~oOo~
Through a glass, clearly. Avon heard the words in his mind as he moved closer.
He was still disturbed that they ignored him, by the fact that he could move so close and they were no more aware of him than of the air they breathed. Less, even. He saw them all differently, as though there was a tangible but unseen barrier between them. He hadn't noticed it with the Federation crew, the strangers. He couldn't not notice it with these people he knew.
And there were other things... such a short time it had been, but they were different, each of them. Tarrant was tenser than before Terminal, his confidence hollow and forced, his light eyes aged by anger and unnatural caution. Dayna's pretty lips were set in a slight sneer that was not unfamiliar but now seemed too fixed. There was that chill tautness of loss in Cally, the steeliness of her gaze. And Vila... Vila was the same, but somehow less, a little deflated, like a rag doll someone had let the stuffing out of.
It would be interesting to know how they escaped. His eyes went to the blonde. Or what she has to do with it.
But not important.
He turned his gaze back to Vila, who was still fiddling with controls. In spite of his turmoil, he could still be amused by the sight of Deva hovering next to Vila, anxiety all over his mild face.
"Deva, don't worry. Vila's not the fool he appears," he said. "Unquestionably a fool, but not the one to blow the ship up."
"Does he know what he's doing?"
"Of course not. But he's hardly going to kill us," with a knife-edged grin, "is he?"
"Avon," Blake said quietly.
Annoyed, he shot another dark glare towards Blake, then turned back to consider his ex-crewmates, to think of the unthinkable. It had not been Cally or Vila; he refused to let the doubt - the stealthy, remorseless distrust - take shape. Not Cally or Vila.
Therefore Tarrant. Or Dayna.
It had to be.
He lifted a hand again, looking down at it, recalling what Broeli had done to the Section Leader.
She was beside him, though he hadn't noticed her moving towards him. "It's quite easy, you know," she whispered, pale eyes gleaming. "Do you want me to?"
"No."
"They killed Blake, didn't they?" That deathshead smile was back. "Or one of them did, and you think it was him."
"No. No, I'm not sure."
"He doesn't seem likely, Avon." Blake was standing back, not interfering.
"True," Avon said with forced calm. "But the least unlikely. I would not have thought he had the calculation to plan it," stopping, watching confusion, suspicion, wariness all chase across Tarrant's over-expressive face, "but I know Dayna does not."
"That's not proof."
"Perhaps I don't need proof."
"That's not true and you know it. Not if you plan to go with them."
That stung. "I have not said yet that I do plan to."
"Or that you don't. Avon," Blake's voice was gentle. "leave it."
Avon turned to him, knowing even before he did what he'd see in Blake's eyes. "Blake -"
"Let them take Orac. Go with them if you wish, or let them go."
"One of them -"
"One of them murdered me, and the people with me. But three of them - four, with her," nodding towards Soolin, "did not. They need each other now."
"They do not need -"
"Yes, they do. They will be loyal to each other. They have no choice." Blake smiled slightly, sadly. "Because they have no one else. Let them go."
"With a murderer among them?"
"With a murderer among them. None of us had clean hands, Avon, and they didn't betray each other or you."
Avon caught his breath and turned away, staring at Cally, at the new coldness of her face, the unfathomable distance in her strange dark stare. "No," he whispered. "Not when it was -" and his voice dropped till it was little more than a soundless breath, "- was you."
"Avon."
He wheeled back around. "Damn it, Blake, don't you feel anything towards the one who -" he stopped, then spat the word out, "who killed you?"
"Yes," deliberately, "I feel it. There isn't a word for the anger but we all still feel it. All the more because of the other people who were murdered, so many people whose names I don't know, will never know. But you can't kill in anger, Avon. Not any more."
"Oh, I think I can."
"No!" Blake moved between him and the oblivious Tarrant, who was again studying the controls of the Celestial. "You can't, because I won't let you turn that way. And you won't, because you owe it to me not to."
"To you?"
"You forced me to leave the Liberator, Avon," and now he was holding Avon with his gaze, forcing him to listen, "you forced me into that lifepod and sent me into infinity."
