From UVAlpha@aol.comThu Jul 20 21:14:24 1995 Date: Mon, 17 Jul 1995 05:48:03 -0400 From: UVAlpha@aol.com Reply to: b5-creative@best.com To: b5-creative@best.com Subject: Patterns of Light & Shadow pt. 1 Here's part 1 of a story I've been working on for a bit -- part 2 will follow when it follows. It's HOT here in MD, and our air conditioner's been wonky since 7/3 -- they've replaced every part of it there is to replace, and now it's not working again... Author's notes: This story is written prior to the airing of the final four episodes of the second season, and may be negated in its entirety by those episodes -- or, it may not. Events in this story are based partially on conjecture, partially on a dream, and MAY include spoilers from the final four via the comic book series. You have been warned. Neroon's personality is based more on the Neroon we saw in Legacies, and may also be found to be incorrect when he appears in the final episode of the season. Oh well. I can't help it, I had to write this thing! PATTERNS OF LIGHT AND SHADOW By Isoline M. Sanderson Part 1 Neroon, once Alit Neroon, now Satai Neroon, the newest member of the Grey Council, sneered and stormed from the Chamber. He paused long enough to hang up his grey cloak by its voluminous hood, then strode out past the acolytes and guards. No one dared to stop the Warrior, knowing that to interfere with one of his status could have grave consequences indeed. It was also common, but never spoken, knowledge that Neroon possessed a terrible temper, and even if he weren't Satai, to interfere with him could have the same unwelcome consequences. As he left the restricted area of the Council's cruiser, his personal attendants and guards silently stepped in behind him, relieved when they found themselves to be following to the Star Riders' transport, *Enlil*. They walked in silence, any sensitives among them easily picking up the waves of anger emanating from their lord. Only when they were aboard the *Enlil* and the pilot was beginning the launch procedure did any of them dare speak. "Satai Neroon," the captain of his personal guard ventured softly, "I mean no disrespect, but something is troubling you . . ." "Yes, Komarr, something is," Neroon snarled. He tossed his head arrogantly back in the direction of the Chamber and sneered again. "They are a bunch of soft, isolated old *fools*." During this outburst, the warrior raised his hand and clenched his fist tightly, the leather of his glove creaking with the force of it. Then he slammed his fist down into the armrest of his seat and exhaled forcibly. Komarr gently gripped his shoulder, concerned about his lord's state of mind. Touching a Satai without permission could be a serious matter, but Komarr had known Neroon for some time and was willing to risk the repercussions. Neroon breathed deeply, once, twice, a third time, then turned to meet his guard's gaze. "Do not be concerned, my friend . . . They -- anger me so. Even the other Warriors on the Council -- they are so out of touch. They know *nothing* of what our people want . . ." Neroon lowered his eyes, sighed, then continued quietly, "They spend all their time in space, on the Cruiser, above and apart from everyone. How can they possibly understand . . ." "The Council has ways," Komarr said, "Or so I've heard." "Yes, yes, they can learn of events, they can *see* what is happening -- just as they watched the Battle of the Line -- but they cannot know what our people *feel* . . ." Neroon frowned and said, "They can only do that if they walk among them, speak to them . . ." He leaned back in his seat, carefully resting his craggily antlered crest against the cushioned headrest. "I am tired. Arguing with fools tends to do that to me. Wake me when we are home." "Yes, Satai Neroon." * * * Earth Ambassador Jeffrey Sinclair sat at his desk, reading through the latest batch of transmissions from EarthCentral. Once again, a bunch of busy-work, a couple of minor treaties to argue out, and lots of nothing. *Lots* of nothing . . . He sighed and reached for his tea, took a healthy swallow and leaned back in his chair, staring into the tea. He frowned, watching the tea leaves floating aimlessly in the bottom of the cup. *I think that's how EarthCentral wants to leave me -- drifting, directionless . . .* he thought, feeling the familiar sadness stealing over him. A Commander in EarthForce, he knew a lot of people thought being the first Earth ambassador to Minbar was an incredible feather in his cap, but he knew the truth: This assignment was a punishment -- an attempt to get a problem out of the way. EarthCentral was sweeping him under the rug -- out of sight, out of mind . . . He looked up from the teacup, his gaze settling on a brooch resting against the base of his desk lamp: a stylized, almost art nouveau design of two beings, one human, one Minbari, clasping hands and holding between them a field of blue-green stone. He allowed a tiny smile to curve his lips as he thought about everything that brooch signified to him. EarthCentral thought they were sending him somewhere where he'd be powerless. Instead, they had sent him exactly where he was supposed to be. Of course, he couldn't tell them that, and there were times when the political games and cold shoulder from EarthCentral still depressed him. After all, he had given them many years of loyal service, and they repaid him with nothing but mistrust and dislike. *But*, he had a job to do -- a calling to follow -- and sitting here moping about the latest garbage sent from Earth was not getting him anywhere. He put the teacup down, picked up the brooch and traced the shape of it with a fingertip, then nodded to himself. He stood, sliding the brooch into his pocket, and strode from the office. He strode down a corridor, lined on either side with great arching windows allowing the sunlight in. Much of the capital city of Minbar was carved from crystal, and the refractions and reflections of the sun's rays were very beautiful. He would have liked to stand in that corridor and bask in the light, but there was something he had to do. He walked on. He arrived at his destination -- the living quarters of some of his staff members -- and knocked on the second door he came to. The door opened, and a man with dark, rather wavy hair looked up at him, then out into the hallway. Seeing no one around, he silently ushered the Ambassador in. "Sir?" he asked, once the door was safely locked behind them. "I need you to bring a message to Babylon 5 again," Sinclair said softly as they walked to the living room area of the quarters. The shorter man nodded, then waited for further instructions or information. "No data crystal this time -- just tell them I am coming for a visit. Tell them it's personal, *not* business, and that they are *not* to mention it to anyone else. I will deal with the official channels." "Sir, that's not really a good idea," the man said, uncomfortably. "We can't guarantee your safety . . ." "Don't worry about that -- I'm sure someone on B5 will be guarding me very closely." "Mr. Garibaldi -- I know. But the Minbari . . ." "Will find out I'm leaving, and will send a band of Warriors to watch my every move. Yes, I know. The Star Riders can be painfully overzealous at times . . ." Sinclair grinned, and the other man found himself mirroring the expression. His expression sobered suddenly, however, and he said, "There's no way to dissuade you, is there." It was not a question. Sinclair shook his head once and said, "I have to get out of here for a little bit. I want to *see* my friends face-to-face, and if at all possible, I want to take a flight in a Starfury again." At the man's disapproving look, he explained, "Just a *short* one -- routine patrol -- anything. I'm a pilot. I've been grounded for too long . . ." The man sighed and nodded, knowing that *nothing* he could say or do would change Sinclair's mind. Liann would not be pleased, Kozorr even less so, but they were not the man's keepers, as much as they fancied themselves so . . . "How soon will you make this trip?" he asked, knowing he would at least have time to deliver the message, but probably not more. "Ten days. That should give you enough time," Sinclair answered. "And it should be enough time for me to finish up my duties here for the time being." The man nodded, then said, "I'd better prepare for the trip then. A transport leaves tonight. I'll take that one." "Very good." Sinclair squeezed the man's shoulder gently and said, "Thank you." * * * Sinclair sat at his desk, recording his latest briefing to EarthCentral, when a commotion in the entrance hall interrupted. It sounded like booted feet marching in, and one of his men challenging the intruder. He recognized the voice responding to his guard -- Neroon . . . "End recording," he spoke at the computer. It chirped and stored what he'd recorded so far. He plucked the data crystal from its port and placed it in its case in his desk. Then he stood and headed for the stairs. When he reached the landing, he saw Neroon in heated discussion with one of his human guards, Neroon's two personal guards flanking him starting to bristle at the 'obvious' disrespect the human was showing the Warrior. "It's all right, Jenkins, let him in, I will talk with him," Sinclair called. The man looked up at him, surprised, but acquiesced when Sinclair nodded. "However, the guards will stay down there, if you don't mind, Satai Neroon." Neroon's eyes narrowed, but he spoke quietly to the guards and they dropped back, assuming a tense 'rest' position near the entrance. Jenkins bowed to Neroon, then resumed his guardpost. The Warrior frowned at the man's brooch as he passed him, but said nothing, and strode up the stairs until he stood before Sinclair. "Shall we go to my office, Satai?" Sinclair asked, once he bowed. Neroon inclined his head slightly, and the corner of Sinclair's mouth twitched into a smile at the arrogance inherent in the gesture. They walked to Sinclair's office, and once the door was shut behind them, Neroon removed his travelling cloak and folded it carefully, placed it on the couch. "How may I be of service, Satai?" Sinclair asked, pouring a cup of tea for Neroon and handing it to him. He refreshed his own cup, then waited. Neroon looked at the tea, tasted it, then smiled and drained the cup. "Why am I not surprised that you, a human, brew this stuff more correctly than the acolytes on the Council's cruiser?" He snorted and began to pace the room, uncomfortable all of a sudden with Sinclair studying him so. He could feel the human looking deep, seeing much more than he really wanted him to. Finally he stopped by the window and spun to face Sinclair. "When you first came here, Ambassador, you were set up and used by fanatics who seem to want our people to return to war. While I personally would not be averse to this, the use of dishonesty and lies to achieve it *disgusts* me to the depth of my soul. "I am afraid that I -- I also used you during that time. I was furious with them, and in my fury struck out at the most convenient target . . ." Sinclair kept his face neutral, knowing that if he allowed the astonishment he felt to show Neroon would take it as an insult. When Neroon did not continue, he felt compelled to say, "I think I understand, Satai Neroon, but if I may ask, why were you so angry with them?" Neroon frowned for an instant, thinking once again that this one had amazing insight -- for a human. Then he sighed and said, "It is common knowledge that Minbari do not lie." The tone in which he said that made it obvious to Sinclair that Neroon believed that statement about as much as he did. "And yet," Neroon continued, "when they picked me to replace -- *her* -- on the Council, I learned we had been lied to for the past twelve *years*!" Neroon clenched his fist and sneered, continuing, "It has long been known that the Council never tells anyone the whole truth, but to see the depth of their deceptions . . ." "Neroon, is it wise to speak that way of the Nine now that you are one of them?" "Now that I am one of them I understand all the more how they have misled us over the years. So isolated, so self-involved . . ." He trailed off and met Sinclair's gaze. "I hurt you because in hurting you I could hurt *her*," he finally said quietly. This time Sinclair could not contain the surprise. "You mean Delenn? Neroon, why?" "I do not have to bare my soul to you, Ambassador," Neroon said tensely, narrowing his eyes for a moment, until he saw sudden understanding flit across Sinclair's face. *Damn this perceptive human*, he thought. "It's all because of the incident with Shai Alit Branmer's remains, isn't it?" Sinclair asked. "You must have cared for him very deeply, Neroon. It's nothing to be ashamed of." Neroon looked at the couch and said, "I believe I will sit . . ." He walked to the couch and sank into the cushions, Sinclair following to sit at the opposite end. He could see some of Neroon's pain and sadness around the edges of his fraying mask of arrogance and anger. He understood all too well what it was like to be used by his own government, knew all too well how much it hurt to swallow his own feelings and the truth, for the sake of appearances . . . "Branmer was everything, Ambassador," Neroon said softly. "I would have gladly given my life for his . . . When he died, all I wanted was to give him the honour he deserved, in the best way I knew how. She -- Delenn -- took that away from me. All I had left of him she took from me. And then to save my clan I had to live her lie." "And now that lie is too well-known to divulge the truth," Sinclair said, remembering what Lennier had told him when he discovered the Wind Swords had shielded the Dilgar war criminal Jha'Dur. "Yes. Even though she no longer has that kind of power over me, I can not regain what she took from me . . ." Neroon took a deep breath, looked at his empty teacup. "May I have some more tea?" "Yes -- of course! My apologies, Neroon," Sinclair said, standing and getting the thermal pot. He poured Neroon another cup, then replaced the pot and sat down again. Neroon used that diversion to compose himself again, so that when Sinclair sat down he seemed much calmer. "Thank you," he said quietly, then sipped the tea. Sinclair drank a bit of his, wondering what else Neroon was planning to tell him -- it was obvious from his demeanour that there *was* something else, and either he was unsure of how to say it, or uncomfortable saying it . . Finally Neroon looked at him again and nodded. "Yes, there is something more, Ambassador. You read people too well -- are you sure you are not one of these Psis?" "Not that I know of, Neroon." "Hmnh. Well. You know that I am not very fond of humans -- I find this idea of Delenn's very offensive, and if this bit of absurdity *is* true, it would be better if we exterminated your entire race so that it would stop stealing our souls . . ." "We aren't stealing them, Neroon . . ." Sinclair said softly, well aware of how seriously Neroon felt that. "Yes, I know, supposedly they are leaving on their own, in an attempt to tell us our two races need to join together if we are to survive. I have head the Prophecy, I've had it shoved down my throat quite a lot over the past months." "I'm not going to tell you what you should or shouldn't believe, Neroon, but my own beliefs are that we do need to at least peacefully co-exist. There are -- forces -- out there stronger than either of our races. The longer we are apart, the less trouble they'll have destroying us both . . ." "The great Darkness," Neroon said with a slight snort. "If the Darkness is coming, I am afraid the rest of the Nine have little idea how to fight it . . ." He paused and drank more tea, then said, "Enough of this. I -- understand the theory. That is enough for now." He looked up at Sinclair again, then spoke quietly, "As I said, you know I am not fond of your kind. And yet I find myself -- very comfortable around you . . . I told you once that you talk like a Minbari . . . That was not a lie -- you talk more like a Minbari than many of my own people these days." He took a deep breath and continued, "Sometimes it frightens me. The things I hear you say -- the way you knew our own laws well enough to twist them around on us so that you could live to follow this mad calling of yours . . . Sometimes I expect to see Branmer, but instead it is this human, with hair, and those funny ears, and no crest . . ." Neroon trailed off, his hands shaking. When Sinclair met his gaze he thought he could see tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. "Neroon, I don't know what to say . . ." He swallowed, then continued, "I'm *honoured*." "I -- had to tell you that. I do not know how to reconcile these feelings yet -- I have been somewhat outspoken against your kind and the obscenity that Delenn has become, and yet I cannot bring myself to feel that way about you." Neroon stood, suddenly, before Sinclair had a chance to think of an appropriate response. Neroon placed his teacup on the table and bowed slightly. "Thank you for the tea, Ambassador. I have business I must attend to." Sinclair was on his feet by the time Neroon had finished his bow, caught off-guard by the sudden change of subject. He bowed in return and answered, "I welcome the chance to talk with you, Satai Neroon. I hope that you will come to visit again when you have more time." Neroon didn't answer, but the corner of his mouth twitched into something that was almost a smile. He picked up his travelling cloak, inclined his head, then left quickly. For the longest time, Sinclair merely stood in his office, stunned by the visit . . . * * * To be continued... Babylon 5 and its characters & settings are (c) 1995 PTEN and Babylonian Productions -- this story is not intended to infringe on these copyrights. Patterns of Light & Shadow is (c) 1995 Isoline M. Sanderson. As I said earlier on the list, comments & criticism posted to the list is okay with me -- just don't rip it apart too much... Thanks! UVAlpha@aol.com (Isoline) From UVAlpha@aol.comThu Jul 20 21:17:55 1995 Date: Wed, 19 Jul 1995 01:51:08 -0400 From: UVAlpha@aol.com Reply to: b5-creative@best.com To: b5-creative@best.com Subject: Patterns of Light & Shadow pt. 2 Well, here's part 2! Enjoy! "Chief, are you sure this is such a good idea?" Zack Allan asked quietly as he crept carefully along a corridor in DownBelow. The younger Security officer hefted what looked at first glance like a PPG rifle and looked through the sight down the corridor. Michael Garibaldi sighed and looked back at Zack, then answered, "Things've been getting pretty tense recently. I want the guys to be able to blow off some steam and still keep in training. Wargames've worked for the military for *centuries* -- why stop now?" Zack slung the rifle over his shoulder again and said, "Because how do you know someone hasn't switched the training rifle for a real one?" Garibaldi winced at that, knowing it had been one of the main concerns he'd *had* about this . . . "Why do you think I'm wearing my flak suit, Zack? You think I *like* nearly being killed? Now keep quiet, or Lou's team'll find us and then I'll owe him dinner." "That could be really expensive . . ." Zack muttered. The two Security men crept onwards, pausing every few feet to listen. Garibaldi wasn't about to admit to Zack that one of his other main reasons for suggesting the wargame exercise was to test and hone his own instincts. After recent events, he wanted to make *absolutely* certain he wasn't losing his edge . . . He reached out with every sense he could, peering into the darkness in search of movement, listening for sounds other than the ones Zack was making behind him, (smell he'd given up as inadvisable while DownBelow), and even reaching out with that sixth sense any good cop developed if he or she lived long enough to be a good cop. 'Cop's intuition', his father had called it -- he didn't know if it was just instinct, or an acute awareness of his surroundings similar to what the better pilots had, or even some kind of psi-ability -- although he had never tested positive for it before, so he doubted that possibility. Whatever it was, it had let him down at New Year's, and he could *not* afford a repeat of that lapse . . . As he reached out, trying to 'read' the dark corridor ahead of him, he felt a little shiver run through him, and all the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. There *was* someone ahead of them . . . He hadn't seen or heard anything, but he knew someone was there. He motioned to Zack, then unslung his own training rifle and tried the sight. Nothing. Whoever it was, they weren't moving, and he couldn't see the vaguest shape of a person . . . "There's no one there, Chief," Zack whispered, watching Garibaldi with some concern. "Yes, there is," Garibaldi hissed, moving forward again very carefully. Zack shrugged and followed him, rifle at the ready but not expecting to need it. Garibaldi paused, and Zack wasn't sure if he was listening, or *what*. Zack could see that he was concentrating intently, but beyond that, he had no idea. Garibaldi smiled slightly, motioned forward with his right hand, then leapt forward and swung around the corner, rifle at the ready. *Gotcha*, he thought, firing the rifle into a recess in the corridor. From the shadowed recess, simultaneously they heard the voice of the B5 computer saying, "Target hit -- result: fatality," and Lou Welch's voice growling, "Oh, Frag it!" Zack rounded the corner just in time to see Lou step out of the alcove, stripping off the sensor vest that had registered Garibaldi's hit. Zack stopped short and blinked in surprise at the outcome. Even as Lou was saying, "You got me, Chief. Guess I owe *you* dinner," Garibaldi raised his rifle again and fired down the corridor into the darkness. Echoing down the corridor came the computer's voice, "Target hit -- result: incapacitation." This time Zack and Lou both stared at Garibaldi, who seemed somewhat surprised himself. A few moments later, the other member of Lou's team, Officer Hanson, walked down the hall to join them. "Good shot, Chief," Hanson said with admiration. "Yeah, *good* shot," Zack said, studying Garibaldi's reactions. "How did you know they were there? I didn't see or hear anything . . ." Garibaldi opened his mouth to answer, but knew he really *had* no answer. Lou saw his indecision and said, "The Chief's got a lot of experience, Zack. He gets a hunch, it's usually right." However, he caught Garibaldi's eye and gave him a look that very plainly said "We've gotta talk . . ." Zack shook his head and said, "Damn, I wish *my* hunches worked like that . . ." "Yeah, I bet," Hanson responded. "If they did, that dancing girl woulda been wrapping you up in her scarves instead of Ambassador G'Kar . . ." Zack frowned at Hanson, who chuckled in response. "Okay, kids, time to go home," Garibaldi announced, before things got any further out of hand. "We'll see how the other teams are doing, and then that's it for the day. *I'm* beat." He clapped Lou firmly on the shoulder and said, "You two did a damn good job of hiding." "Thanks, Chief!" Lou answered, genuinely pleased. The four of them headed for the Security office. Unseen and unheard, and quite some distance behind them, a shape detached from the shadows and crept carefully after, pausing in the darker recesses and keeping a keen eye on the taller balding one in the lead. * * * "Well, that's not too bad overall," Zack said, looking at the compiled computer results of the 'wargame'. "Although I dunno about Yamada and Crockett 'killing' each other." "Yeah, that's a little counterproductive," Garibaldi mused, "but overall, looks like everyone's pretty sharp. I'm gonna pack it in for the night -- I want to see everyone in the briefing room in the morning to get their reports. Would you make sure everyone knows?" "Sure, Chief. Have a good night," Zack said. "Yeah, you too." Garibaldi left the Security office, hesitating when he realized he was still wearing the flak suit even though he'd removed the sensor vest. *Oops . . . Oh well, so I AM paranoid. No shit . . .