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Blake landed with a thud and a gasp of pain, and stayed crumpled on the cold stone floor of the cell. All that he was really aware of was that he hurt, a lot, and when a hand touched his shoulder he couldn't help flinching away in anticipation of another blow. But it was Avon's voice that came to him, and the touch was gentle.
Turning over, very carefully, he looked up at Avon, saying, "Sorry. Travis was a trifle enthusiastic."
"Did you expect tender mercies?"
Blake wanted to smile, but his face didn't. "Give me a hand?" he said, holding out his own.
Obliging, Avon helped him up and over to the single bunk, easing him down on the hard mattress and pulling the blanket up to cover him. Avon wasn't making a fuss, Avon never did, but by now Blake could tell when the other man was concerned; there was that curiously wounded look in Avon's eyes now, as he frowned over Blake's bruised and bloodied face, trying to assess the extent of the injuries that weren't clearly visible.
"Is there anything I can do?"
Shaking his head, Blake tried to get comfortable--biting off a groan as even that slight movement jarred pain through his body. "I'll be all right," he said, and saw how much Avon believed him.
Avon went over to the wash basin and came back with a damp cloth, cold, but Blake didn't complain, appreciating the effort and trying not to wince too much as Avon bathed his battered face. It still hurt to smile, but he tried, touching Avon's hand and letting the smile linger in his eyes at least, until he couldn't fight off exhaustion any longer.
#
It was hard to tell how much time might have passed, the lighting was kept low at all times, but when Blake opened his eyes again he had a sense that he had been out for more than a few minutes. Shifting around and trying to sit up proved he'd been asleep long enough for everything to stiffen up, every muscle protesting as he moved around. Achieving an upright position at last, Blake rested against the wall, eyes closed, waiting for the aches to ease away.
A little surprised that Avon hadn't offered any help, Blake opened his eyes to confirm that he was alone in the cell. There was no point in worrying, wondering when Avon had been taken away and what Travis might be doing to him. No point, but Blake did it anyway, trying to convince himself that Avon could withstand a little roughing up, that Travis wouldn't get especially creative with Avon. After all, he was the one Travis hated, the real venom and brutality would be held in reserve for his sessions. But Avon might provoke Travis, not realizing how near the edge Travis was--how little it could take to trigger a killing rage in the man.
Anxious for Avon, concerned about what might have happened to the others, frustrated at being unable to do anything about it, Blake got off the bunk, needing to move, do something. Though painful at first, slowly pacing the cell began to loosen up his muscles, and he was feeling a little better by the time the sound of booted footsteps echoed down the hall.
Facing the barred door, Blake watched Travis come up, accompanied by a pair of mutoids who were supporting Avon between them. At least the tech was on his feet, and he didn't look too bad, Blake thought, moving well back from the door as it was opened and the mutoids shoved Avon through. Blake caught him as he stumbled, holding him as Travis stood there looking unwholesomely pleased with himself.
"Think about it, Avon," Travis said. "It will be the easiest thing you'll ever do."
"What are you talking about?" said Blake.
"Don't pay any attention to him, Blake," said Avon.
"Very good." There was an approving note in Travis' voice. "You may be even better at this than I thought." Disinclined for further gloating, Travis turned abruptly and left.
"Are you going to tell me what that was all about?" Blake said, guiding Avon over to the bunk and settling him down there. Gently cupping Avon's chin, he tilted his face a little more into the light. A few bruises, some swelling at the corner of his mouth where he'd been hit and bitten his lip; scratches along one cheek-- one of Travis' thugs was fond of wearing a pair of gauntlets decorated with sharp metal studs, all the better to beat the hell out of someone.
"Well?" he prompted, knowing Avon was conscious even though his eyes were closed.
"He wants the Liberator and thinks I'll give it to him," Avon finally said, flinching a little at the touch of the cold, damp cloth Blake had retrieved.
Obviously Travis had no idea who he was trying to deal with then, Blake thought as he washed Avon's face. "That has to mean Liberator is safe then."
"Evidently, and apparently Jenna's taken her out of orbit. I overheard Travis telling Servalan that he expects me to contact Jenna and order her to return."
"Is Servalan here?"
"No, at Space Command Headquarters."
Well, that was something--and knowing that Jenna and the others were safe and was even better news. "Did you overhear where Travis thinks the Liberator is?"
Avon shook his head. "I don't think Travis has a clue, only that the ship has moved off from Jacarnda."
Jenna probably wouldn't go too far though; Liberator was sure to be waiting somewhere in this system--all he and Avon had to do was get back their bracelets and contact the ship. Just at that moment, however, that was a somewhat daunting prospect. An opportunity would present itself, though; it had to.
"Get some rest," he urged Avon, drawing the blanket up and tucking him in.
Gazing at him through a veil of lashes, Avon said, "How can you be so sure I won't take Travis up on his offer?"
"I just am."
"What if you're wrong?"
"I won't be."
Avon shook his head, eyes falling completely shut as he dozed off.
#
Blake sat down on the floor, listening to the reassuring sound of Avon's steady breathing, trying not to think too much about what might happen next. Unfortunately there was a dearth of more cheerful topics to dwell on just now. Obviously this had all been a set-up, yet more proof that if something looked too good to be true, it probably was.
