July 8, 2008

It was a blow to his ego, almost; he’d always thought that his deepest struggles were moral, ideological. He’d wrestled with whether his gains against the Federation were worth the danger to his followers and his crew. He’d never been concerned with the risks to himself. He’d been tortured, he’d been hungry and dirty and infested with parasites. He’d stood amongst his peers convicted of a heinous crime—one whose very existence he found repugnant—escaped a prison ship, faced certain death on any number of occasions.

“Not certain death, if you escaped it,” Avon said. “Ten.” When Blake gave him a blank look, Avon repeated, “Ten.” Blake tried to raise his left arm, and when he could focus again, Avon gave a sharp nod of approval, but his eyes were unreadable.

Blake drew in a breath and stepped forward again, collecting his scattered thoughts. He’d experienced pain before, certainly. He’d had far worse injuries than a broken arm. But they had been inflicted upon him by others, whether by accident or intent. Physical pain, that was something he had to endure until his mother came with soft words, until Cally laid a cold compress on the injury; until Avon, unsympathetic, jabbed him with a sedative.

But this—intentionally causing himself such pain—required will of a different sort. Already Avon had snapped at him twice. He was sure the tens were growing closer together.

One two three four five six seven eight nine ten. Flexing his left wrist.

One two three four five six seven eight nine ten. Squeezing his left arm.

One two three four five six seven eight nine ten. Bending his elbow oh--oh—oh--

“Careful,” Avon snapped. “Passing out will do you no good at all.”

One two three four five six seven eight nine ten. When had he developed a rash? It dappled his skin. Each pink rosette burned. Blake imagined jumping into a cold lake. He imagined cream being rubbed into his skin. He imagined sitting for a minute or hour or day and scratching.

“Move!” said Avon, his voice harsh.

“You’re such a bastard,” Blake complained, but he started again. Right, left, right, left.

One two three four five six seven eight nine ten. “Don’t go,” Blake pleaded.

“I thought you thought I was a bastard.”

“You are. But don’t leave. I can’t… I can make myself do it if you’re watching. I can’t fail when you can see.” He felt miserable and ashamed at the admission, waited for Avon to mock it. He felt the other’s eyes burning into his back.

Avon’s voice was cold and implacable. “Ten.”

One two three four five six seven eight nine ten. The slope was so gradual and his progress so slow that Blake hadn’t noticed it. Avon paced ahead of him and Blake realized it was a hill of some sort. How long had his path been rising? Ten minutes? Since the beginning?

“Ten.” Blake’s lower lip was bloody now, between his dehydration and biting it, but it was not enough to keep the mist at bay. He closed his eyes moved his arm.

“Don’t waste your time,” Avon said. “Move.”

One two three four five six seven eight nine ten. Was the slope one of the rises? Blake couldn’t even hope for that. He no longer cared if he reached them. His concern was only the next count of ten. All he heard was Avon’s voice and his own laboured breath. All he felt was the itch and the thirst and the pain.

One two three four five six seven eight nine ten. The ground was lined with stones now. Once they had been smooth, fit together neatly. Now they were broken. The banks, too, were not earth, but mostly-crumpled stone walls, memoirs of a different time.

One two three four five six seven eight nine ten. Blake understood. Blake remembered.

Ten. The Zhonguans had lived on the planet once.

Ten. They were scientists, some of the finest in the known worlds.

Ten. The Federation had brought them here. In the early days.

Ten. When the Zhonguans had broken off contact, the Federation had been busy with some other crisis.

Ten. They sent a few emissaries, who never returned.

Ten. The Federation had grown faster than the administration could keep up with. They let the Zhonguans go, erased mentions of the project. They believed the Zhonguans would work against them. Today’s leaders would not have let them go so easily. It was a different time.

“Blake,” Avon said. “Ten.” Blake’s first mentor in the Resistance had an ancestor who’d gone to Zhongua. He’d trusted the man’s information implicitly.

“Blake, focus. You need to do this. Ten.” They were all wrong.

“Listen to me! Ten!” There was an accident.

Avon screamed at Blake, but couldn’t touch him. He wasn’t real. But he’d keep saying “ten” until Blake hurt himself. Blake did, just so he could have a few moments to think.

The accident had released poisonous gas into the atmosphere. Created an explosion so big it ripped apart the mountain research base, one they’d thought would shield any explosion. The centre of the mountain, where they had worked, where they had lived, was split into eight peaks, like an opened lotus.

“Ten.” The water under the mountain gushed out, tumbling down the sheer rock face, only loosely staying to the aqueducts.

“Ten.” Millions had died.

“If you’re ever going to listen to me, Blake, then listen now. Ten!” How many deaths were from the explosion? How many from the gas? How many from the unleashed water that tore through houses? How many in the damaged shuttles the survivors flew to the moon? No one would ever know.

“Ten.” He was here now, at the centre. No gods or their disciples waited for him. No bone even, as Blake perched on the edge of the crater.

“Ten.” They hated the Federation, but they hated technology more. The surviving shuttles were only maintained for people like Blake. The advocates of complications and technology. The Riddlers.

“Ten.” Blake remembered the Creation story. The Riddler was the Devil. He wondered, in a vague way, which of the survivors had picked and chosen how to present the past? Or had they all agreed on it?

Avon looked… supremely angry. “I know,” Blake mumbled. “Ten, right?”

