This is an amateur, non-commercial story, which is not produced, approved of, or in any way sponsored by the holders of the trademarks/copyrights from which this work is derived, nor is it intended to infringe on the rights of these holders. And so it goes.

  The Federation guard didn't know how it had happened, but it had, just the same. He'd been alert, he'd been ready for anything, but somehow two of Blake's people had managed to get the drop on him. And now here he was in a locked room, bound securely in a chair and quite helpless.

Fortunately, he smugly reminded himself, he'd been captured by the two weakest links in Blake's chain, the cowardly thief and the big lug who couldn't kill anyone. Had it been the smuggler or the even the embezzler, he might have wondered how he was going to get out alive. But these two--hah! They'd try to interrogate him, give up, and try to find out where Commander Travis had imprisoned their comrades from somewhere else. And sooner or later, they'd be caught, and that would be the end of 'Blake's Seven'.

"All right," the one called Vila snarled, "you'd better tell us where Blake and the others are, or it'll be bad for you!"

"Oh, I'm sure," the guard squealed in mock terror. "You might wet all of me, or he," nodding toward Gan, "might fall down on top of me. Get lost, twit."

Vila paused, apparently deciding on his next course of action. The guard relaxed with a snort of derision. He gazed upon Vila with utter contempt…then noticed that the thief's eyes were wide with fear. "Hah!" the guard laughed. "Are my friends here already? I figured that you two would bungle it…up…some…how…" The guard's voice trailed off as his eyes followed Vila's line of sight.

Gan was standing there with a glazed look in his eyes and smacking his head with the palm of his left hand. He was grunting softly and his right hand was twitching spasmodically, clenching and unclenching. "Oh God," Vila sobbed, "not again!"

The guard looked around wildly. "What's wrong with him?"

"It's his limiter. It hasn't been functioning correctly lately…it kind of backfires. He gets into these wild, murderous rages, smashing everything in sight…last time it happened he almost strangled Jenna and Blake…I knew I shouldn't have brought him, but I thought he'd be okay…"

The guard eyed Vila skeptically. "This is some trick, right?" Suddenly, there was a loud crash; Gan had thrown a wooden chair across the room and was now munching contentedly on a piece of the remains. "Oh God…it isn't a trick, is it?"

Vila was trembling crazily. "I'm gone," he declared and headed for the door.

"WAIT!" the guard screamed; Gan was now eyeing him speculatively, a twisted, insane grimace etched on his snarling mouth. "UNTIE ME! GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE!"

"Sorry," Vila shrugged. "Hope it's quick." Smoke was all but pouring out of Gan's nostrils as he lumbered slowly toward the guard. "Avon had a temporary antidote, but since you can't tell me where he is…"

"SECTION Z, CELL 4845!!!!!!!!"

Vila's face softened. "Thanks…Good luck!" He stood at the door and watched as Gan's big, meaty hand reached out…

With a long, terrified moan, the guard fainted dead away.

Gan gazed down at the unconscious fellow bemusedly. "Well, I'll be," he chuckled amiably and quite sanely. "It worked!"

"Of course it did," Vila replied, a hurt tone in his voice. "You were great, Gan! Come on, let's go find the others!" As they ran down the corridors, a sudden thought struck Vila. "I wonder if it'd work the next time Avon starts picking on me…"

 Writer's notes:

I've always had a fondness for this story, in which Olag Gan actually gets to do something critical to the plot. I felt sorry for the poor guy, who was probably the worst possible choice Blake could make for his group. Gan could never do anything violent due to his limiter…so he pretty much stood around and tried to look impressive, and didn't even manage that too well. Of course, perhaps the problem was that Blake was so linear-minded he never thought of a sneaky way to turn Gan's liability into an asset….

I gave this to Deb Walsh, as I'd always had the utmost respect for her zine (B7 Complex) and treasured her friendship dearly. Little did I know it would wind up in one of the last two issues! Ah well, I did later manage to get her hooked on the Real Ghostbusters, so I was able to contribute to her subsequent RGB zine…