From dkap@haven.org Tue Dec 24 22:22:57 1996 Date: Mon, 21 Oct 1996 14:12:30 -0400 From: "A Page in the Life of ..." To: b5-creative@lists.best.com Subject: [Mmturner@aol.com: Consequences] Hi This is a fairly long, involved story. It contains some slush, and the major characters are Ambassador Delenn and Captain Sheridan, and a man named Harrissen. As always, standard disclaimers apply, and the characters and Babylon 5 universe belong to JMS and Babylonian productions and WB. I've just borrowed them. No harm intended. Many thanks to Inga and Analise for Beta reading, and valuable suggestions. I'd welcome comments, criticisms, discussions from all and sundry who read this. You may e-mail me at the address below. Thanks. Consequences by Mary M Turner Mmturner@aol.com "I don't like you going off-station right now. Couldn't you at least take Lennier with you?" "John, we have been over this before. Things are very quiet. And I am not without my own resources you know." He frowned. "I know. I just - I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'll miss you." She touched his cheek briefly, "I know. I will miss you also. Try not to let anything devastating to the station happen while I am gone." "Uhh, Ambassador?" Garibaldi shifted from one foot to the other. "You're next up." He looked around uneasily. All day the hairs at the back of his neck had indicated that something bad was gonna happen, and he wanted to be sure it didn't happen now and with these two. "Thank you, Mr. Garibaldi. Good-bye, Captain." With a flourish of her robes, Delenn disappeared into her flyer. Moments later she launched. "C'mon, Captain, I'll buy you an orange for lunch." Garibaldi all but dragged Sheridan from the launch bay. "I don't know, Garibaldi, I just have a bad feeling about this. I don't know why she had to be the one to go off to that refugee colony. She could have sent Lennier, or at least taken him along." "You're beating a dead horse, Captain. And you know as well as I do that Delenn would put her duty above any personal - uneasiness - you might feel. And besides I checked that message six ways from Sunday, not that that was easy to do, since you wouldn't let me ask her for the particulars, and it was genuine. Figure a day and a half to get there, two days to deal with the problems and a day and half to get back. She'll be back in less than a week. You can survive without her for a week." "Am I that obvious?" Sheridan shook his head with a rueful grin. "Just to Ivanova and me. You two have been going through some rough patches lately. Maybe Delenn needs to get away and think. Maybe you do too." "What's there to think about? I know how I feel, and I know - I hope I know - how she feels - at least how I hope she feels -- Oh, hell, maybe you're right." Garibaldi just shook his head and thought `He's got it bad and that ain't good. Isn't that how the old song goes.?' "You forget how new this all is to her. Give her some space, give her some time." "Well, we're in space and I think we're running out of time, dammit." He shook his head. "I know you're right, it's just... with the war coming, I - I want her to know...." "She knows, Captain, trust me, she knows." Garibaldi looked at him and Sheridan sighed and nodded. "I'll talk to you later, Michael, Thanks." Sheridan turned toward C&C and Garibaldi let him go. The back of his neck itched more than ever. *************** That smug bastard. Cock of the walk. War hero. Screwing with the Minbari freak slut. I could take him out in so many ways. There's fast ways and slow ways, and ways you don't even see coming. Ferguson told them back on Earth that I was the best, but to me he says `Don't screw this one up.' To me! Like I'm some kind of punk amateur. High and mighty Ferguson thinks he's done me such a favor, but he just doesn't get it. Neither do they. I'm the one doing the favor. And cock-of-walk Sheridan, enjoy your life. It isn't going to last long. *************** Delenn entered her course into the ship's computers and then pulled up the reports on her destination on her personal terminal. Moments later she realized that she had been staring at the same screen of scrolling Minbari script without seeing it. She thought of John as he had stood in the launch bay. He'd looked vulnerable, stubborn, and very - lovable. She shook her head and bent to concentrate on her work, but his face came between her and the report. She knew how she felt about him, but he wanted so many guarantees. Guarantees that she would survive the war, guarantees that the motives of the Army of Light were pure, guarantees that all of their allies had clean hands. It was too hard to bear the weight of his questions. There were so many things she couldn't tell him yet, so many answers she couldn't give. The Vorlons and the Grey Council and Minbari tradition each exacted a price, a price she'd paid willingly enough in the past. But did she have the right to ask him to pay that price with no guarantees of success, with most of his questions unanswered, with all of his actions based on his faith in her? And most important of all, how would he react when that faith was shaken, as she knew it would be? She closed her eyes, and gave in to the pain she felt. Leaving had been too hard, and she didn't know if she would ever see him again. ********************* C&C was quiet. Traders docked and launched all shift. Sheridan paced the deck for the first hour until Ivanova put a stop to it. "For God's sake, Captain, do something in your office." "Hunh? What did you say, Susan?" "I said, Go. To. Your. Office." "Wh-- Oh. I'm bothering you am I? Sorry. I'm just a little at loose ends today." "I know, but you're making the crew nervous. Hell, you're making me nervous." She glared at him so fiercely that he did as she directed and went to his office. It was too small to pace, so he did the next best thing, scrolling aimlessly through his computer files., reviewing station security logs, ships manifests, refugee requisitions... "Wait a minute." He sat up and studied the screen in fornt of him more closely. "That's funny." He tapped into his link. "Garibaldi, could you come up to C&C? There's something I want to ask you." ********************* Delenn rubbed her forehead. She had been concentrating on the computer until the proximity alarms sounded. Now she studied the control panels. There didn't seem to be anything within a light year to warrant the klaxons. Impatiently she flipped off the switches and muttered in Minbari. Just to be on the safe side she altered her course vectors to arrive on the far side of her destination and dropped her speed slightly so that the corrections would have time to factor in. Seconds later she fell forward, sent sprawling by a massive charge detonating in the aft region of her ship. The lights dimmed, and the ship vibrated with the sound of slamming containment doors. Delenn pulled herself back to the con and stared at the indicators with frightened eyes. Forcing herself to react calmly she tried to assess the situation. Obviously there had been damage in the rear living quarters, and in the systems housed below them. The containment doors had preserved most of the life support, but it would be hard to fly the ship and effect repairs at the same time. For the first time she wished that she had brought Lennier with her. She sighed. It seemed that the best thing to do was to shut down the engines and let the computers have first go at robotic repairs. She was going to be late for her rendezvous which meant she was going to be late returning to the station. She moved to the communications console to send messages to Babylon 5 and to her destination. "That's odd," she muttered, after composing the messages and punching the send commands without results. "If the comm channels are down, this could be a lot more..." There was a brilliant shower of sparks, and the ship rolled hard to the right as a barrage of pulsar fire opened on the damaged left side. The blast had eliminated most of the left sensors, and she was being blindsided by something she couldn't