A/N: I don't own these Blake's Seven characters, but I do enjoy messing with them!
The wind struck at Avon, pelting him with unidentifiable projectiles. It swirled about him and drove at him. He turned to face the wind and drew in a deep breath of it. Its very wildness exhilarated him and blew away some of the tension that had been building in him until he'd felt like a ship spinning out of control.
He strode around the cabin, into the trees and up a path. The forest lessened the force of the wind, giving him some relief. Still, it moaned through the tree tops that lashed about like drowning arms seeking rescue. He hadn't gone very far when a thought struck him so hard he staggered to a stop.
A picture burst unbidden into his mind of the teleport bay on the Liberator, just before ORAC beamed first the other three, then himself and Vila down so many days ago. Tarrant was tinkering with a teleport bracelet and he'd handed them two bracelets without allowing them to select their own. Avon hadn't thought anything of it at the time, but now he knew how the bracelets had come to fail, stranding them here while Vila needed medical attention.
Tarrant had sabotaged them. In a flash of insight, Avon put together all the puzzle pieces of Tarrant's actions for the past few months and came up with the correct motive. The only one that fit all the facts, all the actions, all the words.
Tarrant was trying to get rid of Vila so that he could have Avon to himself! He'd been a dunce not to see Tarrant's plan before. Somehow, Avon had dismissed the young pilot, so rash and impulsive and unthinking. He'd been wrong though, and now Vila was paying the price.
"We'll just see about that," he said savagely. Turning abruptly, he headed back to the cabin to share his insights with Vila, hoping to spark some anger or indignation, anything from Vila that would put heart back into him.
As soon as he entered the cabin, he knew something was wrong. It was too silent, too empty. He went over to the bed. The bedcovers were heaped and tumbled and strewn across the floor but Vila wasn't there. Frantically, Avon searched the cabin, finding only disorder and debris.
Then he found the back door stuck partly open and knew immediately what had happened: Vila hadn't heard Avon's promise to return and must have feared, in his panicky state of mind, that Avon wouldn't come back at all. So he'd gone outdoors to find Avon himself.
Slamming open the door, Avon hurled himself through, roaring Vila's name over the howl of the rising wind. He circled the house, hoping, praying, fearing to find his crumpled body around each corner. He found nothing and he learned that panic could, itself, be ratcheted higher.
Think, Avon! Where would a blind man go?
Another bluster of the storm butted at his back, forcing one step forward out of him.
Of course! The wind would drive a blind man-Vila-downhill!
He raced toward the beach by the stream, trees twisting above him and bushes lashing out at his legs. The path bent, curving around a boulder, limiting his sight line. Scraping his hand along its pitted surface, Avon used it in a controlled slingshot turn, picking up momentum as he rounded it. The vista opened up, revealing, in the fading light, Vila's form sprawled partly in the water, face down.
Avon pelted down the path, falling to his knees beside the still form. Gathering Vila up into his arms, he staggered uphill toward the cabin. The mounting gale blasted twigs and leaves and dirt into him, pushing him away from safety, but Avon's will was stronger than any elemental force. Struggling over the last rise into the clearing, he mounted the log steps and hit the door with his shoulder, bursting into the quiet of the interior. The tempest he'd escaped raged impotently around the outside like a hungry beast.
Avon laid Vila on the bed, tenderly arranging his arms and legs comfortably. For the moment covering him up with blankets, Avon hurried to build up the fire. It was blazing when he returned and began stripping off Vila's wet garments. To his surprise, Vila already felt warm. With a sinking heart, he realized it was the start of a fever.
Avon did what he could, which consisted mostly of bathing Vila's face and body with cool water. Afterward, he collapsed into the rocker. His mind was swirling with dread, fearing this could be the final straw in Vila's deteriorating condition. The tech had somewhere along the line lost track of what day it was, but ORAC's scheduled contact couldn't be that far away. Vila had to hang on, just a little longer.
Reaching for Vila's hand, Avon held it tenderly between his own. In a stricken voice, he pleaded, "Vila, please don't die. You can't leave me like this. I wasn't leaving you, Vila, I just needed time to think. Please, Vila, please be all right. Please." The last came as a whispered sob, lost in the roar of the gale outside.
Other than tending the fire and sponging off Vila's sweating face and body, Avon never moved from Vila's side. The fever grew. Vila began to thrash about, raving in an anguished voice, "Don't leave me, Avon, please don't go away, I need you, Avon, where are you, Avon…" Nothing Avon could say got through the raging fever to reassure the sick man.
Outside, the storm finally broke. Blasts of wind shook the house, howling with fury when the cabin dared to withstand its assault. Rain battered windows and rattled the doors. All sound seemed to be swallowed up by the storm outside, even Avon's sobbing as he held Vila's hand and watched his friend and lover slipping away.
Sitting there hopelessly, uselessly, Avon's mind went round and round, seeking a way out of their tragedy, but he found none. Perhaps more to console himself than Vila, he climbed into the bed, his back against the headboard, and pulled an unresisting Vila into his lap. With a last bitter thought of hatred toward Tarrant for causing all this pain and suffering, Avon stopped thinking altogether.
Avon dreamed of himself and Vila, safe and whole and happy, back aboard Liberator among their friends. Outside the rough walls of the cabin, the storm had worn itself out, uselessly battering the structure.
