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The guard opened the cell door and shoved Vila through it so that he stumbled and fell. He didn't bother to protest. It was the big hatchet-faced guard, Dansker or whatever they called him, and he was only waiting for an excuse to do what he liked best. Vila had seen that look in too many guards' eyes in his life. He fingered the bruised cheekbone which was his souvenir of the first time they'd met, and wondered briefly why nothing worse had happened yet.
He went over to the water bucket in the corner and scooped handfuls into his mouth. The guard at the door laughed contemptuously.
"Yeah, I reckon you'd need that, after all the talking you've been doing."" He spat through the barred window in the door and walked off.
His thirst eased, Vila checked the level in the bucket. It hadn't gone down since he'd been away. He swore under his breath and glanced over to the brooding presence on the bed across the cell.
Hunched against the wall, staring at nothing, unwashed for days, empty eyes huge in a pallid face, Avon resembled a man less than he did a great caged bird of prey. There was a metal cup by the bucket. Vila filled it, took it over to him and sat beside him, tilting the cup to his lips. They did not open.
Vila sighed, dipped two fingertips in the cup and brushed them across Avon's dry lips. He did that a couple more times, then immersed his finger in the water and, gently prising the lips apart, slipped it inside. Automatically, Avon licked the moisture. When the finger withdrew, his mouth seemed to try to hold on to it. Vila lifted the cup again, and this time Avon drank. Vila fed him patiently, sip by sip, until the cup was empty.
"How do you feel?" Neither the mouth nor the eyes answered. "Did anything happen while I was away? Any visitors? Nice weather for the time of year…." Silence frightened Vila almost as much as darkness. He chattered on, with no aim but to make a sound, wondering if his prayer of three days ago had been answered by some malevolent god: please, make him shut up….
If he lived to be a hundred, which currently looked most unlikely, Vila knew he was never going to forget the moment when Avon had woken from the stun-gun bullet, in a cell on Gauda, to realise he wasn't dead. Vila himself had been awake some time, bitterly contemplating the man he blamed for his capture and a lot else, rehearsing various cutting remarks he'd had it in mind to make. And then the body on the bed had stirred, and come to…
Vila put his hands over his ears, as if he could still hear it, the terrible, animal moan that sounded like the voice of extremity itself. It had gone on and on, always on the same note, at a level that should have left any throat raw and hoarse in minutes. He'd put his hands over his ears then too, for all the good it had done. The very guards, who thought nothing of the odd scream, had come to investigate, and Dansker, whom Vila already had reason to fear, shouted through the door: "Make him shut the fuck up, or I will".
Terrified for himself as much as for Avon, Vila had held him close, burying the dark head on his chest in an attempt to at least stifle the sound. Rocking and hushing, stroking rhythmically, murmuring words of comfort that sounded hollow even as he spoke them: please, Avon, please, it's all right, I know, I know, please, please stop. Afraid that any moment Dansker or someone like him would lose patience and come to sort both of them out. Somewhat to his own surprise it had worked, in the end, though not quite as he'd expected. He'd hoped Avon would find relief in tears but that had never happened. Instead the dreadful moans had subsided into harsh, ragged breathing which eventually quietened into sleep. Vila had eased them both down to the thin mattress. He dared not loose his hold and disturb the silence, and oddly enough found he had no wish to. The warm weight in his arms was vaguely comforting, even if it was Avon. He couldn't sleep, though; he was too afraid of what would happen when Avon woke again.
Please, don't let him make that sound any more.
Nor had he. Nor any other, up to now. Vila shivered slightly at the thought that he might never.
Someone was operating the lock again; the bit of Vila's mind that was permanently tuned to the main chance filed away the information that there was definitely something not quite right about that lock…. He tensed, wondering who was coming in.
"Food again. I'm spoiling you". The voice was not unfriendly. Vila grinned and relaxed. Yannis. He was cultivating Yannis.
The guard moved into the cell and put the food down; bread and some kind of sauce. "It might still just about be warm, if you're lucky. Not much worse than ours, though."
"Thanks." Vila smiled at him, quite sincerely; apart from any other consideration he was grateful for being talked to. Yannis glanced over at the other side of the cell.
"He any better?"
"Not really. I can get him to drink, just about, but he won't talk or eat."
"He might have to eat, anyway. Word is, you two have to be alive and well for the trial. If he don't eat today, they might force-feed him."
"I'll try to get it through to him. They're giving us a trial, then?"
Yannis checked the corridor through the barred window. He turned back and said, in a lower voice, "Her trial. Sle- Servalan's."
Vila's heart skipped. "She's been arrested?"