"Blake, that's not fair -"
"And when I sent that call for help, Avon, I sent it to you."
"I never heard it, Blake!" And he could hear his own anger drowned in the pain.
"I know that!" A pause, then Blake went on quietly, "I know that. But I didn't then. You owe me, Avon, and this is the payment I'm asking. Let them - let it go."
"You don't want revenge?"
"I never did, remember? Whichever it was," Blake glanced at the faces of the living people surrounding them, "he or she has been well and truly punished, I think. They all have." Blake paused, then spoke very carefully, as if knowing he trod on dangerous ground. "You all have."
Avon bit back words he hadn't even shaped in his mind.
"Death is just one punishment," Deva said from where he stood by Vila, watching them. "Life another."
Then his voice changed. "What is that noise?"
Avon had become aware of it as well, a faint, almost sub-audible sound that seemed to be deep inside, like a silent scream. From Blake's eyes, he heard - or maybe felt - it too.
They turned to the viewscreen, which was down. Blake was suddenly at Vila's side, hand poised over Vila's. Quickly, so quickly Vila would barely have felt it, he pressed down, onto the switch just below the palm. Vila yelped, and everyone turned.
"Vila, what are you doing?"
"Nothing, nothing! I just - my hand slipped, and I -"
The huge viewscreen blazed into life, and both the living and the dead stared out onto empty space. Empty except for -
"Avon!" Blake whispered.
"Orac's signal," he said through a throat that felt ridiculously dry, ignoring the others.
"It's impossible!"
"Obviously not. If you and I can be undead, then -"
Blake shook his head. "I always told you Zen was more than just a machine."
Translucent, and blazing with unearthly light, the Liberator sped towards them, like a galleon in full flight.
"It heard Orac." Avon found it hard to believe, but the evidence was in front of his eyes. Somehow, Orac's electronic summons had been heard by this seeming revenant of their ship, and like its former crew, it had come...
"As Blake said," Deva spoke from behind them, "the dead can sometimes hear the living."
"As you did, when you came to Terminal."
"Well, as he did," with a glance at Blake.
The sub-audible screaming was louder - or stronger, or whatever the word was, he didn't know it - and began to take form in his mind, to be recognisable, to be a voice he knew...
The ship was heading straight at them.
Avon tore his gaze away, glanced at the living, who were crowding around Vila, staring at the controls, all of them oblivious to the icily radiant spectre bearing down on them. Tarrant was again speaking, with quick, distracted glances up at the screen.
"Cally, it all seems to be operating. I'm sure we could make it work."
"I'm just not sure that the Scorpio isn't better," the sounds began to echo and blur as the screaming grew and echoed in his mind, "from a practical standpoint."
"But that bucket of bolts isn't worth..."
"And this is any better...?" Vila said, his voice muddied and echoing with fretful worry.
"Scorpio is Soolin's." Cally, quiet but harsh, stayed longest, "why not keep..." Then she faded as well.
The ships seemed to merge, and, as in a dream a long way away, Avon almost felt he could see the flight deck of the Liberator, see Zen's fascia glowing with icy, golden light... it was at once spinning past at a terrifying speed, and absolutely still, deafening with unearthly, echoing clamour and silent as the grave. It was hell.
And Servalan was there - alone - screaming against the clamour. An eerie, twisted mockery of herself.
Her huge eyes locked onto his, but she didn't stop screaming. He pressed hands against his ears, knowing as he did how stupid, how futile it was. The fury was all around him, the screaming, the rushing sound like a hurricane, and Blake's voice, strange and attenuated and terrifying.
"Zen..."
"Welcome... Roj Blake..." Zen's voice, hollow and sepulchral, "Give your... instructions..."
"Take her away." Blake was beside him, grasping his arms, holding him still in the unholy, frantic, chaotic stillness. "Take her away - forever - set course for the edge of the universe, and keep going!" Servalan's empty, soulless eyes widened, immeasurable depths of horror. "Just go!"
"Confirmed..."
"No!" She shrieked.
"NOW, Zen!"The flight deck that wasn't sped past him, and away... and the screaming faded.
And was gone.
