story by Catherine Salmon, poetry by Robert Graves

Even on the London, he influenced me. He reached out, whether in need or, as he might claim, in friendship, it hardly matters. But that was where it began.

Avon sat quietly, alone, studying a piece of paper. He didn't even glance up as Blake entered the room, moving to sit across from him. He was aware of the big man's presence though, Blake was hard to ignore.

"If you had access to the computers, could you open the doors?" Blake's eyes were intent, gazing off into space.

Avon didn't even bother to look up. "Of course. Why?" And why am I not surprised at the question, he thought to himself.

"Just wondered how good you really were?"

You've planned this, Blake, Avon thought sardonically. You know exactly what I'm capable of. "Don't try and manipulate me," he said aloud.

"Why should I try and do that?"

"You need me."

"Only if you can open the doors."

I don't want to be needed, thought Avon in irritation. He considered Blake's plan, duelling verbally, while part of him chased after possible alternatives. There were none. He watched Blake pace, listened to him speak again.

"You'll do it then?"



Avon made up his mind. For now he would follow Blake's lead. Blake was a fellow alpha and he appeared to have an acceptable plan.

I'm too tired, he admitted to himself. I don't want to think, don't want to dream. He shivered slightly, then rocked with the ship as it shifted sharply. Blake was watching him and his gaze said now. Avon rose.

He is quick, thinking in clear images;

I am slow, thinking in broken images.

Contiued in Star One

Back to Star 1

Back to Fanzines

Back to Blake's 7 Index