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 *********** 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 -- From: Jakhel@aol.com Subject: Infinite Regress 1c: NexusPoint -- Part 5 of 10(?) Date: Sun, 30 May 1999 14:26:30 EDT Continuing the exploration of what might have happened if a certain Shadow had NOT been scragged at Z'ha'dum, flavored with hooks to other fanfic timelines. Disclaimers in Part 1, complete (to date) version at http://members.aol.com/irwebsite, feedback to Jakhel@aol.com. Part 5 Babylon 5, Z + 21 days On his way back through Red Sector, Garibaldi came up behind a massive, purplish figure in the corridor. He quickened his pace, and slapped the encounter suit jovially on what was probably *not* a shoulder. "Ulkesh, old buddy, how's it hangin'? Oh, that's right, we're supposed to call you 'Kosh', aren't we?" he corrected himself, as the Vorlon's hammer-shaped headpiece swiveled to peer at him. Disregarding the creature's obvious affront, he leaned in confidingly. "Just between you and me, don't you find that a little *morbid*?" The encounter suit swayed to a halt, the headpiece rising to glare down at the bald man. A multiplex, coruscating voice emerged from within its robes. "#Your leash is long, Human. Do not choke on it.#" "Why, Ambassador, is that a *threat*? Tsk, tsk, tsk. Let me just point something out to you, Ulkesh. You don't mind me calling you Ulkesh, do you?" He looked ostentatiously up and down the empty corridor. "It's not like there's anyone around to go telling tales out of school, if you know what I mean....*But*," he hastened to add as the Vorlon's iris suddenly opened on a purple, lightning-shot haze, "my associates *are* keeping very close tabs on me, one way or another. And if anything were to happen to me, well....you know, when they took out your buddy, that was just business -- nothing personal -- I'm sure you understand that." The iris narrowed, and the headpiece sank back onto its collar. "But if I were to...have an accident, shall we say?" Garibaldi continued, "Well, I'm afraid they WOULD take that rather personally. And you really, REALLY don't want to be on the receiving end of a *personal* grudge on their part. In fact," he mused, "If I were you, I might just consider this a good time to take a little vacation -- unwind, hang out with the other energy-beings, chase a little tentacle -- avoid any chance of inadvertent....misunderstandings...." The mingled chimes of the Vorlon's voice did not resolve into English for several moments, leaving the Human with the unmistakable impression of a long string of unprintable characters. At last a translation emerged -- "#A flawed tool may destroy its wielder.#" The encounter suit pivoted and swept ponderously back down the hallway. "Yeah, same to you, pal!" Garibaldi called after it, somehow feeling less triumphant than the situation seemed to warrant. After a moment, he shrugged and walked on. Coming at last to the Zocalo, he poked around a bit, then wandered into a tiny tobacco-and-herb shop run by an elderly Human with laughing eyes and extravagant muttonchop whiskers. "Hey, Winston," Garibaldi called out. "How's business?" "Not bad, not bad. Haven't seen you around here in a while, Mr. Garibaldi. Is everything okay? I mean, aside from the war and everything." The bald man laughed shortly. "Aside from that, just fine. A little busy, that's all. Hey, do you carry Morley Exoticas, by any chance? A friend gave me a coupla packs, and I kinda developed a taste for 'em." "Morley Exoticas, huh? I dunno, there's not much demand for those out here. Let me check in back, though." He ducked through a curtain into the back room. Garibaldi watched the passers-by, hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. Two little girls, a Centauri with bright green eyes and a Human with tumbled black curls, stopped to check out the window display. When they saw Garibaldi, they consulted, giggling, then waved shyly. Garibaldi waved back with a smile, and they ran away laughing. Slowly, his smile faded into a frown. Something seemed to stir in the back of his mind...something he had forgotten...something he'd lost... "Here we go," Winston came out carrying a single long, rectangular box sealed in gold mylar, with the red-and-white Morley logo across the top. "One carton -- came in a couple months ago as a promo with a shipment of cee-gars. Hey, you wouldn't be interested in a box of those, would you?" "Me? Smokin' cigars? Are you *nuts*? Come on, Winston, you know I'm not that kind of a guy!" "Yeah, well, I wouldn't have taken you for a cigarette smoker, either. Now, a nice pipe, maybe..." "Nah, I like these. Kinda...sophisticated, you know? A guy can always use a little sophistication." "Yes, and some of us could use rather a lot," a sophisticated British accent drawled. Winston looked up and smiled as the dashing, dark-haired Ranger entered, his swirling duster taking up the rest of the available floor space. Garibaldi looked around with the merest flicker of wariness in his grey eyes. "Now *I* happen to think a pipe would be *just* the thing." Marcus picked up a large Meerschaum carved into the head of a Drazi, hung it out of his mouth and 'puffed' meditatively. "Well? What do you think?" he mumbled. Garibaldi cracked up. Catching sight of his reflection in a glass case, the Ranger did likewise. "Mmph. Excuse me," he said, wiping spittle off the mouthpiece. He handed the pipe back to the chuckling proprietor. "Then again, perhaps not," he decided reluctantly. As Garibaldi was about to comment, his link beeped. "Garibaldi here," the Security Chief acknowledged. "Chief, Corwin here. Just wanted to advise you, the Vorlon Ambassador has requested jumpgate clearance." "Did he say where he was going?" "No. But then, he never does. Is there...anything I should do?" "Nope, not a thing," Garibaldi replied. "Garibaldi out." "Well, well," the Ranger said. "I wonder where *he's* off to." The Chief shrugged, fishing his identicard out of his jacket pocket and trading it for the carton of cigarettes. "Science Fiction convention, maybe? At least he's out of OUR hair for a while." "I can't complain about *that*," Marcus agreed. "Speaking of conventions, I'm late for a meeting with the Val'na. I'll give him your regards, shall I?" "Sure. I'll need to get with him and the others soon -- set up a time, will you?" The Ranger nodded and swept out. Garibaldi looked after him thoughtfully, then turned to Winston. "While you've got that, why don't you put this on it, too." He picked up the Meerschaum. Winston looked up. "A present?" he asked, with a twinkle in his eye. Garibaldi smiled a conspiratorial smile. "Something like that," he agreed. Outside the station, the jumpgate opened and the Vorlon Ambassador's ship leaped forward into hyperspace. ******** Deep in the shifting red *otherness* of the roads ships took between star systems, half a dozen dark, spidery shapes converged on a single squidlike organism. Screaming in agony, it defended itself bravely, but was ultimately carved into exploding fragments by livid beams wielded with deadly accuracy. Its screams did not go unheard, however. An unmeasurable distance away, in a hidden fold of hyperspace, gigantic ships began to move. ******** Z'ha'dum, Z + 15/16 days. Delenn finally admitted to herself that she was tired. They had been trudging though these tunnels for hours -- outside, it would be deep night. The Commander was hoping to find a chamber large enough for all of them to rest in, though, and was reluctant to stop before she did. It was fortunate, in a way, that they now had the use of all four gravcots for baggage, although the reason for that was a mixed blessing. One of the wounded Rangers had been killed during that last, helter-skelter scramble down into the crevasse, with the shadow fighter swooping down upon them. Ivanova and the others had managed to shoot it down, though -- they had seen it plummet, smoking, from the sky to disappear behind the hills. Another good reason to get far away from the area as quickly as possible. The other wounded Ranger, a young Human woman, had been determined to walk again, although she reluctantly accepted the assistance of her fellows as the hours wore on. There were not enough handlights to go around, and the Commander ordered that only half of them be used at a time, to conserve power, so their progress was slow and depressing in the flickering darkness. Ivanova herself, with Lennier, was scouting ahead, relying on her newfound link with Lyta to warn the main party of danger. So far, there had been nothing -- no signs of life except the oddly smoothed floors of the tunnels, no cave-ins or treacherous cracks, just unending darkness and the occasional knife-sharp outcroppings in the walls. Delenn had slipped back, to bring up the rear, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep the handlight of the group in front of her in sight. Setting her jaw determinedly, she hurried onward. WHAP! A head-high obsidian outcrop seemed to leap out of the darkness, catching her on the side of her breather. She staggered, and the light ahead disappeared around a bend. Muttering English expressions she doubted John realized she had learned, mixed with a few Minbari phrases Lennier would be appalled to know she was familiar with, she flung herself after it, hands outstretched to ward off another collision. Just before she ran into the wall, she spotted the light off to her left, and veered to follow. Up ahead, the light stopped. "Entil'zha! Are you well?" a voice called in the religious caste tongue. "Fine!" she called back. The handlight wobbled, and a slight figure limped out of the darkness toward her. The young Ranger cradled the light in a bandaged arm, and one side of his face was covered by a livid bruise, but the pain in his eyes was more worry for his Entil'zha than concern for his own injuries. "A thousand pardons, Entil'zha!" he cried. "I thought you were right behind me! Perhaps you should ride for a while..." "No, Faloon, I will be fine. Come on, let us not lose the others!" She urged him along, ignoring the fire in her knees, the ache in her booted feet. Suddenly, a scream came from up ahead. Forgetting her fatigue, Delenn thrust her way through the confused Minbari and humans to the focus of the disturbance. The young woman who had forsaken her gravcot was still crying out, struggling in the arms of two of her fellows, while Lyta tried to get a hand on her. As soon as she did, the woman stopped, staring sightlessly over the telepath's shoulder. Lyta shook her head, as if dazed. "What is it?" Delenn asked. "I'm not sure...it's all hazy, as if she were....drugged!" "Look here!" cried Anla'Shok Bediver, pointing to where a hose from the young woman's breather had pulled loose, allowing the ambient atmosphere to get into her mask. Quickly he replaced it, and they lowered her to the floor. Lyta disengaged, nodding. "She's coming out of it." "Leilani!" Bediver called softly. "Anla'Shok Hernandez! Are you all right?" Slowly, the girl focussed on the tall Minbari bending over her. "Bediver? Is that you? There were....creatures....in the darkness...red-eyed beings with wedge-shaped heads....keening in a voice I could not quite hear..." Another Ranger, who had been testing the air with a portable scanner, knelt beside them. "They were not real, Leilani. Apparently, the air down here contains fumes that can cause hallucinations. Do you remember when the hose came out of your breather?" "No, I...it was fine....I don't know how it could have happened..." The young woman struggled to her feet. "I'll be all right now, though. Thank you..." she looked around in embarrassment. "I'm sorry." Meanwhile, Delenn was leaning back against the wall with her eyes closed, taking advantage of the opportunity for some much-needed rest. Her chosen life had always been relatively sedentary, and since her transformation, her muscular strength had been ebbing, slowly, to a merely Human level. She resolved that if -- when -- they got out of this, she would ask Commander Ivanova to help her set up a suitable exercise regimen. As Entil'zha, she must set an example for the others...unknowing, a smile crossed her face as she pictured herself next to Susan on the exercise machines, clad in skimpy grey sweats and huffing and puffing against the simulated weights... "Entil'zha? Are you all right?" Bediver stood before her, looking worried. "Fine," she said again, and they started off once more. Delenn hung back again. She couldn't seem to keep herself from peering into each side-corridor they passed. The rest of them -- even Ivanova -- were fully occupied with trying to get *off* this Valen-cursed world, but Delenn had never lost sight of their original mission: to find Captain Sheridan, alive or...otherwise. Why she kept expecting to find a trace of him in these forsaken tunnels, she couldn't say, but the lure was irresistible. Eventually, she found herself at the end of the line again. On and on they trudged, down and around and into the darkness...her mind wandered as she followed the light bobbing farther and farther ahead. She thought of her childhood, the long years of training, the all-too-short time as Dukhat's acolyte, then as junior Satai on the Grey Council, the terrible war with the Humans, the eventful years since, leading her, as a river led inexorably down to the sea, to her transformation, and to John... She suddenly came to herself, in darkness. Darkness, but not silence. Whispers crept around her...in the tunnels, or only in her mind? She had to catch up to the others, but which way had they gone? "This way," came the whispers -- was that Mayan's voice? She followed, unsure. "Lennier..." she murmured, not knowing why, knowing he could not hear. She hit a wall, and clung there. Which way now? Left, the whispers urged her, in Dukhat's voice -- the tunnel continued in that direction, and she felt her way blindly, fear rising dark within her to match the darkness without. She breathed deeply, calling on old meditations to calm herself, but the whispers only grew louder. Draal's voice, Sech Turval's....her father's...surely it could not be... Gasping in sudden realization, she raised her hands to her breather, and found it -- a small crack where she had struck the outcrop, earlier. Cold terror congealed in the pit of her stomach. How far had she wandered, led by hallucinations? Was she hallucinating now? Hastily, she removed the useless contraption -- either she would find the others and get a new one, or something else would kill her long before the carbon monoxide did. Frightened beyond fear, knowing she could not know what was real and what was not, her only hope was to go on...a light appeared, dull orange and flickering. Could it be the handlight, distorted by the fumes? She hurried toward it, then stopped as she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. A section of the wall was smooth obsidian, a black mirror glinting darkly with reflections of the flickering light ahead. As she gazed into the murky depths, her reflection swam out of the darkness. Mesmerized, she reached toward the image -- it reached back. Then, as her hand touched the cold stone, the light winked out. She gasped, and turned back to where the light had come from. Quickly, she struggled on in that direction. There it was again, stronger now. She hurried on around a bend, then stopped, frozen, hidden in the shadows. The chamber beyond was a long oval, stretching out before her. At the far end, guttering flames issued from pedestals carved out of the rock wall, and two figures sat by a small fire built in a circle of stones. One was tall, alien, bent in concern toward the other, who was half-reclining and staring into the flame. "Do you have anything worth *living* for?" Did she hear that quiet voice, or was it only in her head? "I can't see you any more..." *that* voice, real or imagined, cut through her like a knife, shaken, tentative as even she had never heard it. The dim blur of the man's silhouette leaped into clarity, focused not by eye but by the heart. "John..." Delenn whispered. A mist seemed to rise up before her, and she fell endlessly into it. ******* "Here! I've found her!" Lennier pushed past the other Minbari to fall to his knees beside the unconscious figure. He raised her dark head, his mouth tightening as her pale, maskless face appeared in the handlight. "A breather, quickly!" he called. A black-uniformed hand passed it to him. "Is she...alive?" Ivanova asked anxiously. Lennier fitted the apparatus around Delenn's head and made sure it was working properly before he answered. "Yes. She has passed out from the fumes, but..." he heaved a shuddering sigh, relief finally overtaking his terror, "she should recover." Quickly, respectfully, he tested her limbs and torso. "There do not seem to be any injuries. How did she come to fall behind like that?" he asked angrily. "It is *my* fault," replied the hapless Anla'Shok Faloon. "I should have been watching..." "We can discuss who's to blame for what later," cut in the Commander. "Look at this!" Just beyond where Delenn had fallen, they found a long, oval chamber, big enough for all of them to camp out in comfortably. "Look here!" cried Leilani Hernandez, scraping at the hole in a carved pedestal of stone where a flame had once burned, fed from below. "And here," added Bediver, stirring the ashes of a long-dead fire. Lyta ran the scanner over both artifacts. "Someone has obviously been here, but not recently," the telepath declared. "Like, *how* recently?" the Commander asked, nervously looking around, counting the other exits. "According to this," Lyta replied, "at least fifty years -- perhaps more." "Well, then," Ivanova decided, "it's probably safe enough. We'll rest for eight hours, then go on....that way. Fall out, everybody!" --- To be continued! Also, check out the Virtual Season 6 website, under construction at http://www.darkthunder.com/b5vs6/ -- and the episodes to date archived at the Alternate Universe Today website. Coming in June, Episode 6 -- "A Serpent in the Garden", a collaboration by Stephen Barringer, yours truly, and David Goldingay. AEC. --- 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 *********** From: Jakhel@aol.com Subject: INFINITE REGRESS 1C: NexusPoint -- Part 8 of 11? Date: Tue, 9 Nov 1999 00:08:21 EST * INFINITE REGRESS 1C: NexusPoint -- Part 8 of 11? See Disclaimers in Part 1. Please e-mail any feedback to me, Anne E. Clements, at Jakhel@aol.com. ******** Part 8 ********** 00:42 EST, Z + 24 Days "Can't you make this thing go any faster?" snapped Ivanova. "I'm TRYING," Lyta gritted back, her strange eyes gleaming like black marbles in her pale, exhausted face. One thin hand rested on each of the mysterious 'pods', as her mind wrestled with the alien programming. Behind her, Lennier worked frantically to decipher the ship's original controls, currently overridden by the pods. Delenn stepped up from the back, where she had been reassuring the rest of their little band. "They're gaining on us," Susan muttered, feeling helpless. She HATED feeling helpless. On their desperate trek across the devastated planet, at least the moment-by-moment struggle for survival had kept her from thinking about how badd the odds really were -- and now that they were SO CLOSE to making it... "Look!" cried Delenn, as Lyta let out a hiss of pure, desperate fury. Shadow fighters were looming in the viewscreen now, but that wasn't all. Beyond them a dozen birdlike shapes swooped out of the sky. They were almost as dark as the alien ships, but unmistakably Human-built, with stark