even see. Abandoning the comm station she fought her way across the wildly lurching deck to the main controls. The ship was sluggish in her hands, but she managed to bring it around and up on a course correction of nearly 90 degrees. The rest of her sensors began to report, filling in for the absent tell-tales, and what she saw left her white- faced and gasping. A spider-like ship was blasting her with unremitting weapons fire. ********************* "You see what I see, Garibaldi?" "Yeah. There aren't any requisitions for the refugee colony Delenn is heading toward, and there haven't been for the last six months." Garibaldi tapped in some commands and the screen changed. "Here's the reason. Kafhar syndrome. That's nasty. They decided to evacuate rather than try to tough it out. I think that was a good idea. That stuff gets into the soil and --" "I'm not interested in a crop report, Garibaldi, I want to know if that's where Delenn is heading, if that disease is still active, and why she was lured to that place to begin with. I thought you told me..." "I did. I backtracked that message through all the regular channels and a couple that aren't so regular. Hell, they're frankly illegal. It was genuine. At least I thought it was genuine. Now -- I dunno." The two men stared bleakly at each other. "Ivanova," Sheridan roared through the open doorway and she turned toward him, startled. "Open a comm link to Delenn's ship. Now." ********************* Bet you're sizzlin' by now, Delenn-baby. Spidey-bait. Too bad they wanted it to look like an accident. Lost in Space. I was looking forward to watching your bonecrest melt. Well, at least I'll have my fun with the freak-lover. Too bad you didn't get to stick around and watch it happen. ******************** Frantically Delenn tried to maneuver and fight at the same time. Firing even her feeble weapons against this opponent called for concentration, coolness, and accuracy and right now she was fresh out of all three. The blast had obviously damaged the left rear stabilizers as well as the rest of the systems on that side, and evasive maneuvers simply weren't happening. The inertial dampers screamed in protest when she executed a kind of downward, sideways corkscrew that didn't deter the shadow ship at all, and left her gasping as the artificial gravity flicked on and off. "Think," she chastised herself, as the ship took more damage on its left side. Try as she might there was no way to keep the undamaged right side toward the other ship. She simply couldn't manage the course corrections required. Tightening her lips she took her hands off the weapons controls and the steering mechanisms and folded them in her lap. For the next thirty seconds she calmly reviewed all her options, and noted that the other ship was trying to drive her along a path in space - one that would intersect with her original destination. If it had intended to destroy her, she would have been space dust by now. Perhaps they intended to hold her hostage, question her, threaten John with her safety... Abruptly she made up her mind. The path to the life module lay through the heavily damaged living quarters section of the ship, but according to the computer, the pod itself seemed to be relatively undamaged. She entered command codes to launch the small craft, and waited for the proper moment. Her failure to return fire seemed to be worrying her attackers. The ship was now raining fire on the right systems array. If she didn't act soon, and they scored a direct hit, she would go up in a blaze of super-cooled molybdenum tritate. Delenn punched the separation button with her left hand, and with her right, killed all ship systems, just as a massive blast crackled through the command panel. Millions of watts of power arced through a hunk of conduit , severing it, and it fell to the deck, smashing into her head on the way down. ********************* It's time. Should I use a PPG? A knife? A tritium bomb? Each has its special purpose. With the PPG he'd die fast. With the knife I could kill him a little at a time. A garrote would be quick and noiseless. The bomb ... they said unobtrusive. Make it a quiet kill. A quiet kill. This one will make them sit up and take notice. He's back, they'll say....at the top of his game. It's time No quiet kills for me. The knife. He'll scream and scream and scr... ********************* She woke coughing, spitting out blood, to a darkened, foul-smelling room, stinking of breathing, and blood, and frying circuits. For a moment she just lay there trying to remember why she was alone. With all systems down it was impossible to tell how long she'd lain there unconscious, but she knew that air this foul had taken time to achieve. Reluctantly she tried to stand up, pushing feebly at the floor with her hands. A wave of pain lanced up her right arm sickening her, and she realized that her wrist was broken. She slumped back against the console cabinet. "John," she whispered, "I am sorry. I should..." "Should... what?" her inner voice jeered. "Should have done as you told me? Should have stayed home? Should not have gone off to rendezvous with people unknown to both of us, because they promised intelligence about the Shadows? Should not die now?" Shocked by this interior dialogue, she fought her way to her feet, careful not to bang her right hand around too much. She needed to know if her desperate gamble had worked. Delicately, carefully, she tapped switches on the command board, waking up the remaining sensors on the outside of the vessel. With the monitor on its lowest setting she studied the feeds. Slowly she nodded. Unless the ship lurked in the left rear of her flyer, she was alone in space. Wincing she surveyed the damage to the hull. Gently she turned on more switches, sending power to the life support systems, and to the engines. One arced and nearly knocked her away from the board, but eventually she had enough power to begin thruster maneuvers, and the air replenishment system was chugging along at 35% - not enough to clear away the fug, but at least the atmosphere was becoming more bearable. Using thrusters only, she made the equivalent of a barrel roll in space, sending her dead left side under and thrusting the small sensors on the right side into the hidden area -- and it was clear. The fact that the Shadows had broken off attack to go in search of the life pod and not returned confirmed two of her theories. They were looking for a live hostage, and the ships were manned by beings that were only semi-sentient. Otherwise, after the life- pod self-destructed, the Shadow would have returned to examine the Zhalen more closely. More confident now, she powered up systems wholesale and studied the monitor with dismay. It was going to be a long, slow trip home. Her main engines were damaged beyond repair, and she had only thrusters on the left side. The right engines were 60% functional but much of her maneuverability was gone. Grimly she plotted in a course back toward Babylon 5, executed it, and then went to search for something to eat and something to bandage her wrist with before she tried to figure out the comm panels. The voyage ahead looked disagreeable indeed. ********************* "I can't raise her, Captain. It's been half an hour, and I've tried every thing I can think of. There's no response. It's as if her ship just - vanished." Ivanova's voice was fully professional conveying none of the worry she felt. She and Garibaldi exchanged glances. "You'll need to notify Lennier." Sheridna's voice was flat. "And send out a search party in case -- in case..." already he was anticipating a worst case scenario. "Done and done, sir." "I'll - uhh - tell Lennier," Garibaldi volunteered, anxious to leave the Captain's office. Sheridan nodded, his concentration elsewhere. Lennier listened to Garibaldi gravely. "I am sure you are doing everything in your power to help, Mr. Garibaldi and, on behalf of the Ambassador I thank you and the other command staff." He paused. "Did you say, Commander Ivanova is going to send out a search squadron?" "Yes. We'll