From OShaun@ix.netcom.com Fri Jan 10 11:11:40 1997 Date: Sat, 04 Jan 1997 01:21:30 -0800 From: Pfyre Caidmon To: b5-creative@lists.best.com Subject: "Friends" 01/05 AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, so much for "just a short little gap-filler" story. Last spring while rewatching some second season episodes I watched "Knives". My recollections of the episode had centered around Londo and his situation with his childhood friend. But this time through, I found I was concentrating more on Sheridan [hmmm--don't suppose that being an unrepentant MMSF or HHS would have anything to do with this--sudden *interest* in Sheridan/BB?--Nnaaahhh!!] and his interactions with Garibaldi, Ivanova and Franklin. As the episode ended, I found that I wanted to 'see' just what had happened when Garibaldi towed his "wandering Captain home" from Sector 14. So I started to write a 'gap-filler' but I got side-tracked when I had problems with another story (that later got titled: "Respite"). And so another story fragment found itself consigned to the "In-Works" folder. Jump forward about 6 months, I *finally* finish my second B5 fanfic story. By now, I've found that writing fanfic has become a major part of my life (can we say "obsession"?) so now I raid my story-fragments file and to see what I can finish. Well, this one leapt right out at me. It was *only* a gap-filler and therefore should be a nice short story and easy to complete.--NOT! It wasn't until I'd finished what I'd thought was the 'entire' piece and sent it out to be beta read that I discovered my error. "Knives" is one of those "mostly non-arc/stand-alone" eps that people tend to forget or maybe do what I did and remember the Londo story line. So now I had a choice. In order for readers to better understand what's happening in my 'gap-filler' stuff, I either had to add a *HUGE* amount of exposition (you know--"Last time on Babylon 5 . . . .") or back the starting point of my story up a bit. Well, I've always found too much exposition to be deadly boring--sooo . . . . As I said, "So much for just a short little gap-filler." :-) Well, I hope you enjoy "Friends". This was a big departure for me as until now most of what I've written has centered on John and Delenn. But this was definitely an interesting experience. I've discovered that I 'treasure' the way jms and the actors have portrayed friendship among the command staff of Babylon 5. They all combine to make them all seem so like real people. It makes it all the more poignant now because of what has been happening with G & Sh in the fourth season. Okay, I'll stop rambling and let you get on with the story. As always, I owe my undying gratitude and appreciation to my beta readers (both on the net and off)--Chevron, Chrystie, Debbie M., Khatidja, Elfin, Ed, Ruth, Sue G. & Yvonne. You've again been most patient with me and my 'little' story. Some of you have even 'woken the Muse' when I least expected it! Anyway . . . . Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Feedback is welcomed and highly encouraged. [please write!] Take care, Pfyre TIME LINE: This story takes place during the events of the second season episode "Knives". STANDARD DISCLAIMER: Babylon 5, its characters and situations are the creations of, copyrighted by and the intellectual property of J. Michael Straczynski (the Great Maker and a *very, bad man*), Babylonian Productions, PTEN and Warner Bros. No copyright infringement is intended. The remainder of the story is the property of the author. Please do not replicate or distribute this story without permission from the author. B5 * B5 * B5 * B5* B5 * B5 "Friends" [part 01/05] by Pfyre B5 * B5 * B5 * B5* B5 * B5 "Friends are people who see all the colors and feel all the textures in your personality and love you for the crazy quilt that is you. Friends help sew together a heart rent with sadness, bind a wound torn with pain, mend an ache and stitch it with comfort." . . . . . . . . . . . . . Emma Walters Downey ". . . You have no right to accuse the *Centauri* of starting these . . . these incidents!" Ambassador Londo Mollari looked around the room, fixing the Narn delegation, particularly G'Kar, with an indignant glare. But then again, he *always* managed to look indignant whenever anyone questioned the actions of the Centauri. "You have *no* proof." He turned his gaze on Babylon 5's Commanding Officer next. John Sheridan merely stared back at the Centauri Ambassador. When Mollari looked away, to continue with his 'presentation', Sheridan sighed and rubbed his eyes. He looked over to Ambassador Delenn. Although the Minbari Ambassador appeared to be listening attentively to the arguments being made, John sometimes got the distinct impression that mentally she could be very far away. He studied her unobtrusively. Ambassador Delenn held a definite fascination . . . an attraction for him. It wasn't just her exotic beauty. Something about her inner being--her serene sense of purpose and role in the universe, her compassion, her sense of humor and her strength of character and conviction--pulled him to her. He felt attracted to her, in spite of himself. After all, it wasn't so long ago that the Minbari--*all Minbari*--were the enemy. All it had taken was a nervous and gun-happy human captain, a terrible misunderstanding and in an *instant* the two races were at war. Looking back on it now, Sheridan realized that the Earth Alliance forces had had virtually *no* chance of winning or even bringing the war to a draw. Then, through an amazing set of circumstances, the Minbari had suddenly surrendered--even as Earth prepared for its final stand. More than a decade had passed since the end of the war and there were still deep-rooted feelings of distrust, anger and hate on both sides. Isolationist, Purist, Hate-Factions on Earth and here on Station proved that humans were too often slow to forgive or forget. Hell, he'd heard enough of his nickname "StarKiller," in the last six months, to realize that the Minbari had a long memory as well. Yet, here he was commanding a space station surrounded by humans and aliens and finding himself attracted to a Minbari woman--a very beautiful one at that. John smiled to himself. 'I doubt this was quite what Lizzie had in mind when she told me to get on with my life.' Then again when did life ever do anything except spring the unexpected on those caught up in its melee. He realized, abruptly, that both Delenn and her aide, Lennier, were looking at him. Had his expression betrayed his thoughts? He turned his attention to Londo's tirade. ". . . my government's position is that it should fall to this council to *censor* the Narns for their *inexcusable* behavior. . . ." Sheridan glanced at the chrono and sighed. Several delegates were fidgeting; one Drazi even appeared to be nodding off. At Londo's next pause--whether for breath or dramatic effect Sheridan no longer cared--Babylon 5's Commander cleared his throat. "I would like to propose that we table this *discussion* until tomorrow and call for a recess." Londo seemed about to object, but Sheridan continued, "I think we would *all* benefit from a little time to consider both sides of this issue." The motion was seconded and approved before either Londo or G'Kar could raise their voices to object. The council chambers cleared remarkably fast. John nodded politely to Delenn and Lennier as they left. He shuffled his notes together and paused to check his schedule for the rest of the day. It was clear--thank the heavens. Ivanova had sent him a brief update on station status, with a note attached, telling him to forget about the station for awhile and take the evening off. He smiled ruefully. Sometimes she could read him so well. Although he had adapted to the change in his duties, from being a ship's captain to being the commanding officer/military governor/defacto Earth Ambassador for Babylon 5, fairly well, there were times when it all started to *get* to him. He rolled his shoulders in an attempt to release the tension in them. 'Maybe I'll try a little batting practice.' It would be a good *physical* activity--he could work off some of his frustrations and maybe it would make him tired enough to sleep well. //Home run.// The computer intoned. A 'bot rolled efficiently after the ball. He sensed someone watching him as the next pitch was released. Crack! //Fair ball.// Michael Garibaldi, dressed in sweats, was casually tossing a ball--ready to take a turn. The next pitch barreled towards him and Sheridan swung at the ball agressively. "You're swinging like you've had a rough day." //Foul ball.// "Yeah. . . . *You* try an eight hour session with the League of Non-Aligned Worlds. Been thinking about banning both the Narn and the Centauri from the Corridor." He swung at the oncoming ball. "There've been a few incidents around the trade gates." //Foul ball.// Sheridan leaned into the next pitch. "At least *you* didn't have to spend your day in The Triangle," Garibaldi offered. //Fair ball.// "Triangle?" Sheridan stepped out of the batting box, resting the bat against his leg. //Holding pitch.// Garibaldi tossed the ball to Sheridan and moved into the box. //Registering batter change.// "Grey Sector," Michael took a warm-up swing and got into position. "Ever since B5 went online, there've been all kinds of stories about the place." Another swing. "Strange lights. Weird noises. Missing people. Maintenance nicknamed it 'The B5 Triangle.' Now they *swear* something is making their scanners go haywire." He hit the pitch, not quite squarely. //Foul ball.