A TIME OF INNOCENCE 4: Exile

Author: Jennie McGrath

Notes: originally published in WHOMSOEVER HOLDS THIS SWORD (1992)

A TIME OF INNOCENCE 4: Exile
By Jennie McGrath

Tarrant sighed, yet again, with boredom. Avon and his bright ideas. It wasn't bad enough to be stuck on this planet. Oh no. Who had the bastard sent with him on this supply run? Vila. Dammit all, anyway. Avon knew that the thief drove Tarrant crazy; yet, he'd set them down on Jahas, arrogantly announcing that he'd return for them in three days. They'd gathered all of the required supplies in a single day. All that was left to do was wait.

He did have to admit that the small rebel base was a pleasant, if dull, spot. Few people manned it, a large group having left for some unspecified mission before his and Vila's arrival. Oh well, at least he wouldn't have to constantly look over his shoulder while waiting Avon's return.

With nothing else to do, Tarrant crossed the small rec room to the cabinet he knew held a bottle of vodka. Vila had found a kindred soul here on the base. He and his new-found friend had started drinking last evening; they showed no signs of returning to sobriety in the near future. Drink in hand, Tarrant returned to the comfortable sofa. Perhaps, just this once, Vila had the right idea.

Several drinks later, Tarrant was enveloped in a warm glow. The vodka had induced a general feeling of well being in him. He shifted to an even more comfortable position, sinking back into the soft cushions and propping his feet up on the small table before him. He'd almost drifted off to sleep, when the unmistakable feeling of being watched came over him. He looked toward the door, and saw a large man smiling easily at him.

"Hullo," a warm baritone greeted him. "Mind if I join you?"

Tarrant made a valiant effort to sit up. "No, of course I don't mind." Giving up the struggle, he settled back and gestured to a seat on the sofa. "Grab a drink and join me; I could use the company."

With surprising grace for such a large man, the stranger crossed the room and mixed himself a drink. As he strode over to join Tarrant on the couch, the younger man studied him covertly. Here, he thought, was a man of unlimited confidence--a man who knew what he wanted. He would, Tarrant guessed, do whatever necessary to accomplish his goals.

Once settled on the sofa, the stranger turned to Tarrant. "I'm Chevron."

Vague recognition nudged at Tarrant's conscious. He frowned in thought...where had he heard that name? His alcohol-soaked brain, however, couldn't quite isolate the elusive memory. Casually he shrugged, it would come to him sooner or later.

"Tarrant," he responded, "good to meet you." Rather surprisingly, Chevron dropped his hand as if burned.

"Tarrant?" the big man repeated, his tone one of barely concealed animosity. "Any relation to Dev Tarrant?"

The pilot grimaced. "My uncle."

"I take it you aren't fond of your uncle."

Tarrant hesitated; this was not a subject he spoke of often. Something about this Chevron prompted him to open up, allow himself to remember.

"He sponsored me when I applied to the Space Academy. I was accepted with no problem." He glanced over at Chevron's intent expression. The rebel listened closely. "I trained as a pilot, did very well too," he couldn't help bragging. "I heard nothing of Dev until my promotion to Space Captain came through." He looked down at his hands, twisting nervously together.

"Why am I discussing this with you? I never talk about Dev...I don't even think about him." His tone was one of defiance and confused pleading in equal parts. "What is it about you?" he mumbled.

Chevron shifted forward a bit. "Tarrant." He paused, scowling. "What is your other name?"

"Del."

"Fine, I'd prefer to call you Del, if you don't mind. Your uncle betrayed me once." Tarrant shivered at the malevolence revealed in the brown eyes. "Some day, I will repay him."

"He planned to betray me, also--to have me programmed. I never heard the particulars; I didn't need to. My lover worked with Dev in the anti-subversive section of intelligence. I was given enough warning to avoid his plans for me." Head lowered to hide the pain in his eyes, Tarrant missed the sympathy revealed for a brief moment on Chevron's face.

He looked up when the couch shifted. Chevron rose, holding his now-empty glass. "Refill?" he questioned.

