PURGATORIO

By CindyR

The small ship rocked violently, throwing its occupants to the floor,. "What was that?" Blake struggled to the pilot's seat, clinging desperately when the ship rocked again. The pilot, Jaron, fought to control the craft. "We're under attack, Blake. A plasma bolt has hit the main engines."

"Scanners were clear a minute ago. Where did it come from?"

Attack originating from grid four two four, intersect seven. One ship." Avon's crisp tones came from the direction of the weapons console. "He was using that asteroid as cover. He-- ...Plasma bolt launched and running!"

"Evasive action! Get us out of here!"

Jaron punched buttons frantically. "No good, Blake. They hit our main drive."

"Auxiliaries?"

"Sluggish. Brace yourself!"

The explosion rocked the ship again, spilling them all to the floor. Smoke filled the cabin, carrying the stench of burning circuits; small fires cropping up. "Vila, get the extinguisher," Blake called.

The thief scrambled to his feet, reaching for the extinguisher in panic. He was afraid of many things, but having grown up in the dome cities of Earth, fire held a special terror for him. He had once seen an entire family trapped behind fireproof doors in the city. Later, when the bodies were recovered, there hadn't been enough left of them to identify.

Avon was slower to recover himself, hampered as he was by his bandaged arm. He slid back into his seat at the weapons station, checking the monitors. "Tactical is dead. Weapons system inoperative. Scanners are still functioning, however."

"Tachyon drive is out." Deva had assumed the navigation console with its diagnostic systems, "I’ve ignited the plasma-fusion boosters, but their fuel won' t last long. Speed is up to point-five sol and holding. For the moment."

"Subliminal." Blake pounded a fist against the bulkhead in frustration. "What is he waiting for? Why doesn't he finish us off?"

Tense silence stretched into long moment as the four men awaited death. After awhile it became apparent that the final obliterating shot was not going to come. Avon's cool voice broke the almost painful silence. "He is not following us."

"What!?"

"I said he's not following us." Avon flipped some switches. "Scanners show abnormally high radiation leakage. I think they've been damaged."

"So they just sat out there and waited for us to come to them," Blake said in disgust. He sighed. He had been foolish to believe they could escape so easily. The five men were en route to Blake's newest base on the planet McCay after having to abandon the old one due to a Federation attack. Reports had indicated that the Federation was still hours away when they had in fact made planetfall and were already penetrating the defense perimeter. The rebel leader resolved to uncover the failure (traitor?) in his intelligence network as soon as he reached McCay base. But there was so little he could have done, he reflected grimly. Limited supplies, limited manpower, limited everything.

Characteristically, Blake neglected to allow himself the right to have been distracted into inefficiency. The fact that Avon had finally made contact with and then promptly attempted to kill him was an excuse Blake would have permitted anyone but himself. But he had waited so long for Avon to come to him, went through so much trouble to set up the bounty hunter cover to draw Avon to himself! And Avon had come at last, but not the Avon Blake had spent two years with aboard Liberator. This Avon was changed, become dangerously unstable, perhaps ...even mad. The Avon from Blake's Liberator days would have come to Gauda Prime suspecting a trick, suspicious-minded to the end and accepting nothing at face value. This man....

Blake shook his head in reflection. This man had been an unexpected shock. Half-mad, desperate and totally exposed; all of Blake's carefully laid plans to contact the man, to persuade him to rejoin Blake and his Cause had backfired. Blake had seen Avon crumble that day and had nearly died by his friend’s own hand. He rubbed absently where the skin had been regenerated. The wounds had been serious but not immediately fatal and that had puzzled Blake at first. He had see Avon kill before -- the man was an excellent and deadly shot. Had he wanted Blake dead, Blake would, in fact, be dead and that thought brought Blake some form of comfort in hindsight.

Still, the fact that it was Avon, who Blake had considered a trusted friend, Avon, who had tried to kill him, had brought more pain to the rebel than even the wound. A small part of him had died that fateful day on Gauda Prime, and Blake had felt ill equipped to deal with it. His men had wanted Avon executed without delay as a possible source of danger to them all, and Blake had nearly agreed. But that small spark of friendship and affection had not been totally destroyed and Blake had been unable to find it in himself to kill his once-friend. Much of the bitterness and anger had melted away -- temporarily at least -- when he had seen Avon mistreated by the Federation troopers during that last raid. That was when Blake had realized that it wasn't really the vestiges of an old loyalty that had prevented him from allowing Avon to die; he still actually cared. Cared about the man who had tried to kill him?

And what of Avon's feelings for him? True, Avon had shot him down on Gauda Prime without giving him a chance. Yet, Avon had also saved Blake's life scant hours ago, taking a shot that had been meant to end Blake's life. The rebel sagged heavily back in his seat and looked across at the dark head bent over the scanner. Avon was an enigma -- once understood, now totally alien to Blake's memory of him. It would take time to break through this new shell the man had created for himself -- if ever. But this was for a later time. Right now, survival must take first priority.

"Deva," he addressed the graying man at the navigation console. "We'll have to risk opening a sub-beam transmission to McCay. Tell them we need emergency transport immediately."

Deva pushed several buttons before giving up. "Communications are out too, Blake. Diagnostics indicate several fused circuits throughout the system."