// Sheridan looked up from tossing the ball, intrigued. "Anything to the stories?" Watching for the next pitch, Michael answered distractedly, "Eh, every station has its phantoms." He swung easily. "Personally, I've never seen anything down there. But it is . . . you know, kind of creepy." //Foul ball.// Garibaldi readied himself for the next pitch. "Well, in that case," Sheridan smiled, "I'll have to take a look for myself." Michael backed out of the batter's box, startled. "Why?" //Holding pitch.// "Curiosity." Sheridan absently tossed the ball. "Look, when I was a kid, I used to *love* to wander through all those creepy places. I mean . . . haunted houses . . . forbidden paths . . . Indian burial grounds . . . . It was like candy. I couldn't get enough of 'em." Shaking his head, "Just don't go in there alone," Garibaldi stepped back into his stance. "Okay?" "Awww, that's half the fun." Sheridan grinned as the pitch flew past the incredulous Chief of Security. //Strike three. You're out.// With a disgusted look, Michael left the batter's box, "Thanks." He wasn't quite sure if the Captain was serious or not. Tipping his hat, with a smile, Sheridan stepped back into position. Sheridan had batted for another fifteen minutes or so, but he'd been at it for over an hour and his attention wasn't really on it. Instead, he had allowed his imagination to wander on Garibaldi's little mystery. Despite the Security Chief's warning not to go down there alone, he felt drawn to it: compelled. A hot shower eased his aching muscles, but it did nothing to whet his curiosity. He wandered restlessly about his quarters, half-heartedly picking up the paperwork on docking fee addendums, then tossing it back down. He wasn't in the mood. What he really wanted was to be poking around in the 'Triangle' himself. Feeling a trifle rebellious, he located a flashlight, turning it on and off to check the powercell level. After all, what could it hurt? Although as Commanding Officer of Babylon 5, Sheridan had 'toured' virtually every part of the station, he didn't recall Grey Sector being quite this *dark* or *deserted* the last time he'd been through here. Since stepping off the transport tube, he'd not seen another person. While this was normal--the sector was dedicated to manufacturing and recycling--it was disconcerting after being in the usually crowded and bustling habitat areas. The lighting was very low, he was glad he'd brought a flashlight along. Problem was that it only seemed to exaggerate the shadows and he found himself starting at little noises. A metallic clank echoed from somewhere behind him and he turned quickly to investigate. Rounding a bend, he saw a figure lying on the deck, leaning against the far wall. Had someone gotten lost or hurt down here? Moving closer, not wanting to startle the person, he called softly, "Hey." The figure did not react. Sheridan crouched down and touched a shoulder. "You all right?" The body rolled at his touch. Its eyes were open, but unseeing. One side of the Markab's face was covered in blood. It looked fresh. 'Oh, jeez! . . .' Recoiling, he fumbled with the flashlight while trying to activate his link. "Sheridan to Garibaldi!" "Garibaldi." "Chief, I'm in Grey Ten. I've just found a . . . ." Concentrating on the link and sounding calm, Sheridan failed to see the luminesce waves of energy rippling across the dead Markab's face. There was a burst of static over the link. "Chief? . . . Chief?" "Captain, did . . . gain . . . 'ten? . . . 'en? . . ." Static and white noise caused the Chief's words to fade out entirely. "Garibaldi? I can't read you. . . . There must be . . . ." Only static could be heard. A hand grabbed the side of his face. "Aaarrgh!!" Off balance, Sheridan struggled to pull away. Freed from the dead Markab's grasp, Sheridan stumbled back to the far wall. His heart was pounding wildly. Gasping for breath, momentarily, his vision seemed to blur, then it cleared. "Captain?! . . ." Garibaldi was sounding almost frantic over the now clear link. "You all right?!" "Yeah, I'm okay." He swallowed. "Just get down here as soon as you can." Sheridan took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He leaned against the wall, but he kept a close eye on the body. 'Jesus, this was damn stupid idea!' Minutes later, a security team with PPG's drawn, came barreling into the corridor with Garibaldi in the lead. Quickly assessing the situation, he directed his people to check out the body and he walked over to Sheridan. "What the hell happened?!" he demanded, too unnerved himself, to be diplomatic with his commanding officer. Then realizing how he sounded, Garibaldi took a deep calming breath. Sheridan started to explain and the Chief of Security took a moment to study his Captain. Pale and sweating, he sounded calm and coherent; at least until he tried to explain what happened with the body. "I know it doesn't make sense, but it *grabbed* me." "What do you mean it 'grabbed' you?" Michael looked over at the body which now was covered with a sheet. "You're *sure* he was dead when you found him?" "Hell, yes, Michael." It didn't make sense, but Sheridan was certain of what happened. "He was dead. I was trying to report it when there was interference on the commlink. The next thing I knew there was a hand grabbing the side of my head!" He looked over at the body--as if to make certain it hadn't moved. "Well, let's get you checked out in Medlab." When the Captain started to protest, he cut him off. "Look, it's just a precaution. Okay?" When Sheridan didn't offer any further protests, Garibaldi realized that the man was probably more rattled than he cared to admit. "Zack," he called Sergeant Allen over. "I'm escorting the Captain to Medlab One, to get checked out. Send the body there when you're ready." The Chief trusted his people to do a thorough and professional job; they really didn't need him here. With a hand on Sheridan's shoulder, he steered the Captain away from the scene. [end part 01/05] -- | Pfyre | | | | staunch member of CJSFC, HHS & unrepentant MMSFS | | | |"Zathras look at budget deficit, says, not good. Stop spending. | | But no one ever listen to Zathras. But one day, everybody listen.| | Then, Zathras elected. Zathras will be great president. Someday | | even have face printed on money. Then, everybody have Zathras | | face in pants. It is good to be president." --jms on the Net-- | From OShaun@ix.netcom.com Fri Jan 10 11:11:52 1997 Date: Sat, 04 Jan 1997 01:22:36 -0800 From: Pfyre Caidmon To: b5-creative@lists.best.com Subject: "Friends" 02/05 Disclaimers: see part 01/05. B5 * B5 * B5 * B5* B5 * B5 "Friends" [part 02/05] by Pfyre B5 * B5 * B5 * B5* B5 * B5 Stephen Franklin looked up from his terminal when Sheridan and Garibaldi walked into Medlab. "Well, what have we here?" The Chief spotting an empty treatment area, moved with the Captain in that direction. "We had a little excitement down in Grey Sector." He turned to Franklin. "Seems the Captain, here, discovered a dead body. He says it attacked him." "My god, Michael," Sheridan protested, "you're worse than a mother-hen." The Captain looked imploringly toward the doctor. "All it did was reach up and grab my head." Franklin gave a sideways glance to Garibaldi. "A dead body, you say?" "As a doornail." "Hmmm," Franklin muttered. "Okay, Captain, off with the shirt. Let's check you over." "But I told you it was nothing!" "And I'm telling you to take your shirt off." Stephen folded his arms in a no-nonsense manner. "You heard the man," Garibaldi chimed in. Sheridan started to raise another protest against the two men who stood in front of him with their arms crossed, but realized it would be futile to pursue it. With a long suffering sigh, he started to unbutton his shirt. "You can put your shirt back on." Stephen continued to run the scanner over the Captain. John took his shirt from Garibaldi who--in Sheridan's view--had taken entirely too much pleasure in seeing the Station Commander under Doctor's orders. Jeez, he had better things to do with his time than being in Medlab getting an unnecessary physical. "Your epinephrine level's a bit elevated, but that's consistent with a sudden state of shock." Finished with the scanner, Franklin picked up a chart from the far counter. "You could use a little rest, but otherwise you're fine." "Shock's a pretty mild word for it, Doc." Sheridan snorted, "I've been attacked by aliens before, but never by *dead* ones." He finished buttoning his collar. "Maybe next time, you'll listen to me when I tell you not to do something?" Garibaldi piped in. When Sheridan merely looked at him; he added, "Sir." Grabbing his jacket, Sheridan stood and walked over to the body. He pulled back the cover and eyed it warily. "I'd say the 'attack' was a simple post mortem reaction." Franklin offered. "Dead bodies build up deposits of gas, which cause them to emit sounds or move as if they're still alive." "That's cute. A zombie with a gas attack." Michael chuckled at his own joke, while Stephen smiled, tolerantly. Still concentrating on the body, Sheridan ignored the joke. "Any idea what killed him?" "Well, at first glance, I'd say massive head trauma. But I'll have to do an autopsy." Stephen saw movement in an adjoining exam area. "Can you identify him?" Sheridan looked to the Chief. "Ah, that's easy." Michael inserted an ID badge in his reader. "His name's. . . Schisshnash . . . ubehhh . . . something or other. . . . I don't know. . . ." Franklin reached for the reader. "Schioshnic." "Gesundheit." Franklin gave the Chief an annoyed look. "Came in three days ago from the Corridor. Registered a cargo. Supposed to depart tomorrow." A