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John / Taupin
Well, Tarrant had been quite right.
Everyone had to be, sooner or later it seemed. Even Tarrant.
"You're not a good enough pilot!"
"How good does one have to be to crash land?"
Famous last words.
Not quite last words, as it happened, of course. Otherwise, he would not find himself pinned here like this in the wreckage of the Scorpio reflecting on that final conversation. As well as berating himself for a act of supreme stupidity that surpassed anything even Vila might have done.
It was all too obvious, at least in retrospect, that what he should have done was grab Orac himself and teleported down, leaving the hotshot pilot to cope as best he could with an out-of-control vessel plunging toward the hell planet known as Gauda Prime.
Kerr Avon could not explain even (or perhaps especially) to himself why, instead of doing the logical thing, he had forced Orac into Tarrant's reluctant arms and teleported him to safety rather than going himself.
It was not one of the cleverest moves he had ever made. It seemed, in gloomy reflection, almost Noble, and how he despised that word and all that it signified.
There had to have been some more rational explanation for his blatantly uncharacteristic behavior, and someday he would have to think about that. But not now.
At the moment, there were other, more immediate problems to consider. Primary amongst them was the question of just how he was going to extricate himself from this rubble and be about his business. It was rather bewildering that although he could see the two heavy slabs that his legs were pinned between, he could not feel any pain or pressure.
Or anything else, actually.
Oh, his head was pounding, certainly. And one arm felt as if it might be broken, or badly sprained any rate. But there was no pain in his legs.
That was worrying.
He heard some sort of low-flying skimmer pass overhead and ducked automatically. A few stray shots pinged and dinged around him, but he had the feeling that they were not actually intended for him. Still, he groped for his blaster and held onto it with his one good hand, just in case.
He wondered, idly, if the others were anywhere nearby.
They would assume he was dead, probably, and that was just as well. He would be free of the responsibility, and they would be free from the effects of his madness. If madness it was, and of late he felt fairly convinced of that.
For all that the various members of his recent crew considered themselves clever and able to cope with what life and the Federation threw at them, Avon had found it absurdly easy to mislead them for the last two years. They ascribed any number of motives to the actions he took, most of them fairly venal, none of which did he choose to dispute.
Revolution.
Riches.
Revenge.
Insanity.
Whatever they wanted to believe suited him, as long as they were useful.
Not once, however, did they even come close to the truth. And it was so simple. So obvious. So painfully trite.
He was looking for Blake. It was that uncomplicated and yet he didn't even understand it himself.
"I have always trusted you, Avon, from the very beginning."
He was sometimes given to wonder if the bastard had truly known what he was doing when he uttered those fateful and ultimately dreadful words. Did Blake have any idea at all that he might as well have bound Avon to him with chains forged of Alborian steel?
How could one help but hate the person who trusted him so?
So, for two years Avon had tried to find Blake. He raced around a hostile galaxy; he manipulated and maneuvered; he did whatever had to be done in pursuit of his goal. That included lying to his crew.
The most recent lie concerned just how long he had known where Blake was.
"Long enough," was the off-handed reply to the pointed question.
"Since before Zukan?"
"Oh, yes."
Lies.
The message had come in only hours earlier. Not even a message, really. Just one word: Avon. He knew immediately who had transmitted his name. Immediately, he put Orac to work tracing the source of the signal. Within minutes of discovering where Blake was, Avon had the ship heading for Gauda Prime.
But he lied and they believed him. As usual.
His plan was set into motion and the end of his quest seemed to be, at last, in sight. But as they neared the planet, the ship was attacked and everything fell apart with unbelievable swiftness. Then he was stricken by that sudden bout of nobility or whatever the hell it had been.
He'd been so close to his goal and now he would probably never find Blake at all. Blake would never even know that he'd been looking. Avon leaned his head back against the rubble and closed his eyes, not wanting to feel the pain that was threatening to shatter something deep inside his being.
One more perfect Kerr Avon plan had crumbled to dust in his hands. There would be no way of knowing how things might have gone had he been smart and teleported himself down. Then Tarrant would be the one trapped here in a crashed ship.
Damn.
