From 102454.540@compuserve.com Sun Aug 4 00:49:00 1996 Date: 20 Jun 96 23:07:09 EDT From: "Patricia J. May" <102454.540@compuserve.com> To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: Haven (?), part 1/? Yes, here it is...my first B5 story that I've ever posted! I'm not sure about the title. I'm terrible with titles. So, if anyone has any good title ideas after they've read the whole thing (which won't be today- I haven't finished yet) please pass them along to me. I want feedback! Oh, and if anyone has read my two fanfic poems in the archive, disregard them. They're both terrible, and I hate them. I am disavowing all knowledge of them. Here we go! Tentatively titled Haven Jackie May <102454.540@compuserve.com> Part 1/? I had to remember I was Jessica now. It was a hard thing. Having been Mara for nearly fifteen years, I couldn't quite become used to another identity. How could anyone stand to change their name when they got married? Names are such a part of you. I'd feel like I was submitting somehow, becoming my husband's wife instead of myself. But then, I'd seen what had happened to the real Jessica. She'd been young, impetuous; her boyfriend Mike ten years older and suavely possessive. At age eight I'd had a crush on him nearly equaling Jessica's in a puppy-love sort of way. At age eight-and-a-half I'd been devastated when Jessica announced her pregnancy, three days shy of turning eighteen. I didn't quite understand all the fuss my parents made -- yelling, mostly. My dad roared and stomped; my mother cried. Jessica was stoic. She wouldn't talk to me very much. It was as if someone had drained my wonderful big sister out of her body and siphoned in an automaton to fill the void. Mike and my dad very nearly came to blows. There must be something about a family crisis that turns ordinary men into short-fused Neanderthals. The spectacle of the two of them facing off, sidling, shouting into each others' faces, bouncing on their toes like prizefighters... In the end, Jessica and Mike got married. It was a very old-fashioned thing to do just because she was pregnant, but my parents insisted, and I don't think Jessica had the spirit to defy them. I cried myself sick during the wedding reception, contorted into one of the huge cupboards in the church kitchen. Because I had lost my wonderful big sister, and apparently she was a bad person now. Or so I perceived from the gossip I heard. After the wedding, life calmed down a little. There was no more shouting. I went to see Jessica sometimes. She was Jessica Sullivan now -- Mike had insisted -- and sometimes I called her Mrs. Sullivan to be funny, but she never laughed. The apartment was big and fancy, and Mike always acted nice, but Jessica never seemed happy. Sometimes she had bruises on her face and arms. I never asked about them. I figured she wasn't used to her new house, so she walked into things in the dark. Now Jessica was twenty-four. My niece, Cassie, was a charmer at five, and there was another Sullivan baby on the way. To all outside appearances, Jessica was a happy woman. But her eyes were never happy. It was as if she'd become exactly what Mike wanted her to be: a submissive, pleasant-faced drone. She still had a spark in her, but it had dwindled so far down as to be nearly invisible. I didn't want that to happen to me. But at age fourteen, I not only looked exactly like Jessica's old vids and pictures, I seemed doomed to follow in her footsteps. When Jessica married, she'd of course gotten a new ID. Instead of running her old ID through the shredder like she was supposed to, she'd left it casually in the top drawer of her old dresser. I'd discovered this one day three months ago while searching for a book I'd lost. The picture on the ID, Jessica at age sixteen, looked so much like me that I couldn't resist the urge to take it. I used the ID to get into a sixteen-and-up club the next night. It was there that I met Derek. And there that I got drunk without meaning to, and there (in the hotel upstairs) that I awoke the next morning with a fuzzy, pounding head and Derek twined around me. It wasn't there that I found out I was pregnant, though; that happened in my bathroom with only the mirror, a little white box with instructions on the back, and a test kit for company. I'd done the test a week ago. I hadn't told anyone -- not Derek, not my parents, not even Jessica. Derek and I went out sometimes, and I liked him, but he wasn't the sort of guy a person could turn to. Even when he'd fathered their child. I knew what he would have said: "I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do about it." Followed by a hasty retreat. My parents -- well, they would have committed suicide together, or made me marry Derek at age fourteen, or tied me to a missile and blasted me into the sun, or done something equally drastic. I understood in a small way. Our religion clearly forbade sex out of wedlock. My parents lived by our religion. And they were, after all, my parents, and I loved them desperately. Jessica's ruined life had wounded them permanently. I didn't