white insignia... "Black Omega," whispered Susan, as recognition jolted from Lyta's mind to hers. Psi Corps. They were doomed. A flurry of deadly beams stabbed through the vacuum....toward the Shadow fighters! Several hit -- they didn't do much damage, but at least distracted the alien craft. "What the..." Ivanova began, but was cut off by Anla'Shok Bediver at the console. "I think this must be the..." "This is Omega One to escaping ship!" "...communications system," the Minbari concluded. "Dare I hope that I am speaking to Commander Ivanova?" The voice sounded tinny over the alien speakers, but Susan had no trouble recognizing it. "Mr. *Bester*?" she exclaimed. "Are you sure you're aiming at the right ships? Not that I'm *complaining* or anything!" "I'd suggest we save the idle chitchat for another time, Commander. If you'd be so good as to head for the jumpgate..." "A hell of a lot of good that's going to do us -- we don't have the codes!" "Transmitting now," the Psi Cop replied, and Lyta jerked. "Got it," she said tightly, and the great orbiting structure ahead of them began to coruscate. As the vortex opened to let the refugee ship lumber through, the Black Omegas swarmed after it like bats into Hell, pursued by the insectoid forms of the remaining Shadow fighters. On the other side of the planet a long, elegant fish-shape of a ship swam gracefully and unheralded into hyperspace. ***** 03:00 EST, Z + 24 Days "Coming! Just a moment...Mr. Garibaldi! Whatever brings you here at this time of night? Couldn't sleep?" Marcus Cole was less awake than he sounded, and it took him a moment to register the two security guards flanking the bald man. Before he could start talking again, Garibaldi stepped inside, holding up a datapad. "Do you know these women?" the Security Chief asked brusquely. Marcus peered at the image -- two young Humans, a blonde and a brunette, mugging for the camera in front of the stage at the Dark Star. "I'm afraid not. Why, have they invited us on a double date?" "Not hardly," Garibaldi answered grimly, switching to another image. "This one ring any bells?" The Ranger's expression froze into a look of horror. "My god -- is that...how did...who did this?" The Security Chief's eyes were dark and impenetrable. "According to DNA samples recovered from -- well, from the bodies -- *you* did. You are hereby under arrest for murder. Guards..." "ME? You've got to be joking! I've never even...there must be some mistake!" The guards reached for Marcus, but his Anla'Shok reflexes sent him into a defensive crouch. A short whine cut the air, and Garibaldi's PPG aimed right between his confused eyes. "Don't *even* try it, Marcus," the Chief said grimly. The Ranger straightened. "Can I at least get dressed first?" "Nguyen, bring some clothes for the prisoner," Garibaldi said by way of reply. Marcus pointed the guard to the appropriate garments, muttering imprecations under his breath. "Sha'vei Shival is *not* going to be happy about this!" he tossed over his shoulder on his way out, barefoot in a black satin dressing gown, clutching his bundle of clothing and sandwiched between the two security guards. "Life's a bitch, then you pay late fees," Garibaldi replied absently. As the door to the room whispered shut, he pulled a silky handkerchief out of his pocket and used it to open the drawer of an end table by the Ranger's narrow bed. He extracted a small plastic bag from the same pocket, carefully dumped its contents into the drawer, closed the drawer, crumpled bag and handkerchief back into his pocket, and left the room, whistling softly between his teeth. ***** 04:20 EST, Z + 24 Days The refugees fled on through hyperspace, beaconless, following the heading 'cast to Lyta by their escort of Black Omega Starfuries. The pursuing Shadow fighters had been routed by a fresh wave of Black Omegas -- backing down from a firefight in hyperspace, the burrlike little ships had fled back to Z'ha'dum. Lennier and Bediver had been able to decipher enough of the alien freighter's controls to allow Lyta to sleep for a while, and the others had taken turns resting also, but they were all awake when the Psi Corps mothership hove into visible range. Susan recognized the basic design common to most Human-built passenger and cargo ships -- the flattened sphere that rotated to produce a crude "artificial gravity", with a central opening for smaller ships to enter. This one was the size of a luxury starliner, housing a thousand or more passengers and crew in relative comfort, with a docking port easily capable of accepting their freight shuttle. Their angle of approach also revealed a long taillike structure extending from the far axis of the main module, housing Cobra bays for the Black Omegas as well as storage pods, external docking ports, and less identifiable constructs. And then, of course, there were the weapons arrays. Susan spotted an impressive battery of plasma cannons distributed strategically across the forward surface of the spheroid, with supplemental guns spaced along the "tail". It was designed primarily for defense, as with Babylon 5's weapons grid, but given its mobility and the fighter complement carried by the tail array she judged that this vessel was quite capable of mounting an attack on a colony or station. All things considered, Susan found the ship's resemblance to a huge black spermatozoon decidedly unsettling. Again "listening" to their escort, Lyta guided the freight shuttle into the main port, while the Black Omegas peeled off toward their berths in the back. The shuttle settled into a slot alongside several Human-built ships of similar size, and the refugees trooped wearily out into the blessedly breathable air and microgravity of the docking bay. A pair of telepaths in unfamiliar grey-and-black Psi Corps uniforms met them there and escorted them to the ship's medbay for a thorough checkup. After they were cleaned up, fed, and offered a selection of civilian clothing to wear while their own garments were restored, the Rangers were shown to comfortable guest quarters. Delenn, still disoriented from her experiences in the tunnels and in the battle to win free of the planet, was put to bed with Lennier watching over her. Once her people were seen to, however, Commander Ivanova demanded to be taken to Bester. She was assured that he was expecting her, along with Miss Alexander. They found the Psi Cop ensconced in an elegantly decorated office in the middle levels of the spheroid, where the gravity approximated that of Mars. A holoimage of the view from the edge of the Tarsis Bulge, looking out over Syria Planum and the Valles Marineris, dominated one wall with its reddish-orange glory, and Bester invited them all to join him in deep, leather-covered chairs around a mahogany coffee-table bearing a polished tea service, complete with scones and biscuits. The contrast with their past weeks of struggling across (and under) the surface of a rough, inhospitable planet was extremely disorienting, and doubtless deliberate. Susan stood defiantly at attention, and Lyta stood with her, although she couldn't help casting a wistful look at the chairs. "So, how do you like my ship?" Bester asked smugly. "She is the first of her kind, although several others are nearing completion and should be deployed within the month. Her official designation is 'Omega Base One', but unofficially we like to call her...*Desa*." He smiled as Lyta stiffened, glaring. "Please, make yourselves comfortable," he invited again. "I'm sure you must be tired after your recent...adventures." "What are you going to do with us?" Susan blurted. She *was* tired, dammit, and she had no patience with Bester's little verbal games. "*Do* with you?" the little man inquired. "Why, take you home, of course! That is, back to Babylon 5. Correct me if I am wrong, but it looked very much as though you and your crew could use a lift. I happened to be in the area, so..." "Cut the crap, Bester! Do you seriously expect us to believe that you just *happened* to be hanging around Z'ha'dum, with nothing better to do than to help out a few 'mundanes' who haven't exactly been your best friends in the past?" "And Miss Alexander, of course," the Psi Cop added helpfully, nodding toward the redhead. Lyta glared at him. As a renegade telepath, or 'blip', she could imagine all too easily what his interest in her might be -- and that wasn't even counting his interest in her Vorlon 'enhancements', which he must surely have sensed even in their limited interaction so far. Bester smiled, giving him something of the air of an amiable piranha. "You're right, of course. It *was* more than happenstance that we were in the area," he admitted. "In fact, I was looking for you. There have been...certain developments on Babylon 5 in your absence that you should be made aware of. If you would be kind enough to have a seat, we can discuss them and, perhaps, allay your groundless fears." Warily, the two women sat, and Bester told them about Mr. Garibaldi's return to the station under Shadow control, and of the collusion of his own superiors in the Corps. "But if Psi Corps is working with the Shadows," said Susan, "why are you helping *us*?" Bester sighed, regarding his tea with long-suffering fortitude. "You mundanes...you all tend to see the Psi Corps as some kind of monolithic, inimical entity, when in point of fact it is neither. There have always been several factions within the Corps, and due to my...affiliation with one of them, I was not privy to the councils of the faction allied with the Shadows. Until two weeks ago, that is, when I was...apprised of this situation and ordered to proceed to Babylon 5, to be given an assignment by the Shadow representative there. "Imagine my surprise when that representative turned out to be my *very* good friend Mr. Garibaldi! During the course of our conversation, the ever-charming Mr. Garibaldi mentioned that Human telepaths had in fact been...engineered by the Vorlons to be weapons against the Shadows. Upon due consideration of this, I have decided to join forces with your 'Army of Light'. I flatter myself that..." "Oh, come on!" Susan rolled her eyes. "Just how *stupid* do you think we are, Mr. Bester? Do you seriously expect us to believe that you're suddenly on our side, just because of something *Mr. Garibaldi* said? Hell, even if he wasn't lying through his teeth..." "It's true," Lyta cut in flatly. "I was there, I know." There was a hiss of indrawn breath from Bester's side of the table. Susan looked at the former Vorlon aide for a moment, then shook her head. "All right, fine!" she conceded. "But that's still no reason for a hyena like Bester to change his spots!" "Such flattery, Commander!" the Psi Cop observed. "If you keep on like this, I'm afraid I will have to invest in larger hats. "However!" he raised an admonishing finger to prevent another outburst. "I can *prove* my sincerity. Of course, one would have thought that my rescuing you from such an...inhospitable environment would have been proof enough, but..." he sighed, "if you require further proof, I can provide it...*directly*." Susan stiffened as she realized what he meant. "No way in Hell!" she cried instinctively. "If you think I'm going to let you into my head, you're even crazier than I thought you were!" "Actually, Commander, if I wanted to get 'into your head', as you so quaintly put it, there is not very much you could do to prevent it," Bester reminded her. Her head ducked, and she snarled recklessly, "You might just be surprised!" Bester actually looked confused for a moment, but then Lyta cut in again. "There is another way," she said quickly, "Susan, if *I* link with him, we can tell if he's sincere..." "*We?*" the Psi Cop asked curiously -- then his eyes widened. "Of course!" he pointed at the Commander. "You're a *latent* -- I can't imagine how I could have missed it before!" "You're going to be missing a lot more if you try and make anything of it," Susan snapped. She looked at Lyta. "Are you sure you can handle him? He *is* a P12, after all and you're..." "I'm sure," the delicate redhead said firmly, her eyes going all marbley again. She turned to the Psi Cop. "All right, Mr. Bester, convince me!" As the two telepaths' eyes locked, Susan found herself slipping back into rapport with Lyta, watching as if through a one-way mirror as Bester's story unfolded: After his meeting with Garibaldi, he had gone through the motions of preparing for the excursion to the outer worlds, holding both outer and inner blocks tight and impenetrable, even to his own people. At the first layover between jumps, however, he had taken a Starfury out for a spin, cutting his comm and locator links after issuing firm orders that he was not to be disturbed under any circumstances. This was a known habit of his -- out in space, kilometers from any known mind, was the closest thing to silence a telepath of his strength could know, and from time to time Al Bester craved silence. When he had reached a suitable distance he had cut his drive, coasting outward relative to the system of this unnamed and uninhabited jumppoint and, as it happened, relative to the center of the galaxy itself, glowing like a river of light behind him. He relaxed into his seat, cueing up a selection of Mozart symphonies for background music as he contemplated the shambles of his universe. At last he could drop his blocks, let down his guard and allow himself to think about what Garibaldi had told him. (Somehow it never occurred to him to doubt the other man's blithe assertion -- even though he had been unable to scan the Security Chief, the knowledge itself was too self-evident, in retrospect, to be anything but the truth.) To many people -- even many telepaths -- it would not have made much difference. Some would see it as a justification, as a calling, while others would resent the aliens' high-handedness. (Susan Ivanova fell squarely and immediately into this category, and Lyta agreed, with reservations.) For Alfred Bester, though, it had destroyed the very foundation-stone of his existence. His life passed in reviewed review through their linked minds -- the friendships blighted, the loves betrayed, the ever-present ostracism by his own kind as well as the incomprehensible and increasingly-despised mundanes. The one thing that had sustained him -- that had, over the years, been beaten and tempered into a shining blade of righteous certainty -- was the knowledge that his kind were the inheritors, the necessary and inevitable next step on the path of Human evolution. The mundanes, barely more than animals communicating so crudely with their grunts and scratchings, would be swept away, and the Psi Corps, under Bester's guidance, would do the sweeping. It was not just his dream, it was the core of his will for survival, the focus of all his passions and desires, overwhelming and rendering safely trivial any merely human attachments. And now it turned out that this was merely a plausible lie, a convenient fiction, a pathetic sop to the egos of the twisted playthings of the aloof and uncaring Vorlons. Telepaths weren't an evolutionary leap; they were merely an engineered aberration, like seedless oranges or high-yield milch cattle. And what did that make the Psi Corps, he wondered? The very first lesson he had learned as a child was never to trust another human being -- only the Corps itself. But "the Corps itself" was a construct of human will and imagination, with all the contradictions and frailties that that implied. He had long been aware of the compromises that had gone into the founding and continuation of the Corps -- the fears of the mundanes, the ambitions of various factions of telepaths -- and now he could add to that the subtle (and, in retrospect, some not-so-subtle) influences of the eternally-warring aliens -- but somehow, at the same time, he had kept intact in the back of his mind the vision of an archetypical Psi Corps, pure and perfect. He had believed in it as a utopian ideal -- admittedly fuzzy about the details -- that he had sworn to realize, even if he himself never lived to enjoy it. He cursed himself for his blindness now. That was one of the oldest delusions in the book, after all, and he had swallowed it whole -- had lived it for a lifetime, all the while fancying himself the most hardened and objective of cynics. What a pathetic fool he had been -- and what a perfect *tool* for the hidden manipulators as he automatically, albeit surreptitiously, reacted against the Shadow influence on his precious Corps. So what could he do now? Fall into line like a good little tool -- of the Vorlons or of the Shadows; from where he stood there didn't seem to be much difference. And how, indeed, would that be so different from being a tool of his own grandiose, projected vision? The power base that he had built within Psi Corps -- his Black Omegas, the crew of this great ship, his loyal supporters in MetaPol and the others scattered throughout the Corps -- what was it all for? Could there be some point to all this, or was his people's trust in him as misplaced as his had always been? If there was, he couldn't see it. In fact, at the moment he couldn't see any damn reason at all in doing anything but drifting endlessly and aimlessly out into the void until his air ran out. The crew of his transport might search for him, but even this "small" area of space was far too huge for them to find a single, powered-down Starfury with its locator beacon turned off. At last he would follow, where he had watched so many pass before... Hours had passed, as he had stared out the viewport, the delicate strains of music falling unheeded into the pure, paralyzed emptiness of his mind as into a black hole of existential despair... {{GIVE. ME. A. BREAK!}} Susan interrupted in disgust. {{Do we *really* have to sit through this...belated adolescent philosophical crisis? Is there some *point* to all this self-indulgent nonsense or are we just...}} the image that followed was graphic and not at all flattering. Surprisingly enough, it was Lyta who retorted hotly. {{YOU'RE the one being self-indulgent, Susan! You have no *idea* what kind of conditioning the cadres go through -- how shattering it is to find that the organization you have been trained to think of as surrogate parents is nothing but a nest of lies and corruption. I had my crisis *before* I went to the Vorlon homeworld, but even so, it was a shock to discover the truth. And even though blocks were placed in my mind to keep me from revealing it -- or even remembering it myself until Bester mentioned it -- it has haunted me ever since. And if you'd only admit it, it's bothering you, too. Your mother...}} {{All *right!* All right, you've made your point,}} Susan admitted grudgingly. {{Obviously, you *didn't* kill yourself, though,}} she 'said' to Bester -- then, bluntly, {{Why not?}} {{Actually, I'm not entirely sure,}} the Psi Cop admitted. {{I remember marvelling at the intrinsic and irreducible hubris of Humanity, that even such crudely engineered offshoots as ourselves inevitably devised myths proclaiming us the masters and superiors of the mundanes, and that *I*...well, suffice it to say that I was being quite self-indulgent, as the Commander so eloquently put it,}} -- Bester's mental smile held a wry humor that Susan had never picked up on before, and she was appalled to find herself on the verge of smiling back -- {{when...and I know this is going to sound unbearably pretentious, even for me, but...