Medtech motioned for Dr. Franklin to come to the other treatment area. Garibaldi continued, "Been staying in the Markab sector." "All right, you and I'll go through his quarters." Sheridan looked away from the body to Garibaldi. "Send a detail to check out his sh. . . ." His voice trailed off. Touching his temple, Sheridan's vision suddenly filled with a rippling white fog. The room tilted just a bit. "Captain? . . ." Michael was ready to call Stephen back. "You all right?" Sheridan closed his eyes momentarily. "Whew! Just got a little dizzy." He shook his head to clear it. "Huh, maybe the Doc's right about me needing some rest." "It's okay." Michael looked closely at his Captain, concerned. "I'll handle the search. You cop a little sack time and I'll let you know what we find." When Sheridan nodded, Michael left to get on with the investigation. John was tired, but too wound up from the attack to sleep right away. Tossing his jacket on a nearby chair, he loosened his shirt collar and settled on the couch. Maybe scanning some routine efficiency reports would bore him to sleep. Before he realized it, he'd dozed off. For several hours, Sheridan slept deeply, hardly dreaming. It was early morning when he woke suddenly. He blinked as his vision cleared and sat up. Had he heard something? It was semi-dark in his quarters and he didn't see anything unusual right away. There was a noise in the bedroom. "Lights." Standing cautiously, he made his way into the bedroom. He tensed when he saw the winged reptilian-like creature hovering above the bed. It screeched menacingly at him when he turned to dart from the room. He dove for floor as it swooped after him. With the grace of a hunter, it turned and hovered readying to strike again. Seizing the moment, Sheridan made a mad grab for his PPG. Again, it screeched and zeroed in on him. He threw himself backwards out of its path. Rolling to his side, he aimed the PPG and fired. Three times. The shots went right through the winged-hunter without harming it, although he could smell the heated glass and metal from the art-deco sculpture and the divider wall behind it. The creature winked out. At the same moment, the door to his quarters swung open and Garibaldi and another Security officer rushed in with their PPG's ready. "Captain?!" Sheridan turned, expecting another attack from that quarter, gun ready. Garibaldi skidded to a halt. "Whoa! . . . Whoa!" He lowered his own weapon. Seeing Sheridan lower the PPG, he continued, "You okay?" "Yeah. Yeah. . . . I'm okay." Garibaldi motioned for the other officer to check the rest of the quarters. John continued, "How'd you get here so fast?" "I was on my way with the forensics report, when E Systems picked up gunfire in your quarters." Sheridan deactivated and holstered his PPG. "Yeah." "What happened?" Michael looked around the room. "It was here. . . ." Sheridan tried to calm himself. "It attacked me." "What?" "A grylor." He cleared his throat. "It's an animal native to Janos VII. I was stalked by one once. It almost killed me--here." He gestured to the still smoking decorative piece that was sitting on the table, "I shot it." "Must have been a nightmare." He shook his head. "No. No. It was no nightmare. I *saw* it. . . ." Running a hand through his hair, Sheridan looked around his quarters. "At least, I *think* I did. . . ." What the hell was happening?! "Hey, it happens." Michael tried to reassure him. The Captain looked really rattled. "I once saw a whole chorus line of purple wombats doing a dance in my bathtub. . . . Of course, I was pretty drunk at the time." "Yeah." Sheridan gave a nervous chuckle, obviously uncomfortable. Changing the subject, he asked, "So what does forensics say?" "Suicide." "Are you telling me he bashed his own skull in?" Sheridan clearly found this difficult to believe. "Hmmm, against the pipe where you found him. Doc picked half of it out his brain pan." The Security Chief couldn't offer much more. "Any idea why?" "Nah," shaking his head, Garibaldi went on, "Not a clue. I mean bioscans were all normal." Recalling something, "Ummm, maybe he was in a religious . . ." Sheridan suggested, "religious frenzy? The Markabs have rituals in which they lose all control of themselves." "It's possible," but the Chief just shook his head. "Except those rituals usually involve psychotropics. This guy's system was clean. And besides, why would he go to Grey Sector to practice his religion?" Sheridan looked confused and uncertain. "I don't know. . . ." He grabbed his uniform jacket. "You keep checking. I want answers. . . . I'll be in C&C, if you need me." He left hurriedly. Garibaldi watched him leave. When the other officer looked pointedly at the damaged piece of artwork on the Captain's table, he offered, "Hey, I kinda like it." But he wondered if he should have insisted that Sheridan visit Medlab again. Alone in the travel tube, Sheridan took a long deep breath hoping to calm himself. He was positive that the grylor wasn't imaginary or left over from a nightmare. But there'd been no sign of it after he shot at it. Another breath. He was feeling a little better. Good. He looked at his chrono. He had a few of hours to kill before the League session reconvened. Projecting an outward calm, that he still did not feel, Captain Sheridan entered C&C. Joining Susan at her station, he inquired, "Commander, everything in order?" "Remarkably so." She glanced away from the console. "It's beginning to worry me." "You always worry when things are going well?" "Don't have time to worry about them," she smiled, "when they're not." An indicator flashed. "Jumpgate online." Corwin informed them. Ivanova check the listings. "It's the _Arkadi_. She's pre-registered; route her to Bay 8." Sheridan looked at the panel but it was through a rippling white haze. He blinked trying to clear his vision. Looking out the observation port, he saw a ship--the _Icarus_--suddenly appear. "What the hell?! . . ." Ivanova followed his gaze, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. "Sir?" A shocked whisper, "Anna. . . ." There was blinding flash of light. He flinched as ship exploded, shattering into thousands of burning pieces across the starfield. "Captain, what is it?" His eyes fixed on the debris,"Station Six," Sheridan ordered, "go to HyperTrac. I want that whole area scanned right now!" The tech at Station Six, turned to look at him, confused. "What area, Sir?" Sheridan looked at the tech and then Ivanova. How could they not . . . ? "Captain? . . ." Ivanova glanced out the observation port again and back at him. "Something wrong?" Sheridan blinked back the burning tears. Anna's death suddenly searingly fresh in his mind. When he looked out, there was no debris, no indication that there had ever been a ship there. 'What the hell?!' Taking a step back, Sheridan found himself trapped against the rail. He had to get out there--now. ". . . I . . . I have to see to something." He left as quickly as possible, acutely aware of all eyes following him. Thankful to again get an empty transport tube, he leaned against the wall as it started to move. What the hell was wrong with him?! The soul-tearing pain of Anna's death. His loss. . . . Suddenly it was new and demanding again; salt rubbed into a raw wound that had never really healed. He recalled it with painful clarity--after nearly three years. Sitting at his station on the bridge of the _Agamemnon_, he was just finishing crew evaluations. The commtech called his attention. "Sir, you have an incoming message on Gold Channel." Automatically, he stood to leave, "Patch it to my office, Lieutenant." Moments later in the privacy of his office, still standing, he took a breath, "Receive Gold Channel transmission. Authorization: Sheridan, John J.--obsidian." He was surprised to see General William Hague on the line. "Sir." "Captain." Hague nodded, but hesitated. He hated this part of the job. "John, I have some bad news for you." Hague saw Sheridan steel himself--trying to prepare. "We've just received confirmation that the _Icarus_ was--destroyed." "No. . . ." John started to protest. "There are no survivors reported." Hague saw the color drained from his friend's face. He wished--he *wanted* to be there with John. This was the best he could do: deliver this god-awful, horrible news himself instead of some impersonal message sent through the chain of command. He hoped his aide had gotten through to Sheridan's first officer. John was going to need someone *there* with him. Sheridan's knees suddenly felt rubbery; he stumbled back against his desk; needing its support. There was roaring in his ears.--'*NO!