Disclaimer: I don't own Blake's 7. The BBC does. Please don't sue.
Moments of Transition
By
Fairlady Z
This story is set in between Hostage and Countdown.
"How does that feel?"
Avon tested the pad that Blake had helped him apply to his left arm in the medical unit. He had recently been shot by the now ex-space commander, Travis, on the planet Exbar. Avon grimaced at the pain. It wasn't as bad as it had been earlier, but not by much.
"Better. I've had worse."
False modesty had never been one of Avon's strong suits and Blake knew it only too well. He had a gift for reading people. Nearly half the things Avon said had an ulterior meaning and couldn't be taken at face value. Nine times out of ten, Avon's expressions and body language were a better indication of the man's true feelings. He was still in a great deal of pain, despite the patch up.
"Come on, Avon. You're lucky that blast didn't take your arm off. We were fortunate to get you back to the Liberator in time."
"I should have known you were too foolish to look after your own self interest and leave me behind. If our positions had been reversed - "
"If they had been reversed, you would have been looking out for your own self interest instead of mine. You were shouting at me to leave you to die. I've never known you to give up that easily before."
Avon's eyes flickered as they met Blake's darker brown ones. It was the only lapse in his otherwise unreadable face. Still, it was enough for Blake to notice. Avon cared more about the crew (and him) than he would ever be willing to admit.
"I was down. Logic said I was probably dead, but I wasn't going to allow Travis the satisfaction of finishing us both off."
Avon gave Blake one of his almost genuine half smiles. He knew the revolutionary saw through the cracks in his outward veneer. In fact, he enjoyed making a little game out of their constant verbal power struggles.
"Very considerate. You were no doubt expecting me to avenge you as well, but as I have told you before, too many of my friends have already died. The last person who asked me to leave him behind was Gan."
Avon raised an eyebrow at this statement. "I never knew you considered me a friend." A pause, but he quickly added, "You must use the term very loosely."
"Apparently. Pure self interest." Blake matched Avon's tone. "I need some kind of crew. I remember what you said about the others leaving if there was one more death."
"And how ironic it would be, you said, if it were mine. But even if they did leave, a man as legendary as you've become shouldn't have any trouble finding more followers." Blake walked towards the other end of the room. "Inga, for example. Saying she meant a lot to you once appears to be an understatement." Blake turned on his heels to face Avon. "No wonder you were willing to risk so much to save her." Again, Avon's words held a trace of something deeper.
"There are some people worth risking everything for. Inga and Ushton are the only family I have left!"
"Well, at least you still have someone." Avon's voice was his usual monotone, but there was a slightly distant quality as if he were remembering something. Then he gave a small smile.
"You should return to your quarters and get some rest," Blake said abruptly. "Things should be quiet for a while once we get away from Exbar."
Avon gave a nod. Blake exited the medical unit and headed for the flight deck.
--
Cally, Vila, and Jenna were all at their regular positions when Blake entered. Jenna asked after Avon, to which Blake curtly replied he'd be all right. The Federation had followed them to Exbar and would soon be on Liberator's tale again. It was best to leave in a hurry. Blake told Jenna to set a course away from the planet, standard by twelve.
"For anywhere in particular?" asked the blond-haired pilot.
"Head for the Outer Planets." This last month had been hell. "Hiding away for a little while should give us time for the rest and recuperation we need."
Jenna nodded. She knew thing had been happening too fast for them all. They needed some time to sort things out and to think. From Gan's death and the failed attack on Central Control to Travis becoming a fugitive like them, they hadn't really had time to let it all sink in. Blake was still exhausted, despite his strong composure. Jenna secretly wished there was something that she, as a woman, could do to help.
--
In his quarters, Avon lay on his bed listening to classical music on his headphones. It always helped him relax in times of tension. It worked now, at least in terms of taking his mind off the pain of his injured arm. Yet, he still found his surface thoughts floating back to his recent conversation with Blake.
Ever since Avon had met Roj Blake, his life was always in one kind of danger or another, all in the cause of "freedom." Blake was one of those idealists, never willing to compromise on anything. He was a fool…and an honest man. During his stay on the Liberator, Avon had tried to leave many times, but fate had a way of intervening. Still, he could be worse for company. An idealist always needed someone to keep an eye on him. Avon thought about Blake's blind determination to save his family, particularly Inga. There had been someone like that in Avon's life…once, a long time ago. Any family Avon had once had, like his brother, had been wiped out by the Federation in one way or another. Blake deserved to keep what was left of his.
