From: Jakhel@aol.com Subject: Infinite Regress 1c: NexusPoint Pt. 4 of 10(?) Date: Tue, 20 Apr 1999 00:03:26 EDT * INFINITE REGRESS 1C: NexusPoint -- Part 4 of 10 As usual, no avoidable body parts onstage, just a certain amount of sick and depraved insinuendo. See Disclaimers in Part 1. The Story So Far is archived at http://members.aol.com/irwebsite. Please e-mail any feedback to me, Anne E. Clements, at Jakhel@aol.com. ******** Part 4 ********** Z'ha'dum, Z + 15 days. Lyta, Lennier, and Bediver spent several hours ranging about half a kilometer to the east of the main party, closer to the ridge of obsidian teeth that guided their progress across the dusty lowlands. Periodically they would come across a ravine that looked as though it had once carried water, but it always ended in dry gravel, with perhaps a few desiccated remains for variety. They kept in touch with the main party via short and infrequent link transmissions -- garbled as the signals were by the interference of the dust-choked atmosphere, they dared not risk them being intercepted by Shadow patrols. Near midafternoon, Lyta called a halt. "We must keep moving," Lennier protested. "If we fall behind the main party, they'll have to backtrack or wait for us..." "I know, I know, it's just that I can't concentrate while I'm trying to scramble over this...*stuff*. Just let me get my breath back, and I'll try to scan the area." Reluctantly, Lennier settled on a nearby rock, while Bediver prowled restlessly around the neighborhood. Nothing but rocks, rocks, and more rocks. Lennier checked in briefly with Ivanova -- they were taking a break, too. Suddenly, the redheaded telepath looked up. "I think...." "Something?" asked Bediver eagerly. "Maybe -- over that way." She pointed farther east, towards the foothills. Hardly daring to hope, they made their way over several ridges and down into yet another ravine. With increasing confidence, the slender Human led the two Minbari along the gravel-strewn cut, only to halt at the edge of a crevasse that cut, obliquely and obliviously, across the ravine. It was perhaps ten meters deep, and about three wide -- too far to jump. The walls were nearly perpendicular, but offered plentiful hand and footholds. Down at the very bottom, where Lennier's handlight barely reached, dark patches indicated....what, cave mouths? tunnels? Of more immediate interest was the silvery thread of a tiny stream, trickling across the narrow floor of this abrupt slash in the nearly-dead planet's skin. Lyta started to climb down. "Wait!" Lennier cried out. "I know what I'm...." with that, her foothold crumbled. She flailed for a moment, then went sliding down into the crack. She landed on her feet, and stood for a moment, just hugging the rock. "Are you all right?" Lennier asked anxiously. "I...I think so." She stepped backward -- right into the stream. "Well, there's definitely water down here," she said with a shaky laugh. "And....wait a second...these aren't just caves, they're...." the sound of a heavy body accompanied by a shower of gravel cut her off, as Lennier managed a more-or-less controlled slide to join her. "Lennier!" called Bediver. "What are you doing?" "We need to either carry the water out, or guard it until the others can get here. Either way, it will be easier for me to help Ms. Alexander from down here. Bediver, can you raise the Commander?" Bediver tapped his link. "No, there's too much interference -- I think we're out of range." "You'll have to go back, then. We'll explore down here..." Just then a low moaning shriek cut the air. Lennier and Lyta looked around, but it was coming from above -- they saw Bediver look up with a startled expression, then with an adept flip he swung down and slid, joining them at the bottom. "Quick, into the caves!" he cried. The three ducked into the nearest opening, flattening themselves against the wall as a spiky shadow hovered over the crevasse. It swung several times around the area, then moved off slowly -- in the direction of the main party. They looked at each other, stomachs sinking in fear. Suddenly, Lyta closed her eyes and sank into a crouch, folding her arms over her head. "Lyta! What are you doing? Are you all right?" Lennier crouched down beside her. "Hush!" she retorted. "According to everything I've been taught I should need line-of-sight for this, but it's the only chance they've got..." Her head came up again, but her marble-black eyes weren't seeing the opposite wall, at all.... Almost a kilometer away, Susan Ivanova looked up from the trail. Someone had called her name -- "Mother?" she whispered incredulously. Then, spurred by some impulse she didn't understand, she looked to the east...there was a small speck moving deliberately toward them, as if looking for something