(C) 1999 Misha

Fandom: Blake 7

Note: It was originally published in Southern Seven #11

Airlock Sealed
by Misha

Slave unsealed the door. Vila walked onto the flight deck of Scorpio and looked around.

"So, this is it?"

"Yes, Master."

"I've never been on a spaceship before." He chewed his lip. "But I've been in the Alpha domes, you know. Not just your ordinary Delta. I'm a jack of all trades, really." He paused. "And the adjustment centers are usually in the Alpha domes. The top ones, at least." Another pause. "I've been to all the ones they usually send Deltas to. And some of the others." This time he looked at Slave, almost pleadingly, before giving up and speaking again. "I was figuring in a few more years I'd have run the rounds of every top brain man in the Federation. One for the record books, eh? I'm a celebrity."

Slave still made no response. Vila began to pace the room, examining the furniture.

"The chairs, the consoles -- all bare metalloy, I see. Well, I guess you get used to it in time."

"I must apologize, Master, but I am unable to answer that question."

"Are all the other rooms like this one?"

"The remainder of the ship is for cargo, which does not require metalloy chairs."

"I suppose so. Doesn't matter. To tell the truth, I've spent a lot of time living with furniture I didn't like."

Vila began to laugh. Then, abruptly, his face became grim.

"So, um, where are the, uh ..."

"Pardon, Master?"

"Well, the, ... whatever they've got planned. The torture machines."

"Ah, you are making a joke, Master. Very droll, Master."

Vila's mouth tightened.

"I'm not making a joke! Believe me, I know all about making jokes, and I wasn't making a joke."

Vila began to walk around the flight deck. His attention was finally drawn to the one object in the room which wasn't made of the polished metal.

"What do you call this, then?"

"That is Orac, Master."

"Orac." He watched colored lights blink inside the Plexiglas box. "Well, I suppose there will be times when I stare my eyes out at it."

Slave made no response. Soon Vila filled the silence.

"All right, I'm a man who knows when to put his cards on the table. Shall I tell you what it feels like? A man's drowning, choking, sinking by inches, till only his eyes are just above water. And what does he see? That Plexiglas atrocity. It's like something out of a nightmare. That's the idea, isn't it? ... No, I suppose you can't give me an answer. But I've a good notion of what's coming to me, so don't you boast you've caught me off guard. I'm facing the situation, facing it."

Vila started to pace. He walked over to what should have been a sleeping bay and patted the surface. It was hard and metallic, like the rest of the room.

"And no bed, either. No one sleeps, I suppose?"

"You are correct, as always, Master."

"Of course. Why sleep? A sort of drowsiness steals over you, tickles you behind the ears, and you feel your eyes closing -- but why sleep? You lie back in your seat and -- in a flash, sleep flies away. Spatials and spatials away. So you rub your eyes, get up, and it starts all over again."

"You are a romantic, Master, if I may say so."

"Oh, keep quiet, please! I won't make a scene, I won't feel sorry for myself, I'll face the situation, just like I said. Face it fairly and squarely. I won't have it springing at me from behind, before I've time to size it up. And you call that being "romantic"! So you don't need rest. Why bother to sleep if you're not sleepy? Stands to reason, doesn't it? I'll never sleep again. Never even close my eyes. Never even have a drink."

Vila lowered his head and began walking slowly across the room, as if measuring its breadth in footsteps. Then he looked up at Slave again.

"Try to understand. I'm used to being teased, it's second nature to me. And I'm used to teasing myself. Plaguing myself, if you prefer; I don't tease nicely. But I can't go on doing that without a break. Down there I had my nights. I slept. I always had good nights. If I didn't have a good night I'd have some soma, and then I'd have a good night. To make up for the days, sort of. And happy little dreams. There was a green field. Just an ordinary field. I used to stroll in it."

Vila paused, but Slave said nothing. Again, Vila broke the silence.

"Is it daytime now?"

"The lights are on, Master."

"All right, I know, it's ship's daytime. And outside?"

"Outside, Master?"

"Damn it, you know what I mean. Past that wall."

"There's a passage."

"And at the end of the passage?"

"Cargo bays, and more passages, and stairs."

"And past them?"

"That's all."

Vila shrugged and made a sour face. "I should have guessed as much. Where's the light switch?"

"There isn't any."

"What? Can't I turn out the light?"

"I am afraid not, Master. Not unless the power is cut, but I don't remember that ever happening here. My humblest apologies."

"So I have to live with my eyes open all the time?"