A sudden noise startled him, and he jerked into wakefulness, the blaster lifting automatically. "Step out here where I can see you," he said. "One wrong move and I shall certainly kill you."
"I'd really rather you didn't, Avon. After all this time, it would be rather anti-climactic, don't you think?" His heart twisted at the sound of the unmistakable voice. "Blake," he whispered.
"Quite." He stepped from the shadows.
Avon blinked. He was glad that he'd heard Blake speak before seeing the bedraggled, filthy figure that appeared in front of him. Otherwise, he might well have shot first and asked questions later. This man looked very little like the Blake he had last seen on the Liberator after Star One. "Blake," he said again. "It is you."
"Yes, Avon."
He gave a long sigh. "At last."
"I was beginning to wonder," Blake said, "just how bloody long it was going to take you to find me."
Avon frowned. "You have done very little to make the task easier."
Blake came closer and crouched beside him. "Admittedly, but there were reasons for that."
"I'd be fascinated to hear them."
"And so you shall. In time." Blake glanced around with nervous, darting eyes. "But this is probably not the most advantageous time or place to discuss them."
"Probably." Avon gazed at him. "So you are a bounty hunter, then?"
"I am many things," Blake evaded.
"Indeed." He was silent for a moment. "Some people might believe that you have betrayed the precious cause."
"I suppose some might think that." Blake's eyes were as open and obvious as they had ever been. "Not anyone who trusted me, of course."
"Of course." Avon narrowed his eyes. "Is there anyone in the galaxy who does?"
"Probably not," Blake said with a grin that was very much of the man he had known. "Except you, of course."
"Hmm."
"Your very presence here more or less proves that, I should think," Blake pointed out.
Avon didn't say anything.
"Well, enough of this," Blake went on briskly. "I had best see about getting you out of this mess."
"I would appreciate any effort in that direction," Avon admitted.
Blake nodded. He stood and began to throw the pieces of debris aside with seeming ease, until the area around Avon was cleared of everything except the two massive slabs that had him pinned. He knelt again, frowning, and touched Avon's shoulder lightly. "That must be very painful."
After a moment, Avon shook his head. "The truth is," he whispered, "I can not feel anything at all below the waist." He angled a look at Blake. "I cannot imagine that bodes well."
Blake's frown deepened and his fingers wandered, seemingly of their own accord, to Avon's cheek. "Well, we might as well be about it." He stood and began, slowly, to shove one of the slabs aside. Even with his full weight behind it, the slab moved only a little at first. Blake's breath became strained and his face contorted. Finally, finally, the slab shifted and then fell over with a dust-raising crash.
At that moment, Avon felt the first pain, a knife-like stabbing in his spine, and then he passed out.
* * *
Blake swore.
He crouched quickly and sought, rather more desperately than he had intended, a pulse in Avon's neck. When he found one, reedy and faint, but definitely there, he relaxed just a little.
The question was: What now?
Well, there was really no time to think about it, not in this place, at any rate. He made, by necessity, a quick decision.
Standing, he glanced around again, spotted what he needed, and started to work. One large, flat piece of wreckage would serve as a makeshift stretcher. With great care, he slid the piece of metal under Avon's body. He then removed his own vest and cut it into strips, using them to secure Avon in place.
It would have been better not to move him at all, of course, but that was not an option. This whole area would soon be thick with patrols. And there would be no help to be found by contacting the base, even if the radio in his flyer still worked after the strafing it had just received from the gun-runners' weapons.
His untidy but reasonably efficient little operation here on Gauda Prime was about to fall apart. Blake knew that very well, had known it for some days, but he had somehow lacked the energy to do anything about it. He was tired and tired men made stupid mistakes.
To wit: Arlen.
He'd originally thought her trustworthy and yet again he'd been proven wrong. By this time such disillusionment was scarcely a surprise.
If, as had been stated, there was only one person in the galaxy who truly trusted Roj Blake, there was, likewise, only one he fully believed in. They were one and the same: Kerr Avon.
As he tied Avon's arms down securely, Blake tried not to dwell on the fact that if Avon died, he would truly be alone in an increasingly lonely galaxy. Blake did not like to admit, even in his own mind, how much that thought terrified him.
Efficiently, he completed the preparations for their journey.
