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Vila had a rich, varied and enjoyable fantasy life. It made a nice contrast, he thought, with the rest of his life, which was irregularly divided between boredom and heart-stopping, mouth-drying terror.
On reflection, there had been a little more of the boredom since Blake had gone. Not that he actually minded, as such. It was a good thing, he told himself firmly. But...but it was beginning to drag. He wondered if it was possible to get addicted to natural adrenalin.
If it was, then he was going cold turkey.
There had never been any point, to Vila's mind, in setting a watch. Zen or Orac could do it twice as efficiently as any of the human crew. But Avon insisted and so that was it, really. The result was that Vila seemed to spend an unfairly large amount of him time alone of the flight deck. Nothing to do but stare at status readouts and wait for the next crisis. So he passed the time with his eyes closed, his mind full of pictures (and yes, sometimes, his hand in his trousers).
It kept him awake, at least. And Zen would warn him if any of the others wandered along, which wasn't very often.
Because it was boring, here on the flight deck.
Really boring.
The main problem, Vila decided, was that the Liberator crew were a poor source of grist for the fantasy mill.
There was Avon and Cally, of course, at it like knives and still pretending that no-one else knew. Vila didn't know why they bothered; sometimes he thought even Tarrant had noticed. But really, Avon and Cally...the whole concept boggled him. It was like a viscast about some peculiar insect's mating habits.
It wasn't Cally, really, who he rather liked, although even thinking just about sex with her ran up against that indefinable, creepy otherness he had trouble getting past.
It was Avon. Vila had just about managed to wrap his mind around the idea that Avon was, on balance of probability, human. Flesh and real blood (after all, he'd helped clean up enough of it). But the idea of Avon...of Avon actually...and with Cally...
Vila shook his head. Avon and the alien.
Funnily enough, that was the only way it made any sense at all.
Sometimes, when a watch went even more excruciatingly slowly than normal, he'd tried fantasising about Avon himself. It was fun, in an unnerving way, for about a minute. Like thinking about tackling a panther, or some other extinct big cat. Then his subconscious would kick in and point out the teeth and claws and the fact that any minute now he would be flat on his back, wondering why his spine was sticking out through his chest. Vila had enough danger in his real life, thank you very much.
Dayna, of course, was a different question. Mmm. Still dangerous but also young, pretty and - oh, yes - flexible. After detailed consideration, Vila had decided her legs were probably her best feature. They certainly put a distracting edge into combats these days. Admittedly he didn't get the same weird kick Avon or Tarrant seemed to out of watching Dayna kill people, but he appreciated the action.
But Vila had had Dayna. Forwards, backwards, sideways.
In his imagination, at least.
And he was bored of it.
Even so, it still rankled that Avon, of all people, had had the gall to make fun of him watching her. Vila regretted now that he'd kept his mouth shut through two years of Avon's eyes following Blake everywhere, like laser sights. Target locked on.
Of course, he knew damn well why he'd said nothing; suicide wasn't in his life plan. He liked safe. Safe and boring. Oh, yes.
God, but Avon couldn't half pick 'em. Blake, Cally, and now this new, even more bizarre, thing with Servalan. He thought of the two of them over Kairos. 'Your skin always did come first.' 'Would you reproach me for that?' Practically purring. (There was the big cat thing again.)
The man had a death wish.
Vila gave up staring at the detector scanner and mooched over to stare at the navigation console instead. It made for a thrilling change of pace. Who else was there to think about?
Jenna. He used to enjoy the idea of Jenna, because she let her emotions show. Emotions which tended to be directed towards Blake, regrettably. Jenna flirted. She appreciated life's little pleasures. She was fun. She'd never have touched Vila in a million years, of course, far too classy, far too high grade, but wasn't that the whole point of fantasies?
Yet he couldn't now, because she was gone. Vila didn't like to think about her in that particular way when she was out there on her own, alone. He could never be sure that he wasn't imagining making love to a woman who was now a cold, moldering corpse. Jenna could look after herself, of course she could. Better than he could, to be honest. She'd be fine. But. They'd heard nothing for such a long time.
Wonderful. Bored and morbid.
Then there was Tarrant. It wasn't that Vila didn't have fantasies about Tarrant, but they all involved airlock accidents or mysterious teleport malfunctions. Bastard.
Smug, arrogant bastard.
Briefly, Vila wondered about Tarrant and Dayna. But Dayna had taste, sheltered upbringing or not, and Tarrant didn't have a prayer. Or at least Vila hoped not. That would just about be the icing on the cake of his miserable life.
Tarrant had been on at him again, only this morning. Crystals for the damn weapons systems or something. All their insane plans sounded the same after a while and Vila didn't care. He resolved to appreciate his boredom. He wasn't going. Tarrant could go himself.
Right.
Vila eyed the course coordinates uneasily. Only a few hours until they reached this place, which didn't even have a name as far as he could tell. Maybe Tarrant would get himself killed negotiating down there.
Briefly cheered by the thought, Vila decided to give up on the rest of the crew and create something new. Fur was usually a good start. Moonlight and a beach and a fur rug. And a young, warm someone. Maybe several someones. Umm.
After a few minutes he opened his eyes.
Bored.
What he needed was something new. Something he could really cherish. Something he could care about. Something he wanted.
If a chance came, he was going to take it. Even if it was, yes, a little bit dangerous. Maybe even if it were more than just a little bit.
Vila really was that bored.