Avon found himself pondering the old saying, "fools rush in where angels fear to tread." But the Federation had done it's best to abolish those angels of religion a long time ago when they established the new calendar. And what was left over, the fools, had better tread very carefully. Avon smiled to himself and couldn't help but wonder with fateful curiosity exactly where the fools of the Liberator would be treading next, before letting his thoughts become awash again with the soothing rhythms of classical baroque.
--
Vila excused himself from the flight deck. According to Zen, it would be about month before they reached their destination. This allowed enough quiet time to try and sort out all the pent up feelings that had accumulated in their heads this past month. In Vila's case, that meant avoiding everybody as much as possible. He still felt guilty about breaking under Travis's torture, but death had become so much more real as of late. He had tried to be brave, but with a gun being held to his head and a flashing memory of Gan's fate, it was all he could do not to cry at the thought of his very life ending so senselessly too.
So now, here he was, outside the door to Gan's room, or what had been Gan's room. Vila had been here before, many times since his death. Only now though did he think he finally worked up the courage to enter. Everyone else had been avoiding the room too. Maybe they weren't willing to face it yet themselves, or maybe they just didn't care. Either way, it helped strengthen Vila's resolve to go in. He jimmied the door panel which usually opened on the voice command of the room's occupant, but that wouldn't do the trick anymore for this room. As the door swished open, Vila cautiously stepped inside.
It was like seeing a place frozen in time. Gan's quarters had always been sparsely decorated. He had never been much on worldly possessions, which Vila had always found strange. What was in the room though did give a pretty clear view of Gan's personality. First, there were the usual objects – lamp, computer terminal (not that Gan used it much), nightstand, a couple of chairs, and a small table. There was a door leading off to the sink and shower. A closet full of clothes that Gan had personally selected and brought back from the Liberator's wardrobe room, all of which were large enough to fit two of Vila into them, could be seen in the corner. Some weights littered the floor. The ship had its own rest room, but Gan had always been a stickler about physical fitness.
On the nightstand, lay his headphones that had always played the jazzy improvisational music that Gan used to favor. Next to the headphones was a deck of cards Vila had lent him. The thief had shown him another magic trick not too long ago. Gan thought he had caught on and asked if he could borrow the deck so he could practice and try out the trick on Vila later to see if he had learnt it right. From their scattered formation on the nightstand, the cards appeared to be in the proper position toward getting it correct. Vila carefully began to scoop the cards back up into a neat pile, shuffling them with a casino dealer's skill.
That was when his eyes fell on the other item on the nightstand – a small gold locket lovingly arranged, like some sort of talisman to watch over any occupant in the room. It was Gan's most prized possession, so Vila was a little surprised to find it here and not in the pocket of the clothes of Gan's lifeless body, light years away on Earth. The locket had belonged to Gan's woman, Serra, which she had given to him as she died in his arms. Gan had kept it close to himself in one way or another ever since. Vila remembered the venomous look on Gan's face when he had tried to nick it in the cell that first night they had met while waiting for the transport that would take them to Cygnus Alpha.
Ever since that time, the two had become good friends. Gan was Vila's unofficial bodyguard, always ready to provide a sympathetic ear, while Vila's chattiness and sense of humor always lifted Gan's spirits and helped him forget his trouble for a time. Despite his outgoing nature, Vila did not make friends easily. Vila placed the deck of cards in his pocket. He was about to do the same with the locket, when he heard someone else by the door.
"Cally, I…" For once, Villa appeared at a loss for words as he saw the slim figure of the Auron woman.
There is no need to explain your presence here any more than I need to explain mine. He voice resonated telepathically in Vila's head. Sometimes words are inadequate in explaining our feelings.
Vila remained nervous. He wanted to be alone right now. Yet, if anyone else had to be here, he was glad it was Cally. She of all people would be able to understand at least part of what he felt. Still, Vila was glad that she couldn't read his mind, only send. He didn't like the idea of someone being able to know all his deepest thoughts and insecurities, unless perhaps it involved his erotic fantasies and she was the one willing to satisfy them. But that was a fantasy in itself.
"I'm surprised I even found the courage to come here," Vila found himself saying.
"We often display more courage than we realize we have when it comes to our friends. Gan was a good man and a good friend to us all."