}} Bester's narrative faded into a replay of what he had seen, and felt, out there in the eternal night. In the midst of his self-castigation, it seemed as though the stars themselves had reformed into the hazy outlines of two faces, with great nebulas of eyes gazing compassionately upon him as he floated in his fragile bubble, adrift in the void. He knew those faces -- he had seen them before, long ago in the night sky. As a small child he had looked up and wondered, straining to remember the falling strands of her red hair, the strength of his warm hands...and once, much later, through other eyes than his own, he had seen them bending over a crib that held the baby he knew was himself...a searing flash of pain had shot through his useless left hand, bringing him back to the 'present', and as he had doubled over it in agony he had seemed to hear a gentle voice in his mind... "Human," it had whispered, and "Beloved Son..." Gasping, he watched as the clenched fingers trembled, spasmed, sending another wave of fire up his arm, and then another, as the hand, seemingly with a mind of its own, fought against years of frozen immobility to reach out...to catch that last fleeting wisp of something that might or might not be more than memory. Gradually the spasms faded, and the exhausted fingers returned to their "normal" fisted position, leaving Al sobbing with relief and loss. Human, he thought. Human. That was the key, afer all. Not the next step, but a side-step, an *infusion* -- and undeniably an enrichment. Perhaps Humans were not 'ready' for psi powers, but they had been given them anyway, and, being Human, they would rise to the challenge -- and here Bester almost stumbled mentally as the unprecedented thought forced its way into his unwilling mind -- *together*. That simple word had resonated in the emptied vault of his consciousness for what seemed like a very long time. The next coherent thought he remembered thinking was, "I must tell Carolyn..." -- and then he had remembered. Garibaldi had said he was sending the frozen telepaths back to the Shadows, including the one woman Bester still allowed himself to care for. Suddenly, his torpor had vanished, and a new clarity and purpose had washed over him like a cold and salty ocean wave. Hell, yes, he would fight the Shadows -- he and all those loyal to him in Psi Corps. Not for the Vorlons, but for his own people....*all* his people...but especially for Carolyn. He had to find her -- he had to get her back so that he could tell her she had been right all along... {{Well, at any rate,}} Bester continued, abruptly shifting the rapport back up to a verbal level, {{Ironic as it may seem, I quickly came to the conclusion that the obvious course of action was to join your 'Alliance', and with Sheridan dead and Garibaldi turned, my best bet was to find you and Delenn. Unfortunately,}} -- Lyta and Susan felt the wrench as he relived the decision -- {{that meant I had to send someone else to intercept the...the cryo units...but I have every faith in Mr. Carl's capabilities. In fact, they are in pursuit of the ship in question as we speak, and I anticipate a report at any moment.}} "So, here we are," he went on aloud. "Are you sure I can't interest you ladies in a cup of tea?" Lyta shook her head sharply -- but to clear it, not in refusal. She looked at Susan warily, as if fearing *whatever* decision the Commander might make. Susan looked back at Lyta, frowning, her jaw set in deliberate consideration. Her gaze shifted abruptly to Bester. "Lemon. No sugar." ********** TO BE CONTINUED *********** From: Jakhel@aol.com Subject: INFINITE REGRESS 1C: NexusPoint -- Part 9 of 11? Date: Wed, 1 Dec 1999 00:36:06 EST * INFINITE REGRESS 1C: NexusPoint -- Part 9 of 11? See Disclaimers in Part 1. Please e-mail any feedback to me at Jakhel@aol.com. This part will join the others shortly at http://members.aol.com/irwebsite/ffindex.htm ******** Part 9 ********** 11:00 EST, Z + 24 days As the League Council chamber filled with the sounds (and smells) of dozens of alien bodies, Michael Garibaldi took his place -- *his* place! -- at the center of the table. They were all there -- the Gaim, the Abbai, the Llort -- all except the Vorlon, of course. Garibaldi smiled. This was gonna be great. Suddenly his smile faded, and the room grew quiet as all eyes turned to the robed Minbari in the doorway. Behind him stood Undersecretary Bono, the Centauri functionary hastily drafted to hold Ambassador Mollari's place in the absence of himself and his aide. Behind *them* were Ambassador Vizhak of the Drazi and Ambassador Kullenbrok of Brakir, both looking determined. Satisfied that he had everybody's attention, Sha'vei Shival made his way to the Minbari Ambassador's chair -- Delenn's chair -- at the central table. The Centauri followed, muttering a quick "excuse me" as he scurried around to Londo's chair. Garibaldi almost moved to block him, but thought better of it. Bono wasn't the real threat here -- Shival was. And Shival was drawing breath to make a statement. "I don't recall inviting the *Rangers* to this little get-together," Garibaldi cut in, seizing the initiative. The Minbari turned deliberately to look at him. "I am not here to represent the Anla'Shok," he said quellingly, "but as representative of the Minbari Federation. In Ambassador Delenn's absence, I have been authorized to speak for the Minbari in this assembly." Garibaldi had planned on dealing with some lower-level functionary from the Minbari diplomatic staff, but this might work out pretty well too, he decided. He acknowledged Shival's statement with a smile, introduced Undersecretary Bono, and brought the meeting to order. Before he could launch into his own prepared statement, however, Ambassador Vizhak claimed the floor. Better him than Lethke, Garibaldi thought -- the Brakiri Ambassador could take up a good twenty minutes just getting to the point. "You have asked for ships -- to gather fleet to attack Z'ha'dum while Shadows are in disarray from bombing." The elderly, but still hale draz gestured to include the other League representatives seated behind him. "We have considered your words. In respect for treaty, and in respect for Sheridan, who gave his life to attack Enemy, we will provide ships to protect station, but no more can we afford. Our own territories are still under attack, by those ensnared by Shadow lies, and..." he looked pointedly at the Centauri Undersecretary -- "*others.* We must concentrate our resources on our own worlds, for time being, at least. Perhaps later..." "*Later*?" interjected Garibaldi. "No offense, Ambassador, but what galaxy are you living in? If we give the Shadows a chance to get their act together there won't *be* a later!" "What I believe our respected Human colleague is trying to say, in his...colorful manner," added Shival, "is that now is the opportune time to strike, while the Enemy is in disarray. If we can put strategy ahead of tactics, if we can join together to destroy the larger threat permanently, then we can turn to our local concerns...*later*." "Thank you...Ambassador," said Garibaldi. Well, well, it looked as though the Minbari was coming down on "his" side, after all. How terribly noble and...well...Ranger-like of him. With Shival on his side, he might get the fleet together after all -- how gratifying. Of course, it was a win-win situation: if the League worlds refused to join together and scattered their resources, then they could be picked off at his associates' leisure, using this station as a convenient base of operations. Of course it might take some time -- years, even -- and a significant investment of resources that could be better used in other areas. Taking over Earth, for example. On the other hand, if the League Worlds *could* be convinced to concentrate all their remaining firepower into one massive fleet, Garibaldi would ensure that their internal discord prevented it from functioning as an effective unit. With any luck at all the alliance would fall apart spectacularly at the first battle -- which wouldn't be too long in coming, if everything went according to schedule. After that, it would just be a matter of sweeping up the debris. Garibaldi sat back, steepled his fingers thoughtfully, and let the Sha'vei do his arguing for him. And very well he did it, too. The man was an accomplished orator, and clearly believed every word of the standard "unity and brotherhood, Light against the Darkness" crap he was spouting. The others were obviously swayed, but ultimately balked at the idea of committing resources to an offensive move at this time. At last Garibaldi decided it was time to play his trump card. Sliding his hands under the desktop, he punched in a preset code on his link. A few moments later, a security guard appeared at the door. Murmuring his excuses to Shival (without interrupting the Gaim, who was outlining his people's current difficulties in excruciating detail), he made his way to the guard's side. He made a great show of listening attentively to the guard (who was explaining, sotto voce, that he had no clue why he had been sent to get the Security Chief). He then dismissed the man, signalled to Shival that he would be right back, and went off to grab a cup of coffee. Ten minutes later he re-entered the room, scowling ferociously and fingering the datacrystal in his pocket. The Abbai representative had the floor, giving pretty much the same spiel the Gaim had been in the middle of when he left. Garibaldi reclaimed his place, but did not take his seat, and as soon as the mer-creature came to the end of a paragraph, he raised a hand for attention. "I'm sorry to have to interrupt this...fascinating discussion," he began, "but I've just had some news that may affect the decisions we are making here today." He ported the crystal and fired up the big display screen in the fourth wall of the council chamber (Captain Sheridan had been making noises about installing a holoprojection unit like those on the White Stars, but to date nothing had, as one might say, materialized). A starscape came up, with a number of sleek, deadly-looking alien ships in view. "These ships have been identified as belonging to a species known as the Drakh." Garibaldi waited for the low murmur that greeted this announcement to subside. "Some of you may have heard of them -- our sources indicate that they are longtime allies of the Shadows, although so far they have not been involved in any known attacks. Apparently, that is about to change. This fleet -- consisting of approximately forty heavy warships and an unknown number of assault fighters -- is headed for Babylon 5 with an ETA of no more than four days." The murmur swelled to a roar. Garibaldi banged the gavel for a while (he'd always wanted to do that) and eventually just shouted over the tumult, "HEY!! YOU WANNA HEAR THE GOOD NEWS? Or do you just wanna stand around sqawking like a bunch of Orion swamp toads?" The Ambassadors settled, somewhat. "All right. The good news is, these are NOT Shadow ships. They're advanced, yeah, maybe about Minbari level, but nothing we can't handle -- IF we can muster up the firepower in time. And since they're headed *here*, I'd say that counts as 'defense of the station.' What do you guys think?" "Four days, you said?" called Ambassador Kullenbrok. "Best guess," replied Garibaldi. The League Worlders went into a huddle. Shival was peering thoughtfully at the image. "Sha'vei Vikotal should be here by then, and he is bringing a triad of Minbari war cruisers with him, as well as a sizeable complement of White Stars," the temporary Ambassador mused. "It is unfortunate that Val'na Tashann is elsewhere with twelve of our ships -- perhaps it is not too late for them to return, however. Mr. Bono, can we count on assistance from the Centauri Republic in this crisis?" The nondescript Centauri was clearly overwhelmed -- and equally clearly distraught over the answer he had to give. As well he should be, since it was his own personal butt on the line, here. "As you know, the majority of our military strength is occupied with the pacification of the Narn colonies, as well as our other...um...recent acquisitions. The Minister of the Court and Ambassador Mollari have both been unavailable recently -- some sort of internal trouble, I believe -- I will keep trying, though." Seeing his colleagues' unsympathetic expressions, he threw out another attempt -- "I...do have a friend on Lord-General Marrago's personal staff. I can give him a call and see if something can be...arranged..." Shival and Garibaldi looked at each other. They weren't going to get anything out of this poor rabbit. Garibaldi nodded dismissal, and the man scuttled out of the room -- probably heading for his quarters to pack up and get out on the next shuttle. Once again, Vizhak spoke for the League. "We will need to verify your information..." "Of course," replied Garibaldi, popping the datacrystal. "...And speak with our homeworlds. However, you can rest assured that all available ships will be summoned to defend station as soon as possible. You will have facilities?" "I will be speaking with Lieutenant Corwin immediately -- have your people work through Command and Control, as usual," Garibaldi assured him, and soon after that the meeting was adjourned, as each representative hastened to confer with his, her, or its home government. As Garibaldi had anticipated, the threat to the Ambassadors' personal safety had provided quite a strong motivation. As the Security Chief was on his way out of the room, quite pleased with himself, Sha'vei Shival stopped him. "There is another matter we must discuss," the Minbari said sternly. "That of Anla'Shok Cole." "What? Oh, yeah, Marcus." Garibaldi sighed. "Damn shame about that. But you know, I always suspected there was something a little off-kilter about that guy. He's always so damned perky and cheerful, you know? You gotta figure there's some kind of suppressed violence underneath all that, and I guess it had to come out somehow -- shame it had to be like *that*, though..." "Anla'Shok Cole has not been tried yet, much less convicted! And it is not your place to do either, *or* to hold him prisoner..." "That's where you're wrong, Shival," Garibaldi said firmly. "Under the bylaws agreed to by *your people*, Babylon 5 has full jurisdiction over its own internal security. And I'm not about to sign that over to anyone -- especially if it means letting a sicko like him loose to hurt more innocent people!" "But he is Anla'Shok! And the evidence..." "Is pretty damn convincing -- hell, I'd toss Sinclair himself in the brig with what we've got on this one..." as Garibaldi said those words, however, a shadow seemed to pass across his slate-grey eyes, and for a moment it seemed as though he forgot what he had been saying. He recovered quickly, shaking his head and holding the bridge of his nose as though fighting off a headache. "Look, I don't have time for this right now. Maybe once this is all over we can sit down and talk about it, but for now, he stays in the brig." With that, he turned on his heel and stalked off down the corridor. The Minbari looked after him thoughtfully. **** 15:35 EST, Z + 25 days. "Anything on the sensors yet, Dreann?" "Only some scattered debris, Val'na. If there was anything here, it's long gone." Tashann strode restlessly up and down the bridge of White Star 11, glowering out the viewscreen at the emptiness of Sector 97 by 104 by 138. They had passed beyond the comm relay limit yesterday, and had been going over this isolated region of space with a fine-grade skinscraper for almost six hours now, with no significant result. Tashann's feeling that there was something rancid about this whole situation was growing stronger by the minute. "That's it," he said at last. "We're heading back. Notify the other triad leaders to set course for Babylon 5. Hopefully Vikotal will be there when we get back, and..." "Val'na -- incoming transmission on the Anla'Shok frequency!" "Who could..." Tashann caught himself up short. "Put it through." His scowl changed to a wide grin as the comm holo focused to show a tall, spare Minbari woman in Ranger robes. "Val'na Lanniel! What brings you to this gods-forsaken corner of space?" "Rumours, speculations, and outright lies?" The Storm Dancer replied, quoting the first part of a famous Tee'la poem. "We received word that this area was a staging ground for Shadow forces," she went on, "but we found nothing, and when we rechecked our sources, it turns out the information was planted by Shadow agents. We were about to return to Minbar when we picked up your signature." "I *knew* it!" spat Tashann. Rapidly he filled the other Ranger captain in on his "mission" as well as Garibaldi's return. "Mr. Garibaldi has always been a man of honor," Lanniel said dubiously. "Perhaps, but even the most honorable may himself be deceived. And I liked not his manner -- I do not trust him, Lanniel. I think it best we make all speed back to Babylon 5 to confer with Shival and Vikotal. And remember, Westcastle and Clifford are still there, also." "I had heard about that -- did they truly venture to Z'ha'dum itself?" "Indeed -- but we can discuss these things as we travel. Dreann," Tashann spoke again to his first officer, "order the jump to hyperspace as soon as all are in position." Turning as one, fifteen White Star vessels vanished into the swirling throats of outgoing jump points. ****** 20:41 EST, Z + 25 days When Dr. Franklin had heard about Marcus Cole's arrest, he hadn't believed it. And the more he thought about it over the next couple of shifts, the less he believed it. When he asked to talk to the prisoner, he was told that Cole was being held incommunicado pending a preliminary hearing, by order of Mr. Garibaldi. When he demanded to talk to Mr. Garibaldi, he was told that the Security Chief was in an important meeting of the League of Non-Aligned Worlds and couldn't be disturbed. All of which inevitably led to the Chief of Staff's taking it upon himself to retrace the steps of the forensics experts assigned to the case. Unfortunately, given the data available, he was forced to come to the same conclusion. DNA traces recovered from the bodies pointed unequivocally to Marcus, plus the damning evidence of a lock of hair cut from one of the victims, found later in the suspect's own quarters. It was all there in turquoise and black (his favored display palette of the moment) -- but it was *impossible*. Practicing his Low Drazi, Franklin headed for the morgue for a look at the bodies with his own eyes and instruments. There he found, to his consternation, that they had already been cremated and disposed of. "*Before* the trial?" he asked, astounded. "Mr. Garibaldi's orders," replied the tech. "I thought it was a little odd, myself, but," he shrugged, "orders is orders." "Damn!" said the Doctor. Then he looked back up at the tech. "You wouldn't happen to have any...backup samples of the specimens, would you?" "Yeah, as a matter of fact I do!" the tech replied, brightening. He rummaged in the back of a refrigerator. "Somewhere back in here...there ya go. I thought I ought to take a backup, just in case something happened to the originals. Wouldn't want that sicko to go free for lack of evidence, after all!" "No, we certainly wouldn't," the doctor agreed. "Thanks -- I'll take good care of this!" **** What Franklin found in the backup sample caused him to run though his entire linguistic arsenal, twice, then sit staring blankly at the screen for what seemed like a very long time. Try as he might to come up with a third alternative, there seemed to be only two possibilities here. Either this sample was a fake, too, and they were looking for someone *extremely* clever, or his closest friend -- and