"To live, Master?"

"Don't make jokes, you bucket of bolts. With my eyes open. Forever. Always broad daylight in my eyes. And in my head."

Vila considered for a moment. "Suppose I took Orac and used it to smash the light. Wouldn't it go out?"

"I'm afraid Orac can't be moved, Master."

Vila walked over to Orac and tried to lift it, unsuccessfully. Finally he gave up and stood, silently, hunched over the box, its lights still blinking on and off. Then Slave spoke.

"Very well, Master, if you don't need me any more, I'll be turning myself off now."

Vila turned to face the machine. "What? You're leaving me alone?" Slave made no answer. "Wait!"

Vila rushed to the console and ran his eyes over it, then pointed to a button. "That's your 'on' switch, isn't it?"

"Yes, Master."

"And if I push it, you'll come back."

"That's correct, Master, but I must humbly apologize for my inadequate wiring, Master. I'm afraid it doesn't always work. I shouldn't count on it too much if I were you."

Slave turned itself off. Vila walked over to Orac and stroked it reflectively. There was no chair, so he sat down next to it on the table, but in a moment he began to fidget. He stood and went back to the console. For a while he just stared at the button, but finally he tried pressing it.

Nothing happened. He tried a few more times.

"Slave? Please turn on, Slave. Slave!"

Vila rushed to the door and fiddled with it for a few moments. He knew he couldn't open it.

"Slave? Please come back."

Vila slumped into the pilot's seat. At that moment the door opened and Avon entered. Slave turned on.

"Did you call, Master?"

Vila was about to answer "yes," until he saw Avon. "Uh, no."

"This is your room, Master." Avon gave no reply -- not a word, not a gesture, not a movement of his face.

Slave continued. "If there's any information you require ...?" Avon still gave no response. "I'll be turning myself off then, Master."

Slave turned itself off. Vila avoided looking at Avon, who walked about, inspecting the room. Abruptly Avon turned to face Vila.

"Where are Del and Anna?"

Vila said nothing.

"Didn't you hear me? I asked you about Del and Anna Grant. Where are they?"

"I have no idea."

Avon's face remained frozen in anger for a moment, then lit into a smile. He turned and took a few steps, rubbing his hands together slowly.

"Ah. That's the way it works, is it? Torture by separation. Well, as far as I'm concerned, you won't get anywhere. Del was a tiresome fool, and I won't miss him in the least. And Anna ... Anna got what she deserved."

Vila looked up and spoke to him. "I beg your pardon. Who do you suppose I am?"

Avon turned to face him. The smile never left his face. "You? Why, the torturer, of course."

Vila started, then burst out laughing. "That's a good one! Me the torturer! So you came in, had a look at me, and thought I was -- er -- one of the staff. Of course, it's that stupid computer's fault; he should have introduced us. I'm Vila Restal, thief, juggler, and entertainer extraordinaire. And as we're both in the same boat -- ship, that is -- might I ask you, ...?"

Avon's smile vanished. "No, you may not."

Vila's face darkened. "Right. Well, now that we've broken the ice, do you really think I look like a torturer? How do you recognize torturers when you see them?"

Avon had turned away from him and started pacing the room. Vila was caught by surprise when Avon answered him.

"They look frightened."

After a moment of silence, Vila answered.

"Frightened! That's ridiculous! Who should they be frightened of? Their victims?"

Avon answered slowly, his voice dropping, almost as if he was talking only to himself. "Laugh away, but I know what I'm talking about."

"Anyway, I can assure you I'm not frightened. Not that I take my position lightly; I understand it all too well. But I'm not afraid."

Avon shrugged. "That's your affair."

They both became silent. This time it was Avon who broke the silence. "Must you be here all the time, or do you take a stroll outside, now and then?"

"The door's locked."

Avon half smiled. "Ah. I see. That's too bad."

"I can quite understand that it bores you having me here. And I, too -- well, quite frankly, I'd rather be alone. Nothing personal, you understand. I want to think things out, you know; to set my life in order, and a person does that better by himself. But I'm sure we'll manage to pull along together somehow. I'm no talker, I don't move much; in fact I'm a peaceful sort of fellow. Only, if I may make a suggestion: we should make a point of being extremely courteous to each other."

Avon's smile broadened. "I'm not polite."

Vila's face dropped. "Then I must be polite for two."

Again, silence. Avon paced, circling the flight deck. When he had come back around to the pilot's seat, he fixed his eyes on Vila and snarled.

"Vila! Your mouth!"