The guard spoke low and rapidly. "Reckon so. You really started something there, you know. I don't know what happened right after you told them, 'cept the bosses were running round in a panic and a lot of messages got sent. But two days back, it was nobody gets shipped out till we get the word from HQ, and today something came through early and everyone seems to think she's had it. And we get orders to keep you fit to stand up in court, which don't please Dansker."
"Any news of the others?"
"Give me a break; you'll get me arrested too… Maybe tonight." He left, with a quick grin that showed very white teeth against olive skin.
Vila took the bowl of food across. He dipped some bread in it and ate, then held the bowl out to Avon. There was no response. He dipped more bread in and held it near Avon's mouth. Neither mouth nor eyes registered any knowledge that he was there.
"Avon, please. You must have heard Yannis; if you don't eat they'll force-feed you. Is that what you want?"
Avon gave no sign that he cared either way.
"Look, it isn't over yet. I told them Sleer was Servalan and now it sounds as if she's been arrested. So we get to testify against her; they'll keep us alive long enough for that anyway. It could all take months; anything could happen." Vila was bubbling. If his fear was quickly roused, so was his hope; the eternal opportunist was never slow to see an opportunity. He was close to elation; he just needed someone to share it with.
"Avon. Eat, damn you." He tried to prise the closed lips open with the bread and failed.
"Look, you selfish bastard, you got me into this. The least you can do is be here with me, not hide behind a wall somewhere in your head. There's no airlock here; you're stuck with me."
Avon's forehead creased momentarily, but the dark eyes were as unblinking as an owl's. They looked more than a little mad. Suddenly Vila lashed out, slapping the pale face opposite as hard as he could, again and again, shouting insults into it. He stopped only for breath.
Avon had not moved to defend himself or escape the blows. Vila's hand-prints were startlingly bright on his pallid skin. Vila searched that wintry landscape for the man he'd been so angry with for so long, and couldn't see him at all. Much to his annoyance, all he felt was a stab of something like pity. He took the still face in his hands and gently kissed the marks he had left. Brushing the edge of a lip, he tasted blood.
Well, if one way doesn't work…. He forced the lips apart with his own and kissed fiercely, invasively, bruising the hurt mouth still further, feeling the shock tactics begin to work, to stir a slight response, and fighting an unaccountable urge towards tenderness… Abruptly he felt the kiss break.
"All right, Vila. You make your point. I will come back to life if I must."
The quiet voice was desolate, but in the eyes Vila fancied he could see a spark of something that hadn't been there before. He sat back and held out the food again. Avon ate slowly, with evident effort and some pain, but he ate, and Vila, dipping his bread in the same bowl, began to feel some of his recent elation bubbling back.
"That's why nothing too bad's happened yet; it must be… I was terrified; I knew once she heard, she'd send word to have us killed out of hand, or brought to her, which would amount to the same thing. She couldn't let us come to trial. So it was the first thing I told them, who she was, and I had the devil's own job getting them to take me seriously… you were no help, of course." Avon looked uncomprehending.
"They brought you in, asked if it was true, but they couldn't get a word out of you; I don't think you knew they were there. I could have kicked you, frankly. Don't you remember at all?"
Avon shook his head. "How did you convince them?" It sounded more like a polite inquiry than as if he cared.
"I'm not sure," Vila admitted. "Except I think some at least of them wanted to believe it. They're a friendly little shoal of piranhas, even among themselves. And I did tell them a hell of a lot she'd been doing that they didn't know about."
Avon looked around slowly, taking in their surroundings. "Are we still on- Gauda?" His voice caught on the last word and it was barely audible.
"Yes." Vila wondered why, so far from adding "in the trap our brilliant leader walked into" or something similar, he'd spoken gently. A shudder ran right through Avon, and Vila put a hand on his arm. He let it stay; perhaps, Vila thought, he didn't even notice it. He racked his brains for something he could say to cheer the man up, or at least distract him from his thoughts, but unalloyed good news was somewhat scarce. He huddled close instead; it was cold in the cell. There weren't many times in his life, now he came to think about it, when he'd felt warm enough.
Time drifted past, or he supposed it did; he was in a curiously dreamlike state. Once they heard a cut-off scream from somewhere down the corridor. Avon glanced up sharply. "Who's that?"
"One of Bl- one of the people from the base. They didn't all get killed." Avon flinched. It was hard to think of anything to say that wouldn't bruise.
"It isn't… one of ours, then?"
Vila sighed; maybe it was best just to get it over with. "No. Tarrant's in a hospital. Yannis told me. He had internal injuries, I think, from the crash. Soolin's in prison somewhere, but not this one. Yannis doesn't think they'll take her back with us; she'll be tried here. I can't work that out."