Jacarnda probably had harbored anti-Federation factions, once; it would've needed some such provocation to have wrought the destruction he and Avon had seen. The town square they had been instructed to teleport down to had been a muddy crater, and for miles around there was nothing but shattered, burnt-out ruins; scorched, blasted earth, pockmarked with more craters. A leaden sky stretched overhead, drizzling cold rain. Nothing moved; there hadn't even been the faintest buzz of an insect. Blake couldn't recall ever having seen a world that was more thoroughly dead. Even Sinofar's world had not been quite so desolate.
That alone should have been proof enough that the message from Avalon had been a ruse, that it came courtesy of the Federation. But Blake had ignored Avon's insistence that they get the hell out of there; he'd insisted on looking around, to make sure. Sure of what? he asked himself now. That Avalon wasn't hiding in some shambles of a building, waiting to jump out and shout surprise?
Infallible hindsight struck him as a particularly useless ability. So did kicking himself for not being possessed of precognition...for making a dumb mistake. No one was perfect, he told himself, and wondered if that would provide much consolation when he and Avon were executed.
Sighing, his breath misting in the cold, Blake got up, stretching carefully to avoid cramp, pacing around the cell once more. He and Avon had already been over every square inch, searching for surveillance devices (there hadn't been any), or for something in the way of an escape route. There wasn't anything like that, either. The floor, walls, and ceiling were solid; the only window was beyond reach, and too narrow anyway, even if there had been a way to remove the bars. The door was just as secure, iron bars with a hi-tech locking mechanism that Vila probably could have bypassed easily enough...but Vila wasn't here, and neither of them had his talents. For a while Avon had been going around with a lockpick concealed in a shoe heel, but apparently he had gotten into the habit of taking it for granted that Vila would be handy to take care of all that.
Which was a minor misstep, Blake reflected, compared to the way he'd messed up. Even after wasting time bumbling around in the rubble, there had still been a margin for error, precious time when he should have had the sense to order Cally to bring them up. A chance, there and gone in a little more than an instant, before Travis and his mutoids came around the corner of a mostly-demolished building, so quickly Avon never had a chance. And Blake had had no choice at all.
The mostly-demolished building turned out to be fairly intact on the lower level, providing this cell and Travis' interrogation room at least. If there was more to it, Blake hadn't seen it yet. Somehow he doubted Travis would be inclined to conduct much of a guided tour.
"Blake?"
Blinking, he looked over at the bunk. "How long have you been awake?"
"Long enough. Anticipating the worst isn't going to help, you know."
"I know."
"But you're going to do it anyway," Avon said, sitting up gingerly.
Blake shrugged. "At least that's something I'm good at," he said, coming over to sit beside him.
"Orac didn't have any current, authentic data on Jacarnda," Avon's tone was sharp, reprimanding, "but you're supposed to have been omniscient?"
Giving him a considering look, a rueful smile gracing his eyes and mouth, Blake said, "You're supposed to say I-told-you-so, and inform me I'm an idiot."
"Yes, well, that goes without saying."
Blake's smile expanded, and with it a good deal of the tension and anxiety ebbed away. There really wasn't a lot of sense in banging his head against this particular wall. "I'm the one Travis wants to kill; you might only be sent to another penal planet."
"How comforting."
This time Blake laughed, not loudly or long, but it effectively chased the last of his worries away. "Thank you."
Avon gave him a look that clearly questioned his sanity, but he didn't move away as Blake scooted closer, their shoulders touching. Nor did he resist as Blake reached down to clasp his hand. Instead he turned to look at the rebel's battered face, reaching with his free hand to trace gentle fingers along the contours, dark eyes intent as though memorizing every feature.
Bothered by the melancholy in those eyes, Blake said, "Don't look like that--we're not dead yet."
"Ever the optimist."
"And look what it's got me," Blake whispered, leaning to kiss Avon's mouth, then drawing the tech into his arms.
#
Waking as the door rattled open, Blake looked sleepily over at the mutoids waiting there. Time for round two, it appeared, and he began to disentangle from Avon; but the other man was awake too, giving the mutoids a disdainful look then throwing a questioning one at Blake.
The mutoid controller didn't keep them in suspense. "Both of you," she ordered, "on your feet."
Well, this should prove interesting, Blake thought, helping Avon up, biting back a groan as his own body protested with a dozen little twinges and spasms. Hesitating, knowing he had no right to make such a demand, he still said, "Avon, whatever Travis does we can't let him win, we can't give him what he wants. Do you understand?"
Unfathomable dark eyes met his. "Of course."
"Are you sure? You know what that could mean?"
"I fully comprehend the situation," Avon said, and that didn't really qualify as an agreement, but Blake couldn't demand anything more.
"Move," the mutoid controller said, emphasizing the command with a jerk of her weapon.
#
Blake tried, but couldn't hold back a cry as the neurostik sent agony racing through every nerve in his body. Gasping as Travis ordered the mutoid to stop, he looked up at Travis, noting the look of almost bored indifference. Summoning some last bit of bravado, he said, "If you've some appointment to keep, Travis, don't let me detain you."
"Very good, Blake," Travis said, coming a little closer. "I'm glad you've still got your wits. Why don't you use them to spare yourself?"
"You're going to kill me, no matter what."
"Perhaps. But a summary execution would at least offer some dignity."
"Hardly, at the price you're asking." Blake turned his head, looking over to the corner where Avon had sat all this time, silent. "Nothing is worth that price," he added, more to Avon than to Travis. It was hard to ask Avon to give up his life for a cause he professed not to believe in, it wasn't fair, but there was no other way. One life...two lives...couldn't be used to hold the universe hostage.
"You do realize," said Travis, "that no one will ever know what a noble martyr you were?"
"I'll know," Blake replied, looking at him.
