From: Jakhel@aol.com Subject: Infinite Regress 1c: NexusPoint Pt 1 of 10(?) Date: Sun, 14 Mar 1999 00:42:06 EST What if things had gone just a LITTLE bit differently at Z'ha'dum... (Okay, okay, what can I say, I just can't keep my paws off the G-dude...) Warning: This one is even more lighthearted and cheerful than IR1A, albeit in a completely different direction. No Season 5 spoilers, and no crossover whatsoever, although there are some elements and characters from a parallel event stream. My tolerance for reading or watching horror/suspense stuff is normally VERY low, but somehow this one kinda grabbed me by the imagination (or something) and wouldn't let go. As usual, no avoidable body parts onstage, just a certain amount of sick and depraved insinuendo. All Babylon 5 characters found in the TV show are the property of J. Michael Straczynski and Warner Brothers. I, and any other fan fiction authors whose characters and ideas I may end up incorporating, are using them strictly for private entertainment, with no damaging trespassage intended. The characters and situations we have come up with are ours. Other authors are welcome to use them (that's what "consensus virtual reality" is all about!), but please check with us first. Special thanks to Gareth Williams and David Goldingay -- Gareth for the clarity and precision of his "what if things went JUST a little differently" approach, and David for the loan of some Rimstalker characters and situations (identified in the Appendix, following the story), plus the HIGHLY inspirational character of Walther Gideon. Gideon may not show up here as such, but....well, you'll see! Caveat: I sweated bullets over the timing on this. Finally decided that in the process of getting the show out, JMS&Co had hosed it up beyond redemption anyway, so I might as well wing it. The closest I can figure is that John and Anna Sheridan left for Z'ha'dum on Christmas Day, 2260, and the showdown at Corianna 6 was at the end of January or beginning of February. This timeline manages, by the skin of its teeth, to match that, the main difference being that Sheridan and Lorien get to chat a bit longer -- and since time runs kinda funky where they were at, I'd say it's close enough for rock'n'roll. Please e-mail any feedback to me, Anne E. Clements, at Jakhel@aol.com. Finally, my previous stories have been completed prior to release, however due to conflicting commitments with the Virtual Season Six project (coming to you via the Alternate Universe Today mailing list, with a website to be developed later in 1999), I am going ahead and sending this one out piecemeal. The story to date will be kept at The Infinite Regress Access Point (http//members.aol.com/irwebsite/), and updated if I need to do any retrotweaking. ******* And Now for Our Feature Presentation ******* "Yeah. We were lucky, all right." -- Zack Allan, B5 "Core" timeline. ******** Prologue ******** Z'ha'dum, Z + 5 Days Captain John J. Sheridan, late of Earthforce, eased his trouser leg up over the backup PPG nestled in his boot. Keeping it hidden on the flight out to Z'ha'dum had been quite a trick. In fact the whole trip -- alone on a White Star for five days with the woman he was increasingly certain was NOT his long-lost wife -- had been like something out of a nightmare. Even the fact that he'd been ABLE to deceive Anna had only confirmed his suspicions. And now, the man who called himself Justin was explaining how it had happened, how Anna had been used to control a Shadow vessel until they realized that she could be used to reel him in. "But once you've been...inside one of those ships for a while, you're never quite... whole again. But you do what you're told -- " Behind him, Sheridan heard the door to the next chamber open -- the room Anna hadn't wanted him to investigate -- "-- And so will you!" Sheridan whirled and fired point-blank at the Shadow-creature stepping through the doorway. The Shadow ducked. ******** Part 1 ********** Babylon 5, Z + 19 days. Michael Garibaldi strolled onto the station, hands deep in the pockets of an expensive civilian suit. The acting head of Station Security spotted him and hustled over, astonishment written across his craggy features. "Chief! You're back! Where the hell have you BEEN? We've been worried sick about you the last coupla weeks! G'Kar even took off lookin' for you -- did he find you? Where is he?" Garibaldi cut through the man's effusions. "It's good to see you, too, Zack. No, I haven't seen G'Kar, why the hell did he -- look, we'll talk later, right now I have to see Ivanova and Delenn..." Zack sobered immediately. "So you heard about the Captain." "What?" Garibaldi looked distracted, his gaze flitting around the familiar hustle and bustle of the Customs area. "Oh, yeah, that. Well, you know what they say, you can't make an omelet without breaking eggs. And from what I hear," he added confidentially, "he made one HELL of