It was a slow trip through the woods, dragging his burden behind him. Blake grimaced with each bump they hit, knowing that every jolt might be causing Avon even more injury, but knowing that there was nothing to be done for it.
The time had come for the Bounty Hunter to vanish.
* * *
When Avon awoke, his first feeling was one of complete panic.
It was dark and he couldn't move at all, even his hands. Desperately, he struggled to sit up.
A hand rested on his shoulder and there was the damp feeling of a whisper very close to his ear. "Shh, Avon," Blake said. "There are enemies outside."
Avon stilled. "Blake?" he whispered.
The hand just patted his shoulder reassuringly. Surprisingly, he actually felt somewhat reassured.
They remained that way, silent in the darkness, Blake's hand on him, until finally they heard a flyer depart. Then Blake moved away and lighted a candle. "This hovel is shielded from the heat seekers," Blake said conversationally as a dim and shivery glow filled the small room. "So we are safe here, for the moment."
Avon only half-listened. He was thinking about his body. There had been that one excruciating bolt of pain, but now there was only numbness again. "Where, exactly, is 'here'?" he asked after a moment.
"One of my boltholes on this planet." Blake smiled at him. "I did learn a few things from you during our time together, Avon. I knew the day would come when my cover would fail. So I made preparations."
"You apparently gained some wisdom in our time apart, as well."
"If I have, it has not come easily."
Avon looked at the man Blake had become: the scarred face, the new and unsettling cynicism in his eyes, the very bearing of his body, which seemed constantly prepared to deflect a blow. Or worse. "So it seems," he murmured. Then he gave a carefully wry smile. "In any event, you seem to be coping quite well. My inspired crusade to rescue you seems, at best, superfluous."
Blake shook his head. "All this," he said with a wide gesture, "has simply been a way of marking time."
Avon chose not to respond to that. Instead, he glanced down at his arms. "Am I your prisoner now?"
Blake looked startled. "What?"
"Perhaps you are planning to collect the bounty on me? I understand it is quite substantial."
"Of course not," Blake said. "I tied you only so that there would not be more damage done during the trip here."
Avon frowned. "I think that what damage I already have is quite sufficient, is it not?"
Blake busied himself with untying Avon's arms and did not look at his face as he spoke. "I'm afraid there seems to be some serious injury to your spine," he said softly. "I have given you an injection for pain and something to ward off infection, but...there's nothing more I can do."
"I am paralyzed," Avon said in a matter-of-fact tone.
"Yes. At least for the moment."
Avon closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Then he looked at Blake. "Well, I appreciate the trouble you have taken to bring me to shelter," he said formally. "Given the circumstances, there is one more thing you might do for me."
"What's that?"
"When you depart, please be so kind as to leave me the means with which to end this farce called my life."
An expression of complete and utter stupefaction settled on Blake's face. "What?"
Avon reached out and closed his fingers around Blake's wrist. "Do not abandon me to the forces here," he said urgently. "Let me, at least, die with some dignity in a time and a manner of my own choosing." His hold on Blake tightened. "I would even prefer to have you kill me yourself, if that seems best."
Blake was staring at him. "Is that what you truly think of me, Avon? If so, I wonder that you bothered to come at all."
Avon was still holding Blake's wrist. "I beg your pardon?"
Blake leaned over him until his face was only an inch from Avon's. The nearness gave his words a terrible air of intimacy. "I have no intention of abandoning you here, Avon." Distaste entered his voice. "Or of killing you, either." He straightened. "You are coming with me."
"Oh, well, that is the kind of noble and stupid gesture that I would expect of Roj Blake." Avon finally removed his fingers from Blake's wrist. "Perhaps I was overestimating the amount of wisdom you have acquired in my absence."
"You have frequently underestimated me," Blake said mildly. "But never the opposite, so far as I know."
"Listen to me, Blake. A man on the run from an entire galaxy has little use for a helpless cripple. I would do nothing but slow you down and undoubtedly hasten the moment of your own death."
Blake was busy now, packing a leather knapsack with medical supplies and various other items he evidently felt were important. "Then we will die together," he said with an odd sort of cheer in his voice.
"Idiocy," Avon snapped.