"You're a fool."
"So I've been told, frequently. What's the matter, Travis, have you lost your nerve?"
Something flickered in that single blue eye, anger or disgust, Blake couldn't be sure, but Travis stepped back and raised his left hand, triggering the lazeron blaster--pressing the hand to Blake's temple. "Very well, Blake--you first, then Avon...but we'll take our time with him. Are you listening, Avon?"
Travis didn't look back at Avon, but Blake could see him just past Travis' shoulder: composed, inscrutable, not even shifting position though he must be uncomfortable after being strapped to that chair all this time. Even if the rest of the crew really didn't mean anything to him, even if every jibe at the cause and its followers had been true, Avon would know he had nothing to gain in dealing with Travis; that the instant he was of no more use to Travis, he would be just as dead. Certain of that, Blake stared back at Travis, daring him to go ahead and do it.
Instead of feeling the blast of the lazeron though, it was a sick surprise that hit him as Avon found his voice at last:
"Very well, Travis, you've made your point; I'll tell you everything you want to know."
"Avon, no, don't--"
"Shut him up," Avon requested, not looking at him. "Better still, get him out of here."
"Avon!" Blake cried as the mutoids hauled him out. "Avon!" The door was slammed shut and the mutoids dragged him off.
#
There was always a pleasing sense of satisfaction in being proved right, especially as other people generally regarded you as a poor judge of human nature. Of course when one of these natures was as pitifully predictable as Roj Blake, it could be reckoned the challenge was negligible.
The idiot would actually have sat there and let Travis blow his head off--blithely certain Avon would follow his example. And what really annoyed Avon was the realization that Blake would probably have been right. So if he was back in the cell having some bad moments right now, it served him right for being so damned presumptuous.
Now Avon watched as Travis moved around the room like a stalking cat, coming to a stop at the desk where he deliberately took up a casual pose, clearly meaning to enjoy every moment of this. "Well, Avon, shall I send for the crimos, or are you really going to cooperate?"
"What's in it for me?"
"Your life."
"And?"
"Not the Liberator.'
"Well, of course. But--half the contents of the treasure room?"
"Only half?"
Avon's smile was blinding. "I prefer to travel light."
Opening a desk drawer, Travis withdrew a teleport bracelet, activating it and holding it before Avon. "Prove it--call the Liberator."
Here goes..."Avon to Liberator, come in." No reply came back, however, nor after he'd tried several times more. "They must be out of range of the bracelets," he told Travis. "I'll need something with more power." And he looked over at the commboard on the desk.
Suspicion flared in Travis' eye. "If this is a trick--"
"You've got the gun. I may be a lot of things, Travis, but stupid isn't one of them. Do you honestly think I'd risk my life for Blake?"
There was an instant when Travis considered the idea, but it was too alien a concept for him to entertain for very long. Dismissing the incomprehensible, Travis released Avon from the chair, keeping the lazeron aimed at him as Avon crossed to the desk and seated himself there, reaching to the commboard, fussing with the switches.
"What are you doing?" Travis demanded, impatient and wary.
"It's an old system. I don't know if it's--" Avon ducked away as sparks exploded over the board, tumbling to the floor as though he'd received a massive electric shock.
Travis started forward, dodging another shower of sparks, reaching for Avon--who greeted Travis with a kick to the chest that sent Travis crashing back into the wall. Not giving the other man a chance to recover, Avon sprang up and stomped mercilessly on the bionic hand before Travis could bring it up and blast him. Howling, Travis came up on his knees, his right hand snagging Avon's legs and toppling him to the floor, pinning him there with a knee to the chest, groping a gun from a pocket of his battle suit. But Avon knocked it away, skittering across the floor. Travis lunged after it--Avon beat him to it, grabbed it up, aimed, and fired. A look of utter astonishment flashed over Travis' face, just before he crashed, falling half across Avon.
A little amazed himself, Avon waited a moment, then shoved Travis aside, sitting up and getting his breath back.
#
Hearing gunfire, Blake rushed to the cell door, gripping the bars so hard his knuckles whitened. "Avon!" How many shots had there been, five, six? "Travis!" He yanked at the bars as though he could physically wrench them apart--and then go and do the same to Travis.
When Avon came around the corner, out of breath and loaded with bracelets, guns, and the key to the cell, Blake could scarcely believe it for a moment. "You're alive!"
Avon threw him an impatient look. "Of course I'm alive," he said, as though there could have been no doubt as to the outcome of what he'd tried to pull. "Hurry up," he added, opening the door and shoving a bracelet and gunbelt at Blake.
Wasting no time in kitting up, Blake followed Avon back up the hall, full of questions about what had happened, although one answer became immediately clear as they rounded the corner and he spotted the mutoids crumpled in a heap. Any further details would have to wait, however, because even as he started to the door of the interrogation room, to see what had become of Travis, the three crimos came down the steps, immediately assessing the situation, and popping off shots at Blake and Avon in the same instant. Barely missing a beat, Blake and Avon executed a quick reverse, running down the hall, past the cell, dodging down another narrow corridor--Avon stumbling, almost falling as a shot from the crimos found its mark. Catching him, Blake felt a sticky warmth spreading along Avon's back. Keeping Avon sheltered, he got off a flurry of shots at the crimos, but didn't stop to see if he'd hit any of them. Without pausing, Blake shoved a door open and hauled Avon inside, leaving him for a moment, shoving a desk in front of the door as a barricade.