How had Avon gotten so far away from him? Blake knew he couldn’t walk the edge of the crater without falling. He could go no further. He said, “Thank you for trying,” and twisted his arm, gasping at the pain of it.

“You idiot,” Avon breathed, eyes wide.

Blake blinked. “You’re worried!” he accused.

“No I’m not.” But Blake knew the truth.

The world was graying out. Blake saw Avon rushing to his side. Wait…

“You can touch me,” Blake said, unable to track the thought. Hallucinations couldn’t touch things, could they?

The world dissolved.

He woke in his bed on the Liberator, to Cally’s sympathetic smile. He tried to speak, failed, cleared his throat, and tried again. “Tell me it wasn’t all a dream.”

Her smile grew. “It wasn’t all a dream. Welcome back, Blake.”

“How long?”

“Since we found you? Nine days. The atmosphere of the planet interfered with our equipment. We couldn’t transport down and use instruments to look for you.”

Blake frowned, feeling tired but wanting to understand. “Then how did you find me?”

“To be precise, our equipment didn’t work below a certain altitude. Only one spot in the quadrant you were left had a place we could transport down to.”

“The crater,” Blake nodded.

“Yes. I tried speaking to you telepathically, but you were affected by the poison in the air as soon as you were dropped. A hundred years ago, you’d have been dead in minutes.”

“How long was I there?”

“A little over six hours.”

He was stunned. Six hours? He knew it had been less than a week, since he hadn’t eaten. But he was sure it had been days. Forcing himself past his shock—he would need to deal with it later—he asked, “What happened on your end?”

“Their security measures were ludicrously simple,” Avon drawled. Blake started; he hadn’t seen the other man, sitting in the corner. “And the rest of us were imprisoned together. We escaped within the hour and… delayed the men who took you to the planet, when they returned.”

“They told us the region they had dropped you in and we came as fast as we could.” Cally stood. “I’ll let you two talk.”

“Why?”

Cally darted a nervous look at Avon. “On the mountaintop… Blake… Avon, Jenna, Gan and I were all there. But you only saw Avon.” She seemed about to say something else, then thought the better of it. “I’m very glad you’re doing better,” she finally said, and gave him a real, warm smile before slipping from the room.

Avon rose and walked catlike to stand at the foot of Blake’s bed. Blake was astounded to realize the other man was at a loss for words. “I only saw you,” Blake echoed Cally, “and what else?”

Avon said, “You were fevered. Delirious. You kept trying to hurt yourself, until we restrained you, thanking me each time. When you were immobilized you begged me to harm you; when I did not you fell into mostly incoherent apologies.” There was no expression colouring his face or voice at all, and Blake realized that Avon was very upset.

“On the planet,” he began. “I hallucinated.”

“A side effect of the poison, yes. I analyzed it, finding an anecdote.”

Blake could picture Avon running scenarios by Zen, his voice more and more clipped until he found the correct one.

“I hallucinated everyone, but most of all you.”

“And I hurt you, this hallucination. How?”

“You couldn’t physically, of course.” Blake thought back. “You goaded me, taunted me, until I did it myself.” He looked up, and saw Avon’s stricken expression, before it was replaced by a blank mask.

“I see,” Avon said, although he didn’t at all, and turned to go.

“No!” Blake shouted. “Listen to me!” Avon actually froze in his tracks at that, though he didn’t turn. “The poison… it made me tired. Some part of me knew I had to get to higher ground. It clouded my mind.” Literally and figuratively. “I discovered that physical pain cleared my mind, enough to stay awake. Enough to walk.”

Avon hadn’t turned, but Blake could tell he was listening. “Even counting to fifteen, the fog came back and I started to fall. I needed to jolt myself on every count of ten. To stay alert.”

He was terrified he wasn’t explaining it well at all, that Avon would take the few steps to the door and leave thinking who knew what. He faltered. “Avon?”

On the planet, when he called out to the others, that was when the hallucination dissolved and they disappeared. But this was real; Avon turned, and Blake couldn’t read his thoughts.

“The others… I knew that if I was hurting enough, they would say what I wanted to hear. They would let me rest.” Something flickered in Avon’s eyes, and Blake knew he didn’t need to say it, but he did. “You tell me the truth, even when it’s painful. I needed you, Avon, to keep me going. Alone, I would have faltered. I was ready to give up. So I thank you.”

Avon rolled his eyes then, and Blake knew they would be all right. “You do realize it wasn’t actually me.”

“It was in all the ways that mattered.”

An eyebrow lifted. “Perhaps you’re not as fully recovered as Cally believed. Luckily, I’ve synthesized another medication that should help. It tastes utterly vile, I admit. But then, that’s all you deserve for worrying the more sentimental oafs in the crew.”

“You’re not one of them, of course,” Blake teased.

“Naturally not.” Avon paused at the door. “And get some rest. You look terrible.” A sardonic smile, and he was gone.

Blake lay back against his pillow. The mission had been a wash, but that was alright. Maybe someday someone would be able to persuade the Zhonguans that not all technology was bad, but that was a task for another person. There were more questions about the trip to be discussed, but he knew enough for now.

So smiling, Blake took the advice of his friend (although Avon would surely take exception to the term). He closed his eyes and slept.

The end.

Thanks for reading. And just so you know, reviewers have good karma. : )