on the ground... "Everybody down!" she yelled, turning back to help with the nearest gravcot. Just as they got everything under cover, a Shadow fighter swept over, cutting the air with a muted shriek. It moved off beyond them, then swung back in a quartering pattern -- long minutes passed until it finally disappeared from view off to the north. Back at the crevasse, Bediver asked Lyta if she'd managed to make contact. The Human nodded absently, still concentrating on keeping the link. She had touched Ivanova's mind once before, when they had uncovered Talia Winter's submerged personality. At that time she had discovered Ivanova's secret -- that she was a latent telepath, albeit a very weak one. Out of some sense of loyalty and respect for the feisty Commander, she had kept that secret to herself, not even mentioning it to Ivanova herself. However, if ever there was a time that circumstance outweighed sensitivity to another person's feelings, this was it. Now that she was in Susan's mind, she took a moment to admire the clean symmetry of the Russian woman's thoughts. Everything was neat and orderly, presenting itself as a precise arrancements of unadorned cubicles, each containing a memory or a thought process -- but through the whole arrangement ran a twisting, colorful strand of reckless whimsy. Suddenly, a glyph of Susan herself -- an avatar, to use the vr term adopted by the telepaths to refer to a telepathic "shorthand" representation of a person -- appeared. the virtual Commander mentally snapped, peering shortsightedly at Lyta, as though through fog -- or a glaring light. The avatar itself was quite detailed, Lyta noticed -- a good sign, as it indicated strength and discipline on the part of the sender, as well as imagination and interpolational skills on the part of the receiver. the redhead remarked with exasperation. Susan asked suspiciously. The slight, indistinct figure before her seemed to shrug. Susan reflected....literally, as the bright fog that had crept up around Lyta while the two women were conversing (and coming more into mental phase) turned metallic, showing Ivanova after Ivanova contemplating possibilities. Suddenly, her image seemed to leap into focus. she stopped short of accusing the telepath of meddling, since it *had* saved their party. Lyta suggested. Lyta pointed off into the fog, and guided Susan's mind to follow, meshing her sensory centers with those of the weaker telepath. As a P5 she couldn't have done this -- wouldn't have had the power or the finesse. Even a P12 would have had trouble learning to do it safely, and Lyta herself was feeling her way through it. Once Susan's neural pathways were set, though -- once she learned how to do this -- she'd be able to do it with anybody she had a strong enough link to. Lyta opened her eyes. Lennier and Bediver were watching her anxiously. "They're all right," she reassured them. "They managed to get under cover in time. I'm...telling them where we are. Right now this is the safest place around, and those tunnels may just lead somewhere." "They do seem to be heading in the right direction..." Lennier mused. Lyta nodded tiredly and slumped back against the wall, returning to her internal discussion. commented the Commander. Susan asked warily. Lyta replied pointedly, Susan opened her virtual mouth, closed it, and smiled ruefully. It occured to her that if there was one thing she WAS good at, it was keeping her *emotional* blocks up around telepaths, particularly female ones that she already liked. Because when those blocks came down....but enough of that. This was a completely different situation -- and NOT a situation that allowed for any extraneous....dilly-dallying. Lyta commented. Susan took an indignant virtual breath -- then stopped, and started to laugh instead, suddenly realizing the absurdity of the whole situation and feeling more lighthearted than she had in days -- months, for that matter. Just as she was about to reply, though, she found herself crashing back into the outside world -- someone was shaking her. "Commander! Are you all right?" It was Delenn, looking worried. Susan could feel Lyta 'eavesdropping' on them as she assured the Minbari woman that she was fine. The others were wondering whether they should join Lyta and Lennier, have them bring water back and continue on their present heading, or sit tight in case more Shadow patrols came by. "We'll join the others," Susan decided. "Apparently there are some tunnels heading in the right direction -- right now I'd just as soon be out of view of things flying overhead. Hopefully it will be a while before they come back this way -- let's move while we can." The rest of the party gathered their burdens together and they headed eastward, toward the hills. Susan hardly