Even as Blake knelt beside Avon, trying to see how bad it was, footsteps pounded by in the hall, and he could hear one crimo at least beginning to open doors, pounding at those that wouldn't yield. It was only a matter of time before they came to this one and he doubted the old wood would put up much resistance.
"How bad is it?" he asked Avon, worried at his lack of color, but somewhat reassured that he seemed alert, looking back at him.
"I don't know," Avon admitted.
"Can you walk?"
Avon looked around the room. "To where?"
Good question, Blake thought, trying to ignore the pounding that had started at the door, searching for some way out of here. There wasn't much light and it was hard to make out any details, so Blake got up to pace around the room, running his hands along the walls, feeling cold stone and grime. Looking back at the door, he saw it was starting to splinter--and at the same moment he felt a section of the wall give a little. Pushing aside a tattered wall hanging, he found it concealed a door, and, shoving harder, he was able to wedge it open, then hurried over to scoop Avon up and bundle him through, flicking the wall hanging back in place before closing the door. Leaning back, he could hear the crimos bursting into the room, crashing around. Another flight of steps was there in front of them, and getting a better hold on Avon, Blake started down.
#
Too tired to go any further, Avon pulled free of Blake and sank down on the steps. He felt like he'd been descending the rough-hewn staircase forever, going ever deeper into some black abyss. He could hear Blake urging him to remain conscious, could feel the other man tugging at him, insisting he get to his feet, but Avon simply couldn't do it. Not right now. He thought he told Blake that he just needed to rest for a couple of minutes, just let him close his eyes for a second and then he could carry on. All he was really sure of though was that the beckoning darkness offered ease and comfort, and it was remarkably simple to surrender to it.
#
"Avon?" Blake felt for a pulse, taking some little reassurance at finding one. Holding the tech's unconscious body to him, he looked back at the way they had come, thinking they must have lost the crimos a long time ago. Probably the crimos hadn't even figured out where he and Avon had gone, certainly there been no signs of pursuit; no sounds but for their own breathing, the drip of water, the fail of a pebble.
Did these steps lead anywhere? he wondered. Who had made this, and why? Not that it mattered, probably, but it gave him something else to think about; better than wondering how badly Avon was hurt, or whether the crimos were lurking back there somewhere just waiting for him and Avon to come back. And where was the Liberator? Without much hope of success, he raised his teleport bracelet, trying to make contact with the ship--not really surprised when nothing but static came back to him. Even if Liberator was out there, waiting, he and Avon were probably too far underground. They would have to get back to the surface...but it was hard to contemplate climbing those steps; he really didn't think Avon could make it.
Sighing, Blake shifted around, resting his back against the stony wall and gathering Avon closer, letting his head rest against Avon's, his eyelids drooping as exhaustion stole over him.
#
"Shh, be careful, Leesah," the old man cautioned.
Leesah paid him no heed, however. Her curiosity drew her towards the men sprawled there on the steps, tangled together. "They need help, Zeda."
"They look dead."
But Leesah had reached out to touch them, and shook her head. "They're warm." In fact the dark-haired one was hot. She smoothed a hand over his hair, thinking he was quite beautiful. Now the curly-haired one...yes, there was beauty there as well. And his eyes were open, gazing back at her with faint surprise.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"I'm called Leesah; that's Zeda," she pointed at her companion. "And you?"
"Blake." He looked at the man in his arms, laced the fingers of one large hand through the silky hair, cradling the head to him as though he could clasp the man a little closer. "This is Avon. He's hurt, he needs help."
"He has it," Leesah said, looking back at Zeda, and telling him, "You know it's right; come here."
The old man wasn't happy about it, but he came forward, helping Blake to his feet, steadying him as Leesah examined Avon again. "Yes," she said, "this one will need Kestel's help--and we'd better be quick about it." Between them, she and Zeda lifted Avon, carrying him down the last few steps and turning down a passage, Blake keeping very close, never letting Avon out of his sight.
Leesah had a feeling these two were going to be very interesting additions to the community.
#
Looking up as Leesah came in with a tray, Blake smiled at her, saying, "His fever's down; Kestel thinks he might wake up today."
"He will, you'll see." Leesah put the tray down, poured tea into a pair of large mugs and handed one to Blake, offering a plate of sandwiches as well. "Kestel knows what he's doing. I suppose his methods seem primitive to you, but they do work."
He couldn't deny that. When they had some to these chambers three days ago, Avon had been critical, suffering from shock and blood loss, and an infection already starting. Blake's spirits had not risen when the healer Kestal had come, with nothing to treat Avon but herbal brews and poultices; Avon needed the hi-tech wonders of the Liberator, not something out of the Dark Ages. Facts were facts, though, and it really did look like those potions had done their job, and Avon would make a complete recovery.
"Have the scouts come back yet?" he asked Leesah.
She sipped her tea, shook her head. "It shouldn't be too much longer."
Yesterday two of the Reffees had set out on a mission to go Topside and scout around, see if the crimos and/or Travis were still around, if there were any signs of a spaceship. Blake was hoping they would report that everyone had cleared out; he wanted to go up and try contacting Liberator again as soon as possible. Although, now that Avon was so much improved there wasn't quite such a sense of urgency, and Blake had to admit he found this community fascinating--if completely unexpected.