Avon shouldered his way past Blake to look over Deva's shoulders. He reached out to reset the diagnostic monitor. "Your circuit breakers never cut in. Looks like you've lost all primary computer functions and about half of your secondary. I'd better take a look." He directed a glare in Deva's direction. "Get out of the way."

The stocky man met the glare unflinchingly, "I’m a computer tech myself, I can give you a hand."

"That won' t be necessary." The words dripped with a glacial scorn. "Vila can give me any assistance I may need."

Deva's eyes narrowed and Blake stepped in quickly. "Deva, help me check the engines. Vila," he turned to the thief hovering in the background, "give Avon a hand. Jaron, I want you to inspect the rest of the ship for damage. Report if you find anything,"

Deva reluctantly abandoned the seat next to the computers, casting a venomous look at Avon’s leather clad back as he did so. Blake heaved a sigh. No one but Kerr Avon could possibly alienate so peaceful a man as Deva in under thirty seconds.

Blake followed Deva aft to the engine compartment and stopped aghast. The small tachyon drive unit was not simply damaged -- it was gone. Only the translucent shimmer of the force field shielding separated the two men from the hard vacuum of open space. "Will you look at that!" Deva whistled in shock. "The blast that did that should have atomized us."

Just as shaken, Blake staggered one step backward, almost through the door before stopping himself. "Must have just missed the fuel. Check the force field generators."

There was a pause while the technician consulted a panel set into the wall. "Force fields are holding, Blake. They have a separate power force and triple redundancy on all systems."

"Thank God for that." Blake moved to the instrument bank to his left and directly opposing the missing engines. He studied several gauges, flipping a red switch in the corner before straightening. "Plasma fusion thrusters are on line and working at about forty percent efficiency. Looks like a fault in the power distribution system. We’re going to have to reroute through the secondaries to maintain even this power level."

"That's going to take hours," Deva said with weary resignation. "And even then our fuel won’t last long enough to get us to McCay at subliminal speeds."

His commander rubbed at his back, then resignedly reached for a small toolkit kept under the console. "I know, but we can’t leave them like this. The imbalance is producing an instability in the fuel mix unit. Much more of that and we go up anyway."

"That might be a mercy, Roj." Blake looked up surprised, catching a glint of real fear in the other's eyes. "Our oxygen supplies are gone. They must have been sheered away in that first blast."

Dropping the toolkit haphazardly, the rebel hurried to his side. "What about the rest of life support?"

"Artificial gravity is still operational – that draws from the plasma engines -- and we’re radiating heat at an acceptable rate for the present. Right now we’re breathing whatever is in the reserve oxygen tanks."

"How long?"

"A couple of hours, then--"

The younger man sagged suddenly; his shoulders slumped beneath his rough brown jacket. "Yes, I see what you mean. We 'II never reach McCay before the air runs out, and communications are down. I wonder if Avon can do anything with the communication's console."

"You mean the boy wonder?"

Blake was surprised at the bitter edge to Deva's voice. He had expected anger, certainly. That had been an almost violent clash of wills out on the flight deck and Deva had lost. But bitterness? "What is it, Deva? What have you got against Avon?"

The other man was chewed his lip for several minutes, obviously choosing his words carefully. "How long have we known each other, Roj? Nearly twenty years now, isn't it?"

Blake nodded slowly. "About that. I met you when I first joined the Freedom Party."

"We worked together almost ten years on Earth. Almost right up to the time you were first arrested."

"You had to leave Earth to take control of the movement on Gamma Hydra IV."

"It still adds up to a long time." Deva continued to speak as he took the access hatch off the power distribution unit. The inside still smoked slightly from the last power surge and Deva poked gingerly into the unit, grimacing at what he found there. "What a mess. Hand me that laser probe, will you? Thanks." He resumed his conversation after a moment. "I know you a lot better than you may think, Roj. Learned to read you -- to anticipate what you're going to do."

"And?"

"And you've decided you trust that madman out there with your life -- and ours -- just as if he hadn't already tried to kill you once."

"Deva. . . . "

The stocky man held up a hand. "I know, I know -- you went through a lot on the Liberator. You're friends. How many of your friends try to blow your guts out at the first available opportunity?" This brutal question gave Blake pause and Deva rushed to fill the vacuum. "But here you are, ready to put all of McCay base in his hands, aren't you? Into the hands of a psychopathic murd--"

"Enough!" Blake roared, cutting Deva off in mid-word. Deva stopped, startled, then vent on grimly.

"How can you trust him after what he did to you?"

Blake dropped his eyes, suddenly ashamed, "Maybe I don't -- not anymore. He’s not the same man I used to know -- not completely."

"No, he isn't," Deva agreed heartily. "But you're going to trust him on McCay base anyway."

"What else can I do?" Blake raised both hands palm up, a plea for understanding. "I can't just kill him. And it would be a crime to waste a man of his brilliance -- and never think differently about that -- Avon is the most brilliant computer technician I've ever seen."

"I know. I've heard of Kerr Avon; every computer tech on Earth has heard of the boy genius at one time or another." At Blake's questioning look Deva sighed deeply. "When I was at university, Avon was one of the instructors/ researchers for the advanced levels. "

"But you're...."

"A lot older than he is, right, I know. I was twenty- five when I finally worked my way up to the strata of Avon's advanced class. He was sixteen years old at the time."

"Good lord."