go to the last..." "I know how such things operate. However, in that case you may need these." Lennier reached inside his robes and pulled out a small sheet of flimsy. "The Ambassador was making a small -- detour - on the way to the refugee colony. She was going to rendezvous with a contingent of B'lt'v." "Never heard of `em." "They are a very mysterious race, nearly as old as the Vorlon, living in the far reaches of space just this side of the rim. They said they had information to sell about the Shadows. Delenn went to see if it was worth our interest. These are the coordinates of the meeting point and the course she would have taken to reach there." Garibaldi took the sheet and shook his head. "The Captain is just going to looove this one." "She was doing what!?" Sheridan was furious. Lines of strain etched his forehead and twin ridges ran from his nostrils to the corners of his mouth. He smashed his hand against the doorframe of his office hard enough to bruise his knuckles and make the command staff jump. "Dammit, Garibaldi, I told you to make sure that message was genuine..." "It isn't his fault, Captain," Ivanova said gently. "And maybe this is good news. Maybe this means that Delenn shut down her comm system for a reason. Maybe that's why we can't raise her." Sheridan turned to look at her, and slowly he nodded. "Yeah. Maybe. But I'm not taking any chances. Send that squadron out anyway. And tell `em, if they do find her, not to let her out of their sight till she's safely back aboard." "It's going to be a little while till we hear something. Why don't the two of you get something to eat while it's quiet." Her eyes were sending a message to Garibaldi, and he shrugged. "No, I think I'd rather stay here and keep an eye on things...," Sheridan began, but Garibaldi interrupted. "She's right. A decent meal and you'll be ready to welcome Delenn home when they find her. No point in staying up here right now. You'll be needed later when things - when we start to get reports in. Now all we can do is wait. Remember Sherman said, an army travels on its stomach." "Sherman didn't say that." "Well, whoever..." Garibaldi took his arm firmly and led him from C&C, earning a smile from Ivanova as he did so. Once in the Zocalo, however, Garibaldi got a call on his comm link. "Chief, you'd better get over here to Brown 4. There's some Drazis who are making a mess of a Centauri." "Go ahead, Michael. I'll just go in over there to that little coffee shop, and get a sandwich. You don't have to baby-sit me, whatever Ivanova says." "She didn't ---" "Yes, she did. Go." Reluctantly, Garibaldi left, looking over his shoulder several times, to make sure that Sheridan was doing as he had said he would. The Captain walked in an unhurried fashion toward the small restaurant. There was a vacant storefront next door, and as he passed the shadowy doorway, a hand snaked around his neck, and jerked him violently backwards. Fetid breath whispered in his ear. "It's time." ********************* "How could you lose the Captain?" Ivanova spat the words at Garibaldi. "I didn't do it on purpose. Give me a break here. I'm every bit as worried as you are." "Delenn, and now Sheridan. I don't like the way this is shaping up." He stared at her. "What? You think this is some kind of conspiracy?" "I don't know what I think. It's - just a feeling I have." Garibaldi, remembering how the back of his neck had prickled, said "Yeah. I know that feelin'. Look I've got men searching the station. We'll hear something." "You told them --" Ivanova's glare was back full -strength. "No. No. What kind of an idiot do you think I am?" He held up a palm. "Don't answer that. "I told them there was a bomb threat. That guarantees that they'll look in every crack and crevice. But -- it's a big station. I dunno." "Well, there's been no ransom demand. No contact of any kind. That's bad. He could already be dead." "Boy, am I glad I'm not Russian." ********************* "Who are you? What do you want?" "Now, now, that would be tellin', wouldn't it?" "Okay. You've got me here," Sheridan looked around the abandoned storefront, "but don't you think this is just a bit obvious? I mean, this is the first place Garibaldi is going to look..." "Look fly-boy, shut your trap. I know what I'm doing here. I'm no amateur. Harrissen is a pro." His eyes glittered in the dim light. "That's what they all say. Harrissen is a pro. I been at this better'n' fifteen years. You know how long that is? In this business, that's forever. Oh, sure, after that bollux on Marius, they said I lost my nerve. Me! Lost my NERVE." He panted, and leaned harder against Sheridan, tightening his grip. "No, no, I've done lots of ones bigger `n you. It was the War. The damn Minbari. After that my nerves went. That's what they said. Even Ferguson thought I was a has- been with shaky hands." Sheridan winced when a rivulet of the spittle that ran from the corner of the man's mouth, landed on his face. "Oh, Ferguson would toss me a bone, now and then - some job too crazy and too chancy for his new regulars. But now they'll see. I'm the pro here. Don't forget it." The hand holding the knife twitched a little and a hairline of blood began its slow crawl down the Captain's neck. Harrissen began to urge his prisoner toward the shadowy back of the store, and then through another opening created by a wrenched off panel. The passageway thus exposed led into the interior crawlspaces of level 14. Sheridan was forced into a crouch, as the two of them scuttled sideways through a passage only a meter and a half high. Harrissen's knife hand continued to twitch nicking the Captain in half a dozen spots, and his uniform was splotched by the time they reached a junction point in the passages. Here another opened panel led into a cavernous dark space that echoed. At last Sheridan sensed that there was enough space here to stage a fight, and as Harrissen's grip loosened, he spun, raising his fist, just as his captor slammed a hypo into the vein under his jaw. ********************* Delenn sucked in her breath as she inadvertently banged her right wrist against the loosened comm panels. She knew that if she took one of the painkillers from the small Med kit, it would dull the ache in her hand, but she was afraid of the effect it would have on her battered body. As she sorted determinedly through the mass of burned circuits and fused wires, she thought again of John Sheridan. The air coolant system was still off line and the cabin was uncomfortably hot. Her hair hung in damp ringlets around her bone crest, and there was a painful puffy bruise on her cheek. "I do not look anything like his cool, calm, Delenn, now," she muttered and laughed grimly, suddenly feeling very alone indeed. Soldering circuits with one hand was difficult and she was forced to use her right to steady the wires, whatever the pain. At last she had done all that she could and she pushed the access panel back in place.. Holding her breath she flipped the comm switch. There was a brief pause, and then the system activated in a burst of static. She sagged against the console in relief. And immediately began to broadcast a message to Babylon 5, and to the refugee colony on Delos VIII. Finally she attached a signal beacon and began to transmit a universal mayday. She turned next to her navigational controls and checked the ship's progress. It seemed they were crawling across space. "At this rate I should be back by the holiday the humans call Christmas." At least the course was holding true, and the little flyer was responding to her orders. The command chair was covered with dust and the remains of the conduit piece that had knocked her unconscious. Ruthlessly she shoved the debris away and climbed up, settling her bruised body against the cushioning. She flipped up the panel on the left side of the chair and accessed the rations and water stored there, and slowly settled in for the trip home. Then she began to concentrate on a meditation technique to ease the pains of her body. Slowly her respiration changed and she entered the