"Perhaps." Efficiently, Blake closed the knapsack. Then he came back and sat beside Avon again. "Tell me, Avon, that you do not really believe I would simply leave you here. I would like to know that someone in this damned galaxy thinks better of me than that."
Avon sighed. "Perhaps I only hoped that you had learned better over the past two years."
Blake smiled. "Thank you." He bent to examine Avon's arm. "I don't believe this is broken," he said, his fingers poking and probing carefully.
"So all is not lost. I can use my arms. Perhaps there is hope for us after all."
"I am filled with hope," Blake said firmly.
"But you are an idiot, remember?" Avon was quiet for a time, not objecting to the soft massage Blake was giving his sore shoulder. "You have a plan, I suppose?"
"Yes. There is a small shuttle concealed not far from here. We shall leave Gauda Prime at dawn. The patrols are quietest then."
"And after we are away from this malignancy of a planet?" Avon said.
Blake finally stopped his fussing with Avon's arm. "I have no idea. Frankly, I'm tired. The revolution will have to struggle on without me, at least for a time."
"Do you think they will allow that?"
Blake was now interested in some injury on Avon's head. He cleaned away the dried blood and studied the cut. "The Federation?"
A faint smile danced around the corners of Avon's mouth. "No. Your beloved rebels."
"I hope so." Blake gnawed his finger in the old way, as he thought. "Speaking of rebels, what happened to your crew?"
"I teleported them all down." Avon stared at nothing for a moment, then shrugged. "They have one another and, more importantly, Orac." He frowned. "I do rather regret the loss of Orac. Having it would be a distinct advantage to us."
"My shuttle would not hold them," Blake said.
"It doesn't matter. They are better off away from us. Away from me, at any rate."
Blake took a bandage from his surprising store of supplies and applied it to Avon's head. "I don't know the others, of course, but how will Vila feel about that?"
Avon gave a short, bitter laugh. "Vila will be the most pleased about being rid of me." He stared at Blake. "I recently came very close to sacrificing his life in order to save my own."
"I doubt you would have actually done it," Blake said.
"Do you?" Avon looked away. "Then perhaps I have changed more than you know. He certainly thought I would. I thought I would. None of my so-called crew would have doubted it."
Blake, mercifully, was quiet.
"I was possibly quite mad by that time," Avon offered. "Things had not gone well for a very long time." His gaze darkened. "There was my obsession, you see, and a man obsessed is never quite rational."
Blake grimaced. "For which, I assume, you blame me."
Avon, perhaps feeling somewhat merciful himself, did not respond to that.
"I think it is time for another injection," Blake said. He prepared the injection and lifted Avon's arm. "So we leave them. Your crew, I mean."
"Since there seems to be no other choice and since I truly believe they are safer on their own," Avon said, "we leave them."
Blake nodded.
* * *
He had given Avon a much stronger dosage of the sedative than was normal. It would be best if he slept quite soundly during the journey to the shuttle.
By waiting until dawn, he was indeed lessening their chances of encountering a patrol, but there were still dangers enough to make him tense. Beyond the obvious threats of the bounty hunters and the gun-runners, he could not discount interference by his own former associates. Some of the rebel forces, no doubt, would not take kindly to his desertion.
And last, but far from least, there was Avon's crew. Blake had no way of knowing what their response would be to finding their erstwhile leader being hauled along by someone they had very little reason to trust. The least they might do was attempt to "rescue" Avon. Blake might appreciate their motives, but he was not inclined to let them take Avon.
After waiting so long to be reunited with Avon, Blake would not—-perhaps could not—- face the prospect of separation again. Not even by Avon's own crew. If his motives were less than clear and perhaps even more than a little suspect, he chose not to dwell upon that fact at the moment.
When it was time to leave for the hidden shuttle, he tied the sleeping Avon to the stretcher once again. It was going to be a three-kilometer journey. Blake found a blanket and rolled it to use as a cushion for Avon's head.
At last, he extinguished the candle and they left the shack.
They had gone just one kilometer when the patrol appeared out of nowhere. Blake barely had time to drop into the tall grass, his arm sheltering Avon. He waited, not even breathing, for the patrol to pass by. It seemed to take forever, but was actually only a few minutes before the woods were quiet again.