* As he rounded the corner he knew Lou was waiting there. When his friend fell into step beside him all he said was, "Okay, Lou, what's up?" "I dunno, Chief. This is gettin' kinda spooky if you ask me," the hefty guard said nervously. "I mean I *know* I was hidden well, and I didn't move once I heard you and Zack coming my way. Hanson was all the way down the hall and hiding . . . How *did* you know we were there?" "I dunno, Lou. The same way I knew Stoner was bad news from the instant I saw him. The same way I knew the Gropos were gonna buy it at Metok . . ." The note of sadness that crept into his voice was not lost on Lou, who reached up and gently squeezed his shoulder. "I'm okay," he said in response. "No, I'm not . . . I don't know *how* I knew -- it just happens. You *know* how much of this job is following hunches. They just turn out right an awful lot of the time . . . Except at New Year's . . ." Lou's eyes narrowed as he thought about the death of President Santiago and near-death of Garibaldi. "I wish I'd had a few more minutes with that little sonofa . . ." Lou mused. "I woulda shown him." "Yeah, I know . . ." Garibaldi said, smiling humorlessly. "Lou -- thanks for taking him down -- he may have gotten away in the end, but at least I had a chance to talk to him before he did . . ." "Chief, you know I'd do anything for you," Lou said softly. "I just wish I --" "Yeah, I know. Hey, don't worry about it. I've got a hunch we haven't seen the last of him, anyway . . ." Garibaldi paused, suddenly realizing his choice of words wasn't the best considering how the discussion had started. "One of *those* hunches?" Lou asked, picking up on it too. "Yeah, one of *those* hunches," Garibaldi admitted. "Look, Lou, you know me -- Psi-Corps gives me the creeps. *Especially* after Jack . . . I'm not one of them, I don't ever want to *be* one of them. Cops've been following hunches for ages -- it doesn't make us psis. I can't read thoughts, or do any of the other stuff Ms. Winters does." "Maybe just 'cause you haven't been trained," Lou suggested. Garibaldi looked at him with disbelief. "Hey, just playing devil's advocate, Chief. It's *possible* . . ." "Yeah, yeah, I know," Garibaldi admitted. "I guess there's always that *chance* . . . But you know the psi tests they run on all EarthForce personnel. I've failed *all* of them -- or passed all of them, depending on your point of view . . ." "It's possible it could be something specific they haven't targeted the tests for," Lou suggested. Garibaldi rolled his eyes and said, "Thanks a *lot*, Lou. I do *not* want the bozos in the black coats coming to take me away . . ." Lou grinned and said, "Don't worry -- I wouldn't let 'em, anyway." "They'd drum you out for disobeying the rules. A rogue psi is a rogue psi . . ." "Yeah, but you're my *friend* -- that's . . . more important in the long run," Lou explained quietly. "But you're probably right, anyway, Chief. It's just probably just like we told Zack -- things you learn through experience, cop's intuition, whatever." "Yeah . . ." Garibaldi nodded and clapped Lou on the back, "Whatever." He looked up at his friend and grinned lopsidedly. "Thanks, Lou." When Lou looked at him questioningly, he explained, "For being someone I can trust. Too few of you around now with Jeff gone . . ." Lou raised his eyebrows at that, but did not question it. Instead, he just smiled and said, "That's what friends are for, Chief." Garibaldi smiled and nodded, then asked, "So, everything okay?" "Yeah, I think so. Just don't go getting *too* spooky around Zack, okay? I don't know where he stands, if you know what I mean," Lou said quietly. Garibaldi nodded and said, "I know *exactly* what you mean . . ." He yawned and stretched, then said, "Like I said earlier, I'm *beat*. I'm gonna go crash." "Sounds good, Chief. See you in the morning." Lou walked the short distance back to the turbolift and pushed the button, watching as Garibaldi continued down the hall. It was obvious that Garibaldi did know exactly what he meant, he thought, when he realized the Chief was still wearing the flak suit. *Not that I blame him one teensy bit . . . Hell of a rough thing to be betrayed by someone you trusted and trained yourself. Don't worry, Chief, I'll guard your back from now on, as long as you let me . . .* Garibaldi disappeared around a corner, and the lift arrived, so Lou missed the figure in dark clothing who sidled down the corridor after the Chief . . . * * * Garibaldi strolled down the corridor towards his quarters, finally unfastening the collar of the flak suit and starting to relax. Just as he turned a corner, a shiver passed through him and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up -- the same feeling he had when he knew Lou was hiding nearby . . . *Someone IS following me*, he thought, ducking back against the wall and waiting, silent. The hooded figure turned the corner and Garibaldi leaped out, grabbing the figure from behind with an arm around its throat. "Okay, pal, I'm tired, I've had a long day, and I'm *not* in the mood. Why the *hell* are you following me?" he hissed as the figure stopped struggling. "Mr. Garibaldi, it's me. Please let me go . . ." the figure -- a man, by his voice and the form under the hooded tunic -- said. Garibaldi released him with one hand and yanked the hood down, then muttered a curse under his breath and released him totally when he recognized the man. "You -- you're the Ranger!" The man turned to face him and nodded, then looked around the corridor to make sure no one had seen them. "Yes. I need to talk with you -- I have another message." "Okay, in my quarters," Garibaldi said, walking to the door & keying the lock. Once they were safely inside, he said, "Jeez -- don't *do* that to me! There's got to be a better way to get in touch with me than stalk me around this place! I might've killed you if I wasn't so tired . . ." "Sorry. I -- next time I'll send a message ahead or something . . ." the Ranger replied, rubbing absently at his throat. "I didn't think about your -- defense mechanisms." "Yeah, well, once burned, twice shy, you know?" The Ranger nodded -- he'd heard about Garibaldi's near-death at the hands of his own Aide, and understood completely his reasons for being cautious -- there was far too much darkness these days . . . "So, what's the message?" Garibaldi asked while peeling himself out of the flak suit jacket. "He is coming here," the Ranger answered. "He'll be here in a week." "Here? Why? What's going on?" Garibaldi asked, concern clear in his eyes. The Ranger smiled crookedly and answered, "He wants to *visit*." "Visit?" Garibaldi asked, incredulous. "That's it? He's taking a vacation?" "Yes, that's it . . . although he did make some noise about putting in some flight time . . ." "Good ol' Jeff -- I was wondering when being grounded was going to get to him . . . I don't even know why I'm asking this, but does he want to keep this visit a secret?" "Well, he said he'd 'deal with the official channels'," the Ranger answered. "I hope he knows what he's doing -- Captain Sheridan gets wind he's coming to visit and he'll be all over us to treat him like a VIP -- I don't think Jeff'll want that kind of attention . . ." "I doubt he will, but if he intends to take out a Starfury, there will be no way to keep *that* a secret . . ." "Yeah, tell me about it . . ." Garibaldi murmured. "Unless . . . If he gets the clearance sent to Minbar . . . There's a chance we could go out while Sheridan's busy with something. As far as quarters go, I can either get him one of the regular rental quarters, or put him up here. That'll keep him from having to stay in the VIP areas . . ." Garibaldi thought aloud. "But the second someone recognizes him, it'll be all over the station . . ." "I tried to tell him it was a bad idea . . ." the Ranger said. Garibaldi nodded and grinned lopsidedly. "Yeah, I know. That's the way he is . . . Look, thanks for the warning -- I'll figure something out. You tell him everything will be arranged." "And you will keep him safe?" "Guard him with my *life* -- you've got my word on that," Garibaldi said firmly. "I know he's very important to the -- cause -- but he's also my best *friend*." "I know. I just had to ask -- you understand, don't you?" the Ranger asked softly, hoping he hadn't annoyed Garibaldi. "If we lose him, then . . . everything is lost." "I understand. Believe me, I understand . . ." Garibaldi answered. He covered a yawn, then looked at the chrono reading on his Link and grimaced. "I hate to do this to you, but if I'm gonna function at all tomorrow and start making arrangements . . ." "You need to sleep -- yes. I'm sorry, Mr. Garibaldi, I didn't think. I'll be here a few more days -- if you need anything, I'm in Brown 17 . . ." "Thanks. Goodnight," Garibaldi said, covering another yawn and showing the Ranger out. *Aw, Jeff, why are you doin' this to me?* he thought, getting ready for bed. *I want to see you, but this could be real entertaining if Sheridan or the NightWatch or anything else goes wrong . . . How am I gonna keep them from finding out you're here? And when they do, it'll be 'Ambassador this' and 'Ambassador that' -- you'll hate it.* He sighed and threw himself into bed, deciding he couldn't figure anything out with his mind fogged by exhaustion and an impending headache . . . * * * To be continued... UVAlpha@aol.com (Isoline) ---------------------------------------------------- Babylon 5 and related characters & situations are (c) 1995 PTEN and Babylonian Productions. This is not intended to infringe on any of those copyrights. Patterns of Light & Shadow is (c) 1995 Isoline M. Sanderson. --------------------------------------------------- Hopefully part three will be along soon -- I'm almost caught up to the part I haven't typed yet, so it may be a little longer wait this time. Sorry! Be seeing you -- Isoline From UVAlpha@aol.comMon Jul 24 17:50:38 1995 Date: Sun, 23 Jul 1995 04:04:20 -0400 From: UVAlpha@aol.com Reply to: b5-creative@best.com To: b5-creative@best.com Subject: Patterns of Light & Shadow Pt 3 *whew* -- here's part three! (I'm going to go run & hide, now. Bye!) --Isoline ------------------------------------------------------------------------- * * * ~~The blue space-suited figure solidified, almost as if it were a mist becoming solid, and the strange alien beside them grew excited. Garibaldi frowned, looking from the gesturing Zathras to Jeffrey Sinclair standing next to him. The man was transfixed . . . *What the hell . . .?* Garibaldi wondered, following Sinclair's gaze to the figure. It -- although he was almost positive the figure was male, so -- he stood awkwardly. He seemed to tremble. "He's in pain," Sinclair said, his voice gravelled and shaky as if the pain were his own . . . Zathras was saying something but Garibaldi's attention was rivetted on Sinclair. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it registered that Zathras said the figure was 'The One' -- the person leading Zathras and who knew who else in a battle against the 'forces of Darkness'. Whatever those were . . . Sinclair, almost mesmerised by the figure -- The One -- walked forward towards him. The One sank to his knees in his pain . . . Garibaldi tried to stop him -- he *knew* this was a bad idea -- but Sinclair was determined . . . He was drawn to The One . . . The One reached out his hand, fingers slowly uncurling, towards Sinclair, and Sinclair mirrored the gesture. Mirrored it *exactly* . . . When their fingertips touched, light -- some kind of energy which looked just like the time-distortion barrier they had passed through coming to Babylon 4 -- arced between them. Suddenly, explosively, Jeffrey Sinclair was thrown back -- repelled, as if he and The One were the like poles of two magnets . . .~~ "No -- Jeff!" Garibaldi cried out, rocketing awake in bed. He was drenched in sweat and trembling violently. He untangled himself from the sheets and sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. *Oh god -- it was a dream . . .* he thought, realizing they weren't back on Babylon 4 dealing with the wrenching timeslips and panicked evacuation. *Except that it wasn't just a dream -- that's what HAPPENED.* He shook his head, trying to drive the images back into his subconscious where he wouldn't have to see them, wouldn't have to think of them and of what they might mean. Unfortunately, dreams were rarely that cooperative -- the ones you wanted desperately to remember faded away like mist, the ones you wanted to forget were indelibly stamped on your memory . . . Garibaldi stood and padded to the kitchen area, poured himself a glass of water, and downed it, trying to ignore the way his hand shook. *Hands . . .* The thought came to his mind unbidden, along with the image of The One and Jeffrey Sinclair reaching out to each other, identical gestures, identical movements. Garibaldi shook his head again, not wanting to see any more, to know any more . . . The One had been in pain, and Sinclair had *known*. His own voice had sounded rough, as if the pain were his. Zathras had told them of a 'Great war, terrible war . . .' and 'A great Darkness . . .' Garibaldi swallowed, dreading the correlation that popped into his mind on its own. He whispered, "No -- oh damn it, no . . . Just *once* let my hunch be *wrong* . . ." He staggered back to his bed and sat heavily, buried his head in his hands. Sinclair had sent him a message crystal, and he had memorized every word and nuance of tone and expression on it. Including Jeffrey Sinclair saying, "There's a great Darkness coming, Michael . . ." *No, damn it, NO!* Garibaldi thought, *The Ranger said they were an army . . . Jeff said he'd given the message to an 'associate' who'd sworn to bring it to me 'at any cost, including his own life' . . . And Zathras said 'We live for The One. We would die for The One.'* He shook his head, trying desperately to shut out the voices of his memories, and whispered, "Damn it, Jeff, what are you *doing* . . . You've already been a hero, you don't have to do it anymore . . . " *"Watch out for the Shadows. They move when you're not looking at them." Shadows -- great Darkness? Oh hell, Jeff, what have you gotten yourself into?* He lay down again, bundling himself under the sheets and comforter in an attempt to banish the chill that had settled over him. Eventually he sank back into a fitful doze, Zathras' words echoing around in his head: "We live for the One. We would die for the One . . ." * * * The next morning found Garibaldi sitting in the mess, his tray of breakfast sitting untouched before him and a mug of caf, the synthetic coffee normally available on B5, clutched in his hands. He glowered blearily at anyone who came too close, and knew that anyone who thought he still drank would be convinced he was hung over. He didn't care. However, he had contemplated going to MedLab and getting some stims to wake up, but knew that would lead to just as vicious a cycle. *Something to wake up, something else to sleep, all of it dulling my senses until I REALLY do something dumb -- no way. I'm not playing that game anymore. Especially not with Sheridan in charge.* "Is this a private party or can anyone hate the world this morning?" a voice intruded on his thoughts. He blinked and forced himself to focus on the woman standing before him. If it had been anyone else, with the *possible* exception of Captain Sheridan, he would have told them to 'stroke off and die', but it was Commander Susan Ivanova, and she hated mornings even more than he did. She also looked as if she'd had as good a night as he had. He made room for her at the table and attempted a grin as she sat down. "Give it up, Garibaldi, you look like hell," she sighed, looking at his tray. "And it's got to be a bad day if *you* aren't eating . . . " "And a happy good morning to you, too," Garibaldi muttered. "Mmf . . . " Ivanova responded, taking a bite of toast. "Security problems?" Garibaldi shook his head and said, "Nah, just couldn't sleep well. Security's fine right now -- I ran a drill for everyone yesterday, and it went fine. You?" "Mornings." She shrugged, "Isn't that enough of a reason?" Garibaldi nodded, finally taking a sip of the now lukewarm caf. "Ugh -- stuff's bad enough when it's *hot*." Ivanova nodded and picked up her own mug. "You aren't kidding," she answered, staring into the synthetic brew. "It's amazing how they can take all the chemical components of coffee and turn them into the world's worst paint thinner." She took a huge swallow and grimaced. "And this is about the worst yet. Did *everyone* get up on the wrong side of the bed today?" "I'm beginning to wonder -- although I haven't run into Zack or the Captain yet, so I don't know for sure. If both of *them* are in bad moods, I say we write this day off as a loss and start tomorrow early . . . " "One morning's as bad as another -- at least this one's halfway over . . . " Ivanova said, stifling a yawn and checking her chrono. "Oh hell, I'm due in C&C -- I'll see you later." "Have fun," Garibaldi muttered, nodding to her as she stood and hurried out. Then he sighed and eyed his breakfast with suspicion -- the sausage looked cold and greasy, and he knew the pancakes would sit like lead, no matter how much syrup he drowned them in. He sighed and ate all nine pieces of fruit in the 'fruit cup', wondering whether Dr. Franklin would consider it a healthy breakfast. *Ah hell, I can sit and grump as easily in the Security office as I can here -- I might as well get to work . . .* He dumped the remains of breakfast into the recycler and slouched out, heading for the Security office. In one of the main corridors, he passed Ambassador Delenn of the Minbari and Ambassador Kosh of the Vorlon. They seemed to be discussing something and Delenn was very animated -- almost agitated -- he noted. "'Morning, Ambassadors," he said, forcing some pleasantness into his voice. Delenn looked up at him, surprised, stopping in mid-word, and Garibaldi could see her eyes looking into him -- searching his face and possibly deeper -- for something. Then she smiled sympathetically and said softly, "Mister Garibaldi." She inclined her head slightly and he bowed a little in response. He could feel Kosh studying him too, knew that whatever served as the Vorlon's eyes were looking as deep as Delenn had. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He couldn't be sure whether Kosh had found what he was looking for because the Vorlon said nothing. He merely inclined his headgear and then he and Delenn continued on their way. Garibaldi could see the conversation start up again, and at least twice he could have *sworn* he'd seen Delenn glance back at him . . . He stood in the hall, confused, and wondered, *Just what the hell was all THAT about?* Finally he shrugged and continued on to the office, threw himself into his chair, and got to work reviewing the Security logs. He pushed the confusing encounter to the back of his mind, adding it to the lengthening list of 'Things to think about -- *later*.' * * * ---------------------------------------------------------- That's all for now -- more probably in a couple of days. BTW, I can't remember if "caf" was mentioned in one of the episodes, or one of the novels, but I figure it's got to be the "generic" coffee. (Maybe Garibaldi can bribe Ivanova to give him some of her *real* coffee when the next crop is ready. If Sheridan hasn't taken up all of the growing space with his orange trees... : ) -------------------------------------------------------------- Babylon 5, its characters and situations are (c) 1995 PTEN and Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended to infringe on any of these copyrights. Patterns of Light and Shadow is (c) 1995 Isoline M. Sanderson ----------------------------------------------------------- Be seeing you -- UVAlpha@aol.com (Isoline) From UVAlpha@aol.comMon Aug 14 19:59:08 1995 Date: Sun, 30 Jul 1995 02:34:50 -0400 From: UVAlpha@aol.com Reply to: b5-creative@best.com To: b5-creative@best.com Subject: Patterns of Light & Shadow pt. 4 Here's part 4 -- part 5 should be along sometime later this week. Enjoy! Comments, as always, are appreciated. --Isoline ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ---- Garibaldi sighed as he walked down the dimly lit corridor towards Brown 17. The Security meeting had gone quietly, although there had been a bit of joking regarding the officers who had 'died' in their training drill. Garibaldi had contemplated assigning the worst of the jokers to customs duty (an excruciatingly boring detail, for the most part, which he often used as a punishment), but he just didn't have the energy to shuffle schedules. After the meeting he'd wandered around on his rounds, forcing himself to alertness so that he didn't miss any signs of trouble. It seemed to be a fairly subdued day overall, although when he'd run into Captain Sheridan, the man had been waxing enthusiastic about some new alien food. *The people you wish would be bummed are the ones who never are,* he thought sullenly. However, his own mood had steadily improved after lunch -- he was still tired, but had gotten his second wind and finally gotten rid of the nagging headache. Now it was time to visit with the Ranger -- if he could find the man. He'd checked the housing logs and could only locate one apartment that had been rented in Brown 17 in the past few days, so that had to be the place. As he hit the buzzer outside Brown 17E, he thought, *Damn -- wish I had one of Sheridan's little jammers -- but he's only got a couple, and if I ask to borrow one, he'll ask why . . .* After a pause, the Ranger's voice issued from the door intercom, "Just a minute." Garibaldi glanced furtively around the corridor, making sure no one saw him. He was relieved when the door slid open and the Ranger hurriedly ushered him inside. "Mister Garibaldi," the Ranger greeted him, offering him a seat at the small table in the 'dining room' area of the quarters. As Garibaldi followed his host he took a quick look around, his mind automatically switching into 'cop mode' and noting details. It was a standard residential rental, with tiny kitchenette area, living room and connected dining room. The sleeping area was separated from the rest by a translucent screen, which was currently open. The only evidence of the Ranger's presence in the small apartment was a sack of food items on the kitchenette counter, a small satchel beside the computer/communications console, and the Ranger's hooded tunic tossed on the bed. Garibaldi sat at the table and watched as the Ranger poured two glasses of water. He was wearing the dark pants and a short-sleeved black shirt, and Garibaldi realized that the thick tunic top was probably usually worn to combat the somewhat cooler temperature on Minbar. The Ranger brought him the water and sat, then asked, "Is there a problem?" "Not really -- I just realized earlier that he may have some trouble clearing things with anyone at EarthCentral . . . I need you to contact him and suggest he try to contact General Hague to get the clearances -- and make sure he sends them to Jeff *on* Minbar. Hague might be a little more -- receptive." "Might?" the Ranger asked, studying Garibaldi over the rim of his glass. "Hell, almost no one at EarthCentral likes Jeff. I know Hague's not too keen on ceremony and fuss so maybe he'll understand why Jeff wants to avoid his visit becoming public knowledge. I don't know how Hague feels about him personally, but some of Hague's . . . views are a lot closer to his." "I take it this is not common knowledge," the Ranger observed. "No, it isn't. How did you know -- just so I don't give it away to the wrong people?" Garibaldi asked, a little concerned. The Ranger smiled and said, "One, you're almost whispering, and two, if he's got unorthodox views and is a General, he *must* be keeping them quiet." Garibaldi smiled and said, "I hadn't thought of it that way -- you've got a point." Then he sat back and finished his water, then checked his chrono. "I've gotta get back to Security -- you give him my message, and tell him to be careful, please." "Yes, I will. Thank you for your help, Mr. Garibaldi." The Ranger stood and showed him out, then returned to his computer to try to get an open channel out to Minbar. * * * When Jenkins saw Neroon and his entourage approaching, his heart sank. The foul-tempered Warrior *would* pick now, of all times, to come for another visit . . . He closed his eyes for a moment, making a heartfelt prayer to all he held holy that Neroon didn't try to dissect him when he learned what was going on. And then the Warrior Satai was standing before him, looking down his nose at him. "I wish to see Ambassador Sinclair." "I am sorry, Satai, but the Ambassador is not seeing anyone at this time," Jenkins responded, trying to sound as respectful as possible. "That is what you tried to tell me the *last* time," Neroon said, his tone almost weary. "The Ambassador himself invited me to return to speak with him when I had more time. If you don't *believe* me, ask him yourself." Jenkins swallowed hard, hearing the irritation starting to creep into Neroon's tone. "I am sorry, Satai, but I cannot. He is not seeing *anyone*" Neroon's eyes narrowed in suspicion, and Jenkins thought *Uh oh -- I'm toast.* "Why not?" Neroon asked, "Has something happened to him? Is he *unwell*?" He studied Jenkins' face and frowned, then said, "I should have known better than to trust his safety to you -- *humans*. Where is Kozorr? I demand to see him!" "Yes, Satai Neroon," Jenkins said quietly. He motioned to the other human guard to take over his post and said, "If you'll come with me, Satai . . . " He led Neroon down a hallway, feeling the Warrior's eyes burning into his back. The only thing that gave him any comfort was the fact that he could probably escape after bringing Neroon to Kozorr, since they probably wouldn't want to discuss important matters in front of a 'lowly human' . . . He knocked on the door, relieved when Kozorr himself answered it. "Yes, Mr. Jenkins?" he asked, then his gaze took in the angry Satai behind him, and he said, "Ah -- Satai Neroon. Thank you, Mr. Jenkins, that will be all. Satai, please, come in." Jenkins dodged out of the way as Neroon and his two guards walked into the room, breathing a sigh of relief when the door closed. * * * "Kozorr, I want to see Ambassador Sinclair. *Now*," Neroon demanded the instant the door was closed, even before he saw the room's other occupant. The female Minbari stood and approached, unintimidated by Neroon's officious bearing. She stood slightly taller than Neroon and did not have his muscular build, but it was more than obvious that she was not weak. By the shape of her crest and the clothing she wore, she was a member of the Religious Caste. "Satai Neroon, you can not walk in here and demand to see the Ambassador any time you feel like it. I realize that you, as Satai, feel you have the *right* to do this, but Ambassador Sinclair has his own life." Neroon, nearly speechless in his anger, opened his mouth, but words refused to come out. His eyes flicked from the female Minbari to Kozorr, and back again. Finally he growled, "Where *is* he? I have a right to know, Liann. If you and Kozorr cannot protect him, I will choose someone to replace you!" Kozorr bowed deeply to Neroon in hopes that the show of respect would appease him a little and said, "Satai, he is not Minbari - we cannot keep him here against his will. If he wishes -- " "He is not *here*?" Neroon interrupted, his voice raised in fury. "Where has he *gone*? Why did you not inform me?!" It was all he could do to keep from grabbing Kozorr's tunic and shaking him. Sudden understanding flashed across Neroon's face and he glared at Kozorr. This time, his voice was dangerously quiet, "You let him travel to Babylon 5." He didn't wait for confirmation, instead continuing in the same dangerous tone, "*If* anything should happen to him, Kozorr, it will be on your head. You will go to Babylon 5 yourself and ensure that no harm befalls him. I do not *care* if he has human guards, I want real guards protecting him. Do you understand?" Kozorr bowed again and responded, "Yes, Satai Neroon. Some warriors have already been sent and I --" "I do not care. *You* will go in person." "He was trying to tell you that he already has his flight booked, Satai," Liann interceded softly. She tilted her head slightly, studying Neroon, then said, "Your attitude surprises me, Satai. I thought you would be glad to see the Ambassador gone." Neroon looked up to meet her gaze, angered by the fact that he had to do so, then said, "*That* is my own affair, Liann." "Of course, Satai. Now, we were in the middle of planning Kozorr's trip -- is there anything else you wish?" "Yes. Keep me informed from now on. And when he is ready to leave that place, tell me. *I* will arrange for his transportation home." "Yes, Satai Neroon," Kozorr answered, bowing again. Neroon barely inclined his head in response, turned, and stormed out, his two guards right behind him. When their footsteps could no longer be heard, Kozorr said, "I would have told him sooner if he'd given me half a chance . . ." "He is not Jeffrey's keeper," Liann said softly, "No matter *what* he thinks." Kozorr looked up at her and asked, "You didn't . . ." "Of course not. I would be *foolish* to do that without permission. He is angry enough that I dare to *look* at him . . . No, he was so furious I could not help hearing his thoughts. However, I cannot say that I -- or he -- fully understand them." She sat again, rubbing gently at her forehead, and said, "We did not handle this well -- we should have told him when we first knew." "But he would have demanded we stop it then," Kozorr said. "And while I worry for the Ambassador's safety, I have no desire to keep him from seeing his friends. He is not a prisoner here, he is a guest." Liann sighed and nodded. "You are correct. Neroon is an arrogant child, who has been given too much power in a time when reason *must* prevail. As Alit, he is well suited. As Satai, he is not." Kozorr did not reply, and after a moment she looked up to search his face. Then she shook her head and said, "I am sorry, my friend. You *know* how I feel about him. He is right in many things, but I fear that his anger and arrogance will overwhelm the good he could do. I am disturbed by his presence among the Nine. The Darkness is coming, and we cannot afford to give it a place to take root . . ." She shook her head again and said, "Perhaps this new -- fondness for Jeffrey will help him stay on the right path." "I hope you are right, Liann. For the sake of us all, I hope you are right." * * * To be continued... ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Babylon 5 is (c) 1995 PTEN & Babylonian Productions. This story is not meant to infringe on any of those copyrights. Patterns of Light and Shadow is (c) 1995 Isoline M. Sanderson. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ *whew!* Like I said, look for part 5 later this week, barring any computer problems... Bye for now -- UVAlpha@aol.com (Isoline) From UVAlpha@aol.comMon Aug 14 20:00:17 1995 Date: Thu, 3 Aug 1995 00:04:42 -0400 From: UVAlpha@aol.com Reply to: b5-creative@best.com To: b5-creative@best.com Subject: Patterns of Light & Shadow pt 5 Okay, part 5 is pretty short -- I couldn't really put this in with the next part because of the . . . well, you'll see when I post part 6... : ) ------------------------------------------------------------------ Lennier, the Minbari ambassadorial aide, stood impatiently outside the Babylon 5 Advisory Council's chambers, silently praying for the session to end quickly. After a few moments, the doors opened and the various alien representatives began to filter out of the room. He waited, but did not see any sign of Delenn. When there was a break in the traffic, he darted inside the chamber towards the curved main table. Delenn stood, talking quietly with Captain Sheridan, with Ambassador Kosh standing to one side observing silently. The Vorlon was increasingly present in the Council meetings and in discussions with Delenn and Sheridan. The changes that this signified greatly unnerved Lennier. However, he had pledged himself to Delenn, and would follow her and guard her through any hardship. The current one included. "Ah -- excuse me, Captain Sheridan, Ambassador," he interrupted awkwardly. When they paused, he continued, "Please forgive this interruption, but there is an urgent message for you, Ambassador. It is Liann . . ." Delenn's expression grew wary and she asked, "Has she been waiting long?" "No, Ambassador, I came directly here. In another minute I would have asked to interrupt the session." "Thank you, Lennier," Delenn said, her voice holding just the slightest edge of worry. "Captain, I apologize. I must take this call -- we will continue our discussion later." "Of course, Ambassador," Sheridan said, his forehead creased in worry. "I hope it's nothing serious." "So do I, Captain . . ." she said, then she turned and followed Lennier out. * * * By the time Delenn reached her quarters, the worry was plainly etched on her face. There could be any number of reasons Liann would be sending an urgent message, but her mind could only focus on the bad ones . . . She hurried over to the communication screen and activated it, trusting Lennier to make certain the door was closed and they were safely alone. Liann's face appeared on the screen, and Delenn felt a moment of selfconsciousness as Liann studied her. Then Liann spoke, her musical voice holding the slightest note of concern, "Delenn, my friend, you look as though you ran all the way from the council session . . . Are you unwell?" "Lennier said it was urgent -- I was worried . . . Is Ambassador Sinclair all right?" "Yes, Delenn, he is fine. I am sorry this has gotten you into such a state -- you are quite flushed." "A -- drawback of the Change, I think," Delenn said, feeling her cheeks burning even more. "Please, Liann, tell me what is wrong." "Satai Neroon seems to have decided that he is the only one worthy to see to Jeffrey's safety. He has learned of the trip, and has ordered Kozorr to travel to Babylon 5 personally to keep an eye on him. Neroon has also demanded that we tell him when Jeffrey is ready to return to Minbar -- he plans to escort him home *himself* . . ." "Neroon . . ." Delenn murmured, remembering the terrible things he had said to her when she was dropped from the Grey Council. "He is the *last* one I would expect to care for Jeffrey. *Why*?" "I am not certain," Liann said softly, "but I do believe his reasons are selfish ones. He is not doing this for the greater good. He could also make quite a scene, and with 'Star Killer' running Babylon 5 . . . I fear it could get quite ugly." Delenn frowned at Liann's use of the Warriors' epithet for Captain Sheridan, but did not comment. "Yes -- I will warn the Rangers. Kozorr will not be trouble, will he?" "No. Although he was Neroon's choice to guard Jeffrey, he has far more subtlety. However, if something should threaten Jeffrey's safety . . ." "I understand," Delenn said, "But his fierceness and loyalty are the reasons Neroon chose him, and are qualities well suited for a guard. Mister Garibaldi is much the same way." "Yes, Jeffrey has spoken of him with great fondness," Liann responded, "A true friend . . . Something quite rare in these dark times, Delenn . . ." Liann's gaze softened and she added, "But I see this is something you have found to be true yourself . . . Faith manages, my friend. You know in your heart what must be done. It is a difficult path, and a painful one, but you are not as alone as you think." Delenn closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath, then opened her eyes, much more composed this time. "Thank you, Liann. It is difficult, but I will do what must be done. And right now, that is to alert the proper people so that there is as little disruption as possible. Someday, soon, you must tell me all the news from home. I would like to hear about events with a little less . . . official bias." Liann smiled warmly and nodded, "Until then, my friend." * * * To be continued... -------------------------------------------------------------------- Babylon 5 is (c) 1995 PTEN & Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended to infringe on this copyright and will be handed over to them lock, stock, & barrel if they ask. So please, folks, don't ask!! : ) Patterns of Light and Shadow is (c) 1995 Isoline M. Sanderson -------------------------------------------------------------------- Part 6 should be along in a couple of days... UVAlpha@aol.com (Isoline) From UVAlpha@aol.comMon Aug 14 20:01:51 1995 Date: Tue, 8 Aug 1995 01:09:01 -0400 From: UVAlpha@aol.com Reply to: b5-creative@best.com To: tag@magic.astral.ca Cc: b5-creative@best.com Subject: Fwd: Patterns of Light & Shad... Here it is -- notice that I mention *Garibaldi's* knowledge of the layout of the station. Mine does *not* compare. So far I know that the crew quarters are in Blue, and the Ambassadorial Wing is in Green. The rest seems to change without notice, depending on which set they need to use for running around DownBelow... I am making a command decision and placing the Zocalo in the "front" of Blue, between the docking area, and where the quarters begin, the main reasoning behind this being that since it's the store/cafe/restaurant area, they would want newcomers to B5 to see it on the way in and spend money there. It's like the shops in airport terminals -- they're right there where you get off planes, they're not further out than the hotels. If it really *is* in Red, then I'm screwed, because this whole segment would need to be rewritten, and I like it the way it *is*... So there. : ) (Whoever that is making noise back there, quiet, or I'll sic Neroon on ya! (Or Lou!)) Be seeing you -- Isoline --------------------- Forwarded message: Subj: Patterns of Light & Shadow pt 6 Date: 95-08-06 21:46:12 EDT From: U V Alpha To: b5-creative@best.com Well, here we go -- part 6! --------------------------------------------------------- Garibaldi checked his chrono, then with the computer for the arrival data on the Minbari transport *Hegal*. *Still on time -- good.* He grinned to himself and continued on his rounds. His knowledge of the layout of Babylon 5 allowed him to do his normal rounds with only a slight variation, so that he'd end up at the arrivals/customs area right on time. *Infinitely better than taking over customs duty for the entire morning shift, standing around for hours saying "Identicard please" and "Enjoy your stay on Babylon 5" until my brain turns to mush . . .* he thought. Another five minutes' walk and he arrived just as the final docking procedures for the *Hegal* were completed. He meandered around for a few moments, then walked over to the security guard posted at the arrivals gate. "Morning, Chief," the young officer said, "Anything wrong?" "'Morning, Carter," Garibaldi answered, noting his attempt to appear alert although his body language a moment ago had indicated intense boredom -- and possibly a need to go to the head. "Nothing's wrong -- just making my rounds. Things going quietly?" "So quiet I could scream, Chief," Carter answered honestly. "I mean -- I don't like it when we're up to our eyeballs in trouble, but this . . ." He fidgeted a little under Garibaldi's gaze. "It's okay, I know what you mean. Security work can be very exciting -- too exciting at times -- but it also entails a *lot* of waiting and watching. You had your break yet this morning?" "Not yet, Chief, and this Minbari transport just got in, so -- " "Why don't you go take a quick break and I'll take over here 'till you're back." Then he grinned a little and added, "You shouldn't drink that much caf at breakfast -- I hear they use it to clean out the recycling plant . . ." Carter nodded and grinned slightly, then said, "I think you're right." He handed Garibaldi the identicard reader and said, "Thanks, Chief -- I'll be back asap." "It's okay, you look like you need it. Now scoot." Garibaldi smiled to himself as Carter hurried off and thought *Totally and completely unfair taking advantage of an impressionable youngster like that -- Michael, 'you're dethpicable'.* Then the first passengers disembarking from the *Hegal* arrived at the gate and he went into automatic, scanning identicards, checking carry-on luggage for any illegal substances or weapons, wishing each of the passengers a pleasant stay on Babylon 5. A part of his mind was studying and cataloguing every face, searching for the specific one he was expecting. Almost every passenger was Minbari, the only humans so far were a pair of traders who had apparently been granted a visa to see if they could set up an office on Minbar. He was starting to worry, until he saw the last two passengers heading his way. One was a Worker Caste Minbari who appeared to be a little space sick, and the other . . . The last passenger wore a Minbari travelling cloak, the cut and decorations those of the Star Riders clan. The hood concealed most of his face, but the shape of the head under the hood did not show the points of a crest. It *had* to be Sinclair. "Identicard please," Garibaldi requested. He took the offered card and slid it into the reader, smiled when the information he was expecting popped up on the display. "Everything looks in order, Sir. Enjoy your stay on Babylon 5." "Could you tell me where I could exchange some credits?" Sinclair asked. Garibaldi nodded, so glad to hear his friend's voice in person, and for the sake of appearances pointed out the exchange machines nearby. Carter returned at a jog, just in time to see Garibaldi directing the last passenger to the credit exchange machines. He thought it was a little odd that the Minbari was wearing his hood, but the Minbari seemed to enjoy being as mysterious as they could, so he wasn't too worried. However, he did mentally note the Minbari's height and build, and the details of his clothing, just in case he really was up to no good. He reached Garibaldi's side and said, "Sorry it took me so long, Chief! Wasn't any trouble, was there?" "Nope -- just a bunch of people glad to be off a transport. Don't worry about it," Garibaldi said, handing the identicard reader back to him. "You keep up the good work, Carter, I'll see you later." "Thanks, Chief." Garibaldi nodded absently as he walked off, strolling around the 'terminal' area until he was near the exchange machines. Carter heard the hooded Minbari ask him for some assistance, and he watched them for a while, long enough to make certain the Minbari wasn't about to try something funny. Then the arrival of another transport claimed his attention. "Thank you for your help, Mr. -ah- " Sinclair said, trailing off and allowing Garibaldi to step in. "Garibaldi," he provided, feeling a little silly, as if he were reading lines in a play. "Mr. Garibaldi," Sinclair said, taking a quick look around. "Could you show me where I can find housing during my stay?" "Well, I'm still on duty," Garibaldi said, "but I was heading back that way, so if you'll come with me . . ." The two of them walked out at a leisurely pace, just in time to miss the pair of Star Riders who had just left the customs gate. * * * Garibaldi and Sinclair walked along the Central Corridor in the direction of Garibaldi's quarters. Sinclair had pushed the hood back far enough that he could see ahead easily, but could still conceal his face if the need arose. As they entered the bustling commercial area of the Zocalo, Sinclair looked around with some surprise, then turned to Garibaldi and said, "It's gotten -- busier -- than it was the last time I was here." "Yeah. There was a big push to bring in businesses -- too bad you missed the gift shop. Now *that* was amusing." "Gift shop? I'm not sure I want to know . . ." "You probably don't," Garibaldi agreed. "It lasted all of -- four days, I think. Of course, Sheridan did put Ivanova in charge of it, so . . ." he trailed off with a shrug. Sinclair grinned, and Garibaldi knew he was imagining what Ivanova's idea of 'customer service' would be like. "Yeah," he said, "But apparently one of the things that *really* did it in was the 'Londo Mollari doll' . . ." He chuckled and looked to the side to see what Sinclair's reaction was. Sinclair was staring ahead of them, focused on a small cafe they were approaching. Garibaldi followed his gaze to a table against the corridor wall. An icy chill ran down his spine and suddenly he found it hard to breathe -- Mr. Morden sat at the table, nursing a cup of espresso. Morden wore a dark suit, black shirt, and even the area around him seemed to be somehow dimmer than the rest of the surrounding Zocalo. Morden lounged in his chair, his body language stating quite boldly that he felt he had every right in the world to be there, and he didn't care *what* anyone else thought. Until they drew closer . . . Suddenly Morden looked to his left, then his right, as if listening to something. Then slowly, deliberately, he sat taller in his chair and turned forward again. And stared straight at Sinclair. Garibaldi felt his chest tighten even further, something on some deep, instinctual level sending adrenaline rushing through his system. The chill that had skittered down his back like tiny icicles felt like it had become icy talons raking up and down his spine, and the same feeling that had told him where Lou was in the wargame and told him the Ranger was following him was back with a vengeance. Something was there. Something was *very* wrong . . . There had been a couple of other times in his life that he'd felt something similar to this: in the Earth-Minbari War when the enemy had breached his camp's defenses; on Babylon 5 when the Psi-Cop Bester had slid into his mind without permission; and again on B5 when the Soldier of Darkness nearly killed his friend Amis . . . But only once could he recall feeling something *exactly* like this, and that fact scared the living hell out of him. *Mars . . .* he thought, trying, and failing, to repress a shudder. In the few seconds this took, Sinclair shook his head just enough to make the hood fall forward again, concealing -- he hoped -- enough of his face to make him harder to recognize. Then he jammed his right hand into his cloak pocket and held the brooch he'd put there, so tightly that the edges dug painfully into his palm. Using the concentration he'd learned over years of meditating, and some of the new skills Liann had taught him, he focused on the pain until that was the only thought in his mind. He kept walking, past the cafe and the table where Morden sat. Garibaldi couldn't do anything except tag along, following Sinclair's lead. From the grim set to his friend's jaw, he could tell Sinclair knew something was very wrong, too. When they were even with Morden, Garibaldi saw a look of sudden surprise pass across the darkly attractive face. As they were walking away, out of the corner of his eye he saw Morden stand up, rubbing at his right hand as if it were injured. * * * Sinclair finally slowed his strides again when they reached the Blue Sector, but when Garibaldi opened his mouth to talk, Sinclair shook his head sharply and said, "Wait." Garibaldi obeyed without question, still shaken by what had happened. A couple of Babylon 5 personnel passed them, but Garibaldi was relieved to see they were only maintenance personnel and no one he knew well. The *last* thing he needed, especially when he was this rattled, was someone asking him why he was escorting a 'Minbari Warrior' around the crew quarters. They reached his quarters and he glanced up and down the hall, trying not to look too suspicious and knowing he was failing miserably. However, no one was there to see him open the door and usher Sinclair inside. Once the door was shut and locked behind him, Garibaldi shuddered violently and leaned against it. Sinclair tossed back the hood and looked at him, noting how pale and shaky he was. "Easy, Michael," he said softly, walking to Garibaldi's side and guiding him to the couch. He sat Garibaldi down, then took off the travelling cloak and wrapped it around his friend's shoulders. "You stay there, I'll make some tea," he directed. Garibaldi shivered and pulled the cloak tighter around himself, but nodded. While Sinclair brewed the tea he kept firm control on his own reaction. There was time for *that* once he was sure Garibaldi was okay. As he waited for the water to heat, he kept an eye on Garibaldi to make sure he didn't slip any further into shock. He couldn't remember ever seeing Garibaldi that wide-eyed and shaken. *At least,* he thought, *not while we were posted on B5 . . . Although he came pretty close during the escape from B4. The only time I can remember Michael looking that bad was --* He clamped down firmly on that thought, refusing to follow it any further -- yet. *Tea first,* he thought firmly, busying his mind with the minute details of tea preparation, once again drawing on Liann's teachings. A few minutes later he returned to the couch and pressed a steaming mug into Garibaldi's hands. "Michael? Drink some of this, *then* we'll talk. Careful, it's hot." Garibaldi blinked, then looked at the tea as if seeing it for the first time. "Hot is good," he mumbled, then took a sip. Sinclair sat on the couch beside him and drank a little of his own tea. The warm liquid chased away a little of the chill, and he had to agree with Garibaldi's assessment. Garibaldi drank more of the tea, finally relaxing as it melted the icy chill. When he put the mug down and slumped back against the cushions, heaving a sigh, Sinclair studied his friend and asked, "Are you all right?" "I dunno, Jeff, what the *hell* happened?!" He studied his friend's face, searching for an answer, but Sinclair's expression reflected only concern for him. "There's some seriously strange stuff going on around here, Jeff . . . And a lot of it seems to involve that guy, Morden." "Morden," Sinclair said quietly. The name even *sounded* dark . . . "Who is he?" "He was a member of the crew of the *Icarus* -- now he's the only survivor of her destruction . . . Jeff, I'll tell you the whole thing in a minute, but you've gotta tell me what the *hell* happened back there . . ." Garibaldi shuddered and continued, "It felt -- *just* like on Mars -- that same kind of skin-crawling, bugs-creeping-around-in-your-brain feeling . . ." "I'm not sure what happened," Sinclair admitted, "but you're right. I think he was trying to scan us -- or . . . affect our minds somehow . . . " He trailed off, taking a drink of his tea in an attempt to keep the chill at bay. "I saw him -- when we walked past him, he stood up and was rubbing his hand . . . like he'd gotten hurt somehow and hadn't been expecting it." Sinclair looked down at the palm of his right hand, then held it up to show Garibaldi. There were still red lines where the edge of the brooch had dug into his palm. "I -- There's a present for you in the pocket of my cloak. I'd wanted to give it to you under slightly better conditions, but . . ." He smiled apologetically at Garibaldi. Garibaldi frowned, puzzled, then fished around in the pocket, coming up with the brooch. "A Ranger brooch -- Jeff, I . . . Thanks." He smiled warmly and added, "I won't be able to wear it openly, though . . ." "I wouldn't expect you to," Sinclair said, restraining a grin. "Yeah -- waving a red flag in front of Sheridan's nose," Garibaldi mumbled. "So, what did you *do*?" "I held onto that so hard it dug into my hand, and then used the pain to focus my thoughts. It's a blocking technique I've been practicing." Garibaldi raised an eyebrow at that and asked, "They're teaching you how to avoid scans on Minbar?" Then he smiled and added, "Think you could teach me? Just in case Bester comes back -- *again*." "Well, I can try, but with neither of us actually being telepaths, there will be no way to see if you've gotten it right," Sinclair answered. "The theory is to focus your entire mind on *one* thing -- if a psi *can* read you, all he or she can pick up is that one thing." "So when Morden tried to scan you, all he got was you clutching something hard enough to hurt. That makes sense. Hell, Jeff, things are getting so hairy right now, I'll try *anything* that could keep them out of my head." "You didn't mention anything about Psi-Corps since Bester's most recent visit," Sinclair said uncomfortably. Garibaldi shrugged and said, "Don't *know* if it's Psi-Corps. First, I hadn't had a chance to pass a message on recently, and second, I don't know *what* side the latest group is on, just that I don't trust them as far as I can throw 'em!" "*Another* new group?" Sinclair asked, suddenly weary. "Yeah. I gotta tell you, Jeff, at this point I'm completely lost. I dunno who's on *what* side anymore. Just that hardly any of them are on *our* side . . ." "The Darkness is closing in . . ." Sinclair murmured, a distant look in his eyes. "Jeff? You okay?" Garibaldi waved a hand in front of Sinclair's face, relieved when he blinked and turned to look at him. "Thought you were heading for the jumpgate there for a minute . . ." Sinclair smiled slightly at Garibaldi's attempt to lighten the mood, then said, "I'm sorry, Michael. I think I'm more worn out than I realized . . ." "Why don't you crash for a bit. I'll see what's going on in Security, pick up some food, and we can talk about all the recent fun and games when we're both a little more -- coherent." "That's probably a good idea. Are you sure *you're* okay?" Sinclair asked, carefully studying Garibaldi's face. "A little jumpy, I guess, but that's nothing new around here. Unfortunately." He stood and slid the cloak off his shoulders, handed it back to Sinclair. "You got any luggage you need rescued?" "One bag -- forgot all about it. It's a plain case -- dark grey. Here's the claim ticket," Sinclair said, fishing in a pocket. "Michael, tell me the truth. *Are* you going to get into trouble with Sheridan over this?" Garibaldi grinned and answered, "Not if he doesn't find out." He looked at the Ranger brooch, then back at Sinclair. "It's not like you're going to be getting yourself into trouble while you're visiting, *are* you? What's wrong with a little incognito vacation, away from all the paperwork and other garbage?" Sinclair didn't answer, and Garibaldi frowned. "C'mon, Jeff, don't do this to me . . . Your plan to go joyriding in a Starfury is the most risky thing I want to find out you're up to . . . " He slid the Ranger brooch into his pants pocket then said, "Did you get the clearance from Hague?" "Yes, I did. But I promise, Michael, I have *no* intention of getting into any kind of trouble while I'm here. I just want to visit my friends, fly, and relax. That's it." "That's better. Now, you make yourself at home, and I'll see you later." He squeezed Sinclair's shoulder, then headed out for the docking bay and luggage pickup. * * * To be continued... ------------------------------------------------------------- Babylon 5 is (c) 1995 PTEN and Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended to infringe on this copyright. Patterns of Light and Shadow is (c) 1995 Isoline M. Sanderson. ------------------------------------------------------------- As usual, comments are welcome! Be seeing you -- UVAlpha@aol.com From UVAlpha@aol.comFri Sep 15 20:37:38 1995 Date: Sun, 20 Aug 1995 22:25:56 -0400 From: UVAlpha@aol.com Reply to: b5-creative@best.com To: b5-creative@best.com Subject: Patterns of Light and Shadow pt. 7 Sorry for the delay in getting this one out to everyone -- the folks at work tried to upgrade our system's word processing, and ended up practically killing it for the better part of a week...Hence, dumb delays. Sorry! Hopefully that'll be the last time they think they're being smart by doing it overnight in the middle of a work week...