"And arrogant even then. I had to drop out soon after; wasn't good enough to keep up. That's why he doesn't remember me."

"That wasn't long before he was conscripted for government research."

"Uh-huh. So you see, I do realize what an asset a man like that could be on McCay base. That's not what I'm talking about."

Blake looked away again, fixing his attention on the starfield visible beyond the force barrier. "I know. He's not quite … stable, is he?"

"Not stable? That's putting it mildly, Roj." Deva pulled out the circuitry he was working on to give Blake a piercing look. "He’s dangerous, Roj, mad. You can see it in his eyes -- in the way he has to fight for control every minute. That man is a time bomb just waiting to go off and you want to expose him to the only safe haven you -- or we -- have left at the moment. He tried to kill you, Roj!"

"No."

"What do you mean, 'no'?"

It was Blake's turn to choose his words. "At first I thought Avon wanted me dead, too."

The other huffed disgustedly. "If he didn't, then he was giving a really good impression of a homicidal maniac. He had me totally convinced."

Blake glared at him. "I’ve seen Avon kill, Deva. He does it coldly, unemotionally, and quite efficiently. Did you see anything cold, unemotional or inefficient about that man on Gauda Prime?"

"No," the other shot back. "Nothing sane either."

Blake sighed. "No, maybe not."

"But you're still going to take him to McCay."

"What else can I do?" Blake exploded. "Kill him?"

"Why not? You've 'eliminated' potential threats to the rebellion before."

Blake just looked at him helplessly, bereft of argument, lacking the ability to vocalize the reason he could not just 'eliminate' Kerr Avon. How to explain the protectiveness that surged through him when he saw Avon being manhandled by those Federation troopers back on the base; the black hatred for those who were hurting the man who had come to become part of a chosen family during their days together aboard Liberator? And how could Blake ever make Deva understand the bond that had resurged when he had looked deep into the unshielded eyes of his friend, the open joy had shone in the dark eyes for one fleeting instant before being once again encased behind black ice. But that one instant had been enough; the Avon that Blake had known aboard Liberator wasn't totally gone. He had been beaten into submission behind crystalline screens, but not completely destroyed. It was possible -- maybe -- that Blake could once again break through to the man inside. The question was, did he want to try? And to that question there was no answer -- not yet.

***

Vila began the arduous task of tracing circuits, while Avon dived directly into the main computer console. The thief grumbled a bit about the work but set to it smartly enough. After all, it was his life too, and Vila was ever fond of his skin. He had been engaged in this task about twenty minutes when a crackling noise filled the air followed by a crash. Rushing to the computer console he found the console sparking violently and Avon attempting to climb to his knees cursing fluently in language that impressed even Vila.

The thief sprayed the panel with fire retardant as a safety precaution and asked the inevitable question. "What happened?"

"Power surge. The insulation must have gone somewhere," He coughed a bit at the smoke. "There won't be a circuit left unmelted after that. I’ll have to try the secondaries." He made to come to his feet again, hampered by his tightly wrapped arm. Vila noticed fresh blood staining the bandage and forgot himself so far as to grasp the other man, to assist him to his feet.

Avon raised his eyes and Vila froze; suddenly the thief was no longer on Blake's ship, Starduster, but was sucked helplessly through the void of those fathomless black eyes to another shuttle, another time and a planet named Malodaar.

Remembered terror rooted his feet, turned muscles to jelly, knees to water. He heard again that soft, pleading voice, echoing through the corridors. Avon, asking -- begging -- for help. And ail the time plotting to kill him. Malodaar. Vila snatched his hand back, drew a ragged breath. This is not Malodaar. he told himself (again), not Malodaar, not., .oh, gods. Eyes dilated with fear, Vila inched slowly away from the other man, back to the corner, huddled there -- just as Blake walked in,

Blake took the scene in at a glance: Avon's cold, expressionless state, Vila's obvious terror. He would know what went on here later. Right now matters of survival had to take precedence. But Blake would find out later -- one way or the other. He stepped across the threshold lightly, defusing whatever situation had developed through the strength of his own presence. He met Avon's black gaze with an easy one of his own. "Damages?"

"Why don't you ask what isn't damaged?" Avon growled, "The list is shorter."

"Well?"

"That last power surge pretty fused the primary computer system. I can do very little with it. I've started on the secondary system. It's also damaged but I may be able to cannibalized parts from the communication's console to get them working again." He returned to a component he'd abstracted, ignoring both men completely.

Blake shifted position so he could watch Vila out of the corner of his eye. The thief was ostensibly tracing circuits in the communications console, but Blake noticed his fingers moving mechanically over the same strand of wire. Vila kept darting Avon quick looks full of something Blake had never seen in the brown eyes before -- fear, hatred, betrayal -- from Vila?" But Vila had been very protective of the other man back on Blake's base. Had Avon done something since then to change that? Avon broke the short silence. "What shape are the engines in, Blake?"

"Tachyon drive is completely gone. It must have been sheered away in that first explosion. Deva is adjusting the plasma thrusters to give us a steady acceleration. We’ll slip into time distort one in about thirty minutes -- best we'll be able to do, I'm afraid."

"How far are we from McCay?"

Blake hesitated. "At least twenty hours. We have fuel for eleven and a half at TD-One."

He heard a muffled curse from Vila. "Blast."

