Beginning Again
by Nicola Mody
"Um. Everyone?" Vila entered the flight deck carrying Orac and looking apologetic. "It seems Blake mightn't be dead after all."
Avon, who had been sitting quietly against a bulkhead, looked up, startled. "But I shot him!"
"Yes." Vila glared. "Three times, just to be certain. I did notice."
"He... he looked dead to me."
"Well, either he's alive or this is a trap."
"Do elaborate, Vila," Dayna said impatiently.
"Orac picked up a message that Blake and some other bloke were captured and on their way to Earth on a Federation ship."
Tarrant sighed. "I suppose this means we change course."
"We'll have to intercept them, yeah." Vila dropped into a seat.
"I would say that it's a trap," said Avon. "Designed to recapture us."
"But if it isn't?" Vila looked around at them all. "This is a bit revolutionary, but what do people think we should do? All ideas welcome."
Avon looked thoughtful. "I would use Orac to send a message that the captives are to be transferred to an unmarked vessel with a crew dressed as civilians to avoid any potential rescue attempts."
Vila nodded cautiously. That plastic rat Avon had made them get on their way out might be useful after all. "That might work."
"Thank you so much."
"I, of course, would be the gallant space captain in charge," said Tarrant. :Having the experience needed."
"I could be his second in command since there aren't any records of me as a rebel. And bodyguard."
"I'd have to stay on board as the only other pilot." Vila said.
"But of course," Avon said quietly.
"Look, makes sense, doesn't it?"
"And I'd stay here too, on weapons, in case it really is a trap." Dayna bounced slightly in her seat. "I'm hoping it is. I'm in the mood for taking a ship out."
"You know what?" Vila grinned. "That actually sounds like a plan. Except Tarrant and Soolin should change into any crew clothes we can find here that fit and disguise themselves a bit. Just in case someone who was there is there."
"As lucid as ever."
"I said no snark, Avon. Anyway, you know perfectly well what I mean."
A day later
Vila, on tenterhooks in the pilot's chair, leapt to his feet as Tarrant (dressed in black with his hair slicked down) and Soolin (in dull brown with her hair pulled back in a severe schoolteacher bun) emerged from the airlock with Blake between them. "Blake! It really is you."
"Hello, Vila." Blake felt for the nearest chair and lowered himself wearily into it. "Believe it or not, I'm rather pleased to see you."
Vila considered mentioning Blake's distinct lack of notice of his presence in the tracking gallery, but Avon and a huge projectile weapon did tend to draw attention. "Me too, actually. Hope you don't mind me asking, but how come you're alive?"
"Bullet-proof vest, the best friend of all bounty hunters." Blake patted his belly, and winced.
The ginger man who had followed them looked slightly hurt.
"Apart from you, Deva. My computer expert," he explained. Giving Avon a dark look, he added, "Not that those three bullets didn't go in far enough to hurt like hell. What happened to you, Avon?"
"First of all, do you care to explain the bounty-hunter bit?"
"Why not? It was the best way to recruit people like you."
"Not that he expected you to arrive and shoot him on sight," Deva said. "Though I did warn him about his testing process."
"I had to test Tarrant, with a name like that."
Tarrant sighed and sat down in the vacated pilot's chair. "My uncle Dev, I presume. He has a lot to answer for. And not just the socks he gave us every birthday." He ran his hands through his oiled hair, making it stick up in shiny tufts. "Right. We'll get underway."
Deva took the chair next to Blake and rubbed his arm. "Still haven't got feeling back in that," he muttered. "That Arlen woman must've damaged a nerve."
Dayna, still with the Federation ship in her sights, said eagerly, "We're still in range, you know. Just give the word."
"We're rebels, not murderers!" Vila said indignantly. "Mind you, if they're so rude as to fire on us, feel free to have some fun."
Blake looked from Vila to Avon. "Just who is in charge here?"
"You'd never guess," said Avon.
"Oh, I think I have. How long have you been calling the shots, Vila?"
"Just since that bloody awful mess. Decided it was the last disaster I was going to put up with."
Blake raised his eyebrows. "Interesting. Perhaps you can tell me what the hell happened back there, Vila."
Vila shot Avon a quick glance. "Well, too many betrayals by sods he thought were friends for a start, too many stuff-ups, you name it."
"Ah. So you went in expecting more of the same, Avon?"
Avon looked away.
"I trusted you," Blake said reproachfully. "I always trusted you."
"No, you did not. You used to wonder if I might run. I heard you saying that to Jenna once. And I seem to recall a remark about not standing between me and the edge of a cliff."
"Speaking of Jenna, Blake," Vila said, hoping to deflect an argument, "you know what happened to her?"
"She's running supplies to rebel bases."
Tarrant twisted round, startled. "You said—"
"Uncle Dev," Blake said drily. He turned back to Avon. "I assume this ship is just being used for this rescue—and thank you all, by the way. Are we rendezvousing with the Liberator?"
"Got eaten," Vila said succinctly.
Blake squeezed his eye shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Eaten? I hope that's one of your jokes, Vila."
"No. It wasn't at all funny. Especially Zen."
Blake spoke slowly. "How. Did. The Liberator. Get eaten?"
"Avon..." Vila hesitated.
"Oh, you might as well tell him, Vila."
"... flew it through an enzyme cloud. To be fair, he thought he was rescuing you."
Blake shook his head sadly. "My Liberator."
"You said it was mine," Avon said acidly.
"No. I promised it to you once you'd delivered me to Earth after we destroyed Star One."
"Oh, we can always drop you off there."
Vila rolled his eyes. "All that stuff, trusting and not trusting and promises and conditions and what have you. Why not just leave it all behind you and start again?"
Avon looked at Blake, and Blake looked at Avon, and it seemed to Vila that he could detect a trace of hope on both faces.
A week later
Vila looked out at the New Horizons hanging in space at its berth over Lindor. Sarkoff, still grateful to Blake, had presented it to him and its new crew were about to board. Avon had objected (and still did) to the name on the grounds that there were no horizons in space, but Blake said it was the whole metaphor of the thing, and the name had been voted in five to one.
"Pretty, isn't she? Right!" Blake rubbed his hands. "Let's go. There's a rebellion waiting for us."
"Sorry, Blake. This is where I say goodbye."
"Vila! You can't leave now! We have a new ship, a new mission. A new crew."
"Yes, and a good one. They used to call us Blake's seven and there are seven of you counting you and Orac. Blake's eight doesn't have the same ring."
"Come on, Vila. I hope this isn't another one of your jokes."
"Nope." Vila, standing taller than he had for a long time, raised his chin. "I've made up my mind."
"But you're our thief!"
"No. I'm my thief. And two computer techs should more than make up for me."
"He did very well when he was in charge," Soolin said in her cool and slightly detached way. "I imagine he's unwilling to be crew again."
"Ah," said Avon, "but he introduced a very effective innovation: asking everyone for their input." He looked at Vila, thoughtfully. "I have every intention of ensuring that stays in place."
"Sure you won't reconsider?" asked Blake.
"The point is, you see, I found myself again," Vila said. "I've got me back, the old me, and I don't want to lose me. So I'm staying."
"On Lindor?"
Vila looked down at the glowing arc of planet rotating slowly below them. "Lovely place, but no. I'm taking myself off to somewhere else. Probably several somewhere elses." He grinned, thinking about Gardenos and Del 10 and other interesting and fun-sounding places. "It's a new start for me too."
Avon, who had been sitting quietly against a bulkhead, looked up, startled. "But I shot him!"
"Yes." Vila glared. "Three times, just to be certain. I did notice."
"He... he looked dead to me."
"Well, either he's alive or this is a trap."
"Do elaborate, Vila," Dayna said impatiently.
"Orac picked up a message that Blake and some other bloke were captured and on their way to Earth on a Federation ship."
Tarrant sighed. "I suppose this means we change course."
"We'll have to intercept them, yeah." Vila dropped into a seat.
"I would say that it's a trap," said Avon. "Designed to recapture us."
"But if it isn't?" Vila looked around at them all. "This is a bit revolutionary, but what do people think we should do? All ideas welcome."
Avon looked thoughtful. "I would use Orac to send a message that the captives are to be transferred to an unmarked vessel with a crew dressed as civilians to avoid any potential rescue attempts."
Vila nodded cautiously. That plastic rat Avon had made them get on their way out might be useful after all. "That might work."
"Thank you so much."
"I, of course, would be the gallant space captain in charge," said Tarrant. :Having the experience needed."
"I could be his second in command since there aren't any records of me as a rebel. And bodyguard."
"I'd have to stay on board as the only other pilot." Vila said.
"But of course," Avon said quietly.
"Look, makes sense, doesn't it?"
"And I'd stay here too, on weapons, in case it really is a trap." Dayna bounced slightly in her seat. "I'm hoping it is. I'm in the mood for taking a ship out."
"You know what?" Vila grinned. "That actually sounds like a plan. Except Tarrant and Soolin should change into any crew clothes we can find here that fit and disguise themselves a bit. Just in case someone who was there is there."
"As lucid as ever."
"I said no snark, Avon. Anyway, you know perfectly well what I mean."
A day later
Vila, on tenterhooks in the pilot's chair, leapt to his feet as Tarrant (dressed in black with his hair slicked down) and Soolin (in dull brown with her hair pulled back in a severe schoolteacher bun) emerged from the airlock with Blake between them. "Blake! It really is you."
"Hello, Vila." Blake felt for the nearest chair and lowered himself wearily into it. "Believe it or not, I'm rather pleased to see you."
Vila considered mentioning Blake's distinct lack of notice of his presence in the tracking gallery, but Avon and a huge projectile weapon did tend to draw attention. "Me too, actually. Hope you don't mind me asking, but how come you're alive?"
"Bullet-proof vest, the best friend of all bounty hunters." Blake patted his belly, and winced.
The ginger man who had followed them looked slightly hurt.
"Apart from you, Deva. My computer expert," he explained. Giving Avon a dark look, he added, "Not that those three bullets didn't go in far enough to hurt like hell. What happened to you, Avon?"
"First of all, do you care to explain the bounty-hunter bit?"
"Why not? It was the best way to recruit people like you."
"Not that he expected you to arrive and shoot him on sight," Deva said. "Though I did warn him about his testing process."
"I had to test Tarrant, with a name like that."
Tarrant sighed and sat down in the vacated pilot's chair. "My uncle Dev, I presume. He has a lot to answer for. And not just the socks he gave us every birthday." He ran his hands through his oiled hair, making it stick up in shiny tufts. "Right. We'll get underway."
Deva took the chair next to Blake and rubbed his arm. "Still haven't got feeling back in that," he muttered. "That Arlen woman must've damaged a nerve."
Dayna, still with the Federation ship in her sights, said eagerly, "We're still in range, you know. Just give the word."
"We're rebels, not murderers!" Vila said indignantly. "Mind you, if they're so rude as to fire on us, feel free to have some fun."
Blake looked from Vila to Avon. "Just who is in charge here?"
"You'd never guess," said Avon.
"Oh, I think I have. How long have you been calling the shots, Vila?"
"Just since that bloody awful mess. Decided it was the last disaster I was going to put up with."
Blake raised his eyebrows. "Interesting. Perhaps you can tell me what the hell happened back there, Vila."
Vila shot Avon a quick glance. "Well, too many betrayals by sods he thought were friends for a start, too many stuff-ups, you name it."
"Ah. So you went in expecting more of the same, Avon?"
Avon looked away.
"I trusted you," Blake said reproachfully. "I always trusted you."
"No, you did not. You used to wonder if I might run. I heard you saying that to Jenna once. And I seem to recall a remark about not standing between me and the edge of a cliff."
"Speaking of Jenna, Blake," Vila said, hoping to deflect an argument, "you know what happened to her?"
"She's running supplies to rebel bases."
Tarrant twisted round, startled. "You said—"
"Uncle Dev," Blake said drily. He turned back to Avon. "I assume this ship is just being used for this rescue—and thank you all, by the way. Are we rendezvousing with the Liberator?"
"Got eaten," Vila said succinctly.
Blake squeezed his eye shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Eaten? I hope that's one of your jokes, Vila."
"No. It wasn't at all funny. Especially Zen."
Blake spoke slowly. "How. Did. The Liberator. Get eaten?"
"Avon..." Vila hesitated.
"Oh, you might as well tell him, Vila."
"... flew it through an enzyme cloud. To be fair, he thought he was rescuing you."
Blake shook his head sadly. "My Liberator."
"You said it was mine," Avon said acidly.
"No. I promised it to you once you'd delivered me to Earth after we destroyed Star One."
"Oh, we can always drop you off there."
Vila rolled his eyes. "All that stuff, trusting and not trusting and promises and conditions and what have you. Why not just leave it all behind you and start again?"
Avon looked at Blake, and Blake looked at Avon, and it seemed to Vila that he could detect a trace of hope on both faces.
A week later
Vila looked out at the New Horizons hanging in space at its berth over Lindor. Sarkoff, still grateful to Blake, had presented it to him and its new crew were about to board. Avon had objected (and still did) to the name on the grounds that there were no horizons in space, but Blake said it was the whole metaphor of the thing, and the name had been voted in five to one.
"Pretty, isn't she? Right!" Blake rubbed his hands. "Let's go. There's a rebellion waiting for us."
"Sorry, Blake. This is where I say goodbye."
"Vila! You can't leave now! We have a new ship, a new mission. A new crew."
"Yes, and a good one. They used to call us Blake's seven and there are seven of you counting you and Orac. Blake's eight doesn't have the same ring."
"Come on, Vila. I hope this isn't another one of your jokes."
"Nope." Vila, standing taller than he had for a long time, raised his chin. "I've made up my mind."
"But you're our thief!"
"No. I'm my thief. And two computer techs should more than make up for me."
"He did very well when he was in charge," Soolin said in her cool and slightly detached way. "I imagine he's unwilling to be crew again."
"Ah," said Avon, "but he introduced a very effective innovation: asking everyone for their input." He looked at Vila, thoughtfully. "I have every intention of ensuring that stays in place."
"Sure you won't reconsider?" asked Blake.
"The point is, you see, I found myself again," Vila said. "I've got me back, the old me, and I don't want to lose me. So I'm staying."
"On Lindor?"
Vila looked down at the glowing arc of planet rotating slowly below them. "Lovely place, but no. I'm taking myself off to somewhere else. Probably several somewhere elses." He grinned, thinking about Gardenos and Del 10 and other interesting and fun-sounding places. "It's a new start for me too."