Going by the desolation he'd seen Topside (the Reffees name for the surface) Blake would have sworn Jacarnda supported no life at all. From what Leesah and others had said, he gathered this Reffee (from refugee, he supposed) community had been in existence for something like seventy years, maybe a little more. Zeda, who had to be in his eighties, had some memories of living Topside when he was a boy, of what to him had been the adventure of taking shelter down here during the war; Leesah though, who couldn't be more than thirty, only knew Topside as a place of death and desolation--she'd been born down here. She'd gotten Blake a copy of the history Zeda was keeping, and if the old man's memory was reliable it looked like Jacarnda had indeed been in conflict with the Federation. That was quite an eye-opener for Blake, too, as he'd always believed the corruption of the Federation was of fairly recent origin. If Zeda had it right though, the malignancy he was battling today had been growing for quite a long time, unsuspected and unchecked until it had simply become too gross to ignore any longer.
What Zeda had recorded certainly fit what Blake knew of the Federation's approach to foreign policy: submit or be destroyed. Jacarnda had been colonized by Earthers in the Federation's first incarnation, and had proved to be quite self-sufficiently able to look out for itself when the Wars had begun and contact had been lost with Earth. When Federation representatives had come out some seventy to eighty years ago, the Jacarndans had refused to buy into the idea that their allegiance was owed to the homeworld. It had been perfectly clear to the Jacarndans that what the Federation was really embarked upon was a mission of reconquest and exploitation, and so the Jacarndans had made their preparations, chief among them being beginning construction of this underground community. Zeda believed there were similar communities in other parts of the world, but he couldn't swear to it. He'd thought Blake and Avon might have been visitors from another community, but neither he nor any of the other Reffees had been surprised to learn the two of them had come down from a spaceship. As Leesah had said, just because they were in the dark down here didn't mean they were dim.
She was thumbing through Zeda's manuscript now, reading bits and pieces. "It seems like just a story sometimes. I've seen Topside a few times, but it's always hard to believe anyone ever lived there--that there was a time when it wasn't a wasteland. You know?"
"I know. It's like that on Earth. We live Topside now, but we're confined to domes--have been for so long there's no one left who remembers what it was like before. We have books, vidtapes," Blake shrugged, "but who knows how much of it's true?"
"Have you been outside the domes?"
"Oh, yes," he said, smiling.
Green eyes narrowed, Leesah said, "What's funny?"
"It's a minor infraction for a citizen to go outside the domes, punishable by fines, or a term of imprisonment for repeat offenders."
"And you were a repeat offender?" Leesah asked, smiling.
"The authorities found me offensive, yes, though not precisely for that."
"What, then?"
Giving her a considering look, given how much Leesah had done for them, Blake thought she had a right to know just who it was she'd given help to. Besides, he couldn't help thinking that, while Travis had lured them to Jacarnda with a false promise of allies, the joke might well end up on Travis. The Jacarndans had no reason to love the Federation; they might have reason to get behind the anti-Federation resistance.
"I'm a political criminal," he told Leesah. "Avon and I are part of a movement to overthrow the Federation." Avon might object to that inclusion, but what Avon didn't know wouldn't hurt him.
Tossing back her long copper ringlets, Leesah leaned forward, looking interested.
#
"You're spending a lot of time with Blake," Zeda said as Leesah came out of the chambers that had been alloted to their visitors.
"I like him. He's telling me about what life is like on other worlds--it's intriguing. Did you know he and Avon are revolutionaries?"
"No. Who are they revolting against?"
"The Federation."
Scratching at his white whiskers, Zeda said, "Is that so? Why did he tell you?"
"I asked," Leesah said, then smiled. "And I think there may have been an ulterior motive or two."
Returning the smile, Zeda nodded. "So he's looking for recruits, is he?"
"One could certainly draw such an inference."
"I think we should convene a meeting then, under the circumstances. Do you agree?"
"I do. The sooner the better."
#
With the chamber lit only by the fireplace, Blake got into bed beside Avon, turning on his side, raised up on an elbow as he watched the other man sleeping. It was a perfectly healthy, healing sleep...so Kestal kept assuring him, but Blake couldn't keep a twinge of worry from creeping back. Leaning closer, he brushed his lips across a stiff too-warm cheek, whispering, "I love you," and gathering Avon in his arms.
#
Blinking his eyes open, Avon looked around the room, curious about where he was and what had been going on, but content to let the data filter in gradually. He felt considerably better than the last time he remembered being conscious. The bed was warm and comfortable, and as he turned over and encountered the even more familiar warmth of Blake, he definitely felt a lot better. Moving closer, Avon slid his arm across Blake's chest, nestling his head on a broad shoulder.
Blake shifted a little, drawing him closer, stroking his hair. "I wish you'd wake up."
"I am awake," Avon told him, and immediately found himself flat on his back, looking up at Blake, who was sitting up and staring back at him in wide-eyed wonder.
"You're all right...."
"Apparently."
But vocal reassurance wasn't enough for Blake. He had to touch; Avon had no objection, although at the moment the caresses were comforting rather than arousing. Reaching up to draw Blake back down beside him, brushing his head against Blake's cheek, he resumed the earlier cosy position.
"How about telling me what's been going on?" he suggested thinking this was one of the oddest places he'd ever been. It looked almost like some sort of cave, but with a fireplace and furnishings. As Blake rolled out the story, Avon couldn't help wondering if the rebel'd had a touch of fever too. It hardly sounded credible that Jacarnda could still be inhabited, but this room was certainly no naturally formed feature.
As Blake was finishing up, a knock came at the door and an impudent redhead barged on in, carrying a tray of food which she set down on a table. Coming to stand beside the bed, she smiled at Blake. "See? All that worrying, and he's perfectly fine." Then she had the nerve to reach over and lay her hand against Avon's forehead, nodding to herself, unfazed by the glare he lanced her with. "Kestal was sure he'd be awake this morning," she went on. "He's to stay in bed though."