"He deserved better than to die for nothing." There was a growing bitterness in Vila's voice.
"He died saving your lives as you escaped. Gan sacrificed his life for his friends. I would not call that nothing. Blake will make sure he has companions for his death."
"Yeah, most likely one of us! Vila interjected grimly. Cally would have normally seen such a statement as Vila's usual sarcastically fatalistic attitude. However, this time the words held an intensity and angry edge that was rare for the little thief. It was slightly chilling. "It's all become so serious, Cally!" His voice was now full of the nervous energy she was used to, but it still held much of the intensity.
"It always has," Cally answered with a patience that seemed to be an Auronar trademark.
"But now it's so much more real y'know! I don't mind dying for a friend. I mean, I don't want to die at all, but we all have to go sometime and that would be one of the better ways I guess. But I want my death to mean something, to have accomplished something great before I die – preferably having acquired a lot of wealth and being surrounded by beautiful women – but I don't want to die for a lost cause, forgotten and alone! And we're not going to win, Cally, as much as Blake might think otherwise. I just have this feeling that we're all going to end up like Gan – doomed, with no one to remember we even existed!"
Cally found herself in sympathy with Vila's words, particularly his fear of dying alone. Yet, somehow, she couldn't bring herself to believe that the cause Blake was fighting for, that she was fighting for and believed in, was all for naught.
"Sometimes a life full of purpose is just as good as reaching your goal. Still, if you want to leave, you know none of us would stop you."
Vila knew that was true. No one on the Liberator ever forced anyone to do anything. That was the worst and best part. Despite it all, Vila wanted to stay and there was no one else he could possibly blame for that decision except himself.
"I have no where better to go. This is still the safest place for me to be and I can't tell you how depressing that is."
Vila let his hand pass over Gan's locket again. He saw Cally looking at it curiously. He flicked it open and showed her the picture inside of Gan and Serra, explaining its significance and how much it had meant to Gan.
"I think he would want you to have it now," Cally said gently. "You were his closest friend. Gan always had hope for a better tomorrow. Perhaps this keepsake will help give you some too." She put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
Vila smiled at her. "If not, I guess I could always trade it for a couple of bottles of whiskey." Cally shot him a half-concerned "you're not serious" look. "Don't worry," he reassured her. "Gan always said I drank too much anyway. I promised him after Space City that I'd cut down and I never dishonor a dead man's request."
Cally's face reconfigured itself to share Vila's smile. Then she left Vila alone again in Gan's room. After a few seconds, Vila closed up the locket and carefully placed it next to the deck of cards in his pocket. As long as Vila lived, Gan would never have to worry about having died forgotten and alone. Vila let out a heavy sigh. He firmly believed that too much thinking about death wasn't good for the living. Vila took once last glance around the empty room then exited without looking back, making sure the door closed firmly behind him.
--
Avon approached the flight deck. He'd managed to get several hours of sleep and now felt rested and calm, at least as calm as a man like him could ever feel. His arm still ached a little, but the pad seemed to be taking care of it quickly. It was supposed to cut normal healing time in half. In a few weeks, he should be almost as good as new. Avon heard what he thought to be Blake's voice, though he couldn't make out the words, then the sound of Orac's key being taken out. The revolutionary was no doubt doing something he didn't want the others to know about yet as it became apparent Blake was now the only one on the flight deck. It most likely had something to do with Central Control. Despite the time that the crew was taking to "rebuilt their legend," sooner or later Blake was going to want to make another attempt once they had found its true location. It was rather convenient that Blake's conversation with Orac had ended just as Avon had entered. There wasn't any way Blake could have known the computer tech had just arrived. Fate intervenes again. Too bad. Avon could have done with a little eavesdropping. Maybe next time. It would all come out soon enough though. Now it was just a question of pretending about how much of the conversation Blake should think he overheard. Very little this time, Avon decided. The relaxing nap, he guessed, having put him a generous mood. Noisily then so he would be sure Blake could hear him enter, Avon made his way down the stairs towards his station. He did his best to appear unconcerned about Blake being alone as the other man turned from his seat on the couch to face him.
"Feeling any better?" Blake asked.
"Yes. I thought I heard Orac. I'm not interrupting anything am I?"
Blake wasn't fooled by Avon's innocent tone. "Nothing important," he responded, but they both knew that was a lie. "For now."
"Where are the others?"
"Resting as well. It'll be about a month before we reach our destination."