Vila looked up as if he had been dreaming. "Sorry?"

"Your mouth is twitching, Vila. Keep it still."

"Sorry. I wasn't aware of it."

Avon stared at him. Before long his mouth twitched again.

"There! You talk about politeness, and you don't even try to control your face. Remember you're not alone. You've no right to inflict the sight of your fear on me."

Vila got up and walked towards him. "How about you? Aren't you afraid?"

Avon smiled again. "What would be the use? There was some point in being afraid before. While one still had hope."

Vila turned his face away, and spoke in a low voice. "There's no more hope -- but it's still "before." They haven't started to torture us yet."

Avon looked at him, his face turned blank. "Yes." He said nothing for a moment, then added, "Well? What's going to happen?"

"I don't know. I'm waiting."

They again settled into silence. Vila sat down in the pilot's seat. Avon paced the room again.

ila's mouth twitched; he glanced guiltily at Avon and buried his face in his hands. Avon tired of pacing and sat down in one of the two remaining seats.

Slave turned back on as the door opened. Tarrant walked in, and looked at Vila.

"No! Don't look up. I know what you're hiding with your hands. I know you have no face left."

Vila dropped his hands and looked at Tarrant. The tall man was mute for a moment, then spoke, surprise in his voice. "I don't know you!"

"I'm not the torturer."

"I never thought you were. I -- I thought someone was trying to play a rather nasty trick on me." He turned to face Slave. "Is anyone else coming?"

"No, Master. No one else is coming."

"Well, then it's just the three of us." He ran his eyes over the room. He began to laugh.

"There's nothing to laugh about," Vila grumbled.

"Oh, but there is! Look at this place! Believe me, I've flown ships that were held together by wire and tape, but this! Clearly designed to make me miserable."

He looked at Vila, then Avon, then the empty seat.

"One chair for each of us. I suppose this one is mine?"

Neither of the two men responded. Tarrant began to feel uncomfortable.

"I'm afraid this one won't do."

Avon looked up. "Would you prefer mine?"

Tarrant wasn't quite sure whether he was being generous or sarcastic.

"Thank you, but ... no, I don't think that would be any better. It doesn't matter. We play the hands we're dealt."

Avon looked away. Tarrant felt more uncomfortable. He took a few steps towards Vila.

"The only one which might do, under the circumstances, is the pilot's station."

There was silence. Then Avon spoke, not bothering to look up.

"Did you hear that, Vila?"

Vila started. "Oh -- the seat. Sorry." He stood and backed away from Tarrant, scurrying around the console to the empty seat, giving both the other men a wide berth.

"Thank you." Tarrant placed a hand possessively on the pilot's seat. "Well, as we're to live together, I suppose we'd better introduce ourselves. My name is Del Tarrant."

Vila rose from his seat, bowed, and was about to introduce himself, but Avon cut him off.

"Kerr Avon."

Vila looked at Avon, then at Tarrant. When the newcomer was looking at him again, he repeated the bow. "Vila Restal."

Slave spoke up. "Do you require me any longer, Master?"

"No, you can go, Slave," Avon replied.

The three men were silent for a while. Then Tarrant spoke.

"Not very roomy, is it? Well, I think we'll just have to try to remain ... cheerful. Of course, you, too, are ..."

"Yes," Avon responded. "Recently."

"Yes," said Tarrant. "I'm also ... recent. Did you suffer much?"

Avon's face broadened into a smile. "Did I suffer? No, I would say I didn't. Electrocution. Rather ironic, actually; I've spent my whole life working with complex electronics. The device which electrocuted me was rather simple."

Vila piped up. "Do you have to talk about those things?"

Avon turned his smile toward the Delta. "It seems I'm not even good company among the dead."

"Please don't use that word. Can't we just say that we're -- absent?"

"Of course," said Tarrant. "Sorry."

Avon's tone was sarcastic. "If it makes you happy."

"Thank you. I just want to sit in peace and set my life in order."

Avon began to laugh. Vila spoke angrily. "You may laugh, but you'd do better to follow my example."

Avon smiled viciously at him. "No need. My life's in perfect order. It tidied itself up nicely of its own accord. So I needn't bother about it now."

Tarrant injected himself between them. "Really, I can't imagine why they put us three together. It doesn't make sense."

Avon suppressed a laugh. "Really?"

"I'm looking at you two and thinking that we're going to live together. It's absurd. I expected to meet old friends, or relatives."

Avon sneered. "Yes, a charming old friend. Perhaps one with a hole in his face."