Her smile was mischievous now, showing a dimple in her cheek. "It doesn't look like that's going to be a problem though, does it?" she said, then breezed back out.
"That was Leesah," Blake said.
"She didn't seem surprised."
"I get the feeling very little surprises that young lady. And," Blake dropped a kiss on his forehead, "I may not have been terribly discreet about my feelings." Then he sat up and swung his legs off the bed, examining the dishes Leesah had brought. "Are you hungry?"
"A little."
"Good." Blake picked up a triangle of toast and stuffed it in Avon's mouth.
#
"So there was no sign of the crimos or Travis?"
"Not a thing. Only the mutoids." Blake traced a finger down Avon's spine, then up again, not quite touching the faint, pinkish scar that was all that remained to show Avon had been wounded. "You're sure you killed him?"
"I didn't actually stop to check his vital signs, but yes, I was sure."
"Umm...I thought that once, and I was wrong."
"Still..."
"Still?"
"The important thing is, Travis and his thugs are gone."
"No." Blake leaned down to kiss the back of Avon's neck. "The important thing is you're all right."
"I can agree to that," Avon said, and Blake heard a smile in his voice. With his head resting on his folded arms, Avon stretched out and relaxed under Blake's slow massage; it had been one of Blake's fondest discoveries, that Avon was so responsive to touch--he always expected him to start purring and kneading the pillow during these purely tactile sessions. "Still nothing from the Liberator though?"
"No." Blake placed another kiss on Avon's neck, and another, nibbling his way to a shoulder. "I went Topside while you were napping and tried to contact them, but couldn't get an answer.
"And you're not frantic with worry about that?"
"Not frantic, no. I think Jenna and Cally will have been able to cope with whatever arose." Which didn't mean he wasn't worried, of course, only that he wasn't letting it get to him too much...not just yet.
"You're probably right," Avon said. "And speaking of things arising...." He rolled over on his back, reaching for Blake--who let himself be pulled down and his mouth claimed in a kiss that started soft and teasing, growing more urgent, lips clinging, tongues darting...hands busy elsewhere.
Yes, Blake thought Avon's recovery could be pronounced complete, and he was more than willing to follow where Avon was inclined to lead.
#
Fingering the homespun cloth, Avon viewed the costume he'd been presented with ill-concealed disdain. He realized the Reffees dressed more for warmth than style, and their resources were limited, and he really ought to feel some gratitude that Leesah had found something to take the place of his own tattered garments. But...did everything have to be in shades of brown and green? The anachronistic clothing suited Blake, of course; it wasn't all that different from what he usually ran around in, as a matter of fact. Avon wanted his black leather back though, to make a statement to these pesky Reffees: Keep Away--I Bite.
Leesah and the old man, Zeda, had come calling late last night, with news that the community was unanimously in favor of supporting the anti-Federation movement--and where did they sign up? Naturally that had Blake basking in the glow of another victory. And never mind that it was looking, more and more, as if they were going to be stuck here for the rest of their lives. Oh no, mustn't let reality rear its ugly head.
Done with lacing the shirt, Avon sat down on the bed to pull on the boots, wondering how much longer Blake would cling to the hope of Liberator showing up. Near as they could reckon it, they had been on Jacarnda for at least nine days now. If Liberator was coming back for them, surely she would have done so by now. Avon didn't doubt that Jenna and Cally could have coped with most situations that might have come about, but if Servalan had dispatched a flotilla on Travis' information, to capture Liberator once and for all, that could have been too much for anyone to combat. The Liberator was a technical marvel, but she was hardly invulnerable.
"That's not too bad," Blake said, and Avon gave him a blank look for a second, until he realized Blake was referring to the clothes.
"Yes, well, you don't have an image to consider."
Grinning, Blake said, "You could bolt yourself into a suit of armor for all the good it would do you; Leesah and the others would never buy your act."
Act indeed! "If that red-haired pest--"
"Her name is Leesah."
"--barges in on us again like she did last night, I'll show her just how warm and lovable I am."
Blake gave him a slow, thoughtful look, finally shaking his head. "No, I shouldn't, if I were you--I think she could take you."
Refusing to dignify that aspersion with a reply, Avon chose to change the subject. "When are you going to face facts, Blake?"
Curious, Blake replied, "What facts would those be, Avon?"
"That the Liberator isn't coming back for us. That the others are either dead or in Federation custody."
"Pessimistic supposition is hardly fact."
"Neither is wishful thinking."
"It's called hope, Avon--don't insist I give that up. That's one thing I will deny you."
Looking into Blake's face, Avon saw the other man wasn't quite as unacquainted with reality as he had believed--Blake simply wasn't prepared to believe the worst until it became truly inevitable. Still, "If they don't come back--"
"Then we'll stay here. We could be worse places."
Avon was tempted to challenge him to name three, but he could see this wasn't a subject Blake was ready to address. Not just yet...later, when there was no other choice.
Knowing nothing would come of forcing the issue now, Avon switched gears again. "What is on your agenda then?"
Blake acknowledged the concession with a smile and a wryly quirked eyebrow, saying, "I thought we might see if there's some way to repay these people for their help."
Of course. And that would also allow them to become more familiar with this society, start making a niche for themselves. It appeared even Blake's optimism was not infinite.
Avon couldn't have said why he found that a little disappointing.
#
...2 months later...