first level of healing. As her physical strains eased, her mind returned to the problem that had been worrying her for the past months. Humans were much more demanding than Minbari. Minbari understood that one had a role in society, a place to belong, a series of actions that were foreordained by caste, and family and clan for a thousand years. Humans constantly questioned their place in the universe, warring with those who would challenge that place, yet always striving to achieve something more, something different, something better. Inevitably her thoughts turned to John, and she smiled as she remembered him standing in the launch bay. He made her feel safe in an unsafe universe. She was only now beginning to understand how fortunate she had been. From an early age she had known that she was fated to fulfill the most important of Valen's prophecies, and that she would be the one to reunite the two halves of Minbari souls. She had been resigned to that fate. Prepared to do her duty, however distasteful it was to her personally. `But John,' again her mouth curved, `John is not distasteful -- not at all. If we survive the war...If we survive...' That was the problem. John was showing a distressing tendency to want to protect her, even as he blindly followed where she led. `When he discovers just how convoluted that path was, how cluttered with obstacles, and the bodies of friends and honor betrayed, what will he think then.' She was afraid that he would reject her utterly. `"If the right thing is done for the wrong reason...", but if I tell him everything now, he will be overwhelmed. He is only human. They are a fragile race, still believing that good will always triumph, that it is the nature of good.' `We know better. We have seen the face of evil before, seen it leer in triumph. We know what we face, and that knowledge defeats us before we begin. If the humans knew what awaits, would they fight? Would John? Is not telling him all the truth, a lie? But it is not honorable to lie to an ally." Gradually she sank into the second stage of the meditative trance. In her mind she reached for the truth of the conundrum. `Am I afraid that when John learns the truth of my deception he will understand the reasons I acted as I did, and still turn away from me? Is my urge to burden him with all I know merely a cowardly impulse to share a lonely burden? Is John stronger than I think? And how has he become the center of my universe?' ********************* Sheridan fought his way back to consciousness, aware of nausea, and a pounding ache in his temples. There was a light, flickering, off to the side somewhere, and when he tried to raise his hand to rub his face, he couldn't. Gradually he realized that he sat in a virtual cocoon of tape. Tape circled his ankles holding them against two of the legs of the chair he occupied. Tape bound his calves against them as well. His hands lay against his thighs held in place by more tape which also bound the thighs to the seat of the chair. Finally more rounds of tape held his arms to his sides and his chest against the back of the chair. "Wha' the hell...? "How does it feel, fly-boy?" Harrissen's face loomed out of the murk, lips agape, sour breath nearly setting off the nausea still roiling in Sheridan's stomach. "Guess you're not so IM-portant, now are you, freak-lover?" His knife flashed out, drawing a delicate gash down the left side of the Captain's face, tracing a path from the hairline to the jaw. "Ooooo. What's the matter? `Fraid I'll spoil your looks, so the Minbari slut won't think you're so cute?" "Keep you filthy mouth off Delenn," Sheridan snarled, trying to lurch forward and ram his knees into the man's body. "DON'T INTERRUPT when I'm talking to you. I hate it when I get interrupted. Everybody always interrupts..." Almost casually he backhanded the Captain, spinning the man and the chair in a half-circle. "And don't worry none about your little boneheaded nookie. I spect she's space dust by now." "What did you do to her?" Sheridan rasped out, his ears still ringing from the force of the slap. "Nothing you'll care about after the next twenty-four, thirty-six hours. By the time you die, all you'll care about is this here little knife." Idly he drew it down the exposed flesh of Sheridan's left arm, leaving another of the thin-edged trails of blood. "Yessir, you going to get to know Miss Cutty, real, real well." ********************* Delenn slid deeper into her trance, reaching the third level. She was no longer conscious of her thoughts, merely experiencing them on an interior plain of sensation. This was the deepest trance she had permitted herself to achieve in the time since her transformation. Always before she had feared what she might find, what unrevealed truths there might be. At the third level all that existed were emotions that were central to the being. It was at this level that one achieved truth whether or not it was desired. A whispered tendril twirled about her mind and was accepted by it. One by one, the tendril touched each of her doubts, and each of her worries, resolving the doubts, and easing the worries, reaching deeply into the pain, the fear, and the joy, releasing years of tensions. Abruptly, the tiny clenched part of her soul opened, and Delenn was free. ********************* "Any word?" "Nope. Why don't you get something to eat? You haven't left C&C since he was snatched." "Somebody has to stay on top of things. I've got two squadrons of star furies out there." "And Lennier." "What about Lennier?" Ivanova rubbed her eyes. They felt like someone had poured a beach into them. "He's looking too." "We didn't give him clearance...." "I know. But he's out there, nonetheless." "Dammit. Damn civilians. Corwin," she bellowed. "Did Lennier of the Minbari request permission?" "Uh, I don't know if it was Lennier. The Minbari diplomatic shuttle left an hour and a half ago." "Why didn't you tell me?" "It was a diplomatic envoy. We couldn't deny clearance. I didn't think it was a big deal." "Okay, okay. Let me know the minute, no, the second, something shows up from those squadrons." She grimaced, turning back to Garibaldi. "Damn snot-nosed kids. Wouldn't tell me if the Vorlons suddenly turned up on our doorstep by the hundreds." ********************* Sheridan wasn't sure how long he'd been in the echoing space with the blade- crazed man. Time had ceased to have any meaning to him. All he knew now were the seconds without new pain, without fresh threads of blood. Dimly he heard the man mouthing more obscenities about Delenn, but they had become a familiar litany now, and he ignored them to concentrate on the reality of her. He saw her face, serene, lovely, calm; he smelled her scent, like a clean breeze on a sunlit day; and he touched her hair, fine, mahogany-colored silk. He wanted to wrap himself in that silk until the hurting went away, to have her hold him in her strong arms, to kiss her familiar lips... Fresh agony. The man was drawing another of his crisscrossing patterns of scarlet, creating a web of gore on his right forearm, driving deeper into the flesh now, making a wider mark in places, angry that Sheridan wasn't crying out, angry that he had gone to Delenn in his mind, angry that the names no longer drew a response. The knife skittered, slipping on the tape binding his hand to his thigh, and then the man, Harrissen, exerted more pressure, bit deeper, drew more blood, but, this time, some of the tape parted too. At first Sheridan didn't realize what had happened. His arms dripped crimson, the tape was dyed with it, and the frayed ends of the cut absorbed the color. Then as his hand felt the easing of the pressure, the fresh freedom, it took several moments for his mind to realize what had happened. At first he struggled to stay within his dreamDelenn world, but the pain was working to draw him from there. By the time Harrissen had turned to etch a matching bloody web on the other arm, he was ready for him, jerking his hand and thigh up as much as possible to lay them within the blade's reach. "Filthy