Not waiting for a response, he grasped Tarrant's glass and crossed to the cabinet. He paused there a moment, then lifted the bottle and returned with it to the sofa.

"Why waste time walking all the way over there? I, for one, don't intend to be capable of walking for much longer." With an engaging smile, the large man poured two healthy drinks, handing one to Tarrant. "Now, you were telling me about your uncle."

"Yes, so I was," Tarrant downed a healthy gulp of his vodka. "When I found out what Dev had planned for me, I decided to leave. To tell the truth, I'd never been all that happy with the Federation's policies. The Andromedan invasion provided the opportunity I'd been looking for." With a self deprecating shrug he continued, "First chance I got, I deserted my command. Now I'm a rebel. I guess."

"How did you end up with the resistance?"

"Pure chance. I found a deserted ship. When the crew turned up... Well, staying seemed the best alternative." He drained his glass and leaned forward, reaching out for the bottle.

"Refill?" Turning to Chevron, he waited for an answer. Noticing that the piercing gaze was locked on his wrist, he followed the concentrated stare; and saw that his sleeve had been pushed back, revealing the teleport bracelet.

"You," he could barely hear the whispered words, "you're from the Liberator." Deep shock vibrated in the husky voice.

Tarrant shifted uncomfortably. There was more here than met the eye. "What," he prevaricated, "makes you say that?"

"I'm quite familiar with the Liberator. Your bracelet gives you away."

"Familiar?" Tarrant repeated. Staring blankly ahead, his mind raced. This man knew about the teleport bracelets. Chevron. That name. Where had he heard that name?

Of course. Avon had used it when they'd first met. Who else would use Avon's alias except--"Blake!" he gasped in shocked realization. "You're Blake. I, that is, we thought you must be dead. Vila said that the only way you'd leave Av--" he cleared his throat, "the Liberator would be if you were dead, or in prison. And we'd have heard about it if you were caught." He met Blake's eyes. Caught his breath at the naked pain revealed.

The other man sighed, closing his eyes. "Yes, Del, I am Roj Blake. As to my reasons for leaving," lifting a hand, Blake pinched the bridge of his nose, effectively hiding his face, "it's a personal thing. Between Avon and me."

"Blake!" Both men turned to the doorway at the stunned gasp.

White with shock, Vila stood rooted in position, staring at Blake as if he beheld a ghost.

"Hello, Vila." Blake rose and crossed to the door, placing an arm across Vila's shoulders. "Come, sit down, you look a little shaky."

Vila allowed himself to be led to the couch and seated. Throughout the operation, he never took his eyes off of Blake. Tarrant could see that the thief fully expected Blake to disappear any moment. He wondered what it was about this man that engendered such desperate devotion from Vila.

Tarrant had quickly realized that Vila was playing a role; that he was, in his own way, far more brave, and intelligent, than he wished to appear. Judging by the expression on Blake's face, he understood the thief well, and obviously cared deeply for him.

Curiously, he studied the two men. Vila had started to quietly cry, as he lay against Blake's chest. Gently, the rebel soothed him, using hands and voice until, it appeared, Vila slept.

Noticing Tarrant's intent stare, Blake smiled ruefully. "Well, I'm glad to see that some things don't change. Vila always has been over emotional."

"He has?" Tarrant's eyebrows rose skeptically. "Funny, I never noticed that. Actually, I always thought that he was the most controlled of us all. Oh, I know he acts the foolish coward. Underneath though," he paused, frowning in thought, "I don't know who he is, or where he's from; I do know that Vila is no Delta grade. He's not a coward either, no matter how he tries to convince us otherwise."

"Well now, it would appear that you know him better than most." Blake said. "Don't let him hear you say any of this; he would be highly insulted. He thinks he has the whole galaxy fooled. Kindest to leave him his illusions."

Noting Blake's eyes, fixed longingly on the vodka bottle, Tarrant leaned forward and grabbed it. "Ready?" he asked.

"Mmm hmm." Blake nodded his gratitude.

