From: Jakhel@aol.com
Subject: INFINITE REGRESS 1C:  NexusPoint -- Part 6 of 11(?)
Date: Fri, 17 Sep 1999 22:54:21 EDT

See Disclaimers in Part 1.

Please e-mail any feedback to me, Anne E. Clements, at Jakhel@aol.com.

These next two parts got the bit in their teeth -- they were supposed to be 
*one* part, and I STILL didn't get as far as I thought I would...

Ah, well, it's whatchacallyer learning experience, I suppose!

********  Part 6 **********
Babylon 5, Z + 22 days.

Michael Garibaldi leaned back in his chair, leafing through the reports on 
the alien ambassadors and ship commanders.  There were some people who could 
work entirely off of screen displays, but he preferred the convenience and 
perspective of hardcopy -- and with modern recycled flimsy, neither ecology 
nor security were prohibitive issues.

He was dressed, this morning, in an elegantly tailored synthasilk suit of 
charcoal and black.  It was still technically civilian clothing, but it was 
beginning to feel almost like a uniform -- another thing he would have 
resented a few weeks ago.  Now it made him feel strong.  Stronger, that is.  
He especially liked the way the high-collared black shirt set off his shaved 
head -- the effect was almost thuglike, but with a sinister edge of cold hard 
intelligence.  He liked that.  

The reports, on the other hand, he did *not* like.  Despite his efforts and 
those of his associates, the seed of cooperation sown by Sheridan and Delenn 
had taken root with an unexpected stubbornness.  The ambassadors, even those 
most vocal in their dissatisfaction with the station's plans and policies, 
had developed a disturbing habit of consulting with each other -- although 
those consultations did not always generate consensus!  Not only that, but 
the degree of cooperation among the fighting personnel, from the ship 
commanders on down, was positively alarming.  The only real bright spot was a 
report of a clash between a group of Narn security guards and the crew of a 
Centauri warship over at the Dark Star.  If *those* two races ever got 
chummy, his side would *know* they were in trouble.

Somehow, he would have to find a pretext, some way to set them all at each 
others' throats -- and soon.  He sighed and reached for a cigarette.  He 
wished Paul were here -- this kind of thing was right up the former 
anti-terrorist leader's alley.  His memories of getting to know Paul Molyneux 
were oddly vague, but then that first week was all pretty much a blur, and he 
was disinclined to worry about it.  Orientation, acclimatization, whatever 
you wanted to call it, it was past, and not worth considering.

The second week he remembered quite clearly, from the moment the 
Shadow-creature had touched his mind and showed him the Truth.  Everything he 
knew, everything he believed had suddenly fallen into place, as though a 
giant jigsaw puzzle had been shaken, and fallen perfectly and precisely into 
a completely different, and infinitely more exciting, pattern.  All the dark 
thoughts, the feral cries his heart cried out in the middle of the night -- 
all  were acknowledged and answered, and his will unleashed to pursue the 
Plan his masters had revealed.  The Plan that was so true, and right, and 
inevitable...

The door opened and Zack walked in, frowning.

"Chief, you'd better take a look at this,"  he said, flinging a sheaf of 
flimsies with attached datacrystal onto the desk in front of Garibaldi.

Garibaldi put down his reports and picked up the packet, scanning the cover 
sheet quickly as he ported the crystal.  The monitor woke to pictures of the 
crime scene -- a storage compartment with no Securecam access.  Garibaldi 
frowned, too, as he scrolled through the stills.  The blonde had been killed 
quickly, but the brunette...

"That *is* a neat bit of work," he observed, tilting his head to peer at a 
closeup. Zack looked at him, then cleared his throat.  

"Yeah, well, the lab's working on the DNA traces now," he said, "but we've 
got no witnesses, and nobody remembers seeing the girls with anyone in 
particular.  I was thinking of putting Hsu on it, if that's okay with you."

The Chief thought for a moment, then shook his head briskly. "No, I'll handle 
this one myself.  It'll be a break from all this political crap."

Zack started to protest, but thought better of it.  He nodded and started 
back out -- it was midshift and he had guards reporting in.

"Oh, and Zack, I'm going to be in a meeting with the Rangers at eleven 
hundred.  After that I want to go over the nightshift rotations again."

"Not a problem," the Sergeant said tersely.  He stopped before he got to the 
door, and turned back.

"Hey, Chief?" he asked tentatively.  "Are you...okay?  I mean, you know, if 
there's anything you want to talk about..."