Curious how the domes on Earth had always felt so confining, Blake was thinking, while this Reffee community was so much freer. He was just as physically restricted here on Jacarnda, but there was none of that spiritual oppression he had found at every turn on Earth. Hadn't someone once said that prisons were made of more than stone walls and iron bars, that sensing liberation in one's soul and mind was what really counted?
After the initial novelty of having visitors had worn off, the Reffees had even granted that privacy Avon valued so much. Even Leesah had finally got the hang of not barging in at awkward moments, although her fascination with them hadn't wavered. Her curiosity about other places and people was downright insatiable in fact, and Blake thought she had quizzed him on just about every conceivable subject--and pestered Avon as well, no doubt, though she may have found the tech a less amiable storyteller. Blake didn't mind answering her questions, but sometimes it did make the memories too sharp, especially when she wanted to know about what life had been like on the Liberator; when she asked what the others had been like.
When that happened, when the past was too much with him, he sought the peaceful, soothing seclusion of this garden. Green plants and bright flowers, trees, set among a stone amphitheater, with mossy boulders and a crystal clear pool fed by a waterfall, all of it open to the sky. According to Zeda, the garden had been an afterthought, work had begun on it about twenty years after the Reffees had come down here, when community leaders had discerned a dangerous claustrophobia in some of the people. Once it had been determined that the atmosphere Topside wasn't poisonous, as had been feared, the project had gone ahead and the result provided much relief.
Blake could understand that, even though it could increase his melancholy, coming here at night. Like now, when the garden was bathed in moonlight and a vista of stars arrayed before him. How could he look upon that, and not wonder what had happened?
What had become of Jenna...Cally...Vila...Gan? Even now he clung to a vestige of hope that they were alive and well, that it had been something non-catastrophic that had prevented their return. Avon's response to that was to remark that he didn't see where there was much comfort to be found in the idea of deliberate abandonment, but Blake didn't believe that's what had happened either. Nor did he think Avon really thought that; he'd simply consigned it to the stack of things he could do nothing about, so why worry about it?
Being pragmatically pessimistic might have its advantages, but somehow Blake doubted he had what it took to bring it off. Even aside from being concerned about the fate of the others, Blake couldn't stop fretting at the idea that the Federation was behind their failure to return, that the Liberator...and Orac, and Zen...were in the hands of Servalan (and Travis, if somehow Avon was wrong, and that maniac was still alive). Thinking of tools like that in the possession of the Federation, especially someone as lacking in conscience as the Supreme Commander had shown herself to be, did not go a long ways to letting his mind be at ease. If she would conspire to obtain Orac, and IMIPAK, to advance her own agenda, what might she do with Liberator at her disposal?
Avon pretended to utter indifference--with or without Liberator things would only go from bad to worse anyway. In the last few weeks the tech had put on a good show of being fascinated in examining the Reffee community, figuring out how one thing and another worked, and it was possible, Blake supposed, that Avon really did enjoy puttering around like that. For himself it could be diverting, but it wasn't enough.
Sometimes he worried, too, that his frustration came more from his ego than anything else--usually after Avon had thrown a couple of well-aimed jibes his way. He didn't want to believe that was the case. There were others out there, just as appalled at the Federation's tyranny of the body, mind, and spirit...just as dedicated, just as able. His presence or absence couldn't really be any kind of deciding factor; no one was indispensable.
That didn't provide much in the way of comfort though.
A hand touched his arm and he turned to find Leesah there, concern in her eyes. "You looked like you were a million miles away."
His smile was wry, wistful. "Part of me wants to be."
"You can't help everyone," she said, linking her arm with his and following his gaze to the starscape. "Would you rather be there, than here?"
"The truth? Yes, I'd like to be there...knowing Jacarnda was here to come back to." And she was right: he couldn't help everyone--but he couldn't stop wanting to try.
Nodding, she rested her head against his shoulder while she watched the stars. "I'd like that too. To see the places you've told me about, and then come home when I'd had enough. Would I fit in out there?"
"No. You wouldn't fit in--you'd be unique and unexpected."
"Is that good?"
"It's the best anyone can be."
Laughing, she hugged him close. "Will you be terribly unhappy if you can never leave?"
"No, not unhappy at all," he told her, returning her embrace--only discontented, which might be a good deal worse.
#
Blake found Avon in their room, sitting at the table, absorbed in another of Zeda's manuscripts, not even looking around as Blake came in.
Coming up behind him, the rebel peeked over his shoulder to see what was so fascinating, but remained unenlightened as it looked to be only the schematic of another Reffee gadget. "What's that?"
"A computer," said Avon, not looking up.
"What do you mean?" Blake moved around to the other chair, to see Avon's face. He had to be joking, or something.
"Just that. Zeda dug it out from somewhere and asked me to look at it. He thinks it must have broken down at some point, and there was no one around who knew how to fix it."
"Do you know how to fix it?"
Avon gave him a pained look by way of reply, as if to demand where he got off asking such an idiotic question.
"All right, of course you can fix it," Blake said, leaning forward and taking the diagram from Avon. "But what would it mean?" He didn't want to get his hopes up, but....
"It means, Blake, that we could finally contact someone and get off this planet."
"But it wouldn't have tarriel cells...that could be a problem."
"That's an odd thing, you know: it does."
"How could that be? If Ensor had even been born yet when this community was started, he certainly didn't invent the tarriel cell as an infant prodigy."
Avon laughed. "Yes, that does defy belief. I don't have an explanation really--maybe Ensor dropped by here, before or during his forty years' exile; maybe someone else came and left a computer behind." He shrugged. "In eighty years we can't be the first to have stumbled across this place."