The two sat in companionable silence, sipping their drinks. A distressed moan from Vila caught their attention; both watched him.

"Roj?" Tarrant almost missed the nearly inaudible murmur, but Blake tilted his head toward Vila, listening closely.

"Roj!" With a gasp, Vila jerked awake. Wildly he stared at Blake, clutching the larger man's arm desperately. "Roj! We have to stop him. We have to do something."

"Shhh. Vila, calm down." Grasping Vila's shoulders, Blake pushed him back against the couch. "Now, tell me what's wrong."

"It's Kerr," Vila moaned, obviously still distressed. "He wants us to go to Earth."

"Earth?" Blake repeated. "Why?"

"Anna." The reply was a soft whisper.

"She's dead, Vila. You know that. You've been dreaming."

"No, Roj. Not a dream." Earnestly, he spoke, "He's after Shrinker."

"Who?" Tarrant asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

"Shit!" Vila turned, apparently noticing the pilot's presence for the first time. "What are you doing here? Oh Gods, I'm a dead man...When Avon finds out what I've said--in front of you--ooooh, he's gonna kill me."

"Hush, Vila. I'm sure Tarrant won't say anything. Right, Del?" Pointedly, Blake waited for confirmation.

"He's right. I'll keep this conversation to myself. Vila," Tarrant sought to reassure, "it's okay. I just want to understand."

"Understand? Understand what? Avon? No one understands Avon...except Blake," he said, turning to face the rebel. "You are coming back, aren't you? We need you. Avon needs you!"

Abruptly, Blake rose to his feet, albeit a trifle unsteadily.

"Vila," with a sigh, Blake ran a hand through tangled curls, "you know I can't come back yet." He turned, hand raised to forestall Vila's protest. "Not until he realizes that he needs me. Nothing has changed. If I come back now, the same things will happen again." Restlessly, Blake paced a few steps in either direction. "I know he's looked for me, but not hard enough. When he's ready, he'll know where to find me."

"And when will that be?" Tarrant blushed when both men turned to stare at him. "Well," he couldn't help the defensive tone, "obviously we do need Blake."

"Not yet, Del. Avon has some things to work out first. He must understand that his battle is with himself. Not me, not the Federation. Himself. Until that happens, I'll stay away. So," he concluded, "you two will have to help me until I can return to Liberator. You will watch him...help in any way you can. Most important, make him think about what he plans to do. Look for any flaws, state them loudly. The way he always did for me." Blake stood for a moment, staring at the wall. Wearily, he rubbed his eyes, then moved toward the doorway, "I'll be right back. Nature calls, I'm sure you'll understand."

Left alone with Vila, Tarrant studied him curiously. The thief had revealed more of himself tonight than ever before, at least in Tarrant's experience. He wondered if this might be an opportune moment to question Vila. He shrugged to himself, nothing ventured and all that.

"Vila, how long have you known Avon?"

"I know what you're up to, Tarrant; don't think I don't." He said. "You think that just because I'm a little, ahem, under the weather, I'll spill all Avon's secrets."

"Oh, never mind. I should have known better." Disheartened, Tarrant slumped back against the couch. "I wish someone could tell me why I always seem to be on the outside, looking in."

"What are talking about, Tarrant?"

"It's just that, I never seem to be a part of the group. No matter where I am...school, the Academy, Space Command...home. I never quite belong." Closing his eyes, Tarrant rested his head against the cushion behind him. "Now, I don't even fit in with the group on Liberator. A thief, an embezzler, an alien and a kid. And I'm the odd one out? I just don't get it."

Soft brown eyes regarded him quizzically for a moment, then Vila released a sigh. "I know I'll regret this but...Avon, Cally and I were with Blake for two years. We had a good group, now we've lost three of our original crew. It's not easy for any of us, learning to work with new people, learning to trust each other. Give it more time, you're not the only one having trouble adjusting." Vila grinned engagingly at the younger man, "You're a natural misfit, Tarrant. You'll fit in before long, same as the rest of us."