* . . . . Anna . . . .' They were going to take some long overdue vacation time together in a few weeks. . . . A few weeks . . . . From faraway, he heard Hague calling his name--trying to get his attention. He forced himself to look up at the screen. "John? . . . Captain--" Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. Slowly, very carefully he tried to push away from the old feelings of loss, guilt, anger. He felt his heartrate slowing even as the tube reached its destination. Maybe Franklin could explain what was happening. He *prayed* Stephen could give him some answers. He could not run a station when he couldn't be sure of what he saw--dammit! He'd have preferred taking one of Kosh's enigmatic 'teaching sessions' to this--this. . . . Dr. Franklin watched the Medtech drawing blood samples. The Captain was lying with his eyes closed on the exam table, stoically ignoring the sting of the needles. Franklin handed a list of the tests he wanted done to the tech as she walked past. To Sheridan, he prompted, "From the beginning, when you first found the Markab, tell me anything--unusual--you've experienced. Sights, sounds, smells--everything." Sheridan sat up. "Well, other than the dead Markab making a grab for my head, the first unusual thing was--I think--right here." He indicated the spot where he and Michael had been talking. "When Garibaldi and I were discussing checking out the Markab, I suddenly saw everything through a white . . . haze, I guess. It sort of 'rippled'. I felt a little dizzy, but only for a moment, then it cleared. . . ." While the Captain described the incident in his quarters, Franklin noticed that some of the color had returned to John's face. He was much calmer than when he'd first arrived in Medlab about an hour ago. Stephen handed the Captain his shirt. "And then in C&C, I . . . I saw the _Icarus_." Slowly, Sheridan finished buttoning his sleeves. He was trying to remain calm; distance himself from this memory. "The _Icarus_?" "It was a science ship. My wife was aboard. I saw it explode as if I were there. . . ." Confused--hurting, Sheridan continued, "Doc, it happened over 2 years ago, and I *wasn't* there." "Look, I have run you through *every* test that I know." Stephen leaned against the exambed. "There is *nothing* wrong with you--organically." Adjusting his collar button, "Oh, great," Sheridan snorted. "Then I'm just plain nuts." "Well, anyone willing to command Babylon 5 has *got* to be slightly insane," he paused and smiled at the look on the Captain's face. "But I don't think you're ready for the asylum just yet." "Then what is wrong with me?" He was getting very tired of this . . . mystery. "Well, it's possible you picked up some kind of new virus from the corpse. Something that our scanners can't spot." Franklin tried to reassure his Commanding Officer. "I know a good Markab doctor--I'll check with him." He considered his next words carefully. "There might be an simpler explanation." Sheridan looked at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Seven months ago, you were commanding a starship on the Rim, right?" Stephen looked to Sheridan for confirmation. "Yeah." "All right, suddenly you're put in charge of small city in space--just as a major war breaks out. Your diet changes." He saw a flicker of amusement in Sheridan's face. "Your sleep is constantly interrupted. You face a major crisis every other day, and to top it all off, you're not sure you can trust the very people who put you here." He paused. "Now, that's a *lot* of stress. Maybe you're sending yourself a message." Sheridan frowned at this. "I'll put you on medical leave for a few days." "Oh, no, no, no--impossible!" Sheridan stood and picked up his uniform jacket. "I have a station to run." Stephen pulled something from one of the cabinets. "Yeah, well, Commander Ivanova is quite capable of doing that." He turned back to Sheridan. "I want you to *relax*." Sheridan was shrugging into the jacket. "No." "Let other people handle things for a little while. Give me your hand." He snagged Sheridan's left wrist. "This is going to monitor any abnormalities in your system functions. . . ." He snapped on a med bracelet. "Awww, Doc." Sheridan realized he'd just lost the battle. ". . . I'm also prescribing a mild sedative. I want you to *relax* and *enjoy* yourself." Franklin paused. "That is an *order*." Bemused and trying to accept it with good grace,"You're just like your father," Sheridan informed him. He turned to leave. Pleased and flattered, Stephen smiled. "Well, thank you." [end part 02/05] -- | Pfyre | | | | staunch member of CJSFC, HHS & unrepentant MMSFS | | | |"Zathras look at budget deficit, says, not good. Stop spending. | | But no one ever listen to Zathras. But one day, everybody listen.| | Then, Zathras elected. Zathras will be great president. Someday | | even have face printed on money. Then, everybody have Zathras | | face in pants. It is good to be president." --jms on the Net-- | From OShaun@ix.netcom.com Fri Jan 10 11:12:01 1997 Date: Sat, 04 Jan 1997 01:23:47 -0800 From: Pfyre Caidmon To: b5-creative@lists.best.com Subject: "Friends" 03/05 Disclaimers: see part 01/05. B5 * B5 * B5 * B5* B5 * B5 "Friends" [part 03/05] by Pfyre B5 * B5 * B5 * B5* B5 * B5 Franklin had just finished reviewing the results from the last of Sheridan's lab tests, when the comm-unit warbled. "Yes." "Stephen." Ivanova was sitting at the Captain's station in C&C. It allowed her a bit of privacy for what she wanted to ask. She pitched her voice low so it did not carry much past the edge of the desk. "Is Captain Sheridan okay? He just called and told me you'd put him on medical leave for a few days." "I *think* so. . . . So far everything checks out normal." Stephen leaned back a bit in his chair. "As usual his stress level is high, so I'm hoping that if he takes a few days off and relaxes--this will pass." Ivanova visibly relaxed a bit in relief. "He's wearing a medical monitor, so I'll know if anything else occurs." "Good." But an unpleasant thought jumped out again, "Oh, God, I have to be at the League Session in a few minutes!" At Stephen's sudden grin, she accused, "Are you sure you didn't cook this up just so John could get out another day-long session?" Stephen just shook his head and she continued. "You'll keep me posted if anything changes or happens?" "Of course." Ivanova nodded and broke the link. Stephen had just started on another batch of reports when comm-unit chimed again. "Franklin." "Hey, Doc." Garibaldi smiled at him. "Just checking to see if anything else has turned up in the final forensics report." "No." Franklin pulled out the report to give it a quick scan. "Nothing beyond what we knew before." "Okay." Michael looked down for a moment, then continued. "I was just informed that the Captain's on medical leave for a few days. Is this related to what happened in his quarters this morning?" "Yes and no." At the surprised look on the Chief's face, Franklin went on. "He also had an 'incident' while in C&C. I know it worried him--scared him a bit. He came here to get checked out." "Did you find anything?" 'Dammit! I knew I should have escorted him to Medlab.' Garibaldi was worried. He respected Sheridan and was beginning to *really* like his new C.O. "Beyond some high stress indicators, nothing seems out of the ordinary." Franklin could sense that Garibaldi was really concerned. "I think if he relaxes for a bit, he'll be fine." Hell, he liked Sheridan too. The man was a natural leader and gave his trust and respect to his people. Franklin was gratified that Sheridan considered him a friend. "I've got him on a med bracelet so if anything should happen we'll know." "He wanted me to keep him informed about any progress on the dead Markab." Michael paused, "Should I keep him updated or wait till he's back on duty?" "By all means, keep him updated. Part of his stress at the moment is this 'mystery'." Franklin continued, "But other than that--let Susan cover any problems." "Sure." Garibaldi seemed relieved. "Thanks, Stephen." John flattened the box and pushed it into the recycle chute. There were still about a half dozen more boxes of Anna's . . . effects--possessions to sort through, but he'd just about reached his limit with the chore. Lizzie had been right. Anna would have been furious at him when he first arrived at Babylon 5 totally wrapped up in his career and refusing to deal with the reality of her death. She would have kicked him in the butt and told him to get on with living. Anna's message, that Lizzie had shared, had allowed him to finally say "Goodbye." It still ached to think about her, about how much he still loved her, missed her. He had no doubt that he would always love her and that it probably *always* would hurt, but he could now remember some of their happy times as well. Maybe he could send some messages--to his parents and Lizzie. But when he caught sight of the damaged Star System sculpture on his table he suddenly found he was no longer in the mood to be sociable and chatty. He *should* have been happy and relaxed. He'd gotten out of attending the League session. He smiled briefly at the thought of Ivanova's face when she realized she was supposed to cover for him. Maybe there was a god.--But dammit all! He really didn't think the 'visions' he'd experienced were related to stress. Something else had to be happening, but what? What would have happened if he'd had one of these 'visions' while piloting a Starfury or running a League meeting? 'Shit!' The comm-unit warbled. "Yes!" he snapped. "Captain Sheridan," a woman doctor addressed him politely, "Dr. Franklin has ordered a series of tests for you this afternoon. If you could stop by around fourteen hundred hours?" Hobbs. Now, he remembered her name. "Fine, Dr. Hobbs." He tried to sound a little more pleasant. "I'll be there at fourteen hundred hours." She nodded and broke the link. "That's the last one, Sir." The Medtech scurried from the exam area clutching the blood samples tightly. Sheridan sighed. He hadn't meant to be so short tempered, but . . . . //Foul ball.// Sheridan zeroed in on the next ball. //Foul ball.// He heard Garibaldi walking over to the batting area. But he kept his concentration on the pitching machine. "Cap'n." Michael studied the man in front of him. "Mr. Garibaldi." He swung hard at the next pitch. "Is there something wrong?" "Nope." He noticed that today, Sheridan's swing seemed forced--angry. The Captain was used to being in charge of situations. Not situations controlling *him*. Frustration. Anger. It was all there in Sheridan's stance, expression. "Just, ah, wanted to see how you're doing." //Foul ball.