(*argh...*) BTW, this is a pretty short part, because like part 6, part 8 will be a long one. I might have to find a place to split it and send it out as two parts -- not sure yet. Oh well...enjoy! Comments & critiques accepted gladly, letterbombs will be returned unopened and postage due... : ) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------- Patterns of Light and Shadow part 7: Garibaldi sat in his office, waiting for one of the security logs to download to a data crystal and looking through the latest "Universe Today". *"Newly formed Ministry of Peace NightWatch attracts unexpected numbers" -- Yeah, I bet . . . Betray your family and friends -- fabulous prizes to be won.* He snorted with disgust and turned to the Sports section. When he heard approaching voices and footsteps he closed the paper and draped it over the computer console so that no one could see *which* log he was downloading. One of the voices was Zack's, and as he entered the office, Garibaldi heard him say, "I dunno -- maybe they're having some convention or something." The person he was talking to followed right behind him -- Garibaldi noted that it was Carter. "Guess it's better than 400 telepaths . . ." Then he noticed Garibaldi watching them and said, "Hi, Chief," a little sheepishly. Zack stretched and fiddled with the black NightWatch armband on his left arm, then plopped into another chair and said, "Chief, you noticed anything strange today?" Garibaldi sat up straighter and frowned, thinking, *Sure, I noticed a LOT strange, but probably not whatever you're talking about . . .* "Nothing really -- it's been pretty quiet. Why?" "There are little clusters of Minbari Warriors all over the place, Chief," Zack said uncomfortably. "Carter said you were in arrivals for a bit, and on the transport that came in right after you left, there were two Star Riders. Later on another whole group of 'em showed up. They don't seem to be causing any trouble, but it makes you wonder what they're doing here." "Are they *all* Star Riders?" Garibaldi asked, his mind racing through all the possibilities. *Either they're keeping an eye on Jeff, or they're Wind Swords who figure he's easier to catch away from Minbar, or, maybe they're after Sheridan instead . . .* "Well, I think so. They're all wearing those dark hooded cloaks with similar decorations, so I *think* they're all from the same clan." "Okay, I'll go talk with Lennier, see what he knows. Zack, you keep an eye on them, make sure they don't go picking any fights. Carter, you find Hanson and the two of you act as backup for Zack. And when Lou gets here, catch him up on what you told me, okay?" "Yeah, will do, Chief," Zack said. Garibaldi picked up the "Universe Today" and folded it up, then glanced at the console. The files were almost finished, so he waited, tapping his fingers impatiently. Zack glanced over at the console, eyebrows raised questioningly, but said nothing. "File transfer complete," the computer said a moment later. Garibaldi plucked the crystal from its port and pocketed it, making sure it was not in the same pocket the Ranger brooch was in. Then he quickly hit a few keys, blanking the screen and making the specific files downloaded harder to trace. With any luck, keeping an eye on the Minbari would keep Zack too busy to wonder what he'd been copying . . . "Okay, if you need me, link in. I'm going to see if Lennier can shed any light on the subject." Garibaldi stood and walked out, trying to appear casual and hoping Zack didn't see the discomfort he knew he was showing. As he walked down the hall he stuffed the paper under his arm, jammed his hands in his pockets, and rolled his shoulders in an attempt to relax. *Maybe this little visit of Jeff's isn't going to go so smoothly after all . . .* * * * Lennier opened the door to find Garibaldi leaning against the doorjamb, looking incredibly bored. "Mister Garibaldi, come in, please. I am sorry I kept you waiting, but I was in the middle of some very important work for Ambassador Delenn." "No problem -- it was only a minute or two," Garibaldi said, using the delay to take a quick look around Lennier's spartan quarters. There didn't *seem* to be anything peculiar . . . *Except that Lennier's hovering more than usual -- what's he nervous about?* "How may I help you today?" Lennier asked, fiddling absently with a box of data crystals on the table. "Well, some of my people have noticed a sudden increase in the number of Warrior-caste Minbari on B5. They say they're all wearing similar clothing, so they're probably all from the same clan." Garibaldi noticed that Lennier frowned slightly, but the young Minbari remained silent. "Well, since I'm not exactly an authority on Minbari culture, I was wondering if you knew any reason for this increase . . ." "You say they are all dressed similarly?" Lennier asked, his tone completely neutral. "Yeah -- I didn't see them myself, but Zack says Star Riders," Garibaldi answered, noticing that Lennier would not meet his eyes. *He knows something . . .* "Have they caused any trouble?" "No, but they are making my people a little tense. All I want to know is whether there's some little festival or holiday or whatever that they're all getting together for." Lennier looked thoughtful for a moment, then answered, "I'm afraid I cannot think of any festival or holiday they should be celebrating currently, but I am not familiar with *all* of the customs of each clan. If you wish, I can research it and let you know what I discover . . ." "I'd really appreciate that, Lennier. Thanks." "Would you like me to call you when I finish my research?" Lennier asked. "Sounds good -- but if I'm not on duty, just leave me a message and I'll get back to you," Garibaldi requested. Lennier nodded and Garibaldi said, "Thanks, Lennier. I'll see you later." "Yes. I will research the matter and call you," Lennier said, going to the door with Garibaldi and trying to avoid looking like he was trying to hurry him out. When Garibaldi was gone and the door shut, Lennier sighed and relaxed slightly, then said, "It's all right, he has gone." The Ranger stepped out of the bathroom, looking rather uncomfortable, and said, "I really don't like all this secrecy, Lennier. I can't wait until we're allowed to let him know who the rest of his allies are." "Yes, I agree. But that is neither your nor my decision. Come, we will need to speak with Delenn." He picked up the box of data crystals and they headed out, Lennier checking the hallway to make certain Garibaldi was not spying on him. They walked to Delenn's quarters and Lennier pushed the buzzer. The door opened and Delenn hurried them inside, greeting the Ranger while Lennier put the box of data crystals down next to the computer. Then Lennier walked to the kitchen and started some tea, automatically stepping into his Aide role. Delenn brought the Ranger over to the couch and sat with him, asking him for news of Minbar. When Lennier joined them, carrying a tray with teapot and cups, the Ranger paused in his description of the recent events and thanked him. Lennier bowed slightly, then took his seat and said, "Mister Garibaldi just visited me, Ambassador. His people have noticed the increase in Star Riders aboard the station, and are becoming nervous." Delenn frowned, looking at the Ranger, then Lennier, and said, "I was afraid that would happen . . . Do you know if Kozorr has arrived yet?" The Ranger shook his head and said, "The message I got from Jenkins said his transport would be in tonight. Once he arrives, I think we will have nothing to worry about -- he has a much cooler head than the younger Star Riders. If we can keep any incidents from happening before his arrival, I think things will be okay." Delenn picked up a teacup and held it tightly between her hands, then said, "It is not only the Star Riders I am concerned about. Things have been very tense here -- the Narn and Centauri have been at each other's throats; the . . ." she paused, swallowing hard, "Draffa plague . . ." She closed her eyes and offered a silent prayer for the Markab who had died in the plague, then opened her eyes again and continued, forcing her words past the lump in her throat. "The humans -- and some of the other races -- were badly frightened by the epidemic. There is already a lot of mistrust between the races, and recent events have intensified this. Mister Garibaldi is a good man, and treats each being fairly, but I do not know if all of his people are as -- reasonable. If the Star Riders do something that could possibly be interpreted as hostile, whether it is or not, some of them may react . . . badly." "Mister Garibaldi wants me to find out if there is a festival or holiday that the Star Riders are gathering for," Lennier said. "I believe he may *know* why they are here, but he is looking for something to satisfy his peoples' concerns. *Without* giving away the true reason . . ." The Ranger nodded and said, "I'm *certain* he knows why - but if we are to keep him from knowing that you are the other contact here . . ." He drank some more of his tea and looked at Delenn, "I don't like hiding it from him -- I think we could accomplish more if we all worked together." "I agree that we could," Delenn said, "but we cannot tell him yet. You know as well as I that information seems to be getting to the wrong hands too easily. To avoid compromising everything, we must keep hidden until we know who the leak is." "But it's not Garibaldi," the Ranger protested. "I know," Delenn said softly, "But it may be someone he is close to -- someone he is completely unaware of. We cannot take the risk until we are more prepared." The Ranger sighed and nodded, reluctantly. "I know . . . I just don't like it." He glanced over at Lennier and asked, "So what *are* you going to tell him?" "I do not know," Lennier answered truthfully. Delenn took a deep breath, let it out slowly. She caught Lennier's eye and said, "Tell him they are just gathering here because it is a location central to them. They will not be here over-long, and they will cause no incidents while they are here." "He will know that is not true -- most of them came here *from* Minbar," Lennier said uncomfortably. "Tell him that is what you were told," Delenn directed. "If he is only looking for an excuse to appease his people, that will be enough." "Yes, Ambassador," Lennier said, bowing his head deeply. * * * To be continued... ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ -------- Babylon 5 is copyright 1995 by PTEN and Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended to infringe on this copyright. Patterns of Light and Shadow is copyright 1995 by Isoline M. Sanderson. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ---------- From UVAlpha@aol.comFri Sep 15 20:37:27 1995 Date: Fri, 25 Aug 1995 23:51:15 -0400 From: UVAlpha@aol.com Reply to: b5-creative@best.com To: b5-creative@best.com Subject: Patterns of Light and Darkness Pt. 8 Okay, here comes part 8 -- enjoy! (I'm hoping this will all fit okay, and that there are no strange things here & there within the text. They switched us over to Word Perfect 6.1 at work, and it seems to be a little peculiar in how it saves WP to ASCII...) --------------------------------------------------------------- Garibaldi keyed the lock on his door, shouldered Sinclair's case and slid into his quarters. Once inside he hit the lock sequence then put the case on the couch. He continued on to the kitchenette where he dropped off a bag of food, then looked around for any signs of life. *God -- is he still asleep?* he thought, heading to the sleeping area. Just then, Sinclair leaned out of the bathroom, dressed in Garibaldi's robe, with a towel draped over his shoulders. He smiled warmly when he saw Garibaldi. "Michael," he said, walking over to him. "Hope you don't mind my using your robe . . . I was beginning to think something had gone wrong." "Couple of complications," Garibaldi said with a shrug. "At least your luggage wasn't lost. Did you sleep okay?" Sinclair opened the case and rummaged through it for comfortable clothes. Garibaldi smiled when he pulled out one of his old Academy sweaters. "Haven't fallen apart on you yet, eh?" he asked with a chuckle. It seemed that for as long as he'd known Sinclair, those old Air-Dome Academy sweaters were the top choice for casual and comfortable clothing. Either Sinclair had more of them than Garibaldi knew, or he was an expert at repairing them. *Or,* Garibaldi thought, *he never gets enough downtime to wear them out . . .* Sinclair smiled slightly and said, "They're comfortable, and I *like* them." "Yeah, I can tell . . . Y'know, Jeff, you didn't answer my question." "Yes, I slept okay," Sinclair said quietly. "But only okay'," Garibaldi pushed. "Same old nightmares?" "Sometimes," Sinclair admitted. "But not this time . . ." "Morden?" Sinclair nodded and Garibaldi grimaced. "Yeah, can't exactly say I'm looking forward to sleeping tonight, either . . ." He shook his head and said, "Go on and get dressed. I'll start fixing dinner, and then we can discuss the recent -- events." "Sounds good. Including these complications' you mentioned." "Oh yeah," Garibaldi nodded, "Believe me, I'm not about to forget *those* . . ." As Sinclair returned to the bathroom to dress, he wondered just what he was getting himself into this time . . . Five minutes later he joined Garibaldi in the kitchenette and asked, "Anything I can do?" Garibaldi paused in mid-chop and looked at the food piled around, then handed him the knife. "Here, chop this onion, and when you finish that, you can start on those --er-- sorta pepper-type things." While Sinclair chopped the vegetables, Garibaldi started heating a pot of water for the pasta. Then he started shaking various amounts of spices into the sauce, glancing up when he felt Sinclair watching him. "What?" "Do you go by a recipe or do you just make it up as you're going along?" Sinclair asked with a grin. Garibaldi scooped up the chopped onion and stirred it into the sauce, saying, "Spaghetti is the staple food of any Italian bachelor. You start with the old family recipe, then if you're secure enough in your own cooking skills, you gradually evolve it into your own." "So you are making it up as you go along . . ." "Yeah, pretty much," Garibaldi chuckled. They continued working on the food until the sauce was simmering away and the pasta cooking, then Sinclair asked, "So, what are these complications?" "I think your watchdogs are here," Garibaldi answered while stirring the pasta. "Zack and Carter told me a bunch of probable Star Riders are on B5." Sinclair sighed and said, "That didn't take them long . . ." "Two of em came in on the transport right after yours. Here, hold the colander." As they drained the pasta, Sinclair said, "They aren't causing trouble, are they?" "Not yet -- but I'm a little more worried about our people right now. Things are tense, and my people are a *little* trigger happy . . . When I ran a drill recently, Crockett and Yamada 'killed' each other, and *they* were partners . . . I don't know how long they'll tolerate holier-than-thou Minbari warriors on top of all the other crap that's been going on . . ." He dished out the pasta, then stirred the sauce and said, "Dinner's ready -- help yourself to the sauce." After they sat at the table, he continued, "I asked Lennier if he knew of any 'reason' a bunch of Star Riders might be gathering here, and he gave me a bunch of horsehockey about B5 being central to them. That might fly for about five minutes, until someone realizes most of these guys came here *from* Minbar . . ." Sinclair ate a mouthful of pasta, smiling appreciatively. "Michael, this is *wonderful*." He looked up to see Garibaldi studying him. "What?" "Your Ranger told me there was one other person on B5 who knew he was here the time he brought the message crystal. I don't suppose I'm allowed to guess who it is . . ." "I'd prefer you didn't . . ." Sinclair said quietly. "Jeff, don't you think we could all get more done if we worked together? I don't know who to *trust* right now . . ." "I know, Michael, and I'm sorry. As soon as I can, I promise I'll tell you." "Is it *me* they don't trust?" Garibaldi asked, trying to keep the hurt out of his tone. Sinclair shook his head and said, "No, Michael. It's not you -- you're the one person aboard B5 I trust completely. I can't tell you anything more than that yet, but please, if you don't believe anything else I say to you, at least believe that." Sinclair caught his eye, and Garibaldi knew he was telling the truth. Finally he nodded and returned his attention to the pasta. "So, you really do like it?" he asked. Sinclair smiled and dug in, answering, "Think it's the best Italian food I've ever eaten." "You oughta come by for my next birthday -- I'll make you a *real* treat." "Sounds good," Sinclair responded. They both concentrated on eating for a while, then Garibaldi leaned back in his chair and said, "For your after-dinner entertainment -- and I use the term loosely -- we have selected files downloaded from the security logs and holding cell surveillance cameras. They're just a ton of fun." His tone made it quite clear they were anything but . . . "Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to enjoy this?" Garibaldi grinned and said, "Because you *know* me." They finished their dinner and spent a few minutes cleaning up, then Garibaldi said, "Ready?" Sinclair nodded and said, "As ready as I'll ever be, I think . . ." He settled himself as comfortably as possible on the couch while Garibaldi put the data crystal in its port and activated the computer screen. "Okay, you remember I said Morden was the only survivor of the *Icarus*?" When Sinclair nodded, he continued, "Well, Sheridan's wife *died* on the *Icarus*. He was looking through some of the stuff she'd sent him, including a list of the crew. When I recognized Morden and told him I'd seen him on B5, Sheridan blew his top and had me bring him in. Computer, access crystal port. Play Security log I15a." As the file played, Garibaldi watched Sinclair. He'd seen Sheridan's initial interrogation of Morden as it happened, and really had no great desire to watch it again. Instead, Sinclair's reaction would let him know just how candid he should be regarding the -- incident. At first, as Garibaldi had expected, Sinclair seemed to be more annoyed by Morden's calm, too-smug tone. However, the more he saw, the more uncomfortable he seemed to be about the whole thing. When the first file ended, he asked, "These security logs -- can any of your people access them?" Garibaldi shook his head and said, "Uh uh. These are in one of my *special* secure files -- last thing I need right now is for someone to send copies of these to EarthCentral. That is, providing there isn't another traitor like Jack who's hacked into the upgraded security I put in after he disappeared . . ." Sinclair nodded and said, "We might as well see the rest of this . . ." As the computer said, "End of recording," Sinclair sat, staring at the screen for at least ten seconds. Finally he shook his head and turned to look at Garibaldi. "He's holding the man illegally, and he just made an open threat . . . Michael, what did you do about this?" The concern in Sinclair's tone told Garibaldi what he'd already suspected -- no matter how slimy and dangerous Morden might be, Sheridan had overstepped his authority. Sinclair's strong sense of justice couldn't condone that any more than he had. Despite the tension in the room, Garibaldi almost sighed in relief. "He had Morden in there for ten hours, Jeff. When he finally came into the Security office with the crazy idea that he was getting to Morden, I told him he either had to charge Morden with *something*, or let him go. "Well, he wouldn't charge him, and he wouldn't let 'im go cause he could be a flight risk, and he just wanted a 'little more time'. I couldn't do it," Garibaldi shook his head and shrugged. "I couldn't stay on as Security Chief with my CO blatantly breaking the regs . . . If I had, I would've had to report it -- and that would've led to Eyes crawling all over the command staff -- *everything* we're into would've been uncovered in that kind of investigation . . ." "Especially if Eyes is in Psi-Corps' pocket as much as they seem to be," Sinclair mused. "Or Clark's . . . Although for all I know, that's the same thing, anyway." "Yes . . . So, what did you do? You're obviously still employed," Sinclair said. "Well, I was *hoping* my threat to resign would shock him back to reality -- make him see how wacko he was being . . ." "And it didn't." Garibaldi shook his head. "He thought about it for a couple of seconds, but he didn't care. So, to keep from compromising everything we're working on, I quit . . . "He put Zack in charge, and the details of some of this is straight out of his reports -- I wish he'd put Lou in charge because I would've trusted his judgement a lot more, but . . ." "You're having trouble with Zack, too?" Sinclair asked, remembering what his Ranger had said about the younger security man: "Maybe not all that bright, but he certainly seemed nice enough." *Then again,* he thought, *so did Jack . . .