Avon never stirred. In fact, he was so still that for one horrible moment, Blake thought that he had overdosed him with the sedative. Panicked, he open Avon's shirt and pressed one ear to his chest. The heart was beating. Then he held a hand in front of Avon's lips and felt a soft, damp breath.
Blake sighed in relief. For just a moment, tired and perhaps seeking solace, he left his head where it was, on Avon's chest.
Then, brusquely, he prepared to resume the journey.
They were very nearly to the shuttle silo when he again heard voices. This time, he took shelter behind a fallen tree trunk.
Almost immediately, he recognized the patented whine that was Vila's voice. With a sidewise glance, he draped his arm across Avon again.
"...and just because he wasn't in the wreckage of the Scorpio, are we going to pretend that everything is fine?"
"What would you have us do?" snapped a voice that had to belong to Del Tarrant, the pilot. "If Avon wanted us to find him, we would have done so by this time."
"Maybe one of the bounty hunters nabbed him," a young, female voice said.
"I agree with Soolin." Another young female and, by process of elimination, Dayna Mellanby. Her tone dripped with suspicion. "If Orac was right about Blake, maybe he captured Avon."
"I know where Avon is," Vila said wearily.
"Where?" Tarrant said.
"Obvious, ain't it? He's looking for Blake."
"Yes, well," Dayna said, "I still think maybe Blake found him first. He's probably collecting the bounty on him right now."
Vila snorted. "You people don't know Blake."
"We know very well what Avon thinks of him," Tarrant said.
Again, Vila made a sound that showered contempt on the words. "All you know, Tarrant, is what Avon wanted you to think were his feelings about Blake."
Blake was listening to the conversation with rapt attention. Vila didn't sound much like a man who was glad to be rid of Avon.
Still, he was probably better off this way, as Avon had said.
In any event, Blake had absolutely no intention of letting them know that the subject of their conversation was only meters away.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Tarrant asked.
"Just that things aren't always what they seem. I spent two years with Blake and Avon. Not even they really knew how they felt about each other most of the time. Sometimes you'd think they were best chums. And then, one minute later, you'd think they hated each other."
"And what was the truth?" Dayna said.
"Bloody hell if I know," Vila replied complacently. "But one thing I do know. Blake would never turn Avon in for the bounty. He might betray the cause; he might turn you in. Or maybe even me. But not Avon. Never Avon."
Soolin made an impatient sound. "All of this is very interesting, but it doesn't get us any closer to knowing what to do."
Suddenly Avon gave a soft moan.
"What was that?" Vila asked.
Blake swore silently and put his hand over Avon's mouth.
The group was quiet for a moment, listening, but then Tarrant said, "Well, Orac gave us directions to the rebel camp. I suppose we might as well go there."
"And do what?" Vila asked suspiciously.
"Sign on?"
Everyone but Vila seemed to find that fairly amusing. They all stood and moved out quickly. In a few moments, it was quiet again.
Blake turned to look at Avon, whose eyes slowly opened. He lifted his hand.
"Blake?"
"We're fine, Avon," he said softly. "I just stopped to rest for a moment. We'll be at the shuttle in a few minutes."
Avon nodded. "Thought perhaps...you'd changed your mind...left me."
Blake pushed sweaty hair back from Avon's forehead. "No, I haven't changed my mind. I won't change my mind. Go back to sleep."
Avon did.
Blake watched him for a time, then, with a sigh, he stood and resumed the journey.
This was the right thing to do. Maybe not for the Cause. Maybe not for Vila and the others. But for Avon, it was. For he himself, it was. They had to end the insanity that had become their lives.
Blake was going to get Avon to safety. Nothing else mattered.
* * *
He awoke aboard a shuttle, lying on a narrow couch on the flight deck. Blake was bent over the control console and for a moment, Avon just watched him. "Are we away?" he finally asked hoarsely.
"Hours away," Blake said, spinning the swivel chair to look at him. "How are you feeling?"
"Quite thirsty."
Blake got up and brought him a cup of water. "There seems to be no infection in your injury," he said. "The ship's computer is a far cry from Orac or the medical facilities on board the Liberator, but I deduce that you shall live."