Vila lifted Blake's half-empty glass, and drained it in one gulp. "Not bad. Here, kid, top it off, wouldja?"

Tarrant paused, holding the bottle aloft. "What did you call me?"

"Eh? I called you 'kid'. Why, is that a problem?"

"No, I guess not. My brother used to call me kid, that's all," said Tarrant.

"Brother. Older brother?" When Tarrant nodded in response, Vila continued, eyes opened wide in exaggerated innocence, "Del Tarrant, from Earth, right?" He didn't wait for confirmation, seeming to know the answer. "And you have an older brother. Would his name be Deeta, perhaps?"

"How could you possibly know that, Vila?"

"Oh," Vila waggled his eyebrows, "I have all kinds of information stored away. You'd be surprised at some of the things I know." He winked at the amazed pilot. "Don't just sit there holding that vodka, pour us a round."

The pilot did as requested, then absently refilled his own glass.

"There's a good man." Vila sat back and propped his feet up on the table, next to Tarrant's. "Now, sit back my boy, and let me tell you a story." He savoured a mouthful of the vodka, then set his glass on the table. "Once upon a time there were two little Alpha grade boys, named Roj and Vila. One fine day, they met another boy. Now this boy, Kerr, was special, he was an Elite, you see. Elite class families keep to themselves, no mingling with the lower grades. Never the less, the three boys became best friends--wherever one was, the other two would surely follow. They played together, discovered all the secret places in the dome together, went to school together, and studied together. Of course," Vila whispered, as if imparting a great secret, "Kerr was the smartest of the three, so he usually helped Roj and Vila...especially in comp sciences.

"So, the three boys grew up. They had many adventures. Got in trouble quite often, too. You see, they were the best and the brightest of their age group, so they felt they had to set a standard that the next group would have no chance of meeting. I'd wager that stories of the three still abound in educational circles. Child Psychology circles, too.

"Now, don't make the mistake of thinking these boys were just your average run-of-the-mill playmates.... Oh no, as I said, they were friends. Best friends. When one of them had a problem, they all had a problem. When Vila's pet rabbit died, all three attended the funeral. When Kerr's brother died, Roj and Vila were there for him. When Roj's sister and cousin left home to attend the Academy, all three boys waved them off. And all three boys wasted the rest of that day watching Roj's nasty little two year old cousin, Del. Horrible experience it was, let me tell you. If I never hear a whiny kid's voice screech the name 'Deeta' again, it will be too soon." Quite obviously pleased with himself, Vila sipped his vodka and watched Tarrant. "Better get that chin off the ground, Blake might fall over it when he gets back."

"You're drunk. And, you're nuts," said Tarrant, staring at Vila, goggle-eyed. "Just how much have you had to drink?"

"Not enough," said Blake. "Never enough, eh, Vila?"

"Blake!" Nervously, Vila attempted to rise. In his haste, he tripped, landing face down at Blake's feet.

Resignedly, Blake helped the thief up, dusted him of f and returned him to the couch. "So, my friend...telling stories, are we?" Fists on hips, the rebel loomed over Vila, glaring menacingly. "Lucky for you, Del here already promised to keep this to himself. If Avon ever caught you talking about our childhood, he'd strangle you--very slowly."

"Aw, Blake, I was just rambling on. You know how it is...." weakly, Vila trailed off.

"Yes, Vila. Unfortunately, I do know how it is."

"Excuse me." Hesitantly, Tarrant interrupted. "I'm a little confused. Blake, are you really..."

"Your cousin?" Smiling, Blake turned toward Tarrant. "So it would seem, Del. I'm afraid that I don't remember those days as well as Vila here. The Federation wiped my memory when I was 20. Some things have come back to me, but not everything. I think we are safe in believing Vila, though. He has an incredible memory, much to my chagrin sometimes."

"Don't you remember anything?" asked Tarrant.