* "Well, that's part of the *other* problem -- this new group," Garibaldi responded. "Let's deal with one problem at a time." "Okay -- go ahead," Sinclair said, trying to settle himself more comfortably. "Let's see . . . Zack told me Sheridan sent him to find Talia while he went off to speak to Vir -- no idea what *that* was all about, and Londo's been keeping him *really* busy since then, too, so I haven't been able to ask, either. I talked to Talia later -- told her I was evaluating Zack's performance as 'acting chief' -- and she said Sheridan had wanted her to scan Morden. He even went as far as to use the 'Morden's supposed to be dead, can a dead man object' argument to try and force her into doing an unauthorized scan . . ." Garibaldi paused to take a couple of breaths in an attempt to calm himself. The whole incident was ugly, but the way Sheridan had used Talia upset him for more than just professional reasons. Once he was calmer, he continued, "When she refused, Sheridan told her to wait outside, and he engineered a way for her to run into Morden in the corridor. On *purpose*!" *So much for calm,* he thought wryly. "From Zack's report, whatever happened *really* shook her up bad, and she said she saw *something* -- a shape -- but wouldn't elaborate on that." Garibaldi suddenly realized he was clenching his fist, stared at it as if it were an alien that had tried to bite him. "I --ah-- sorry, Jeff," he said softly, sitting back and smoothing a pants leg. "I just get so -- pissed off -- about the whole thing. I know he was upset because his wife died and here's this guy alive, but you can't *do* this kind of thing . . . If he'd forced her to scan Morden she coulda caught *hell* with Psi-Corps, and as it is, I think whatever happened kinda *hurt* her. I like her, Jeff, she's a really classy lady and she deserves a *hell* of a lot better treatment than that . . ." "I have to admit, Michael," Sinclair said quietly, "I do not like what I'm hearing . . . Sheridan's put himself in a very dangerous position with this. If word of it gets to EarthForce . . ." "Exactly. I'd erase the files completely instead of just encrypting them and passwording them, but there are still eye-witnesses. Not to mention Morden himself . . . He's not kosher -- I *know* he's not kosher, but he hasn't done *anything* that I can arrest him for -- and he's got every right to scream 'harassment' if we don't have something that'll stick . . . Legally . . ." Sinclair looked at him, eyebrows raised questioningly. "So, what *do* you have?" "Uh . . . it's pretty strange, Jeff . . . This is the last observation file -- Sheridan had been out somewhere for a while, and Zack told me when he returned to the Security office he was acting a little strange -- 'really thoughtful,' Zack said. "He told Zack that old tale about the bombing of Coventry in WWII, and then he told Zack to let Morden go -- to tell him 'it had all been a mistake'. "Before he did, though, the microphone in the room started making funny noises, and Sheridan had Zack play with the monitor setting -- scanning on different wavelengths of light . . ." Garibaldi shrugged and turned back to the computer. "Computer, play file B23. Watch this, Jeff, it's quick." The screen showed Morden sitting on the corner of the bed in the holding cell, his hands pressed together, fingers forming a diamond shape in front of him. It looked to Sinclair as if he were meditating. Then the image dimmed, brightened, and suddenly there was a whitish flash, and just for an instant two creatures were visible in the cell with Morden, one on either side of him. Then the image abruptly changed again, the creatures vanishing as if they'd never been there. Sinclair blinked and stared at the monitor for a moment while Garibaldi said, "Zack said that Sheridan told him to stop suddenly, and when Zack asked him what he'd seen, he said, 'Nothing. Shadows . . .' Jeff, what the hell *were* those things?!" Sinclair turned to face him, his mouth set in a grim line. "Are those things what I *think* they are? Is that what you were talking about when you told me to 'watch out for Shadows'?" "I'm not certain," Sinclair said quietly. Garibaldi could see the struggle in his eyes -- uncertainty and possibly even fear warring with some kind of determination -- even though his expression remained fixed. "But they *can't* be anything good . . . Not after that -- encounter -- in the Zocalo . . ." "Yeah. That's what I was afraid of. Great. So he's working with these *things*, and unless he does something illegal that I can *prove* beyond a --" he paused, grimacing, "without a doubt, he's able to walk around free . . ." Garibaldi muttered. "And rub our noses in it, too." Sinclair nodded, his expression grim. Then he asked, "When Sheridan released him, you withdrew your resignation?" "He asked me to come back," Garibaldi said. "I asked him if he'd listen to me next time, and he said there wouldn't be a next time." He shrugged. "I'd take his word for it, but after seeing what he's capable of doing for a personal vendetta, I'm not sure I can trust him completely . . ." "I'm afraid that right now, it's better to not trust *anyone* completely . . ." Sinclair said ominously, "Not Sheridan, not Talia, not even Susan." "I've gotta trust someone, Jeff, this is making me crazy. I don't trust Talia completely anyway, just because of her association with Psi-Corps . . . The only person I *really* trust is you -- I don't even trust *myself* sometimes!" "I trust you, Michael, and I need you to trust yourself," Sinclair said, gripping his shoulder. "And while Sheridan has been -- somewhat reckless -- you need to keep working with him. Follow your instincts and keep a close eye on him, but for now don't let your relationship with him change." Garibaldi nodded and said, "Yeah, I know. It's just hard sometimes with the way he treated Talia . . ." "I understand," Sinclair said softly. "Now, it's getting very late, and I know you've got to be alert in the morning, so tell me about the other problem with this new group." Garibaldi grimaced and stood up to fetch the now folded and creased edition of "Universe Today," flattened it out again and handed it to Sinclair. "That article there about the Ministry of Peace. You heard of them yet?" Sinclair skimmed the article, his expression gradually changing from mild curiosity to deep concern. When he finished, he looked up and said, "I'd heard of them, but just in the context of new agencies and departments being formed -- like that Office of Public Morale Quantrell's heading." He put the paper down and said, "This is very disturbing, Michael. To the average, every-day person, this Ministry of Peace must sound like a godsend . . ." "Yeah, but any historian or even trivia buff who knows the 20th century . . ." Garibaldi said nervously. "Exactly. Nazi brownshirt propaganda . . . 'protecting society against its own worst instincts.' My god, Michael, is this what we've come to? I saw the vid of ISN's '36 Hours' -- do the Narn know our own history better than *we* do?" Garibaldi shrugged. "Sure looks that way . . . I wanna know which ideas and attitudes are dangerous . . ." "Any that don't fit their agenda." "Yeah . . . and *we* don't fit their agenda. Not me, not you, definitely not Sheridan now, and anyone else with similar views." "Like General Hague?" Sinclair asked, eyebrows raised inquisitively. "Uh -- yeah. I was hoping you'd gotten the message," Garibaldi said with a grin. "Anyway, this Pierce Maccabee guy came *here*, and asked 'select' crewmembers to attend some talks about their little NightWatch . . . We might have even bigger problems in the near future." "Oh?" "Yeah. Zack *joined* . . . He gave me some excuse about the fifty extra credits --" "Surprised it wasn't thirty," Sinclair muttered. "Huh?" "Nothing, Michael, I'm sorry. Go on." "I don't know if he's really that -- *dense*, or if he's going to be trouble. I just -- I can't believe people *fall* for that stuff, Jeff." "So Zack is a member of the NightWatch?" "Little black armband and all," Garibaldi shuddered. "I'd tell him to ditch it because it's offensive and not part of the uniform, but that'd probably put me in their sights . . . I'm really worried, though, because he was in charge of Security while Sheridan was working over --ah-- questioning Morden." "And he saw how willing Sheridan was to twist the law for his own ends," Sinclair mused. "And if that doesn't fit their definition of dangerous attitudes, I don't know what *does*." Garibaldi shook his head and sighed, then said, "Feel like I'm chasing my own tail here -- I try to keep track of all the little groups and I end up going 'round in circles!" "I think it's definitely time to turn in for the night -- we could both do with the rest," Sinclair said gently, standing up. "Do you have a secure place for this data crystal?" "I was going to blank it when we were done," Garibaldi said, plucking it from the crystal port. "Don't do that yet -- I want to get a good look at those -- creatures -- tomorrow." "Okay. Yeah, I've got a place to keep it." He tossed it up in the air and caught it again. "Hey, Jeff, speaking of secure places, what are you planning on doing while I'm out tomorrow?" "Well, I do want to see some people while I'm here . . ." "Delenn and Ivanova? I can have Ivanova come here, but I don't think that'd be a good idea with Delenn. I *can* give you my auth code so you can get back in if you go out, but you'd better be *real* careful while you're wandering around. Last thing I want is for something to happen to you!" "I'm sure you -- and my 'watchdogs' will be keeping an eye on me . . ." "Oh damn -- I forgot all about *them*." "Don't worry -- I'll make sure they behave themselves," Sinclair said, trying to reassure him. "Lock up that crystal and get yourself ready for bed -- *you* have to work tomorrow." "You get the bed," Garibaldi said, opening a small drawer and placing the crystal inside. He locked the drawer, then stretched. "I'll crash on the couch." "You sure? You're the one working, and you'll sleep better if you're not trying to squeeze yourself onto the couch." Garibaldi looked from Sinclair to the couch, and back again. He shrugged, finally, too tired to argue the matter further. "Just hope we *can* sleep, after all *that* . . ." "Yes . . ." Garibaldi followed Sinclair's gaze to the drawer he'd locked the data crystal in, and shivered. * * * ~~ Garibaldi stood in Sheridan's office, slightly behind the Captain's chair, and looked up in discomfort as Zack came in, leading Pierce Maccabee. "He's the one, Mr. Maccabee," Zack said, pointing at Garibaldi instead of Sheridan, as Garibaldi had expected him to. "What's the meaning of this?" Sheridan growled, standing up and glowering at Maccabee's bland expression. "Mr. Allan, just what *is* going on?" "It's him -- he's working with the Minbari -- I saw him bring one of them to his quarters," Zack said, "I've got witnesses who'll back me up, too." Sheridan turned to look at Garibaldi, who'd gone white as a sheet. "Is this true, Michael?" "Zack, what are you doing?" Garibaldi asked, ignoring Sheridan. "Earning my pay," Zack answered with a smile. "Mister Garibaldi," Maccabee said evenly, "If you will just calm down and explain what you were doing with a Minbari warrior in your quarters . . . Perhaps this is all a misunderstanding . . ." Sheridan looked at Garibaldi again and said, "I asked you if this was true. You'd better tell me or --" "I haven't done anything," Garibaldi protested, "Zack, what are you *doing* to me?" Zack shrugged, heading towards the door. "Already done my part -- Hey, Garibaldi, Be seein' you!" Garibaldi stared in horror as he walked out, then looked back at Maccabee and Sheridan, who were now both across the desk from him. "It wasn't a Minbari!" he protested, "I swear!" "Then who was it?" Sheridan demanded. Garibaldi opened his mouth, then closed it again, shook his head. "I can't tell you." "Mr. Garibaldi, you're going to have to do better than *that*," Sheridan said. Maccabee took a small signal device out of a pocket and pushed a button, then spoke into it, "Send her in." Garibaldi's gaze shot back to the door as Talia entered the room. Her expression was cold, and she wore the black stripe across her Psi-Corps badge that indicated she was working in a legal capacity. "Talia?" "I'm sorry, but you're threatening the peace," she said coldly. "Your thoughts and ideas are dangerous, and we can't have you poisoning other people's minds." Suddenly he couldn't move, and she was coming towards him, a hand outstretched towards his forehead. "Captain, you *can't* let them do this to me," he protested. "Don't you know what will happen?" "You should have thought about that before you joined your little conspiracies," Sheridan said, almost as coldly as Talia. "We know all about Dr. Jacobs, and General Hague . . ." "What?!" Garibaldi cried, struggling to move. "You're crazy! You were in on it too, Captain, you can't deny it!" "There's a spider in the web, Mr. Garibaldi," Sheridan said with a little smile, "and I intend to find it and kill it . . ." Garibaldi shook his head, eyes wide with horror -- the whole thing a lie? Just to see who'd take the bait? And they all had . . . and when Talia touched him, they'd know everything he knew. In a panic he closed his eyes and thought, *Help!* with all the force he could muster. Suddenly the force immobilizing him was gone and he collapsed back into a comfortable chair. It was dark, even when he opened his eyes again. Then the lights came on. He was in one of the holding cells, but it was comfortably appointed. Sitting across the small table from him was Mr. Morden in all his dark, urbane elegance. "So, Mr. Garibaldi," he purred, "What do you want?" ~~ Garibaldi cried out, rocketing awake in bed. The lights were already on at a relatively dim setting, and Sinclair was at his side, blinking at him sleepily. For a minute all he could do was shiver and pant for breath. "Bad dream?" He nodded vigourously, not trusting his voice yet. "I'll get you some water, you stay here," Sinclair directed, squeezing his shoulder then padding to the kitchen. When he returned with a glass, Garibaldi was still shaking. He sat on the edge of the bed and handed Garibaldi the glass. "Drink some of this, then take deep breaths," he instructed. Garibaldi obeyed, letting the calm voice soothe jangled nerves. After a couple of minutes he was back under control. "God, Jeff, I'm sorry," he said, rubbing a hand over his face. "Didn't mean to wake you up. What an *awful* dream!" "What happened?" Sinclair asked, taking the empty glass back. Garibaldi lay back against the pillow and said, "Too much paranoia, that's what happened . . . Dreamed that Zack turned me in to Maccabee, Sheridan was in on it, Talia was gonna ream out my mind, and when I closed my eyes and prayed for help, I ended up in a holding cell with Morden asking me what I *wanted*. Real fun dream . . ." "Hmm . . . Sounds like stress to me," Sinclair mused. "You think you're going to be okay now?" "I don't know, but I'm so tired I *have* to sleep . . ." Garibaldi shivered again slightly and bundled himself under the covers again. "I'll be okay, Jeff. Thanks." Not three minutes after he shut his eyes, he was fast asleep again, this time peacefully. * * * To be continued... ---------------------------------------------------------------- Babylon 5 is copyright 1995 PTEN and Babylonian Productions. This is not intended to infringe on this copyright. Patterns of Light and Darkness is copyright 1995 Isoline M. Sanderson ------------------------------------------------------------------- Look for part 9 either Sunday or Monday! Bye -- UVAlpha@aol.com From UVAlpha@aol.comFri Sep 15 20:37:29 1995 Date: Wed, 30 Aug 1995 01:28:56 -0400 From: UVAlpha@aol.com Reply to: b5-creative@best.com To: b5-creative@best.com Subject: Patterns of Light & Shadow pt. 9 Here's part 9 -- enjoy! --------------------------------------------------- The next morning, after strongly encouraging Sinclair to remain safely in his quarters, Garibaldi headed for the mess. The nightmare had faded a little around the edges, but he still remembered enough of it that he felt a little uneasy out in the open. The fact that his subconscious so strongly connected his new aide with the previous one made him just a little concerned. Was this a warning his instincts were giving him, or had he just put too much garlic in the sauce? He brought his tray to a small table where he could sit with his back against the wall, and distractedly ate his breakfast, keeping an eye out for Ivanova. She hurried in a few minutes later, and he could see shadows under her eyes. *Looks like I'm not the only one losing sleep . . . Hope her dreams were better than mine.* She hastily tossed together a light breakfast, then walked towards the tables, obviously looking for a quiet place to sit. Garibaldi waved to her, and for a moment he thought she was going to ignore him. Then she sighed and walked over. "I hope you aren't expecting witty conversation, Garibaldi," she said as she sat. "Rough night?" he asked, but the only answer she gave him was a glower from beneath her eyebrows. He shrugged and returned to his breakfast -- at least the sausage was better this week. Finally she yawned and said, "Just a late one." He raised an eyebrow at that -- he hadn't actually been expecting an answer. However, he nodded and said, "Glad that's all. I had one hell of a nasty nightmare . . ." Then he leaned closer and said, "I have a message from a mutual friend." It was her turn to raise an eyebrow, and she studied his expression carefully. He could almost see her mentally checking the list of friends and acquaintances they both knew. Suddenly her eyes widened, and she asked, "You heard from the Command --uh-- Ambassador?" He nodded minutely, and for the first time that morning, he saw her smile. "He wants to see you." "Well, I don't think they'll let too many of us travel to Minbar," she replied in a low voice. "What are you smiling about, Garibaldi? What's going on?" "He's *here*," he answered in a barely audible whisper. "Here?" she asked, aloud. When Garibaldi's eyes went wide with panic, she returned to a whisper, "Why wasn't I told ahead of time? I'm the XO -- I need to know these things!" "Because he's on vacation -- he does *not* want to have to put up with all the official horsehockey he'd have to if his trip was public knowledge." She frowned and said, "I still should have been told." "I know, I know. But we were worried about it getting out, and he did get permission from -- someone -- at EarthDome . . ." She blinked and just stared at him for a long moment. Finally he grimaced and said, "Okay, I know I should've told you, but . . ." "Okay," she sighed. "I know why you didn't, and it's probably a good thing, too. Just in case . . ." Garibaldi visibly relaxed, and between bites of sausage said, "He's crashing in my quarters. When you've got a break, you should drop by there." She nodded and smiled slightly. "You just *love* all this sneaking around, don't you, Garibaldi?" He shot her a nasty look and muttered, "Oh yeah, I live for conspiracies and mistrust . . ." Ivanova looked up, her smile fading when she heard the sarcasm in his tone. "*Sorry*." He sighed and leaned back, dumping his utensils on the empty plate. "No, I'm sorry. Shouldn't have jumped on you. It's just that it kinda wears on you after a while . . . I'll see you later -- I gotta get down to Security." She watched him walk out, her brow creased in worry as she contemplated what he'd said. Obviously there was a lot more going on than the things she was familiar with, and whatever it was seemed to be weighing heavily on Garibaldi's mind . . . * * * *'When you get a break . . .'* Ivanova thought sarcastically as she strode through the corridor towards Garibaldi's quarters. *Should have said 'If'! God, I hate playing diplomat!* She stopped at the door and hit the chime. A voice issued from the intercom, asking "Yes?"and she was *almost* positive it was Sinclair's. She shrugged and said, "It's Susan. Garibaldi --" She stopped abruptly as the door slid open, stepped inside quickly. Sinclair stood off to one side, out of direct line of sight from the hall. Once the door slid closed, he smiled and said, "Susan, it's *good* to see you." "Commander --ah-- Ambassador, it's good to see you, too," she said awkwardly. He grinned broadly and hugged her, saying, "How about 'Jeffrey'. Didn't Michael tell you I'm on vacation?" She laughed and returned the hug, then stepped back and looked at him. His hair was longer than it had ever been while he was in charge of B5, and he looked a little more weary, but there was also a light in his eyes that she hadn't seen in a long time. She decided his job as Ambassador to Minbar must have been at least partially what he had been looking for. "You look good," she said, smiling. "Thank you -- and congratulations, Commander," he said, emphasizing the rank. "It's about time." "Thank you," she said, beginning to feel just the slightest bit awkward again. "I -- uh . . . Damn -- so much has happened I just don't know *what* to say . . ." "I know. Michael's caught me up on some of it. There are a few things I'd like your opinion on, though -- at some point. Come on, you stand almost all day in C&C, have a seat." He led her over to the couch and they sat. After a moment he saw her eyeing the Minbari travelling cloak he'd left folded on the table. "Did you come aboard in *disguise*?" she asked. He smiled and said, "Just hidden, not disguised. I'd like to think there *are* more than two people on B5 who might still remember my face, and I didn't want any of them seeing me and making a big fuss." "That's why you bypassed me," she said. "I know -- Garibaldi told me. I just hope nothing blows your cover while you're here, because Captain Sheridan will *not* be pleased to find out that the first Earth Ambassador to Minbar is crashing on his security chief's *couch*." She smiled slightly to take the sting out of the words. Then she shrugged and continued, "It's probably a good idea you are, though. If the Captain and any of the other ambassadors knew you were here, you could kiss your vacation goodbye in a second. They'd drag you into the council chambers and never let you out until things were *moving* on the Narn/Centauri War . . ." He frowned slightly and asked, "Is Sheridan having that much trouble with them?" "It's not really him," she explained, "it's just that Londo and G'Kar utterly, completely refuse to listen to anyone . . ." She sighed and shrugged again. "It's all we can do to keep the war from directly involving the station." "Yes," Sinclair said, "I saw the ISN broadcast." Then he grinned and looked at her, opening his mouth to say something else. She gave him her best 'Ivanova frown' and warned, "Not one word. I don't want to hear *one* word. That newscaster doesn't know *how* lucky she is that my mind was on other matters . . ." Sinclair restrained a chuckle and feigned an innocent expression, and Ivanova's stern expression crumbled into a grin. "God," she said, "I really have missed you." Just then the door slid open, startling them both, and Garibaldi walked in. "Good, you *are* here," he said, looking at Ivanova. "Heard you had some problem negotiations." Ivanova glanced upwards in a silent appeal for help, then heaved an exasperated sigh. A quick glance at Sinclair confirmed his curiosity, and she knew if *she* didn't elaborate, Garibaldi would be all too eager to. "You could say that," she said with a frown. "The Vree and Pak'ma'ra have been arguing over how -- aromatic -- each others quarters are and keep threatening to lodge official protests . . ." "I believe the appropriate phrase has something to do with a pot and a kettle," Sinclair mused. "Did you manage to settle their --" "Hash?" Garibaldi cut in, earning himself a glower from Ivanova. "Yes, I did," she answered, and then just smiled. "Uh *huh*," Garibaldi said, feigning nervousness. Sinclair nodded and wisely said nothing. "I hate to do this to you, but I'm going to have to get back to work soon," Ivanova said. Garibaldi looked from her to Sinclair, then back again, and frowned. "You haven't told her," he stated. "Haven't told me what?" Ivanova asked, her suspicion aroused. She studied Garibaldi, who was suddenly trying to look everywhere except at her, then glanced over at Sinclair, who merely looked resigned. "Haven't told me *what*?" she repeated, meeting his gaze. Sinclair cleared his throat and said, "I want to take a Starfury out while I'm here." When Ivanova didn't immediately blow up, he continued, "I'm a pilot -- I've always been a pilot. On Minbar they don't even let me handle my own flyer, and it's making me . . ." "Crazy," Ivanova said, not entirely as a conclusion to his sentence. She shook her head and leaned back against the cushions, rubbed a hand over her eyes. "You want to take out a Starfury? And you're still expecting to have an anonymous vacation? Sheridan will blow a gasket!" "Sheridan doesn't have to know," Garibaldi said. "Jeff's got permission from EarthDome." "Who in EarthDome would be --" She paused and studied Garibaldi's face, then Sinclair's. "General *Hague*?" Sinclair nodded silently, but Garibaldi answered "I suggested he might be sympathetic, and Jeff contacted him. Besides, Sheridan's done his own share of unauthorized exploring recently with his little jaunt to Sector 14 -- at least Jeff's got the authorization. If Sheridan finds out, what can he say? Sinclair stared at Garibaldi, then asked "Sheridan went to Sector 14?" Ivanova sighed, then said, "Garibaldi can tell you all about it in a couple of minutes. I've already heard this one, and I do need to get back to C&C. Look, I'll see what I can set up -- probably with Zeta Squadron, since I know Lieutenant Keffer pretty well. But you're not going on *anything* more than a routine patrol." "That's fine," Sinclair said, reassuring her. "At this point, I think I'd even be happy with once or twice around the planet and a couple of maneuvers . . ." Ivanova smiled and said, "Must really be hell being grounded . . ." "Believe me, it is." "Okay, I'll see what I can do. I'll see you later." She drew him in for a one-armed hug and said, "It really *is* good to see you again." "You too," he answered with a smile. As soon as the door closed behind her, Sinclair asked Garibaldi, "*Why* did Sheridan go to Sector 14?" * * * To be continued . . . ------------------------------------------------------------ Babylon 5 is copyright 1995 PTEN & Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended to infringe on this copyright. Patterns of Light and Shadow is copyright 1995 Isoline Sanderson -------------------------------------------------------------- Bye for now -- UVAlpha@aol.com From UVAlpha@aol.comFri Sep 15 20:37:33 1995 Date: Sun, 10 Sep 1995 03:39:09 -0400 From: UVAlpha@aol.com Reply to: b5-creative@best.com To: b5-creative@best.com Subject: Patterns of Light & Shadow pt. 10 (short -- more tomorrow, hopefully!) This one's short -- more coming tomorrow provided I'm not dead asleep! (It's 3:30 am right now...) ---------------------------------------------------------- Garibaldi sat at his desk reviewing the day's reports -- a fight DownBelow, a couple of drunk-and-disorderlies, one blitzed Centauri mouthing off around too many Narn, and a couple of pockets picked on the Zocalo. In other words, a typical day on Babylon 5. Garibaldi frowned -- when things got *that* normal, it made him uncomfortable. Especially with Sinclair onboard. So far, the Minbari warriors had been keeping themselves completely out of trouble -- they weren't hiding themselves, but they were keeping a low profile. It was, he suspected, the proverbial calm before the storm -- and there wasn't really anything he could do to prevent the trouble he was sure was coming . . .*There's only so much I can ask of my people,* he thought, *before they either balk or ask for a better explanation than 'the current tension between the Narn and Centauri' . . .* He checked the views from the various Securicams, and thought, *After all, if we're using the Narn and Centauri as an excuse, why watch the Minbari so closely, etc. etc. etc.* Finally he sighed and sat back in his chair, bored, but concerned all the same. *'Least Jeff should be safe tonight -- hope he enjoys whatever little meal Delenn's cooked up for him . . .* He smiled crookedly and thought, *I know it can't be the same kind Sheridan had -- he said Lennier was up for two days doing nothing but preparing that, and I've seen Lennier more recently than that.