"It seems fairly straightforward. Soolin is a native of … this place. Presumably the authorities here claimed the right to try her."
"Would the Federation go along with that?"
Avon shrugged. "Maybe it's politics, maybe they need to keep them sweet. And I don't suppose she means as much to them as we do – she can't identify Sleer as Servalan, for a start."
"I never thought of that." Vila did a fair imitation of a man on whom light has just dawned; he had in fact worked it all out for himself some time back, but he wanted to get Avon's mind working.
They fell silent again, while Vila waited for a question that didn't come.
"You haven't asked about Dayna."
"You haven't mentioned her. So she's dead."
"Yes."
More silence, more time. Too much time. Time to think.
When the door opened again, he knew it must be evening. Yannis came in and grinned when he saw the empty food-bowl.
"He eating again, then? Good, that's one job less."
"Any news?" The guard hesitated. "Please, Yannis?"
Yannis ran a hand through his hair. It was dark and thick and rumpled easily. "I don't know… I should have more sense." He lowered his voice. "Blondie's all right, far as I know. She'll even live; the guys here say they've had enough killing so they've scrapped the death penalty. Can't see her getting out of jail any time soon, though."
Vila wondered what brand of lock the Gauda prison authorities favoured. "How's Tarrant?"
Yannis grimaced. "Oh, he'll live too, but maybe not for as long… He's getting better. But as soon as he's fit, Space Command want to court-martial him for desertion… well, shoot him for it, actually, but I guess they'll have some sort of show beforehand. Our bosses are arguing they need him for the trial first, but they've got you two, so they might have to give him up. He's dead as soon as those guys get to him, that's for sure."
Vila shivered. "Oh well. I don't suppose we'll outlive him by long."
Yannis gave him a quick look of sympathy. "I don't know so much. I'd bet on you getting through this somehow. You're a survivor, you. I knew when they were interrogating you. Never saw such a performance."
Vila winced. "I'm not proud of that."
"There's no law says you have to be a hero. Forget it. Look, my dad used to tell me a story, like one of those old folk tales, you know, about a sea captain. He's been in a war and he's trying to get home to Ithaka."
"Where?"
"This island he comes from. I don't know where it's meant to be. Anyway it takes him ten years and all his mates get killed on the way, but he's different. He's little, like you, but he's a tricky one; the others get lost or bewitched or killed by monsters but nothing stops him. He doesn't fight usually, he goes round things or talks his way out of them and he gets back to Ithaka. You're like that; you'll get back to where you want to be, one day."
"Alone, like him. With no-one left, because he betrayed them all, or hid behind them."
Yannis glanced at the empty food-bowl. "Oh, he saved what mattered most to him." He went out, whistling. From down the corridor, another scream echoed.
"Someone isn't telling them what they want to know." Vila sank his head in his hands. "I did though, Avon. I didn't stop talking for days. I gave them years' worth of information. There must be people being arrested on a dozen planets as we speak."
Avon glanced at him with something like curiosity or concern. "What did they do to you?"
"Oh, told me what they might do if I didn't co-operate. You don't imagine they had to do any more than that, do you?" He felt bile rising in his throat and had to put a hand across his mouth to keep from being sick.
Avon got up, dipped the cup in the water bucket and brought it back to him. Vila's hand shook as he tried to hold it. Avon's hand closed around his; held it steady. "Your friend is right; forget it. You're who you are; you can't help that. And I am scarcely in a position to be censorious."
"No," Vila agreed. It was a comforting thought. He was with the one person in the world who, for all his own faults – maybe because of them – understood exactly what he was and didn't despise him for it.
"Avon, listen. I'm pretty sure I could have that lock open. We could make a break for it."
"I rather think there'd be guards. With weapons."
"We could try. It'll be harder once they get us back."
"Ah, but I want my day in court. I would like to testify at that lady's trial. It would be the closest I could come to paying some debts."
"And afterwards?"
"Afterwards they can kill me as soon as they please."
"It might not be soon at all. You know what they're like." Avon gave a small shrug, as if that didn't matter much either.
"Come on, you're a survivor too. Don't you want to live?"
"Not much." He paused, as if wondering how best to explain. "You see, your friend left a bit out of the story. Ithaka isn't just where the man's trying to get to; it's why he can survive. He can live with shipwrecks, monsters, the death of friends, because every time he looks out to sea he knows Ithaka's there somewhere, behind the horizon. He can't see it, but he knows it exists, and as long as that's true he can go on. It's what has to be in the world, for him to live in it."
"So? What's that got to do with anything?"