"Bits and pieces." Blake smiled ruefully. "My heart remembers. The mind is a different matter. For the most part, my memories consist of images. I can see Vila's mother taking a picture of us, the day we graduated to the Academy; and, I see Vila and me standing on the auditorium stage, holding our academic awards, watching Kerr climb the steps to join us." He paused to pour himself a drink, then joined Tarrant and Vila on the couch. "It gets so frustrating, not knowing my own past. If Vila hadn't shown me a holo of the three of us as boys, I probably still wouldn't be aware of our common past. What else have I lost, I wonder. Often, I'll have a mental picture of a person, or place and not know who, or what, I'm seeing. Was this person important to me? When was I there? There's so much I've lost forever. Of course, on the positive side, I treasure the few memories I do have, I'm always aware of the value of any tie to my past."

"Does that mean you'll expect me to value Tarrant now?" An exaggerated expression of horror crossed Vila's face.

Blake glanced at Vila fondly. Tarrant, watching the exchange, envied the closeness between the two men. An unspoken understanding unlike any he'd ever known. Always, he'd wished that he and Deeta were closer; circumstances, however, had precluded this. His brother had left for Academy training when he'd been two. Other than holidays, and one brief summer, Deeta had been offworld. First, had been a series of military posts. Then, Deeta had simply disappeared; letters ceased, all contact abruptly halted when Del was twelve. He'd not heard anything of, or from, Deeta since.

"Hey, Tarrant!" Startled, he looked up when Vila yelled. Surprisingly, the thief's face bore a concerned expression. "You ignoring us on purpose? You sleeping with your eyes open, maybe? Don't you think he's a little young for senility to be setting in, Blake?" Gently Vila teased, giving Tarrant a much needed chance to regroup.

"Sorry, I was thinking about my brother. He's been gone for a long time, about ten or eleven years, I think."

"Gone?" Asked Blake. "Where?"

Tarrant shrugged, "I have no idea. Haven't heard a word since he mustered out of the service."

"Odd," said Blake.

"Not really. Deeta was never one for sentiment. Always very independent, sort of a loner. Not that we were all that close. He's so much older than I. Your age I think, Vila."

"What? Did you hear that, Blake? He thinks we're old. Can you imagine? Young whippersnapper." Scornfully, Vila turned from Tarrant, presenting his back. "Hmph. Call me old, willya?" From his position, Tarrant was unable to see Vila wink at Blake. "Roj, I think you'd better set him straight. After all, you are two years older than I am. Defend us!"

"Now Vila," Blake started, "you remember being this young, don't you?" He smiled, remembering. "The arrogance, the absolute belief in your own infallibility. Don't rush him into maturity, Vila. Let Del enjoy it while it lasts, the end of innocence will come all too soon."

Vila sat back, lips pursed, and made a very rude noise. "Blake, Blake, Blake." The thief shook his head despairingly, "I worry about you, I really do. Here, I'm trying to lighten things up a bit; and you're going on about 'the end of innocence'." Again, Vila expressed his opinion with another, louder, more prolonged, noise--Tarrant vaguely recalled such a sound being referred to as a "raspberry."

"Vila, I am quite sincere in what I say." Straightening in his seat, Blake attempted to regain his dignity.

"Sincere. Hah! You are always sincere, Blake. Lighten up, man." Suspiciously, Vila scanned the room, "Tarrant, are you sure Avon didn't follow us down? Is he hiding somewhere?"

"Vila," rumbled Blake, warningly.

"Oh, hush up. He's not here. Relax. That's your problem, you know? You never relax, you're always worried about one thing or another, always have been. C'mon, it's just the three of us. You know you can trust me, and Tarrant, well I know he's not much, but he's not a bad sort. I guess." Vila winked again, but at Tarrant this time. "He's been on Liberator for almost a year now, and he and Avon are both still alive. That should tell you something."

Unsteadily, the thief rose to his feet and navigated a path across to the cabinet in which Tarrant had found the vodka. Triumphantly, he grabbed an unopened bottle of the same liquor, and made his way back to the sofa. "Here we go, boys." With a flourish, Vila poured Blake and Tarrant each a drink, then lifted the bottle to his lips. "Cheers!" he said, as he gulped down several large swallows. He then set the bottle down on the table, leaned against Blake, and passed out cold.