* After a while of just sitting and thinking, he stood and began to pace the office. Finally he shrugged and sat down again, and raised his Link to his mouth. "Computer, leave a message for Commander Ivanova. Begin message: 'When arrangements are made, send information to me or to my quarters.' End message, Garibaldi out." He pushed a button on the Link to send the message, then sighed. "Oh well, guess it's pizza and a boring night for me. Just hope Jeff doesn't stay out partying too late -- he's got a big day ahead of himself tomorrow . . ." To keep himself busy until the shift change he went over the passenger logs, cross-checking the identities of all of the recent arrivals -- Minbari or otherwise -- from Minbar. By the time his relief arrived, he had the faces of most of Sinclair's possible 'watchdogs' memorized. * * * Susan Ivanova walked into Earhart's and unfastened her braid. As she stood in the entrance and ran her fingers through her hair, she looked over what she could see of the room. Finally spotting the person she was looking for, she strode in that direction. Lt. Warren Keffer, the leader of Zeta Squadron, was sitting with two other pilots. Someone had obviously just told a whopper of a joke, because Keffer was trying desperately to keep from spraying his drink all over his companions. Once he finally managed to swallow, and wipe his mouth to clean up what had escaped, he looked up at her and smiled. "Commander Ivanova, hi! Come and join us!" "Ah -- I'd love to, but I need to talk to you for a couple of minutes, Lieutenant." "This wouldn't by any chance be official business, now would it, Commander?" Keffer asked with a sly grin, entertaining for a brief moment the notion that he could actually catch her violating the "rules" of Earhart's. "The furthest thing from it," was her reply, however, at which point he sighed and raised his glass to his companions. "See you two tomorrow," he said, then stood just the slightest bit unsteadily and followed Ivanova to a quiet table away from the noise and bustle of the bar. "Okay, Commander, fire away," he said once they were both seated. "I need to ask a favour of you, and I need you to keep it *quiet*. Do you understand me? I don't want the Captain or anyone else hearing about this from you, or any other member of your squad." "Sounds pretty serious -- I thought you said it wasn't business." "It isn't *official* business. Now, can you promise you'll keep this secret? If not, I'm not explaining any further, and then you won't be obligated to say anything to anyone." She caught and held his gaze for a moment, trying to read his expression. "Common sense tells me I should say no. This sounds pretty big, and if I want to back out after you tell me, I can't, can I," he said uncomfortably. "No, not really . . . Look, to ease your mind, it's nothing treasonous or illegal, just perhaps a little ill-advised." He sighed and nodded, "Okay, you've got my word on it. Whatever the heck this is, I'll keep it secret." "Good boy, Warren," she said with a smile. Then she leaned closer and began to explain. * * * To be continued... --------------------------------------------------------------------- Babylon 5 is copyright 1995 PTEN and Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended to infringe on those copyrights. Patterns of Light and Shadows is copyright 1995 Isoline M. Sanderson --------------------------------------------------------------------- Part 11 should be along tomorrow (ah...Sunday or Monday -- depending on what hour of day I get on the computer...This is my first time on today, and it's 3:30 am...), with more parts later this week, barring any odd computer problems. I'm a little more caught up on my typing now, so things look pretty good. Be seeing you -- UVAlpha@aol.com From UVAlpha@aol.comFri Sep 15 20:37:36 1995 Date: Mon, 11 Sep 1995 01:36:11 -0400 From: UVAlpha@aol.com Reply to: b5-creative@best.com To: b5-creative@best.com Subject: Patterns of Light and Shadow Pt. 11 Okay, here we go! Enjoy! BTW, if anyone only gets a partial because this is a little on the long side, please let me know & I can re-send in two parts. Thanx -- UVAlpha --------------------------------------------------------------- Just after noon the next day, Garibaldi left the Cobra bay area. Zeta Squadron had just successfully launched with Jeffrey Sinclair flying Zeta 7. When he'd seen Sinclair in full flight gear, giving Keffer some last-minute suggestions on their patrol route before donning his helmet, he knew this was exactly what his friend had needed. *Hell,* he thought, *he's got flying in his blood just like I've got law enforcement. Hard to give up something that's a part of you like that . . .* He turned down another corridor, his instincts warning him just an instant too late as someone grabbed him and slammed him -- hard -- against the corridor wall. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, forced air into his lungs, then blinked in surprise as a hooded Minbari face leaned in close to his. He couldn't see enough of it to identify him. The Minbari held him immobile with an arm across the base of his throat, the other hand just visible out of the corner of his eye. He could see a spiked, claw-like weapon strapped to the back of the hand, and was all too aware of the kind of damage something like that could inflict . . . "Who the hell are you?" he asked, the words coming out somewhat choked as the Minbari leaned harder in case he tried something. He already suspected part of the answer, seeing that the Minbari wore a Star Riders' cloak . . . "I am Ansharr of the Star Riders, human," the Minbari hissed. Now that his head had cleared a little, Garibaldi could see that his assailant was actually quite young. "We were told that you would keep Sinclair *safe*, but now I see that was wrong! Why do you let him endanger himself like this?" *Oh great,* Garibaldi thought, *of all of Jeff's watchdogs, I have to run into the pit bull puppy . . .* The Minbari raised his other hand up to the level of Garibaldi's eyes and made a fist, the spiked weapon jutting over his knuckles. Garibaldi swallowed hard, trying to ease the pressure on his larynx. "Look, Ansharr, Jeffrey Sinclair is a *fighter* pilot," Garibaldi said, trying to project an air of calm. Ansharr seemed just young enough to be real trouble if he sensed nervousness. "He's just going on a routine patrol -- if *anything* happens, at least three of the other squad members are assigned to protect him, but he can handle himself just fine in a fight." He took another deep breath and said, "Besides, he's my best friend. I'm not gonna let anything happen to him, and he wouldn't be too pleased if something happened to *me* . . ." Ansharr frowned but continued threatening with the clawed weapon, and snarled, "You say you will not let anything happen to him, but he is out there in space, and you are in *here*!" Garibaldi turned his head to one side then took a deep breath as a little of the pressure eased. "There are more dangers than the ones out in space, Ansharr. The dangers in *here* are *my* job to take care of -- the dangers in space are the job of the fighter squadrons. He's out there with one of our best pilots, and a lot of good people are there with him." He could feel the pressure against his throat beginning to ease, and the spiked hand was starting to sag just a little. "Now, if you'll let me go," he said, pressing his advantage, "we can just forget this little argument, and I can get back to seeing to his safety while he's on Babylon 5." Garibaldi slowly brought his hands up and pushed Ansharr back gently. The young Minbari stepped back and lowered his hands to his sides. "I -- apologize," Ansharr said quietly. "But if something *does* happen to him, be sure that the others will know what *you* have allowed to transpire." With that, he turned and marched off in the direction of the core shuttle, before Garibaldi could say a word. "Whew," Garibaldi muttered, "there's a good candidate for obedience training." He rolled his shoulders in an attempt to loosen tense muscles, then reached up to his throat to probe at the soreness. While Ansharr hadn't done any real damage, he had leaned hard enough to be, quite literally, a pain in the neck. Garibaldi shook his head and walked off, gently massaging the stiffness out of his neck as he went. After a couple of steps down the corridor he shivered, a brief icy tingle running down his back. There had been a sound in the darkness behind him -- almost like something sharp scraping against the metal of the wall. When he spun to look, hand automatically reaching for his PPG, there was nothing. He even walked the few steps back to the junction and carefully looked down each side. Nothing. After a moment of standing there, silent, with senses straining, he shrugged. *Nothing. Sometimes it really is just your imagination . . .* He walked on again. Once Garibaldi's footsteps could no longer be heard, Morden walked out of the darkness in one of the corridors near the junction. "Yes, I know," he said quietly. "We have to be much more careful -- he's suspicious of *everyone* . . ." Then he paused for a minute, appearing to be listening carefully, and smiled. "By all means, I'm certain the Ambassador would *enjoy* receiving a personal invitation to a private party." The smile that graced his lips had very little to do with real humour. * * * "Zeta Leader to Zeta Seven, how's it going, Sir?" Keffer's voice crackled out of the comm. Sinclair frowned and checked the readings. "Picking up some odd energy spikes, Zeta Leader," he responded, while trying to pinpoint the source. "Seems to be interfering with the comm channel a little." Keffer's voice crackled back, "I'm not too sure I like this, Sir. Readings are all over the place -- just as I think I've gotten it pinned down, everything goes haywire again . . ." A burst of static followed the end of his transmission, and the readings Sinclair was checking jumped all over the dial. "Yes, I see what you mean, Zeta Leader . . . Have you seen anything like this before?" "No, Sir," came the response, somewhat clearer this time. "Couple of things *similar*, but nothing quite like this . . ." They were on the outermost loop of the patrol pattern, and Sinclair did a quick check to see which sectors of space they were nearest. An alarm bell went off in the back of his mind when he saw the answer: Sector 14. "Zeta Seven to Zeta Leader, I think I might have a possible answer," he said, feeling a rush of adrenaline at the thought. "Go ahead, Zeta Seven," Keffer answered. "We're pretty close to Sector 14," Sinclair said, not surprised when the readings started to jump around again. "It's not the same kind of reading I've seen from there before, but the area *is* known for its . . . odd occurrences." "It's also off-limits, Sir," Keffer said without much conviction. Sinclair was almost certain he could hear the eagerness in the young pilot's voice. Then another burst of static came across the comm channel, and Keffer muttered something impolite before he realized he was still transmitting. "You okay, Zeta Leader?" Sinclair asked. He didn't like the way Keffer had cut off in the middle of a word. "Sorry about that, Sir," Keffer answered after a brief delay. "That last one was a little loud. Caught me off-guard. Look, the last burst came from a good bit closer than the previous ones . . . I don't want to do this right now with you flying with us, but we're going to have to investigate this whatever-it-is . . . I'd have you stay behind with Zetas Two, Four, and Six, but we can't afford to be four fighters down in case we encounter something unpleasant." "Understood, Zeta Leader. I may be a diplomat, Lieutenant, but I was a fighter pilot first," Sinclair answered with a smile. "You're still going to have to hang back if we encounter something, Sir. Commander Ivanova and Mr. Garibaldi will kill me -- painfully -- if I let anything happen to you." "I copy that, Zeta Leader," Sinclair answered reluctantly. As much as he wanted to get out and about in a Starfury, he was aware that this was bordering on needless risk. *But,* he thought, *it does need to be investigated, and Keffer's right, they can't afford to be four 'Furies short if we DO run into something. Michael and Kozorr will both kill me, but it really is safer if I go along.* Then Keffer was addressing the entire squadron, issuing the order to enter the restricted sector. Sinclair could hear the nervousness in his tone -- he'd just ordered his people into not only potential danger, but also a potential reprimand. Each of them, however, understood the need to investigate -- with whatever it was actually nearing the station, they could not afford to be caught by surprise. They plunged into Sector 14, each of them keeping an eye on the readings, but also watching for any visual contact. The readings were erratic and no one wanted to be caught off-guard. Once they were on their way, heading for the general area the peculiar readings seemed to be originating from, Keffer contacted Sinclair again. "Zeta Leader to Zeta Seven. Sir, I think we might have a problem . . ." Sinclair frowned at the worry in the younger pilot's voice. "What's wrong, Zeta Leader?" "I just tried to contact B5 to let them know we'd be home a little later than expected -- to keep them from worrying too much about you . . ." "And?" "I couldn't get through . . ." Sinclair restrained a shudder and said, "Try again. We're still able to contact each other -- maybe the effect is intermittent." "Will do, Sir." The burst of static before Keffer signed off was not reassuring. Sinclair shook his head and looked out into space, scanning the darkness in every direction he could see. The recent events and things he had learned were a puzzle to piece together, and at the moment some of the pieces that seemed to fit made him *very* nervous. *Morden and his arachnid friends, Michael comparing the encounter with him to events on Mars, and now the jammed comm channels. I do NOT like this . . .* After another two minutes, static blared out of the comm, then Keffer's voice followed. "Sir, I tried. I can't get through." "We'll have to keep trying off and on -- maybe we can get through at some point," Sinclair responded. "Yes, Sir." The sensor readings suddenly spiked again, and Keffer cried, "That was almost right on top of us!" However, when he tried to broadcast instructions to the squadron, all that came through was: "too cl-- --mfort! --ook ar--d --mthing's -- to be --ere!" Sinclair took a cursory look at the readings, quickly giving them up as useless -- the computer couldn't get any kind of lock, and all the scans were showing utter nonsense. However, when he looked at the blackness around him, movement caught his attention -- a vague shimmer, barely seen out of the corner of his eye. When he turned his full attention in that direction, his blood ran cold. He couldn't see anything but space and stars. And something dark rushing past, against those stars . . . Something like a shadow, blocking out the light. For an instant his ship's computer managed to lock on, registering *something* moving away from them at a tremendous speed, then the readings went crazy again. *What the HELL was that?* he thought, feeling the chill return full force again. "Zeta leader, do you read me? Keffer!" Static. "Keffer, I *saw* something," he continued, hoping that some of the message was getting through. "Some kind of darkness moving against the stars. We *have* to pursue. Do you copy, Zeta Leader?" "What was that, Zeta Seven?" Keffer's voice crackled from the comm. It was barely audible over the background noise. "I saw something dark moving against the stars. Got a general heading deeper into Sector 14. We have to investigate," he responded, praying the message got through. They were losing valuable time. "-- saw --ing?" Keffer asked, then the message deteriorated into static, then a series of clicks, then nothing. *Damn. I hope you and the rest of the squadron are ready for this,* Sinclair thought, then he broadcast a message to the whole squadron, praying someone, at least, could read him. "Zeta Seven to Zeta Squadron. Have sighted unknown object. In pursuit -- be careful, may be *dangerous*." Then he hit his thrusters, rocketing off in the direction the moving darkness had vanished in, praying that his suspicion about its identity was wrong. *Goddamn it, Sinclair, what the hell are you doing?* Keffer thought as Zeta Seven fired his thrusters and peeled out of formation, flying deeper into the restricted zone. He'd been planning on ordering a retreat from Sector 14 due to the fact that the comm channels weren't working, the people back on B5 would have no way of knowing where they were if something *did* happen to them (something he was a little more sensitive about since a little trip he'd taken with Garibaldi a couple of months earlier), and the fact that despite his desire to be treated otherwise, Sinclair was still a VIP . . . Now that VIP was speeding into almost certain danger, and he had no idea *why*. The only thing they *could* do was follow -- anything else would earn him a court martial. At the very least . . . While attempting -- and failing -- once more to contact Babylon 5 and his squadron, he hit the thrusters and followed Sinclair, relieved to find the others close behind. Sinclair let up on the thrusters allowing the momentum to carry him, and peered into the starry blackness surrounding him. It was out there -- somewhere -- he *knew* it. He could *feel* it, watching him, waiting . . . The rest of Zeta Squadron was nearing, but one look at the instruments told him that communication would be impossible, just as anything other than visual observation was. Unfortunately, having to rely on one's eyes in space meant any enemy would be far too close by the time they were seen. *This is NOT good,* he thought, trying to ignore the chill racing up and down his spine. Another scan of the starfield showed nothing. He frowned. Suddenly a bright, searing beam of energy streamed past his Starfury, swinging through space like the blade of a sword. The Starfuries scattered, each dodging outwards like a starburst, away from the direction the beam had come from. Sinclair tried to see where it had originated, but once again only saw a vague shimmer, and the shifting patch of darkness. Then abruptly the beam changed directions, swinging back again, straight towards him. *SHIT!* his mind screamed as he hit the thrusters. Part of his mind registered some of the other Zeta Squadron members firing at the point the beam originated from, and out of the corner of his eye he spotted the flash of an impact. The shape illuminated by the blast froze his blood, the image burning itself into his memory. The rest of his attention, however, was focused on trying desperately to regain control of his Starfury as one of the four arms of his ship was disabled -- nearly sliced clean through by the powerful beam. Despite the sudden headache as his 'Fury spun out of control, his mind ran through the emergency steps with calm precision, firing the remaining vectoring thrusters in controlled bursts until the fighter came to a relatively calm -- if slightly lopsided -- rest. There was complete and utter chaos around him as the other Starfuries fired upon nothingness and then tried to evade the deadly slicing beam. He was still breathing hard, and his legs ached from the strain of standing in the cockpit during the uncontrolled spin, but he had to help the others. *I am not going to watch all of these good pilots die. Not again, damn it!* he thought, quickly checking his fighter's systems. As he was preparing to re-enter the fray, the beam sliced back towards him and he was forced to spin away from it again, the turn slamming him hard against the restraining straps in the cockpit. Just as he was regaining control, he saw a jump point forming -- a large jump point. "Oh hell!" he said aloud, punching the comm channel open and praying Zeta Squadron could hear. "Scatter, Zeta Squadron. NOW!" Whether the comm was working, or everyone was alert and reacting well, Starfuries peeled away in all directions as something emerged from the jump point. Sinclair cursed mentally as his fighter lost what little stabilization it had left -- he knew he'd avoided whatever was coming through the vortex, but his fighter was completely out of control. As the edges of his vision were eaten away by first grey and then black he caught a glimpse of something huge and mottled yellow. Then everything went black. * * * To be continued... ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Babylon 5 is copyright 1995 PTEN and Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended to infringe on that copyright. Patterns of Light and Shadow is copyright 1995 Isoline M. Sanderson ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Okay, folks, writing this part convinced me that I'd better not write too many space battles. I am NOT a techie writer -- I much prefer getting inside the characters' heads. I hope that the scene was still exciting the way I wrote it, instead of following all the maneuvers & such that the 'Furies were doing. Sorry if it disappoints any of you, but I just don't do it well... Bye for now -- UVAlpha@aol.com (Isoline) From UVAlpha@aol.comWed Sep 20 01:04:30 1995 Date: Sun, 17 Sep 1995 23:02:52 -0400 From: UVAlpha@aol.com Reply to: b5-creative@best.com To: b5-creative@best.com Subject: Patterns of Light and Shadows pt. 12 Okay, here's part 12! Enjoy! (and again, if someone only got a partial, let me know & I'll resend in two parts.) ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Garibaldi sat in his office, watching the Zocalo on one of the security monitors and nervously tapping a finger on the console. He grimaced and tapped a few keys, replacing the view of the Zocalo with one of the Zeta Squadron Cobra bay. *Shit,* he thought uncomfortably. *They're an hour overdue, now . . .* "Computer," he said aloud, "locate Commander Ivanova." "Commander Ivanova is in Command and Control," the computer responded. Garibaldi frowned and said, "Locate Captain Sheridan." "Captain Sheridan is in the Advisory Council chambers." *Well,* Garibaldi thought, *no time like the present.* He activated his Link and spoke into it, "Garibaldi to Lou Welch." A moment later Lou's voice answered, "What's up, Chief?" "Lou, I've gotta go out and deal with a little problem. I need you to take over Security for a bit." "Sure, Chief, I'll be there in a couple of minutes." "Thanks. Garibaldi waited, worry beginning to twist his insides. *If something has gone wrong . . .* he thought uncomfortably. *Damn. I should NEVER have let him do it . . .* When Lou entered the room, the look on Garibaldi's face made him stop short. "It's not a 'little problem', is it, Chief," he said, walking to the desk. When Garibaldi shook his head, he asked, "How can I help?" Garibaldi actually smiled, those four words lifting away some of the darkness that had been looming over him. Not 'What's wrong?' but immediately, before he even knew what he would be getting into, 'How can I help?' "Right now I have to discuss something with Ivanova, and I . . . don't really want Sheridan hearing about it yet. He's in the Council chambers right now -- can I get you to keep an eye on him and alert me if he looks like he's leaving?" "No problem, Chief. Are you in some kind of trouble?" Lou asked quietly. Garibaldi met his gaze and answered, "Not yet, but I might be . . ." "Well, you be careful. I'll let you know the instant Sheridan steps foot outside the Chambers." "Thanks, Lou," Garibaldi said, standing and patting his friend on the shoulder. "I mean it." "No problem, Chief," Lou repeated, "You'd better go talk with Ivanova before Sheridan's done." Lou took the seat Garibaldi vacated and switched one of the monitors to the securicam outside the Council chambers. "Go on, Chief. I'll let you know if there's trouble," he said as reassuringly as possible. Garibaldi nodded and jogged from the room. He reached C&C a few minutes later, having gone most of the distance in a half-run. He didn't want to attract *too* much attention, and had slowed to a walk long enough that his breathing was almost calm. When he strode into C&C Ivanova was standing at her station, watching the readings as a Narn transport completed the docking approach. He stopped a small distance from her, not wanting to interrupt until the transport was safely docked. As he waited, he could feel at least one set of eyes on him -- Lt. Corwin, one of the junior officers assigned to C&C, was staring at him from his station in 'the Pit.' He knew Corwin was trying to figure out why he was there, and whether it meant any danger. He hoped the young tech could see that if it were an immediate danger to the station, he would have already interrupted. *As to the rest,* Garibaldi thought, *let him wonder.