Avon set the empty cup aside. "That would have to qualify as a mixed blessing, I should think."
Blake stared at him. "Not to me."
Avon sighed. He could feel the heavy sheath of a plasti-form cast around his body. His legs were still numb and the actual purpose of wrapping his spine in the cast was unclear, except that it probably made Blake feel better. As if he had done something to help. Beyond that, Avon felt only the vague distancing made possible by a heavy dose of drugs.
Blake sat beside him. "I have located a planet where I think we might be able to conceal ourselves for a time. Gryphon. Very much out of the way."
"Whatever you decide," Avon said wearily. "I am merely baggage."
"Stop it, Avon," Blake said sharply. "Self-pity is not a charming quality. Especially in you."
Avon felt the heat of anger flare up for a moment, then he merely nodded. "You are right, of course. I should at least attempt to be useful. If you can somehow contrive to get me to the computer, I will assign myself the task of monitoring communications."
"Are you feeling up to it?"
"Yes. I feel remarkably good, considering. Your nursing skills are apparently satisfactory."
Blake gave him a faint smile. Then his eyes darkened. "I can carry you to the computer. If that is all right?"
It was a moment before Avon replied. "I imagine it will have to be," he said. "There seems little choice, at least for the moment."
Still, Blake seemed to hesitate.
"I do appreciate your asking the question, however," Avon said.
Finally, Blake stood and lifted Avon into his arms, carrying him across the flight deck and settling him in the chair by the computer. "Comfortable?"
"As possible," Avon snapped. Without saying anything more, he turned his attention to the computer.
Blake sighed audibly and returned to the navigation console.
Avon touched a few sensors, setting the computer to scan the sector for reports. It would probably be a good idea to know if someone were chasing them. "This equipment is very nearly archaic," he complained after a time.
"It will get us to Gryphon," Blake replied, seemingly unconcerned.
"We hope," Avon muttered.
"Attention, attention," the computer chimed suddenly. "As per previous programming, I am receiving a priority report from the planet Gauda Prime."
Blake looked at Avon for a moment. "Give us the report," he ordered the computer.
"The rebel camp was attacked by Federation troops. Heavy fighting has occurred. Many casualties were suffered by the rebel forces."
"Arlen," Blake said. "I knew it."
Avon was frowning. "Computer, scan the casualty list for the following names: Soolin. Dayna Mellanby. Del Tarrant. Vila Restal."
There was a pause, during which time, Avon did not meet Blake's gaze.
The computer voice finally spoke again. "Mellanby and Soolin are listed amongst the dead. There is no mention of Tarrant or Restal."
Avon didn't say anything.
"Avon?" Blake finally said softly.
"You knew something was going to happen," he said. "You knew."
Blake shrugged. "I was expecting a raid, yes. There was a spy in my organization."
"And still you had me leave them there?"
"You yourself said there was no choice."
Avon shook his head. "But we might have tried something." He didn't really know why he was arguing the point. Perhaps it simply seemed better than doing nothing.
"Don't fool yourself." Blake stood and walked over to the computer. "In any event, my only priority was getting you away safely."
Avon raised his eyes and searched Blake's face intently. "Why?"
Blake sat down next to him. "Why what?"
"Why was your first priority my safety? After all, you were the one who left. You made no effort to contact me for two years."
"That is not quite true."
Avon didn't try to hide his anger. "You abandoned us. You abandoned me."
Blake gazed at him, chewing on a fingertip. "From my point of view, it was the other way around. You never came for me after Star One."
"I tried," Avon said heatedly. "But by the time we arrived at where Orac had said you were, there was no sign of you."
"By that time, the Federation had me."
"You were a prisoner?"
Blake nodded. "But you speak of abandonment." His gaze hardened abruptly. "What about Terminal?"
The name hit Avon like a physical blow. "Terminal?" he repeated.
Blake leaned closer to him and spoke in a low, tight voice. "I waited for you to come back for me. I knew you would. But you never did. You never came back, Avon. Can you have any idea what it felt like to lie in that room waiting for a friend who had promised to return?"
Avon swallowed hard, feeling dizzy. He reached out a hand and gripped Blake's arm. "She told me you were never there...that it was all a trick. Servalan told me you were dead," he said in a shattered voice. He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Gods, you were there all the time."