the current leader of the Army of Light -- had turned into a depraved, cold-blooded rapist and murderer overnight. Well, no...not *exactly* overnight... Galvanized, Franklin pulled up Garibaldi's records -- *all* the records, dating back to the Security Chief's original posting to the station. The tests done on his return had been comprehensive, but the thing about test results was that they generally only showed what you were *looking* for. Franklin had been looking for alien viruses, bacteria, toxins -- and of course the telltale back-of-the-neck scarring he'd found on Anna Sheridan. Now he was looking for something else, and after several hours of painstaking analysis and comparison, he found it. Then he spent another hour and a half carefully cross-checking and verifying his results -- once that was done, though, he began moving very quickly indeed. ******** 02:53 EST, Z + 26 days Michael Garibaldi lit another cigarette and watched the shadows shifting in the corners of his quarters, illuminated only by the under-cabinet lights behind him as he sat alone at the dinette table. It was quiet. It was late. He should go to bed, but as usual these days, he couldn't seem to quiet his mind enough to sleep -- and when he did, all too often he woke abruptly from unremembered dreams. It didn't seem to be affecting his performance, though -- in fact, things had been going very well lately. Very well indeed. Seventeen more ships had come in the previous day -- Vree and Gaim mostly, along with a couple of Pak'ma'ra and a contingent of well-intentioned but probably useless Fzdsht'k. Sha'vei Vikotal and his combined Ranger/Minbari force were due in any time now, too. Lambs to the slaughter, all of them. His latest report had the Drakh fleet right on schedule. On the home front, of the people most likely to blow his cover, Franklin was clueless, Ulkesh was out of the picture, and Cole was neutralized. Even if something did go wrong at this point, he'd had plenty of time to set up...precautionary measures throughout the station, as well as ensuring that the defense grid was set to target the *appropriate* vessels during the upcoming battle. Sure, there were a few loose ends left to tie up -- he still hadn't managed to dispose of Clifford and Westcastle, thanks to the round-the-clock vigil set by the Tikopai brat and her Minbari lapdog Larieken -- but, essentially, it was all over but the fireworks. So, why couldn't he shake this nagging feeling that there was something wrong -- something he was forgetting? As long as he kept busy -- setting things up, planning things out, talking to people -- he was fine, but whenever he slowed down, this feeling slithered back, like black oil seeping into the backs of his eyeballs... Playing with the girls had sent it away for quite a while, but he didn't dare go that route again. Not without taking more care than it would be worth, at this point. There *was* another way, he thought, eyeing the amber-filled bottle and crystal glass standing, untouched, on the other side of the table. But no -- not like that. *That* was a challenge he'd made to himself -- the final proof that he really *was* a new man, in charge of himself and his Universe. To use it as a crutch -- to, how did the docs put it, "self-medicate" -- that would be the very antithesis of everything the new Garibaldi was all about. So. Maybe he could just think it through -- figure out what it was that was bugging him and put it to rest once and for all. He flicked the ash off his cigarette, watching the glowing tip flare against the darkness of the tabletop. All right. Lets' face it, this was a helluva turnaround for a guy like him. A month ago, if anyone had tried to tell him he'd be starting out the new year as the commander of the Army of Light, a devoted Shadow agent and the future Viceroy of Earth, he'd have laughed himself sick -- and probably punched the guy's lights out, to boot. But it made perfect sense, though, once you knew the whole story. Once you knew what was *really* going on. They had explained it so clearly -- Paul, and the dead woman from Psi Corps, and...the others. And the role they had in mind for him fit him perfectly -- it fit his talents, and would reward him for his efforts as Sheridan and the others never would have, even if they *could*. He took a drag and smiled, watching the bright end glow brighter as he blew smoke across it. When this was all over, he'd have money, and power, and *respect*. No more wasting his time busting two-bit thugs and watching the brainless behinds of bug-eyed *things* that called themselves Ambassadors. No more biting his fingernails off up to the elbows worrying about keeping his job, and no more crawling to some uniformed dickhead with his tail between his legs begging for *one more chance*. No more cowering like a starveling beast trapped in a cage of fire while hurricanes of rage and despair thundered through his mind and dark claws ripped at his soul -- no more screaming his throat raw and twisting in helpless agony as those eyes...those molten orange eyes...burning...everything was burning... Something beeped, and he jerked the cigarette away from his face. What the hell -- he'd almost put his own eye out with the damned thing! His link beeped again, and he snapped "What?!" at it, stubbing out the cigarette and blinking furiously. "Zack here, Chief. I know it's late, but we got a problem. Cole's escaped." "What?" Garibaldi repeated automatically, still shaken from his...daydream or whatever the hell it was. Then, "WHAT? What do you mean *escaped*? You put him in max security, right?" "Yes sir, just like you ordered." "Then how the hell could he *escape*? Did he teleport outta there, or did he have a nuke up his ass, or did the whole damn' stationload of Rangers waste half my security force breakin' him out?" A sinking feeling developed in the pit of Garibaldi's stomach as he considered which of these options was actually the most likely. "None of the above, Chief." Whew. "It looks like he *did* have some help, though. The last thing the guards remember is tellin' somebody he was still incommunicado and...Chief, you're not going to like this..." "It's too early in the goddamn morning for guessing games, Zack -- who the hell was it?" "Dr. Franklin." Franklin. Stephen. The sinking felling suddenly returned in the form of a medium-sized black hole in the middle of his stomach. "*SHIT!*" Garibaldi took a deep breath. Then another. "How much of a lead have they got?" "Twenty minutes -- maybe half an hour." "I want them FOUND, Zack. Roust out every man and woman we've got. NOBODY sleeps until those two are caught. I mean it, Zack -- I can't explain right now, but this is more important than you can *possibly* imagine. "And one more thing -- if they put up any kind of a fight, shoot to kill." There was no response. "You hear me, Zack?" Reluctantly, "I hear you, Chief." "Good." Garibaldi punched off the link, swearing. Of all the things to have happened -- and of all the times for it *to* happen...he shook his head and lit another cigarette. Come on, now, get a grip, he told himself. It wasn't *that* bad, after all. Let the treacherous bastards run -- Zack's boys would catch 'em by morning, anyway. It was just that it was the first thing that had really gone wrong, and it was throwing him. He should go help. He knew all the good hiding places...he could at least monitor the securecams...somehow, though, he found it impossible to move out of his chair, as if the entire mass of the great space station was suddenly pressing down on him. Ah, let Zack handle it. It really wasn't that big of a deal. And everything else was going great, after all. Really great. Really, really great. In fact, he decided, this was a damn' good time for a little toast. Just a little one, just to celebrate how really, really great everything was going. He reached for the bottle, cool and smooth and solid in his hand. -- To be Continued -- From: Jakhel@aol.com Subject: INFINITE REGRESS 1C: NexusPoint -- Part 10 of 12 Date: Tue, 7 Dec 1999 23:57:33 EST Yeah, it definitely looks like this is going to run to 12 parts. See Disclaimers in Part 1. Please e-mail any feedback to me at Jakhel@aol.com. This part will join the others shortly at http://members.aol.com/irwebsite/ffindex.htm Warning of, as some movie review put it, "brief language". *** Part 10 *** Babylon 5, Z + 28 days The market in Brown 37 centered on a large chamber originally designated as a conference room, but it had spread out, octopuslike, to fill the surrounding rooms and corridors, swelling and shrinking with the ebb and flow of the station's prosperity. In the past few days, as ships had gathered from half the known galaxy to battle the ancient Enemy, warriors from those ships had swelled the crowds until Zharim, the Drazi produce vendor whose stall held pride of place in the central chamber, could hardly make out the top of his brother Zharok's sandwich stand halfway down the nearest main hallway. What this unofficial market lacked in ambiance, compared to the more upper-class and brightly-lit Zocalo, it more than made up for in low prices and the availability of merchandise that was not always officially sanctioned. However, to be fair, most of the customers thronging the stalls were not there in search of illicit delights, but were merely doing their weekly shopping. Among these were two young females, no more than nine standard years old, each burdened with a large net shopping bag. One was Human, with tumbled black curls and a smudge across her nose, and the other Centauri, with shaven head and leaf-green eyes. The woman they were currently dickering with ran what would on Earth be called a drugstore, selling everything from non-prescription medications to small items of clothing, writing implements, and so on. The Human girl fingered a brightly-colored hair ornament while her companion paid for their purchases. A few steps away, a humanoid figure huddled within a long coat, its features hidden beneath a slouched, wide-brimmed hat of ancient Earth design. Every so often a shaking hand would raise a dingy bottle to its shadowed mouth. "Now, Selene, you know you can't afford that -- besides, you'd only lose it," the Centauri girl chided. "Yeah, I know, Jaida, it's just...oh, never mind. Do we have everything we need?" The Centauri consulted a list in her head. "I think so...oh, wait -- Ma'am? I need a bottle of Depil-X -- the medium size is okay. Thanks!" Chattering like a pair of magpies, the girls headed off with their booty. Seconds later, the sodden lurker heaved himself to his feet and followed. He followed them across half the sector and dowm several more levels -- he would have lost them at the transport tubes, but being young, energetic, and impatient, they took the stairs instead. He stayed far enough behind them to remain unnoticed, which was too bad, since parts of their conversation would have interested him very much indeed. "...and assuming we all live through the battle, Papa's going to let me help out in the greenhouse tomorrow. You want to come along?" Jaida asked nonchalantly. "I suppose..." the Human girl answered, frowning. "Hey, Jay," she said hesitantly, "you aren't...um...*scared* or anything, are you? I mean, they say these Drakh are the next worst thing to the Shadows themselves, and they're bringin' a hundred warships or more..." "Oh, come on, you've been listening to those Narn kids again," the Centauri chided. "Just look at how many ships have come in on our side already. It might get kinda scary for a while, but we'll be okay. Like Papa says, we just keep our heads down and let the...um...fertilizer fly right over." The girls giggled. Then Selene frowned again. "It's just so weird, though, having...*them* down here with us, instead of up there where they should be. Have they said anything to you about what's going on -- I mean, what's *really* going on?" Jaida shook her head. "Nope -- just that the official bulletins aren't telling the whole story. And I believe them, too -- I mean..." she looked around to make sure nobody was listening, and the follower ducked into a doorway. "*they* couldn't possibly be bad, could they? There's got to be something going on higher up..." "Yeah, but the only people higher up than them -- well, the only people *left* -- are Lieutenant Corwin and Mr. Garibaldi and that Ranger guy, and they couldn't be bad either, could they?" "Well, no, but maybe it's someone else...like that scary Vorlon. Somebody said it left, but you never can tell about Vorlons...or...I don't know, Selene. But they're going to have to do something before the battle, aren't they? I mean, they can't just keep hiding out down here, especially...I mean, if people are getting *hurt*..." "Hang on, we're here -- is anyone around?" Jaida looked back -- again, the man in the battered hat ducked out of sight. "All clear," she replied. Quickly, the other girl dropped her bag and scrambled up a handy conduit, pulling open a trap door in the ceiling. She swung herself up into the opening and passed down a rope ladder, and Jaida passed both bags up before clambering up it herself. Moments later, the man following them stepped out of his hiding place and stood under the closed access panel, swearing under his breath. ********* "Well, if it isn't our little angels of mercy! I don't suppose you brought us tea and crumpets?" Even in a dimly-lit 'tween-levels crawlspace, and despite several days without clean clothes or a sonic shower, Marcus Cole still managed to look rakishly handsome. "You didn't give us enough money for tea, and what's a crumpet?" Selene replied, unimpressed as only a nine-year-old tomboy could be. "I *did* remember this, though," added Jaida, tossing the bottle of depilatory lotion to the other man, whose 5 o'clock shadow was pushing midnight. "Bless you, my child," replied Dr. Franklin, stashing the bottle in a pocket of his oversized jacket and rummaging through the rest of the loot. "We should get going," said Jaida. "My papa's probably wondering where I am." "Yeah," agreed Selene, "My sister, too -- you wouldn't *believe* how paranoid she's gotten since Dad disappeared. It's like every time I'm a minute late she's afraid some *thing* has gotten me..." she hesitated. "Are you guys gonna be okay here? I mean, the Drakh are supposed to get here any time now, and if the station gets hit..." The two men looked at each other, then Marcus quirked a smile at the girls. "Don't worry about us -- you two just make sure you get *yourselves* to the shelters when the alarms sound. With any luck, by the time it's all over we'll have everything straightened out -- then I'll take you both to tea in the Zocalo and *show* you what crumpets are." "Deal!" said Selene, grinning. Jaida gave Franklin a serious look, which he returned with as reassuring a smile as he could muster. After the two girls had left, though, he sighed heavily. "What the hell are we gonna do, Marcus? We can't just let that madman take over the station..." "A bit late for that, I'm afraid," the Ranger observed. "Right now the important thing is to keep him from destroying the fleet -- I'd bet anything he's rigged a way to throw the battle. If I could just get through to Shival or Tharvonn...but Security's got everything locked up so tight we don't dare stir out of this hidey-hole for fear of getting our rear ends shot off." As if to punctuate that statement, the short whine of a charging PPG cut the air. The two men scrambled to their feet, hunching slightly under the low ceiling. Back by the trap door, a shadowed figure loomed in the dim light cast by the fugitive's lantern. As it approached, the distinctive shape of the old fedora came into view, and Franklin cursed, reaching for his own weapon. "Drop it, Doctor," the menacing figure said in a low, gravelly voice. "You too, Marcus," it added, and the Ranger released the length of pipe that had sprung into his hand. "Now let's all just sit down, nice and easy, and have a little chat." Franklin and Marcus looked at each other. There was something... "Siddown!" the voice commanded, and both men settled, confusion growing on their faces. The intruder hunkered down with them, taking off the battered headgear and wiping his sweaty face with it. "ZACK?!?" exclaimed Marcus. "Goddamnit, man," said Franklin, "you scared the living *shit* out of me!" "Huh? What -- oh, *this*!" Zack looked at the hat. "Yeah, I got the idea from the Chief -- I forgot that you'd been out wanderin' with him a coupla times. This was my granddad's hat, though. They came into fashion for a while around the turn of the century and he held onto it." "Very fetching," commented Marcus. "How did you find us?" demanded Franklin. "Your little friends," Zack replied, jerking his thumb back over his shoulder. "I'd been watching them, and when the Centauri girl bought a bottle of Depil-X, I knew I'd struck paydirt." Marcus protested, "But it could have been for her. I mean, she *is* Centauri, after all." "Yeah, but she got the *Edgars* brand. That stuff doesn't work on Centauri -- just gives 'em a nasty rash," Zack explained. Franklin laughed. "Pretty good detective work, Sergeant." He sobered, giving the other man a piercing look. "Now what -- are you going to take us in?" "Well, that depends," the Security guard replied. He looked down at his hands, as if steeling himself for a difficult decision. Then he looked back up at the doctor, his eyes dark with desperate worry. "We've been through a lot together, the past coupla years -- all of us. You, me, the Chief, the Captain, Ivanova. And now it looks like...ah, hell, Doc, I dunno, but when the Chief gave me orders to shoot you two, something just snapped. It ain't right, and...maybe I'm nuts, but I've had the feeling that there was something wrong ever since the Chief came back. It seems to me like you're the only guy with a chance in hell of knowing what's going on -- what's *really* going on. Do you?" Franklin sighed. "Not all of it, no, but from what I've been able to put together..." he went on to tell the Sergeant what he'd discovered, and what he'd deduced. When he was through, Zack gave a long, low whistle. "So there's no Ralga, no super-advanced species out there waiting to help us?" "Well, there's an advanced species out there," put in Marcus, "but it's one we already knew about, and I'd just as soon do without their 'help', thank you very much." Zack shook his head. "And the *Chief*, of all people -- it's just so hard to believe he could be turned like that..." "Anybody can be broken, Zack," replied Franklin grimly. "Although, from what I can tell...well, they used some pretty advanced medtech to cover their traces, but from what I *did* find, they didn't have an easy time of it." "Wonderful," said Zack heavily, empathy for his friend's pain tearing at his heart. "Yes, well, it's all very well being sympathetic," put in Marcus, "but the upshot is we've got an enemy agent with all Garibaldi's knowledge, skills and authority running around making a bollocks of the alliance, and if we don't find a way to stop him, we're all going to be Shadow snacks by this time tomorrow." "We've still got a little time, though," said Zack. "Last time I checked in, there was no sign of this Drakh fleet yet. I think our best bet is to make a move as soon as they get here, while everybody's runnin' around tryin' to get organized. I brought you a link -- " he handed the doctor the small device -- "I'm the only one who's got the frequency. As soon as something breaks I'll let you know. Meanwhile, I'll make sure you're safe enough here." He stood up and put the hat back on. "I'd