The whine of the teleport effect, echoing loudly in the quiet room, startled Avon awake, his dream shattered.
Peering into the darkness, he was blinded by a bright light flashed in his face. He flung an arm across his eyes and called roughly, "Who's there? Speak up! Cally? Dayna?"
Tarrant answered, voice low and with an edge that revealed his tension. "It's me, Avon. I've come to finish the job I started. Vila can't have you. He doesn't deserve you. You're an Alpha like me. He's just a Delta, for gods' sake," he sneered.
His voice galvanized Avon; his arm clutched Vila tightly. Now what could he do? Tarrant was the enemy! Avon had spent fruitless hours trying to dissect Tarrant's plan, building defensive maneuvers and plots of revenge in the still air as Vila slept. None of them gave him any hope of defeating Tarrant while saving Vila.
Without a solid plan, he had bluff.
With great effort, he kept his voice calm and quiet. "You're probably right, Tarrant. Anyway, he's almost dead now. Light the lamp, will you, and I'll tend the fire." His heartless words left a bitter taste in his mouth. He was grateful Vila hadn't heard.
He gently disengaged himself from Vila and prayed it wasn't too late. Tarrant used his torch to find the lamp and matches and lit it while Avon went to the wood pile for kindling and sticks to add to the embers glowing red in the fireplace. He knew he'd have only one chance.
"That's more like it, Avon," Tarrant babbled happily as he tended the lamp. "I knew you'd see reason eventually. You're usually so logical about everything, except for this thing with Vila."
He was just turning from the lamp, his eyes still dazzled, when Avon hit him in the side of the head with a split piece of wood. Tarrant dropped in a boneless heap, much to Avon's satisfaction. Snatching the teleport bracelet from Tarrant's wrist, he snapped it onto his own and ran to the bed. Scooping up Vila, blankets and all, he cried, "ORAC, teleport NOW!"
Instantly the teleport effect took over, replacing the shadowed cabin with the brightly lit teleport chamber. Racing off the pad, he fled toward Medical, tossing over his shoulder, "ORAC, get Cally and Dayna up to med bay NOW!"
By the time he had Vila on the medical couch and was finished attaching sensors to him, Cally and Dayna came racing into Medical, raining questions on him. He cut them off, only saying Vila was injured and needed their help. Cally and Dayna took over from the exhausted Avon, leaving him free to retrieve ORAC.
He returned, carrying the super-computer, by the time they'd finished a preliminary examination. Connecting ORAC to the med computers, Avon slumped heavily into a chair next to Vila and captured his hand tightly. It was burning to his touch. Raising his eyes, he found Dayna calmly sponging Vila's sweating brow.
Silence reigned as ORAC and the med computers communed over Vila.
Cally was the first to break the silence. Gently, she asked, "Avon, what's going on? What happened to Vila and where's Tarrant? He said he was teleporting down to see why you hadn't answered our hail."
Avon tried to marshal his thoughts, but they wouldn't stay in nice, neat rows. It seemed years since they teleported onto the planet and so much had happened. Thrusting a hand through his matted hair, he tried to explain.
"I fell into the river and Vila jumped in after me. He must have been smashed into a log jam or something, because when we got out of the river, his side was full of red thorns. They…must have been poisonous. He's been sick ever since. About five days, I think…or has it been six?" Avon gulped; this was the hardest part. "Vila…he's blind. I don't know why. I couldn't' call the ship because Tarrant sabotaged our bracelets. When he came down to kill Vila, I knocked him out and took his bracelet. I don't know if he's dead or alive and I really don't care!" He ground out the last sentence savagely, looking up at the two with dark hopeless eyes. "Now it's up to ORAC, I think, whether Vila lives or dies."
Addressing the super-computer, he asked, "Well, ORAC?"
The peevish voice replied, +'Well' is not a question. Please restate.+
Sitting forward, eyes black with fury, Avon slapped a hand on the clear casing, snarling, "You box of tariel cells! Tell me what condition Vila is in and what we can do to help him, before I dismantle you and sell off your assorted parts!"
+You do not have to be rude about it! Vila is suffering from red thorn poisoning, as you deduced. His system was attempting to overcome it without much success. However, with the resources of the Liberator, he should recover completely. It will take some time because of the deterioration of his physical condition.+
Avon burst out, "Will he see again?" The answer took a million years to come.
+The prognosis is good. If the poison had stayed in his body much longer, however, the condition of blindness would have become permanent. As it is, recovery of full vision will take some time, but it will happen.+
Avon breathed a deep sigh and collapsed into his chair, still holding Vila's hand. Relief was written large across his face, softening the usually harsh lines. It felt like years since the beginning of their 'holiday'. Years since Vila's accident. Years since he'd felt anything but the weight of the sorrow now oozing away from him.
Vila would be all right. Vila would see again. Vila and he still had a future. Avon's brain replayed those sentences, each loop making him happier.
Then Dayna ruined his happy mood. "What'll we do about Tarrant?"
Avon's eyes darkened as he rounded fiercely upon her. "Leave him there! I won't have him back on my ship, even if we do need a pilot." He turned to stare at Vila, his eyes softening and a fond smile tugging at his lips. "Pilots are a credit a dozen. A good thief, however, is priceless, and I mean to keep this one safe for as long as I can."