Break Away

by AstroGirl

The Liberator teleport bay shimmered and faded around Vila for what he suddenly realized would be the very last time, and before he could change his mind again, he found himself standing in the main computer room on Station XK-72. And, sure enough, there was Avon right in front of him.

Despite the churning, nervous what-have-I-done? feeling in his stomach, Vila couldn't help but smile. Good old Avon. Completely predictable. Anywhere there were computers, Avon would gravitate towards them. It was like an unbreakable law of physics.

Avon, for his part, looked more than a little taken aback, his lips parting in silent surprise. Which made Vila's smile a little wider; it was always fun when you could knock Avon off-balance a bit. "Hello, Avon," he said brightly.

"Vila," Avon said. His mouth curled up in that odd expression he got when he tried to take a real smile and turn it into a sneer, just so you wouldn't think he'd gone soft. "What changed your mind?"

Vila shrugged. It wasn't a question he was particularly keen to answer; it had already been hard enough explaining it to Blake. He couldn't bear the silence, though, as Avon waited patiently for an answer -- and, damn it, why was Avon only ever patient when you didn't want him to be?

"In the last two days," he said, finally, taking a deep breath, "the Federation's tried to kill me. And, yes, all right, no difference there. But the Liberator also tried to kill me. Gan tried to kill me. Space itself tried to kill me! And it very nearly succeeded." He dropped his gaze to the floor, and his next words quieter. "And I finally thought, I don't know how many more days like this I can take." He looked back up at Avon and forced another smile. "So I figured, you know, a nice quiet retirement on a nice, neutral space station might be just the thing! And, handily enough, there just happened to be one in the neighborhood where I just happened to know a bloke who'd relocated recently, and, well..." He spread his arms wide. "Here I am!"

"So I see." Avon's voice gave nothing away, and Vila scanned his face carefully, desperately hoping for... Well, he wasn't entirely sure what. Some hint of a welcome, maybe. At least it wasn't as if Avon could throw him off the station; Liberator was probably out of teleport range by now. Although maybe that wasn't such a good thing if Avon...

Vila's increasingly panicky thoughts broke off abruptly as Avon tossed him a laser probe. He caught it, clumsily and looked at Avon in surprise.

"Very well, then," said Avon, blandly. "You can help me trace the circuits on the main memory core. I am almost certain I can increase the storage efficiency by re-routing the primary input paths."

"Oh, good," said Vila with an exaggerated sigh in his voice. "Following you around all day and handing you your tools is exactly the kind of retirement I had in mind." But he could feel the roiling in his stomach beginning to settle. "Right? Where's this memory thingy then?"

And they settled into work as if they had left nothing at all behind.

Six months later, Vila strolled into Avon's workspace unannounced, flopped down into an ugly, uncomfortable chair, and sighed heavily. Avon ignored him, keeping his attention focused on the project he was working on -- which apparently consisted of testing a giant board full of switches by flipping them slowly, one at a time -- so Vila sighed again, louder. When that, too, failed to elicit a response, he said, "I don't know how you do it, Avon."

"It's very simple," said Avon, still not looking up. "One first forms an intention in the mind, then the brain sends signals to the body to carry out an action. I understand it's that first part with which you tend to have difficulty."

"Very funny," said Vila. "But not what I meant. Come on, surely you've noticed by now that we've somehow managed to find what has to be the most boring bolthole in the known universe. Yet there you sit, calmly flipping switches and showing no signs of the boredom-induced insanity you must be suffering at all. It's impressive, really. Wish I had the knack."

"That's odd. I would have thought that you, of all people, would know better than to equate a lack of mortal danger with boredom. I believe the word you are in fact looking for is 'safe.'"

"I know what 'boring' means, Avon." Vila tipped his chair back a little. "And this place? Is boring. Especially for me. At least back on the Liberator I got to use my not-inconsiderable skills once in a while. But nobody here ever needs anything stolen, or opened, or subjected to my suavely distracting charms." Avon snorted. Vila pretended not to have heard. "Do you know what they had me doing yesterday?" he continued. "Cleaning out the chemical-waste tanks! I think I'd almost rather be shot at."