Blake gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Vila, eleven hours can take us a long way."

"Where did you get that figure, Blake?" Jaron entered the little flight deck, easing his bulk into the seat by the weapon's console.

"Jaron. What did you find on the rest of the ship?"

"The hull is intact -- no leakage that I could find. 'Course you'd expect that from this little lady." He patted the console affectionately. "Pure herculaneum. You won t find that on any of your average pleasure yachts."

Blake bit back. a smile at his chief engineer's enthusiasm. The rumor was that if it could handle deep space, Jaron could fix it, fly it, or marry if it were possible. "What about life support?"

Jaron sobered at once. "You already know our oxygen supplies are gone." That even got Avon's attention. "We have a reserve oxygen supply for eight hours. I can jerry rig a pump to depressurize fore and aft cargo holds that's give us another half hour or so. Added to what we can cannibalize from the two negative-environment suits, we have another two."

"Ten hours," Vila breathed softly. "That’s a long time to take to die."

"We’re not dead yet." Blake stood up decisively. "Jaron, take over with the engines. Have Deva get started on that pump, We're going to have to conserve our air, try to hold out until help arrives. Vila, check out the X-E suits. You'll find them in the aft cargo hold. We’ll need every scrap of oxygen we can salvage."

Jaron slipped out the door. Vila only stood quietly, regarding Avon with an odd, bleak look in his eyes before following. Blake thought he understood. This must be especially hard on the thief, coming so soon after that shuttle incident above Malodaar. He would have to have a talk with him if...no when they reached McCay. He needed to know just how unstable Avon really was -- and whether he had made a mistake in inviting him to the new base. A mistake that could be rectified in only one way.

He turned his attention back to the computer tech, studying him closely. Avon had changed since Star One. He was thinner, grimmer; pain had etched new lines into the handsome face. Blake's eyes darkened in sympathy, his compassionate heart opening a bit. Vila had told him what had gone on during the two years they had been separated. How Avon had managed to retain any semblance of sanity at all was beyond Blake's comprehension. Not that Avon had been particularly balanced before. Pure genius of that order was often unstable, and Federation torture had done a good job of driving what emotional stability the man had behind walls of black ice. No, Avon's emotional problems were not totally his own fault.

Yet Blake had responsibilities to others -- his team on McCay, the many rebel groups who depended on Blake for support, even the peoples who suffered daily under Federation oppression. Could he, in good conscience, put all of them at risk for the sake of one abused, half-mad and potentially dangerous. . . friend?

Blake was aware that he should check on Jaron's progress in engineering, but he permitted himself the small luxury of a moment, watching the computer tech work. There was precision in the graceful fingers, and a sense of purpose. Blake scowled; wasn't that the emergency transponder Avon was working on? It looked ,..wrong somehow, unfamiliar. "What are you doing?" he finally asked.

Avon hesitated, then, reluctantly, "Some time ago I programmed Orac to pick up a signal on an extremely narrow frequency band. After receiving this signal, Orac is directed to take control of the navigational computers of whatever ship it is on and fly it to the signal's point of origin."

Blake smiled. "Some time ago,' eh? Covering your bets, Avon?"

The other flushed slightly, then shot Blake a hard look. "Always, Blake. I'm altering the frequency of the transponder to transmit Orac’s command code. I ...didn't think you would want to risk the Federation picking up the transponder's normal wide-band emergency call."

"I don't," Blake agreed aloud, but silently added. But which of us is more reluctant to fall into Federation's hands, I wonder -- me or you? "It's a good idea. I wish I'd known about it when I was on Jevron."

"So you were on Jevron?" Intent black eyes studied the rebel a moment, then turned back to the small transponder. "I. ..we had heard you were there." Blake remained silent; Vila had already told him about Terminal. He nearly missed Avon's next comment. "There is a problem, however. Someone has to activate Orac's key before it can take command of the computer systems. The odds are against anyone doing this in time to do us any good -- especially if Soolin is not nearby. By the time anyone thinks to consult Orac we may be long dead."

Blake caught and held the dark eyes. "I see you never learned optimism in the time we were separated," he teased.

"Optimism?" The computer tech looked away, but not before Blake saw a flash of pain. "I've had very little reason to be optimistic about anything. I merely wish you to be aware of the possibilities."

Both men remained lost in silent thought for a long moment, then Blake roused himself. "It's more chance than we had before." He picked up the medical kit and dropped down to one knee, reaching for Avon's arm. "Your arm is bleeding again. I'll...."

"Don't touch me." Black eyes warned him off and Blake paused at the mercurial change in the other. The shift had been so sudden -- from near affability to killing frost in the space of a single heartbeat. A dizzying sense of deja vu washed over the rebel -- he had seen that look in the dark eyes before. Gauda Prime loomed close again, bringing with it the chilling realization that this was the same man who had shot Blake down -- thought he was killing him -- only days ago. So much had happened in the last few hours -- the shared danger had reforged them into some kind of a unit. Blake had forgotten, ..no, that's not entirely true, Blake had not forgotten what had happened on Gauda Prime. But he had wanted to forget -- oh, how badly he had wanted to forget, to pretend Gauda Prime had never happened, to have his friend back again.

But Blake had never been prone to self-delusion, and one look -- one eternity sunk into those cold, damned eyes, brought those points home with all their crushing reality. Avon was ...unwell, and Blake would have to deal with that fact as soon as they reached McCay. If not before.