an omelet outta Z'ha'dum." "Yeah...hey, how DID you know about that? Where have you been, anyway? We were afraid the Shadows got you. There was no trace of your 'fury..." Garibaldi clapped a reassuring hand on his second's shoulder. "You know me, Zack, I got my sources. As to where I've been...well, let's just say I've been picking up a few NEW sources. So, where's the Commander?" "Well, here's something you obviously DON'T know," replied Zack. "Commander Ivanova, Ambassador Delenn, Lennier, and Miss Alexander all took a White Star out to Z'ha'dum to look for the Captain. They would have gotten there six days ago, and there hasn't been a peep out of 'em. The tachyon relay's working fine, there's just...no word. Lieutenant Corwin's officially in charge, but..." "WHAT??" Garibaldi snapped, pinning the slighter man with an icy glare. Something cold flashed up Zack's spine for a moment and was gone. "Listen, I gotta take care of something. Tell Corwin I'll meet him in an hour." Before his startled friend could protest, he was gone. **************** A little over an hour later, five Humans gathered in the War Room. Four were sitting, one was pacing. The long-haired, debonair Ranger had his feet on the table. The man in Security uniform looked like he wanted to do the same, but didn't quite dare. The doctor watched the pacing man intently, while the man nominally in charge of the station looked like he badly wanted someone to tell him what to do. The pacing man was quite willing to accomodate him. "Look, just because the Shadows' capital city was destroyed, that doesn't mean they're down for the count," Garibaldi was expounding. "They'll regroup, and they'll be back, and by ourselves we don't stand a chance against them." "We're not exactly by ourselves," Lieutenant Corwin pointed out. "Under the terms of the Babylon Treaty, the League Worlds have promised to allocate ships for the defense of the station..." "Of course, most of those ships have unaccountably gone missing in the last week or so," Marcus chipped in, perky as always. "But I'm sure at the twitch of a Shadow whisker, they'll pop right back here to help out." "Yeah, right," chimed in Zack. "So what are we gonna do about it? You got any ideas, Chief?" "I always have ideas, Zack -- it's just that most of them aren't suitable for family entertainment. In this case, though, I do just happen to have a proverbial ace up my sleeve." Garibaldi finally lit on the table. "Good!" burst out Corwin. "This wouldn't by any chance be related to where you've been all this time, would it?" Dr. Franklin asked pointedly. "I'm glad you asked that, Doctor," the Security Chief said. He stood up and started pacing again, organizing his thoughts. "When I got caught in the backwash of that Shadow cruiser, it sucked me through into hyperspace, but then I lost it. I must have drifted for....hell, I dunno, I was going in and out from lack of oxygen when they reeled me in -- must have been WAY the hell off any known beacon." "They?" inquired the Ranger. "They call themselves the Ralga. They're an incredibly advanced species -- younger than the First Ones, but not by much. They've taken their entire planet with them into hyperspace. It's a fantastic place -- makes Minbar look like an Earthside trailer park." "They took you there?" prodded Franklin. "Whoo, yeah," the Security Chief assented. "I got the grand tour -- capital city, orbital shipyards, the whole works. Turns out they've been monitoring the situation here, just waiting for the right moment to make contact, and the right person to make contact with." "And they picked YOU?" Marcus asked, disbelieving. "Whoa, they must be REALLY alien," commented the doctor. "So, are they going to help us?" asked the Lieutenant. "Well, that's where it gets tricky. They can't come right out and help us -- at least not yet." "Sounds like the Vorlons," commented Zack. "Tell me about it," Garibaldi agreed. "You know how it is with these 'elder races', though, they're always trying to do the smoke and mirrors routine on you -- you just gotta know how to handle 'em, that's all." "I don't suppose you'd care to 'handle' our pet Vorlon, while you're about it," the Ranger suggested sourly. Garibaldi's eyes narrowed. "All in good time, Marcus. Right now, the Shadows are our main problem -- and the Ralga ARE willing to help us -- but they can't do it openly. You see, this whole thing is like a game to them -- all of them -- Shadows, Vorlons, Ralga, whoever else is out there laughin' at us. But it's a game with *rules*, and one of those rules is you don't hit each other's worlds directly. Look how the Vorlons set us up to hit Z'ha'dum rather than going in themselves -- same thing that goes on all the time in Downbelow. Gang bosses hire or browbeat thugs into hitting each others' turf..." "So you're sayin' we oughtta hook up with these Ralga instead of the Vorlons?" Zack had no trouble following his