Tarrant tried to appear calm. "Yes, him too. A ... professional acquaintance. But why should we, of all people, be put together?"

"A fluke," said Vila. "They just put people together as they arrive." He turned to Avon, who had begun to laugh. "Why are you laughing?"

"Because you amuse me. Putting people together at random? As if they would leave anything to chance. But I suppose you must reassure yourself somehow."

Tarrant again tried to intervene, but more hesitantly. "Perhaps we have met each other at some time in our lives?"

Avon looked at him. "Deltas are infinitely forgettable. But I think I would have remembered you."

"Perhaps we have friends in common. Do you know Leval Bittar?"

"I doubt it."

"You sound like the sort who would have been at his parties."

"And what was his job?"

"Ah. He didn't have one. Old money. But he wasn't a snob. I was just an FSA cadet. He knew everyone, and hosts of people visited him."

"I didn't. I worked with computers, not money."

Tarrant dropped the subject. "Then Vila must be right. It's mere chance that has brought us together."

"Mere chance?" said Avon. "Then it's by chance that this room is cramped, uncomfortable, and hideous. A pilot's console for a ship that goes nowhere. Computer banks that do nothing. And a door going nowhere," he said, glancing at Vila. "The light too bright, the temperature too high, that Plexiglas monstrosity? Try to change one thing, move any piece, and you'll see it's all been thought out to the last detail. Nothing was left to chance. Everything was arranged deliberately for us."

"But that still doesn't tell us why we're together," said Vila. "You've given us enough hints, Avon, you may as well come out with it."

"But I know nothing, absolutely nothing about it. I'm as much in the dark as you are."

"We've got to know," said Tarrant.

The three stood in silence. Finally Avon spoke.

"There's nothing for it. We need information."

"What sort of information?" asked Tarrant. Avon turned to face him.

"What have you done? Why have they sent you here?"

Tarrant responded instantly. "I haven't the foggiest idea. Perhaps it's a ghastly mistake." He looked at Avon. "Don't smile. Just think of the number of people who ..." He looked at Vila. "... who become absentees every day. They need to all be sorted out. You work with computers, Avon. There are bound to be mistakes ... stop smiling, Avon." He turned to Vila. "Why don't you speak? If they made a mistake in my case, perhaps they made one in yours. And yours well, Avon. Isn't it better to think we're here by mistake?"

Avon stopped smiling. "Is that all you have to tell us?"

"What else should I tell? I have nothing to hide. My parents died when I was young; I was raised by my brother. Fortunately, I had a talent for piloting, and got into the FSA. Top of my class. I'm only just out of the Academy, six months. I was in a top-rated platoon. I was one of the unlucky ones; mortally wounded on my first real assignment." Avon's face didn't move. Tarrant turned toward Vila. "Does that sound like a life of sin?"

"'Course not. Sounds boring as ... Hey, I'm just a Delta. I haven't done anything wrong. I've got a little ... problem. Other people's possessions tend to come to me. It's not even deliberate, really. It's how my head works. They've tried fixing it; it just doesn't stay fixed."

"Enough of this," Avon snarled. "There's no point in play-acting, trying to throw smoke in each other's eyes. We're all painted with the same brush."

"How dare you?" Tarrant snapped, indignantly.

"We are criminals -- murderers -- all three of us. We're in hell, my friends; they never make mistakes, and people aren't damned for nothing."

"Stop! For heaven's sake ..."

"In hell! Damned souls, all three of us! Tell me neither of you has betrayed someone who trusted you! Tell me you haven't killed!"

Vila waved his fist at Avon. "Will you just shut up, damn it!"

Avon looked quite surprised, but he did not draw back from the fist in his face. "Well, well. A courageous Delta. I understand now. I know why they've put us together."

Vila's outburst was more hesitant this time. "I advise you to -- to think twice before you say any more."

Avon smiled. "I'll explain it simply, so that even you can understand. It's childishly simple. Obviously there aren't any physical torments, yes? And yet we're in hell. And no one else will come here. We'll stay in this room together, the three of us, forever and ever. In short, there's someone truly 'absent' here. The official torturer."

Vila turned his head away. "I'd noticed that," he whispered.

"They're conserving man-power -- or devil-power, if you prefer. Self service. Each of us will act as torturer of the other two."

There was a long silence. Finally Vila spoke, gently.

