The solemn tick of the chronometer echoed through the observation deck. Blake held his breath for a while, so he could listen more attentively to the sounds of the room. There was only the clock, marking the seconds, one by one, from its position on the wall.
It was more calming than the noises of the medical unit. They had been driving him crazy – the monotonous regularity of the health systems, the steady wheeze of respirators, the clicks and bleeps of the monitors, and the sound of his own ragged breathing. Or more likely, the fact that he was lying there helpless, spending far longer to heal than he wanted while having much too much time to lie and think.
So he had attached himself to a portable medipack as best he could, and traipsed through the Liberator‘s many interconnecting corridors to get here. To the place where, on so many previous occasions, he had secluded himself in silent contemplation.
Time spent here was very different to the frustration he had felt in the medical unit. The original builders of the ship had found some way of ensuring that this room was silent, despite its position at the rear of the vessel. None of the engine noises permeated its soundproofed walls. There was a comms unit, but Blake had switched it off. It was utterly silent.
Perhaps that was why Blake had, months ago, fixed the clock on the wall. He had wanted some indication that he was not alone here. Even in his most profound meditations, when the events that had brought him here seemed insurmountable. In his most dejected moments, when he had feared none of his crew supported him. When none of them believed in him. When he was plunged back into the helplessness that he’d felt on Earth after seeing his friends and comrades gunned down. After the charade of his trial. Or while locked in his seat on the prison ship London. Until he had found the Liberator, and a crew to lead, and a new purpose.
And here he was again, on the observation deck of this fabulous vessel. Wondering about his future. Thinking about how narrowly he had escaped death at the hand of his oldest enemy, Space Commander Travis. Literally at Travis’s hand – a shot from the laseron destroyer built into the man’s artificial limb. Travis had caught Blake unawares on Star One, and shot him without a thought, with no word of warning. Despite his injury, Blake had recovered enough strength to wound the space commander, to stall his plan to allow the alien fleet into human space. But Travis had only finally perished when Avon shot him down, after he’d arrived to take charge of the situation.
Now Avon had taken charge of the Liberator.
Blake leaned his forehead against the vast external viewport that curved from wall to wall, from floor to ceiling. It felt neither cool nor hot. The huge transparent partition opened out directly into space. Even when the lights were on in the observation deck, there was no reflection on the partition’s surface. On his previous visits, Blake had liked to extinguish all the deck lights, and gaze out uninterrupted into the depths of the universe.
He finally let out his breath. There was no condensation on the partition. So he still had a perfectly clear view. The position of the observation deck meant that you had to lean right into the curved partition and crane your neck to get any sight of the Liberator‘s exterior. Instead, he stared out and considered his current position.
The flickering lights of the war peppered the inky blackness of a sector without stars. Somewhere out there was Star One. Somewhere beyond that was a vast alien fleet, leaking through the satellite defence grid. The sporadic, silent explosions told him that the war was in full spate. And behind him, oblivious and uncaring, the clock still ticked, ticked, ticked.
Blake tried not to show his surprise when the door to the observation deck slid open. There was no way of anyone letting him know they were entering. The thrum of distant engines came in with Avon, only to be silenced as he closed the door behind himself.
Avon looked at the comms unit on the wall, and grunted. ‘Well, that might explain it,’ he said, almost to himself, and switched the unit back on. He turned his attention to Blake. ‘You were supposed to be in the medical unit.’
Blake peered at him in the darkness. ‘You were supposed to be on the flight deck.’
‘When you agreed to remain under observation, I didn’t think you would be so literal about it.’ Avon stood beside Blake, and stared out at the distant lights of the war. ‘Is the view helping your recovery?’
‘Something like that.’ Blake chuckled. ‘I suppose I should be touched by your concern.’
‘Is this where we embrace and make up?’
Blake shrugged a gesture to indicate his injury, and winced as the effort made the pain lance through his side. ‘You can hardly embrace me while I’m in this sling.’
‘That wasn’t what was stopping me.’
Blake thought about this for a while, waiting for the ache in his chest to subside. ‘I imagine it was hatred,’ he said eventually.
‘Don’t confuse hatred with indifference.’
‘You mask your indifference very badly.’
Blake glanced sidelong at Avon, to gauge his reaction. Avon continued to stare impassively out into the blackness beyond the edge of the galaxy, and his expression gave nothing away.
‘Were you sincere in what you said, Avon?’
That seemed to get his attention. He stopped looking into the distance, and started looking at Blake. After what seemed to Blake like a long time thinking, Avon said: ‘I made you a promise. You know me well enough to understand what that means.’ He was studying Blake for a reaction. ‘We’ve pulled back for a short while to let the auto-repair systems do their work.’