noticed when she lost the thread of Lyta's presence -- when she did realize that it was gone, she felt oddly bereft. This was definitely going to take some getting used to, she decided. Far to the southeast, a harsh-featured, rawboned blonde woman in Psi Corps blacks was disembarking from a private shuttle at a busy secondary base. A small, 'D'-shaped scar on her left cheek was caught by the fitful light as she looked up, her attention caught by something...something almost *Vorlon*-flavored far on the telepathic horizon...no, it was gone. ******* Babylon 5, Z + 21 days Security Chief Michael Garibaldi settled in at his desk to place a call. He was still wearing civvies -- his original Army of Light uniform had been destroyed by the Shadows, and he was oddly reluctant to order another. The damn thing had *itched*, and as long as Delenn and Lennier weren't around to get their feelings hurt, he didn't see any reason to bother. Things were going well. The mixed signals he was sending the alien ambassadors -- ostensibly trying to pull them together while causing as much unrest and resentment as possible behind the scenes -- were resulting in a growing sense of confusion and hopelessness all around. The frozen telepaths, originally seized from the Shadows and held in cryogenic suspension until Dr. Franklin could figure out how to remove their cybernetic implants, had been sent off with some servants of his associates. Z'shailyl, they called themselves, and weird creatures they were, too, with their wedge-shaped heads, pupilless red eyes, and a peculiar talent for manipulating electronics and metal objects mentally, at a distance. Since the Z'shailyl were unknown to the rest of the allied races, Garibaldi had been able to pass them off as allies of the Ralga, assuring Franklin that the teepsicles would be well taken care of and returned to their homes and families as soon as possible. Yeah, right. Finally, his associates had sent a package with the Z'shailyl captain, with very specific instructions for its delivery. Pursuant to those instructions, he had just navigated a virtual mine-field of privacy screens, live and automated receptionists, and security layers to reach the private residence of a powerful, though unwitting ally. A dark-haired, delicate-featured woman appeared on the screen, and Garibaldi's carefully calculated pose of nonchalance froze into stone. The woman's eyes widened. "Michael?!?" "Lise..." it came out a whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again. "So, you workin' for Edgars now?" "Not...exactly," came the hesitant reply. Her chin came up. "He's my husband." "But...I thought..." She nodded. "I know. It's...a long story. But why did you call, Michael? What business does Babylon 5 have with Edgars Industries? And how did you get through the privacy screens?" Garibaldi shook his head quickly. "This isn't station business. It's...a sort of sideline I've picked up." He flashed a shaky grin. "It's a long story. So, anyway, is Edgars around?" "No, he's...away on business for a few days. Can I..." she grimaced ruefully, "can I take a message?" He smiled back. "Yeah, sure. Just tell him I called -- tell him it's the call he's been waiting for, and I've got something for him." "All right, I will." She hesitated, then went on, trying out her own smile. "That's just like you, Michael, everything always has to be SO mysterious." "Yeah, well, you know me," he said, finally getting the nonchalance back online. He leaned back in his chair and took a pack of dark, slim cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. He shook one out. "So, while I've got you on the comm, how've you been?" "Wonderful, since I met Bill." She beamed. "What happened to, uh..." "Franz?" her expression froze. "I found out he was having an affaire -- and you know how I feel about that..." He nodded -- one of the things that had kept them together during his...less responsible phases had been the fact that she'd never had to worry about him on *that* score -- as much due to lack of imagination as anything else, he suddenly realized. "I suppose it was inevitable, under the circumstances. When we met, we were both on the rebound -- " she flicked a glance at Garibaldi " -- but then when I was pregnant, he ran into *her* again, and..." "While you were *pregnant*? Now THAT'S low," Michael observed sympathetically. "*I* thought so. At any rate, things got ugly, and the divorce was...very bad." Remebering her spitfire temper, Garibaldi had no trouble believing THAT. The year he had spent with her had been a roller-coaster, as her carefully cultivated nurturing instincts clashed with her absolute inability -- or refusal? -- to look beyond her own interests. He had loved her for her beauty, her vulnerability, and for the way