"No, I won't be your torturer. I wish neither of you any harm. I've nothing to do with you. So the solution's easy enough: each of us stays put in his seat and takes no notice of the others. And we mustn't speak. Not one word. That won't be difficult; each of us seems to have plenty of their own thoughts to muse on. I think I could stay silent ten thousand years with only my thoughts for company."

"I rather doubt it."

"We'll work out our salvation through introspection," countered Tarrant, settling himself into the pilot's seat.

Avon left it at that. He sat at his console and surveyed the room. Then he stood and walked over to Orac. He viewed it intently, his lips pursed; then he kneeled to inspect it more closely.

"A computer," he muttered half aloud. "A very advanced computer." He rose and turned to face Slave, noticing that Tarrant was watching his every move, catching every word. "Slave," he said, loudly, "what is this computer called?"

Slave made no response.

"How is it activated? Will it respond to its name?"

There was still no response. Tarrant rose from his seat and pushed Slave's 'on' button. Slave dt turn on.

Avon ran his eyes over the consoles. "Hand me that laser probe."

Tarrant picked it up and walked around to the other side of the Plexiglas box, handing the probe to Avon above the machine. Avon kneeled again and began opening panels, using the sharp tip of the laser probe to pry them loose. When he pointed it at a circuit and pressed the switch, however, nothing happened.

Avon stood up and held the probe in front of his eyes. "Worthless tools. How appropriate. This probe is just a hollow shell; nothing inside. Just a sharp object for poking things with." He smiled.

"Just like the three of us."

Avon locked his eyes on Tarrant, but his words were directed at Vila.

"Don't pretend, Vila. You haven't missed a word of what I've said, and you know something. Spit it out, Vila."

"I _begged_ you not to speak! It's called Orac."

Avon half-smiled and looked down at the Plexiglas box. "Orac. Respond, Orac."

There was no reply.

"See? I told you we shouldn't speak. Now let's just sit down quietly. We'll each just look at the floor and forget the others are there."

"Forget about each other? Absurd! I _feel_ you there, in every pore. Your silence clamors in my ears. You can seal up your mouth, cut your tongue out, but you can't prevent your _being there_. Can you stop your thoughts? I can hear them spinning away like a machine, and I'm certain you hear mine. You can skulk in your chair all you like, but you're everywhere, and every sound comes to me soiled, because _you_ have intercepted it on its way. Well, I won't stand for it, Vila. I prefer to choose my hell. I prefer to look you in the eyes and fight it out face to face."

Vila looked at him, his face flickering between anger and resignation. "Have it your own way. I suppose we were bound to come to this; they knew what they were doing. We're easy game. You couldn't just keep quiet. Well, we've got to see it through somehow. So much the better; at least I'll know whom I have to deal with."

"You know already. There's nothing more to learn."

"You're wrong." Vila was standing, staring both of them down as he spoke. "So long as each of us hasn't made a clean breast of it -- why he is damned -- we know nothing. Nothing that matters. What about you, pilot? You begin. Why? Tell us why. If you are frank, if we bring our specters into the open, it may save us from disaster. So -- out with it! Why?"

Tarrant spoke slowly, his face livid. "I tell you I haven't a notion. They wouldn't tell me why."

"'Course not. They wouldn't tell me, either. But I've a pretty good idea ... Perhaps you're shy of speaking first? Right. I'll lead off. It's all very simple. A story of betrayal and murder."

"Leave off the histrionics," Avon said, folding his arms across his chest.

"Oh, I will. There was nothing unusual about what I did. When an alarm goes off, it's every man for himself ..."

"And every Delta," Avon interjected.

"Besides, Parit was the one who set off the alarm, anyway. Never was much good with doors. Only fair that he should've been the one who got caught."

"Nevertheless ..." said Tarrant.

"Well, I always did sort of look after him. Since he was a kid. That's the way Deltas have to do it, you know. The older ones look after the youngsters, until they get the hang of things. Then, when they can stand on their own two feet, they're ... well, they're on their own."

"But ..."

"Well, technically, Parit was old enough to look after himself. But I still kept an eye on him. Besides, I could've helped. There was only one guard, and I could've come up on him from behind. No one else nearby."

"But you let them take him. There's the betrayal. Now how about the murder?"

"Self defense, I tell you. I was staying away from the Alphas, you know, staying out of trouble. But a fellow's got to eat, hasn't he? Gammas have money, too. Better than Alphas, sometimes, because they always have to pay cash, so they carry it with them. This one's name was Gan -- a huge fellow, eight foot tall at least, big as on ox. The sort who shouldn't even notice his pocket being picked. But this one noticed. What could I do? I grabbed a knife and just jabbed it at him. Believe me, I had no idea how to kill someone. Never learned. I'd never done it before."