Chief's line of thought. Garibaldi grinned at him with just a hint of pride. "The other thing about games," he pointed out, "is that they generally involve *prizes*." "Oh, so do we get to choose what's behind holofield number three?" Garibaldi looked straight at the Ranger, all levity gone. "Immortality, Marcus. That's the prize." There was a silence, while they all digested that. Finally, a mutter that sounded suspiciously like "*booby* prize" came from the doctor's direction. "Yeah," put in Zack, "What good is immortality gonna do us if we all get scragged by the Shadows first?" "What do they want us to do, anyway?" asked Corwin. "The Ralga see Humans as potential leaders," Garibaldi explained, "More so even than the Minbari. If we can consolidate that position, provide strong leadership for the other races, the Ralga have promised to come in when we need them. If we, here, unsupported by our homeworld, can pull together a fleet that stands a chance of whipping some Shadow butt, they'll make sure we have that chance, and more." The Lieutenant swallowed nervously. "Um, with the Captain...gone, and Delenn and Commander Ivanova out of contact, that leaves...uh..." "*Us*," supplied Garibaldi. "Don't worry, David, you keep this station solid under us, we'll take care of the rest." As each man felt that ice-blue gaze, he knew himself tested, evaluated...and approved. "Val'na Shival is in charge of the Rangers in Delenn's absence," said Marcus. "I'll meet with him at once. Oh, Stephen, did you tell him..." "Haven't had a chance. I'll fill him in on the way to Medlab, though. YOUR next stop," Franklin said firmly to Garibaldi, "is a VERY thorough checkup. However friendly these Ralga may be, they're still an unknown alien species, and I need to be sure you didn't bring anything LESS friendly back with you." Garibaldi hesitated just a moment, then agreed. Zack made noises about getting back to work, but the Chief stopped him. "I have a job for you, Zack. I want a close watch -- a *very* close watch -- kept on all the alien ambassadors. And their staffs, AND the commanders of all alien ships in dock. The deal with the Ralga is NOT to leave this room," he emphasized, "but once we start pulling the fleet together, the Shadows are gonna get nervous, and they have spies *everywhere*. Trust me on this one, Zack." "All right, but the Ambassadors aren't gonna like it..." "Tough. The Ralga want leadership, and that's what they're gonna *get*." With that, the Security Chief stalked out. The doctor shared a bemused look with the others before following. ******** To Be Continued ******** From: Jakhel@aol.com Subject: Infinite Regress 1c: NexusPoint Pt 2 of 10(?) Date: Sun, 21 Mar 1999 14:29:20 EST As usual, no avoidable body parts onstage, just a certain amount of sick and depraved insinuendo. See Disclaimers in Part 1. Please e-mail any feedback to me, Anne E. Clements, at Jakhel@aol.com. ******** Part 2 ********** Z'ha'Dum, Z + 13 Days Susan Ivanova looked up through the faceplate of her breather mask at a dust- choked, reddish sky. It had been almost an hour since the last Shadow vessel had passed overhead, but she wasn't about to relax yet. Behind her, in the depths of a crevice in the tumbled rock of this godforsaken landscape, a scant score of Minbari and Human Rangers huddled, taking stock of the supplies they had managed to salvage before the crashed White Star self-destructed. Over thirty lost...she felt guilty to be so glad that only two of the bridge crew had been killed. Delenn, Lyta, and Lennier were all bruised but unhurt, as was the Commander herself. Lennier scrambled up to her vantage point. Seemingly as calm as if they were back on the bridge of the White Star, he reported on the inventory. They had replacement air filters and food for ten days, and water for perhaps three. Medical supplies were low, but the wounded were stabilized. They had a couple of broad-spectrum scanners, three general-purpose tool kits and more than enough PPGs to go around, but no heavy weapons. Somebody with extraordinary presence of mind had brought along a stack of blankets, portable heating units, and other cold-weather gear (like any desert planet, Z'ha'dum gets COLD at night). Two of the survivors would need to be carried on gravcots, leaving only two for carrying supplies, so all the unwounded would be carrying full packs, including Lennier and the ladies. "Have you managed to identify any nearby installations?" "No, there doesn't seem to be anything within range of our scanners -- or if there is, it's well-camouflaged. However, as we came in, I did notice a group of lights to the south. Calculating from our incoming velocity and our probable rate of progress on foot, it would be approximately four days' travel from here." "Then we have a water problem. All right. We'll rest another hour or so, then head out. That should give us about three hours of light, which will be a good start. None of us is used to cross-country footslogging, let alone on a world where we can't even breathe the air." "Look on the bright side," the Minbari advised, "at least the climate is temperate, and the atmosphere, while while deadly to breathe for more than a few hours, is at least not corrosive." "No, it just feels...greasy or something," Susan replied, rubbing her arms nervously. She looked out across the sky again. "Lennier," she said presently, "on the White Star, before....did you feel something....