better get back to the station house before I'm missed." He cast about for something else to say, but couldn't think of anything, so just headed off. "Hey, Zack?" Franklin called. The other man turned back. "Thanks." The shadowed figure touched the brim of its hat in farewell, then bent to disappear through the trap door. ***** Hyperspace, en route to Babylon 5, Z + 28 days "Val'na, we're picking up some kind of a reading on the gravimetric sensors -- I'm not sure how to interpret it." "Where is it coming from?" the Minbari woman asked, pausing in her circuit of the bridge. "Almost 90 degrees off the beacon, at the limit of our range. It looks like something...or several somethings...whatever they are, they're *big*." Lanniel considered for a moment, then nodded sharply to the comm officer. "Put a call through to Val'na Tashann. Tell him the situation, and that we are going to investigate. We will catch up with him at the last jump point before we get to Babylon 5. Tuvonn," she went on, turning to her first officer, "We'll go out in a chain formation. Have Anla'shok Pratchett hold position at the limit of the beacon's range, and Anla'shok Theylann will form the second link, if we need one." The three White Stars turned and moved off into the shifting otherness of hyperspace, while the other twelve continued on their way. Some distance off the beacon, one of the slim, deadly ships halted, while the other two headed farther into the unknown. Time passed. Lanniel paced. Hyperspace swirled. The anomalous readings grew stronger, but no more intelligible. "It looks as though there is some kind of...travelling *fold* in hyperspace, and the thing or things are moving along right behind it," Tuvonn reported. "How far?" asked Lanniel. "We should be coming up on it now." With that, a sickening, swooping sensation hit the ship. "Artificial gravity generators are overloading," said Tuvonn. "I'm compensating...we're almost through..." "Holy shit," commented one of the Human bridge crew as the veils of hyperspace dissipated, revealing the source of the mysterious readings. "Inaccurate, but not inappropriate," replied the captain. The bridge viewport, with its magnifying enhancement, showed a fleet, a flotilla, an entire *herd* of living and quasi-living ships, ranging from the familiar squidlike fliers through imposing war cruisers to incredible behemoths several miles in diameter, an ominous bluish glow lighting their forward edges within a fringe of reaching tentacles. The great mass of ships was obviously on the move, hidden in its cloaking fold of hypserspace, but to where? As the Rangers watched, unbelieving, one of the cruisers slowed, turned, and began to approach. "Open a channel," directed the Val'na. She hailed the Vorlon ship, but the only response was the brightening glow of its weapons port. "Tuvonn, get us out of here!" snapped Lanniel. The two White Stars flipped head over heels and streaked away, with the Vorlon cruiser in close pursuit. As they came out of the gravitic distortion, the alien ship fired a beam of deadly light. The second White Star swerved to escape, but the beam clipped an edge of one of its aerodynamic stabilizers. For a moment, the Humans and Minbari aboard both ships hoped that the Vorlon-derived hull would dissipate its energies, but then, to the horror of Lanniel's crew, the entire surface of the other ship rippled in a sickly green wave of death. As the ship shuddered and died, the remaining White Star threw herself into a complex -- and *Human*-programmed -- series of evasive maneuvers. As they fled past the point where the third White Star waited, Jamie Pratchett came out of the red mists of hyperspace at a tangent, raking the Vorlon cruiser with beams that had depressingly little effect. The larger ship hesitated for a moment, undecided as to which ship to pursue, but then continued after Lanniel's ship -- apparently, it considered the ship that had seen the hidden fleet to be more of a threat than its insignificant ally. Doging and weaving, the two Ranger ships made for the rendezvous point. Neither Lanniel nor Pratchett had any great confidence that fourteen White Stars could accomplish what three could not, but it was their only hope. At last, Lanniel said tensely, "Take us into normal space." The two ships were spat out of their vortices into black space shot through with sizzling rays of deadly energy. The twelve White Stars they were supposed to meet were distinguishable only by their comm signatures, as a score of others darted and dove among half a hundred deadly-looking warships of completely alien design. One of the new White Stars hailed Lanniel. "White Star 6, this is White Star 3. Sha'lath minas'var, Val'na Lanniel: welcome to the field of death." "Al'haiel reisan, Sha'vei Vikotal," Lanniel said, responding with the war-slogan of her clan. Another signal cut into theirs abruptly, as she spotted the unmistakable forms of three Minbari war cruisers, laying about them amid the alien ships. "You no longer bear the right to that *niedranh*, daughter. Nonetheless, it is perhaps fitting that we die here together, this day." "I have no intention of dying, Alyt Takier," interrupted yet another voice, rough with authority. "And neither, I believe, does your daughter." "Not today, Alyt Kozorr," the Ranger born a Storm Dancer replied, as her ship ducked beneath one Drakh ship to rake another with devastating fire. Tashann's triad joined her and Pratchett's ship to annihilate a swarm of alien fighters, while the three Minbari ships surrounded and destroyed one of the enemy's capital ships. While they were so engaged, however, two more of the Drakh warships vectored in on one of the Minbari, crippling its engines before the other two could chase them away. Lanniel stole a moment to check its identity -- it was Alyt Vahnell's *Eloshann*, not her father's beloved *Shaka-Neishann*. Cursing her misplaced sentimentality, she returned her attention to the battle. It was not going well. The alien ships might not be a match for the White Stars in maneuverability, but they were much bigger and had almost as much firepower as the Minbari cruisers, and there were a *lot* of them. Despite their brave words, the Minbari and Humans were in desperate straits. Then a third jump point opened, and another ship entered the field. It wasn't much bigger than the other capital ships, and at first, in the moments that it hesitated, they didn't pay much attention to it. On board the Drakh warship *Claw of Zakreel*, the watcher-of-sensors did not at first believe his eyes ("his" in Human parlance, although the young magus was many years from the Drakh equivalent of manhood). Then he cried out -- "My Vaarliht, the new ship -- it is the Great Enemy!" "What?" The older magus whirled. "To my screen, Raeznon!" As he saw, the ship's commander gasped, clenched his claws around the railing before him, and gave the order to fire. The Drakh beam splattered harmlessly against the Vorlon cruiser's hide, and the great, squidlike shape turned smoothly toward the offending vessel. After a small eternity of death and destruction, the remaining White Stars and the two operational Minbari cruisers waited with bated breath for the Vorlon ship's next move. Perhaps a dozen Drakh warships had fled, leaving the scattered remains of their comrades to fall endlessly into the night...having been quickly briefed by Val'na Lanniel, the humanoids could not help but wonder if they would be next. The Vorlon vessel hung, triumphant, in space...then turned, opened a jump point, and vanished. *********** Babylon 5, 07:02 EST, Z + 29 days. Lieutenant David Corwin was the only one left in the War room. The Drakh had not come yesterday, they had not come last night, and by what would be dawn over Earthdome, everybody else had given up and gone off to grab a few hours of sleep before getting back to the serious business of trying to pretend they weren't frightened out of their wits. Ambassador Kullenbrok of Brakir had even admitted, rather sheepishly, that if there was one good thing about the current emergency, it was that he was for once getting a chance to go to bed at a decent hour. Corwin smiled. Of all the Ambassadors, Lethke was probably his favorite, although he would never presume to say as much to the man. When David had come on board the station back in '57, he'd been a callow young Earthling with a shiny new promotion to Lieutenant, j.g., a firm determination to do his duty, and the hope of being able to write home about seeing an alien or two once in a while. Four years later, here he was *running* the place, and interacting every day with more different types of aliens than he had dreamed existed, from the congenial Brakiri through the intimidating Narns to the positively awe-inspiring Vorlons. Not to mention the mysterious Shadows, whose minions were reportedly on their way to destroy his station even now. Dammit, he wished they'd GET here already. He wondered if that was part of their strategy -- to wait until the defenders were exhausted from their vigilance, and the alliance began to unravel from the strain -- if so, it was working entirely too well. He knew he should go get some sleep, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the minute he lay down, the alarm would sound. Then again, maybe the best thing to do was just that -- the same way one would go to the bathroom to prompt a long-awaited comm call... Okay, now he *knew* he was getting punchy. He sighed and looked over the deployment display one more time. All the ships were in place, both fighter squadrons were on standby alert, pickets were posted deep into hyperspace, and the station's defense grid was, essentially, a touch away from activation. They were as ready as they could be -- but would it be enough? Visions of firefights he'd witnessed from the observation dome over the past few years kept scrolling through his mind. This would be far and away the worst yet -- and *he*, David Corwin, was the man in command. Granted, Mr. Garibaldi had done almost all of the strategic planning, the dickering and arguing and cajoling of the alien ambassadors, but when it came down to it, *his* was the ultimate responsibility. He laughed shortly to himself. If they survived this, he'd *definitely* deserve a promotion. Trouble was, now that they'd broken away from Earth, there was no one left with the authority to *give* him that promotion. He already outranked Garibaldi, after all. He supposed the station might be considered some sort of affiliate of the Rangers, but accepting rank from the Minbari Anla'Shok leaders somehow didn't sit right with him. Of course, there was that guy in Medlab -- Westcastle -- assuming he ever woke up. As far as Corwin could figure, he was Shival's equal in the Rangers, and he'd been, what, a Commander in Earthforce before he left? Maybe that would work. Corwin shook his head, dismissing his daydreams. First, they had to survive. Which meant he *had* to get some sleep. Resolute, he turned toward the door -- just as it hissed open. For a moment he didn't recognize the man who stepped through it, and when he did, his first thought was that he was in fact dreaming -- he wondered if he'd fallen asleep standing up! Then the man staggered slightly, leaning on the arm of the woman beside him (who looked in little better shape herself), and Corwin snapped out of his daze. "Westcastle! Are you all right?" he asked, hurrying to the steps to help them down to the table. "Miss Clifford -- here, sit down. What...how...when did you...I mean..." Anla'Shok Clifford smiled wanly at him from under her silver-streaked auburn bangs, while Westcastle braced himself against the table for support. "We have come through fire and deep water, Lieutenant," she said, then followed her fiance's sharp and knowing gaze to the tactical displays. "And it looks as though we have a ways to go, before we reach the shore." -- To Be Continued -- From: Jakhel@aol.com Subject: INFINITE REGRESS 1C: NexusPoint -- Part 11 of 12 Date: Sun, 19 Dec 1999 23:28:14 EST Yes, I am GOING to finish this puppy by the end of the year! Disclaimers in Part 1, story so far at http://members.aol.com/irwebsite/ffindex.htm. And yes, it's long enough that I had to attach it -- if it doesn't come through okay, let me know! Part 11 War Room, 07:14 EST, Z + 29 days. Jennifer Clifford flexed her left hand absently as she listened to Lieutenan= t Corwin's account of recent events. The memory of pain remained, although = the damage inflicted by the Shadow-woman's dark staff had been healed on the= Minbari ship that had found them, after they had been...somehow...transport= ed out of the very heart of the explosion that had destroyed the great, cave= rnous city on Z'ha'dum. Try as she might, Jennie could not help wondering w= hether the life-force drained from her with that wound had been the deciding= factor in the deaths of their mysterious friends, the ancient alien Taaldon= and his faithful ship/companion. Perhaps, if she had not slipped and allow= ed herself to be injured, they *all* would have survived...as if sensing her= distress, William turned to her, his own pain-shadowed eyes bringing her ba= ck to present reality. She sat straighter, and focused on the conversation = at...hand. "You say this...*Drakh* fleet was due here yesterday?" she echoed Corwin's w= ords. "And there has been no sign of them?" The young Lieutenant sighed. "Nothing. I was just about to grab some sleep= when you two showed up." William nodded. "I hate to say it, but that might be a good idea for all of= us." He laughed shortly, and Jennie noted again with a pang the streak of = silver that had appeared in his dark hair during their ordeal. "Dr. Hobbs s= aid we'd been out for the better part of a month, but I still feel like I co= uld sleep for a week..." and maybe, thought Jennie, forget for a while that= he had, only minutes ago as their own internal clocks went, killed a man wh= o was once one of his closest friends. Before she could say anything, howev= er, the door hissed open and a most welcome figure hastened down the stairs = to them. "Shival!" cried Westcastle. "Don't get up," the Minbari ordered, holding the Human in place with a firm = clasp on the shoulder. He looked over at Jennie. "You are well, Anla'Shok?= Both of you?" An unaccustomed grin sneaked onto Shival's normally-impassiv= e face. "Anla'Shok Quintara came flying into my chamber like a mother tli'f= aq disturbed from her nest -- all he could say was 'they're back! they're ba= ck!'. I would have come to you sooner, but I had to calm him down -- then w= hen I reached Medlab Dr. Hobbs told me you had come here, *against* her most= stringent recommendations! "So," he added, sobering, "Lieutenant Corwin has apprised you of the situat= ion?" "Yes," William nodded. "I knew Captain Sheridan was at Z'ha'dum with us, bu= t Delenn, the others..." "Did you see him?" asked Corwin anxiously. "Is there any chance that he..."= he trailed off as Westcastle shook his head. "No, we didn't see him. As to the other...I cannot say for certain, but...I= think I would know it if he were dead." "That's what Delenn said, before she left," commented the Lieutenant. "Sheridan, Delenn, Ivanova...all lost at Z'ha'dum," mused Jennifer. There wa= s something...a pattern she could almost make out...William spoke again, and= she lost it. "And the two of us end up here..." he shook his head again. "This isn't rig= ht, Jen, this isn't...I'm not supposed to *lead*, this time..." "Do not worry," said Shival dryly, "Mr. Garibaldi seems to be having no trou= ble at all taking command responsibility -- I have been anticipating firewor= ks when Sha'vei Vikotal arrives, and 'Rimstalker' though you may be, someho= w I don't believe that he will be in any great hurry to hand the helm over t= o *you*, either." "Garibaldi?" said Jennie. She'd missed that part, apparently. She looked at= Corwin. "But aren't *you*..." The Lieutenant's link beeped. "Corwin here." "Lieutenant, we are getting a transmission on a secure channel -- it's from = Sha'vei Vikotal, with the White Star fleet." "Put it through!" Corwin ordered, and the table's comm screen hummed into po= sition. In moments, the screen cleared to show an ascetic-looking Minbari of early m= iddle age, dark Ranger robes framing his lightly-bearded face. Jennie, stil= l feeling slightly askew from reality -- her Observer's talent heightened by= her travails, perhaps -- found a moment to marvel at the Warrior Caste's tr= adition of cultivating facial hair among those few that were capable of it. = Did some lingering memory of its significance -- the traces of Human DNA in= fused into the Minbari genome by Valen -- remain hidden in their rituals and= traditions, even as they railed against allowing Humans to join the Anla'Sh= ok? At any rate, Vikotal himself was no isolationist -- he had worked along= side William, herself, and the others with unfailing courtesy and respect, a= nd earned from them in turn the highest regard. "I rejoice to see you both well, Sha'vei'e," Vikotal began. "And you, of co= urse, Lieutenant -- and Anla'Shok Clifford. However, I regret that I must b= e the bearer of ill tidings -- along with some that may be *less* ill." "I got some good news, and I got some bad news," translated Corwin under his= breath. Jennie slid him a smile, and a corner of Westcastle's mouth twitch= ed as he replied. "By all means, give us the *good* news first -- we can certainly use some!" Vikotal smiled tightly back. "That is that we shall arrive at Babylon 5 in = less than eight of your hours," he said. "We encountered...an obstacle at t= he last jumpgate: a fleet of alien ships on course for the station. With so= me unexpected help, most of them were destroyed, but we were unable to plot = the escape vector of the survivors, and they may well be headed your way." Corwin laughed aloud with relief. The others stared at him -- "Sorry," he s= aid quickly, "It's just that...could you tell how *many* of them got away?" "No more than a hand of threes, if that -- why, did you know of this?" asked= the Minbari. "We certainly did! You've been out of touch on your way here, but we've bee= n pulling together a fleet from all the League worlds -- we were told that a= massive strike force of Shadow servants was coming here to take the station= , and we've been on alert since yesterday. Even if your people didn't scare= them away, we should be able to handle what's left of them...well, relative= ly easily, anyway...um...thanks!" the Lieutenant finished, with heartfelt gr= atitude. "And unless they are much faster than our ships, we will have some time to *= rest* before they get here," added Shival. =20 "There is one other factor you should be aware of..." Vikotal began, and gav= e a concise report of what Lanniel had discovered in hyperspace, and the con= sequences of that discovery. After the other Minbari signed off, the four of them sat looking at each oth= er for a long moment, torn between relief and trepidation. Finally Corwin said, "Should we wake up Mr. Garibaldi and tell him the good= news?" Shival looked up, but it was Jennifer who answered. "No," she said firmly. "Let him sleep." ******** 12:23 EST, Z + 29 days Michael Garibaldi pushed his way through the crowd, swearing steadily to him= self. What did that damn' fool kid Corwin think he was doing, not waking hi= m up when the Ranger's call came through! By the time he'd checked his moni= tor records and grasped the situation, the League representatives had had ti= me to confer, boil over, and start a mass demonstration in the Zocalo itself= . And his head was *still* pounding. He