He withdrew his hand slowly, as he would pull away from a wild and dangerous animal. Avon eased ever so slightly, the frantic look leaving his eyes, but not the wariness and none of the tension. Blake stood up. "It's not bad yet. I suppose I can do that later." But Avon had already turned his attention back to the transponder. For all the attention he paid, Blake had already ceased to exist.

Blake returned to the engine room to assist Jaron. The older man had reduced the fuel mixture unit to its bare essentials and was engaged in the delicate task of replacing/repairing the components without disturbing the power flow. Blake watched him, fascinated for several minutes, remarking how different and yet alike Jaron’s hands were to Avon's. The large, fleshy fingers moved with delicacy, never once hesitating or faltering. In his own field, Jaron's talents were well-known. He'd shipped out from Orion on a commercial freighter at eighteen as an engineer's mate and advance rapidly to the lofty height of chief engineer of a major liner at an early age -- a position he'd held until the Federation annexed the Orion system a few years ago. Jaron had been off-world at the time and had steadfastly refused to return to work for the people who had enslaved his planet. He'd finally made contact with Blake's fledgling organization and had been a stalwart and loyal supporter ever since. Blake had total faith in both him and his abilities.

Several hours later, Blake slowly straightened his aching back, meeting Jaron’s weary gaze across the console. "That's it, then," Jaron said. "We've got the power distribution unit working as efficiently as possible, but I'm afraid Time Distort One-point-two is as far as we're going to go. Plasma-fusion just doesn't generate enough raw power for hyper-light speeds."

"You've done a good job, Jaron." Blake dredged up a tired smile. "Now that Avon's got that computer linkage hooked up, there's nothing more to be done here. Get to the flight deck. I'll make sure the rest of the ship is secured, then we can begin depressurization."

"Right." Jaron paused, then gave the nearest console an affectionate pet. "She's a good ship, Roj. Don’t worry -- she'll get us home."

Blake smiled again, drawing comfort from the other's simple faith. "Sure. Go ahead, get forward."

Jaron left without another word and Blake began a methodical search of the ship for anything which could conceivably be of use to them in the long hours ahead. Engine room, forward cargo hold yielded nothing. He picked up some blankets from the main cabin though -- they would have either been rescued or suffocated long before the cold of space began to seriously affect them, but one never knew. And with the X-E suits cannibalized for their oxygen supplies, they would have no way to retrieve anything left behind once depressurization was begun.

He ended his search in the aft cargo hold, glancing around quickly. Nothing here that... A sound from the far corner drew his attention. There, partially hidden behind a large crate, huddled Vila, staring forlornly into nothingness. The three X-E suits had been neatly disassembled, the oxygen tanks piled together on the floor, but Vila had obviously made no move to return to the flight deck.

Blake knelt beside the thief and placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. He already knew what the problem was. "Vila?"

The thief didn't move, didn't acknowledge his presence for long moments. Then he simply began to speak slowly, his eyes still fixed on unseen terrors. "It’s too close, Blake, too close to what happened before. I tell myself this is different, I'm not over Malodaar and Avon won' t hurt me this time. I tell myself that over and over again until I almost believe it. Then I look into those eyes of his and I'm scared all over again."

"l understand, Vila. It is awfully close to what happened, isn't it?"

"Malodaar." Surprisingly, Vila spat the word with more anger than fear. "Yes, it's like Malodaar. Has it occurred to you, Blake, that if there were only three or four of you, the air supply might even last until you reach McCay?"

"The--" Blake fell into startled silence. It had not occurred to him would have never occurred to him to sacrifice one of them to save oxygen. Would Avon have thought of it? His own words returned to him from four years past. The possibility had arisen that the crew of the London could simply space the prisoners to save fuel if they had a first-class computer expert to alter the record log. Vila had frantically begged Blake not to put ideas into Avon's head, but Blake's reply had been cool -- almost flippant. "Oh, he's bright. It's already occurred to him." He heard those words again now -- the idea would have occurred to Avon -- but would he act on it? "Do you think I made a mistake in bringing him along?"

That got him a startled look which quickly took on a thoughtful, considering aspect. "A mistake? I...." Vila licked dry lips. "I don't know, Blake," he admitted, shaking his head slightly. "Two days ago I was prepared to go with him even against my better judgment. I knew -- still know -- that he's not going to survive on his own."

"You' changed your mind, though."

"At first he was so defenseless. He needed me, Blake. Without me I think he would have died right then."

"But?"

"But I was still afraid of him -- had never stopped being afraid of him. I didn't really want to leave with him but we'd been through so much; had been together so long, that I couldn't just leave him to die." He smiled suddenly. "But I think you can understand that yourself."

Blake returned the smile a little sheepishly, "I couldn't let him die either. There's something about him...."

"Yes, something." Vila's smile disappeared. "Up there, when I looked into his eyes I-- it was like getting kicked in the stomach, Blake. I remembered Malodaar and Gauda Prime and.... It didn't take much for Avon to. ..urn, 'convince' me to stay with you instead of leaving with him." Silence descended, hanging heavy in the air. Finally Vila stirred, looking up to search Blake's face. "What about you, Blake? Do you think you made an error?"