Dazed and shaking, Avon would have fallen but for Blake's hands, and he wasn't all that sure those hands weren't trembling. He waited until he could speak calmly - or semi-calmly. "That was cruel, Blake."
"Not really," Blake said in that cold, detached tone he recalled. "Not to her. She can harm no one now. Ever. Again."
He felt a touch of coldness, like a spectral hand against his face. "A judgement, Blake?" As you would not let me judge them, he thought but did not say.
"A just one."
"Oh, I agree. But it was cruel - to Zen."
He looked around, at the oblivious living, and the silent, waiting dead. Looked at Tarrant and Dayna, and dismissed them from his mind, this time for good. Looked at Cally, and shut away the distant rasp of pain. Looked at Vila... and hoped for the best for him.
"Avon, we are waiting for you," Blake said quietly.
Avon shook his head. It was going to take time to adjust.
But, he thought, suddenly amused, if we don't have all the time in the galaxy when we're dead, when will we ever?
"Send them away," he whispered. "As Blake said, let them take Orac... and go."
~oOo~
"So now what?" Avon watched the planet-hopper disappear from the viewscreen, and with it, the last links to the past.
It had been absurdly easy: a few alarms, a few flickering switches, and Romanel's long light fingers manipulating the life support to foul the air. Nothing dangerous, of course. But when the self-destruct lit up under Blake's hand, they had left quickly, Tarrant's grating "That's impossible!" notwithstanding. Vila was first out the door - oh, now that is surprising, Avon thought - then Tarrant and Dayna with Orac, blinking madly and chattering non-stop about being moved to safety at once. The stranger Soolin, as calm and cool as an ice floe, followed. Cally was last, hesitating, staring around with that odd, distant, searching expression for a moment. Then she turned at Vila's wail of "Cally, come on!" and was gone.
Blake hesitated, as if tempted to see them to their own ship, to see them for a few minutes more, but Deva shook his head slightly. Avon, struck by the same impulse as Blake, remained still, watching the viewscreen until the planet-hopper appeared and accelerated back towards the sector from which it came.
"Blake?" He turned his head, unconsciously dusting his hands. The anger had eased, that was one thing. Though it would take time to fade - if it ever did - the bitterness didn't sear so coldly any more. Avon could see that Blake knew it, and that annoyed him, but in a way so old and familiar that it was almost a pleasure.
"Well, I was going to Earth, at one stage," Blake mused. "Before I was side-tracked. It will take some time, of course."
"Ah yes, your angels. Whatever they were."
"It's just an old legend, Avon," Deva said.
"Yes, isn't it?" Avon gave Deva a dazzlingly sweet smile, rather pleased when the other looked a touch uneasy. Some things didn't change in this hopefully less-than-exciting afterlife... he stopped that thought. Somehow, he was himself just a little uneasy at the thought of how exciting Blake could probably make even being dead.
"But as I remember," he went on, "Blake has some experience with legends. Don't you?"
"In this legend," Blake said calmly, "the dead fought for the living. I don't see why that, at least, can't be emulated. Can you?"
"It's a stupid idea," Avon answered. "Romantically stupid, of course. Fantastically stupid. But still stupid."
"But can you?"
"Blake, it won't work."
"But can you?"
A pause, then Avon surrendered. "The Celestial's drive should be improved," he said sharply. "If you want to get anywhere near Earth in one piece - metaphorically speaking, of course - it will need to be."
"And the detector shield?"
"I can try."
"But not too hard, Avon." Blake ushered him back towards the door. "There's a lot to do, I know. But we do have time enough now."
"Yes..." Avon said slowly, musingly. "Just one thing, Blake."
"Yes?" Those large burnt-honey eyes, always a touch otherworldly now he came to think of it, turned to him.
"That friend of yours, who called you to Terminal - who was it? Someone we both know?"
"More or less." Blake led him through the door - quite literally through the door, but it felt less strange this time. "Avon, couldn't you have guessed? I heard a voice - a thought - from someone who believed he'd located me for the first time since the War," and he smiled, "and just as Zen heard Orac - Avon, I heard you."
-the end-