Avon cocked his head and eyed the thief. "But there's more?"

Vila swallowed. "Turns out this Gan was the gentle type. Wouldn't harm a fly. They said if I hadn't stabbed him, he would've just asked for his money back. Might even have let me keep some -- he makes pretty good pay, a strong guy like that. Liked to do little favors for the poor guys."

"Tsk, tsk. Slaughtering a saint. How ... unfortunate."

Vila glared at Avon. "All right, your turn."

Avon smiled. "Well, I was what some people down there called a "damned bastard." Damned already. So it's no surprise, being here."

"Is that all you have to say?"

"Oh no. A dead men's tale. With three corpses in it. He to start with, then she and I. So there's no one left. Just an empty house."

"Three," Vila muttered. "Three deaths, you said?"

"Three. His name was Del Grant. My colleague. My best friend. He introduced me to his sister, Anna. We became ... close."

"And?"

"I was preparing a surprise for her, for her birthday. I started three months before -- it involved her computer, so I needed some time to work past her privacy and encryption routines."

"How gallant of you."

Avon ignored Tarrant's remark. "I found some disturbing things in her files. She was keeping tabs on people. Some of them were people I knew." He looked away from the others. "She even had things that I had said about them on record. Things that could be ... misinterpreted. Taken out of context."

"In what way?"

Avon met their eyes. "Some of them had already disappeared. Gone to the outer worlds, supposedly, suddenly, with no farewells. Some without even a pretext, just vanished. She even had a file on her own brother."

He drew a deep breath. The others waited silently for him to continue.

"I arranged to meet him at the transit center. Busy, crowded; two people would be inconspicuous, easily lost among all those bodies. Or so I thought. I had barely begun to speak when he slumped into my arms. There was a bloody hole in his back.

"I don't know if they were planning to take me out as well. I left him and ran. I went home; an obvious place, of course, but I had some business to finish. I had about twenty minutes before Anna came home. That was enough; it was a simple device. When she came home, we were both electrocuted."

There was a long silence. Finally Vila turned to Tarrant. "Your turn. What have you done?"

Tarrant squirmed. "As I told you, I haven't a notion. I rack my brain, but it's no use."

"Right. Then we'll give you a hand. The man with the smashed face, who was he?"

Tarrant said nothing. Avon closed on him.

"You know what we mean, Tarrant. The man you were so scared of seeing when you came in."

He replied, slowly at first, his eyes cast down.

"He was my commanding officer. Space Commander Travis. One of the best. I graduated at the top of my class, and was assigned to his platoon. Routine stuff for the first few months. Then he finally tracked down a major rebel meeting place. We waited there for over two days, so they wouldn't see any sign of us. They were sure it was safe.

"It happened so fast. Commander Travis wouldn't let us stop shooting, even after they surrendered, and we were ordered to shoot to kill. There were bodies everywhere.

"I felt like I couldn't breathe. I took off my helmet. He turned and looked up at me -- the rebel leader, a man named Blake, wounded but not dead. His eyes burned into me, and I'm sure my face was etched into his mind. I froze. I dropped my rifle. And in an instant he grabbed it.

"He didn't even worry about me. I wasn't worth the bother. He fired at Commander Travis. I saw Travis look at me, half his face gone, before he fell."

Tarrant sank into his seat, burying his face in his hands. Again there was silence. Avon was the one who broke it.

"Well, Vila, now we are all naked as newborns. Is everything clearer now?"

Vila spoke softly. "Yes, perhaps." His voice became even more timid. "And now suppose we start trying to help each other."

"I don't need help."

"Avon, they've laid their snare like a cobweb. If you make any movement, if you raise your hand to fan away the heat, he and I feel a little tug. Alone, none of us can save himself; we're linked together inextricably. So you can take your choice."

Avon said nothing. His eyes were distant.

"Avon? What's happening?"

"They've sold the house. The windows are open, airing out the old ghosts. A man and a woman. Step right in! Make yourselves at home! She's put her arms around him. Damn it, why don't they turn the lights on? It's getting dark. Now he's going to kiss her. In my room. _My_ room! Pitch dark now. I can't see anything, but I hear them, whispering, whispering. Like Anna and I whispered, tender words and betrayals alike. Are they going to make love on _my_ bed? What's that she said? That it's noon and the sun is shining? I must be going blind." Avon paused. "Blacked out. I can't see or hear a thing. So I'm done with the earth, it seems. No more alibis for me!"