"No one's said anything about that."
"We haven't asked either, have we?"
That was true enough, and it didn't really matter how the Reffees had come by a computer equipped with tarriel cells. "So how long have you known about this?"
"Oh...a couple of days."
"A couple of...And you just let me go on worrying?"
"Well," Avon met Blake's glower with a complete lack of contrition, "all you had to do was ask," he reminded him. "Besides, I wasn't sure you'd want to know."
"I want to know what happened--so do you."
"If only to say I-told-you-so."
"They're alive, Avon, I know they are."
Shaking his head, Avon said, "You don't know any such thing, Blake. You're hoping again." And curiously, he smiled, as though that pleased him.
#
When the news came that Blake and Avon had finally made contact with some associates, and had made arrangements to get transport off Jacarnda, it didn't take long for it to spread through the community. Leesah was not caught unaware--although the actual, final decision was still difficult. This was the first time in her life there had been some real possibilities for her, but it meant being brave enough to take the risk, to accept that once she chose this path there was no certainty of where it would take her.
Still, if someone didn't take that first step, who knew when another chance might come?
There was certainly safety in familiarity, and until Blake and Avon had come, Leesah hadn't been aware of a restlessness...a feeling of being discontented with life as she knew it. Since they had come to Jacarnda though, it was all she thought of, and she believed their departure would only make those feelings more intense.
In the end, that made the decision quite easy really.
#
Topside was as dismal as Blake remembered, but that realization was tempered by the knowledge that the uninviting exterior served as protective camouflage for the community below. The Jacarndans at least would be safe; and if it ever became necessary--or even just desirable--he and Avon would be able to come back anytime.
For the moment, however, Blake had to admit the sight of the sleek ship parked there on the plain was a welcome sight. The Liberator would have been more pleasing to the eye, but that wasn't to be, not just yet, anyway. Avalon had only been able to pass along some rumors, conflicting, not terribly reassuring, but at the same time there was no confirmation that the ship had been taken by the Federation, that any of the crew were in custody. That was the bright side, and he meant to stay focused on that.
Watching as the boarding ramp extended and the hatch slid back, Blake looked at his companions, reading a desire to hurry up and get on with it in Avon's eyes; regret in Zeda's that they were going, but confidence that someday they would be back; and anxious anticipation in Leesah's. "You are sure about this?" he asked her again, still not certain this was a good idea--but unable to come up with sufficient grounds to refuse her request.
"I'm sure. I want to go."
"It won't all be wonderful."
"No, but it will be interesting."
Blake shook his head, shared a look with Avon--not surprised at the utter exasperation there. "She could be handy."
"She could be a complete menace." Avon looked at her now. "If you get in the way--"
"I won't," she said, looking back at him defiantly. "We need to know what we've agreed to get involved in--I want to see first hand."
Mocking humor flickered in Avon's eyes now. "Blake's convictions aren't enough for you?"
"Blake would be the last person to insist everyone conform to his point of view and follow him blindly."
Avon's expression was incredulous now. "You have a great deal to learn about your Fearless Leader then."
Blake would have kicked him, but it wouldn't have done any good. The pilot was coming over to them now anyway. "Come on, you two, let's see what Avalon's arranged for us." She'd said this fellow was enthusiastic, ready to pitch in with anything that struck his fancy, and tracking down Liberator might well strike him as quite an adventure.
At first sight he wasn't that impressive: tall, gawky, too young for words, shoving a tangle of dark curls out of his blue eyes as he stepped forward and held out his hand. "How do you do? I'm Del Tarrant. Avalon sent me."
Accepting the hand, finding the grip firm, Blake said, "Thanks for coming. I'm Roj Blake, this is Kerr Avon, and Leesah. We need to infiltrate the Guild--Avalon said you might be of some help there."
"I know how they operate, yes. Come on, you can tell me all the details when we're away. This place is spooky."
Out here, maybe, but it could be wonderful, too. Blake had a feeling he hadn't seen the last of Jacarnda.
"You ready?" he asked of Avon and Leesah.
"We're ready," Avon answered for both of them.
"Then let's go." Turning to Zeda, he was only a little surprised by the older man's embrace, and returned it easily. "We will take care of Leesah, I promise."
Zeda nodded, embracing her as well, wiping the tears from her face. "This is what you wanted. Always remember that."
"I will. I--" Her voice caught, she sniffed, hugged his neck again. "I will miss you all."
"We'll be fine," Zeda assured her, patting her back, giving her a push forwards, to the waiting ship. He gave Avon a considering look, then held out a hand. "Thank you for all you've done."
Disconcerted, Avon said, "I only did it to get back to civilization."
"Of course you did," Zeda said, perfectly deadpan. "Go on then," he urged, motioning them towards Del Tarrant and his ship. "Other people need you now."
That was true enough, and the awkwardness of saying good-bye had to end sometime. At the hatch, Blake and Leesah paused one more time to turn back and wave to Zeda, before following Avon and Tarrant into the ship.
"Do you want to go to Avalon first," Tarrant said, "or shall I set a course for Araquillon?"
"What's Araquillon?" Leesah asked.
"A baseworld for the Guild," Avon told her. He looked at Blake. "If that is who has the Liberator, that could be a good place to start looking."
"Then by all means," Blake said to Tarrant, "take us to Araquillon." And, Fate willing, the trip would pay off. If not...Well, he'd think about that when he had to.
"Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing, end them?"
--HAMLET, William Shakespeare
the end
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