// "Better." He forced himself to sound normal; locking down his frustration. Not wanting to look at the Chief, he kept his head turned to the outfield. "A lot better. You know, I almost forgot what it's like to just relax." Another hard swing of the bat. "If you call three straight hours of batting practice relaxing." He grinned at the look Sheridan gave him, taking the sting out his remarks. "Does the term--obsessive-compulsive ring a bell?" //Foul ball.// John Sheridan snorted and then stepped back. //Holding pitch.// "Yeah." He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of a sleeve. "Find anything more about that Markab?" He looked hopefully at Garibaldi. "No. Not really." He saw the disappointment in Sheridan's eyes. "Every check confirms he was just your average business type. There is one thing." Now for a little bit of hope. "He came through Sector 14 on his way here." "Sector 14? Isn't that restricted?" "That's right. Ever since the incident last year with Babylon 4." Sheridan blinked. "Babylon 4? I thought that was destroyed." "So did we, until we got a signal from it." Sheridan was starting to get intrigued. "Now wait a second. I--" He racked his memory. "I never read anything about this in the station logs." "Well, that's because Earth Force decided to confiscate all the records for their investigation." Again, Sheridan looked disappointed. "Now B4 was caught up in some kind of weird space/time phenomenon. We managed to get all its people off before it disappeared again. But Earth Force still believes there's some kind of anomaly out there." He paused. "Maybe the Markab encountered it. Anyway--it's all here." The Chief smiled at the look on the Captain's face as he handed him a data crystal. Turning the crystal over in a gloved hand, "I thought you said the records were all confiscated?" Sheridan looked up at Michael. "I made a copy," as simple as that. "Ahhh," Sheridan grinned. "You never know.--Why I--" Michael quirked an eyebrow to Sheridan, "I might want to write my memoirs." He turned to leave. Sheridan was still contemplating the crystal. "Thanks." "Keep your elbow up," Garibaldi added, helpfully. Sheridan strode quickly through his quarters. He wanted to view the contents of the data crystal that Garibaldi had given him, but first he *had* to take a shower. As good as it had felt to just throw himself into batting practice, *maybe* he'd pushed it a bit far by doing it for nearly four hours straight. He snorted. 'Obsessive-compulsive, indeed.' He had to admit that Michael had gone out on a limb giving him the information on Babylon 4. They'd come a long way since the initial: "I *don't* know you." Garibaldi had had every reason to be wary. He'd been set-up by his second-in-command and nearly killed. Only to awaken and find that his best friend and Commanding Officer had been reassigned while he'd lay in a coma. No chance to say "Goodbye." He was questioning his judgment and feeling betrayed and abandoned all at the same time. John had made it a point to read the files on all the command staff before arriving on Babylon 5. Susan he'd known from Io. She didn't appear to have changed much. Still brutally honest. A force to be reckoned with if angered. But a more steadfast and loyal friend and fellow officer would be difficult to find. Franklin had started to trust him when John had offered part of his lifeforce to help save Garibaldi. Like many doctors, Stephen often seemed driven with little time for anything outside of work. But Sheridan suspected that a part of Franklin's drive came from always trying to measure up to what his father, the General, expected. Maybe Stephen had started to come to terms with his own expectations after the visit by General Franklin. He hoped so: Stephen was far too valuable a *person* to lose to burn-out. Garibaldi--John shuddered at the memory of dropping by to visit Michael Garibaldi a short time after the Chief had been released from Medlab. Walking into Garibaldi's quarters to see Michael 'playing' with his PPG had scared him. He knew from Michael's file that he'd had 'trouble' in nearly every job he'd had since the war. There were reports of drinking and personal problems. Yet, everything Sheridan had read of Michael's time on Babylon 5 seemed to indicate that Garibaldi had put his problems in the past. It appeared that once Sinclair had convinced Michael to join the staff of Babylon 5, he'd given Michael his complete and unwavering trust. And Garibaldi had come through for Sinclair and the station time and again. Garibaldi didn't give a damn about politics or appearances. He cared for justice and truth. And this was the kind of person that Sheridan had wanted to stay and work with him. So he'd played it by ear; praying that he'd made the right choice. He told Garibaldi that he was exactly the kind of man he wanted as Chief of Security for Babylon 5. That if Michael took the time to think it over; he'd realize that he still had much to offer in that role. So Sheridan had holstered the PPG, handed it back to Michael and walked out the door. He'd trusted Michael then to make the right decision. And he realized now, that seeing that vulnerability in Garibaldi had made him like the man all the more. The hot water sluiced over him, carrying away sweat and hopefully some of his frustrations as well. He closed his eyes as the muscles in his shoulders slowly relaxed under the spray. Anna would have loved the luxury of a hot shower--*especially* a shared one. John smiled at a sudden memory of time spent on his parents' farm--one of their few vacations spent together on Earth. Home. He hadn't thought about visiting Earth in awhile. Stepping out of the shower, he toweled off and dressed quickly, not bothering with his link since he had no plans to leave his quarters for the evening. Sheridan popped the data crystal in the comm-unit and watched the events surrounding Babylon 4's sudden reappearance and subsequent disappearance unfold. As the recording neared the end, he watched Babylon 4 as it wavered and was then enveloped in a dazzling blue-white cloud of light and tachyons. Something caught his attention. "Freeze frame." Something was tickling at the back of his mind--but what? "Well, I'll be. . . ." Searing pain shot through his head and his vision filled with a white haze. "What do you want?!" He gasped. The pain ceased and his eyes cleared. Movement to his left, he turned. "Mom? Dad?" They were smiling and reaching to him. His parents disappeared in flash of white. What did it mean? It didn't make sense. He hadn't been home in ages. Why would he suddenly have a vision of his parents? 'Home?' "Yeesss!" He had to get to Sector 14.--*Now.*--He raced out of his quarters, not taking the time to pick up his personal link, much less notice that the med had gone dead. The abandoned link beeped. "Franklin to Sheridan. . . . Franklin to Sheridan. . . . Franklin to Sheridan. . . ." ". . . don't care. Just lock him up for now." Garibaldi sighed. It'd been a long day and it wasn't over yet. He still had Security schedules to set up for the next two weeks. He headed back to his office. Of course, it hadn't helped any that he was still worried about Sheridan. He hoped that passing along the data crystal on Babylon 4 would be of some help. The man was supposed to be resting and relaxing, yet when Michael checked up on him, he found that Sheridan had been at batting practice for nearly three hours straight. Just one look at him as he swung that bat said all that needed to be said.--John Sheridan was frustrated and angry. Being out of control; uncertain of what he saw or experienced--this was not what Sheridan was accustomed to. In all likelihood, it probably scared him a bit as well. Truthfully, Michael was not happy about what was happening to his Commanding Officer either. He'd only known Sheridan for a bit over six months. While John was very different from Jeff Sinclair in many ways, they were a like in the ability to draw the trust and loyalty of those around them. Both men had trusted him. And now, John was in trouble. Somehow, Michael didn't think the 'episodes' that Sheridan was experiencing were stress related. You didn't become an Earth Force Captain if you didn't know how to handle stress or even thrive on it. Maybe he should check in on the Captain later and see if he found anything useful from the Babylon 4 files. His link beeped. "Garibaldi." "This is Dr. Franklin. Do you know where the Captain is?" "What's wrong, Doc?" Michael had a bad feeling about this. He stopped in his tracks. "Well, his med bracelet monitored a strange neural surge and then went dead." Michael moved to the side to let a group of civilians pass. Franklin continued, "He's not answering his link." "I'm on it!" Michael turned and started for Sheridan's quarters. Tapping his link, "Garibaldi to all Officers. I want a location on Captain Sheridan." He started running. Sheridan knew that Ivanova, Garibaldi or Franklin would certainly try to stop him from going. He had nothing more than a gut instinct that this was the right thing to do. Hopefully, he would be in a Starfury and off the station before they could do anything to stop him. "Delta One, why are you prepping for launch? . . . Delta One, please respond, this is Commander Ivanova." 'Damn! I hoped to be out before she found out.' "Ivanova this is Sheridan." "Captain?" Ivanova's brow wrinkled; hadn't Garibaldi just put out a bulletin alerting all officers to report the whereabouts of the Captain? 