looked around for a quiet spot to = fortify himself from his shiny new hip flask, but spotted Zack instead. He = cocked his head for his second to join him and forged ahead. Ahead and abov= e, the Drazi and Hyach Ambassadors had come out to the middle of the catwalk= to address the crowd. Zack eyed his Chief warily over the back of his hand, talking softly but cle= arly into his link. "No, they never came, and at this point it looks like they aren't going to. = But *something's* going on, and this is probably the best chance you're goi= ng to get. Meet me here in the Zocalo -- I'll clear it with my people -- an= d get a move on!" ******** Lieutenant Corwin opened his mouth to tell the watch officer that he was goi= ng to go check out the situation in the Zocalo, but didn't get a chance to s= peak. "Lieutenant! We've got something coming through the jumpgate -- the signatu= re doesn't match anything in our database." "Hail them!" "No response, Lieutenant, but the Drazi and the Vree are asking if they shou= ld engage." "Negative!" Corwin said quickly. "For all we know, it could be a new specie= s coming to join up. Try hailing them again. Try all known frequencies -- = and then start on the others. And put me through to Sergeant Allan!" ******** "But if Drakh are not coming, why do we need fleet?" demanded Ambassador Viz= hak. Behind him, the Hyach ambassador, an elderly and normally conciliatory male = named Byellarn, chimed in, "We have answered your call to defend this statio= n, now we need our warships to fortify our own territories, against the chan= ce that the Shadows *do* attack again." "*Chance*?" repeated Shival, close to open anger. "The Drakh fleet was mean= t as a delaying tactic, to keep us occupied while the Shadows built up their= forces. Since it was destroyed so quickly, that gives us the perfect oppor= tunity to strike first." "Was agreed, fleet was for defensive purposes only!" the Drazi shot back. "That issue was tabled, not resolved," retorted the Minbari. "Well, now we are resolving it," said Byellarn impatiently. "*IF* the Enemy= does come again, we will need all our resources to defend ourselves -- we c= annot afford to go off on gallant but suicidal adventures like a herd of hee= dless younglings..." "He's got a point, you know," put in Garibaldi, walking up behind the Drazi = and the Hyach. Shival looked at him sharply. "Was the attack not your idea in the first place?" "Sure, but situations change. We've managed to score a couple of good hits = -- mostly by accident, of course, but hey, a victory is a victory, right? I= t would be...foolhardy to risk endangering ourselves further. Besides, it w= ould only provoke the Shadows, and make *sure* they come after us again. Y= eah, maybe it's better to lay low and...just hope they don't notice us," he = finished complacently -- but his eyes slid sideways toward the Drazi Ambassa= dor, who was looking decidedly uncomfortable. Byellarn, on his other side, = folded his arms and nodded smugly. "Besides," Garibaldi went on, "it's not as though there was anybody *else* o= ut there who might turn out to be a threat, is it?" He caught Shival's gaze= -- would the Sha'vei spill the beans about the suddenly-aggressive Vorlons = now, or would he succumb to the Minbari instinct to keep secrets that they t= hought were too "dangerous" for others to know? If the latter, Garibaldi mi= ght have to break the news himself (and *wasn't* it a good thing he'd put th= at tap into the War Room's comm system!). With the destruction of the Drakh= fleet, his primary goal now became the neutralization of the League forces,= both those already gathered and Vikotal's White Stars and Minbari reinforce= ments. If the Vorlons were getting into the game, the last thing his associ= ates needed was a war on two fronts. Garibaldi still had an ace up his slee= ve, but in order to play it he had to get the ships all together in one plac= e -- one *specific* place. "Is not habit of Drazi to...'lay low'," growled Vizhak. Byellarn glanced at= him. "Perhaps it is better to be *certain* enemy is dead, rather than turn= back on wounded foe..." "But while our ships are here, who will guard our worlds?" the Hyach asked, = rather plaintively. "Sha'vei Vikotal is on his way with a fleet of White Stars," Shival reassure= d him. "They can be deployed on patrol near your worlds..." As he went on, two more Humans pushed their way through the crowd to hesitat= e at the end of the catwalk. Jennifer blinked as she caught sight of the Se= curity Chief. There was something like a fuzzy aura around him, as if she w= ere seeing him against a bright light -- except that this was an aura of sha= dow. Beside her, William stirred as if to join the others, but for no reaso= n she could articulate, Jennie held him back. Below, a slight, determined figure made her way towards the catwalk from the= forward bank of transport tubes. Looking up, she spotted William and Jenni= fer, and a rare, incandescent smile lit her face. =20 ******** "All right, positions everybody -- here they come!" Zack glanced around to = make sure both teams of Security guards were in place, covering the entrance= to the mysterious ship that had come to rest, uninvited, in the docking bay= . What was *really* spooky was that the thing had used the station's own ac= cess codes, bypassing C&C entirely. Before Corwin could order the fighter s= quadrons scrambled, the alien vessel was too close to the station to fire on= , so Zack's people were now the only thing standing between...whatever was i= n there...and the station's population. The crane elevator obscured the ship's hatch, then lowered itself crankily t= o the floor of the docking bay. Zack, crouching by the entryway, could make= out two blurred forms through the translucent glastic...then the doors hiss= ed open. "Son of a..." he croaked. He stood up, lowered his PPG, and walked forward = as though mesmerized.=20 ******** "What the hell does that flaming jackass think he's doing? Hell, he's argui= ng both sides against the middle, almost as if he *wants* the alliance to br= eak up -- I've got to get out there..." "Wait, William -- there's something else going on here. Just -- let it play= out." ******** Lieutenant Corwin was just about to head down to the docking bay to confirm = Zack Allan's incredible report, but he didn't make it out the door. "Lieutenant, there's an unidentified ship coming through the jumpgate," call= ed the watch officer again. Corwin stopped in his tracks. "Not *another* one!" he protested. "This one is of Earth design, and it's hailing us...sir, they want to speak = to *you*, privately!" "Put them through." Corwin picked up a headset, frowning -- but as he listened, an incredulous s= mile began to spread across his face. ******** A hand grabbed Julia's sleeve. She whirled, her hand going to the denn'bok = -- *Jennifer's* denn'bok -- at her waist. "Whoa, easy there!" said the familiar dark figure of Medlab's Chief of Staff= . Behind him, Marcus waggled his fingers at her amiably. Her mouth twitche= d, but she glared at the doctor. "Where have you *been*? Did you hear about William and Jennifer?" "William and...no, what?" Franklin asked, looking alarmed. Julia jerked her= head in the direction of the two Rangers at the edge of the catwalk, and th= e doctor grinned. "Well, I'll be!" "We'll *all* be, if we don't get up there," Marcus pointed out. "Look who's= taken center stage!" Up above, Garibaldi was addressing the crowd now as well as the ambassadors,= and he'd gone back to arguing *against* a combined attack on the Shadows. = Now he was saying they needed to concentrate their ships here as a show of f= orce, but not risk provoking further incidents. Vizhak and Byellarn were l= ooking thoroughly confused, and Shival kept looking over toward Westcastle a= nd Clifford, as if urging them to come out and take over. "How did you get here? Where have you been?" Julia asked again. "Hiding," Franklin replied succinctly. "In case you're wondering, Marcus wa= s framed. I found out about it and got him loose -- then Zack found us...lo= ng story short, we were supposed to meet him here. Have you seen him?" "No..." the girl replied absently, caught by an earlier part of the doctor's= story. "But who would want to frame *Marcus*?" The two men looked at each other. Marcus drew breath to answer. "Wait -- listen!" the girl cut in before he could speak, then stood motionle= ss, suspended in the moment by her Observer's talent. Above them, Byellarn = was responding, at length, to an impassioned appeal by Shival... "...Sheridan *died* trying to attack Z'ha'dum. No one who goes there comes = back alive!" the Hyach elder declared emphatically. Shival glared at William and Jennifer, willing them to step forward -- but b= oth of them were looking *beyond* him, with wonder dawning on their expressi= ve Human faces. Shival frowned and turned -- and was himself held silent by= awe and mystery. Garibaldi followed his gaze.=20 "Well, I'll be damned," the Human murmured. Vizhak looked next, and his movement caught Byellarn's attention. Shival st= epped back to let the newcomer pass, but it was Vizhak who mustered the cour= age to speak first. "Captain...we're sorry. We thought you were dead!" the Drazi said, looking = as bewildered as a large, bipedal iguana could possibly look. Sheridan glared at him for a frosty moment, completely ignoring Shival and G= aribaldi, then looked down at the crowd and nodded shortly. "I was," he said flatly. "I'm better now." Slowly, he looked back at the t= all alien at the end of the catwalk. Then his gaze shifted to meet that of = Shival, who raised his hands and nodded in a brief bow. Turning his back on= the Security Chief without even glancing at him, Sheridan addressed the cro= wd. "The Ambassador is correct," he said, in a low but penetrating voice that ca= rried far in the suddenly silent Zocalo. "I went to Z'ha'dum. I've *seen* = the face of the enemy..." As Sheridan continued to speak, Michael Garibaldi grew more and more uncomfo= rtable -- he wanted more than anything to get the hell *off* this catwalk. = At the end Sheridan had come from, a tall, unknown but somehow familiar-seem= ing alien blocked the way out. As Garibaldi glared at the guy, trying to pi= n down that sense of nebulous familiarity, the alien looked back at him from= depthless eyes, head tilted like some kind of curious bird, the odd growth = or stone or whatever it was lodged in his forehead winking in the overhead l= ights. The Human suddenly realized that the other's expression was one of *= pity*...=20 Infuriated, Garibaldi tore his gaze away from the alien's, and it fell on Za= ck Allan, standing with arms folded and a look of anguished disappointment o= n his face. Garibaldi's stomach did that nullgrav thing again, and he wante= d desperately to yank out his hip flask -- instead, he turned to see if he c= ould get out the other way... Hell. Westcastle and Clifford were still blocking the way -- he'd noticed t= hem before, but hadn't had a chance to even *think* about how to handle them= . Westcastle looked like he was linked to the Captain on a tight beam, but = the woman was watching Garibaldi, and her glare was one of unmistakable susp= icion. Hell and damnation -- he HAD to get out of here. But wait a second -- they = couldn't really KNOW anything, could they? Probably just resentment over th= e way he'd taken control...he eyed Sheridan's broad shoulders, no more than = a couple of feet in front of him. He could shoot the Captain, right now, at point-blank range. His left hand = moved towards his waist, and Shival pinned him with a glare. Dammit, even i= f the Minbari weren't right there, the gun would take too long to charge -- = Sheridan's own reflexes were plenty quick enough to save him. Garibaldi rel= axed his hand, flexing both absently. One good push -- but that was no good= either, unless the guy just happened to break his neck. And even if he did= , Garibaldi wouldn't live to appreciate it. His brain beating against one b= rick wall after another, he found himself actually *listening* to the Captai= n's speech -- feeling the audience's energy rising to meet it. There was so= mething...unprecedented going on here... "...we can fight, and we can *win*, but *only* if we do it together." Sheri= dan stopped, his gaze raking the crowd with searing intensity. "*Can I coun= t on you?*" The murmur of the crowd grew to a roar as Sheridan whipped them into a frenz= y -- but it was a *united* frenzy, as, regardless of species, every sentient= in the place joined to pledge their support to the Captain and his attack f= leet.=20 Garibaldi tried to slip away as Sheridan and the three Rangers joined Zack a= nd the mysterious alien at the end of the catwalk, but somehow he found hims= elf pinned between Jennie Clifford and Sha'vei Shival. As they came down th= e stairs and out onto the main floor, the others instinctively formed a circ= le around the Captain and his Chief of Security. Garibaldi's fingers brushe= d the solid heft of his hip flask absently as he met Sheridan's icy glare. "Zack's been telling me about some very disturbing things that have been goi= ng on on this station since I've been gone," the Captain said pointedly, "..= .*and* about your role in them." Garibaldi looked at his second, who stood at Sheridan's side with his arms f= olded around himself defensively. "That's *twice*," he said, very tightly. Zack blanched. "Garibaldi!" snapped the Captain. "What do you have to say for yourself?" As the Security Chief stared into those blazing eyes, eyes that seemed to op= en on an abyss that he could not begin to fathom, he had no doubts whatsoeve= r that this man had indeed come back from Death...but then he, Michael Garib= aldi, had looked in the face of Hell itself. He didn't exactly remember whe= n or how, but from deep within him the certainty welled up, molten and seeth= ing, and with it came the strength to stare the Captain down. A moment's he= sitation flickered in Sheridan's eyes, and that was enough. "MY role?" Garibaldi shot back, "You wanna talk about *my* role? Okay, so *= maybe* I haven't done everything *exactly* the way you would have done it if= you'd *happened* to be around, but we're still in pretty good shape, here! = And speaking of roles," he added, looking pointedly at the alien, "who's yo= ur new buddy, there?" Sheridan cast a look back, as if verifying that the stranger was still behin= d him. "His name is Lorien," he replied firmly. "He brought me back from = Z'ha'dum, and that's all you need to know for right now." "Brought you back, huh?" said Garibaldi sarcastically, "what about Delenn an= d Ivanova -- did he pick them up on the way, too?" Might as well know the w= orst, he thought -- then noticed Sheridan's look of surprise and grinned lik= e a shark. "Delenn? Ivanova? I thought -- where *are* they?" demanded Sheridan, lookin= g around as if expecting them to appear -- or someone to at least answer him= . "So, he didn't even tell you, did he?" Garibaldi pressed on. He raised his = voice to address Lorien. "Hey, you -- you knew they were on Z'ha'dum, didn'= t you?" The alien frowned sadly. Sheridan glared at him. "You *KNEW*? Why didn't you..." Lorien raised his hand, and Sheridan trailed off. "*YOU* were my concern, C= aptain," he replied. "There were...arrangements made for the others of your= kind who were drawn into the Nexus..." He looked beyond Sheridan and Garib= aldi, nodding toward Westcastle and Clifford. Sheridan followed his gaze, n= ow completely confused. Garibaldi seized the opportunity... "Look, I know this must all seem kinda strange to you...I know it does to *m= e*, and I haven't even been dead yet..." he took Sheridan's arm as if to lea= d him away. "Why don't we get out of this crowd and I can fill you in on wh= at's going on...what's *really* going on..." Sheridan jerked back as if he'd been shot. Garibaldi opened his mouth to sa= y something reassuring -- he had no idea what... =20 "*MR. GARIBALDI!!!*" Garibaldi looked up to see a trio of avenging Furies bearing down upon him, = the crowd moving apart before them like the Red Sea before Moses. =20 "Delenn!" cried Sheridan. "Woops!" said Garibaldi. The nuclear fury in Ivanova's eyes burned away any= hope Garibaldi had of salvaging the situation. He turned and pushed betwee= n William and Jennifer, diving into the crowd and shoving ruthlessly toward = the far end of the great chamber. Behind him, he could sense the others fol= lowing -- he smashed a Centauri matron into a Narn father carrying his young= pouchling on his shoulder -- all three toppled into a cluster of bystanding= Pak'ma'ra. "You *really* ought to watch where you're going," a hateful voice sniped fro= m directly in front of him. Marcus stood there, pike extended, not a trace = of levity on his face. Stephen stood on one side of the Ranger, looking at = Garibaldi with a disconcerting combination of sympathy and wariness. Young = Julia Tikopai stood on the other, her hand resting on the denn'bok at her ow= n belt and a grim set to her jaw. Garibaldi had no time for this. He feinted toward Stephen, reaching back un= der his jacket, then as Marcus struck that way he spun back and grabbed Juli= a instead, pinning the girl's arms and pressing his charged PPG against her = forehead. "Back off," he snarled, and a clearing opened up around him as the onlookers= registered what was going on. Back towards the catwalk, Sheridan and the o= thers halted, too. Zack pulled his weapon, but realized that in his current= state Garibaldi would not hesitate to kill the girl and lowered it again. Garibaldi glanced behind him, then sidled himself and his hostage over to a = stall featuring belts and scarves. He ordered the Llort proprietor to stuff= an assortment into his pocket --=20 "Send the bill to Station Security!" he tossed over his shoulder as he shove= d Julia toward the transport tubes. Behind him, the giraffe-like alien matt= er-of-factly entered the codes into his register. Once in the transport tube, he set about securing his prisoner. This was no= easy task -- for all her youth, Julia Tikopai had been training as a Ranger= for months, and was strong, quick, and agile. Garibaldi, however, was prof= essionally trained in handling difficult prisoners, was much stronger, and w= as, well, *almost* as fast. It was a close thing, but by the time the car w= as well into Brown Sector he had managed to tie her hands and feet securely,= and had stuffed a gag into her mouth (not without a couple of nasty bites).= He spent another few moments typing several preset codes into his link, th= en used the override to stop the car and hauled his struggling package out = into the deserted corridor. =20 ******** Lieutenant Corwin acknowledged Ivanova's quick call and headed for the doorw= ay. "Lieutenant!" Corwin turned on his heel. "What NOW!?!" he demanded. The watch officer se= emed struck speechless, though -- she simply pointed out the obsevation dome= . Outside, plasma bolts and beams of deadly greenish light speared outward,= towards the assembled League ships. "What the..." Corwin dashed for the defense grid console "Holy Sh...damn! T= he defense grid is hot, and it's firing on our own allies..." "Sir, I can't override," called out another officer. "It's locking me out..