*watching* you?" Lennier was quiet for a long moment. "I have not told anyone this -- yet. We've been so rushed, trying to get the supplies out of the ship, the people....I've been going over it and over it in my mind, though, and I just can't..." he shook his head in frustration. "Can't what? What are you saying, Lennier? Did you see something the rest of us didn't?" "No -- no, I don't believe so. You said you sensed something watching you -- something that *knew* you. I felt that, too. It...it called to me." "In the voice of your...father?" Susan asked tentatively. It occurred to her suddenly that she knew absolutely nothing about Lennier's family. "No," he said quickly, "it was...another. But the call was...impossible to ignore. I knew it could not be real, but it was so specific, striking to the heart of my heart -- and while I was...entranced...I believe that, for a moment...ah, I don't know, perhaps I am simply making excuses..." "Lennier, WHAT are you talking about? It wasn't your fault we crashed -- hell, your piloting is the only thing that got us out of their tractor beam once it locked on. It was just bad luck that fighter clipped our engine *just* close in enough that we couldn't get escape velocity back..." "You don't understand -- we shouldn't have been close enough to the planet to get caught in the tractor beam in the first place." "But...the voice. I remember it...calling to me to come down. It seemed so...so right..." "You broke away, though, at the last minute -- but you shouldn't have *had* to, that's what I've been trying to tell you. I had the navigational system programmed to open a jump point and, as you or Mr. Garibaldi might say, get us the hell out of there if I didn't touch a certain button every two standard minutes." Susan was confused. "Commander, the critical moment occurred at least half a minute before the tractor beam locked onto us, while we were all in that...trance." "So...why didn't the autopilot kick in?" "Because *I* hit the button. I watched...I watched myself do it. I couldn't stop it. I've been telling myself that...that the ShadowMind, or whatever it was, somehow controlled me -- but is that really the truth? Could it not have been some dark impulse of my own, born of fear or....some other unworthy motive, that...." "Jesus, Lennier, of all the self-pitying, navel-watching..." "Ah, Minbari do not *have* navels." "Whatever. Whatever the hell that thing was, it reached into all of our minds -- I don't have ANY trouble believing that it was able to detect your failsafe and defuse it -- hell, it didn't have to really know anything about us," she went on, trying to convince herself, "it just had to be able to give us the feeling that it did -- triggering our own memories to fill in the blanks. A generic command to abort any plans for resistance, if it were planted deep enough in your subconscious, would have done the trick." "Do you really think so?" "Yes, Lennier, I really think so. Now keep an eye out, I'm going to go on back for a while. And Lennier?" "Yes, Commander?" "Keep your nose out of the navel you don't have, all right?" "But, Commander, how can I..." he smiled ruefully at her oddly sympathetic glare. "As you wish, Commander." She snorted and clambered back toward the shelter, shaking her head in irritation. Regardless of what really happened back on the White Star, or in the depths of Lennier's subconscious, what she needed now was the full cooperation of his *conscious* mind. Not to mention his strong back, she admitted as she checked over the packs being made up, laboriously, by a weapons tech with a broken arm. "Here, let me help with that," she said, and the young Minbari smiled at her gratefully. ****************** Babylon 5, Z + 19 days. "Yeah, yeah, they bought it, I told you they would," said the worried man to his Babcom unit. "But right now I'm more worried about Delenn and Ivanova -- not to mention that *telepath*." The screen showed only swirling patterns, and the sounds that issued from it were never made by a human throat. "What do you mean you don't know where they are? They went to *your* planet, you should be able to find them..." A shriek filled the room. The man hastily ordered the volume reduced. As if in sympathy, he lowered his own voice to a fierce whisper. "Believe me, these aren't just any three females! You told me yourselves that Ivanova and Delenn were the other two