'Dammit!'"What are you doing?" She caught Corwin's eye and saw that he was already alerting Security. She started initiating lock-down procedures on Delta One. "Just going out for a little spin. No need to worry." Sheridan raced through the last of the pre-flight. "I'll be back before you know it." Pre-flight completed. "I hope," he whispered to himself. "Authorization code: Gamma--six--six--two--niner. Override locking controls. Open bay doors." And then he was out among the stars, with Babylon 5 fast becoming a speck in the distance. Sheridan set course for Sector 14 at best possible speed. Glancing at the readouts on the console he saw that it was going to be a bit over three hours before he arrived. He sighed. 'Oh, well, it'll give me plenty of time to think of logical explanations for coming out here on a gut reaction.' [end part 03/05] -- | Pfyre | | | | staunch member of CJSFC, HHS & unrepentant MMSFS | | | |"Zathras look at budget deficit, says, not good. Stop spending. | | But no one ever listen to Zathras. But one day, everybody listen.| | Then, Zathras elected. Zathras will be great president. Someday | | even have face printed on money. Then, everybody have Zathras | | face in pants. It is good to be president." --jms on the Net-- | From OShaun@ix.netcom.com Fri Jan 10 11:12:04 1997 Date: Sat, 04 Jan 1997 01:25:02 -0800 From: Pfyre Caidmon To: b5-creative@lists.best.com Subject: "Friends" 04/05 Disclaimers: see part 01/05. B5 * B5 * B5 * B5* B5 * B5 "Friends" [part 04/05] by Pfyre B5 * B5 * B5 * B5* B5 * B5 Using his security override, Garibaldi entered Sheridan's quarters. The Captain was not there, but his link was and frozen on the comm-screen was the final image of Babylon 4. 'This is not good.' He was just turning to leave when his link beeped. "Garibaldi." "Mr. Garibaldi, we've located the Captain." Michael recognized Corwin's voice. "He's in a Starfury prepping for launch." 'What the . . . ?' Then he caught sight of the image frozen on screen. 'Oh, shit.' Garibaldi was on his way to the docking bays, before Ivanova could inform him that Sheridan had launched. "Delta Two to Delta One. Do you read me?" 'Well, that was quick!' Barely 15 minutes had passed since he left the station. "Garibaldi? Is that you?" "One and the same. Mind telling me what you're doing out here?" "Giving someone a lift. . . . I think." "Want to explain that, Sir?" Michael sounded confused over the link. "I haven't quite got it all worked out myself." Sheridan shook his head. God. It sounded lame *even* to him. "But I think you were right. The answer is in Sector 14." "But Sector 14? That's . . . ." Ivanova's voice trailed off over the comm system. "Yeah, I know. Lucky me. . . ." The sarcasm came through loud and clear from Delta Two. Sheridan slowed his Starfury as it approached the last known location of Babylon 4. Delta One's instruments indicated that Garibaldi had caught up and was maintaining a wing-man's position slightly to the rear and to his right. He was *almost* sorry that they'd finally arrived. Michael had been less than convinced that coming to Sector 14 was going to solve the mystery of what had been happening to Sheridan. But he had listened and hadn't dismissed the Captain's jumps of intuition completely. He understood that sometimes gut-instinct could provide a better answer than absolute scientific logic. John had been relieved when Michael had to admit that what was happening to the Captain seemed like more than a simple high-stress reaction. The rest of the trip to Sector 14 had been filled with conversation ranging from Garibaldi's favorite Daffy Duck episodes to who Sheridan favored in the upcoming Earth Alliance World Series. It wasn't often that they had the opportunity to just talk about things other than station business. He looked around. "Yeah, this is the place." Somehow he just *knew*. "Computer scan for any unusual phenomena." "Unable to comply. Sensors malfunctioning due to high levels of tachyon particles." Waves of tachyon particles buffeted both Delta One and Two. It was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain a steady course. "What the hell?" Just ahead of his Starfury, there was a disturbance in the fabric of space. It looked similar to the rift that had swallowed Babylon 4. "A . . . aarrhhhhh!!!!" His brain was on fire! Something was being *ripped* from him! Paralyzed; he couldn't blink or even breathe. He was dimly aware of a trail of energy leaving him and connecting with the rift. After a minute, or maybe an eternity, had passed the transfer cut off. Released from his paralysis, John Sheridan slipped into the comfort of oblivion, unaware that his Starfury was being drawn into the rapidly closing rift. Michael Garibaldi had been surprised when the tachyon waves had hit his Starfury and then startled when Sheridan yelled. "Jumpin'! . . ." There was an almost gaseous trail of energy leading from Delta One to the rift. He edged Delta Two forward. He wanted to see inside the other cockpit. As the 'transfer' ended, he saw Sheridan slump forward in his harness and the 'fury start to drift toward the rift. 'Shit!' "Captain? Do you read me?. . ." Hoping against reason, that Sheridan would hear him and respond. "Captain Sheridan, do you read me?!" He couldn't wait any longer. "Computer lock on to Delta One." He maneuvered his 'fury behind Sheridan's. "Prepare to grapple." He felt the grapple move into position. "Unable to lock on. Signal unstable," the computer informed him. "Damn! Remind me to leave you home next time." He moved in closer to manually grab Delta One. "All right. We'll do this ourselves. . . ." The rift was looming closer. "All right. Come on. . . . Commme onnn. . . . Nice and easy. That's it. . . . That's it." He heard the clunk as the grapple connected with the frame of Delta One. "Yeaaahhh! All right! Reverse thrusters. Full power. Get us out of here." As they backed away, Michael saw the rift suddenly flare brightly and then close. He turned the two 'furies around and set course for Babylon 5. Checking the readouts from Delta One, he saw that Sheridan was unconscious but stable. It would have to suffice for now. "Babylon 5 this is Garibaldi, bringing our wandering Captain home." "Garibaldi, is the Captain all right?" Ivanova's concern adding intensity to her voice. He glanced at his console. "According to telemetry, he's unconscious, but stable. Notify Franklin to have a Medteam standing by when we arrive." He wished he could see the Captain, but the position of the 'furies with the grapple attaching them, it was impossible. The power levels on Delta One were at bare minimum. 'Dammit!' Why'd he have to open his big mouth and mention the mysterious Grey Sector to the Captain? He should've realized that Sheridan wouldn't leave well enough alone! 'Night' traffic was usually light at Babylon 5 and C&C was down to the skeleton night crew. Commander Susan Ivanova's watch had been over for a couple of hours, but she had no intention of leaving her post until Sheridan and Garibaldi returned. She wouldn't have been able to rest anyway. This was the part that was the hardest--waiting. They wouldn't be back to the station for another hour yet. The Captain's condition was unchanged from when Garibaldi first called in to say they were on their way back. Garibaldi had relayed the telemetry from Delta One to C&C. With its power levels barely registering, the readouts from the Captain's 'fury barely reached *his* Starfury. Unfortunately, the information was of no real help to Franklin in determining Sheridan's condition. The Captain remained unresponsive and unconscious. As near as they'd been able to piece together, some *thing*, an energy being perhaps, had been 'in' the Captain's head. It had then transferred into a rift in Sector 14. Just *how* Sheridan had known to bring it to Sector 14 was unknown. Garibaldi had tried to explain what the Captain had told him on the way to the rift. He was positive that the energy trail had come directly from Sheridan's helmeted head. Ivanova prayed that the Captain wasn't more seriously injured than the cockpit sensors indicated. Garibaldi noticed a minute increase in the power levels on Delta One. But Sheridan remained unconscious. 'God, some Security Chief I am. Can't even protect B5's commander from himself!' He sighed and went back to reviewing the security schedules. Finally, he finished with the last of his 'paperwork'. Now, what was he supposed to do for the next hour? "Delta Two to Babylon 5." Startled, Susan sat up straight at her console. "Ivanova here. Is there a problem, Delta Two?" "Not really. I'm," there was a pause, "I'm just bored." She heard him sigh over the link. "What, the view isn't enough to keep you entertained?" "I just hate these *long* flights when there's . . . ." ". . . ." "You were saying, Michael?" "Commander tell the Doc, I think the Captain's coming around." There was another pause. "Captain? . . . Captain are you with us?" ". . . hm . . . mm . . . ." Ivanova couldn't make out the response. "How are you feeling?" Garibaldi continued. ". . . ell . . . a he . . . ach . . . ed . . . ." Ivanova could only make out snatches of Sheridan's replies. "Well, just relax and leave the flying to me. The Doc is standing by to meet us when we get back to the barn." There was another pause. "Commander, did you get that?" "Negative. The Captain's transmission is garbled at this end." "He seems coherent. Says his head hurts and he's tired." ". . . en . . . ." Ivanova heard a burst of static over the link. "Don't know. Seems whatever transferred from you to the rift drained energy from Delta One." Susan smiled to herself. Sheridan must be okay if he was already asking questions about what happened. Ivanova keyed her link. "Ivanova to Franklin." "Franklin here." "Doctor, the Captain just regained consciousness. Garibaldi says he seems coherent. He's complaining of a headache and fatigue. They should be docking in . . ." she checked the monitors, "in about 40 minutes." It started as a dot against the starry background, but quickly grew to fill his field of vision. The sheer size of Babylon 5 was never more impressive than when you faced it from a single person Starfury. Sheridan had been dozing on and off for the last half hour and he felt a little better, although his headache had not relented in the slightest. "Michael, Delta One's power levels are at about sixty percent of normal. I think I can pilot her into dock myself." "Oh, and what are *your* 'power levels'?" Garibaldi sounded annoyed. "I'm feeling better." "Yeah, well, tough. I'm bringing us in. Doctor's orders." Sheridan could feel Garibaldi using maneuvering thrusters to match the rotation of the station. He'd never been subject to motion sickness before, but between the headache and the bone-deep exhaustion--suddenly he felt slightly nauseous as he watched the stars starting to spin around them. 'I'm not going to be sick.' He closed his eyes and swallowed. 'I'm NOT going to be sick.' Sheridan woke as he was being transferred to the exambed in Medlab. He looked around confused. He remembered fighting nausea as Garibaldi piloted them into the docking bay and he'd closed his eyes only for a moment. Hadn't he? "Nice of you to join us." Franklin was busy running a scanner over Sheridan. "How are you feeling?" "Other than this God-awful headache, I feel much better." He squinted into the lights. The damned headache was making his eyes light sensitive. The room was starting to tilt slightly. Franklin nodded to a Medtech and the two of them helped Sheridan sit-up as they pulled his flight suit off. Normally, Sheridan would have protested being treated as an 'invalid' but he just didn't feel up to arguing about it. His head hurt too much. With his stomach starting to do flip-flops, he simply closed his eyes and let them undress him. When the suit was off, he lay back on the medbed without protest--exhausted again. He was just starting to doze off when he felt Franklin inject something into his neck. "What was that?" He blinked up at the Doctor. "Something to stabilize the fluid levels in your inner ear." Franklin checked the readings on the scanner in his hand. "Bet you're feeling dizzy and nauseous." Sheridan nodded his head--cautiously. The dizziness seemed to be abating and his stomach settling. He saw movement outside the exam area. He turned to see Garibaldi talking to Ivanova near the door. Sheridan sighed. He wasn't looking forward to the lecture that Susan and Michael were likely to deliver. "Well, other than your metabolic levels being extremely low, actually rather dangerously low, a slight imbalance of your inner-ear--you seem to be okay." Franklin informed him. "How's the headache?" "'Bout the same." He closed his eyes again. The dark seemed to ease the pounding. He felt another injection. He looked at Franklin. "That should help your headache *and* help you sleep for a while." The pounding in his head seemed to be moving farther away--finally. Lassitude crept over him. "I'm keeping you here overnight. And if you're really good--I'll let you out when you wake up. BUT you're not back on duty until I say so." He nodded toward the doorway. "I'll tell Ivanova she'll have to hold her lecture until sometime tomorrow afternoon at the earliest." He watched Sheridan slip into sleep. The readings on the scanner indicating that his condition was already improving. As Franklin walked out of the exam area, Ivanova practically pounced on him. "Well, how is he?" "Other than being physically drained to the point of nearly complete exhaustion, a slight inner ear imbalance and migraine type headache, he's in pretty good condition. Especially, since we don't really know what was in him and how exactly it transferred out of him." He made a few notes on a chart. "The Captain should be fine after some rest. I gave him something for his head and to help him sleep. He should sleep through the night and maybe part of tomorrow as well. I hope so--he needs it." Garibaldi had moved to the observation window and was watching Sheridan sleep. Franklin could tell that Garibaldi was still concerned. "So Michael, want to tell us exactly what you saw when this *thing* transferred to the rift?" [end part 04/05] -- | Pfyre | | | | staunch member of CJSFC, HHS & unrepentant MMSFS | | | |"Zathras look at budget deficit, says, not good. Stop spending. | | But no one ever listen to Zathras. But one day, everybody listen.| | Then, Zathras elected. Zathras will be great president. Someday | | even have face printed on money. Then, everybody have Zathras | | face in pants. It is good to be president." --jms on the Net-- | From OShaun@ix.netcom.com Fri Jan 10 11:12:12 1997 Date: Sat, 04 Jan 1997 01:26:14 -0800 From: Pfyre Caidmon To: b5-creative@lists.best.com Subject: "Friends" 05/05 Disclaimers: see part 01/05. B5 * B5 * B5 * B5* B5 * B5 "Friends" [part 05/05] by Pfyre B5 * B5 * B5 * B5* B5 * B5 Cotton. He mouth felt as though it was stuffed with cotton. He tried to swallow but couldn't come up with enough saliva. He heard voices and people moving. 'Where the hell am I?' He opened his eyes slowly. He was in Medlab in one of the private areas. As he looked around, he remembered all that had happened yesterday. 'God, was it only yesterday?' He wasn't feeling too bad actually. Thankfully the room didn't seem to be spinning and he was no longer queasy. His head felt a bit odd, but at least the headache was gone. Although he still felt a bit tired, it was nothing like when he'd arrived in Medlab. Sitting up slowly, he saw a pitcher with water and a glass by the bed. Carefully, he poured a glassful and drank it greedily. "You're awake." Sheridan looked up to see Dr. Hobbs just entering the room. "Yeah." He'd noticed that the lighting level indicated night time. "How long was I out?" Lillian smiled ruefully. "Well, Stephen should be pleased. It's nearly 2300 hours. You've been asleep almost 24 hours." "What?!" He blinked in surprise. "I'd say that your body decided that it needed it." Franklin came over to the bed. Glancing at the different monitors, he turned to Sheridan. "So how are you feeling now?" "Much better than before." His stomach rumbled loudly. "Guess I'm hungry too." "Yeah, well that happens when you haven't eaten in more than a day." Stephen finished making a notation on the chart. "So can I get out of here, Doc?" Sheridan hated hospitals. "Well, let's get you something to eat and then I suppose you can go to your quarters--to rest." Franklin smiled slightly. "It is late, you could just spend the night here." What was it about being in Medlab that turned some patients into children? He turned to a Medtech and ordered a tray. "I'll sleep better in my own bed. 'Sides after sleeping almost an entire day--I don't know if I'll be sleeping much." "Well," Franklin paused as he checked a reading on his hand scanner, "even if you don't sleep--I want you to rest. According to these readings, your metabolic levels are still lower than normal. You're *still* on medical leave until I say so." Sheridan sighed. This was getting old real fast. His stomach rumbled again as a tray was brought in. Sheridan had been wrong. By the time he made it back to his quarters, he barely had the energy to fall into his bed. He was asleep before Stephen had left the room. The call of nature was very insistent and that's what finally woke him. It was nearly 1200 hours. 'Gods, I haven't slept this much since. . . . I don't know when.' A long, hot shower cleared the last of the cobwebs from his brain. As he finished dressing, the BabCom signaled. "Yes." Franklin was on screen. "Well, you're looking better." "I'm feeling *much* better." "Well, I want you to come by Medlab for a few more tests. Then if everything checks out, you'll be cleared for duty for tomorrow." Stephen looked off to the side of the screen. "I've got to go. Come by for those tests, after you get something to eat." He signed off. Sheridan considered going to the Officers' Mess for some lunch, but decided against it. He didn't want to chance running into Ivanova or Garibaldi just yet. Instead, a quick search of his cupboards came up with some cheese, bread, fresh fruit and some juice. Perhaps not the most healthy of meals, but it would tide him over until dinner. All the test results indicated he was fine. Stephen was called away twice to answer pages. It seemed that both Ivanova and Garibaldi were checking on their Captain's condition. "I told them you checked out okay." Franklin smirked at Sheridan's exasperated sigh. "I also informed them that you were under strict doctor's orders to take it easy for the rest of the day, but that you were released to return to duty tomorrow." "Great. Now, can I get out of here, Stephen?" "Yes, you can." He knew Sheridan too well by now--he'd be jumping back into things as soon as possible. '*BUT* I meant it about taking it easy for the rest of the day OR I might rescind my 'released for duty.'" "Yes, Sir." Sheridan saluted him with a grin. "Is that all, Sir?" "Go on," Franklin waved him away, "get out of here." Sheridan had been tempted to stop in the Zocalo, but knowing Garibaldi--if he was spotted he'd undoubtedly end up with a security escort home. Returning to his quarters, there was a message from Ambassador Delenn inquiring if all was well and if there was anything she could do for him. He smiled to himself. Just six months ago, if someone had told him that any Minbari--much less the Minbari Ambassador--would be inquiring about his health he'd have told them they were crazy. He left a return message for the Ambassador with Lennier; slightly disappointed that Delenn was unavailable. Lately, just seeing her beautiful face was usually enough to lift his spirits. The comm-unit signaled an incoming call. "Receive." "Captain." Ivanova was sitting at his station in C&C. "Commander." He smiled and nodded to her. "Just checking in to see if everything is okay." She paused as someone handed her a report from off-screen. "Stephen tells me that you're cleared for duty tomorrow." "I'm fine, Susan." He watched as she turned again as another report was given to her. He grinned suddenly. "What *no* lecture?" Ivanova turned back with a twinkle in her eyes. "Yeah, well maybe not *this* time." She lowered her voice a bit. "But if you *ever* do something like this again--I'll kick your butt from here to Epsilon 3, rank be damned." Then she grinned back. "I'm just glad you're okay." "Sorry," he had the good grace to look a little sheepish. "It was something I had to do and there wasn't a lot of time to explain." "I think I--" She was interrupted by an off-screen voice. "Commander Ivanova, the Vree freighter captain is insisting that he speak to you." "I've got to go." she said quickly, "Be sure you follow Stephen's orders and rest." She smiled and cut the link. Sheridan shook his head. Well, that had gone better than he'd expected. About an hour later, Sheridan had read the entire day's issue of 'Universe Today'--something he rarely had time to do. He didn't feel like cooking. Using BabCom, he placed a delivery order to the Zocalo's Chinese restaurant. Now what was he supposed to do? When the door chimed about 45 minutes later, he had been trying to decide what to do with the piece of artwork he'd damaged two days ago. The translucent glass panel behind it was slightly melted as well. Absently he called, "Come." Sheridan heard the door open and then close as the delivery boy stepped in. He was closely examining the damage to the wall; wondering if it could be repaired or if it was easier to just replace the panel. He pushed the table back against the wall and turned, "Thanks, just . . . ." His voice trailed off as he saw just *who* the delivery boy was--Garibaldi. "Yang's Delivery at your service." He placed a couple of bags on the counter. Michael grinned at the surprise on the Captain's face. "I thought you were supposed to be taking it easy?" "How'd you . . . ?" "Now, I wouldn't be Chief of Security, if I didn't know what was happening on the station--*especially* with the station's C.O." Garibaldi was smirking now. John smiled and shook his head--another piece of Garibaldi magic. Sheridan looked at the bags on the counter. He didn't remember ordering quite that *much* food. "Would you care to join me for a little dinner?" "Actually, I took the liberty of adding a couple items to your order. Figured you could tell me what you remember about Sector 14 while we ate." Michael helped put out plates and flatware. "According to Franklin, you're ready to return to the grind tomorrow." At Sheridan's nod of agreement, Michael continued, "You know he still doesn't really know exactly what happened to you. You're damned lucky that nothing more serious than a bad headache came out of this." When Sheridan started to interrupt, Michael pressed on. "You've always been straight with us--so I'm going to be straight with you. John," he deliberately caught Sheridan's eyes and held them with his own for a moment, "Captain or *no* Captain--don't you *ever* do this to us--to *me* again. You scared the hell out of *all* of us." Then he relaxed slightly. "'Sides it wouldn't look too good on my resume if the station commander got himself killed on *my* watch!" He was getting too old to break in a new Commanding Officer. They started to fill their plates. "I really. . . ." The door chime interrupted. Sheridan responded automatically. "Come." "Captain, I--" Ivanova stepped in with a large bag in her arms. She blinked in surprise to see Garibaldi there. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to interrupt." Noticing the takeout containers sitting on the counter and plates in their hands, she continued, "I thought you might not be up to cooking. But it seems to have been taken care of." "Why don't you join us?" Sheridan motioned her over to the counter. Looking curiously at her bag, he asked, "So, what did you bring?" Garibaldi, meanwhile, got another place setting and pulled out some glasses. "I stopped at the Greek deli." Susan offered him the bag. "I don't know how well, it'll go with the--" she sniffed the air, "Chinese, but. . . ." It turned out that the Greek salad--with feta cheese and olives, stuffed grape-leaves and baklava for dessert--actually went well with the oriental dishes. They were just finishing when the door chimed again. "Yes?" Sheridan called. "It's Franklin. Captain, I--" Before Stephen could finish, the door opened. He stepped in. "I'm sorry. I got off duty a short while ago and wanted to stop by and make *certain* you were following orders and resting." He exchanged looks with Ivanova and Garibaldi. Noting the remains of their meal, "And to be sure you got something to eat." "Have *you* eaten, Stephen?" Sheridan waved to the containers, "Please there's plenty." When Franklin started to protest that he was fine, Ivanova handed him a plate and pushed him toward the counter. Garibaldi and Ivanova did cleanup duty as Franklin sat to eat. They refused to let Sheridan help. Telling him, he was *supposed* to rest. John rolled his eyes at the 'mothering' treatment but held his tongue. It comforting to know that they cared and he realized he felt the same way about them. After cleanup, Sheridan offered drinks to everyone, taking orange juice for himself with Franklin and Ivanova joining him. Garibaldi meanwhile got himself a mug of caff, muttering about how disgusting orange juice was as an 'after dinner' drink. Susan plunged ahead, "So . . . you want to tell us exactly what it was you were 'giving a lift'?" Smiling, Sheridan stood and glanced at the damaged wall. "It was a life form. Sentient but completely alien." From his seat on the sofa, Garibaldi asked, "But what was it doing in your head?" "It was trying to survive and go home." Sheridan paused and considered. "It must have come through the rift in Sector 14 and somehow wound up in that Markab's body. Drove him mad." Pulling her legs up on the chair with her, Susan asked, "How'd you figure out what it wanted from you?" "The images I got--fear--loss--home.--Somehow it was sending me a message." He shuddered, inwardly, remembering the loss of control. Not knowing what was real and what was not. . . . Remembering Anna . . . . "Touching deep emotions in me which mirrored its own state. I was actually *seeing* what it felt." "This is *fantastic*!" Franklin jumped in. "For this creature not to have shown up on my scans, it would have to completely different from every alien species we know. Possibly gaseous in nature or . . . . Or maybe even pure energy. And yet somehow, it made an empathic connection with you." "I *think* he's excited." Susan couldn't help but smile at Stephen's enthusiasm. "*Excited*! We could be discovering a whole new life form here." Franklin fixed the Captain with a speculative look. "Since you helped it, do you think we might be able to contact it again?" "Uhhh. . . ." Sheridan was still smiling, but he put a hand out in front to ward off the look. "No thanks. Ah . . . I prefer to be only *slightly* insane." "Don't we all." Garibaldi, smiling, saluted him with his caff mug. "Speaking of insane, did I tell you about the guy we picked up in the Gardens this morning? Named Zeph or Zeffed, I think. Anyway, it seems he was . . . ." Sheridan blinked to find Michael standing in front of him smiling. Looking around, he saw that both Ivanova and Franklin were gone. "Captain? . . . John?" When Garibaldi saw the Captain look up at him, he continued, "It's time for all good boys and station commanders to be in bed." "Sorry." Sheridan realized he must have nodded off. The last thing he recalled was Ivanova telling them about the Vree freighter captain complaining about overlong delays in docking. "No problem. You *are* supposed to be resting." He reached a hand down to pull the Captain to his feet. "Remember?" Sheridan groaned a bit as he stood. Rubbing a hand absently over his eyes, he didn't resist when Garibaldi steered him toward the bedroom. But when it appeared that Michael might just follow him and put him to bed, "I think I can manage from here," he protested. "Thanks." "See you in the morning then." Garibaldi remained just long enough to see his Captain go into the bathroom. Instructing the computer to activate privacy/secure mode, he left quietly. John emerged a few minutes later barely pausing long enough to undress before crawling into bed. Drifting off, his last coherent thought was just how lucky he was to have such good friends. End. [end part 05/05] -- | Pfyre | | | | staunch member of CJSFC, HHS & unrepentant MMSFS | | | |"Zathras look at budget deficit, says, not good. Stop spending. | | But no one ever listen to Zathras. But one day, everybody listen.| | Then, Zathras elected. Zathras will be great president. Someday | | even have face printed on money. Then, everybody have Zathras | | face in pants. It is good to be president." --jms on the Net-- |