= ." "Can you cut the power?" asked Corwin. "Trying...no, sir, that's locked out, too!" "Getting emergency transmissions from the Gaim, Drazi, and Abbai," reported = the comm officer. "They're demanding explanations, sir!" "Tell them it's a system malfunction, and suggest they get the hell out of r= ange!" Corwin replied. "Get me Ivanova!" ******** "Captain!" cried Susan, "Lieutenant Corwin says the defense grid is online a= nd targetting League ships automatically -- he can't stop it from C&C." "Oh, hell," said Zack. "The Chief must have rigged something -- he probably= triggered it through presets on his link..." "He's been back for weeks," Marcus pointed out, "God *knows* what kind of bo= oby-traps he might have set up, all over the station." "Nice to know your eternal optimism hasn't changed since we left," observed = Susan. "If you're right," Sheridan said to Zack, "he would have had to route the m= ain programs through a main hub -- one he was intimately familiar with and c= ould count on having control over..." "Security Central!" Zack chimed in. "If I can get to it, I can cut off his = access to the network..." he spun on his heel and took off for the nearest e= xit. "Hopefully *before* our 'allies' start shooting back..." murmured Sheridan. "Or he decides to blow the reactor," added Susan. "*Now* who's being optimistic?" commented Marcus. "Unfortunately, either of those things could be exactly what he's aiming for= ," said Stephen grimly. "Or both..." "But he'd want to be damn sure *he* didn't get caught in the crossfire..." m= used Sheridan. "The shuttle bay!" cried Susan, and headed off toward the transport tubes. "Wait!" called the Captain. "Susan, I don't have my link yet, so I can't co= ordinate with C&C -- you get a trace on the tube car he took, try to track h= im that way. Marcus, you go with her. Stephen, try to catch up with Zack -= - you're the best hacker we've got, next to Garibaldi. William, Jennie -- y= ou're with me. We'll try to cut him off before he makes it to the shuttle b= ay." "John..." cried Delenn, realizing she was about to be left again. He turned= to her, his heart in his eyes, then looked up and over her shoulder. =20 "Lennier," he said quickly, "Take her back to her quarters -- and make sure = nothing happens to her!" The young Minbari opened his mouth to retort, but then thought better of it = and simply nodded. Meanwhile, Lyta was looking around, as if searching for someone. Suddenly, = she focussed, like a dog catching a scent, and with only a quick glance towa= rd Susan's retreating back, headed off toward yet another exit. Shaking his= head, Sheridan strode to the bank of transport tubes, Westcastle and Cliffo= rd falling into place behind him. ******** It was a good thing everybody and their brother-in-law was either at the Zoc= alo or still huddling in fear of the Drakh attack, Garibaldi thought to hims= elf as he dragged the struggling Observer through the halls of Brown Sector.= Finally he came to the section of corridor he wanted -- he dumped the girl= and went to work on a segment of bulkhead. He lifted it away to reveal a h= idden storage space, just big enough to hold a slight, teenaged Human if you= folded her properly. Garibaldi proceeded to do just that, ignoring her fur= ious "mmmmfggh's" of protest. Her muffled cries -- more imprecations than p= leas for help -- covered the sound Jennifer's collapsed denn'bok made as it = dropped from her belt and rolled into a shadowed corner. Muttering a few imprecations of his own, Garibaldi refastened the bulkhead, = checked his link, smiled, and took off down the corridor. ******** "Good, we got here first," said Sheridan as they skidded out onto the floor = of the shuttle bay. Three of the station's own complement of shuttles crouc= hed, dark and silent, in the large open space. There were three other entra= nces to the shuttle bay, but one led to a control room and another to a stor= age area, so there was really only one other entrance to cover -- unless Gar= ibaldi had gotten there ahead of them. Sheridan ran across to crouch under = the landing strut of the central shuttle, where he could fire at either door= way with one of the PPG rifles they'd picked up, while William and Jennie hu= rried to inspect the side rooms. Just as Jennifer called an 'all clear' from the control room door, a PPG bol= t spanged off the strut by Sheridan's head.=20 ******** Zack pounded into the central Security office, Dr. Franklin a step behind hi= m. Both of them set to work examining the consoles, but after a moment Zack= stood up, swearing. "What is it?" demanded Franklin. "The routines go through here, all right, but he's got them encrypted and pa= ssword-protected." "Well...*you* know his password, don't you?" "What, do I *look* stupid? Of course I know his password -- but he didn't *u= se* his. Sneaky son of a bitch..." "So, whose password *did* he use?" Zack looked at the doctor grimly. "The Captain's!" ******** All three of them were firing at the other entrance now, without much hope o= f actually hitting Garibaldi but with the certainty of wearing down his PPG'= s energy cap. At last the return fire stopped, and Garibaldi called out. "Hey Captain, can't we talk about this?" Sheridan looked quickly at each of the others -- Westcastle looked back nonc= ommitally, while Jennifer shook her head slightly. Sheridan sighed, and cal= led back. "All right, but toss your gun out first, then come out with your hands up." "Isn't that supposed to be *my* line?" quipped the Security Chief, as a PPG = slid across the floor. A moment later he stepped through the doorway, his h= ands up indeed, clasped behind his head. Sheridan stepped out from behind t= he strut, but the others stayed put, keeping their weapons ready. The dista= nce between the two men closed. "Michael," said Sheridan, "I know you've...been through a lot. But I think = we can *help* you, if you'll just let us..." The sound of an explosion ripped through the chamber as the cockpit of the f= ar shuttle burst into flames. The two Rangers instinctively turned towards = it, and Sheridan just as instinctively flinched. Garibaldi, however, simply= pulled his hands down, pointed the one with his backup PPG in it at Sherida= n, and fired. The Captain went down, and before the other two could react, = the Security Chief had fled back down the corridor. Jennie leaped into the control room and used the comm there to call for help= , but she was afraid that it was already too late. --- To Be Concluded --- From: Jakhel@aol.com Subject: INFINITE REGRESS 1C: NexusPoint -- Part 12 of 12 Date: Sun, 26 Dec 1999 22:21:44 EST Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, people! Disclaimers in Part 1, and the story in its entirety will be available within the year at http://members.aol.com/irwebsite/ And again, I will need to attach it (okay, okay, it should have been, like 15 parts!) Part 12 Security Central (the "Stationhouse") 14:12 EST, Z + 29 days "You getting anywhere with that, Doc?" Franklin shook his head, exasperated. Zack could follow what he was doing j= ust enough to know that it was bad. Garibaldi had set up at least a dozen s= eparate programs, each activated by a preset code from his link and affectin= g systems throughout the station's network. Since the programs ran on the S= ecurity hub processor, they could theoretically be overridden from here -- b= ut not until they were activated, and then only with a password. In a fit o= f pure Garibaldi fiendishness, the Chief had used the *Captain's* password, = smug in the belief that Sheridan had been killed at Z'ha'dum. The joke would have been on him, since Sheridan had returned alive and well = with his First One companion -- but a call had come in only moments ago from= the Ranger, Jennie Clifford, stating that Garibaldi had shot the Captain po= int-blank in the shuttle bay. That is...oh, never mind. At any rate, they = were screwed. Royally screwed, Zack realized as a line of bright red appeared on the conso= le. "Is that..." he began. "The reactors!" Franklin confirmed. "He's set them to blow in..." he checke= d the monitor "less than ten minutes. If we can't get that password..." "Try Ivanova," Zack suggested. "I doubt that he'd use..." Franklin began, then caught Zack's look. "Oh!" h= e tapped his link quickly. "Franklin to Ivanova!" Unfortunately Susan, who was still tracking Garibaldi by way of the transpor= t tube logs, didn't know the Captain's password either. The red line on the= console grew steadily longer. ******** William Westcastle was not even slightly surprised when he looked up from Sh= eridan's body to find Lorien kneeling by his side. The memories of the odd c= onversation he had had with the First One, in the no-time and no-space in wh= ich he and Jennie had been whisked away from the explosion at Z'ha'dum, had = been pushed into the back of his mind at first. While they were supposed to= be resting that morning, though, William had gone over and over it. Seeing= Lorien at Sheridan's side in the Zocalo had not been much of a surprise, s= o his appearing out of nowhere half the station away from where he'd been la= st seen was nothing to even think twice about. Lorien looked down at Westcastle and nodded a greeting. William simply aske= d, "Can you help him?" Lorien sighed, nodded again, and stretched his long-fingered hand over the C= aptain's chest. A faint glow gathered, spreading between hand and uniform. = The light seemed to seep into the Human's body, and the dreadful, cauterize= d wound shimmered and closed. As the glow faded, the tall alien slumped and= rested his head in his hands. "Is that how you saved him before?" William asked quietly.=20 Lorien nodded. "I give of myself," he said, "to replenish him. For a little= while." "How long?" asked Jennifer, coming up behind them. Lorien turned to look up= at her. "Long enough." By the time the security guards and medical team arrived, Sheridan was tryin= g to sit up.=20 "Are you all right, sir?" asked Officer Welch, eyeing the ruined uniform. "I'm fine," Sheridan replied, exercising the Captain's right of overstatemen= t. He focused on Welch -- or more accurately, on the small metallic device = stuck to the back of his hand. "Get me Security," he ordered. ******** Garibaldi stopped, halfway to the cobra bays, to check something on his link= 's tiny, cryptic LED display. "Damn! How the hell did they...ah, crap, Susan must have the Captain's pass= word," he muttered. He checked again -- the defense grid was powered down, = as well. The rest of the programs he had set up were either escape hatches = or provided mere nuisance value -- if he was to salvage anything worthwhile = out of this fiasco, he'd have to do it himself.=20 Wait a minute. What was it Paul had said -- there were three who could take= Sheridan's place in the alliance against the Shadows: Delenn, Ivanova, and= Garibaldi himself. He had thought Ivanova and Delenn safely taken care of = on Z'ha'dum, but now that that turned out not to be true... He switched his link to eavesdrop on the Security channel. "We're in pursuit in Tube 19," a tinny but crisp alto voice came out of the = miniature speaker, most fortuitously, and Garibaldi smiled. There was one s= etup he'd made, just for grins, that *couldn't* be overridden, because it wa= s a one-shot deal: once it was done, it was done. Perfect. He punched in t= he code. ******** *THUMP* Ivanova looked up, then looked at Marcus, then staggered as the tube car lur= ched like an irritated pony. The apparent gravity swooped, and she realized= that they were falling. "Bloody hell, he's buggered the tubes," said Marcus, scanning the ceiling. = "Here -- give me a hand up." Without hesitating, Susan knelt and made a "stirrup" to hoist the Ranger to = within reach of the overhead access panel. "Optimistic *and* chivalrous," s= he observed. "What can I say -- I'm the man with the tools for the job," he replied, bran= dishing what looked suspiciously like an old-fashioned Swiss Army knife. In= moments, he had the panel open. He swung himself onto the roof of the car,= then reached down for Susan. "Oof! You know, I've always fancied a girl with some meat on her bones..." = he called out over the rush of air and the thoop-thoop as they whipped past = the tube's support trusses. "Yeah, and you picked a helluva spot for a first date," Ivanova yelled back.= "We have to get OFF this thing before it hits bottom. I mean, 'hull'. Or= , come to think of it, 'space'." "I'm working on that..." Marcus eyed the passing walls and unhooked the coll= apsed pike from his belt. Opening his arms wide, he grinned at Susan. "Give us a hug, then -- and *jump* when I say to!" "WHAT?!?" squawked the Commander. Marcus waggled his arms for emphasis, still grinning like a madman. Susan s= hook her head and wrapped her arms around the Ranger. She noticed two thing= s, almost at once -- (a) without his trademark duster, she could feel every = muscle and rib through his silky shirt, and (b) her head fit precisely into = the corner of his neck and shoulder. Neither of these facts made a rat's as= s worth of difference to the current situation, but she noticed them, noneth= eless. "JUMP!" he yelled in her ear. She jumped. There was a loud *THWANGK* and a= n incredible jerk, and she found herself hanging onto his hips instead of hi= s chest. Below them, the receding tube car dwindled to a speck. Susan looked up. "Are you all right?" she asked, trying to hitch herself hi= gher, and trying NOT to look down. "Don't...DO that!" Marcus gritted, hanging white-knuckled from the extended = pike, now braced precariously in a corner of the tube, supported by one of t= he steel bands girdling it. The pike had extended like a curtain rod across= the corner, but it would be all too easy to slide off the narrow bands. Su= san was facing into the corner, and she sent up a quick, and not particularl= y formal, prayer of thanks to see a level door just below them. If she coul= d just get low enough, she could reach the external emergency panel with her= identicard. "Hold on, I'm going..." she hesitated and rethought her statement -- "to try= and reach that door." ******** Sheridan, refusing medical attention, led his party to the Stationhouse to c= onfer with Zack and Dr. Franklin. "I've got automatic overrides set up to catch anything else he tries to pull= with the computer," the doctor reported. "It can only do that if it's an o= ngoing program, though. He slipped one through just before you got here -- = unhooked all the transport tube cars from their controllers. We've got a he= ll of a mess on the outer levels -- damage reports are still coming in." "Oh, Hell," Sheridan swore, frowning as he slapped on a link. "How many cas= ualties?" "Not as many as there might be, considering. Dr. Hobbs is on it. I should = get down there, too..." "No -- I'll need you when we get Michael. The question is, now that we've b= locked his first -- and second -- attacks, where is he going to strike next?= " "Maybe he'll just try to get off-station," suggested Westcastle. "No," said Zack decisively. Sheridan agreed. "Even turned, he'll never give up," the Captain said. "The...people I talke= d to on Z'ha'dum mentioned that if I were killed, another would take my plac= e -- he certainly tried, and I suspect that if he hadn't been...tampered wit= h, he would have done a damn good job. He must still think he took me out, = so his next targets would be..." "Susan!" cried the Doctor. "Oh my God, she was in the tubes..." Jennie's eyes met the Captain's, dark and troubled. "Delenn," he said heavily, then turned and ran out of the room. =20 ******** "Delenn, you should rest." The Minbari Ambassador and Entil'zha of the Anla'Shok had changed back into = one of her gown-and-overvest outfits and was pacing around the living area o= f her quarters. Ever since her collapse in the tunnels of Z'ha'dum, Lennier= had watched with growing concern as she seemed to cycle between frenetic, a= lmost violent activity and lethargic despair. He didn't know whether it was= some sort of Human affliction or a phenomenon unique to Delenn, but it worr= ied him. He had planned on getting her to see Dr. Franklin as soon as possi= ble, but that was out of the question for the moment. Perhaps Dr. Hobbs -- = she had helped the Ambassador before, with some of the more...psychological.= ..adjustments that had come with her transformation. "How can I seek calm or replenishment when John is in danger?" Delenn cried = in their native Religious Caste Minbari tongue, wringing her hands as she st= rode up and down the room. She whirled, and Lennier jumped to catch a tall = crystal centerpiece before her skirt swept it from the low conversation tabl= e. "For more than thirty days now I have stood helpless, waiting for the Univer= se to reveal whether the other half of my soul yet lived, or I must rejoin h= im Beyond the Sea. I have been breathing in the Cold Mists Between, unable = to act..." "Delenn, you *have* acted -- you suggested that we go to Z'ha'dum..." "Yes, and there we fell -- and came no closer to knowledge of John's fate. = When we returned to Babylon 5 and found him here before us -- oh, Lennier, y= ou cannot possibly imagine how my heart soared to see him standing there..." Lennier's mouth tightened, and he looked down. "And now, again, he has ventured forth into danger, and I am left alone to w= ait..." "Ah..." Lennier began, but was interrupted by the chime of the door. Delenn= turned to answer it, but Lennier forestalled her by calling, "Who's there?"= in English. There was no response. Delenn and Lennier looked at each other. With no fu= rther warning, the door swept open and Garibaldi came through, his PPG point= ed unerringly at the Ambassador. Lennier moved to intercept, but the Human = snarled at him. "Don't move, or she gets it," he said, and laughed shortly. "Of course, she= 's going to get it anyway. Point blank, just like her *dear* Captain!" "What?" breathed Delenn. "Hey, I knew you were upset, not knowing whether he was dead or alive," he e= xplained with cruel levity. "-- at least you'll go out knowing that he is *= definitely* dead, and that the same guy killed both of you. Isn't that swee= t? Nothing like a little togetherness, I always..." Lennier came in fast, but not fast enough. Garibaldi whirled and fired, catc= hing the Minbari in the arm. It wasn't enough to stop him, though, and both= men crashed into sofa. Garibaldi scrambled to his feet first, and pistol-w= hipped Lennier across the face, opening a deep gash across his cheek. As th= e young Minbari gathered himself to spring, Garibaldi took careful aim -- bu= t fell to his knees as Delenn swung the crystal centerpiece to *thunk* again= st his shaven head. =20 Lennier hastily moved aside as the Security Chief toppled, unconscious, onto= the sofa. =20 "Lennier! Are you all right?" He nodded. "We should contact..." At that moment, Captain Sheridan, followed by Sergeant Allan, Doctor Frankli= n, and Rangers Westcastle and Clifford pounded up to the door. Delenn stare= d, wide-eyed, at the Captain. Then, to everyone's surprise but Lennier's, s= he collapsed in a dead faint. ******** Security complex A few days later, Bester brought his mothership, the *Desa*, out of hyperspa= ce to join the League fleet. He was seething with anger and hatred toward t= he Shadows, since for all his optimism he and his people had failed to rescu= e the frozen telepaths from the Z'shailyl. In true Bester fashion, though, = he masked his fury with icy politeness and barbed sarcasm. "And what of the lovely Ms. Alexander?" he asked as he walked with Sheridan = and Ivanova along the corridor leading to the max-security cells. "She is w= ell, I trust?" Ivanova shot a warning glance at the Captain. The Psi Cop might be official= ly on their side, and he might have pulled her own personal butt out of the = fire, but she still didn't trust him half as far as she could throw him, wit= h one arm tied behind her back. Sheridan returned her look and spoke carefu= lly. "She's been...rather busy since we all got back from Z'ha'dum. Cleari= ng up the Vorlon Ambassador's affairs, coordinating with our other telepaths= ..."