Perhaps Avon thought he was questioning his strategy, not his motives. Blake nodded at the vista through the viewing portal. ‘I’ve been watching the battle from here. Those aren’t Federation ships. They can’t be.’
Avon nodded agreement. ‘The nearest Federation squadron is overdue. That jumble of ships you see are from the nearest frontier planets, Blake. They’ve rallied to the cause. That must… please you.’
Blake made a dismissive gesture with his uninjured arm. ‘They didn’t need me to do that.’
‘It’s not always about you.’
Blake decided to let that one go. He was still pondering what Avon had told him about those distant ships. Pinpoints of light, flaring up like distant dying stars. But in truth, they were ships dying. People dying. ‘They can’t think that they could possibly survive an onslaught like this.’
‘And we did?’
Blake wasn’t sure from Avon’s tone whether he thought Liberator and her crew could survive or not. Certainly not on their own. And here, before his eyes, was an ad hoc flotilla of humans – civilians, to be precise – putting themselves in the line of fire. Another flare of distant light told the story of another death. Bigger than the other explosions. Was that a mining vessel? A cruiser? How many had perished?
‘Look at them, Avon. They’re prepared to fight to the death against an alien invasion.’ Blake had finally acknowledged what was puzzling him. ‘Why didn’t they do this when their own kind threatened them? Why didn’t they rise up against the Federation?’ It made him baffled. It made him angry. ‘When we needed them?’
‘When you needed them,’ said Avon.
‘And soon,’ continued Blake, his voice rising in the quiet room, ‘they’ll be fighting alongside the Federation. Strange allies.’
He heaved a deep breath. His heart was racing. In the sudden silence of the room, the clock’s tick sounded louder than ever.
‘The people you choose as allies don’t have to be your friends,’ Avon told him quietly. ‘They just have to be the enemy of your enemy.’
For a while they stood in silence, and watched the changing patterns of lights in the far distance. The ebb and flow of control in a far-off struggle. Blake itched to be involved again. But he’d made his agreement with Avon. And he was still struggling with his injuries.
‘I told you that I’ve always trusted you, Avon. And I meant it.’
‘I expect you to keep your promise,’ replied Avon. ‘It would be a mistake to betray me.’
They stood in silence. After several minutes, Avon pointed through the view port at something far up and to their left. ‘Look over there.’
‘Where? Ah…’
Orange-red points of light, grouped in threes to form triangles that arrowed towards the conflict.
‘A familiar formation,’ said Avon. ‘One we’ve previously tried very hard to avoid.’
It was a detachment of pursuit ships. Odd how reassuring it was to see them on this occasion, Blake reflected. ‘Our strange allies are starting to arrive.’ He noticed that Avon’s foot was moving, almost tapping the floor in anticipation. He clearly wanted to be elsewhere.
‘When Liberator‘s auto-repairs are complete, Blake, we’ll join them.’
The sound of the intercom chime was loud and unexpected. Cally’s worried voice filtered into the quiet of the room. ‘Avon? Where are you? There are Federation ships arriving.’
Avon had already moved swiftly over to the intercom. ‘Yes, all right. We’ve seen them.’
There was a short pause on the other end before Cally asked: ‘We?’
‘I’m coming back now,’ Avon said.
‘Avon, what did you –?’
But Avon had already disconnected. He switched off the intercom completely, just as he’d found it when he’d first arrived. Blake wondered if that was because Avon didn’t want Cally to call back, or because he was going to leave Blake alone and undisturbed.
The door hummed open, and the sounds of the ship began to permeate the room once more.
There was something else, thought Blake. Despite everything about his body language that spoke of his intention to leave, Avon still lingered by the doorway.
‘Why did you really come here, Avon?’ Blake turned his back on the window. ‘What do you need me to do?’
Avon laughed. Maybe he’d known Blake would work it out before he made his intentions plain. ‘There is a planetoid almost within teleport distance. Orac thinks there is a small chance that it conceals a Federation weapons system.’
Blake didn’t reply. He’d wanted Avon to tell him specifically. To ask him.
‘The others are needed on Liberator,’ smiled Avon. ‘But you are…’
‘Expendable?’
‘Available.’
Blake waited just long enough for Avon’s smile to waver. ‘All right. Enough observing. I can make myself… available for duty.’ He took a couple of steps towards Avon, wondering whether he should offer his hand to formalise the agreement. The effort made his wound ache again, and he stifled a groan.
‘Do you need anything?’ Avon asked him, cool and calm.
‘Just get me to the teleport,’ said Blake.
He strode past Avon as confidently as he felt able, determined to be the first out of the room.