besides me who could take over for Sheridan, and now they're loose on your homeworld...yeah, yeah, sure, they must have crashed, but between Lennier's piloting and the White Stars' capabilities, I wouldn't bet anything I'd mind losing on all of them being dead. You get your ground forces out there and FIND them... "Shriek!!!" "Look, you wanted me working for you, and you got me. But if I'm gonna work for you it's gonna be *my* way, got that?" "SHRIIIEEEEEKKKKK!!" The man winced. "Okay! Okay! Lighten up already, geez. I'll take care of things here, you guys just concentrate on building your forces back up, and FIND THOSE WOMEN!!! And Lennier. And whoever else made it -- they're all Rangers, so they're all dangerous!" He signed off and erased the call log, rechecking the specialized scrambler circuits he'd installed as soon as he arrived. He spent some time pacing, picking up random objects and looking at them closely. A statuette, a hardcopy book, a small holo of his ex-fiancee...whatever it was he was looking for, he didn't find it. Finally he retrieved his jacket from the chair he'd flung it at and stalked out the door. He had things to do, places to go, people to see... Some time later, during the second-shift lunch break, he sauntered into a secluded chamber of the Medlab Four complex where only a few hours ago Dr. Franklin had pronounced him free of alien germs or other inimical conditions. The tests had been thorough -- including a rather painful check for scar tissue at the back of his neck, such as would have been left by a Shadow ship- interface implant. They had found nothing, of course. The two patients Franklin had told him about lay side by side, hooked up to monitors and nutrient lines, apparently comatose. The man had a streak of silver at one temple that Garibaldi didn't remember seeing before, and both of them looked like they'd been through hell, even in their pristine Medlab gowns. Garibaldi peered idly at the monitor readings. He knew enough to tell that they were stable, but deeply unconscious. However, if, for instance, one were to adjust the drip like so.... "Mr. Garibaldi." He turned, to see a young teenage girl watching him solemnly from the doorway. Her dark hair was pulled back in a single braid, and she wore modified Ranger's robes. He smiled. "Ms. Tikopai. I was just checking on Westcastle and Clifford, here. Dr. Franklin told me what happened. How they were found, floating in Minbar orbit in some kind of living -- well, once living -- ship and brought here. If there's anything I can do...." "I don't think so," the girl replied. "The doctor says all we can do now is wait for them to come back to us...them, as well as the others..." Normally, Julia Tikopai's ultra-serious attitude and precocious maturity made him want to jolly her into a spontaneous smile. This time, it occurred to him that slapping her silly might also be an option. Then again, she was getting pretty handy with that denn'bok -- another time, perhaps. "Well, if what I hear is true, and they really *did* go to Z'ha'dum, at least we know that old legend is a bunch of baloney -- you *can* come back from there." "No one who goes there comes back *unchanged*, Mr. Garibaldi," she said, with a frown. "That is how the legend runs." Garibaldi snorted. "Nobody comes back from *anywhere* unchanged, when you get right down to it," he pointed out. He left her on that cheery note and continued on his rounds. The young Observer looked after him for a long moment, then returned her attention to the oblivious Ranger couple before her. ******** To Be Continued ******** From: Jakhel@aol.com Subject: Infinite Regress !c: NexusPoint Pt. 3 of 10(?) Date: Sat, 27 Mar 1999 21:49:36 EST * INFINITE REGRESS 1C: NexusPoint -- Part 3 of 10 As usual, no avoidable body parts onstage, just a certain amount of sick and depraved insinuendo. See Disclaimers in Part 1. Please e-mail any feedback to me, Anne E. Clements, at Jakhel@aol.com. ******** Part 3 ********** Z'ha'Dum, Time Undeterminable The dead man made his way through rocky tunnels, where flickering sconces (burning what forgotten fuel?) provided a dim, wavering light, concealing as much as they revealed. The tunnels seemed to be volcanic in origin, with rough, sharp-edged outcroppings alternating with flat sheets of black glass that cast eerie reflections in the uncertain light. Determination alone kept him going -- a stubbornness that reached beyond life itself, if the one who followed was to be believed. He hesitated, facing a branching of the ways. Down one treacherous obsidian throat, the shifting shadows of a hidden sconce beckoned. The other loomed inky and fathomless. The tall alien, in his rich, yet somehow tired-looking robes, glided up behind him. "There are those who say there is only one path -- one Road -- and there are those who say there are many," the alien observed, continuing the desultory, for the most part one-sided