"Not at first." The rebel drew his fingers through his brown curls then down the scar marring one cheek in a tired gesture. "We worked so well together against the Federation strike force, and again after we boarded Starduster that I could almost believe Gauda Prime never happened; that everything was like it was when we had Liberator. "

"It's easy to do that, isn't it? To make yourself believe that everything is all right again, that Avon is..."

"Too easy. Sometimes he's normal, almost affable. And then he looks at you so wild and dangerous and... It was Gauda Prime again too."

Silence again; each man lost in his own personal, Avon-induced nightmare. Then Vila asked quietly, "What are you going to do with him?"

Blake dropped his head into one hand, the other unconsciously rubbing his still-healing abdomen. "God help me, Vila, I don't know," and now it was Vila's warm hand on Blake's shoulder offering the support and comfort.

"At least I don't have to face him alone anymore," Vila said. "And now that you're here he might be able to pull himself together a bit."

Blake looked at him quizzically. "Why would you think that, Vila? The first thing he did when we met again was to shoot me down. I don't exactly consider myself a stabilizing influence after that."

"You're the only one who can help him, Blake. Did you think the rest of us didn't notice how you felt about him -- or how he felt about you -- back on the Liberator? You both argued constantly, but in the end he'd do exactly what you wanted. Did you think we didn't notice how often he happened to bring up information you could use, ideas and solutions to your problems? Or the extra warmth in your voice whenever you spoke to him?" He chuckled softly and looked at his hand still resting on the other’s broad shoulder. "We all noticed, Blake. Jenna even hated Avon for it. Funny, I doubt Avon ever realized how close he was getting to you ...until you were gone, that is."

"After Star One...."

"After Star One he spent two years looking for you. Without you he slowly fell apart and, well, you see what happened." Vila waved his free hand expansively, his mouth turned downward, then continued in a small voice. "Do you think ,..he'll ever be ...as he was?"

"I don't know." The pain shone clear in Blake's normally sun-lit eyes. I’ll help if I can, Vila, but I have others to think about now. My people -- there's almost a hundred of them on McCay alone. If he's going to be a danger to them...." Blake stood up agitatedly, strode a few paces, then turned to face the thief, head up, face set. "If he's going to endanger my people, Vila, I’ll have to kill him."

Vila noted abstractedly how the expression in Blake's eyes didn't quite match the tone of voice. Then it struck him -- Blake was steeling himself to do exactly that -- to kill a man he'd come to love as his own brother. Vila stared, shocked and horrified. Even though he'd been considering this very thing himself for the past several hours, he'd still managed to cling to the somewhat irrational faith that now that Blake was here Avon would return to himself. Surely now Blake would somehow work his magic on the other man and they would all be as they were before, during happier times aboard the Liberator.

The thought made him pause, surprised again. Wasn't that the same thing Avon had believed? Just find Blake and everything would be all right again; was that how it went? Vila recognized it as an irrational hope. For all Blake's strength of personality -- for all the sheer power of the man -- that's exactly what he was: a man. He had taken on an incredible responsibility -- that of watching over and controlling the lives of thousands of people and influencing even more.

Vila felt a wave of sympathy chase the horror. He rose smoothly turning to face the larger man. "There's still hope, Roj," he said, using the other's given name for the first time in his life. Somehow it felt natural, even right; Vila didn't know why; he only knew that he felt closer to Roj Blake at that moment than he ever had before -- and all because of an unpredictable, unstable genius named Kerr Avon.

Blake searched the other's face, receiving the unspoken support. Not for the first time, he was struck by the depth of the thief, the wisdom that comes from seeing both sides of existence, the inner strength that Vila had hidden quite successfully for most of his life. Gone were the coward and the clown and the fool; a useful facade for the thief but still only that a facade, masking the mature and very intelligent man beneath. Blake felt oddly comforted, and was surprised only because he was not surprised that the comfort came from Vila Restal.

"I feel sorry for him," Vila was saying, and Blake realized he'd missed part of the conversation.

"Sorry for Avon?"

"He has such a strong influence on those around him, either tearing them apart or," he grasped Blake's wrist tightly, "bonding them together, yet he's always on the outside looking in, trapped behind those great stone walls of his."

"Walls of his own making," Blake reminded him*

"True. Still, somehow I feel sorry for the poor fool," Vila finished. Blake's mind reeled -- Vila speaking that way of Avon? He almost missed the end of Vila's statement. "And I'm not afraid of him any more, either."

"That was sudden."

"It was, was it?" Vila laughed. "I guess I can't pity someone and be afraid of him at the same time."

Blake seemed to read more behind the thought, for he clapped the smaller man on the back with a smile. "Good man, Vila. In that case, let's head back to the flight deck -- there's still work to do."

The flight deck, when they arrived, was almost oppressively quiet. Deva and Jaron occupied helm and navigation seats, silently staring out at the vista of blazing stars and eternal night. Blake himself never tired of the beauty of open space, yet today it seemed colder, more dangerous and foreboding. Blake stifled a shiver and moved on to the room's third occupant.

Avon sat glued to the tactical scanners. Blake noted that he seemed to have increased their range somehow and wondered idly how. No matter. He could always find out if ...when they reached McCay base.