want to add a second canyon-sized hurt -- they'd bleed to death. I hadn't told Jessica for the same reason. She had enough problems, what with one and two-thirds children and Mike for a husband. She carried enough regret for what had happened to her; she didn't need to know that I was following the same path. But she had known anyway. I remembered the way she had hugged me the last time I visited her. Her pregnant belly had bulged against mine, and I had thought that our babies could wave to each other. She'd let go of me and said, "Mara, hon, you know you can tell me anything, right?" And she had known, even though I didn't say anything then. I went home and went to bed, like a dutiful daughter. And at three in the morning, I packed a bag with some clothes, all the money I had, and Jessica's old ID. I took the tube to our local transport station and bought a one-way ticket at the first transport I saw. I didn't know where I was going, or what I'd do once I got there. All I knew was that I was alone, three months pregnant, and nearly out of money. Now I was en route to -- wherever I was going. I still hadn't looked at my ticket. I couldn't look at it now. It was in the pocket of my bag, which was squashed into the vastly inadequate overhead compartment. My seatmate had patiently endured my three trips to the bathroom and I didn't feel I could ask to get out again. "You must be bored out of your wits," my seatmate said, startling me. I'd thought she was asleep. Her wide grin threw the wobbly flesh around her cheeks and neck into ranks of chins. I made a noncommittal sound and turned toward the window, hoping she'd see I was uninterested in her. No such luck. "What's your name?" I gave up. Anyway, I was bored, now that the adrenaline of escape had spent itself. "M- Jessica. Jessica McLaughlin." Jessica. Jessica. Jessica. Not Mara. "Nice to meet you, Jessica. I'm Signe Harold." She stretched her hand across her lap toward me. I shook it awkwardly. "Um, nice to meet you, Signe." "So, are you visiting family?" "No -- no, I'm on my own." Signe's eyebrows went up. "Aren't you a little young?" "No," I said flatly and turned to the window. Signe must have taken the hint. I sneaked a glance her way several minutes later and found her engrossed in her book. The cover sported a tasteful picture of a rugged twenty-first-century pioneer violently embracing a disheveled beauty. The woman wore a lacy slip and an expression of vapid lust. Her breasts appeared to be ready to spring out of the slip and hit her lover in the jaw. I giggled. Signe shot me a swift, dark look and I remembered that I was cranky and in dire straits. I leaned back in my seat, nearly squashing the man behind me, who protested. I leaned the seat up a little and endeavored to go to sleep. Apparently I succeeded. The next thing I knew, Jessica and Derek and President Clark were skipping up the aisle, singing "What do you do with a drunken sailor, ear-lye in the morning?" Suddenly I needed to join their dance. I looked at Signe to get her to let me out, but she had turned into a giant block of Cheddar cheese. I screamed. The next thing I knew after that was a feeling of ebbing terror and a hand shaking my arm. "Jessica, Jessica..." I opened my eyes. We had docked, apparently; people were standing, stretching, fighting to free their luggage from the overhead compartment. I smiled gratefully at Signe. She looked much nicer as a person than as a block of cheese. That had been one scary dream. "So where are we?" I asked and then remembered that I was supposed to know. Signe just shook her head. Her neck fat wobbled. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were running away from home." "Nope," I said and forced a cheerful grin. I glanced out the window. My eyes lighted on a giant sign. 'Welcome to Babylon 5,' it said. End of part 1 Jackie May <102454.540@compuserve.com> From 102454.540@compuserve.com Sun Aug 4 00:49:04 1996 Date: 20 Jun 96 23:07:00 EDT From: "Patricia J. May" <102454.540@compuserve.com> Reply-To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: Haven (?), part 2/? Haven (?) Part 2/? Jackie May <102454.540@compuserve.com> Signe hefted herself out of her seat by hanging on to the seat back in front of her. "So what are you going to do here?" I asked, feeling friendly now that we were about to separate. Signe grinned at me. "Wait around for six hours, then hop a transport to Ganymede. My husband's stationed there. How 'bout you? What are you going to do here?" My stomach contracted in sudden panic. I made myself say, "Look for work." Dodge the authorities. Starve. Watch my belly swell. Signe reached up with both arms to tug on the protruding handle of her tapestry suitcase. She grunted and strained, but it wouldn't budge. "Here," I said, stepping toward her, "I'm taller. Maybe I can get it." Now that we had arrived, I wanted to hang on to Signe, keep her with me as the only familiar thing in this harsh, bustling place. I pulled as hard as I could. The suitcase shifted, then popped out. I nearly tumbled over backward. "Here." I handed it