"So, even Vila has a limit; will wonders never cease?" More than a little amused at the thief's antics, Tarrant chuckled. "For all the talking he does about drinking, this is the first time I've seen him over-indulge."

Blake nodded, "Yes, he does talk a good game. Always did, as I recall." Carefully, he shifted the limp body resting against him into a more comfortable position. "Tell me, Del; how are they?"

"You mean Vila and Avon?" Not waiting for an answer, Tarrant continued, "Avon is a mystery to me. He seems to be all right--if being arrogant and insulting and singularly isolated are normal for him," he said.

Blake gave a noncommittal nod. "And Vila?"

"If you'd asked me that two hours ago, I'd have said he's fine. Now, I'm not so sure." Tarrant gave the thief in question a considering look. He's worried. And he's lonely. That's how he is."

"Explain," Blake tersely requested.

Tarrant took a drink, trying to decide what to say. How to explain his conclusion. "I'm not sure I can. Avon spends most of his time looking for you. Vila spends his time looking after Avon. Cally watches them both."

"And you?" asked Blake.

"I'm..." He paused, unsure how to respond. Why he should be the object of Blake's concern was a mystery. Perhaps this was an example of 'Blake's great bleeding heart', as Avon had once said. "Actually, I'm okay. I like the Liberator, and the people on her, pretty well. After tonight, I think I'll feel a little more at home there. Thanks to Vila, and you."

"Then you'll be staying with Avon?"

"Yes, I expect I will."

"Good." Blake nodded approvingly. "Be careful when you go back. Avon is very discerning; if your attitude towards Vila changes, he'll want to know the reason why. I don't want him upset with Vila, or with you. When I return, I'll expect to see all of you."

"Will you? Return, I mean?"

"Oh, yes." Blake flashed a brilliant smile. "I'll be back. In that you can believe."

Tarrant couldn't help feeling oddly comforted by Blake's words. Emboldened by the vodka he'd consumed, he asked the question he'd been considering. "What happened? With Avon? You don't seem the type of man to run from a problem. Even an 'Avon problem'."

Blake sighed. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, effectively hiding his face for a moment. When the hand lowered, Tarrant noticed a suspicious brightness in the brown eyes. "Avon has certain problems with regard to personal relationships. He has loved very few people in his life. All of them have died...unpleasantly. His brother committed suicide, Anna was killed during interrogation. His parents...well, they are not pleasant people. When we were younger, he loved Vila and myself, as we loved him. After my first arrest, both of them were taken into custody and puppeteers erased, or in Vila's case tried to erase, all memory of our friendship. At any rate, I made the mistake of allowing Avon to see how I cared for him. He couldn't handle that. Neither could he face the way he feels about me. I'm hoping that my absence will give him a chance to realize that, like it or not, we do care for each other. I want him to understand that he can be loved...that he is worthy of love. Most important, he must know that his loving me will not go away simply because he chooses to deny it." Wearily, Blake rested his head on the back of the couch. "I'm tired though, Tarrant. Hopefully, it won't take much longer."

"Yes." Speaking softly, he watched the rebel's breaths become deeper, more regular, as he fell asleep. "Soon, Avon will find you. You'll come back to Liberator, and we'll fight the rebellion together."

Quietly, Tarrant rose. In a storage cubicle he located a blanket. Moving carefully, he covered Blake and Vila with it. He started out of the room, intending to retire to his temporary quarters. At the doorway he paused. Looked once more at the sleeping men.

"Ah hell. I'm drunk, right?" he asked himself. With a self-deprecating shrug, he crossed back to the couch and sat. "Yeah, far too drunk to walk back to my bed." So saying, he leaned back to a more comfortable position, and lifted a corner of the blanket to cover himself.

"That's right, Tarrant." He felt Vila's arm come about him, pulling him down to rest on the thief's shoulder. "Far too drunk. Now, hush up and go to sleep."