From jbp@mailgate.nyserda.orgMon May 1 15:18:44 1995 Date: Mon, 01 May 95 10:19:08 EST From: Jennifer Paperman To: babylon5-creative@netcom.com Subject: My First Story Paperwork and Pastrami Jennifer Paperman Copyright (c) 1995 Jennifer Paperman (jbp@nyserda.org). All rights will be transferred to Babylonian Productions, Inc. upon request. This document may be freely distributed. [This story takes place between "A Distant Star" and "The Long Dark". All comments and criticisms welcome.] Captain John Sheridan, commanding officer of Babylon 5, looked at the growing mountain of paperwork on his desk and sighed. He was still adjusting to his recent promotion and its ensuing headaches. He was enjoying the challenges of his new position. But he really hated the paperwork. Stifling another sigh, he forced himself back to work. He had promised himself that he would spend two straight hours every morning doing paperwork. Then, as a reward, he would go for a half-hour stroll around the station. He picked up the weekly report from his Chief of Security, Michael Garibaldi. Sheridan was glad Garibaldi had remained on. Despite what his record might suggest, Garibaldi was the right man for the job: he knew the station, he knew the people, and he had the right instincts. Witness his rescue of Ivanova from the Drazi. Sheridan frowned slightly as he remembered his first couple of encounters with Garibaldi. The first was in the MedLab, shortly after Garibaldi had awoken from his coma. Garibaldi had been down right hostile. Not that Sheridan could blame him. It must have been disorienting to discover that Sinclair had been reassigned, especially like that. The second meeting hadn't gone much better. Sheridan had gone to reassure Garibaldi that he still had his job. Doctor Franklin had warned him that Garibaldi was . . . well, depressed was the only word for it. But Sheridan still hadn't been prepared for the pain in Garibaldi's eyes. Definitely a man on the edge. Sheridan had kept Garibaldi on, not out of respect for his predecessor, Commander Jeffrey Sinclair, and not because of Garibaldi's record here at Babylon 5. No, Sheridan had kept him on because of one reason, and one reason only. Commander Susan Ivanova. Sheridan knew her well. She only gave her professional respect to those who met her very high standards. And she gave her friendship to even fewer people. Garibaldi had both, which said more about him than any record ever could. "Enough woolgathering," Sheridan told himself sternly. "Back to work." He filed Garibaldi's report, then picked up the next item on the steadily shrinking pile. Maybe someday they would achieve the paperless office. But not in his lifetime. The next item was also from Garibaldi, requesting authorization to hire additional personnel. Actually, only one person. Sheridan knew it was the replacement for Garibaldi's former assistant, Jack. Sheridan knew that there was nothing he could have done to prevent Jack's . . . disappearance. Hell, Jack had been RESCUED by someone fairly high up in Earth's government. He had to have been. But Sheridan still felt guilty at letting down someone in his command. He would probably bear that guilt to his grave. Unless . . . He made a mental note to discuss this with General Hague. Jack had to be in hiding somewhere. And no one could afford to protect him publically. Maybe the General could find out more than Sheridan could, and maybe even do something about it. After all, the General owed Sheridan that much. Sheridan knew both Ivanova and Franklin were still worried about Garibaldi. He had resumed his duties, but there was still a shadow in his eyes. What he had been through was enough to drive a man to drink. Especially an alcoholic. But neither of them knew how to approach him, to help him. Probably the only person who knew how was currently on Minbar with problems of his own. Which left Sheridan. Only Sheridan didn't know how to approach Garibaldi either. Well, maybe something would come to mind. The third item made all the paperwork for the day worthwhile. Maybe even the week. It was a memo from Franklin notifying Sheridan that he was no longer on a restricted diet, along with a admonition not to overdo it. Which gave Sheridan an idea. He raised his Link. "Sheridan to Garibaldi." "Garibaldi here, Captain." He sounded surprised. "The good doctor has seen fit to lift my dietary restrictions and I want to celebrate with a decent meal. Care to join me?" There was a long pause, then Garibaldi replied, "Okay." "Great." Sheridan paused, then added, "I'd rather the doctor didn't know about this. I suspect that my idea of not overdoing it and his differ greatly. Any recommendations for a quiet, out of the way spot that serves good food?" "I know just the place. How about I swing by your office after I wrap things up down here?" "Sounds fine. See you later, Garibaldi." Sheridan never saw Garibaldi's smirk. * * * * * * * * * * Sheridan leaned back in his chair and stretched. Today had been relatively quiet, which meant that he had been able to plow through his paperwork. He could even see the top of his desk again. Maybe he could request an assistant, just to handle the damn paperwork. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that Garibaldi would be there soon. Almost on cue, the door chime sounded. "Come in." "Evening, Captain," said Garibaldi as he sauntered into the office. "Ready for dinner?" "Absolutely." The two men left, Garibaldi in the lead. They walked along in silence for several minutes and took one short turbolift ride. If it weren't for the colors and numbers on the walls, Sheridan would have been completely lost. "Where are we going?" he finally asked. "This great little place basically on the border of Down Below," replied Garibaldi enthusiastically. "It's got the best food on the station. And it's almost never crowded." Sheridan was slightly suspicious. Garibaldi seemed too enthusiastic. But he decided to keep quiet. For now. Eventually Garibaldi stopped in front of a door with a blue neon glyph on it. "This is the place, Captain." "What's it called?" asked Sheridan, unable to recognize the glyph. "Well, the literal translation of this symbol is 'Dead Dogs Howling at the New Moon'. I think it's a classical quote. But I'm not real sure. The food's good; that's all that matters to me." The two men entered. Garibaldi headed for a booth against one wall. Sheridan followed, looking the place over. It was small and well-kept. There were a few other diners but still plenty of room. As they were sitting down, Garibaldi waived at the maitre d'. Sheridan glanced over and went nearly rigid with shock. "Garibaldi," he said in a strangled whisper, "isn't that a pak'ma'ra?" "Yeah, that's the current owner." "The owner?!" Garibaldi shrugged. "He bought the place from the previous owner, lock, stock, and barrel. Changed the name, kept everything else the same." "But . . ." Sheridan's voice trailed off as the pak'ma'ra came over with two menus. Sheridan opened his, scanned it, then looked back at Garibaldi. "A deli?" he asked, in stunned disbelief. "A real New York style deli," Garibaldi corrected. "Best one on the station. I recommend the pastrami." He smirked. "I said the pak'ma'ra was the owner, not the cook." Sheridan shook his head and went back to reading his menu. Maybe everyone didn't need to be worried about Garibaldi after all. The two men ordered their meals. Sheridan kept a close eye on the pak'ma'ra. If he went anywhere near the kitchen, Sheridan was out of there. But the pak'ma'ra stayed by the cash register. When the food arrived, Sheridan had to agree with Garibaldi's assessment. This was the best meal Sheridan had had since coming on board Babylon 5. "Okay, Captain," said Garibaldi, pushing his empty plate off to one side. "Why were you so interested in having a quiet dinner with me?" Sheridan, who was still working on his meal, put down his sandwich and began the speech he had worked on for most of the afternoon. "Look, Garibaldi, being the CO of Babylon 5 is less like commanding a starship and more like being a mayor of a city. I'm used to doing the former. Hell, I've been a member of Earthforce for a very long time. So I can deal with the military and with the civilian contractors. But the regular civilians that pass through here every day? Or who run businesses here? I'm at a complete loss." "Remember a few days ago, when I snapped at you for telling me about the thefts on the Zocalo? Well, I was still in the mindset of running a spaceship. It never occurred to me until much later that the store owners might demand to see me personally and that I would need to know about the situation. On board the Agamemnon, the head of security wouldn't have even mentioned anything to me until the culprit was caught and punished. Even then, I would most likely read about it in a report." Garibaldi started to say something, but Sheridan kept talking. "Let me finish, Garibaldi. You have abilities, instincts, that I don't, especially when dealing with the civilians on board the station. I'm going to be relying on those abilities to help me, to help keep this station running. But there needs to be some kind of relationship here. Not necessarily friendship, though I sincerely hope that one develops. I thought that if we had dinner, got to know one another a little better . . . well, that there would be some basis for trust. Since unless we trust each other on a professional level, the whole station will suffer." Garibaldi looked at Sheridan for a moment, sizing him up, trying to decide what to say. "Well, Captain . . . you've given me a lot to think about," Garibaldi began when he was interrupted by his Link. "Damn. Garibaldi here. And this had better be good." "Chief, it's Welch. Sorry to interrupt your dinner, but we've got a disturbance Down Below that could use your touch. Brown 17. Can you get down here right away?" "On my way, Lou." Garibaldi stood up. Sheridan said, "Do you need me along?" No, I can handle it. Finish your dinner." He looked straight at Sheridan. "Trust me. This is why you kept me on." And with that, Garibaldi left quickly. Sheridan went back to eating his sandwich. Suddenly, the pak'ma'ra was standing next to the booth, handing him something. Sheridan looked down at the piece of paper in his hand and realized that Garibaldi had left him to pay the check.