Garibaldi looked around.  He caught himself chewing on the inside of his 
lower lip and quit it.  "Not a thing, Sergeant," he said.  "Carry on."

Zack blinked, then nodded. "Yes *sir*," he said, too crisply, and left.

Garibaldi looked after his second for a moment.  Zack had been a good friend, 
and was still a good man,  but he'd learned the hard way not to trust 
*anyone* at his back.  Besides, the way things were going now he couldn't 
afford to let anyone get too close.  He had to start consolidating his 
position as leader, and that inevitably required a certain amount of distance 
from his subordinates.  He turned back to the monitor.  Definitely a neat 
piece of work, if he said so himself.  And now for the finishing touch...

"Garibaldi to Forensics.  How's the analysis for that double murder going?"

"We just got the samples in the sequencer.  It'll be a couple of hours before 
the data's available for matching, though."

"Keep me posted.  Garibaldi out."

*****
11:00 EST, Z + 22 days.

The meeting with the Rangers took place in their new complex on the inner 
surface of the station's main section, in a former cornfield between a small 
lake and one of the support "stalks" for the main Axis.  Resource Management 
had yelped about losing the cornfield, to which Captain Sheridan had 
responded by suggesting that they re-allocate a couple of parking lots, at 
that time used for mostly incapacitated ground vehicles.  This had of course 
meant that said vehicles had to be moved, repaired and moved, or cannibalized 
and scrapped, which had provoked more yelps.  With these, the Captain had had 
rather less patience.

The complex was only about half completed when the war heated up, and in the 
present lull nobody could muster up the motivation (or the funds) to start 
work on it again.  The distinctive crystalline towers of Minbari architecture 
had gone up quickly enough, but the interior finishing was sketchy at best.

Garibaldi entered Shival's "temporary" office through what would eventually 
be the gym, which opened -- directly, through unglazed windows -- onto the 
remains of the cornfield.  Three of the four other participants were there 
already; Marcus was late, as usual.

Anla'Shok Sha'vei Shival, coordinator of the Rangers based on Babylon 5, was 
a compact Minbari  of about Garibaldi's chronological age.  Born Warrior 
Caste to the same clan that had produced Lenonn, the Ranger leader who had 
been killed under mysterious circumstances during the Earth-Minbari war, 
Shival had followed Lenonn's successor Turval for many years.  He had stood 
with the other loyal Rangers when Jeffrey Sinclair had taken the post of 
Ranger One and opened up the Anla'Shok to those of other castes and races.  A 
proven warrior and shrewd judge of people, Shival had been assigned as backup 
to Sha'vei Westcastle when the latter had been sent to Babylon 5 almost a 
year ago.

Anla'Shok Tharvonn, a generation older (still in his late prime, by Minbari 
standards), had been a respected teacher of history at the Religious Caste 
equivalent of a University in Tuzanor.  When the Rangers had been opened to 
other castes, Satai Rathenn himself had invited Tharvonn to join the ancient, 
revitalized organization.  Rising to the challenge, Tharvonn had been 
assigned to oversee the ongoing training of the B5-based Rangers, and 
provided a mentor figure for many of them.

The White Star commander Tashann, by contrast, was the Minbari counterpart of 
kind of brash young hotshot that Garibaldi had encountered all too often in 
Earthforce.  One of the best of the younger Rangers, he took perhaps a bit 
too much pride in his "progressive" attitude, and in his close friendship 
with that other annoying hotshot, Westcastle. 

William Westcastle.  Garibaldi frowned, thinking of the man lying unconscious 
in Medlab.  He had always been suspicious of Westcastle, even when they were 
on the same side.  Sheridan's instant best buddy, Sinclair's protege -- there 
was something about the guy that had never quite rung true for him.  Now, 
given what his associates had told him, he realized that the Ranger leader 
known as the Rimstalker was as strong a threat to him as Ivanova or Delenn 
would have been.  He would have to take Westcastle out -- preferably before 
he and his fiancee woke up from their mysterious coma -- but he'd have to be 
careful about it.

The woman, Jennifer Clifford, would have to go, too -- she was a looker, but 
far too dangerous to play with.  Somehow it always seemed as though she was 
looking *through* him -- not telepathically, but on some even deeper level.  
The Brat had that talent, too, come to think of it.  Fortunately for his 
peace of mind this morning, Westcastle and Clifford were both still out, and 
the Brat, precocious as she might be, was most definitely *not* invited to 
this meeting.