* A quick sweep of the other C&C crew and techs told him a few more were also watching, and one of them wore the black NightWatch armband. *Something to keep in mind,* he thought, automatically filing her name and face away, adding it to the mental list of 'landmines, timebombs, and other fun and games.' Finally Ivanova turned to face him and raised her eyebrows questioningly. He walked closer and said, "I'm sure you already know, but Zeta Squadron's more than an hour overdue . . ." Ivanova's mouth settled into a grim line and she nodded. "There's been no contact . . . The last message we got from them came from the outermost point of their sweep, and none of the incoming traffic has mentioned them or trouble of any kind . . ." Garibaldi frowned and asked, "Can you show me the location the call came in from?" Ivanova nodded crisply and called up the computer diagram, pointed the location out to Garibaldi, and then watched as his eyes widened in horror. Then he looked away, out the large observation window, and schooled his face as he tried to figure out an easy way to handle this. "Uh . . . Ivanova, I need to talk to you for a few minutes. Privately," he finally said, turning back to her. She frowned, but turned to Lt. Corwin and said, "Lieutenant, take over for a few minutes. I have something to see to." She walked out, Garibaldi on her heels, and headed for one of the small conference rooms nearby. Once they were safely inside, she turned to Garibaldi and asked, "Okay, what do you know that I don't?" Garibaldi swallowed hard and answered, "I didn't think he'd be that crazy -- I really *didn't* -- but remember when we were discussing the flight and I mentioned Sheridan's hitch-hiker?" "Oh, that's just *great*, Garibaldi. You told him *all* about it, didn't you." "In detail . . . He was *curious* -- after what we saw out there, how could he not be? I just didn't think he'd take that kind of *risk* just to see it . . ." Garibaldi trailed off and paled as an alternative struck him. "What?" she asked, not sure she really wanted to hear the answer. "Well -- it could be one of two things . . . *Have* there been any strange tachyon readings -- like there were when Babylon 4 came back?" She shook her head and said, "Nothing at all like that. There were a couple of very minor fluctuations, but that's all." Garibaldi grimaced and said, "I was figuring maybe something came through or maybe they fell through a rift. I actually think I'd rather have that be the case." "Why? Damn it, Garibaldi, will you tell me what's going *on*?" He winced as her tone grew louder, then relaxed slightly as she quieted again. "Sorry, but I'm worried too!" Garibaldi nodded, then said, "I know. It's just that we don't know how -- safe -- this room is." He glanced around, then looked back at her. "The reason I'd rather it was a time slip is because of that little --ah-- incident with me and Keffer a while back . . . Zeta Squadron might have run into something . . . unfriendly." Ivanova frowned, silent for a moment, then said, "Great. Remember when the *Cortez* was lost in hyperspace, and Keffer found his way back out because of a weird ship, proving that there is something out there that we don't know about?" Garibaldi nodded, repressing a shiver as his blood ran cold. *Things in hyperspace, black spidery ships; Keffer, me; Mars . . .Oh shit,* he thought. "Yeah, I remember," he responded quietly. "Well, Keffer'd been going on search flights in his off time, trying to find out what those ships were; until I mentioned it offhand to the Captain. He said *no more* unauthorized explorations," she said. "Maybe it was because of your encounter, but he seemed to know more about it than he was saying." Garibaldi kept his expression neutral, but inside all the alarms were going off. *When I told Keffer about the ships on Mars, he said they sounded just like the thing he saw in hyperspace. What the *hell* does Sheridan know about these things that he didn't let me know when he debriefed me? And *why* is he keeping it a secret?* "It probably was because of us," Garibaldi said grimly. "*No one* knew where we were going, but that ship found us and shot us down like it had been expecting us . . ." "Meaning somewhere there's a leak . . ." Ivanova said, her eyes widening in horror. "Keffer?" Garibaldi shook his head and said, "Can't be Keffer. He didn't know where we were going before we left, and by the time he did know, he was never alone to contact anyone." A chill skittered down his back and he thought, *Never alone . . . oh hell -- Morden's invisible playmates! They could be anywhere, listening in on ANYTHING . . .* "Then who --?" "I don't know, but we can't waste any more time. We need to send people out in a rescue team, *now*!" Garibaldi said, heading for the door. "Where are you going?" Ivanova asked, grabbing his arm. "To get my Starfury fired up," he answered. "Uh uh," she shook her head. "You stay here -- you've already got that one reprimand, and if something *has* happened to the Ambassador, the Captain's going to come down on you like a ton of bricks. *You* stay here, just in case they're just taking their time. *I'll* lead the rescue wing." "But --" "No buts, Garibaldi. That's an *order*," she said authoritatively. He sighed and nodded, then she walked past him and exited the room. "Come on, we've got to hurry." * * * Garibaldi headed back through the Zocalo after seeing Ivanova's rescue wing off. They would keep in touch with Babylon 5 per the standard procedure and Ivanova would also keep in touch with him directly, to keep him from losing his mind from worry. In the meantime, he wanted to walk a little of the tension off before he returned to the Security office to sit -- and wait. He paused at one of the small bars and ordered a glass of water, perched on a chair and drank it while he watched the people walking by. He saw two Minbari warriors at a small kiosk further down the Zocalo, and that sight brought the looming darkness back in full force. *Some protector I turned out to be,* he thought, gloomily. Some young Centauri sat down at the bar and ordered a strong drink -- Garibaldi could smell the alcohol as the Centauri lifted the glass and toasted, "To glory!" Garibaldi stared into his water, then up at the racks of bottles. He put the water down and stood, backed away from the bar and almost dove into the stream of shoppers and browsers passing by, putting as much distance between himself and the bar as possible. *Damn, Michael,* he thought, *you don't even have to be drunk to screw up anymore . . .* He shook his head and slowed down, realising he was panicking and acting like a fool. *Okay -- so you let him go out on his own and he might be in trouble. You were supposed to keep him safe but you can't watch him all the time . . . Yeah, right. How in space are you gonna tell the Minbari that when you don't believe it yourself?* He sighed and jammed his hands into his pants pockets, closing his left hand around the Ranger brooch. *Okay, Michael, get it together. If he ISN'T in trouble, you've got to be able to do your job and protect him here. This place could be crawling with Morden's buggy buddies, and you can't see them. You've got to stay sharp.* "Ouch!" he yelped as he stuck his thumb with the point of the pin. *Damn, that was dumb.* Just then, Talia Winters exited a small conference room and nearly collided with him. She blinked up at him and said, "Mr. Garibaldi -- I'm sorry! I -- are you okay?" "Yeah, I'm fine. Just hurt my thumb," he explained, squeezing a drop of blood from the cut. "Pretty dumb, really . . . Hey, Ms. Winters -- Talia -- are *you* okay? You look *beat*." He reached out to steady her, but let his hand drop as she straightened up and tried to put on a stoic face. Then he remembered what Sinclair had told him about blocking and dug a fingernail into his thumb where the puncture was. *Ouch.* Talia winced slightly and dropped back a step, then sighed and said, "I just got out of some very heated negotiations. Both sides were trying to cheat, and it was -- tiring." "They weren't trying to break any laws, were they?" he asked, immediately back in 'cop mode'. "No, just trying to overcharge and get away with shoddy work." She started walking towards the transport tube and he tagged along, still concerned. She looked so pale . . . "Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Garibaldi?" "Just concerned, Talia. You really look exhausted - do you have any more contracts today?" "Fortunately, no," she answered. "Maybe you should go take a nap or something," Garibaldi suggested softly. "I was just heading back to my quarters to do that," Talia explained. "I'll walk with you," he offered, concerned enough by her condition that he didn't really want her walking around alone. She looked like she was about to argue, but saw the expression on his face and nodded. "If you must," she sighed, more tired than anything else. They made it to the transport tube and he kept an eye on her as they waited for it to arrive. While he waited, his Link beeped. "Garibaldi, what is it?" he asked, already knowing what the answer would be. "Chief?" Lou's voice came from the Link, "He's out and he looks worried." "Got it. Thanks, Lou," Garibaldi answered, glancing up at Talia. She was standing unsteadily and seemed to be practically asleep on her feet. When the door slid open, Talia blinked and shook herself awake, stepped into the lift with a slightly confused expression on her face. Garibaldi was about to follow when he heard someone calling him. Talia frowned as she recognized the voice, and said, "I'll see you later, Mr. Garibaldi." She pushed the button and Garibaldi sighed as the door closed in his face. *Oh hell,* he thought, turning to face his CO. "Mr. Garibaldi!" Sheridan called again, jogging up. "Glad I caught you," he added, huffing a little. "Sir?" Garibaldi asked, part of his mind registering the fact that he was still poking his index finger nail into his pricked thumb. He shook his hand and absently rubbed at the injury. Sheridan didn't even notice. "I just got out of another Advisory Council meeting and wanted to check with Commander Ivanova to make sure I hadn't missed anything. Lieutenant Corwin told me she took part of Delta Squadron out on a rescue mission. Do you know what's going on?" Garibaldi looked at Sheridan, saw primarily concern and a little apprehension. *Well,* he thought, *what the hell.* "Zeta Squadron's more than an hour overdue from patrol, Captain," Garibaldi explained. "The incoming traffic apparently hasn't reported any signs of trouble, but there's been no contact . . ." "Damn!" Sheridan snarled, thumping his fist against his thigh. Then he looked at Garibaldi and said, "Keep me informed. I've got some business to handle." Garibaldi said, "Yes, Sir," and watched as Sheridan left at a brisk walk, heading for the Ambassadorial wing. *Oh . . . shit. Is he going to see Delenn?* Garibaldi sighed and decided the best place for him at the moment was Security. * * * To be continued . . . ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------ Babylon 5 is copyright 1995 PTEN and Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended to infringe on that copyright. Patterns of Light and Shadow is copyright 1995 Isoline M. Sanderson ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ --------- From UVAlpha@aol.comSun Sep 24 13:12:09 1995 Date: Sat, 23 Sep 1995 00:38:14 -0400 From: UVAlpha@aol.com Reply to: b5-creative@best.com To: b5-creative@blob.best.net Subject: Patterns of Light and Shadow pt. 13 This is take two -- it got bounced last night. You would have been able to read it today, but... Here's part 13! Enjoy! ---------------------------------------------------- "Okay, people, let's keep sharp -- we still don't know what's happened. If you find any debris that could be from Zeta Squadron, grapple it. We'll need to find out what -- if anything -- happened." The other five fighters of the wing followed her lead, diving straight into Sector 14 without question. "Delta Leader to rescue wing," Ivanova broadcast, "Any of you find anything?" The answers all came back negative. She frowned, a shiver passing through her as she thought, *They can't have just vanished -- and we've had no signs of another time rift -- where ARE they?* Another eternity passed, although a quick check of the chrono reading indicated that it had only been ten minutes. Ivanova jumped when her comm came to life. "Delta Two to Delta Leader, I've found something . . ." Apprehension made her voice unsteady as she asked, "What is it, Delta Two?" "Attempting to grapple," Delta Two answered, and then there was a pause as she struggled with the precision maneuvering for a moment. Then, "Uh oh -- Commander, it's a Starfury thruster . . ." "Damn!" Ivanova snarled. *This is bad,* she thought. Her heartbeat was roaring in her ears, and she knew if her hands weren't busy on the controls they'd be shaking. "Delta Leader to rescue wing," she broadcast, "We've found part of a Starfury -- there's got to be some other sign of them -- they can't have completely vanished. Keep looking." "Aye, Delta Leader," Delta Two answered. At the end of her message, a short burst of static hissed at Ivanova. "Delta Four to Delta Leader, I'm picking up some strange readings . . ." Ivanova frowned -- things had been unnervingly quiet a moment ago, and now . . . *Is it the Captain's hitch hiker?* she wondered. "Rescue wing, I'm getting interference. Do you see any--" She stopped abruptly, an odd movement catching her eye, then broadcast, "Rescue wing, heads up -- there's something--" One second there was nothing, the next something huge and black appeared out of nowhere -- no jump point to herald its arrival. There was nothing Ivanova could do -- it materialized almost on top of her Starfury, something protruding from it colliding with the left wings and knocking her spinning away. Part of her mind registered the grisly sight of a body floating away amid the crumpled and blasted remains of Delta Two, but her last memory was her own voice screaming. It was dark. Dark and so very cold. Her head throbbed mercilessly and her body hurt as if she'd been beaten . . . The worst of it though was the terrible close, smothering feeling. The air! No, she realized, there was air, but it was horribly stale, and there was a quiet hissing noise . . . Panic started to grip her and for a moment her mind was consumed by sheer terror. The ache in her lungs as she started hyperventilating brought the light of reason, though, and she forced herself to calm down. *Where are we?* she thought, opening her eyes and looking around -- at the stars in the emptiness around her, at the readings on the instruments, finally at the fine crack running across the canopy in front of her . . . "SUSAN!" she screamed, sitting upright, suddenly wide awake and gulping in lungfuls of fresh air. "Oh god . . . Susan . . ." Talia shivered violently and tentatively reached back along the thread her dream had traveled, eyes widening in shock as she felt a mind -- unconscious at the moment, but very real -- at the other end. She stood and hurriedly threw on the same suit she had been wearing earlier, then rushed out the door. After a brief moment of indecision, she headed for the security office. * * * Garibaldi looked up in surprise as Talia rushed in. She was even paler than usual and had a wild, almost terrified look in her eyes. And, he noticed, her hair was still tousled from sleep -- whatever it was that brought her here was *serious*. She stopped at the desk, leaning hard on it with white-knuckled hands, and tried to catch her breath. Garibaldi was on his feet in an instant, helping her to his seat. "Ms. Winters -- Talia -- my god, what's *wrong*?" he asked when she clutched his arm. "It's Susan," she answered shakily, although he noticed she seemed to be slightly more collected now. "Susan? Ivanova?" he asked, praying he was wrong. Instead, Talia nodded, and a very cold feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. *Oh hell . . .* When Talia shuddered again, he realized she still had his arm locked in a vise-like grip, and thought, *Is she using ME to try to calm down? Oh jeez . . .* He shoved the panic away, noting that Talia did seem calmer when he was, and asked, "Talia, tell me what's happened to Susan . . ." "She's in trouble -- she reached out to me . . ." Talia explained hesitantly. Garibaldi's eyes widened, but he said nothing, and tried to maintain a professional demeanour so as to keep her from panicking again. "I felt . . . She's hurt, but I don't think too badly. But she's helpless . . . floating . . . The -- canopy is cracked." This time Garibaldi couldn't control his reaction. He grasped Talia's hand and knelt before her, asked, "She's in her Starfury? It's damaged?" Talia nodded and said, "I think it's . . . Broken. Disabled. She needs help . . ." "Could you tell me *where* she is, Talia?" he asked, trying to regain his control and not quite succeeding. The worry was beginning to win. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and squeezed her hand. "We can send a rescue team to get her if you know where she is," he said softly, praying that Ivanova had managed to get some kind of coordinates through. However she *had* gotten through, that was . . . Talia's brow furrowed in concentration, her grip on Garibaldi's arm finally loosening as she focused. Garibaldi continued to hold her hand, trying to will her whatever support he could. "There were numbers on the screen," Talia said, her voice sounding distant and detached. "I don't know what they mean . . ." "Probably coordinates -- can you remember any of them? I might know the general area she's in, but if she's losing pressure we can't afford to take too long to find her." "I . . ." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath -- Garibaldi could almost *feel* her concentration. Then she was reciting a string of numbers, as if she were reading them directly from a data screen. When she opened her eyes again, Garibaldi smiled and squeezed her hand again, then let go and turned to his computer. He entered the grid coordinates and frowned when the display appeared, indicating a point only a hundred or so kilometers further into Sector 14 than Zeta Squadron's last contact. *I was afraid of that,* he thought. "Talia," he said, turning back to face her. "I'm going to have to get the rescue team set up. I'll probably have to talk to the Captain, too. I won't be upset if you don't want to talk to him -- but can I tell him how I know about this?" Talia looked up at him, blinking in confusion for an instant before she realized why he was asking. "Michael, thank you," she said softly. "I don't think I *could* face him right now . . . But yes, you can tell him I told you. I -- I need to lie down." "Maybe you should let Dr. Franklin make sure you're okay . . ." "No, I'll be fine -- it's just the . . . residual effect of the contact. If you do need me, I'll be in my quarters." Before he could stop her, she stood and deftly stepped around him. She was out of the security office in an instant, leaving Garibaldi with a mess and a puzzle on his hands. He strode from the office, corralling the first one of his people he ran into, and Ensign Adekoya, and sending her to watch the office until either Zack or Lou arrived. After that, he called Lou and asked him to take over in Security Central while he dealt with another "little problem". Then he hurried to Sheridan's office. On the way there, he finally allowed himself the luxury of a few moments' thought, instead of just automatic reactions. *Talia's only a P5 -- when the Knights kidnapped Jeff she couldn't search for him because she needs to be in close proximity . . . How the hell did she hear a call for help from way out in Sector 14? And what did she mean when she said Ivanova 'reached out to her'? Maybe the panic of being that close to death . . . Damn it, each question keeps getting answered with more questions! I HATE this . . .* He arrived at Sheridan's office and the worry flooded back past all the curiosity. His best friend was lost somewhere out there, and now another friend was in danger after attempting a rescue of the first -- and it was all his fault for ever agreeing to the crazy idea in the first place. *Some protector I turned out to be,* he thought glumly. *Time to face the music, I guess.* He walked into Sheridan's office. Garibaldi stood before Sheridan's desk while the Captain took a report from Lt. Corwin in C&C. Sheridan frowned darkly as the young officer informed him the rescue wing had missed a check-in, the worry very plain in Corwin's voice. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Keep me informed," Sheridan said, keeping his tone neutral. He shut off the computer screen and looked up at Garibaldi, the frown darkening even more. "Yes, Mr. Garibaldi? I assume from the look on your face you know about the situation." "Yes, Sir," Garibaldi answered. "And I need to take out a rescue wing, the fastest transport we can get, and a med team, *now*." "Oh?" Sheridan asked, his tone somewhere between confused and challenging. "Yes, Sir. I know where Ivanova is, and we've got to get to her as soon as possible. Her Starfury's helpless, and she's losing pressure . . . I think her air supply might be damaged too. It's only a matter of time before she's breathing too much carbon dioxide and . . ." "And just goes to sleep forever, yes," Sheridan finished for him. "Just how the hell do you know all this, Garibaldi? C&C says she hasn't called in." Garibaldi grimaced, all too aware of the seconds ticking by. "Talia Winters told me," he said, "Somehow the desperation helped Ivanova contact her. If it wasn't for Talia, we could be searching for weeks . . . Sir, we *can't* wait." Sheridan nodded and stood, then said, "You're right, we can't. Who's going to lead the rescue?" "If I may, Sir, we've already got too many high-ranking people missing in space right now. I'll lead the rescue, you can coordinate here," Garibaldi said, heading for the door. He missed the sudden frown Sheridan shot him, but glanced back over his shoulder as he realized Sheridan was right behind him. "Besides," he added, "I've been kinda lucky on rescue missions recently." "Point taken, Mr. Garibaldi," Sheridan said. They were now hurrying towards the Cobra bays, Sheridan keeping up with Garibaldi's stride. As they walked, Sheridan contacted MedLab and told Dr. Franklin to have a team -- preferably one prepared to deal with rapid decompression problems if the situation arose -- ready and waiting at one of the Earth transports. Then he contacted C&C and ordered them to find a crew -- a "damned *good* crew" -- for the transport, immediately. Once those arrangements were made, he turned back to Garibaldi and asked, "Okay, everything's being prepared and we can't get there any faster without running and risking you completely wearing your legs out before the flight's half over, so don't give me the 'we don't have enough time' excuse. Just what did you mean by 'we've already got too many high-ranking people missing in space right now'?" Garibaldi's heart sank -- he hadn't meant to let that slip. Now he *had* to explain the whole thing, or Sheridan would be *really* furious when he heard it later . . . "Ivanova's rescue wing went out because Zeta Squadron was overdue. We still haven't heard any news of them . . ." "I wouldn't consider Lt. Keffer exactly 'high-ranking'," Sheridan pressed. "Uh . . . no, Sir," Garibaldi answered hesitantly. *Oh god, just get it over with!* he thought, exasperated with his own nervousness. "Ambassador Sinclair was flying with Zeta Squadron," he blurted, then almost missed a step as Sheridan's face darkened with anger. "*Ambassador Sinclair* is missing with one of our fighter squadrons?" Sheridan asked, incredulous. "*Ambassador Sinclair*?" "Sir, please, not so loud," Garibaldi urged before he could restrain himself. Sheridan frowned, then hissed, "Ambassador Sinclair?" He shook his head, then grabbed Garibaldi's arm, pulling him to a stop in the corridor. "Mister, I don't know what the *hell* kind of games you think you're playing, but you'd better pray Ivanova's okay and Zeta Squadron turns up intact. And even if they do, Mister Garibaldi, you and I are going to have a *long* talk . . ." Garibaldi swallowed and nodded, then they hurried on to the Cobra bay. The look in Sheridan's eyes was far too similar to the one while he'd been questioning Morden -- Garibaldi knew he was in for it. Neither of them saw the figure who watched them from a side corridor, fists clenching in fury when it overheard Sheridan's outburst. When Garibaldi and Sheridan entered the pilots' ready room, the figure turned in a swirl of dark clothing and hurried off. * * * To be continued... ------------------------------------------------------------------ Babylon 5 is copyright 1995 PTEN and Babylonian Productions Patterns of Light and Shadow is copyright 1995 Isoline M. Sanderson -------------------------------------------------------------------- Hope you like it! Let me know what you think -- Bye! UVAlpha@aol.com From UVAlpha@aol.comSun Sep 24 13:12:13 1995 Date: Sun, 24 Sep 1995 00:37:21 -0400 From: UVAlpha@aol.com Reply to: b5-creative@best.com To: b5-creative@blob.best.net Cc: swooldri@mlsmc.mlm.att.com Subject: Patterns of Light and Shadow pt. 14 And I've been busy this weekend -- here's part 14! Again, if anyone gets a partial, let me know & I'll split it to two parts. Enjoy! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ - During the hurried pre-flight check, Garibaldi briefed the pilots, med-team, and transport crew on what they would be dealing with. He kept himself focused on the dangerous situation Ivanova was in, partially to keep things moving as fast as possible, but mainly to avoid glancing at the cold fury in Captain Sheridan's face. One of the med-team asked him about the other pilots, and the question stopped him cold. Talia hadn't mentioned them -- at all . . . "I'm sorry," he started uncomfortably, "Commander Ivanova is the only one I have any information about . . . We have to be prepared for the worst-case scenario, I'm afraid." He could see their faces fall -- these were friends and wing-mates he was talking about here. They still had no idea what had attacked Ivanova and her people, although he had his suspicions and knew most likely he wasn't alone, but the possibility of unknown enemies was secondary right now to the concern for friends' lives. As soon as the briefing was done and all the ships were checked, the rescue wing launched. Sheridan sent them out with a very brief good-luck speech -- and as he delivered it, Garibaldi could feel the anger underlying the words. After the wing sped away, Sheridan sat heavily in a chair in the pilots' ready room and rested his head in his hands. *Damn it,* he thought, *of all the lame-brained, stupid stunts to pull. When I find out who allowed an Ambassador to go out on one of our patrol runs . . .* He looked up and shook his head. Sinclair, he knew, had been his predecessor, and was an extremely accomplished pilot, but . . . *But there are THINGS out there I can't tell anyone about and it sure as hell isn't the place for our first ambassador to Minbar to go out joyriding! Damn it, Garibaldi, if this man was your friend why didn't you stop him? Or at the very least, tell him what happened to you and Keffer! That should have made him think twice about going out there!