=20 In fact, Lyta had gone off in search of Brianna Tolmanes, the Ranger telepat= h who was a longtime companion of Clifford and Westcastle, and who had also = fallen under the domination of the dark Vorlon, Ulkesh. After tracking her = for almost a full day through Down Below, Lyta had come upon her almost by a= ccident, as the *other* redheaded telepath was defending herself (rather ine= xpertly) with a Ranger's fighting pike against a mixed-species gang of tough= s. Lyta had "yelled" for Susan, who had gotten Security there double-quick, and= they had brought the distraught Brianna back to Medlab. There, when Jennif= er had recognized her own denn'bok, they had retraced the telepath's steps a= nd found Julia Tikopai -- hungry, dehydrated, and cramped but otherwise litt= le the worse for wear.=20 Brianna, unfortunately, was a different story. Not the most stable of telep= aths in the first place, she had been treated even more callously than Lyta = by the Vorlons, if such a thing was possible. Before he had left, Ulkesh ha= d taken the brunt of his anger at these "puny humans" out on her, and had le= ft her almost witless when he departed the station. Once she came to, she m= ade her way instinctively back to the dingy corridors where she had lived fo= r so long, trying in vain to find a place of silence and peace. Lyta and Dr= . Hobbs were working with her now, as well as with Delenn, whose fume-and-tr= auma-induced mental imbalance was gradually being corrected with drugs, ther= apy, and large doses of affection from her fiance, the Captain. Relieved at the end of the need for small talk, Sheridan signalled the guard= s to let them pass. Instead of proceeding directly to Garibaldi's cell, tho= ugh, they went into the next room -- a viewing room with a command of the ce= ll itself through the traditional one-way mirror. Franklin had chosen this room rather than one with more up-to-date monitorin= g for a reason. He was trying, despite almost everyone's misgivings, to bri= ng Garibaldi to some kind of realization and acceptance of what had happened= to him. He had used judicious treatments of the same types of drugs he was= treating Brianna and Delenn with, but his main tactic was sheer, face-to-fa= ce confrontation. So far, he hadn't made a whole lot of progress.=20 Garibaldi was seated in an interrogation chair, but the cuffs weren't locked= down. Instead, he was wearing a straitjacket, and looked none too comforta= ble in it. He craned his neck to follow Franklin's pacing around the room, = deflecting every verbal salvo the doctor could come up with. "Stephen, I told you, it was *nothing like that!* They treated me like a fr= aggin' rich uncle the whole time. If *you're* so brainwashed by the damn' V= orlons that you can't see the truth when it's sittin' right in front of you.= .." "The *truth* is you were broken, Michael. Tortured, drugged, and *broken*. = The evidence is right here -- the scarring, the forced bone and skin regrow= th -- good God, man, they took you apart like an old-fashioned washing machi= ne and put you back together with spit and duct tape! And you're never goin= g to heal properly -- *here*" he thumped himself dramatically in the chest. = Garibaldi rolled his eyes. " -- until you *face* it!" "Face *what*?" snapped Garibaldi disgustedly. "Goddamn it, Stephen, if all = that crap had really happened to me, don't you think I'd *remember* it?" The doctor shook his head, looking sour. "Even our own people -- that is, E= arthforce -- are good enough at...conditioning people to manage that, even *= without* using telepaths. And from what you and the Captain have told me, t= hese Humans working for the Shadows are cutting-edge professionals. If they= wanted you to 'remember' that you were 'really' a prima ballerina in drag, = you'd believe it." "Yeah, well, at least then I could do a flying 'jettay' outta here," the pri= soner commented with a flash of the old Garibaldi humor. Franklin closed his eyes in pain. In the next room, Sheridan and Ivanova fl= inched, also. Bester frowned. This was altogether too much like the prelim= inary interrogations of his own wayward people -- captured blips -- for his = comfort. Which brought up the obvious question... "Why don't you get Ms. Alexander -- or one of your other telepaths -- to wor= k on him?" Ivanova pinned the Psi Cop with a glare as Sheridan replied diplomatically. "Dr. Franklin feels that his mind has been traumatized more than enough -- t= o invade telepathically, even with the best of intentions, would only compou= nd the damage. "Still," he admitted, "the non-invasive approach doesn't seem to be having m= uch effect..." A dim thumping sounded at the door of the cell. Puzzled, Franklin looked ar= ound, then walked over to the door and opened it. There, fist poised to kno= ck again, stood Lorien. The two guards on either side of the doorway stared= out into the corridor, apparently oblivious. Stephen looked at him a momen= t before he found words. "Can I help you?" "Can I help *you*?" asked the alien in turn. "I was looking for the Captain= , and as I passed by here I sensed a disturbance in the...that is to say, I = felt pain here, and I wondered if I could be of any assistance." Stephen ran a hand across his head and beckoned the alien inside. "It's Mr.= Garibaldi," he said, indicating the prisoner. Garibaldi glared at the newc= omer. "I've been trying to get him to remember what happened to him -- what= *really* happened. It's the only way he can begin to heal from it, but I c= an't seem to get through to him. It's...been rather frustrating." The alien looked at the doctor, observing that there was more than one sourc= e of pain in the room. "Indeed," he said, and moved to stand directly in fr= ont of Garibaldi. >From the next room, Bester sent a quick probe at the unknown being. Lorien = paused, and the telepath recoiled as a flare of unbearable light, the very h= eart of a white star, momentarily encompassed his universe. Lorien moved on= , and Bester reached out to brace himself against the low wall, shaking his = head. Ivanova spared him a brief glance, but the Captain was totally focuse= d on what was going on in the cell. Garibaldi was looking everywhere in the room except at the tall alien. Even= tually, though, Lorien's infinite patience won out and from sheer fatigue th= e man finally relaxed enough to meet the First One's eyes. They stared at e= ach other in silence for a long moment, Garibaldi's defiance slowly ebbing t= o wariness. "Do you *want* to remember?" the alien asked at last. Franklin stirred, but= subsided at the lifting of a long finger. There was no coercion to the que= stion, in any direction. No sense at all of what the 'right' answer might b= e -- only curiosity, and the desire to help. Garibaldi frowned, opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked at Ste= phen. He looked at the mirror, knowing full well that *someone* was watchin= g -- most likely the Captain. He looked around the room, then locked gazes = with the alien. "Yeah. I do." he said firmly. Franklin exhaled. Behind the mirror, Sherid= an squared his shoulders, a brief, wry smile playing across his lips. Lorien tilted his head. "Why?" he asked. =20 "What?" echoed the prisoner, taken aback. He floundered wordlessly for a wh= ile, then said with shaky bravado, "I guess...that's just the kind of a guy = I *am*, that's all!" In the next room, the Captain grinned like a shark. Lorien's bearded chin came up, and he spoke three small words --=20 "Who *are* you?" Everything stopped. To Michael Garibaldi, the words seemed to echo back along the pathways and c= orridors that made up the tangled maze of his mind. A hundred conflicting a= nswers rose to his tongue, each pushed aside for another before he could utt= er it. Each moment of his life seemed to flicker before him -- each step h= e had taken, willing or unwilling, knowing or unknowing -- each step that ha= d taken him inexorably along the path to.... A raw scream of animal anguish rang out, and the bound man propelled himself= out of the chair in a furious rush; it would have seriously injured the tal= l alien's dignity, at least, had he still been standing there. Garibaldi cr= ashed into the mirrored wall, still screaming, but instead of looking for a = new target, he kept flinging himself at the wall, yelling for the guards to = shoot him. The watchers within recoiled as the tormented man impacted on th= e unbreakable transparent surface, again and again, teeth bared and wild eye= s glaring. Shaking himself out of his own momentary daze, Franklin grabbed an injector = from his kit and leaped for the struggling man. Garibaldi shook him off wit= h a snarl. Pure madness blazed in the Security Chief's eyes as he launched = himself, teeth gleaming, at the Doctor's throat. =20 A long-fingered hand laid itself gently across the bruised forehead, a light= flared, and the bound man collapsed on the padded floor. The other humans within range of the First One's question had experienced si= milar flashes, but were not as dramatically affected. Franklin had moved in= stinctively to help his patient, and Ivanova's gaze simply went distant for = a moment. The Captain, fresh from his own dose of the alien's 'therapy', se= emed unaffected. Alfred Bester, however, found himself reliving those moments of decision in = deep space, floating in his Starfury, alone amid the uncaring stars with his= agony... Agony brought upon him by the words of the man on the floor in the next room= . Bester pulled himself together to cast a sizzling glare at Garibaldi, now= unconscious in a heap at Lorien's feet. Before he could say anything, howe= ver, the alien looked up at him, through the one-way glass, and the words st= uck in Bester's throat. He remained silent, and very thoughtful, as they met the alien and Dr. Frank= lin a few minutes later outside the cell. They were talking about something= Garibaldi had told the Command staff on his return... "A highly advanced race, known as the 'Ralga'," Sheridan echoed Franklin's w= ords. "I wonder if there was any trace of truth to that, or if he was just = making it up. Does such a species really exist?" "Oh, yes," replied Lorien. "They exist -- or at least they did at one time.= I have not heard of them -- or from them -- in many thousand of your years= ," he added sadly. "I wonder if we'll ever run across them," mused Sheridan. At that point Zack Allan strode up, giving Bester an even more wary look tha= n usual. The Psi Cop resisted the urge to find out why directly, but couldn= 't help overhearing the Sergeant's low-voiced report to his Captain. "We were cleaning out the booby traps the Chief left, and some other stuff -= - logs of any communications with the Shadows were all erased, but we found = some personal files. One of the Rangers -- that guy Vendim -- was able to d= ecrypt them, and we came across something you should know about. You know W= illiam Edgars, of Edgars Industries? Well..." Zack looked at Bester, then = motioned for the Captain and Ivanova to move farther away from the Psi Cop. = Miffed, Bester smiled unconcernedly and tried to make small talk with the m= ysterious alien, keeping his shields well up. When Zack was done, the Captain sighed and closed his eyes tightly, rubbing = a hand across his forehead. Then he turned, jaw set, and beckoned for Beste= r to join him. "Mr. Bester, Sergeant Allan has come across some information you should know= about. Please go with him, and he will fill you in." "Are you *sure* about this, Captain?" asked Zack anxiously. His CO pinned h= im with a look. "Yes, sir," he said grudgingly, and escorted the telepath a= way. Lorien looked after them both, concern etched on his long face. "The little= one...he is in great pain..." Ivanova's eyes widened as she tried to wrap her brain around the idea of Bes= ter as 'little' in any sense other than the purely physical. She was pretty= sure the First One *wasn't* talking centimeters, but... "Come on, Lorien, you've done enough for one day -- hell, for one *millenium= *," said the Captain firmly, grasping the ancient one firmly by a rather odd= ly-constructed elbow. Susan blinked again, but followed his lead and did he= r best to divert the alien to less strenuous topics. She had caught Lorien'= s slight stagger as Garibaldi fell, and wondered how the repeated expenditur= e of energy, after so many centuries of relative idleness, was affecting him= .=20 After the alien had drifted off towards his quarters, Susan observed that th= ere might have been a *reason* he'd stayed down in the tunnels of Z'ha'dum b= y himself all this time. "Maybe," replied the Captain. "That, plus the fact that he was down there a= *long* time..." ******** Captain's Office Soon After the Events at Corianna VI. "It was *necessary*, Captain! When you see a snake about to bite your ankle= , you don't sit down and talk to it, you shoot off its head." "That wasn't self-defense, Bester, that was cold-blooded murder!" the Captai= n shot back.=20 "*Assassination*, Captain. There *is* a difference. The bloodshed was kept= to a minimum -- on my direct order, neither Edgars' wife nor his aide were = killed, or..." he hesitated, "harmed in any significant way. Besides, I har= dly think I need to justify my actions to *you*!" Sheridan shot to his feet -- and his link beeped. Glaring at the telepath, = he answered it. "Captain, this is Security Central. You'd better get down here -- it's Mr. = Garibaldi..." ******** By the time they got there, Dr. Franklin, with Lyta Alexander in tow, had al= ready arrived. Ivanova came skidding around the corner before the cell door= finished cycling. Inside, one of the guards was standing over Garibaldi's = chair. "Chief! Chief, can you hear me?" the man said, shaking Garibaldi's shoulder= . The former Security Chief swayed passively in his grip, staring blankly a= t the mirrored wall. "He was starting to get restless again," the guard explained. "I was just a= bout to give him his shot, when he just...blanked out like this." "But you *hadn't* given him the shot yet?" asked Dr. Franklin quickly. "No, sir!" replied the man, moving aside to let the doctor work. When none = of them could penetrate Garibaldi's apparent catatonia, Lyta reluctantly agr= eed to scan him. Bester looked on, curious to witness the former P5's 'enha= nced' abilities firsthand. Lyta frowned, spreading her fingers gently across the expanse of Garibaldi's= forehead. "It's...it's as though there's nobody there" she said wonderingl= y. "There *was* -- the imprints of his thoughts are still there, his memori= es..." she gasped, swallowed, and went on. "but the mind itself is...somewh= ere else..." "The lights are on, but nobody's home," murmured Susan. Franklin threw an a= ppalled glance at her, but Sheridan looked thoughtful. "Can you get him back?" he asked. "I wouldn't know how to begin!" Lyta protested. The Captain sighed. "But our people at Syria Planum might," Bester spoke up. The others looked = at him, astounded. Ivanova turned an alarming shade of puce. "Are you *crazy?*" she snapped. = "There is no way in HELL Psi Corps is going to get their claws in Garibaldi,= whether he's berserk or catatonic or stone cold *dead!*" "Commander!" said Sheridan, and Susan shut up. Bester smiled at her paterna= lly, which didn't help her coloration any, then turned back to the Captain. "The facility in Syria Planum is currently under my direct control, and the.= ..existing impediments to my influence elsewhere will shortly be...shall we = say...neutralized. Mr. Garibaldi will be perfectly safe there, and will rec= eive the best of care. I am very much afraid that, even with the Vorlons an= d Shadows gone, Babylon 5 will not be the most...tranquil of environments fo= r the foreseeable future." "Since when are *you* so concerned for Mr. Garibaldi's well-being -- or anyb= ody else's for that matter?" sniped Lyta. Bester looked at her. So bright, so brave, and so very vulnerable. Bred an= d born a tool of the Psi Corps, she had fled them only to become a tool of t= he Vorlons -- and now, a tool of Sheridan's alliance. And Garibaldi...he lo= oked down at the man in the chair, so oblivious to this decision of his fate= . Just another tool. He met Lyta's gaze again, and felt a thread of curios= ity tinge her anger. "I have learned a great many things in the past few months, Ms. Alexander," = he said softly, "and remembered some that I had forgotten. One of them is *= compassion*." =20 Sheridan looked at him sharply, remembering their previous conversation. Bester returned his look with equanimity. "I may not be very good at it yet= ," he added, "but this seems like an opportune test case, don't you think?" ****** Mars, mid-February, 2261. =20 A maglev car shot across the night-darkened sands of Mars, heading toward Sy= ria Planum. Two men sat across from each other at the front of the compartm= ent. One spoke softly, steadily, with a clipped accent. The other was sile= nt, expressionless in the strobe-shot darkness of the tunnel.=20 "Go back, Mr. Garibaldi, go back and remember..." The smaller man waited, s= taring intently into the bald man's eyes, but there was no response. "Ah, what am I expecting, a miracle?" he muttered at last, looking away. "I= didn't take away your...soul, for lack of a better term. And I can't give= it back." He sighed, and reached over to brush the silent man's arm with a= telepath's light, gloved touch. "But we will take good care of you, my fri= end. Whether you ever come to appreciate it...or not." The other man stared blankly ahead. The lights flashed across his pale eyes= intermittently, but within them was nothing but an infinite abyss...endless= falling into the heart of emptiness, through Night beyond Night itself past= the end of time. And somewhere, far back beyond the deepest reach of memor= y, the serried ranks of eyes like banked and glowing coals... Joe woke with a jerk, thumping his head painfully against the cold glass of = the airplane's window. It was dark in the cabin, tiny lights winking discre= etly along the aisle and the luggage rack. The low drone of the engines, th= e heavy feel of the pressurized air made for a feeling of suspension, a sens= e of distance from earthbound reality as they hurtled, wrapped in metal and = trust, through the cold emptiness of the night. He checked his watch -- another hour until they got in. That had been a hel= l of a dream for the short time he'd been sleeping...he went over what he co= uld remember of it, wondering if there was a workable story idea in there so= mewhere. Probably not. He'd obviously been tangenting off that remark Jerr= y had made last time they'd talked: something about how everybody was always= bashing Bester for 'messing with Garibaldi's head', but nobody ever stopped= to think about what would have happened if he *hadn't* gotten him away from= the Shadows. Something about how he'd like a chance to play Garibaldi as a= bona fide bad guy -- just to mess with the role a little. Joe looked out at the night. Stars glittered clear and cold above a tumbled= froth of cloudy floor. From time to time, in places, the clouds parted bri= efly to show clusters of answering stars far below. "No, you wouldn't, Jerry," he whispered softly. "No, you really, really wou= ldn't." THE END ******* Coming Soon: "Infinite Regress 1e: Relative Distance", in which Cap'n Lizzi= e visits the Buffyverse!