to Signe when I had regained my balance, then extracted my smaller bag. "Thanks, dear," Signe said. As if clairvoyant, she continued. "You know, there's so many people here. Why don't we stick together at least for a little while?" I wanted to fling my arms around her. "Sounds good," I said with convincing nonchalance. We managed to stay together getting off the transport, but once we got into the docking bay, we had to hold hands to keep from losing each other. I didn't mind a bit; Signe's hand was sweaty, but it was something to hang onto. It represented a person. It seemed that every sentient being in the galaxy wanted to get through Customs. I amused myself in line by counting the different types of people. One Minbari, two Minbari, one Narn and three pouchlings, two raucous Centauri adolescents, one alarming creature with flaps of skin hanging from its face, another arrogant-faced Minbari with his hands up his voluminous sleeves, five wide-eyed humans -- tourists, no doubt. Signe nudged me, and we moved ahead in line. We were nearly to the front now. Still clinging to Signe's hand, I dug in my shoulder bag for my ID. Jessica. Jessica. Jessica. "ID's?" The man's face looked like pitted rock. I handed my ID to him and prayed he wouldn't look at the birthdate on the back. I could pass for sixteen, but not twenty-four. "Jessica McLaughlin?" the man asked, startling me. I jumped and nodded. The man waved me through. I had to stop myself from sighing in relief. What had I expected? "You don't look like a Jessica. Step aside, please." Hardly. Behind me, I heard the man say, "Signe Harold?" Then Signe came to stand beside me. "Whew," she said dramatically, clutching her chest. "Fooled them, didn't we?" I managed to laugh. "What do you say we go for some lunch? I don't know about you, but that terrible spaceship food just didn't do it for me at all." We began walking. "Sounds good. But let's go somewhere cheap, ok?" Say you'll buy. Say you'll buy. "Oh, I'll treat you, honey. Save your credits." Thank you.. "Oh, thanks so much!" Again I wanted to hug her but refrained. "Are you sure you have to go to Ganymede?" Signe laughed. "Nice try. One meal is all you get." We walked for a while, not talking, just staring huge-eyed at all the people around us. I wondered how much gel a Centauri man went through in a year. Did they ever knock their hair against doorways? I thought I would. Crunch. And was it really true that some Centauri called every human female Mimi, after the first woman who had gone to their planet? I'd seen vids and pictures of most of the aliens, of course, but it was completely different from seeing them in person. What must it be like to have a big bone on your head? Did Minbari have hair on their bodies or were they bald all over? If they were bald all over, did that mean they were not mammals? Or did that only apply to Earth creatures? I shook my head at my crazy thoughts. It was relief, I knew, at having gotten as far as I had, and oncoming terror. Only five and a half hours until Signe had to leave me. Then I would be truly alone. A thought came to me, completely out of context. Why couldn't I have an abortion? Why hadn't I thought of it? There were surely doctors on this station, and after that, I could go home. I'd have to borrow money, or send home for it, but that would be a small thing. All my problems would be solved. I could tell my parents I had had a really bad day and decided to run away. They would be glad enough to get me back that they wouldn't ask questions. Then I recoiled in disgust from my own thoughts. I could never have an abortion, I knew that. I would never forgive myself. And even if my morals would have let me, the law wouldn't have. As of yesterday, I was too far along. "Damn!" I said aloud. Signe glanced at me. "Nothing," I said before she could ask. "I just remembered I-um-left my ring at home." "Oh," said Signe. "It's ok, my parents'll send it to me." My lying skills were growing by the second. I supposed I'd need them much more in the future. We walked on a little further. "Shall we eat here?" Signe asked, gesturing at a bar that resembled nothing so much as the mouth of a large predator. The owners must have been trying to save on electricity, or perhaps they were making a statement as to the necessity of light. "Sure," I said, and followed her in. Tears puddled in my lower eyelids as Signe waddled up the transport steps. I'd only known her for about thirty-six hours, but as I watched her go, I felt as if I were being tossed into a roiling sea without a life preserver. Signe turned at the door to wave. I managed to wave back before my face crumpled. It took only a few seconds of fighting for control before I gave up and just stood sobbing in the middle of the docking bay with my face in my hands. End of part 2, not that there's a story break here. Jackie May <102454.540@compuserve.com> From 102454.540@compuserve.com Sun Aug 4 00:49:06 1996 Date: 20 Jun 96 23:06:53 EDT From: "Patricia J. May" <102454.540@compuserve.com> Reply-To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: Haven (?), part 3/? Haven (?) Jackie May <102454.540@compuserve.com> Part 3/? Someone laid a hand on my shoulder. I glanced up to see a tall, thin Minbari with kind eyes. "Excuse me," he said, his voice hesitantly polite, "but is there anything I can do to help?" I sniffed violently. "No." It came out as a choked snarl. The Minbari looked apologetic. "Are you quite sure? I don't mean to intrude, but you seem very...distressed. As if there were something wrong apart from your friend's leaving." I couldn't speak. The Minbari appeared to understand. "I am sorry. I will go now." He made a little bow. I sniffled helplessly as he walked away. But I was done crying. I had the feeling I'd do more of it later, but for now, my tears were spent. I rubbed my eyes hard like my mother had always told me not to, sniffled again, and walked out of the docking bay. One corridor looked like another in this bare metal place, but by some trick of magic, I managed to find the dark, greasy bar where Signe and I had eaten lunch. I knew there was a bathroom inside, and I managed to find that, too. I laughed out loud at my reflection in the mirror, but it had a cracked, dried-up sound to it. I looked like a survivor of some ancient war, like I'd been huddled overnight in an air-raid shelter with several small children. Fifteen minutes with cold water and the hot-air dryer helped a great deal. I blew my nose with gusto and left. One corridor looked like another. I'd noticed that earlier, but it hadn't really hit home. I was thoroughly lost now. My feet and legs ached from walking on the unforgiving metal floor, and I was getting quite hungry. Pretty soon I'd need to get some supper, if I had enough money. If not, well, I'd be much hungrier before long. I'd gone into every store and restaurant I saw along the way, asking for work. I would have to quit in a couple of months, but at least in the meantime I could stay alive. But the first owner said, "Sorry, kid, I'm barely above the poverty line as it is. You might try Ziggy's over there." The manager of Ziggy's said, "Come back in two years. We can't have someone so young tending bar." I showed him my ID, but he flipped it over and laughed. "Yeah, you're twenty-four, and I'm a Narn princess." I fled. It had gone like that everywhere. Businesses were either on the verge of bankruptcy, or their managers told me I looked too young to work there. Or both. One woman laughed in my face and asked where I'd bought my ID. And now I was lost and hungry. I had the general feeling that I'd left the business area behind and was now heading for the edge of the station. I didn't really care. To turn around would be to admit that I was wrong, and all this walking had been for nothing. I rounded a corner. Dead end. I swore loudly and turned around. The corridor, which had been deserted a minute ago, was suddenly blocked by three Centauri. A little tendril of alarm curled its way up my throat as I looked at them. They were young, well-dressed; the expressions on their faces reminded me of the boys at school who cheated at sports. They were completely aware of being in the way, too. One of them shifted position to lean casually against the wall. "Can I get by, please?" My voice sounded insignificant and very young. "'Can I get by, please?'" one of them mimicked with a simper. "Let me through!" "Hey, what've you got in that bag there, Mimi?" The one who had spoken reached out for my bag. "Nothing that would interest *you*," I snapped, jerking the bag away, but now I was really frightened. "Oh, you'd be surprised." He sneered like a cliched movie villain, but it was a really scary cliche. I backed up a step. The three Centauri advanced with me. I backed up another step. They advanced another step. "Give me the bag, Mimi." The Centauri in the middle held out his hand. I clutched the bag to my chest. "No!" Suddenly the corridor seemed to explode, and I was flat on the floor with feet pounding me. I tried to scream, but a kick landed on my jaw and it came out as a squawk of pain instead. I struggled to sit up. A foot caught underneath my knee and sent me slithering backward. My head struck the wall with an excruciating clang. I could still hear the retreating footsteps for a moment after blackness closed over my eyes. It could have been seconds later, or millennia. I opened my eyes to a wobbling, swooping section of wall. No, two walls. No, now they had melted into one. I blinked hard to clear my vision and groaned with the pain in my head. It rushed over me: Feet. My bag. Centauri. I groaned again. I'd been clutching the bag with both arms. My arms were empty, one bent behind me, one flung to the side. I should have been angry, but I was too miserable. I ached all over. The iron taste of blood was in my mouth. I just wanted to lie there forever... My eyes closed of their own accord. "In Valen's name!" The voice was low and cultured, but it beat at my tortured head like a woodpecker on a metal pole. I moaned. "Delenn! Delenn!" the voice called excitedly. "Ohhh," I managed to say. My eyes wouldn't come open. A second voice sounded from a few meters away. "In Valen's name!" This voice was louder and more emotional, and consequently more painful. My eyelids came unstuck. The light hurt, but I could make out two figures. One was on its knees beside me, the other standing just behind it. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw that the person closer to me was the Minbari who had tried to comfort me in the docking bay. "Small world," I observed, but it came out as "Muhh wuhhh." The person behind the Minbari was odd indeed. She could have been human but for the small bone ridge encircling most of her head. She could have been Minbari but for her long brown hair and decidedly un-Minbari complexion. She wore a dress that seemed to be a hybrid of ordinary human clothing and a Minbari robe. As I stared groggily, she exclaimed, "Oh, the terrible things that happen in these times. Should we take her to Medlab, Lennier?" "No!" I said involuntarily. My voice had returned and my head seemed to be clearing. Though I still felt like bread dough after a vigorous punching-down. Both people jumped slightly. I struggled to sit up. This time I succeeded, though my head echoed with the movement. I ventured an entire sentencce. "Don't take me to Medlab. I'm fine." The Minbari looked at me gravely. "You do not look 'fine'," he said, scarring the word with quotation marks. "Your face is bruised, your lip is bleeding, and you appear to have been unconscious for quite some time." "I'm *fine*," I repeated obstinately. To prove my point I pulled myself to a standing position by hanging on to the wall. I had to lean against the wall for support once I was on my feet, but I had made it. The strange woman spoke again. "'Fine', as you say, or not, you will come with us to Medlab. We may argue along the way." Her voice was lovely: low and gentle, with a musical accent. It was, I realized, also quite authoritative. I found myself walking beside her. She was very short. The Minbari joined us on her other side. "Now," he said in his cultured voice, "what happened to you?" "Centauri," I explained tersely. Walking was requiring more concentration than it usually did. "What did they do?" he pressed further. It suddenly occurred to me that they could have raped me while I was unconscious. No, I had clearly heard footsteps pounding away down the corridor. But they could have come back... "Let's stop for a minute." I leaned against the wall with a feeling of deep gratitude. The two people stopped and fixed me with identical looks of concern. "Perhaps we should call for a medical team," the woman said. "No! I'm fine!" The Minbari appeared to be forming a rebuttal, but he repeated his question. "What did the Centauri do?" "They wouldn't let me pass. They tried to take my bag. Then -- I don't know -- I was on the floor and they were kicking me. Three of them. I hit my head on the wall and got knocked out. I guess they took my bag. But I don't think they raped me." Both of my rescuers looked angry. The expression didn't quite belong on their sensitive faces, but I could identify it. The woman said, "You are human, correct?" I nodded. "Then the Centauri did not rape you." I closed my eyes in quick relief. True, I had clearly heard the footsteps pounding away as I slipped into unconsciousness, but the niggling worry had persisted. And there were few thoughts more disturbing than that of being...violated while I lay there, unknowing, unable to resist... "But they robbed and assaulted her, Delenn." "Yes, Lennier," said the woman, "but in comparison, that is quite a small thing. Not being female, you would have a difficult time understanding." End of part 3 - I'm terrible with these breaks! I just stick them in wherever I feel like it, instead of where the story wants them to be. Jackie May <102454.540@compuserve.com> From 102454.540@compuserve.com Sun Aug 4 00:55:43 1996 Date: 22 Jun 96 23:56:25 EDT From: Jackie May <102454.540@compuserve.com> Reply-To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: Haven (?), part 4/? Haven (?) Jackie May <102454.540@compuserve.com> Please send me feedback! Do you like it? Hate it? Does it put you to sleep, stand your hair on end, make you want to sing Calvinist hymns? BTW, I'm *completely* floundering in regard to twenty-third century medical practices. (Oh, if this were only Star Trek-- hyposprays and computers that know everything.) So if anyone has information, or wants to tell me I'm doing it all wrong, send the mail right along. Part 4/? I pushed myself away from the wall. The dizziness had gone. "There, I'm fine now. We don't need to go to Medlab." Both people just looked at me. They seemed to do a lot of that. "You are not 'fine'," said the Minbari, a trifle sternly. "You may have a concussion." "Can you walk now?" The woman peered at me with concern. "Yeah, I can walk, I'm fine." I nearly growled the words. "Come, then." Her voice carried enough authority to sweep me along with her. I could easily imagine her berating emperors and turning away hungry bears by sheer force of will. We began walking again. I knew we were going to Medlab, but I didn't think it would do any good to argue further right now. I could always make a wild dash when we got to the door. Which led me to wonder why I was going with these strange people. But I knew the answer to that: they were trying to help me. And I was alone, without money or much hope, and what else could I do, really? Before long there would probably be nothing left for me but begging or prostitution. Melodramatic, I realized. It was unnecessary to think that way. If worst came to worst, I could borrow money for a ticket home and face the consequences. My insides recoiled from that option. I would have so much explaining to do: first of all, "Where were you, honey? Oh, Mara, we were so worried -- we called everyone, there's search parties everywhere! Oh, Mara, love..." to be dealt with. Then there would be, "Why did you run away? Tell me that. What's happened to you, what have you done? What in hell were you thinking?" And finally there would be, "What? What are you saying? You're *pregnant*? How...? Are you sure? Is it Derek? But you're only-- Oh, Mara, how could you--" and so on, followed by reproaches, shouting, tears, and incoherent rage. No, I couldn't go home. That option was no good. I didn't want to think any more. "So who are you guys?" My voice came out brash and crude-sounding, like that of someone who jokes to relieve their nervousness at a wake. "I am Delenn, the Minbari ambassador to Babylon 5, and this is my aide, Lennier." Both people stopped and made little Japanese-style bows with their hands together. "And you are?" "M-" Damn. I couldn't keep slipping like that. "Jessica McLaughlin." "I am honored to meet you, Jessica," Lennier said gravely. Neither he nor Delenn appeared to have heard my slip, or perhaps they were too polite to notice. "I am honored to meet you, too," I said, just as gravely. Sometimes politeness could be fun. I felt like an old vid: Dirk and Neeza in Etiquette-Land. At one point in my life I had known all the songs and most of the lines from that. ("Don't you worry, don't you fear-- that's the salad fork, Dirk dear," I'd sung incessantly. "Four...tines for main...dish, three...tines for shrimp or fish...") We resumed walking again, and I marveled at the human brain. Here I was, a broke, pregnant, battered runaway, and my mind was coughing up Dirk and Neeza. But suddenly things didn't seem so bad. I glanced sideways at Delenn. Ambassador, she had said. But she had introduced herself as Delenn and added the title as if it were a clarification of who she was, not part of her name. I decided to call her Delenn until she corrected me. She was certainly beautiful. But why did she have hair? "Delenn?" "Yes?" "Why do you have hair?" I asked timidly. She had no eyebrows, but the skin above her eyelids rose as if in thought. "It is a long story..." I was enthralled by what she told me. To go into a chrysalis like a butterfly, what must that be like? To see a brand-new face in the mirror, to be at the command of a new reproductive system (I guessed; Delenn just said she was "human in several other ways as well," and blushed.) -- what must that be like? Why had she done it? I asked her, and she said cryptically, "It was the time for it to be done." I intended to press for more, but I glanced up and realized we had reached Medlab. Now was the time to make a dash for it, but I found I couldn't. These people were so kind. I couldn't leave them like that. But the choice was between leaving them or having them find out that I was...well, who I was, not who they thought I was. And while I hesitated, Lennier and Delenn walked me into Medlab. There was no use in escaping. If I'd made a dash for it, they would have pursued me. I just hoped the doctor wouldn't do deep scans, or a DNA sample, or other such standard and unavoidable tests. The doctor seemed rather brusque but kind. His eyes were very round and brown in his brown, handsome face, and I found myself liking him even as I prayed silently for him to drop dead, to run away in fear, to suddenly stiffen with convulsions. Delenn and Lennier waited tactfully outside the room while the doctor examined me. Perhaps they were also staying out of the way; people of all possible types and sizes were everywhere, some chattering excitedly in strange languages, some staring dismally while their feet dangled from examining tables, some dashing about underfoot. Miraculously, I was neither scanned below the neck nor given a DNA test, and nothing seemed to be wrong with me aside from bruises and a bleeding lip. "Well, you seem fine, but I'll give you some painkillers for that head. What'd you do to yourself, anyway?" The doctor dug in a drawer and came up with a little bottle, which he handed to me. "Thanks," I said, not answering his question. I turned to go, but the doctor stopped me. "Oh, and I'll need to see your ID for our records." Damn. I should have expected that. "Sure, just let me find it," I said with a fine show of nonchalance. It was lucky that I'd put it in my pocket after Customs. No, it wasn't lucky at all. If it had been stolen, who could have said I wasn't Jessica? My fingers closed on the plastic card. I dug it out. "Here." My diaphragm was quivering in fear, but I had always been a good actress. The doctor glanced at it, then glanced at my face. "Kind of stupid, isn't it?" he remarked. "Of course you're you. What would you be doing with someone else's ID?" He flipped it over. Don't look at the date don't look at the date don't look at the date... "Ok," the doctor said suddenly, flatly. I tensed. "There is no way in hell you are twenty-four years old." "I am so!" I blurted out. "I'm Jessica Reeves McLaughlin, and I was born in 2236." "Well, you must be a late bloomer then. Because your brain is clearly not done growing yet." I backed up a step as the doctor moved toward me, but he turned and picked up a small and alarmingly complicated scanner from a nearby table. "Hold still," he commanded, passing the scanner over the pulse area at my neck. I wriggled out of reach, but by that time, he had finished. An intricate double helix came up on the huge computer screen near us. Apparently the scanner was connected to the screen. "Hey!" I protested, much too late. The computer made several puttering, thinking noises; then a full screen of text and a picture popped up. It was my last school picture. Paralyzed, I stared at the screen while the doctor leaned forward and read it. "Mara Rose McLaughlin, hmm? Well, well, well." End of part 4 Jackie May <102454.540@compuserve.com> SOH-CAH-TOA From 102454.540@compuserve.com Sun Aug 4 01:26:10 1996 Date: 12 Jul 96 01:13:46 EDT From: Jackie May <102454.540@compuserve.com> Reply-To: b5-creative@lists.best.com To: b5-creative@lists.best.com Subject: Haven, part 5/? Haven, Part 5/? Jackie May <102454.540@compuserve.com> Yes, it's finally here! I'll explain the martial law thing a little later. Finally figured out when this takes place -- between Point Of No Return and Severed Dreams. But we're going to run into Severed Dreams very shortly. This story is dedicated to Jana Gulbrandson, 1981-7/5/96. :-(( (several pages of sad faces omitted) Part 5 I couldn't move. How was I going to get out of this one? I didn't think I was. The fines for juvenile curfew violation were quite high enough, thank you -- what must the penalty be for traveling under a false ID? I didn't know much about this new martial law stuff, nor did I care to, but it seemed like it made the law a lot tougher. The doctor put his hand on my arm, not so much to keep me from leaving as to remind me I wasn't dead yet. I must have looked frightened. He glanced at the screen again; inexplicably, his face softened. "Why don't you come into my office?" he asked almost gently. I pulled away from his hand. "Sure, so you can call Security," I said bitterly. "Just let me go," I pleaded. "I won't get hurt any more, I promise. You'll never see me again." The doctor closed his eyes as if praying for patience. I wondered why I wasn't at this moment running out the door of Medlab, but then I realized several things at once: Delenn and Lennier were waiting for me outside the door; my escaping would create a commotion that would certainly get me caught; and where would I go, anyway? And the doctor really did seem kind. But then I'd always been too trusting. My thoughts had become so detached and impersonal that I wondered mildly if I was going insane. I had heard that happened sometimes with insanity. "Just come with me. I promise I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to talk to you." The round brown eyes looked sincere. I decided to hold true to my gullible nature. He threaded his way through the zoo that was Medlab. I followed him. We went into a small room just off the back wall. The door hissed shut behind us. "Sit down, please," the doctor requested. He seated himself behind the paper-stacked desk, and I sat down in the chair on the other side, facing him. "All right, what is it you want?" I spoke up, rather sullenly. I wanted to confide in the doctor, or lean my head on the wall and cry, but I knew I couldn't. "Tell me the truth." "About what?" I hated myself for being such a brat. "Who are you?" "You know that already." "All right, then. What are you doing here, *Mara*?" I stared fiercely at the desk, running my eyes back and forth along its edge. "Ok, I'll assume you're not going to tell me. Are you running away from home?" I nodded without thinking, then cursed myself. "Why?" The word was soft, gentle. I raised my head and looked at him. "I can't tell you," I whispered. "Have you done something? Is there something wrong at home?" "Look, Doctor," I snapped, "I like guessing games as much as anyone else, but there must be sick people you have to cure." "There are," he said calmly, "but the other doctors can handle it. I think you're more important right now." At the word 'important', tears started in my eyes. How could I be important? I was a runaway, a criminal, a child. "I am?" The words were dull but the doctor must have seen the incredulity behind them. "Yes," he said softly, "you are. I don't know why, but I just have a feeling there's more here than you're telling me." He gazed at me for a second, then said abruptly, "Though that wouldn't be hard. Come on, you can trust me. I may be the head doctor on a big station, but I'm really not a bad person." "Not bad," I said, "official. I don't understand why you haven't turned me in yet. Not that I want you to," I amended hastily. "I just told you why I haven't turned you in. Now come on, tell me the truth." "I ran away. I'm not going back. There's nothing more to tell." I folded my arms obstinately over my stomach. Well, nothing more to tell except that I'm pregnant, Doc. "Know what I think?" "No." "I think your parents might have more to tell me than you do." I stared at him, my mouth half-open in shock. "That's blackmail!" "Under the law, I'd be perfectly justified in returning a runaway to her parents." He regarded me rather smugly. "You--" I began in outrage, but I knew I was defeated. "Oh, hell, deep-scan me and you'll understand." Well, I'd been gone what -- two days? Three? Maybe that wasn't so bad for a first attempt. I'd been lucky to get to the transport station without being caught for juvenile curfew violation - maybe that was all the luck I got. And they'd send me home in disgrace, probably with fines and citations heaped on my head, and my parents would never let me out of their sight again. And I would still be pregnant. I ran my finger along the smooth edge of the desk as the doctor rummaged in the bottom drawer. Almost triumphantly he pulled out a rather battered medical-type thing. I squinted at it dubiously; the doctor grinned and pressed a button, eliciting a cheerful beeping noise. "I know, it looks like a relic from the Canal Wars, but it works fine." He stood up and came around the desk. "Ok, hold still." I held still. The scanner chirped and squealed like a baby as the doctor passed it around me. I assumed, since his expression seemed unalarmed, that everything was fine with my body and the scanner was supposed to sing like that. It was a nice noise, actually, quite cheerful. A storm of angry beeps erupted from the scanner, startling me and apparently also the doctor. Damn. But what had I expected? The doctor just looked at the small screen on the scanner for a moment. Very slowly he laid the scanner on his desk. I tensed. "So," said the doctor quietly, "what do you want to do about this?" I stared fiercely at my knee. There was a small hole in my pants leg, probably from my meeting with the Centauri. I didn't care about the Centauri. Please, nice doctor, don't send me home. Please... "Do?" I said bitterly, not looking up. "What's there to do?" The doctor laid a hand on my shoulder. "This is the twenty-third century, you know," he said, his tone tinged with wry humor. "We can do something about this." I jerked my shoulder out from beneath his hand. "No! No, we can't." "Why not?" "I'd never forgive myself." Better a baby than a load of guilt. The doctor perched on the edge of the desk so that his knees were in my direct line of vision. "Come on, Mara," he said after a long pause, "it's not as if it's murder." "Fuck you," I said. It felt good. The doctor ignored my comment. Kicking the desk with the back of his heels, he said, "Well, if you won't have an abortion, then I guess you have a couple options." I looked up at him. "What?" "One, you could go home." "No." "Two, you could find some way to stay here until you have the baby, then go home." My mind locked like an antique computer at the suggestion. "No," I said flatly. "Three, you could stay here until you have the baby, then put it up for adoption and go home." That sounded better than the other two, but I remained silent. My thoughts were a jumble of alarming images: returning home after an unexplained six-month absence, returning home after a six-month absence and surprising my parents with a baby, not returning home at all -- that sounded more and more appealing -- or coming home now with no explanation, no pride, and a baby lurking in my future. The doctor seemed to have run out of options. He kicked the desk idly. Thump. "Couldn't I just stay here forever?" I suggested hopefully. An inexplicable flash of dark sorrow crossed the doctor's face. Time for a subject change. "Never mind. So why are you being so nice to me? I expected to be halfway back to Earth by now, or maybe in jail." The doctor laced his fingers together and stared at them fiercely, not replying. "Why haven't you turned me in?" I pressed. "You want to know?" His voice came out rough-edged and unhappy. "This morning I did an autopsy on a lurker girl. She had hemorrhaged shortly after giving birth. We found her baby in a nearby trash can. It weighed less than half a kilo. Both of them were malnourished, and the girl was anemic. "Right now, that girl should be watching her baby sleep in her arms. If she'd had any kind of prenatal care, anyone to help her...I just can't let the same thing happen to you." End of part 5 Night, everybody. I should have gone to bed ages ago. Send oodles and heaps of comments to Jackie May, 102454.540@compuserve.com