* Sheridan snorted in anger and shook his head. "Only it wouldn't have, would it . . ." he said quietly, remembering what he'd read in some of the reports. "God*damn* it!" he snarled, heading for the door. He needed to find something to *do*, now, before the enormity of the potential disaster he was facing really filtered through. As he strode through the doorway he nearly walked right into Delenn, who had been hurrying down the hallway towards him. She stumbled slightly and put a hand on his arm to steady herself, and he met her gaze for an instant before self-consciousness overtook them both. "Delenn -- I'm sorry!" he said, gently touching her hand. "Are you -- what's wrong?" "Captain Sheridan," a deep, male voice said from behind Delenn. Sheridan looked up in surprise as he realized Delenn was not alone. When he saw the Minbari standing behind her, he realized he'd allowed himself to be far too distracted, and said, "Yes, I'm Sheridan." The first Minbari, who was about his height but more muscularly built, wore a deep green cloaked outfit decorated in the fashion of a warrior clan, although Sheridan couldn't immediately place which one. He had a rather square-jawed face, and the look of one who had been in many battles. His expression was neutral, but very guarded. The second Minbari, however, looked anything but. He was dressed similarly to the first, although his outfit was less ornate. He was obviously much younger than the first one, Sheridan estimated he could possibly be younger than Lennier. And in the sharp features of his face, Sheridan could see open hatred. "Captain," Delenn interceded when she saw the look the younger warrior was giving him, "We must discuss a *very* grave matter. Somewhere where we cannot be overheard." Sheridan nodded -- her meaning was very clear, and the urgency in her voice made it pretty obvious what the matter was they needed to discuss. His biggest immediate regret was that Garibaldi wasn't available to share in the experience of the shit hitting the fan . . . "Yes, Ambassador," he said, "If you will all come with me . . ." He brought them to his office, thinking that if it had been Delenn alone his quarters might have been better -- at the very least he could assure their privacy better -- but with the warriors accompanying them, he didn't want to give them that kind of access. Especially not the younger one, obviously someone who had been raised on tales of the 'honourless Starkiller' . . . Once in his office, Sheridan offered them all seats, noticing with some discomfort that the younger warrior declined and took up a 'retainer' position behind the chair of the older one. He sat behind his desk and took one of the small jamming devices from it. He activated it and set it on the desk between them and said, "This should keep others from being able to spy." It wasn't something he'd wanted others to know about, but the situation required as much secrecy as he could provide . . . Delenn nodded and said, "Thank you, Captain. I am glad you understand the gravity of this situation. This is Kozorr, of the Star Riders clan." She motioned to the older warrior, who very slightly inclined his head to Sheridan. "And this," she continued, motioning to the younger warrior, "is Ansharr, one of his . . . lieutenants. They are responsible, on Minbar, for seeing to the safety of Ambassador Sinclair." Ansharr looked down his nose at Sheridan and said something in Minbari. Delenn's eyes widened, but she said nothing as Kozorr turned to him and hissed a response. Ansharr sneered at Sheridan, but bowed deeply to Kozorr, then walked out of the office. Kozorr turned back to Sheridan and said, "My apologies, Captain. Ansharr is -- very dedicated to his work, but does not have a very high opinion of you . . . He lost his mother and brother on the *Black Star*. He will wait outside and ensure we are not disturbed." Sheridan kept his face as neutral as possible, well aware that Kozorr had included that explanation as more of a threat than an apology. A glance in Delenn's direction told him she had been hoping this would go far smoother than it really was. "I understand," he said to Kozorr, "But you may want to keep in mind that *I* am not the enemy." "Captain," Delenn said softly, "Please . . ." Sheridan nodded and said, "My apologies, Ambassador. I assume that you are here about Ambassador Sinclair, but I do not quite know how you knew about the situation. I only recently learned he was aboard, myself." "Ansharr overheard your conversation with Garibaldi about the rescue mission. He came to see me immediately," Kozorr replied. "As to your lack of knowledge about the Ambassador's visit, I am not surprised." Sheridan was surprised to see the warrior actually smile for a brief instant. "He planned this visit as a personal vacation, and decided the only way he would be able to avoid any official duties was to keep it a secret." Sheridan frowned and was about to open his mouth to protest, but there was some truth to what Kozorr said. And, it fit with everything else he had heard about Sinclair. *No wonder EarthCentral doesn't like him,* he thought, *they can't control him . . .* Finally he said, "Then he must have had help from inside from the beginning of this." "You should not blame Mr. Garibaldi for aiding him, Captain," Delenn said softly. "He was merely doing what he could to help out a friend . . . A true friend is a very valuable thing." Sheridan studied her face, surprised slightly by the wistful note in her voice. Then he frowned again and said, "That may be true, but in letting him take out one of the Starfuries, he's *endangered* that friend. Not to mention all the others! And I sure as hell didn't give him permission to do it, and I can't believe Ivanova would have done it -- that means he's flying around out there, risking his life, without even getting permission!" "Are you certain?" Delenn asked, noticing that Kozorr was starting to fidget impatiently. Sheridan blinked and stared for a moment, her question catching him off guard. *But who else would have given him the clearance? If Garibaldi forged something I'll KILL him!* Sheridan glanced over at the stack of flimsies and other files, papers, and what-have-you in his incoming and frowned -- he hadn't been able to look through it yet because of all the arguing in the council chamber -- he wasn't about to put it past Garibaldi to toss something in there and hope he wouldn't notice it until after the fact . . . He grabbed the stack and started rummaging through it, his face falling when he saw a flimsy with the EarthDome seal on it. *Oh no -- they couldn't have . . .* He pulled the flimsy out of the pile and skimmed it, muttering something foul he'd heard the Drazi representative say to Londo when he came across the clearances for Sinclair's vacation *and* flight, signed and approved by General Hague. *I don't BELIEVE this!* he thought, torn between admiration for their sneakiness and fury at the fact they kept him in the dark on the matter. He waved the flimsy at the two Minbari and said, "Okay, so he had permission. I still should have been told, and he should never have gone out there!" "Captain Sheridan, I do not have *time* right now for you to decide what should and should not have been done, or who is to blame for this," Kozorr said impatiently. "I have been charged with certain duties I must perform, and I am afraid this -- incident -- has put me in a regrettable, but unavoidable position. I had my orders to follow -- I have informed Satai Neroon of this -- mishap." Sheridan blinked, uncertain about the ominous tone Kozorr used. "Satai Neroon? Who is Satai Neroon? What does *he* have to do with Ambassador Sinclair?" *And,* he thought, frustrated, *Why the hell do I seem to be the only one who has no idea what's going on on my own station?!* He stopped short, seeing the distressed look on Delenn's face, and asked, "Ambassador, what is it?" "The fact that Neroon will be coming here is a problem, indeed, but it is minor compared to what may happen if Ambassador Sinclair should fall into the wrong hands, Captain . . ." Her voice was thick with emotion, and Sheridan could have sworn he saw her blinking away tears. "Do you remember the danger we were in before?" she asked, meeting his puzzled gaze. He nodded, knowing she had to be referring to his questioning of Morden. She closed her eyes for an instant, took a deep breath, then opened her eyes again and said, "Even *that* danger was nothing in the face of what could happen." Sheridan blinked. *Okay,* he thought, *so the Minbari like Sinclair, and he's an EarthForce officer and Earth's ambassador to Minbar. So? How could this possibly compare to the Shadows finding out we're on to them? He's just ONE man . . . Oh -- I bet I know -- if something happens to him now, the Minbari will blame it on us for not protecting him while he was here, and some hot-blooded youngster like Ansharr will start taking pot shots at us. Next thing y'know, we'd be at war, like the Narn and Centauri, and the alliance to fight the Shadows would disintegrate. I get it.* "Okay," he said aloud, "I think I follow you. Look, we're doing the *best we can* to find him -- we may have already lost Commander Ivanova in an attempt to rescue him." Delenn gasped at that, interrupting him. "I am sorry, Captain. I had no idea . . ." she said softly when he looked her way. "Yes, *she's* the only one we have a possible location on right now -- she's the one Garibaldi went out to fetch. But, as I said, we are doing everything we can. I will *not* have anyone coming in here and starting a war over this!" Delenn closed her eyes and thought, *Oh, John, you do NOT understand, do you . . .* then sent up a silent prayer to Valen to protect Jeffrey Sinclair from the darkness. Kozorr leaned forward and met Sheridan's gaze with a fierce scowl. "Captain Sheridan, I hope for your sake that no harm has befallen the Ambassador. Satai Neroon will be here shortly, and I fear you and he will not see eye-to-eye on the subject . . ." "That sounds like a threat, mister," Sheridan said. Kozorr shook his head and replied, "Merely an observation." Delenn opened her eyes again, knowing that a calmer mind was needed before the matter escalated *any* further. "Captain, Kozorr, please. We all want the same thing. Captain Sheridan is doing his best, as are you, Kozorr. You are both in terribly difficult positions, but you must not let this put you at odds to each other." They both nodded, Kozorr leaning back again and Sheridan relaxing. "My apologies, Ambassador," Kozorr said softly to Delenn. "Mine too," Sheridan added. "But please, tell me who this Neroon is." "Neroon was the aide of Shai Alit Branmer, a great war leader of the Star Riders' clan. When Branmer died, Neroon accompanied his remains to all outposts of Minbari in the sector, including Babylon 5. There were some . . . odd occurrences, and the situation was quite tense," Delenn said. She ignored the sideways glance Kozorr gave her and continued, "Since then, he was chosen to -- fill a vacancy -- in the Grey Council. He has -- very strong views on certain matters, and . . ." She glanced at Kozorr for an instant, then sighed and said, "and is known to anger rather easily." Sheridan did not miss the glance, and wondered just what it was Delenn *wasn't* saying in Kozorr's presence. "I see," he said, meeting her gaze. "And is this going to cause a danger to the station?" "I will do my best to see that it does not," Kozorr said. "But to do that, I must make preparations -- I will need to know everything possible about Ambassador Sinclair's flight and all rescue attempts. Perhaps if I can impress on him the efforts you are making, and leave out the fact that he kept the flight a secret . . ." "I think I can do that," Sheridan said, activating his computer screen. "You may also want to point out how many people have risked or are risk*ing* their lives to try and find him. If he cares about things like that." Kozorr glanced down at the jamming device, then at the door, then quietly said, "I am afraid, Captain, that he probably will not . . . He will say that they are only humans, after all . . ." Sheridan glared up at him, pausing his search of the station logs for a moment to deal with what he perceived as a direct insult. However, when he saw the apologetic expression on the warrior's face he realized Kozorr did *not* share that view, and had just been providing further information about Neroon. "Ah. I see . . ." he said, turning back to the computer. "Thank you, Kozorr. I will keep that in mind." A minute later he nodded and turned the screen to face Kozorr. "Okay, here's *all* the data we have on Zeta Squadron's patrol, Commander Ivanova's rescue wing, and now Mr. Garibaldi's rescue wing. The people in C&C had been checking for signs of trouble with any incoming traffic, but as you can see, no one saw anything. According to everything we have, Zeta Squadron has simply *vanished*." Delenn looked at Kozorr, then Sheridan, and said, "While you study that, there is one more source I must check. Perhaps we will have more luck there." Kozorr nodded and Sheridan looked at her questioningly. She met his gaze and her expression brightened for an instant, then she stood and hurried out. Once she was gone, Kozorr looked up at Sheridan and said, "She and Satai Neroon do *not* get along, Captain, and he does not like humans much either. The less -- familiar -- you and she appear to be, the better." Sheridan squashed his first impulse, reminding himself that he was supposed to be diplomatic, and simply nodded. *Anyway,* he thought, *if I slug him, I'll probably break my hand on that bony head of his . . .* He turned his attention back to the computer records and Kozorr's damage control plans. * * * To be continued . . . ---------------------------------------------------------------- Babylon 5 is copyright 1995 PTEN and Babylonian Productions. This is not intended to infringe on those copyrights. Patterns of Light and Shadows is copyright 1995 Isoline M. Sanderson --------------------------------------------------------------- Bye for now -- UVAlpha@aol.com From UVAlpha@aol.comSat Oct 7 23:38:42 1995 Date: Sun, 1 Oct 1995 22:31:04 -0400 From: UVAlpha@aol.com Reply to: b5-creative@blob.best.net To: b5-creative@blob.best.net Subject: Patterns of Light and Shadow part 15 Okay, this one's short -- basically because if I post the whole thing it'll end up being too long. Part 16 should follow sometime this week -- providing they don't decide to rescind the continuing resolution and I end up unemployed for a couple of months... I *hate* politicians! : P ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ After difficult maneuvering and some handy EVA work by one of the people in the transport crew, they got Ivanova's Starfury cockpit detached from the wreckage and loaded into the transport. Garibaldi grimaced as he saw the blasted ruin of another Starfury drift past, one of his wingmen following it in order to grapple and tow it back home. His own Starfury towed what was left of Ivanova's, and the rest of the rescue wing was dealing with similar burdens. Emotion twisted Garibaldi's insides -- Ivanova was the only one to survive -- the other five pilots were dead, and all six Starfuries were badly damaged. Some could be repaired, but at least two were nothing but scrap. And five good men and women were *dead*. *God . . . what the HELL did this?* he thought, swallowing hard past sudden constriction in his throat. *I should NEVER have let Jeff go out . . . all these lives . . .* "Transport One to Garibaldi, we've got her! She's okay. Couple nasty bruises -- mainly ribs -- and a sprained wrist, but she'll be okay." "Thanks, guys," Garibaldi answered, blinking back tears of relief. "Let's get out of here before whatever the hell it was comes *back*." * * * Sheridan met Garibaldi in the corridor on the way to MedLab, his angry expression softening a little when he saw the gurney behind him. "Ivanova?" Garibaldi nodded and said, "She's alive, and not too badly hurt . . . the other five weren't as lucky, Sir." He let the med team wheel Ivanova past and leaned closer to Sheridan. "Sir, whatever attacked them must have taken them apart in seconds. Initial scans of the wreckage show they never fired a shot . . ." Sheridan frowned, but said nothing. "I've got the download from Ivanova's flight recorder, Sir. Maybe that will show what happened . . ." Garibaldi took a deep breath and asked, "Any news on Zeta Squadron?" "Not a word, Mr. Garibaldi," Sheridan answered stiffly. "But, it seems the incident is going to have far-reaching repercussions. A member of the Grey Council is coming *here* personally to . . . deal with it." "I see," Garibaldi said, fidgeting uncomfortably under Sheridan's attention. "Do we know who?" "Yes, we do. He's the newest member of the Council, apparently. A warrior by the name of Neroon." "Neroon?!" Garibaldi blurted. "He's coming here -- oh boy. This is just *wonderful* . . ." "Yes, I thought the same thing," Sheridan said coldly. "I want to see Ivanova, and then I want to see you in my office. Bring that data crystal," he instructed. "Yes, Sir," Garibaldi said, thinking for a moment that facing Sheridan would be the *easiest* thing he was going to have to do in the near future. "Captain, I'd . . . like to see Ivanova too . . ." Sheridan nodded curtly and said, "All right," then turned and continued on to MedLab, Garibaldi right behind him. They walked in to Ivanova trying to sit up and Dr. Franklin forcibly restraining her. They hurried over to her bed in time to hear her demand, "Damn it, Doctor, I have to tell them!" "Easy, Susan," Sheridan said, helping Franklin hold her down. "Don't make me sedate you, Commander," Franklin threatened until she relaxed. Garibaldi hung back a little, looking over Sheridan's shoulder. "Captain," she said quietly, "It came out of nowhere -- one minute there was nothing, and the next I was hit and out of control. I don't know *what* it was -- I never saw anything other than big and black . . . For all I know, it never even saw us, we were just in the way . . ." Sheridan frowned, but when he spoke his voice held only concern, not anger. "It's all right, Susan, it's not your fault. Garibaldi said the initial scans of your wing's Starfuries showed they never even had a chance to fire." "They're all dead, aren't they," she said. It was not a question. Sheridan nodded grimly. "I'm sorry, Susan." "We found a Starfury thruster, but that was *all*. No other debris, no sign of a battle . . . Nothing." She looked past Sheridan to Garibaldi and said, "I'm sorry . . ." Garibaldi and Sheridan both opened their mouths to speak, but a sudden commotion at the door interrupted them. All heads turned to see Talia Winters leaning against the doorjamb. Ivanova's eyes widened when she saw her, and Garibaldi walked over to help her to Ivanova's bed. She was still pale and shaky, but the second she saw Ivanova awake, relief lit her face. Ivanova looked up at Franklin, then darted her eyes in Talia's direction. He stepped forward and said, "Okay, that's *enough*. All of you out, now." The stricken expression on Ivanova's face subsided as Garibaldi and Talia halted where they were. "Go on, now," Franklin encouraged when Sheridan didn't make any move to leave. Talia looked over at Ivanova and said, "I just had to know you were okay, Susan . . ." Garibaldi could hear the pain and fear in her voice, and frowned slightly. Ivanova looked up at Franklin again, then sighed and said, "Okay, I'll talk to Talia for a moment. Captain, Garibaldi, later?" Sheridan nodded and turned his attention to Garibaldi, while Franklin walked over to Talia. "Mr. Garibaldi, come with me." As Franklin helped Talia over to Ivanova's bed, he said, "You don't look too well yourself, Ms. Winters." Talia shook her head and said, "It's nothing some good sleep won't take care of -- I just had to see . . . Susan, when you --" She stopped abruptly and corrected herself, "When I felt -- you could barely breathe and everything hurt . . . And there was such a terrible feeling of being . . . alone." "I . . ." Ivanova paused, glancing up at Franklin, who immediately found an incredibly fascinating test tube to study. She looked back at Talia and lifted her hand to squeeze Talia's gently. "Thank you. You saved my life . . ." Talia's cheeks reddened slightly, but she said nothing. Ivanova gently released her hand and said, "Now, you go and get that sleep. You look like you need it. You're barely able to stand on your own." "Backlash," Talia explained, making an effort to stand straight and look steady. "The intensity of your -- of what I felt . . ." Ivanova nodded and said only, "Go rest." Talia nodded in response, seeing the tiny smile Ivanova couldn't quite hide. She turned and walked out, leaving Franklin studying his test tube. Ivanova glanced up at him and he put it down on the counter, returning his attention to her. "Not a word, Doctor," she warned. "Not a *word*." * * * To be continued... ------------------------------------------------------------- Babylon 5 is copyright 1995 PTEN & Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended to infringe on that copyright. Patterns of Light and Shadow is copyright 1995 Isoline M. Sanderson ------------------------------------------------------------ Like I said, this one's short -- more to come later this week! Enjoy! Isoline From UVAlpha@aol.comSat Oct 7 23:39:59 1995 Date: Tue, 3 Oct 1995 21:45:11 -0400 From: UVAlpha@aol.com Reply to: b5-creative@blob.best.net To: b5-creative@blob.best.net Subject: Patterns of Light and Shadow, part 16 Here's part 16 -- enjoy! ---------------------------------------------------------- Sheridan shut the door and activated the jammer on his desk, then said, "Have a seat, Mr. Garibaldi." Garibaldi sat obediently, his expression the most despairing Sheridan had ever seen from him. This was usually the man who tried to lighten even the darkest situation with his humour . . . *Maybe I'd better rethink my approach,* he thought. *After all, this is his friend who's lost and he's going to punish himself far worse than I ever could . . . But I am NOT going to take all the heat from the Minbari, too . . .* "Mr. Garibaldi, we have a situation on our hands that could get very ugly, very quickly. At this moment, one very pissed-off Minbari warrior is heading for Babylon 5, looking for an excuse to turn us all into space dust. On top of that, the Earth Ambassador to Minbar is missing and through some pretty tricky maneuvering on your part, I didn't even know he was *here* until all of this blew up in my face." "I'm sorry, Sir," Garibaldi said, thinking that he hadn't called someone 'Sir' so many times in one day since his tour as a Gropo. "Jeff wanted a vacation -- a real vacation. We were worried if someone knew he was here, he'd get inundated with VIP garbage, and he hates that kind of thing . . . I never thought it would be *this* bad . . . I -- oh hell." Garibaldi paused and took a deep breath, then continued, "Look, let's cut to the chase. It's my fault he's out there -- I should have told him no way. I didn't . . . I screwed up again, and I probably killed my best friend. Again!" He swallowed hard and said, "Hell, at least I'm consistent." Sheridan frowned, hearing the pain in Garibaldi's tone. "Michael . . ." "Yeah, I know, we still don't know what happened, he might be alive. Captain, if he's alive, but some of the things flying around out there have him, it . . ." Garibaldi trailed off, frowning thoughtfully. "What?" Sheridan asked impatiently. "No one's claimed they have him, and Ivanova says they found no sign of a fight . . . The -- things -- we saw on Mars vanished *completely* . . ." Sheridan paled as he saw the connection Garibaldi was making and took it a step further, but said nothing aloud. Garibaldi continued, "Shit. If he's been captured, Neroon could be the least of our troubles." Once again, Sheridan felt confusion overwhelming him. Sure, Jeffrey Sinclair seemed to be an ally in their struggle -- at the *very* least he believed in the conspiracy behind President Santiago's assassination -- but how could one man make such a difference? He shook his head and said, "Michael, I checked out the station records regarding Neroon. Do you have any idea how to handle him?" "Very carefully," Garibaldi answered distractedly, his mind awhirl with other matters. *If my hunch about that dream is right and Jeff is The One . . . then if They catch him, we're *doomed*! Before the war even starts, we'll have lost!* "I don't get it -- if Neroon hates humans so much, *why* is he going to be so pissed about Sinclair going missing?" Garibaldi thought, *That's a damn good question -- Jeff never did explain that . . .* but only said, "I'm not really sure." "Must have something to do with saving face -- if the Star Riders are responsible for him, Neroon wants to make sure they look good . . ." Sheridan rationalized. Garibaldi frowned thoughtfully but said nothing. "I spoke with Kozorr -- he's apparently one of the Ambassador's guards," Sheridan continued. "If we're careful, and Neroon's willing to listen to him, we might be able to keep this from getting *too* bad." "Uh - yeah. If Neroon's willing to listen to reason. I dunno -- that's a pretty big if . . ." "So I heard." Just then, Sheridan's Link beeped. He and Garibaldi looked at each other, then he shut off the jammer and answered, "Sheridan, go ahead." "Captain, this is Lieutenant Corwin. Sir, you'd better come up to C&C . . ." Garibaldi raised an eyebrow and Sheridan asked, "What is it?" "Sir, one of our Starfuries just came through the Jumpgate. It's on autopilot . . . Sir! It's Zeta Five!" "I'm on my way!" Sheridan answered. He and Garibaldi leaped to their feet almost simultaneously, Sheridan pocketing the small jammer, then they ran from the office. They arrived at C&C a few minutes later amidst a flurry of activity. Lt. Corwin was in the middle of coordinating the team bringing the Starfury in while two other techs were reviewing the scans. They hurried over to the observation window to watch, and Sheridan asked, "What have we got?" One of the techs answered, "Sir, the pilot's alive, but the readings are kind of -- odd." "Odd *how*?" Sheridan asked, frowning and glancing at Garibaldi. "I think she's *asleep* . . ." Garibaldi raised an eyebrow and mouthed, "Asleep?" