Lost
The last shots were still dying away, the first body already cooling on the floor. The deaths must be inferred as they couldn’t be verified, but they looked to be almost certain. Blood was no longer seeping from Blake’s grubby shirt front, but the red trickle that nudged its way out from the tangle of bodies suggested that Avon had added some volume to it. The black of his jacket threw a bloodless hand into stark relief, but those dark intelligent eyes had closed before he died and did not stare in silent reproach. That at least was a mercy, for the reproach was well deserved, how had it been allowed to come to this?
A twinge of something that may have been grief stirred and was shut down. This was how it had to end, there was no other choice given the personalities and the situation. Yet there was an urge to deny it, to wipe the image from memory and pretend it was unseen. To go back and do it differently, to undo what had never been necessary.
Silence had replaced the thundering noise of weapons and a strange and eerie calm seemed to descend upon the scene. With it came sudden realisation that some voices would never be heard again, some touch never felt. The thought was as unexpected as the anger, and the feeling that something not understood was lost.
Into the silence came an unexpected voice,
"Alright you ill tempered collection of tarriel whatsits,
what have I done this time? I mean, I know why the others are ignoring me but
what have I done to upset you?"
A familiar figure lounged into view,
"I mean you can’t care if the wine is gone, you don’t drink
it." There was the sound of something being swallowed, "you’d
be a better companion if you did."
Reality slid sideways and the path through infinity faded, the
bloody scene freezing as it was filed. Orac refocused attention on Vila and
prepared to be irritating.
"Being a companion is not a part of my function," habit took over,
"certainly not to one as logistically challenged as you."
The disassociation involved with advanced extrapolations was replaced by the
comfort of familiar data streams and algorithms. Orac was suddenly aware of
being reassured by the fact that it was Vila here, being found by Avon would
have been uncomfortable
in some vague way.
"So you say." Vila joined in the game, " but I bought my grading."
Another swallow of something that looked too like blood to be registered,
"I bet I could outthink Avon if I could be bothered." Another swallow
and a sigh, "Well…. Tarrant certainly, and with my hands tied behind
my back."
Orac framed the required response without effort.
But that path through infinity was better not travelled he decided,
at least not yet. No, he would give increased attention to the issue of Avon’s
health, and Servalan’s machinations, and Blake would stay unfound. At
least until the path towards him led somewhere else.