cross-breed. Minbari ought to lay with dogs, with diseased Pak'ma'ra, with the dregs of the `c'thilian. Was it good, Sheridan? Did she know how?" On and on, it went, and he heard none of it, using the diatribe only to provide motivation to allow his wrist to be scored a dozen times by the knife. And the tape split. ********************* Patiently Lennier adjusted the scope again, fine-tuning the infinitesimal variations to achieve the very best match to the automatic signals from Delenn's ship. All Minbari vessels had a signature sound, slight hull variations creating the `tune'. His shuttle carried sensors, jury-rigged to pick up the slightest hint of those sounds, but because they were working at the absolute outer ranges of their sensitivity, it was difficult to keep them optimally attuned. It was nerve-wracking, searching this way, flying blind. Every instinct was screaming at him to hurry to the coordinates where Delenn was to have rendezvoused with the aliens, but the years of temple discipline urged caution, urged painstaking thoroughness, urged care, and Lennier knew that to give in to his instincts would also mean giving in to panic. "Suppose she's dead," a voice he barely recognized as his, screamed inside his head. "Suppose she's been captured. Hurry, hurry." Fighting down the impulse to give in, he studied his screens more carefully than before. The star furies were heading for the coordinates. If she lay even the least bit outside their visual and sensor ranges on the way there or back, they'd miss her "Alone. Hurt. Dying in the cold of space." The voice nagged at him, pushing him to the lip of a terror too horrible to contemplate. A world without Delenn. A world in which she no longer existed. He had meditated for many hours, reconciling her destiny with his own feelings, and had succeeded in achieving a modicum of self-control which was now shredding from him, as the minutes ticked by, and the fear built. ********************** "Commander. Squadron leader Alpha reporting in." Corwin's voice betrayed his excitement. "Let me see it." The screen flickered, split, rolled and came together again with a grainy image. The young pilot looked tired. "Commander. Jenkins. We're on target. There's some debris, nothing big enough to be significant." Ivanova's heart sank. "Debris? Could you be more specific?" In reply the pilot switched his visual from interior to exterior and Ivanova saw the floating hunks of metal, plastic and cloth. Most were small, but one piece was clearly a part of the exterior of Delenn's ship. "Those are sensor nodes," Garibaldi muttered staring at the monitor over her shoulder. Suddenly, as the pilot rotated his fury, a large chunk of space-black metal? came into view. "Oh, hell. She must have torn off a strip with the little pop guns that the Minbari all carry on their personal flyers." Ivanova sounded infinitely weary. "Yeah, just enough to rile them. The Captain's going to be real excited to hear about this." "When we get a chance to tell him." Her tone changed, became brisk. "Jenkins, detach two units and have them gather up all the debris, especially that piece of black stuff right there. Then I want the rest of you to spread out across 180 degrees on intersecting vectors going out about 30 - 40 thousand kliks. Full sensors, visual, audio, the works. Find me something to go on, Jenkins. Find me something." "Roger that, Commander. Jenkins, out." ********************* "Captain, Captain, when you jerk around like that, you're just hurting yourself. I'm doing this scientifically. Don't you have any appreciation for an artist at his work? Did something I said trouble you? I've tried to explain that the Minbari bitch isn't worth your blood." His tone turned wheedling. "I didn't want to do it you know. I told them. A bomb was too good for her. They should have let me have her. I'd've given it a real effort. She'd have paid, and paid, and paid, and paid," his voice rose to a shriek, and he dropped the knife. As he fumbled for it on the floor, panting, he took up his recitation again. "Do you know why I like to use a knife, Captain? Do you? I can refine the pain with it. Oh, there are those who are just slash and trash, but I - I create. I carve. When I'm done she - you will be just as dead, but the experience will have bound us together. I will give you pain, you will give me a reason for existence. Isn't that an admirable reason to die, Captain" To give another a reason to live?" He straightened, grasping the knife again, but Sheridan had been busy while he groped on the floor. He clenched the muscles in his right arm and jerked upward. One hand was completely free up to the elbow, and then he ripped the tape off his other arm as quickly as he could, With the left arm free to the shoulder, he was reaching to tear the tape from his legs, as Harrissen came up. "Ooohhh. You've been very naughty, Captain, and I will have to punish you," he purred, leaning in to snake his knife across Sheridan's eyes, but all the taunts and the blood had misled him. Sheridan had not responded before, not because he was weak and resigned, but because he knew he would have only one moment and that death waited on the other side of it. This was the moment. As Harrissen leaned in, he brought his left hand up, wrist locked, fingers pointing together, and rammed it into the other man's throat, thrusting him back, and crushing his larynx at the same time. "Got something to say, boyo, say it now," Sheridan snarled, fighting the tape still binding him to the chair. Harrissen, gurgling from his ruined throat, lashed back blindly, stabbing his knife forward in a movement that tore through Sheridan's uniform and laid open a great gash from his knee to his chest, but the gesture proved his final undoing, as the Captain wrenched his other leg free and kicked back. His leg sent the knife flying as the toe of his shoe caught Harrissen under the point of his jaw, snapping his head back sharply. Sheridan could hear his spine crack., and the man sagged, emptied of life just that quickly. Sheridan sagged as well. He'd lost a massive amount of blood, and Harrissen's last thrust had laid bone bare. His entire body ached, and his vision kept dimming, but he focused on the fact that Delenn was missing and that he had to get out of this hellhole and help find her. ********************* Delenn barely breathed. In her meditative trance much became clear to her. The future laid itself out before her, a road moving through a foreign countryside, neither Minbar, nor any other place she had ever been. The way was lovely, sunlit, flower strewn, spring. The air was cool, and gentle on her face. Ahead she could see the road divide itself, two futures unveiled, and she had only to choose. In the first, she remained much as she was, half-human, half-Minbari, The One. Others did her bidding, died at her words, the Shadows were fought to a standstill. She and John underwent the marriage ceremonies, and a child was born. In the end though, he went on without her, unable to overcome the differences which had begun to drive them apart, unable to accept the strictures under which she had conducted most of her war, unable to understand her fears or the reasons for them. She watched him go, and retreated to Minbar, to the temple, to a long existence as the most revered religious figure on her homeworld, acknowledged as the savior of the galaxy, bringing great honor to her clan. Like a path from the main road, another future revealed itself - one in which there were no ceremonies, and no child, but all other events unfolded in the same fashion. Feeling very cold, she retreated from that path and that road, retreated past the place where the path branched off, and further, retreating, fleeing that future. The road seemed much longer, reaching the turning to the other future much more difficult, but at last she climbed the crest of a hill, and saw the division in the main road. She hurried toward it, moving faster and faster until she was running full tilt toward the alternate future, unsure what it held.. ********************* The