sort of barracks, or guardhouse he guessed. The guard would be unlikely to remove his helmet whilst still on duty so he must be going to have a break. Vila acted upon his decision. He stayed crouched over, close to the ground, to keep in the cover of darkness as he headed for that same building.

Reaching the wall he pressed himself against it. There was a small Perspex window above him. Raising his head carefully he peered through the corner. The room was quite small with a light burning brightly, two guards were sitting at a table, talking over cups of steaming liquid, beyond them was a camp bed.

Vila ducked out of sight. Crouched beneath the window he pondered what to do. His only hope of getting on the freighter would be in a Federation uniform. There was no opportunity for him to smuggle himself on board as they weren't loading freight, merely unloading. The only thing leaving this planet on that ship would be people. So a uniform was the only other option. Unfortunately, the uniforms happened to be occupied. He gnawed a nail. Time was running out.

Carefully he looked in the window again. The two guards were standing, one placing the cups in a cupboard. They both picked up their helmets and exited the building. Vila ducked back around the corner, right out of sight and watched them fight against the rising wind and swirling sand. As soon as they were well on their way he quickly moved round to the door and let himself inside.

There was a long cabinet near the bed and upon opening it he found a Federation uniform hanging. He could hardly believe his luck. This was just what he wanted. He lifted it out and checked it. All appeared in order and he began to pull it over his clothes. Then he struck a problem. It was obviously designed for a much leaner frame than he. He tugged at the material but it just wouldn't quite reach the fasteners. Now what was he to do?

Don't panic, Vila, he thought to himself. Just think. He looked around the room. It was spartan apart from the bed, closet, table and chairs, and a couple of cupboards. The bed was of no use, nor were the table and chairs. He rummaged in the closet but found nothing. Moving over to the cupboards he looked through them. They contained mostly eating utensils. Could he use anything there? His fingers frantically sifted through the items. Surely there would be something! Not a thing.

He sat on the floor with a disheartened thump. Well, that's it, Vila, he thought to himself. This is as far as you go. What a joke! Fate must be really laughing to have let me get this close and now I'm still stuck. I'll never get back to the prison in time now so I may as well just wait here to get shot!

He morosely stared into the cupboard. He could see right to the back wall and made out the crisscrossing metal cables that supported the building structure. One was fraying slightly, obviously the stress of the winds on this planet was taking a toll. All those wires would eventually unravel and the whole thing would fall on their heads. At least he hoped so. He jerked at that thought. Of course, how stupid could he be! That he could use!

Pushing everything out of his way he half crawled into the cupboard space to reach to the back. His fingers searched along the frayed edge. The wires were quite sturdy. If he could get some he could use them to wire his uniform closed and few people would be the wiser. The material was durable enough to stand it. He would probably need three, if not four. He rummaged through the utensils and found a knife. This time his luck held for it was sharp, though it would hardly remain so for long. He began to saw at the wires. He could feel time ticking away inside his head. The freighter was surely nearly ready to leave and he was in a constant state of nervous fear of someone walking in on him. This made him work faster.

The first wire parted company with the rest and tinkled to the floor. Vila didn't stop. Then the second one also landed by his elbows. He kept going. Another sound penetrated the howling of the wind. He paused in his efforts to listen. Soon he recognised it; the sound of a ship's engines firing up. He was running out of time. The ship would take a little while to warm the engines enough to lift off. Vila sawed frantically at the wires. When a third tinkled down he abandoned the task and scooped them up.

Standing, he threaded the first wire through with trembling hands. The engines were still whining in the background. The second wire went through, quicker than the first, and then the third. He had no mirror to view his makeshift tailoring but glancing down he felt it was adequate. Now to get to the ship.

That was when he realised he had overlooked one important point. There was no helmet. He flung himself across the room to the closet and checked again, although he already knew there had not been one there. Sure enough, his memory hadn't lied. Now what could he do? The engines took on a different note, rising in pitch. They were getting closer to lift off speed. He had to get to that ship! He made up his mind and flung himself out the door into the blackness, sand and wind.

With an arm raised across his face he peered through the darkness trying to adjust his eyes. Soon he could make out the large dark shape that indicated the ship. Leaning into the wind he struggled towards it. Without a helmet it was difficult, very difficult. The sand in his eyes prevented him seeing and breathing was hard.