He shuddered. "I feel empty, desiccated. Truly dead at last. All of me is here, in this room." His eyes refocused on Vila. "What were you saying? Helping me? Helping me to do what?"

"To defeat their devilish tricks."

"And what do you expect me to do in return?"

"To help _me_. It only needs a little effort, Avon; just a spark of human feeling."

"Human feeling. That's beyond my range. I'm rotten to the core."

"And how about me? All the same, suppose we try?"

"It's no use. I'm all dried up. I can't give and I can't receive. How could _I_ help you? A dead twig, ready for the burning."

Vila grabbed his shoulders. "I'm dried up, too. But for you I can still feel pity."

Avon's eyes blazed at him. "Unhand me. And keep your pity for yourself. You'd do better to watch your own interests."

Tarrant suddenly stood and cried out. Vila ran to face him. "What's the matter?"

"They're alive. Both of them. And both awake. And both thinking about me."

Avon circled around behind him. His voice was soft, barely a whisper in Tarrant's ear. "What are they thinking?"

Tarrant's eyes were still fixed on Vila. "Blake's been moved out of hospital to a prison infirmary. He reflects on the massacre. He thinks Travis is dead. And all the rest are just black helmets and black uniforms. The only face he sees is mine. All his hatred, and all pointed at me."

"And Travis?" Avon whispered.

"They haven't told him Blake is alive. He thinks all the rebels were killed. A field medic patched him up, but he has refused reconstructive surgery. A black patch covers most of the left half of his face. He touches it. It causes him pain when he touches it, but he _wants_ the pain, it feeds his anger. Anger at me. And not disappointment that the top of the class failed him, no. He feels _contempt_. He doesn't know I'm dead; he relishes the thought of my court-martial.

"But now they've found out. They know I'm dead, and they each know the other is alive. My face fades from them. The FSA has deleted my records; they don't like the idea of their top graduate being cited for treason. And to the rebels, I'm just another of the faceless, nameless, troops again.

"Darkness. I can't see anyone anymore. I can't hear a sound. All over. It's the end. The earth has left me."

He turned, suddenly, to face Avon, but the chestnut eyes directed him back to Vila. The Delta had settled into his seat, his eyes lowered.

"They're still talking about me. I've been here longer than you two, and they're still talking about me. My old friends have turned on me. "Vila's such a coward," they say. "He let Parit down, Parit, his protégé." And all of Gan's friends, too. Gan knew lots of people. Everybody liked Gan."

He looked up at the others. "You're lucky, you two; no one on earth is giving you another thought. But I -- I'm long in dying."

Tarrant placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "Why trouble over what they are thinking? They'll die off one by one. Forget them."

"But _they_ won't forget _me_, not them! It's not like with Alphas, where only the computer records matter. Gammas and Deltas pass these things on by word of mouth. My friends, Gan's friends, they'll die, but others will come after them to carry on the legend. I've left my fate in their hands."

"Vila, _I_ understand what you did," said Tarrant, almost cooing, as if he were lulling a baby to sleep. "You haven't done anything wrong. Thieves sometimes get caught; it isn't your fault. And you didn't know if Gan was going to hurt you."

Avon began to laugh. Both Tarrant and Vila glared at him.

"Tarrant, you are amazing! I am surprised you can say such things with a straight face. You would never forgive an Alpha who did what Vila did. You simply have lower standards for Deltas, don't you? Or are you just making up lies because you hate to see them suffer?"

Vila looked pleadingly at Tarrant. "Is it true, Tarrant? Answer me. Is it true?"

There was a long silence, but Tarrant was unable to speak. Vila shook off Tarrant's hand, picked up the laser probe, and went to the door. "You disgust me, both of you."

Tarrant watched him. "What are you up to?"

"I'm going."

Avon laughed. "You won't get far. The door is locked, remember?"

"Locks are my stock in trade. I'll _make_ it open."

He flicked the switch on the laser probe with his thumb. It lit up, humming softly.

Tarrant stared at it. "It works."

Vila turned to them, showing a devil's grin. "Now watch this door. I'm through with you both. I'll endure whatever torture they like. Anything would be better than this agony of mind, this creeping pain that gnaws at you and never hurts quite enough." He turned back to the door. In a few seconds it jerked open.

There was a long silence. Avon smiled. "Well, Vila? You're free to go."

Vila was meditative. "That's too easy. Now why did the door open so easily?"

