~oOo~
They call me down when it's over. Cally's pulling sensors from Blake's temples: sensors attached to Orac, and to another set that Avon's holding in one hand. There's round bruises on his temples, spotted with blood.
I still don't know what they did, and I don't want to. But there's this odd, nasty little voice inside me that says it was all too easy (well, from where I was, which was as far away as I could get) and maybe we only think it's finished. We thought you were finished with it before, Blake, remember?
But I'm going to forget I thought that. No use borrowing trouble, we get quite enough for free, I think.
Three hours it took, that last bit, and Avon looks like he's been through a pitched battle, sick and sweaty and shattered - and he's never ever going to forgive us for seeing him like this - but oddly, vaguely triumphant as well. And you - there's life in your face, your eyes are half-open and more confused than anything. well, anything except hurting, that is. Hurting a lot.
"No more nightmares," Cally whispers, and I can't help thinking that, good line as it is, it isn't exactly going to help your confusion.
"A-avon -?" As thin as a drift of breeze and shaking, but it's you. It is you.
"How do you feel?" Cally asks, but you're looking past her, at Avon, whose face is blank and now overly impassive.
"More importantly," Avon says all too politely, as if he's speaking to a distant relative he doesn't much like, "are you yourself again?"
"What - what do you mean? Avon, where are we? Where - what are you d-doing - on Earth?"
Earth?
In spite of everything, I can see Avon's lips twitch to suppress a smile. "Not much, I would imagine."
"But -"
"Say thank you nicely, Blake, and then try to sleep."
"But -"
"I think you should do as he says, Blake." Gan grins, solid and comfortable and damn it Blake, I am glad he's back. I'm glad Cally's back.
"Thank you... I think," you say with a touch of humour under the exhaustion. And yes, I'm glad you're back too. And as you fall asleep, we all pretend we don't see Avon's hand still on your arm. Just like old times, it feels.
Well, a little like old times.
~oOo~
Damn it, Blake, you don't need to go back to Earth yet, do you? We know there's a war on - since you turned Zen's morning news bulletin into two-hourly indepth reports. it's hard to forget - but it's only been two days since we got you back, although I know Avon would question what 'we' rather than 'he' did to get you back. Gan and Cally are going to have to go back to Earth soon, as soon as Orac says you're well enough.
Ven Glynd is lucky. While Blake's been recovering, Avon wanted to drop him on the nearest airless asteroid, and it took Cally, Gan and Orac's arguments to dissuade him: he may be a crook, but he still could be useful. Sometime in the future. Maybe.
So no airless asteroid. The nearest prison planet instead, and Orac's going to get every scrap of information that we can use out of him first, and anyone who still wants him in their rebellion can damn well go and collect him themselves.
~oOo~
It's evening, by the clock. I join Avon and Cally on to the flight deck to hear the news, and to show Cally I'm drinking healthy drinks since she's been gone, with ersatz wheat-germ in my adrenalin. Somehow, I don't think she's fooled, and anyway, she and Avon are having chocklit. I think I've been fooled, Blake.
On the other hand, they're both still exhausted and ready for a week's - two weeks' - hell, a good long - holiday, far away from the war, and the rebellion, and the good news and bad, and anyone who wants to take you back to Earth just yet. And far away from anyone you can talk into taking you back just yet.
There's this place called Del 10 I've been meaning to mention to Avon. just the thing for over-mindwiped rebel leaders like you and their loyal rescuers like us. An ultra planet, fantastic mountain scenery, and the gravity's so low you can practically fly. And the galaxy's richest known source of atmospheric -
Oh hang on, there's a message coming in. Not the news, something else.
From somewhere out in the outer reaches of the spiral arm, apparently. Somewhere to the left of nowhere. Who'd want to go there, Blake? Even you never got crazy enough to want to go out there -
It's Travis. What the hell is he doing that far out on the left of nowhere?
"What the hell is he doing alive?" I hear Avon hiss. Well, that too.
Travis turns and seems to look straight into the camera, and gives a smile like a satisfied cadaver. His voice is scratchy and as thin as outer space over the millions of lightyears. "The final -"
He jerks, as if shot from behind, and falls. Who shot him, we'll never know I guess, or care, but...
Oh god.
Oh god.
He's melting, he's melting... he's turning into green goo.
He's an alien.
I don't like the looks of this; I mean it, I mean it Blake, I really don't like the looks of this...
-the end-