"I was there. Some kindly and guilt-ridden Federation doctor finally released me. That was when I set out on the path that led to Gauda Prime."
Avon looked at him again. "I didn't know."
Blake's gaze was bleak. "Perhaps now you understand why it took me so long to attempt another contact."
"I'm sorry," Avon said.
"As am I." Blake put a hand over Avon's where it still gripped his arm. "Neither one of us has come through this unscarred."
"I looked for you. I was always looking for you. None of the rest of it mattered."
Blake nodded. "I know that. Once I got over my bewilderment and sense of betrayal about Terminal, I understood that. What I said on the Liberator that day was true. I always trusted you. I still trust you."
Avon had nothing more to say. He pulled his hand away sharply and turned back to the computer. "So we go to Gryphon," he said in a tired voice. "And do what?"
"Hope for some peace," Blake replied.
"Have you given up, then, on your ambition of saving the galaxy?" Avon asked, keeping his eyes on the console.
He heard Blake's sigh. "I have discovered that much of the galaxy would as soon I not bother."
"That must have been a painful revelation for you," Avon said crisply.
"It very nearly killed me," Blake replied in a flat voice. "These last many weeks, I have simply been going through the motions. Which was why someone like Arlen was able to slip through." He was quiet for a moment. "I am sorry about your people."
"Well, so am I. But I did my best for them. I did what I could." His fingers moved quickly over the computer keyboard. "Possibly Tarrant and Vila survived. And they do have Orac." He glanced up at Blake finally.
Blake, in return, experimented with a smile. "Perhaps they will save the galaxy."
Avon snorted. "Rob it blind, more likely."
"Whilst we live as paupers on Gryphon."
"There is that." Avon looked away and then at Blake again. "Now that we are away safely, you needn't continue to feel responsible for me. I will be a burden."
Blake's face took on an old and familiar stubbornness. "You are my friend. There has been enough abandonment and betrayal in both our lives. Whatever happens, we will face it together."
Avon didn't try to stop the small smirk that crossed his face. "Perhaps you still carry around an excess of nobility, Blake, whether or not you lead a rebellion."
"Perhaps."
After a moment, Avon shrugged. "In any event, I have no real choice, do I? I can scarcely run."
Blake looked stricken. "I am not holding you captive, Avon. If you still want, as you once proclaimed, to be free of me, we can make some other arrangements."
There was a long silence.
"Avon?" Blake finally said.
Avon looked at him. "I have no wish to be free of you," he said quietly. "Those words were a lie, even as I spoke them."
Blake seemed to relax. "I suppose that happiness is too much to hope for," he said in a wistful voice.
"I suppose," Avon agreed sarcastically. "But I seriously doubt that fact will keep you from trying."
Blake only smiled.
Avon shook his head and turned his attention back to the computer. It was a fortunate circumstance that Blake was such a foolish optimist. He could harbor hope for both of them.
* * *
Blake was alone on the flight deck.
Oh, not really alone, because Avon was there. It was, after all, a small ship, and there were few other places to go. But he was asleep, stretched out on the narrow couch again. The drugs and weariness had finally caught up with him.
Blake was not tired. He was filled with boundless energy now that life seemed to have a purpose again. He watched Avon sleep for a time, then sat down at the computer. There was a new bit of programming he needed to feed into the memory.
"Computer," he said softly.
"Yes?"
"If you receive any incoming data from a computer named Orac, you are not to respond in any way. Do you understand?"
"If I receive incoming data from a computer bearing the designation Orac, I am not to respond," the computer voice said.
Another thought occurred to Blake. "And, computer—-"
"Sir?"
"Any outgoing messages sent to Orac are not to be transmitted. Understood?"
"Affirmative."
Blake nodded and got up. Now they would be safe.
He took a blanket from the storage cupboard and covered Avon, who stirred a little, but did not awaken. Blake smiled down at the sleeping man.
Then he turned around and returned to the navigation console.
the end
These cuts I have,
They need love to help them heal...
Too late to save myself from falling,
I took a chance and changed your way of life.
Don't let the sun go down on me.
John/Taupin
Sins of the Past, a sequel by Jennie McGrath.
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