"What are you waiting for? Hurry up and go."

Vila's voice was quiet. "I'm not going."

"And you, Tarrant?"

Tarrant stood motionless. Avon began to laugh. "So which shall it be? Which of the three of us will leave? The barrier's down, why are we waiting? We're inseparable, aren't we!"

Vila grabbed Avon's arm. "Inseparable? Tarrant, give me a hand. Let's throw him out and slam the door! That'll teach him a lesson."

Tarrant spoke firmly. "Let go of him."

Vila stopped pulling, but his hands were still clamped around Avon's arm. "You're crazy. He hates you."

Tarrant's voice remained even. "It's because of him I'm staying here."

Vila let go of Avon and stared at Tarrant, dumbfounded. Avon brushed at his sleeve. "All right, Vila, shut the door. It's ten times hotter here since it opened."

Vila went to the door and closed it, then rounded on Tarrant. "Because of _him_? Why?"

"Yes. _He_ knows what it means to be a traitor. And a ruthless tool of oppression. And a coward."

Avon smiled. "Yes, Tarrant, I know all these things."

"And you know what wickedness is, and shame, and fear. There were days when you peered into yourself, into the secret places of your heart, and what you saw there made you faint with horror. And then, next day, you didn't know what to make of it, you couldn't interpret the horror you had glimpsed the day before. Yes, you know what evil _costs_. And when you say I'm a coward, or a traitor, or a murderer, you know from experience what that means. Is that so?"

"Yes."

"So it's you whom I have to convince; you are of my kind. Did you suppose I meant to go? No, I couldn't leave you here, gloating over my defeat, with all those thoughts about me running in your head."

"Do you really wish to convince me?"

"That's the one and only thing I wish for now. I can't hear them any longer, down there. They're through with me. The curtain's down. Nothing of me is left on earth, not even the name of traitor. So, Avon, we're alone. Only you two remain to give a thought to me. Vila -- he doesn't count. It's you who matters. If you'll have faith in me I'm saved."

"It won't be easy. Have a look at me. I am a harsh judge."

Tarrant smiled. "I'll give you all the time that's needed."

Avon's smile was harsher. "Yes, we've lots of time on hand. _All_ time."

"Avon, everyone has an aim in life, a motive. Well, I didn't care about wealth, or love. I wanted to be an officer in Space Command. My whole life was directed towards it, staked on it. The FSA was brutal, but I endured, endured and surpassed. And I wasn't reluctant to face danger -- I relished it. Can my whole life be judged by a single mistake, a single moment?"

"Why not? All your life you dreamt you were a hero in the making. And how many petty lapses did you condone, because you were a hero, and a hero can do no wrong. And then the day came when you were up against the wall -- and you blinked."

"You say I dreamt. It was no dream. When I chose the hardest path, I made my choice deliberately. A man is what he wills himself to be."

"Prove it. Prove it was no dream. It is actions, and actions alone, that show a man as he truly is."

"I died too soon. I wasn't allowed time to -- to do my deeds. To make up for my moment of weakness."

"Everyone dies too soon," Avon hissed, "or too late. And yet one's life is complete at that moment, like a full data cube, ready for the summing up. You are your life, and nothing else."

"What a poisonous man you are! With an answer for everything."

Avon smiled. "Now then, Tarrant, don't lose heart. It shouldn't be so hard, convincing me. Pull yourself together, rake up some arguments." Tarrant said nothing. "Ah, my dear Tarrant, you aren't one of those debating champions who can argue any side of a question, and _you_ don't believe. You are lost, because I wish it. Do you hear me? I wish it." He stepped back and turned up his empty hands. "And what am I? A mere breath on the air. A gaze, observing you. A formless thought that thinks you. Would you like to strangle me? You can't throttle thoughts with your hands. So you've no choice, you must convince me, and you're at my mercy."

Vila grabbed the laser probe and charged at Avon. Avon laughed as the Delta stabbed at him. "Idiot! What do you think you're doing? You know quite well I'm dead."

Vila stopped. "Dead?" he whispered, and dropped the probe.

Avon picked it up and began jabbing at himself. "Dead! Dead! Dead! Weapons are useless. It has happened _already_, do you understand? Once and for all. So here we are, forever."

Tarrant began laughing along with him. "Forever."

Vila stared at the two of them, then joined their laughter. "Forever, and ever, and ever."

The three men went to their seats. The laughter died down. They sat in silence, gazing at each other. Finally Vila spoke.

"Well, let's get on with it ..."

END