"Well, wherever we're going, we don't seem to be in a hurry for once."
"We all need some downtime. I thought that we could hide out among the Outer Planets for a while. Del Ten sounds promising."
"Del Ten?"
"It's a pleasure world with very low gravity well beyond the Federation border. The inhabitants have completely devoted themselves to the ultimate pursuits of pleasure and ecstasy in any form imaginable. A guest's every wish is their command, or so I'm told. Vila keeps suggesting it."
"Given that description, why am I not surprised?"
Blake allowed himself a small smile at the corners of his mouth. Then he turned his head back towards the main screen to face away from Avon. "We'll be making a slight detour, though. I have one more piece of business to take care of before our vacation."
Behind Blake, Avon's brown eyes darkened. Blake didn't need to look to know what the computer tech's reaction would be. He could predict it well enough by now, especially if Avon had been eavesdropping on his conversation with Orac.
"And what sort of business might that be, Blake, or were you planning on keeping that one of your little secrets as usual?"
Blake noticed the emphasis placed on the word "business" by the way Avon dropped into his lower, raspier voice register upon saying the word. The subtle but important vocal modulation was always Avon's way of expressing particular displeasure or emotional intensity about something. However, Avon's complaint was a tired argument and Blake was not about to repeat it again.
"Well, I was planning to extend the common courtesy of telling everyone at once, but if you're so curious you can go ahead and ask Orac for the details, unless you already know that from eavesdropping. The others already know that we are headed to Albian."
"I don't have to eavesdrop to know that it has something to do with Central Control. It's your obsession Blake! Your idealistic obsession that will eventually kill us all!"
"Or be our only chance for survival! Like I said before, you can leave whenever you want, but that would mean giving up the Liberator. And neither of us is the type of person who has even been known to give up on anything." Blake turned back to face Avon just in time to catch an ironic smile.
"Adamant determination. It is the one, singular quality that we both irritatingly share."
"So we are apparently stuck with one another," Blake resigned.
"Apparently."
"We still have a long flight ahead of us. Care for a game of chess."
"Why not?"
"As long as we can overcome the adamant determination of who goes first."
"No, you go ahead and lead with white. Just remember I'll be right behind you, but always one move ahead."
--
Cally awoke from her meditative trance as she heard Jenna enter the rest room. The blonde woman was clad in her white bodysuit that she usually wore under something else.
"Sorry if I disturbed you. I'm convinced that I haven't been in shape enough recently. This is my first chance for a good workout in quite some time."
"Not at all. I was just engaging in some of my people's meditation exercises. They're very good at relieving stress. I could teach you if you like."
"Auronar yoga? Why not? I could use some exercises designed for relaxation."
"They require developing strict muscle control."
"Anything for the lower back? I have knots there as tight as the Gordian." Jenna sat in the lounge chair next to Cally.
"The first thing to do is sit cross-legged, back straight, and regulate your breathing in a deep, steady rhythm."
Jenna imitated Cally's position. She closed her eyes and tried to take long, deep breaths.
"The next step is to clear your mind of all other thoughts. Concentrate on just your posture and breathing. I sense that your mind is clouded with worry."
Jenna hated when Cally got all mystical and alien. "Clearing my mind is not going to be easy with all that's been happening recently."
"You must try to forget if you want these exercises to work."
Jenna concentrated for a few minutes, but events kept swimming around her head like a shark, gnawing away and refusing to let go. Her eyes snapped back open and she slouched in her chair.
"It's no use. The images won't go away."
Cally's eyes fluttered open to meet hers. "Anything in particular you want to talk about?"
"No. Yes. It's just…how much did Blake tell you about our takeover attempt on the London?"
"Just that it was you, him, and Avon and that the attempt failed because the sub commander began executing prisoners, forcing you to surrender until you were able to escape by taking the Liberator. Why?"
"I felt so sure we were going to succeed in that first attempt. That with Blake leading us there was no chance we could lose with the confidence he inspired. We were invincible! And the people started dying, and the worst part was that Raiker enjoyed it, just like Travis does. It's like it's all happening again with Central Control. We were so sure we could win, and we failed! Gan lost his life as a result! On the London we were lucky enough to get another chance. I'm not so sure that will happen a second time."
"I spoke with Vila yesterday. He fears the same thing. He thinks that we're all doomed."
"He always says that, but in this case, I'd say his fear is justified. What do you think about all this?"