Marcus hurried in at last, with a whispered word to Shival.  Garibaldi almost 
called him on it, but held his tongue -- as liaison between the Rangers and 
Babylon 5's command staff, Marcus normally reported directly to the 
Entil'zha.  In her absence, his first loyalty was technically to the 
Anla'Shok High Council, not to Babylon 5.  Still, they were allies, and it 
would be only courteous of the Ranger to share his information with 
Garibaldi...this might not be the time to push it, though.  

Marcus sat down and Shival brought the meeting to order.  Reports were still 
coming in from the various White Star patrols that had been sent out in the 
aftermath of the Incident at Z'ha'dum.  Those reports ranged from 
insubstantial through ambiguous to downright mystifying -- throughout known 
space, the Shadow ships and their allies had for the most part vanished, 
pulling back to hidden bases along hyperspace routes that beacon-bound ships 
could not hope to locate unaided.  There were exceptions -- rumours of a 
massive Shadow presence on Centauri Prime had been confirmed by local 
contacts there -- but for the most part it seemed as though the entire galaxy 
was holding its collective breath, waiting.

"White Star Forty-two reports no activity at Lesser Krindar..." Shival was 
saying, several pages deep in his stack of hardcopy notes, when Garibaldi's 
patience came to an end.

"Look, are we gonna spend the whole day talking about where the Shadows 
*aren't* hiding?  I've got half a dozen leads right here we can look at..." 
he pulled out a datacrystal and moved to port it in the table's slot, but 
Shival's look stopped him.  "What, don't you *want* to know what's going on?" 
the Human challenged.

"We will discuss your 'leads' in due time, Mr. Garibaldi," the Sha'vei said 
quellingly.  "Our people have pushed themselves to the limit to provide these 
reports, and we will do them the courtesy of reviewing them."  Across the 
table, Anla'Shok Tashann raised a thoughtful hand to hide his mouth, but a 
smirk showed in his eyes.

"Individually they may seem inconclusive," Shival continued,  "but a pattern 
may emerge when all are considered together."  He looked back at his notes.  
"White Star Sixty-seven caught the emissions trail of several ships heading 
away from Photikar two days ago, but were unable to identify them.  The Vree 
claim that none of their ships were in the vicinity at that time, and the 
other League governments contacted also disavow knowledge of any ships in the 
area."  Garibaldi shifted in his seat -- Marcus cut him a look, and he 
subsided.  For the moment.

At last the Sha'vei came to the end of his reports.

"So, Sha'vei, what kind of pattern do you draw from all this?" Garibaldi 
asked innocently.  

Shival sighed.  "The results are...inconclusive.  It looks as though the 
Shadows and their allies have withdrawn for the moment, but where they will 
reappear, or when..."

"Well, as I was about to say earlier,"  Garibaldi said pointedly,  "my 
contacts *have* been able to come up with some leads."    He brought up his 
file on the tabletop holodisplay.  It showed a standard simplified diagram of 
known space, with several systems outlined in red.  All were a good distance 
away from the nearest world held by the major powers or the League of 
Non-Aligned Worlds, and all were several days' travel from Babylon 5.

"These systems have been identified as Shadow backup bases," He explained.  
"If we send expeditionary forces to hit them all simultaneously..."

"Excuse me," cut in Tharvonn.  "How do we know this information is sound?  
And where, exactly, are these forces to come from?  There are less than forty 
triads of White Stars fully operational since the battle in Sector 83, and 
most of our allies -- even our own people -- have pulled their warships back 
to their own territories.  This is certainly not the time to go chasing 
ice-devils over the glaciers!"

"Especially not on the word of one man," Tashann added pointedly.  "With the 
Captain and the Entil'zha both gone, and Sha'vei Westcastle...unavailable, 
the High Council on Minbar holds authority over the Anla'Shok -- what has 
been heard from them?"

Garibaldi started to speak, but another look from Marcus stopped him once 
more.

"Sha'vei Vikotal is on his way here now, to take command," replied Shival.  
"I am sure that he will continue to work closely with the Babylon 5 command 
staff -- whoever you Humans settle upon to lead you.  Unless you now wish to 
rejoin the rest of your people...?"

"Good heavens NO!" Marcus exclaimed, appalled.

"It's way too late for that," Garibaldi agreed, despite the fact that his 
long range plans called for just such a move -- in due time.  "No, we're in 
this all the way.  This station is a critical base of operations against the 
Shadows, just like Babylon 4 was a thousand years ago.  As far as leadership 
is concerned, technically Lieutenant Corwin is next in the chain of command 
after Commander Ivanova, but this situation is a bit too complicated for 
technicalities.

"For now, he's handling the day-to-day running of the station, and I'm taking 
over the strategic and tactical aspects of dealing with the War and the 
alliance.  Marcus will still be the primary liaison with you people, and 
while I haven't met this guy Vikotal, I'm sure we'll get along just fine."

He smiled a grim smile.  If these Minbari didn't fall into line, they could 
be...disposed of.  Sha'vei Vikotal wasn't the only reinforcement on his way 
to Babylon 5.  He went on to detail his plans for an attack on the outlying 
bases, using a combination of the available White Stars and whatever League 
ships they could beg, borrow or persuade the other governments to provide.  
Tharvonn was still reluctant, preferring to at least wait until Sha'vei 
Vikotal arrived with another contingent of new and repaired White Stars.  
Tashann argued that if this information was genuine, they might be missing an 
opportunity by not attacking at once.

"*If* the information is genuine," repeated Shival.  "Where did you say these 
leads came from, again?"

Garibaldi cast a significant look at Marcus, who raised an eyebrow 
noncommittally.  He sighed in exasperation.

"Look, I've been Chief of Security on this station for four years now.  I 
have my sources, and not all of them want their names bandied about," he 
began.  Tashann started to protest, but Garibaldi cut him off.  "I know we're 
allies, and we need to share information -- and I have every intention of 
doing just that.  But for now, you guys are just going to have to trust me."

Shival and Tharvonn exchanged a worried look.

"What, now all of a sudden you don't *trust* me?"

"It's not that," Shival assured him.  "But in a situation like this, one 
can't be too careful.  After all, you were gone for two weeks.  Marcus says 
you've discussed your...expedition with him, but he hasn't given us any of 
the details..."

"And I can't either, at least not yet.  What," he asked suddenly, a gleam in 
his eye, "are you afraid the Shadows got me, and I've been brainwashed?"  He 
grinned at the shocked expression on the Minbari faces.  "I think Marcus can 
vouch for the fact that my brain is as dirty as it ever was!"

"If not worse," agreed the Human Ranger.  "Mr. Garibaldi has explained his 
absence to my satisfaction," he went on, leaning forward earnestly,  "and I'm 
inclined to trust his information on this matter.  Surely we can scrape up 
enough ships to at least go out for a look-see..."

"Well, that's the other question.  Who can we send?" asked Shival, responding 
automatically to his fellow Ranger's confidence.

"What about commander Tashann, here, for starters?  He's got a full triad 
sitting around taking up orbit space."  Garibaldi grinned at the Minbari 
warrior's glare.

"I was *ordered* by the Entil'zha to guard William and Jennifer until they 
awaken," he pointed out.

Garibaldi shrugged.  "Hell, they're not going anywhere, and between Shival's 
people and my own guards, I can't see any harm coming to them," he replied, 
mentally crossing his fingers.

Surprisingly enough, Shival agreed.  "Colvhar and Talion will guard them -- 
and Julia will remain, also.  I want you to go, Tashann.  If there is 
anything out there to find, you will find it."

Tashann bowed his head in acknowledgement, but when it came up there was fire 
in his eyes.

"Sha'vei," he said fiercely,  "If you must send me away, send me to Z'ha'dum, 
to look for the Entil'zha!  We do not *know* that their ship was destroyed -- 
only that we have lost communication with it.  Perhaps they are stranded in 
hyperspace, or even on the planet itself!"

Shival looked thoughtful, and Marcus perked up, an echoing gleam in his own 
eyes.  If Tashann went, he would insist on going, too -- this was precisely 
the kind of harebrained adventure the guy lived for, and for a moment 
Garibaldi was tempted to let them go for it.  The Shadow planet's defenses 
would blast them out of the sky, almost literally killing two birds with one 
stone...but no.  Even the slimmest of chances that Delenn and Ivanoval might 
be rescued was too much.

"Are you NUTS?" he cut in quickly.  "Just because their main city was taken 
out doesn't mean they're helpless.  That planet's fortified six ways from 
Sunday -- all you'll accomplish is to get yourselves killed, and probably 
draw their attention in the process.  I hate to say this," he added, doing 
his best to look regretful,  "but if Delenn and the others *are* still alive, 
they're on their own -- at least for the time being."