conversation that he never seemed to tire of. "Much the same as those who say there are one God, and those who say there are many. I have never been able to come to a conclusion on the precise number of Roads, myself. Or Gods, for that matter. But I can definitely say that if you continue in the same direction, you *will* end up where you started from." Sheridan turned and glared at the being -- Lorien, he called himself. Yet again he wondered if he was dreaming all this -- an alien named after a forest, no less. What forgotten cul-de-sac of his subconscious could *that* one have crawled out of? The creature peered back with that quizzical, head- tilted peer, as if he, John Sheridan, were some odd insect caught on a pin. Half a dozen comments and questions flew through his mind -- but by now he knew responding to Lorien's cryptic comments (marginally less obscure than Kosh's, and that, he suspected, only because they were couched in less abbreviated syntax) would only provoke another of those philosophical discussions -- 'who are you?', 'where are you going?' -- well, right now, dammit, he was going THIS way. Sheridan lurched off down the darker passageway. Sighing deeply, the alien followed. Eventually, after running the dead man into a few walls, the tunnel brightened again. A few turns later, he came out into another chamber, this one with four openings. One was lit relatively brightly, one was pitch-black, and the other two showed only a dim glow. Sheridan hesitated again, and, once again, the alien took his hesitation as an opportunity to lecture. "There is a theory that with every decision, the universe itself branches, so that all things that could come to pass, in some way DO come to pass..." "Yes, I know -- parallel timelines, alternate futures," Sheridan responded irritably. "If my crew and I hadn't been able to send Babylon 4 back in time, the Shadows would have destroyed Babylon 5 -- my feeling has always been that worrying about what MIGHT have been saps a person's ability to handle what IS." "Ah, but what if 'what might have been' *becomes* 'what is'? Some models indicate that certain timelines, or groups of timelines, can reconverge -- so are there many Roads, or only One, in the end? Or, perhaps, both. Most organic sentient minds, and several of the others, are quite capable of operating on a basis of mutually exclusive truths. But in the here-and-now, it always comes down to a choice. Tick....tock...." With a grunt of disgust, Sheridan heaved himself off the wall and headed down one of the dimly-lit corridors. In due time, this one also debouched into a chamber -- this time, however, there were eight exits, with only one lit. "Well, *that's* a no-brainer," the Captain muttered, finished with finesse. He hardly got ten paces down the lit corridor, however, when the sconce ahead guttered and went out, plunging the tunnel into darkness. Sheridan stopped -- turned, expecting to see the glow of the chamber he had left. But beyond the figure of Lorien, which seemed not to glow, exactly, but to be somehow oblivious of the presence of light or shadow, there was nothing. "You cannot go back," the alien said sadly. "The hell I can't!" Sheridan shot back, and pushed past the tall humanoid. One step, two, three -- and a painful encounter with an obsidian wall. "What the..." He reached out to either side, felt nothing, and tentatively stepped right. More tunnel, more dark...the alien followed silently as Sheridan continued his blind progress. On and on he went, until it seemed that darkness was all he had ever known...desperately, he called up memories of light. His childhood home, the blinding expanse of the Hindu Kush, falling through the center of Babylon 5 with an angel rising to meet him....Delenn's eyes in candlelight. Far ahead, the reflection from a sconce glowed. He hurried toward it, the alien ever at his back. As he passed through a smooth section of corridor, he paused. Sheets of black volcanic glass lined the passageway like dark, distorted mirrors -- to either side stretched Sheridan after Sheridan, receding into infinity. Oddly, some looked older, more careworn...and some looked slightly fresher than he felt. And there was something about the uniforms...the hairs on the back of his neck prickled as Lorien's words came back to him. How many of him WERE there down here? And where were they all going? Something suddenly struck him as *wrong* with the reflections -- he whirled, looking for the alien, and the light now behind him winked out. Lorien blinked solemnly in the darkness. "Tick.....or tock?" he asked. Sheridan turned back -- the reflections were gone, vanished into shadow. He stumbled ahead and when he got to the bend in the corridor, the light flickered on again. He rounded the corner, passed through one relatively well-lit chamber into another, and there on the floor... "This is the fire I set when I woke up down here! I've come