He made it to the foot of the ship's ramp and paused for a moment in the buffeting wind. Squinting he looked up the ramp and saw a Federation trooper struggling down. He saw Vila there, about to make his way up and staggered towards him. Vila saw him coming but could do nothing. There was no point in running now. The trooper grabbed his arm and pulled him up the ramp into the underbelly of the ship. He pushed the gasping Vila to the wall. Vila still had his head down, taking deep breaths and trying to brush away the sand caking his face and hair.

The trooper raised his visor and spoke. "How many times do we have to tell you new blokes not to take your helmets off? If you put it down anywhere it's liable to get buried on this bloody planet! Grab a spare one and then go strap yourself in. We're about to lift off, thank gods!" With that, the trooper flicked open a cabinet, slapped his visor down and walked off briskly.

Vila just gaped at his departing back. He could hardly believe it. There he was expecting to be shot on the spot and instead he was told to make himself comfortable! Looking into the open cabinet he saw a number of Federation helmets. Taking one he placed it on his head. Sand drifted down his face and he brushed it away. Lowering the visor he was now as anonymous as any of the others. He looked around. He knew he couldn't go to the bridge as there would only be enough places for the number of troopers who arrived and an extra body would stand out like the proverbial sore thumb. He couldn't stay here in the hold as it wouldn't be pressurised now that the supplies were unloaded. He would have to find somewhere else. At least in the uniform he could move around the ship freely.

He set off and made a quick recognisance. He appeared to be the only one on board at the moment, apart from the pilot who was seated at his console and checking the instruments. Vila ducked back down the corridor before he could be seen. There wasn't much more to the freighter; a small common room which would be in use for most of the journey - depending, of course, on where the freighter actually went to, but tucked at the back was a service hatch. Removing one of his make-shift safety pins he picked at the electrical lock. Thank goodness this was an old model freighter with old locks. Without his "bag of tricks" he wouldn't have been able to open anything more advanced. The lock opened in a satisfactorily short time and he peered inside. It was a small area that joined a narrow crawl way. It would remain pressurised during the trip in case repairs had to be made during flight. It would be a tight fit but at least he should be safe.

He looked around the common room. There were a couple of camp beds so he grabbed a pillow and blanket. May as well be comfortable and warm he thought. He pushed them into his hidey hole. On the other wall was a food and drink dispenser. Seeing it made his stomach rumble. It had been a long time since he had last eaten real food. In fact it had been a long time since he had last eaten at that. He made his way over to it. He couldn't see that there was any quota set so they wouldn't notice if a little extra was taken. He called up something hot, a meat stew, and a glass of wine. He removed them from the top of the dispenser when they arrived.

The wine was of an inferior grade; after all you would hardly expect the Federation to waste good wine on its troopers. But to Vila it tasted like heaven. He savoured that first mouthful, rolling it lovingly over his tongue before swallowing. He tossed the rest of the glass down and ordered another. Whilst that was arriving he broke the heat seal on the stew and took a bite. Again, very inferior grade but Vila thought he had never tasted anything so good. His tastebuds delighted in the sensation. It took only a few minutes for him to finish it off and he tossed back the second glass of wine.

The ship gave a shudder and Vila paused, listening. There were other clanks and thumps. They were getting ready for lift off. Vila frantically began pushing buttons on the dispenser. He wanted to put a cache in his hideaway as he had no idea of how long the journey would be or if he would get another opportunity to reach the dispenser. Six glasses of wine appeared as he found a plastic bottle nearby, and he proceeded to pour the wine into the bottle and ordered more until the bottle was full. The food he ordered he stacked away carefully so as not to break the heat seals. They would keep warm for a few days if treated gently.

The engines changed tune again and the ship moved a fraction. Vila flung himself into his hole and closed the door behind him, being sure to lock it. He could feel the acceleration as the ship lifted from the planet's surface and the gravitational pressure as it left the atmosphere to reach deep space. When the automatic ship pressurisation switched in Vila relaxed. He settled back comfortably in his pillow, wrapping the blanket around himself. He opened another food packet and began to eat. He sighed. He had made it. Beyond all his beliefs, he had actually made it. He took a swig of his wine. Yes, definitely inferior but beggars can't be choosers. And he was only a beggar now, not a prisoner.

I'm free, he thought to himself, I'm truly free. He took another drink and settled back for the ride.