Cally looked thoughtful for a minute. "I think that Blake is determined to finish what he started and that he can't do it alone. I've known the pain of isolation and intend to stay with him. The Federation's evil must be fought by someone!"
A conversation from about a year ago Jenna had had with Blake when they'd thought that they had lost Cally on Centero flashed through her mind. Jenna remembered the words she and Blake has said back then and now let them serve as wisdom to herself. Guilt like this isn't rational. You have to move on with your life if you want to survive.
"It's a matter of survival then. It always was. It's too late to stop. I always said that I'd stay and finish what we set out to do." Jenna paused and began stretching out on the floor. "I think an old-fashioned workout may be more to my needs right now after all."
--
"Cally?" Vila asked.
"Fold." She placed her cards back down on the table.
"Jenna?"
The pilot thought for a couple more seconds then placed her chips in the pot. "Why not?"
"I'll see that and raise you fifty," Avon said with his usual poker face.
"Right. Well, I'll see your fifty and double it," Vila responded.
"That's too rich for me. I only have a pair of sevens," Jenna said. "Fold."
"You must have something good Vila. Let's see how good," said Avon. "I'll see your hundred and double again."
"So do you apparently or you're showing more curiosity than usual. I'm in for that and another hundred."
"Is that all?" Avon baited Vila.
"Alright. Make it two hundred."
"I'll see your two hundred and your cards."
"No raise?" It was Vila's turn to smirk.
Avon picked up his last chip and laid it carefully in the pot. "Another twenty. Satisfied?"
"I am now." Vila spread his cards to display four kings, knave high.
Avon put down his cards with an unreadable expression, but he only had a full house.
"I did have something good," Vila smiled. "You should have pulled out sooner. So let's see…what's the total you owe me from the last two hands as well?"
"If you can't do the math, you don't deserve the credits."
"I never get my sums wrong when money is involved. I was talking to myself."
"Since you are the only person ignorant enough to understand your own juvenile chatter."
"I'm not the one who resorts to immature insults just because he's a sore loser."
"Enough! You're both acting like children," Cally interjected.
"We are not! Besides he started it," complained Vila.
Avon remained silent, but smiled as Cally's point about one of them was proven by Vila's childish protest.
"What are you smiling about? You owe me 750 credits," Vila reminded him, not about to let Avon forget. It felt good to get in the last word, especially after the animosity Avon still harbored from the "typical uselessness" and "cowardice under torture" that Vila had displayed on Exbar. But who had been the one stupid enough to alert Servalan to their presence as well as Travis's? Vila had been certain to remind Avon of that mistake over the past few weeks. Avon still wore the pad that was taking care of his arm wound he'd been careless enough to receive. Cally said he should be well enough to take it off before they reached Albian. Vila hoped that Blake's "detour" wouldn't be too dangerous. He wanted to live to make it to Del Ten.
"Anyone for another hand?"
--
Blake lay in his quarters trying to get some much needed sleep. In six hours, the Liberator would reach Albian. That was where Provine would be, one of the only people left who had a clue to the real location of Central Control. Was it really becoming his obsession? Was it really a hopeless dream? Perhaps, but what were the alternatives – drugged servitude? Slavery? Prolonged torture? Another Cygnus Alpha? Death?
That was always what it came down to in the end, didn't it? Fight or die! And he was determined to go down fighting. They all were in their own way. They all hated the Federation for their own reasons. The others just wanted to live. He really couldn't blame them. He didn't want to die either. But everyone in the Federation deserved an equal chance to live free. The problem was, in order to truly live, it often required looking death in the face. Not everyone survived the trip. Gan didn't. Travis escaped execution because of Blake's decision to attack Servalan's headquarters, placing what little family the revolutionary had left in danger. His friends on the Liberator, and he really did call them friends, were in danger because of their choice to remain with him. Then there were all the others who had come before – his brother and sister, Bran Foster, Ravella, Richie, Kasabi, those in the Freedom Party, and countless others. He would not let their deaths be in vain. He would do his best to make sure no more died, but the only way to be safe, truly safe, and live without fear, was to destroy Central Control and win. They were stuck with each other out on necessity and had passed the point of no return. One more for Gan because I – because we all – want to survive!
The fight would continue soon enough. But for the next few hours at least, Blake would sleep and dream of something better, caught up in a moment of transition.
The End
In memory of David Jackson
1934-2005