"Perhaps you should learn some more marketable skills, then." Avon glanced at him, then back down at his switches. Flick, flick, flick... It was almost hypnotic, and Vila shook his head sharply, realizing he'd been staring unblinking at Avon's fingers for several seconds.

"Or perhaps," Vila said, "We should get out of here. I'm serious, Avon. I'm starting to wish I'd never come in the first place."

"It did seem to be an uncharacteristically sensible decision for you. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that it didn't last."

Vila let his chair tip forward again, his feet thunking loudly to the floor. "Oh, come off it. You're just as unhappy here as I am! You just don't want to admit it, because that would involve admitting you were wrong to leave Blake and the Liberator. But look what they've got you doing! I may not be an expert on computers, but even I can tell that's hardly genius-level work!" He gestured towards Avon's project. "Testing bloody switches! Not to mention spending half your time filling out paperwork for Farron, and behaving yourself in front of the station's high-and-mighty all the time in case they decide to stop paying you. Isn't that what you were trying to get away from in the first place, back on Earth?"

"Vila..." Avon's switch-flicking didn't stop, but his voice and his face had both taken on a dangerous cast.

"I'm just saying. I know I've talked about it before, but just think about it, all right? You and me, Space City! With your talents and mine together, we could come up with a hundred different ways of making a killing. A metaphorical killing, of course, no guns involved. It'd be fun!" Avon was silent. "Come on, Avon!" Vila's voice had taken on a sad, wheedling tone he hadn't quite intended it to. "I don't want to go by myself!"

Avon simply gave him a cold, hard look, clearly communicating that, as far as he was concerned, this conversation was over.

"Fine." Vila sighed and rose from his chair. "See if I ever offer to improve your standard of living again." He left the room, followed by the sound of switches being thrown with unnecessary force, and set off in search of a drink.

It took about a week and a half, after that -- slightly longer than Vila had expected, but he liked to think he was a bit better at being patient than people usually gave him credit for. He was pretty good at lounging about in corridors, too, especially when there wasn't anything more interesting to do. And so it was that he happened, purely by accident, of course, to be right outside the administrator's office when raised voices began emerging from Avon and Farron's regular progress meeting, swiftly growing louder and louder until the two were unambiguously shouting at each other.

Vila glanced at his chronometer, made a note of the exact time, and mentally paid off his one-man betting pool at reasonably good odds. Then he stuck his hands in his pockets and strolled off towards his quarters, having the presence of mind not to whistle until he was well out of earshot.

Avon showed up at his door two hours later. Which meant a lower imaginary payoff, this time, but since Vila was the bookmaker as well as the bettor, he figured it for a win, either way. He opened the door, hefted the bag he'd set down next to it, and grinned. "Right, then. I'm all packed. When are we off?"

The stunned look on Avon's face was beautiful. Even better than knocking Avon off-balance were these rare and precious moments of actually rendering him speechless.

"You look surprised," Vila said. "You see? It's starting already! Make the decision to leave, and already you're less bored. Much better than having everything completely predictable all the time, isn't it?"

Avon just stood there looking at him for such a long time that Vila began to worry. Had he read Avon wrong, after all? Was he only coming to say goodbye, and had no intention of taking Vila with him? Or had he perhaps killed Farron and taken over the station? You never knew with Avon. And Vila never ought to have started thinking of him as predictable, especially after putting the idea into his head that things ought to change.

Vila opened his mouth to say -- well, he wasn't entirely sure what, but Avon, as if he'd been waiting for that very response, cut him off.

"Yes," he said, simply. "For once in your life, Vila, I do believe you may be right. Do try not to let it go to your head."


The contents of Farron's bank account served them so well at Space City that Vila ultimately sent his half back. After all, anybody who'd put up with Avon that long deserved something.

And Vila was pretty happy with what he'd got for his own trouble so far.