full circle..." "Don't we all," the alien agreed. **************** Z'ha'dum, Z + 15 Days Lennier's foot slipped on a loose piece of scree, and if it were not for a strong arm that appeared seemingly out of nowhere to brace him, he might well have cracked his breather on the rough rock face. Although the air of Z'ha'dum possessed a fair percentage of free oxygen, it also contained a goodly dollop of carbon monoxide, that over time would be deadly to Humans and Minbari alike. "My thanks," he said to his rescuer when both had reached the top of the ridge. The Ranger, a Minbari somewhat younger, and much taller and heftier than the slight Lennier, bowed gracefully. "You are the Entil'zha's aide, are you not?" the young man ventured, and before long the two had struck up a conversation as they picked their way across the inhospitable landscape. Anla'shok Bediver was Worker Caste, of a small clan -- barely six nines all told -- based in a single compound in Yedor. Unlike many Worker clans, his family did not specialize in a single field of endeavour, but actually encouraged its members to branch out. They included artisans and gardeners, software engineers and construction workers. Bediver's nearest line-sister Sherann worked as a translator with the Trade Council, assisting businesspeople from alien worlds in dealing with the Minbari guilds. All this made quite a contrast with Lennier's populous and far-flung Fane, with its many nines of Temple holdings spread across the homeworld and beyond. Lennier himself had not seen his own line-kin since he was a small boy, having been transferred to a monastery across the continent after a groundquake had tragically killed many of the children there. What must it be like, Lennier wondered, to grow up alongside the same few people in the same small compound, knowing that whatever life might bring, they would be there for you -- and you for them? Bediver had apparently taken that mindset into the Anla'shok, as he spoke movingly of his comrades, several of whom had been killed in the crash. Lennier suspected that in talking to him, the young Worker was instinctively reaching out to a sympathetic soul, confidently expecting to be supported in his grief. Lennier knew that he had no such instincts, and no such expectations -- although he was certainly willing to be supportive. He had cultivated, quite consciously, an affable and approachable demeanor, and his irrepressible curiosity and thoughtful consideration of others made for easy superficial interactions. Below that open surface, though, Lennier was a person of deep reserve, thinking his own thoughts, relying on his own resources and prone to turning inward -- too much so, some had said. It was as though he had walked through his life in a tunnel of glass, never really connecting with another, until.... "Lennier?" He looked up, and there she was. Her dark Human hair hanging limp in the alien air, clad in ill-fitting, borrowed trousers and jerkin, she could never be other than beautiful to him. "Commander Ivanova says that we are running low on water," the Entil'zha began. "She has asked Miss Alexander to try to find some -- perhaps she will be able to sense small creatures, who might live near waterholes. But she should not go alone..." "I understand," Lennier replied. "I shall accompany her." "Wait, Lennier -- " Bediver said, then stopped and bowed to Delenn. "With respect, Entil'zha, if three of us go, we can watch each others' backs, and also, carry more water," he pointed out. "That is true....I am sorry, I have forgotten your name..." "Bediver, Entil'zha, propulsion technician, second level." Delenn flashed that smile, only slightly dimmed by the breather. "Go, then, Anla'Shok Bediver, but be sure not to get lost -- when we find a ship to take us from this place, we will need someone to make sure it flies for us!" They bowed to her, and left to join Lyta by the supply gravcots. ****************** Babylon 5, Z + 19 days. Garibaldi's link beeped. "Hey, Chief, sorry to bother you, but..." Zack's voice trailed off -- more than the reluctance to be expected from a call at 23:00 after his Chief had just returned from two weeks in Limbo. "Our old buddy Bester's here, and he wants to talk to you." "Good. I'll be right down," came the immediate reply. "Goo...?!?" Garibaldi hit the 'off' button and swung out of bed. He hadn't been asleep anyway -- to much to think about, too many details to keep track of....at least THIS interview should go well. He grinned mirthlessly, thinking about his associates' plans for Bester's precious Psi Corps -- before long, that little rat would be WAY too busy to interfere with his own agenda. But for now, they were *officially* allies.... Bester was waiting for him in one of the interrogation rooms in the Security complex. "Ah, Mr. Garibaldi. I hope I didn't disturb your...beauty sleep. I understand you've had an interesting couple of