she gently revealed and seemed to soothe *his* fears and weaknesses -- not only erotically, which had been an INCREDIBLE turn-on for the straight-up kinda guy he had been, but also in daily life. There had been a price, though, and listening to her talk about Edgars -- how kind he was, how thoughtful, how safe and cherished he made her feel -- it all came back to him, mercilessly illuminated in 20/20 hindsight. And yet...in spite of everything that had happened, despite all he had learned, the magic was still there. Maybe it was just that she had her hooks in him too deep to dislodge, or maybe there was something to that Minbari nonsense about souls traveling together, but as he watched her, listened to her soft, precise voice, he knew he still wanted her. More than anything else in the Universe -- almost. "Look, Lise, I know you've had it rough," which was as close as he cared to come to mentioning...certain things in her past that made her prize security above all else, "and I'm glad you've found someone you can be...content with. But listen --" and he went on to describe the glorious possibilities his new associates had opened up for him. "Michael!" she broke in, aghast. "I can't believe I'm hearing this. You broke away from Earth -- as a Mars native, I have no real problem with that one. But what you're talking about -- betraying your own *species*..." "I'm not BETRAYING them, I'm HELPING them, they just don't see it yet..." "They? Them?" she asked pointedly. "US," he corrected. "And it can BE 'us' again, Lise -- forget Edgars, he'll be fine. He can buy anything -- and anybody -- he wants. You should be with me, Lise -- you're MINE, you always have been. You know that!" In his eagerness, he was practically leaning into the screen. She drew back from her own monitor, looking like a woman whose most cherished dream had suddenly turned into a nightmare. "Michael, What are you talking about? I'm not a...a thing, to be owned by Bill, or by you! And I can't just...walk out on my *husband*!" "Why not? I can protect you as well as he can -- better, once things settle down here. And if he won't let you go....well, *that* can be taken care of, as well. You won't regret it, believe me," he assured her. Her look of stunned horror grew. "You're NOT the man I knew!" she cried. Suddenly, the mix of passions twisting inside him boiled over. How DARE she criticize him? "Yeah, well, we've all changed, haven't we?" he snapped. "Tell me, how does it feel to be a trophy wife? Do you get to lord it over all those models in the fashion vids? Shop at the best stores and netsites?" Lise moved suddenly to cut the connection. "Oh, and one more thing," he tossed in for good measure -- "when you're doing it with him, do you think of me?" She snapped the console off. Garibaldi sat back, laughing softly. Scoring the final point had purged his confusion, left him more sure than ever of what he wanted. Ah, he hadn't been wrong about her, after all. He knew he'd get her back, in due time. That guy Edgars had to be about a million years old -- in his seventies, at least. He pushed aside (yet again) the thought that he himself would turn forty in little over a month. In the meantime, it was past time for him to quit "saving himself" -- between Lise and that ice-bitch Talia, he'd been jerked around more than enough for one lifetime. He thought about asking Bester if the snow-queen was really dead (her lovely parts all separated out into tidy little heaps) or if he'd just said that for effect. No matter. Even this fishbowl of a station was hardly lacking in fish, and soon he'd be able to take his pick. In fact, once his...associates captured the ladies from the White Star -- assuming they were still alive -- he'd have himself the start of a nice little harem. Delenn, all broken up and weepy over losing her precious John -- he'd show her what a Human man was REALLY like. And that delicious little bit Lyta -- they'd see what good her "telepathic powers" did her when she was manacled, spread-eagled, to his bed...a cold mental fist hit him in the gut. Even in his current state of mind, the thought of Ivanova's flat glare gave him pause. He knew how to warm her up, though, he decided confidently. It's just that he'd never bothered before -- all that nonsense about "friendship" and "professional courtesy" -- what HAD he been thinking? Especially since he happened to know that that particular filly was 'way overdue for a good hard ride...speaking of horses, once she was properly gentled she'd make an excellent brood mare. With her fire and his strength, he'd have himself a dynasty to be reckoned with in no time. Meanwhile, though -- he returned to his console, bringing up the files on DownBelow...yeah, THOSE two would do nicely. -- To Be Continued --