Futile
by Machiel
machielkolstein@hotmail.com

"Futile? you call that futile?", said Soolin. She had put an emphasis on the word "that", and it irritated her to notice she had said it in the way Avon was used to spit out his sentences.Avon responded in kind: "They knew what they were up to, and yes, I do think it is futile philosophising the might have beens. They are dead and any analisis about the cause of their not so early demise will be largely academic." If that was so, Soolin wondered, why didnīt Avon look her in her face while he said it? "It is hardly academic if it also concerns our own no so early demise," she responded.

For a split second, she thought she had gone to far. She saw the veins swell in his neck and asked herself what would happen if Avon would loose his self control. But, as always, Avon contained himself with his usual arrogant sneer while he turned away to the companion he understood best: "Orac. Give an estimate of the chance that our escape has not gone unnoticed."

"It is impossible without an intensive prodding of the human minds involved while taking into account its natural tendencies for irrational thought processes to give even an remotely accurate estimation", reposted Orac.

"Orac is right," said Soolin, "Besides which, given the legend that has been build up around us, especially you, Blake and even Vila, do you think the federation will take any risk by taking for granted that you are dead?"

"That might be correct, in which case it will be very dangerous for you to hang around with me." said Avon.

"That might be so," said Soolin, "but, on the other hand, Orac might be very useful to hang around with. And there is no Orac without you." She smiled, and shrugged her shoulders in what seemed an apologetic way, as if to say that life is tough, but what else is new? A string of her long blonde hair fell over her forehead but she didnīt even blink.

Avon was still turned away from her, looking at Orac. He responded with a grin of his own she could not see but clearly hear in his voice when he said: "Bit of a tough decision, then".

"No too tough actually, Avon", her voice had acquired a steel-like quality.

He turned around, but even before seeing her he knew that she had drawn her gun.

She pointed it to his face and smiled, not without sympathy.

He returned her smile: "Drawing a gun now for me would be suicide, wouldnīt it?"

She did not bother to answer that.

"At least you know the most effective way to make your point. But then, I always knew you did. So you want Orac?" said Avon.

She shook her head: "That wouldnīt help me much."

"Then, you want me dead, to diminish the possibilities for them hunting after you."

It sounded more like a statement, than a question. "Youīre too modest, Soolin, and it doesnīt suit you very well. Even with me dead, they will go on looking for you".

But again she shook her head: "Thatīs not what I want either, Avon."

This disturbed him, because it meant she had motives he couldnīt guess at. It was the one most important thing which made him prefer machines above people. People like Blake or Cally who despite all logic against trusting anyone, had managed to make him risk his life a number of times for them, for sentimental reasons which he couldnīt, or wouldnīt, understand.

People like Soolin.

"You donīt want Orac. You donīt want to kill me. And you are free to go anytime you want. As a matter of fact, that is exactly what we should do: each go our own way. So why are you pointing that gun to me?"

She was close enough to him now that she could hold the muzzle of the gun in his neck. He knew that with her, there was no point in trying to attack her, even though she was so close to him. He noticed the faint smell of her skin, the near presence of her which instinctively repulsed him as the nearness of any person would, but - worse still - did have its appeal as well. An appeal that grew stronger as he looked in her fearless eyes and saw the full mouth that still showed a faint smile.

"You know very well, donīt you?" said Soolin, "Do you still think I am effective in making my point?"

He realised that he wasnīt afraid for her, nor for what she wanted (although he did not allow himself to think about it), but afraid for himself.

"I hardly think..." he began,

"....we have time for those kind of futilities" finished Soolin. She prodded the gun against his skin, and it was like a deadly caress: "Oh, but you see: it might not be as futile as you think. Donīt try to be modest, Avon, it doesnīt suit you either. " She let that sink in, before she said: "say it."

His mouth twisted with humiliation: "you want me."


END