Blake's gaze rested on the other man long moments, his thoughts bitter. Blast all, Avon, this is not what I need right now. I need my old friend from the Liberator -- I need your logic, your support. And I just don't think I can give you what you need, either Avon; I don't think I have the strength left. His gaze dropped to the bloods stained bandage, and Blake heaved an inaudible sigh. But I can't bear you to be hurt either, my brother. What am I going to do?

With another sigh, Blake picked up the med-kit, crossed to the tactical station. "Avon," he began firmly. "Your arm is still bleeding a little. I’mm going to change that bandage."

The look in the black eyes hit him as an almost physical blow. It was that same expression as on Gauda Prime -- the same wildness and desperation. Blake saw the red lights flash, felt the blast take him. He reached up with one hand to clutch at his stomach, dropping the med-kit as he did so. For just an instant he was on Gauda Prime again.., then it was gone. The silver hull of the Starduster reappeared as reality re-established itself. And back too was the ashen face of Kerr Avon. His eyes filled with anguish as he followed Blake's hands as they reached for his abdomen and read correctly the memories which shone on Blake's face.

They stood locked long minutes, a frozen tableau etched on the face of eternity. Neither man seemed able to escape spell which held them. Time passed -- a split second or infinity neither was afterward able to tell; then the nightmare receded, leaving behind two very vulnerable men in its wake.

Blake gathered himself, reached down to retrieve the medical kit. My god. He's crumbling again. What he said was, '*Your arm is—"

But Avon had also regained the tenuous control which Deva had marked earlier. "Don't touch me, Blake," he snarled. "My arm is--"

"No, don't bother, Blake," Vila interrupted blithely. "I'll do it."

Two pairs of startled eyes turned on the thief, but he unconcernedly snatched the med-kit from Blake's nerveless fingers and turned to the if-anything-more-surprised computer tech. "I’m going to take care of your arm, Avon," he said clearly as if to a child. Time stopped again, but this time it was Vila caught in the center of the maelstrom and, like the eye of the storm, he seemed calm and unaffected by the swirling emotions about him.

Avon stared in shocked silence, darting a glance from the thief to Blake and back again. The newly-formed solidarity between the rebel and the thief was an almost palpable force; something Avon could not quite figure out but which seemed to overwhelm and overpower him. He dropped his eyes before the bold, unflinching ones of the thief.

Blake released a breath he wasn't aware he was holding. Vila had been telling the truth when he said he wasn't afraid of Avon anymore. And all because they -- Blake and Vila -- were united now, neither having to rely on his own strength alone to face the difficult computer tech. Blake smiled a bit to himself. Vila had drawn his courage from Blake at first; now he was feeding it back much like a prism reflects and refracts a laser. And not just courage, but comfort and warmth as well. The rebel reflected on just how much a treasure Vila was to have as a comrade, and how sorely he had missed him as a friend.

Avon as well appeared to draw something from the thief. As Vila re-bound his arm with firm and gentle fingers, Avon raised his head to cast a wondering eye on the other. Vila said nothing, only smiled and gave him a friendly, almost paternal pat before returning to his task. This was not the Vila Avon had known for the better part of four years. The fool was gone, replaced with this confident, unafraid man,

Confused, Avon looked to Blake for explanation, only to find Vila's expression mirrored on the rebel's face. What had happened between these two to bond them together so securely was beyond his ability to comprehend at present; Avon only knew that he was powerless before it. A frightening thought. Avon snatched his arm back even as Vila was tying the last strip into place. He shot the thief a glance, but Vila only smiled back pacifically. Fighting hatred and distrust was one thing, but how do you fight.. .love?

Blake was thinking the same thing, and found himself blessing Vila for a genius. Avon looked so bewildered that Blake had to fight down the urge to pat him on the head as he would a small boy. He sent a grin Vila's way. It was a small victory, true, yet a victory nonetheless. Blake did not delude himself with the thought that suddenly Avon could be trusted, handled with impunity. There was a long way to go before that could happen, if ever. No, this was just a small demonstration -- Vila's way of telling Blake to not give up yet; there was still hope that the three of them could recover from the pain of the last few years.

More time passed as the minutes became hours, the hours a lifetime. Each man sat on the deck, low where the oxygen was marginally thicker. The air was getting stale, what little oxygen there was, was coming sporadically from the nearly exhausted X-E suits.

Blake cast bleary eyes around the flight deck, accepting completely for the first time the fact that death was inevitable.

"Looks like ...the end," he panted. "Not ...much time. ..left."

"We’re really ,..going to. ..die." Vila's voice was full of wonder -- but oddly enough, no fear. Vila had always thought dying would be a terrifying experience, yet here he was, speaking about if calmly, accepting it without panic. Vila became aware that both Blake and Avon were staring at him again, and managed a small sad smile. "No," he croaked, "… not. ..afraid, ..anymore. Tired of being, ..afraid."

"Yes." The low reply was barely audible, yet it drew Blake's attention away from Vila. He turned to stare fully at the computer tech, surprised to find the other man returning the gaze with eyes full of regret. They remained like that for long minutes, then Blake came to a decision. Summoning up his remaining strength, he scrambled across the floor, settling himself next to a puzzled Avon.

It was getting harder and harder to concentrate, but Blake had one last thing to do before allowing consciousness to fade forever. He took a deep breath, temporarily clearing his vision, and held out one hand to Vila. The thief smiled again, a weary wan grimace, but scooted closer to take Blake's hand. At least none of us must die alone, Blake thought sadly.