"Blake was my Ithaka," Avon said softly. The first word was barely audible but Vila would have known it in a whisper. "He might have infuriated and baffled me, and we might have quarrelled every time we were together, and in many ways it was a relief when we weren't. But I needed to know someone like him was alive in the world. Someone with no doubts about what was right or what he'd do in pursuit of it. An irrational idealist, in short. I didn't want to be him, nor, often, to be dragged in his wake, which was a very dangerous place. But I wanted – needed – him to be possible, to exist somewhere in the world. As your sea captain needs Ithaka. And mine isn't anywhere now, because I blew it out of the water."
Vila subsided into an unhappy silence.
"You go, if you want," Avon said unexpectedly. "I'll distract them somehow; you'd stand a better chance alone. I can tell that court all it wants to know."
"Be better with both of us," Vila mumbled.
"You're scared of being alone. It's safer than being with me; you should know that. Get some sleep; think about it in the morning."
They were still sitting on Avon's pallet. Vila glanced across at his own. "What about you?" He knew Avon had hardly slept in two days, just dozed sitting up.
Avon shuddered slightly. "Not if I can help it. I'll stay like this."
"Why?"
"Because this way, I can't sleep deeply enough to dream."
Vila swallowed hard. "You're scared to dream; I'm scared to be alone, it's true. I always have been. Let me stay with you tonight."
Avon raised an eyebrow. "The shock therapy worked, Vila; you don't need to repeat it."
"No. I need to be close to someone. I want some ordinary human comfort. Is that too much?"
Avon considered. "No," he agreed, "though you must be desperate to want it from me. Stay, if you like."
There were no blankets; even with all his clothes on, Vila was cold. He huddled against Avon, shivering. Avon took his hands, which were icy. Without comment, he unfastened his heavy coat and the thin shirt beneath and guided Vila's hands inside, to share his body heat. Vila nuzzled gratefully into the fur of his chest, like a puppy seeking warmth, and Avon's arms closed around him.
When he woke, much later, Avon was moaning and shaking in sleep, his hair damp and disordered. Vila stroked him, trying to change the dream. When it got worse, he went back to what Avon had called shock therapy, only this time he kissed as tenderly as he could, sending the tip of his tongue on a slow, teasing exploration of smooth surfaces and sensitive nerve-endings, feeling the tense body beneath his relax. Avon woke into the kiss and, still half-conscious, returned it.
From somewhere in the distance came a pleading voice, then a brutal one, Dansker's for sure, and the sound of heavy blows. Vila froze like a rabbit caught in light, eyes wide and terrified. Avon woke fully; held him close. "It's all right," he whispered, "it's all right". Vila lay in the warm circle of arms and words, listening to the sounds of pain and cruelty, and closed his eyes, because it was all right.
When the clatter of feet outside told them it was early morning, they were still locked together. Avon freed himself gently and went over to the bucket. He scooped some water, drank and then used some to wash his face.
Vila watched him. "Avon, listen, I'll come back with you and testify. I owe a lot of debts too. But then I'm going to do my level best to escape. Please say you'll come with me."
Avon shook his head. "You still have something to live for."
"But what-" Vila's voice faltered; he got control and tried again. "What if you're my Ithaka? The thing that needs to be in the world for me to live in it?"
Avon made a small, impatient gesture. "I told you; you're scared to be alone, that's all. Why don't you bend your undoubted talents to finding and unlocking whatever prison Soolin is in? She'll keep you safe; she's a better shot than I am any day." He paused, and added dryly " She probably kisses better, too."
"Oh, beyond a doubt," agreed Vila, "but that's not the point. When I thought she was dead, I could live with it. And Dayna, and Cally, and. … all of them. But when I thought you might never speak or notice I was there again… I couldn't handle it, Avon. I'm not saying you're good, or kind, or heroic; if you were you probably wouldn't have any time for me. But you're the one who makes me not feel alone."
He reached out and took Avon's hand, drawing him back to the bed. Avon sat down by him, and didn't try to loose his hand, but stared at it as if at some knotty problem. "I'm not sure," he warned, "how much, if any, of this I can return."
"I know. Just be there. I can live on that."
Avon closed his eyes, as if in pain. "If you can be content with such a poor reward, I suppose I can hardly refuse to give it."
Vila pressed closer to Avon's arm and Avon put it, almost absent-mindedly, around his shoulders. The prison was waking up again. People like Dansker were looking for pleasure; people like Vila were trying to survive the best they could. Most of his friends were dead or imprisoned. He was one day closer to trial, conviction, perhaps death. He gave a little sigh and rested his head on the uncomfortable studs of a heavy leather coat which had seen better days and urgently needed cleaning. He felt warm.