weeks." "Interesting enough," Garibaldi acknowledged, swinging a chair around and perching on it backwards. "I'd heard someone from Psi Corps was coming out, and I was *so* hoping it would be you." Bester flicked a glance at the camera in the upper corner of the room. "Oh, don't worry about the Securecams -- I've disabled this one for our little...chat." "I must confess I was surprised at the assignment," the dapper, deadly little Psi Cop admitted, "but there was also a certain amount of...personal curiosity involved. I tried to get you away from them, you know, but they refused to let you go -- even after their plans were so...rudely interrupted." "Oh yeah? And what would *you* have done with me?" "'Adjusted' you myself, of course, for my own purposes." Bester replied easily. Garibaldi snorted, running a hand across his newly-shaven head. "Yeah, well, no offense, but I'm just as glad you didn't get the chance. I don't like the idea of your telepaths messing around in my head..." "And would it really have been so much worse than what did happen?" Bester inquired, looking truly curious. The Security Chief glared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?" Garibaldi almost snarled, leaning forward over the back of the chair. "They didn't 'tamper' with me, they just showed me the TRUTH. That's all I've ever wanted, Mr. Bester -- to know what's going on. What's REALLY...going...on. And now I know." The big man shoved himself backward, rising to pace around the small room. "Not only that," he went on, " but I'M going to be a part of it -- a BIG part. And if you work with me, and play your cards right, YOU could be a big part of it, too." Bester sat back, folding his right hand over the useless left. "Well, Mr. Garibaldi, from what my superiors have told me, we *are* on the same side. For now." "So we are. And as it happens, I've got a job for you. Our associates want you to take your Black Omega squadron out to rendezvous with some of their our allies, start hitting outlying areas and give the League worlds an excuse *not* to send reinforcements to join the fleet I'm supposed to be building." Bester had looked startled at Garibaldi's mention of his pet project. "They told you about my Black Omegas?" Garibaldi laughed, propping a foot on his chair. "They didn't have to -- I knew about them for months before my little 'vacation'." He didn't see any overwhelming reason to mention that all he had known was vague, unfounded rumor. "Oh, by the way," he went on, "I've also been instructed to send the teepsicles along to their original destination." He looked narrowly at Bester. "You wouldn't have any problem with that, would you?" The older man's fathomless brown eyes met the younger man's cold grey ones for a long moment. "No," he said finally, "No...problem." "Good." Garibaldi heaved himself off the chair and started pacing again. "Glad to hear it. This certainly isn't the time to let personal feelings stand in the way of the mission, now is it? Besides, once things settle down, I'm sure you'll have no trouble finding a new girlfriend." He yawned widely. "Well, I guess I *am* a little tired, after all." The Psi Cop looked at him, hard. "Oh, don't even bother with that," the mundane said lightly. "It kinda buzzes in my head, but you won't learn anything." he looked over and smiled smugly at Bester's ill-concealed chagrin. "It's just a new thing some of our allies dreamed up -- based on the nanites that the Shadows use for direct communication with other life-forms. It gives them a sort of artificial telepathy, without the...inconvenient side-effects of the organic version. The ones I've got are the first they've tailored for humans, and they're still experimental -- they don't let me 'talk to' anyone, unfortunately, but they do protect me quite effectively from Vorlon-bred telepaths." Now the Psi Cop DID look startled. "*Vorlon-bred*?" he asked wonderingly. "Ah, come on, you didn't think telepathy was *natural* to humans, did you?" Garibaldi laughed again. "You guys are tools -- created by the Vorlons to fight our...associates. Sorry to burst your bubble, my friend," he went on, not sounding sorry at all, "but all your daydreams about 'homo superior' are just that -- daydreams. The higher-ups at Psi Corps were clued in a long time ago -- that's one of the reasons they've been working with us." Bester looked like he had eaten something a Pak'ma'ra had discarded for lunch and was only now realizing it. "Don't let it get you down, though," Garibaldi continued helpfully, " -- just stick with the program and it'll all work out." He yawned again, stretching widely for effect. He shook his head and made for the door. "Well, Alfie," he said by way of farewell, "if I don't see you again before you leave, have a nice trip." The door whined open to let the Security Chief out. "See you....next fall," Bester said slowly, considering. ********** TO BE CONTINUED ***********