sound was so small, so quiet, so infrequent, that at first he thought he had conjured it up out of need, out of longing. Then it came again, marginally louder, And again, and again, louder, more frequent each time. Holding his breath and unaware that he was doing so, Lennier bent over his instruments, studying the panels. Everything looked exactly the same. The display had not varied. He sighed, "it must be an instrument malfunction." Then it came again, and this time, he caught a whisper of a flicker on the vector monitor. Without conscious thought he corrected course to pursue the space ghost. The sound was still too small, too uncertain to be reliable. "What do humans call it," he muttered to himself, "chasing the will `o the wisp?" ********************* "Chief, you better get down to Brown 8, pronto." Zack's voice sounded strained even over the link, and Garibaldi responded immediately. "What is it Zack?" "Please Chief, come yourself. I - anyone could listen in on these links." Ivanova and Garibaldi exchanged glances and then he exploded from his chair, racing for Zack's location. "Sweet Jesus." "Yeah." "Is he..." "Dead? Oh, yeah. As last week's mackerel. I've run an ident on him. Name's Harrissen. He's wanted for half a dozen murders on Earth. Last seen on Io." Garibaldi glanced around the space. A splintered chair lay on the floor about three meters from Harrissen's body, wrapped in remnants of blood-stained tape. Smears and pools of blood led toward the far wall. "Did you follow that trail?" "Nah. I thought I'd wait for you." "Good man, Zack. Leave him. Let's see what we find." Cautiously they followed the stains through the door, and out into a section of Down Below that Garibaldi didn't recognize. "I thought I knew every inch of this station, but I swear I've never been here before," he muttered. "Me either." The area was deserted, and the smears seemed more random as if the thing that had left them was wandering, staggering. Then ahead in the corridor, Garibaldi saw what looked like a discarded sack. He raced down toward it, and in seconds was kneeling beside the Captain's body. Sheridan opened his eyes. "Delenn?" he whispered as Garibaldi smacked his comm badge. "Ivanova, I've got him. Med team stat." "On the way." She met him at the entrance to MedLab as the team raced back with the gurney. "How bad is it?" "We'll have to wait and see what the doc says, but he's lost way too much blood." ********************* Dimly Sheridan was aware of the men and women working on his battered body, but he ignored them. His thoughts were with Delenn. Almost he could feel her presence, faint, distant, floating in a kind of limbo. He longed to reach out to her, to reassure her that he understood. `What do I understand?' he thought muzzily, as the drugs the medics were pumping into his system took hold. "Trust. Always trust -- her. More than truth, trust -- her. Forever..." and then he slid into unconsciousness. ********************* Lennier strained against the viewer, trying to see what his scanners told him was there, but yet too distant. Against the black of space, stars glittered. Then he saw one that seemed to be moving in an irregular manner, and locked the coordinates into his computer, as he increased to the maximum speed. Minutes crept by, and then he was sure. It was the Zhalen, wobbling through space at sublight speed. He tried the comm channels, hailing Delenn. There were bursts of static, but no reply and he began to be afraid that she was badly injured, perhaps even dead. He tried the hails again and again, with no response, and by the time he was within grappling distance of the small flyer, he was convinced that the worst awaited him. After securing the ship to his, and activating the airlock mechanisms that allowed him to cross over to the other vessel, he gathered together the materials he would need, working mechanically because his mind was preoccupied with the enormity of Delenn's death. Finally he was ready, and gathering up his courage he entered the darkened, damaged ship. It was difficult going because of the destruction which had occurred, and he had to fight his way forward, stepping over pieces of shattered bulkhead, and imploded circuitry. Sparks still danced randomly about the passageway, and the air was foul. The door to the command deck was sealed shut, and even the manual overrides failed to move it. Gripping the crowbar he'd brought, Lennier pried and levered, and finally broke through. A rush of air greeted him, still fouled, but markedly fresher than that of the rest of the ship, and although he could tell that the filtration was not working, there was no stench of decay. The few working lights showed the devastation that had occurred even up here, but from the doorway he could see that navigational controls were functioning, and that several systems, including communications were live. There was no sign of Delenn. Moving cautiously he worked his way across the deck, carefully examining the shattered consoles, and ravaged operating panels, looking for her body. Slowly he came to the command chair and moved in front of it. Delenn sat there, as if asleep, dried blood congealed across her head, and a plascast on her right wrist. He drew nearer, and was startled to hear the faint hiss of an exhaled breath. He touched her face. It was warm. His own heart began to beat faster, and he bent to study her more closely, recognizing the deep meditational trance for what it was. He was afraid to disturb her, for if she was pulled too abruptly from her current state, the results could be traumatic. However, he knew she needed to be moved as soon as possible to a better atmosphere. He also knew that he could not simply carry her back to his own ship, because there were simply too many obstacles. In the end, he left her seated in her chair, and returned to his own ship to hail the station and begin the journey home as quickly as possible. It was the best he could do ********************* "Garibaldi, go." "Lennier just commed in. He's found her and she's alive, but not by much." "Damn. How soon till he brings her in?" "About five standard hours. He's traveling at top speed. I'm recalling the search squadrons. Do you want to tell the Captain?" "He's still out. Doc says it's going to be a while. They're keeping him under pretty deep while they have a quilting bee." "Tell them my grandmother always said it wasn't pretty, if you didn't take small even stitches." Ivanova's voice changed. "How bad are the scars going to be?" "Hard to tell. They're still not sure he's going to make it through the blood loss. Seems like the gash through his gut is the worst. Hit an artery or something. He's just lucky he still had his belt on. That deflected the blade a little, and it missed a couple of vital spots. Otherwise he'd be dead now. Doc said the regen process should leave him without visible signs after a couple of months if he takes the time to go through it. I guess that depends on what happens next." "Yeah. I can't see the Shadows holding off their attacks, just because he wants to face them with a whole hide." Ivanova sounded incredibly tired, and Garibaldi realized that she hadn't been to bed since the first alert about Delenn went out. "Why don't you get some shut-eye now. Everything's under control, and I can handle the mop up. I'll have C&C notify both of us the minute Lennier comes through the jump gate." She sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, maybe I will. What about you though?" "I can sleep all day tomorrow. I'm off." Garibaldi turned to look through the thick plas-glass at the surgery taking place. The medical team was working with frantic haste, and cool precision. Sheridan was lucky. Doc McFarland said even twenty minutes later would have been too late. He settled back in his chair. Zack was taking care of Harrissen's remains, and this was as good a place as any to kick back. Besides he just wanted to keep an eye on things. ******************** It was nearly thirty-six hours later before the doctors were satisfied, and Sheridan moved from the isolab out into a regular MedLab cubicle and brought out of his drug- induced coma. Looking around groggily, he focused on Ivanova. "Susan?" "Yes, Captain. How do you feel? What a stupid question. You feel awful. Of course you do. I'd feel lousy too, if it were me. Oh, God, I'm babbling. I'll shut up now." She subsided, looking upset. Sheridan moved one of his bandaged hands up to rub across his bandaged face, ignoring her reply. "Delenn? Is she..." "I am here, John." A shadowy figure came forward, and he realized that it was Delenn, bandages on her head and arm. "You--" he tried again. "You're all right?" Smiling, she held up her cast. "A little damaged in the process, but yes, I am all right. And you? You are so badly injured. Did I not ask you to let nothing happen while I was gone?" "I'm all right now, as long as you're back on the station." They stared at each other for a moment longer, the others in the room ceasing to exist for each of them and then they spoke simultaneously. "John, I have much to tell - to share - with you...' "Delenn, whatever happens, remember I trust you..." ***************** Sheridan woke from the light doze he'd slipped into after his meal. A slight movement to his right drew his eyes. Delenn sat curled up in the chair beside his bed. Someone had draped a coverlet over her, and she slept like a child, her breathing light, her face smooth. He lay there studying her, enjoying the moment. His ordeal had made him aware of how deep his feelings for her ran. Even when Harrissen proclaimed her death as a prelude to his own, he hadn't really believed it. He knew now that there was a connection between them, one that couldn't be explained by simple logic, or dismissed as wishful thinking. He had felt her presence in his mind when he reached out, and it was something he badly needed to discuss. He couldn't bear to wake her though. Her ordeal had been different from his own, but he knew how sparse her reserves were just now. `In fact,' he thought, `she shouldn't be here now. Why isn't she in her own bed in MedLab?' He almost reached for the call button to summon a nurse and inquire when he realized that he didn't really want to part with her. Watching her sleep was the best thing that had happened to him in days and he didn't want it to end. `I'm pathetic,' he thought. `Putting my own desires over her well-being.' Grimacing, he turned again to reach for the call button, but his movement woke Delenn. "John?" she sounded sleepy, and a little uncertain. "I'm right here, Delenn. Right here." "I am glad, John," she smiled and straightened in her chair, stretching and rearranging the covering. "You should be in bed, yourself, not sitting up to watch over me." "Most of my injuries are well on the way to being healed. Yours have only just begun. Besides, I---" she hesitated, sounding uncertain again, "I wanted to be sure you were all right," she finished in a rush, a faint flush of color rising to her cheekbones. Sheridan would have reached out to take her hand, but his bandages were bulky and awkward, and even the start of the gesture sent a wave of pain arcing across his whole body. "No. No, you must stay still. Doctor McFarland said -- that is one reason that I stayed. They are very busy in MedLab just now with a load of injured refugees from a Brakiri colony, and it was difficult for them to spare someone to stay with you all the time -- to make sure you were still. I am here to see to your needs. You must not move." "Delenn. I won't have you..." "Please, John, it is what I can do. I -- I -- there are things I need to say to you, things that you must know, but it is difficult, and I had hoped that if I were here,...and we talked...things might arise -- naturally -- oh, I am making a -- you call it a `hash' do you not?" "Well, I've heard clearer sentences, that's for sure, but I think I get the gist. Besides, I have things I need to talk over with you, too. And if lying still is the price I have to pay for your companionship -- well, I don't really feel like moving anyway so..." They smiled at each other, and she scooted her chair closer to the bed. "Would you like something to eat or drink," she asked. "I wouldn't mind some water." She nearly dropped the cup on him, but finally managed to position the straw so he could gulp some liquid. Then he lay back against the pillows, and she touched his forehead tentatively. "You are so warm, John. I think that you still have the fever." "Relax. I'm sure they have me on antibiotics. That will take care of the fever. Tell me what happened to you. The last I heard you were missing, and that bas - uhh, Harrissen tried to make me think he'd blown you up." "Ahhh, so he is the one who is responsible?" She sounded so calm, that he was fooled for a moment. "You mean there was an explosion?" he barked when he realized what she'd said. "I thought they brought your flyer back in. Is that how you were hurt?" "John, as I have said, I am nearly recovered. There was an explosion, yes. It could have been worse. It happened in the aft portion of the ship, and took out some of the living quarters, and the weapons on that side." "Pah. Weapons. You can't call those little pea-shooters weapons. They're like bee stings. All they're good for is to rile somebody." "Yes, I am quite aware of that." Something in her tone caught his attention. "Delenn," he said slowly, "that isn't all that happened to you, is it?" With great effort he reached out his heavily bandaged hand, and awkwardly curled his exposed fingers around hers. For just a second her hand tightened convulsively on his, and she bit her lip. "Tell me about everything, Delenn. Start when you left the station and don't leave anything out." She sighed, "John, this is very difficult. I -- I --" "As Lewis Carroll said, `start at the beginning and go straight on, till the end.'" "Ahh." She hesitated, then seemed to gather up all her resolve, "John, I was not entirely - open - with you. I did intend to visit the refugee colony, but first I had another destination. I was at those coordinates when the explosion occurred. I know I should have told you, but..." He interrupted her. "Delenn, I spent a lot of the time Harrissen was carving away on me trying to isolate myself from the pain. Do you know how I did that?" Mutely she shook her head. "I went to a place in my mind where I could see and hear you." She raised her head and stared at him. "I am not sure I understand." "Well, you're not alone. I can't explain it, either, but it was more than keying in on a fantasy to ignore some external circumstance. I was with you, walking with you, talking with you, hearing your voice, smelling your scent. It was real, Delenn, and even Harrissen could tell that my mind was somewhere other than on what he was doing. It made him crazy. Crazier," he corrected himself. "Oh, John, when I heard what had been done to you...I cannot imagine such pain. When Susan told me...I had to see you right away, right then...to be sure that you were - were ---" she broke off with a sob. "Delenn, darling, don't." He reached out to her, to try to comfort her, and she stilled herself with a visible effort of will. "My point was -- I reached some decisions while I was `with' you. Before Harrissen grabbed me, we'd just learned from Lennier that you were rendezvousing with some informants and I was furious with you." The haunted look was back in her eyes. "But I had a lot of time to think, and I realized that you were right. You have things you have to do as Ranger One, and I have things to do as Captain of Babylon Five. I can't be with you every moment of every day, and I can't ask you not to do what you have to do. I know you're going to be exposed to unimaginable risks, and I can't always protect you. No matter how much I want to." "John, that is part of what I want to tell..." "Wait, Delenn, let me say this. I was angry that you hadn't consulted me. It seemed to say that you didn't trust my judgment, that you regarded me as a `junior' partner in our alliance, that you didn't fully rely on me. I've always known that there were things you haven't told me, and I've often wanted to challenge you about them, but you'd never before done something so brazen, so obvious - that I knew about. Then I realized it didn't matter." She gasped, and would have spoken, but he continued. "What I'm trying to say is that no matter what, no matter how, I will always be with you. I would follow you into the jaws of hell itself, and I suspect that I may get the opportunity to. Tell me as much or as little as you wish. Let me lead, or let me follow, I will be with you until time itself ceases. I trust you, and I love you." Exhausted, he sank back against his pillows, and closed his eyes, but not before he saw the slow tears rolling unheeded down her cheeks. When he woke the next time, she was watching him. All traces of the tears had vanished save for a faint redness around the rims of her eyes, and she was smiling. He still held her hand within the paw formed by his bandages, and he realized that it forced her to sit in an awkward position, leaning forward. "Delenn, you must be stiff. Why didn't you pull your hand away?" "I did not mind. I - You asked me about my time on the Zhalen. After the explosions, and after the battle, and after the spider-ship went chasing after the life- pod, I..." "Whoa. Slow down. Battle? Spider-ship? Life-pod? I think you'd better tell me exactly what happened." "I will, but it does not matter. What is important is the healing trance." "Not imp.... Okay. I'll bite. What about the healing trance?" "Since my transformation I have not permitted myself to enter the third level of the trance state. It is a deeply meditative level in which one comes to terms with the soul." "Why haven't you --?" "I believe I was afraid I would find that my motives were not as pure as I had thought, or that I was harboring great uncertainties which would interfere with my - my mission. However, on the Zhalen, it no longer mattered. I thought that it was very possible that I would die, and at times like that it is important that blemishes on the soul be healed." John looked at her, and for a moment he was back in the shadowy cavern with Harrissen gloating over her death. He'd felt despair then, even as his mind denied the words. To hear her speak so calmly of her own death brought home the possibility to him in a way that seared his soul. "No." The word ripped out of him, echoing with anguish, and his hand tightened on hers involuntarily, pulling her even further forward until she half-sprawled awkwardly across the bed. "John. You are not to move. I told you. You will strain the sutures. You will interrupt the healing process. You..." "I'm sorry, Delenn. Although I think McFarland sold you a bill of goods." "A bill of goods?" "If it were truly necessary for me to be immobilized, they would have placed me in a stasis unit. I think Doc McFarland was giving you an excuse to stay with me. Not that I mind, you understand, but she must have thought that it would help both of us. And having you here certainly helps me, but ... it's just - to hear you speak so calmly of the thing that is my greatest fear..." "Oh, John," she reached up with her free hand to touch his cheek. "You must not say such things. It is to give the Shadows a weapon against you. Against us." "But, it's true." Using strength he didn't think he had, he pulled her further onto the bed, until she was lying next to him, her head tucked onto his shoulder, her hand still held in his. "There, that's more comfortable, isn't it." "John. You will create a great scandal in MedLab." But she laughed softly as she said it, and made no attempt to move away. "To hell with scandal. Life is too short in the best of circumstances, and our circumstances are hardly the best. I'm done with pretense. We are going to be together." He turned his head to look at her, so small, so impossibly dear. "Tell me what happened in your trance." "Many things, but at the end I saw my future." She was solemn, all gaiety erased, the impression the vision had made upon her still so intense and personal that it was difficult to speak of it, even to John. "There were two roads, and I walked each. Each had different endings." She told him of the first road she'd traveled, and the bleakness of her voice made him wince. "Delenn, that just isn't going to happen. You've got to know I won't leave you. I - I love you too much for that...." He searched for words to reassure her. "Shhh. John. I know." "What was the other road?" "Ahh. That was the worst of all. And the best." "Delenn..." "No, I must tell you. At first it seemed that this was to be the best road. It closely mirrored events here on the station, and reflected our growing - affection - for each other. She smiled at him then. "On this road, we also fought the Shadows at least to a standstill, but like the first road, this too, had a divergent path. When I walked it --" she stopped and her voice fell silent. "When you walked it -" he prompted her. She swallowed convulsively, and continued. "When I walked that divergent path, it was the most terrible of all, because on that path, you died." She shivered and pressed closer against the living warmth of the man on the bed. He said nothing and she forced herself to continue. "You died because you were angry with me for not sharing all the information I had, because you were determined to be fully a part of the Army of Light, not as you just called yourself, a junior partner, not fully trusted. So you went on a mission, without telling me, against a much greater force than your intelligence predicted, and you - died. And the worst of it all was that I knew. I knew what awaited that squadron, but I held my tongue because it was a calculated ploy to draw out the Shadows. I was willing to sacrifice all those gallant young men and women, but I wasn't willing to sacrifice you, and you died anyway because I didn't tell you everything. I was afraid of what you would think of my motives and my strategy." She was crying in earnest now, gusts of tears sweeping down her face. He turned awkwardly to try to gather her into his arms to comfort her. "Shhh, Delenn. It's all right. Don't cry, please don't cry." It struck him that he had never seen her cry like this before, even when the Markab died. Eventually the storm spent itself. He used the edge of a sheet to wipe her face. "Delenn, you said that was a divergent path. It is NOT the future. Don't do this to yourself." "I - I know. But it could be the future. If just one thing alters, it could be." Her voice was even bleaker than it had been when telling him of the first road. "What about the road? The main road? You said that this was a divergent path." He repeated the words, hoping to break through her anguish. "Oh. On the road. We defeat the Shadows, and there is a child - a son." She looked at him then, her eyes ablaze. "Our child, that we cherish and raise together as much as possible, but there are great difficulties, other wars." She dropped her eyes. "We are together to the end, but there are separations, battles, betrayals. It is not a happy- ever-after ending." "But we're together?" "Yes." "And our love never falters?" She smiled sadly. "No. Even when we are very old." "That's all I ask, Delenn. To grow old with you, having fought the good fight, having made a difference, loving each other, together." "Oh, John. That is the future I too chose, but it is not without its perils. And there are many things I must do, habits I must change if it is to come true." "We've already started. And Delenn?" she looked up at him, "I promise I won't go haring off with some squadron out of a fit of pique. I've told you, I trust you, no matter what." She reached up then, to kiss him, and then they lay there, exhausted by the emotions of their confession, and their injuries. Sheridan was nearly asleep, content to savor her closeness, when she asked, "John?" "Hmmm?" "What is `a fit of pique'?" ###### Mmturner@aol.com -- "It's been @ least 10 minutes since I played Temptress, the official video game of Hell." -- Amq (Hell, 2nd circle)