Blake gave Vila's hand a little squeeze, then turned back to Avon. The black eyes were still fixed on his own, the wariness back. Had the computer tech had the strength, Blake was certain he would have bolted. But he didn't have the strength -- only the pain and the fear.

Blake raised a leaden arm, reaching for the other's shoulders. He dredged up a small smile, putting all the warmth and the affection he could muster into it. "Does it matter, ..now, Avon?" he gasped. "I don't want. ..to die. ..with us.. .enemies."

Avon stared at him uncertainly, pain and regret obvious in his expression. Blake's energy faded, his arm trembled and began to fall, but Avon had already moved into the circle of Blake's offered affection. He allowed himself to lean against the rebel with a small sigh. "I'm. ..sorry," he managed before losing consciousness.

Blake tightened his grip about the other, stared down at the dark head lolling against his chest. "I know. ..you are. Sleep well...my.. friend."

And with that thought, Blake gave himself up to oblivion.

***

Blake's first waking thought was, I didn't think the afterlife would hurt so much. Then awareness established a foothold. He flicked his eyes open with an effort, meeting the concerned gaze of his chief medical officer.

"lt's about time you woke up, Roj," he said. "We were starting to worry."

"Jack? Wha--?"

"Here, drink this." Sullivan raised the rebel's head slightly, helping him to some cool water. The fluid soothed the sore throat making speech something less than an impossibility.

"What happened, Jack?"

Sullivan patted his shoulder paternally. "You just lie right there and rest, Roj. Let me do the talking for a change, all right? Good."

"Starduster disappeared from our scanners almost immediately after takeoff. We lost a couple of ships of our own, I'm afraid." Blake made to say something, but Sullivan stopped him with a raised hand. "Mostly cargo. We lost Harding, though."

"Pity," Blake said. "What about--"

"Quiet. Let me finish.

"We were halfway to McCay when that blonde -- Soolin -- started demanding we locate her friends. They weren't on any of the other ships, so we had to assume they were either with you or hadn't made it off planet. That was when we first realized we couldn't contact Starduster."

"We were hit," Blake said, "damaged."

Sullivan gazed at him fondly. "We thought we'd lost you. Anyway, Soolin demanded access to something called Orac. You know -- that computer thing?"

Blake laughed. "That 'computer thing’ is the most advanced example of artificial intelligence in the galaxy." It was getting easier to talk and, after a calculating look, Sullivan stopped shushing him.

"Be that as it may, the next thing we know, our ship make a I80 degree course change right back the way we came! I’ll tell you, Captain Pike was practically chewing neutronium! He couldn't even activate the manual override; something was blocking the codes*"

"Orac!" Blake grinned happily. "He can be a little disconcerting if you're not used to him."

"Hmmmm. Pike was ready to take the flight computer apart personally to regain navigational control. He'd have done it too if that blonde hadn't pulled a blaster on him."

"What?! "

Sullivan laughed out loud at the memory. "Pike was spitting neutrons, but she just faced him down. Said Orac was controlling the ship and if he didn't want a hole in him, he'd better just sit down and like it." He paused. "Quite a girl, that Sooiin. I wonder if she's free for dinner."

That elicited an anguished groan. "Jack -- please?"

"Oh, right." The white haired man cleared his throat and rested a hand on Blake’s shoulder. "That was how we found Starduster. And just in time, too. You... we. ..we almost lost you, Roj."

There was a pause that Blake interpreted to mean hesitance. He lifted his head, eyes widening with alarm. "The others? Jack, what about the others?"

Sullivan restrained him with a pat. "Calm down, Roj. They're all fine. Feeling a bit rocky about now, I shouldn't wonder, but they're all fine."

The rebel sighed and let his head drop back down. He tilted his head until he could see himself in the mirror on the wall; brown curls disarrayed and brown jacket and pants bearing various rips and stains, he looked more a space derelict than space captain. "Can I see them?" he asked at last, abandoning the view.

That earned him another pat. "Later. Get some rest for now. There's plenty of time for reunions once we get to McCay." He shot Blake a parting grin and left the room.

Reunion? He relaxed into the soft bed with a sigh of pure contentment and allowed himself to relive the memory of what he had believed to be his last few moments of life. He had learned much then about himself, and about his friends as well. He hadn't realized just how much he himself still needed to heal. It was as if he'd been incomplete for a very long time and was only now finding that out.

"Two parts of a whole." That was how Cally had once described his relationship to Avon. He had laughingly brushed her off then, refusing to allow himself the luxury of caring for one person enough to ever interfere with his Cause. Yet he realized she had been correct -- no, partially correct, he amended himself. Not two parts of a whole, but three -- Vila was as much a part of it as was Avon.

And they had another chance.

He smiled again, feeling sleep reach out to him with soothing arms. Together? Maybe. Blake could still not fool himself into thinking that Avon was well again. The man was dangerously unstable and may yet have to be... Blake found he had to force the word. …killed. Psychiatric advice would have to be first on Blake's list of priorities once they reached McCay. But now he had Vila's help -- Vila's stabilizing influence. Together they could handle Avon -- reunite the tattered edges of the triune into the powerful force it had once been.

And for the first time in over two long years, Blake welcomed tomorrow with a smile.

finis