Shival and Tharvonn agreed, looking grave, and the two younger men subsided 
reluctantly.

"Very well then," concluded the Sha'vei.  "Tashann, you will take your triad 
and three of the others to sector 97 by 104 by 138, as quickly as possible.  
Scan the area, engage the enemy if the odds are favorable, and call for 
backup if not.  Meanwhile, I shall call in some of the other ships from areas 
of less urgent concern..."

"I can give you some suggestions on that," Garibaldi said, but again Shival 
cut him off.

"I shall consult with Sha'vei Vikotal, Mr. Garibaldi.  I would suggest you 
use your 'contacts' among the other League representatives to make sure that 
we continue to *have* an alliance, and that the Anla'Shok do not stand alone 
in this dark time.

"I believe that this should suffice, for the time being.  I will be in touch 
with you through Marcus as further developments arise."  With that, the 
meeting was clearly adjourned.  

Garibaldi walked out with Marcus, the two saying little as they headed toward 
the transport tubes.  Just before they parted ways, however, the Ranger 
stopped.

"There's something bothering me," he began.

"Maybe your underwear's too tight?" suggested Garibaldi helpfully.

"No, actually it's quite nice.  Silk, you know, from that little shop..."

Garibaldi rolled his eyes, and Marcus grinned.  "Seriously, though, you made 
quite a point of telling us that the Ralga couldn't, or wouldn't, help us out 
directly, but now you come up with this information that pretty much had to 
come from them.  So the question in my mind is, who's playing games here, 
them....or you?"

Head cocked to one side, the handsome Ranger looked quite unconcerned about 
the implications of his question, but Garibaldi knew him well enough to know 
better.  The Security Chief looked down his nose at the younger man, rocking 
back onto his heels.  His hands were in his pockets, and one was firmly 
wrapped around his small backup PPG.

"Like I told the other guys," he said carefully,  "I have lots of contacts.  
So do the Ralga.  Sometimes information passes through...indirect channels, 
as you of all people should know.  And I'm afraid that's about all I can say 
about it right now, even to you.

"Take it or leave it," he added, wondering if his earlier efforts were about 
to be wasted.  Redundancy was always a good idea, though, he decided.

Marcus looked at him for a long moment, then nodded.

"Right, then.  I'm off to relieve Julia in Medlab.  Keep in touch," he 
admonished, and was gone in a swirl of silky duster.

Garibaldi looked after him, pondering the importance of timing.

**********  TO BE CONTINUED ***********

For more on William and Jennie, Julia, and the other Rangers, check out David 
Goldingay's "Rimstalker" and "Star and Circle" epics, at Alternate Universe 
Today as well as his own website, "Destiny's Cry", at 
http://www.connect.ab.ca/~dgolding/index.htm

AEC.


From: Jakhel@aol.com
Subject: INFINITE REGRESS 1C:  NexusPoint -- Part 7 of 11(?)
Date: Fri, 17 Sep 1999 22:57:14 EDT

See Disclaimers in Part 1.

Please e-mail any feedback to me, Anne E. Clements, at Jakhel@aol.com.


********  Part 7 **********
23:20 EST, Z + 23 Days

Susan Ivanova peered around the edge of the rock wall, trying not to breathe 
too deeply.  The CO-free air in this complex of caverns was a mixed blessing 
-- on the one hand they'd been on their last breather filters when they'd 
stumbled upon the place, but on the other hand, ten days without even sonic 
showers had made their own personal environments a bit hostile.  She now knew 
more about Minbari physiology than she had ever really wanted to, and had no 
doubt that her alien companions felt the same about the Humans in their 
midst.  In fact, one of her main concerns was that the Shadow-servants living 
and working here might very well *smell* the intruders before detecting them 
any other way.

There didn't seem to be any alarms along this corridor, though, and the 
people in the next room were fully occupied with their work.  There were 
about a dozen of them, slender bipeds in dark robes or baggy jumpsuits, with 
brown, rough-looking skin, wedge-shaped heads and dull red, slanted-oval 
eyes.  They seemed intent on repairing a sleek black spacecraft that crouched 
in the middle of the chamber.  Beyond a wide archway another craft was 
visible -- it looked more like a freight shuttle.  The workers were unarmed.  
Ivanova beckoned, and Anla'Shok Swenson moved forward to join her.  

"Get everyone up here.  I think we can take them," Ivanova murmured, and the 
big Eurasian man nodded and disappeared.  Before long, the passageway behind 
her was full of Rangers.  The doorway before them opened on a ledge about ten 
feet above the main floor, with a ramp curving down ahead of them to end up 
directly behind the ship.  There were seveal other small entrances along the 
ledge, and three larger ones on "ground" level.  Just as the Commander was 
about to give the word, something stirred in one of the lower doorways.  
Quickly she motioned them back -- and swore softly in Russian.

A double file of distinctly martial-looking creatures came out -- tall, 
muscular types with either skull-like heads or some kind of helmets, and 
glowing red eyes.  Relatives of the workers, perhaps?  At any rate, there 
were a dozen of them, all well-armed.  Their leader was a Human, though -- a 
tall, strong-looking blonde woman, dressed in black.  Psi Corps black.

"I *knew* it," muttered Ivanova.

Lyta peered over her shoulder and gasped.

"You know her?"

"Only by reputation -- and that's not good," the telepath admitted.  "She's 
supposed to be dead, but..."

"There's a lot of that going around these days.  Psi Cop?"

"One of the worst.  Her name is Donne -- if she has a first name, I've never 
heard it.  She used to be Bester's main hatchet-woman."

"Can you take her?"

"I...I don't know." For a moment Lyta looked taken aback, as if it were 
literally unthinkable that a telepath of her limited powers might go up 
against a born weapon like Donne.  Then her  expression changed to an intent 
thoughtfulness as she remembered what she had become.

"Perhaps we should wait," suggested Delenn from behind them.  Ivanova shook 
her head.

"No -- it looks like they're about to take off with our ride.  Listen up -- " 
she turned back to the others.  "We'll take as many as we can from cover, but 
on my signal all of us unwounded spread out and try to make it to the ship -- 
with any luck it will have weapons we can use to clear the place out.  You 
guys -- " she indicated Hernandez and the others still nursing injuries, " -- 
cover us.  All set?"  a rustle of nods issued from the darkness, and she 
turned back. Bediver and Lennier moved up behind her with PPGs charged.

Below them, the files of warriors had made it almost to the ship's entry 
ramp.  Donne stopped at its foot to confer with the worker supervisor -- then 
turned and looked up, straight at Ivanova.

"Now!" cried Susan, and fired.  The blonde woman seemed to sway out of the 
path of the PPG bolt, and didn't even look as it struck the worker behind 
her.  Susan fired again, and again, each time just missing.  Beside her, Lyta 
was concentrating -- suddenly the Psi Cop frowned, glared straight at Susan, 
and dove behind the landing strut as a shot zipped through the air where she 
had stood.

Meanwhile, Lennier and Bediver had taken out a few of the warrior creatures 
from behind Ivanova, but the rest scattered to return fire from behind the 
machinery and storage containers that littered the chamber.  Energy bolts 
splatted around the passageway entrance and sent rock chips flying.  This 
place was no safe refuge, and retreat only invited pursuit. 

"Let's go!" Ivanova called, flinging herself out of the doorway and shooting 
at anything that popped up its skeletal head.  Halfway down the ramp she 
jumped, to land behind a row of containers that barely shielded her from 
enemy fire.  Three thumps behind her told her Lennier, Lyta, and Delenn had 
joined her.  A fusillade of shots came from above and behind them as the 
"invalids" provided cover, and out of the corner of her eye Susan saw 
Anla'Shok Bediver leading half a dozen more Rangers to take position behind a 
large fork-lift type of vehicle.  A scream and a glimpse of falling robes 
marked at least two casualties.  Susan kept shooting, dividing her attentions 
between any exposed warriors and their Human leader.

Meanwhile, several of the workers had picked up weapons dropped by fallen 
warriors, while the rest had fled through the floor-level exits and were 
undoubtedly going for help.  Susan slipped a fresh energy cap into her PPG 
and recharged it.  As she started shooting again, another group of Rangers 
burst from cover.  One was hit almost immediately, and fell to lie silent 
just beyond her reach.  Behind her, Delenn gasped, then said something jagged 
in Minbari.  Susan, glancing over, and recognized the dead Ranger as Faloon, 
the one who had let his Entil'zha fall behind.

Something shifted behind her -- Delenn had stood up and was methodically 
picking off alien warriors, as bolts of energy sizzled all around her.  With 
her bone-thin frame swathed in the stained jumpsuit, greasy dark hair pulled 
back in a rough braid, and a death's-head grin of pure, detached ferocity on 
her face, this was a woman who had nothing left to lose, and whose only 
remaining goal was to drag as many of the enemy down to Hell with her as she 
possibly could.  A deep shock of empathy went through Susan.  Suddenly, on 
instinct, she reached up to pull the other woman down just as a bolt splashed 
against the wall instead of her head.  Delenn's body felt like sticks and 
wire against Susan as she held her close for a moment, then passed her back 
to Lennier, whose eyes were unreadable.

"Let's get this done," the Commander growled.

The last of the unwounded Rangers had found shelter on the main floor, in 
groups spread in a rough half-circle around the edge of the chamber.  The 
remaining warriors and armed workers -- down to half a dozen or so, including 
Donne -- were concentrated near the base of the ship.  There was as yet no 
sign of backup, but there had to be more people here, and comms, so it 
couldn't be long until reinforcements arrived with more firepower.  All the 
defenders had to do was stall.

Just as Susan was about to give the order for a probably-suicidal attack, a 
concerted burst of PPG fire impacted on the juncture of the forward landing 
strut and the black ship's hull.  The shots came from Bediver's group, and 
before Susan could yell for them to stop -- before the aliens clustered 
beneath the craft could do more than stare in horror -- the strut collapsed 
and the ship came crashing down on the hapless warriors.  

"Well, that's one way to do it," observed the Commander dryly.  Moving 
carefully but quickly, she headed for the ship, now tilted onto its nose, 
with the entry ramp crumpled beneath it.  The others followed, keeping an eye 
out for surviving enemies.

The lone survivor almost got Susan, though.  As she approached the ship, a 
wave of dizziness swept over her and a body slammed her into a storage 
container.  She tried to get her balance, to strike back, but the room was 
spinning around her -- all she could see was the scar on the cheek of the 
blonde woman, and the fist coming at her.  Her head rebounded from the 
container and blood filled her mouth as she slumped to the ground.  Above 
her, Donne glared at the oncoming Rangers, and they hung back.  She was 
unarmed, except for her well-trained body and her Talent, and the Rangers' 
training made them unwilling to shoot her in cold blood or take her down in a 
mob rush.  She turned back to Ivanova, lip curling in contempt.

Susan spat blood and launched herself at the Psi Cop, who moved easily aside. 
 A knife-blade hand chopped down, and Susan felt something snap in her 
shoulder.  As the pain crashed over her, Susan swung with her good arm.  
Miraculously, the blow connected, but before she could follow up, Donne's 
eyes narrowed.  A blinding spike of pure agony lanced into her head -- then 
it stopped.  Donne shook her head, looking like she'd been slapped. 

Out of the corner of her rapidly-swelling eye, Susan saw Lyta standing in the 
ring of Anla'Shok, her eyes gone marble-black.

"Now girls," the redheaded telepath said between clenched teeth, "Play NICE!!"

Donne staggered forward as though pushed from behind, right into Ivanova's 
oncoming punch.  The Psi Cop dropped like a stone.  As if released from a 
spell, the others hurried to the Commander.

"Susan, are you all right?" cried Delenn, sanity showing once more in her 
eyes.

"I'll do," Ivanova replied shortly.  "Bediver, Lennier, get up there and see 
if this ship will still fly.  Wait -- Bediver..." she didn't know where to 
begin.

"The ship may be damaged," the tall Ranger acknowledged preemptively, "but 
there are other ships, and we are alive."  His eyes met hers with calm 
confidence.

Susan nodded and returned to the remaining Rangers, sending off teams to 
guard the exits and to bring up the 'invalids' with the baggage.  Including 
the first aid supplies.  Susan winced at the grating in her shoulder -- 
wonderful.  Where the Hell was Stephen when she needed him? 

Hernandez' report on the casualties kept her distracted while Lyta set her 
collarbone, and the painkillers were just starting to kick in when Bediver 
and Lennier clambered back out of the hatchway.  The bad news was, they had 
lost five Rangers and four more had been wounded.  The other bad news was, 
the ship wouldn't fly.

Lyta dropped her head onto her folded arms with a moan, while Delenn just 
looked at her with that flat, hopeless stare.  Again, whether it was Susan's 
awakening Talent or just circumstance, she felt a deep current of empathy 
with the Minbari woman -- and what a thing to be bonding over, she thought 
with her trademark Russian irony.

No -- that was wrong.  Or rather, not right.  Faced with the rock-bottom 
despair in the other woman's eyes, Susan had to admit that much of her 
vaunted Russian fatalism was a pose -- a self-imposed choke-collar on her 
natural exuberance, to keep her from running headlong into the concrete wall 
of Reality *much* more often than was strictly necessary.  Sure, she'd had 
her share of personal tragedy -- more than her share, perhaps.  But in Delenn 
she saw such a depth of loss, such repeated pounding from a seemingly 
uncaring or malicious Universe that she could hardly begin to wrap her brain 
around it.  If Delenn came out of this alive and sane, she thought, it would 
be as a tempered steel blade: bright, sharp, and unbreakable.  A surge of 
defiance came bubbling out of some untouched subconscious reservoir, and she 
swore to herself that Delenn *would* have that chance.  They all would. 

"All right," she said briskly.  "We'll take the other ship."

Lyta looked up at her as if she'd lost her mind.  Well, maybe she had, but 
they didn't have time to stop and look for it now.

"What if the other ship is also nonfunctional?" Lennier asked worriedly.

"Then we'll try something else," she replied with grim determination.  
"Unless this place is self-supporting, they have to have some way to get 
supplies in.  Which means *we* can get *out*.  It's just a matter of..." she 
winced as an incautious step jarred her shoulder, "*incentive*."

"Of course," agreed the Minbari, flicking a wry glance at her as he bowed and 
turned back to help with the gravcots.

They were about halfway to the other ship when the guard at one of the side 
entrances yelled and started shooting into the passageway.

"Form up!  Wounded head for the ship -- the rest of you with me!" Susan 
started to move back to the rearguard, but was stopped by an arm that felt 
like an iron bar.

"You are wounded, Commander," Anla'Shok Bediver reminded her.

She opened her mouth, but the calm implacability in his face stopped her once 
again.  Like a large, economy-sized version of Lennier at his most annoying, 
she thought, but she gave in and turned back to lead the way to the 
freighter's ramp.  It was down, too, and several containers were stacked 
nearby -- either recently unloaded or waiting to *be* loaded.  The hatchway 
opened by an obvious switch, and the command center was easy to find.  

It opened directly onto what seemed to be the main passenger area, with more 
than enough seating and restraints for the remaining White Star crew.  
Lennier headed for the controls, while Lyta was drawn to two large, oval pods 
that seemed to be attached to a central console.

"Can you fly it?" asked Susan.

"I am not certain," replied Lennier.  "The conventions are alien, of course, 
but it seems as though several controls are missing...or...inaccessible...I 
believe the ship *is* functional, however," he concluded with obvious relief.

"Good," Susan replied.  She ducked back into the passenger cabin, where the 
last of the gravcots were being brought in.  Outside, Bediver and Swenson 
were covering the stragglers.  Susan crouched in the doorway and added her 
fire to theirs.

As the men darted inside, she nudged the inner switch with her elbow, and the 
ramp started to fold up, framing the figures of the oncoming warriors.  An 
energy bolt spanged against the hull as it clicked shut  

"Bediver, help Lennier.  Delenn...."  The Minbari woman was helping Hernandez 
with one of the injured Rangers.  Good enough.

Back at the "bridge", Lennier and Bediver were still poking warily at the 
controls.  Suddenly the ship shuddered, and a new set of lights came on.

"Have you got it?" asked Susan eagerly.

"I'm not sure," answered Lennier.  "Bediver -- adjok sha'?"  

The other Minbari shook his head.  "I did nothing!" he protested.

A deep rumble sounded, and Susan felt a shudder as the landing gear retracted 
to leave the freighter hovering in mid-air.  The two Minbari looked at each 
other, mystified.

"Would one of you gentlemen kindly locate the door, so I can blow it up?" a 
light, dry voice inquired.

It was Lyta, standing with one hand on each of the pods, eyes gone all marbly 
again.

"What the hell?"

"Remote control devices, Commander," the telepath explained.  "I don't think 
this ship even *had* a pilot."

"But..." said Lennier.

"How..." said Bediver.

"Can you get us out of here?" asked Susan.

"Just show me the way," Lyta assured them.  The ship was swinging around, and 
the viewscreen flicked on to show the aliens shooting at it.  Susan noticed 
that a pair of the worker aliens were hoisting the sedated form of the Psi 
Cop, Donne, onto a transport platform.  Too bad.

"There," said Lennier, pointing to what was obviously a doorway.  It irised 
open on Lyta's command, and they headed out into the night.


**********  TO BE CONTINUED ***********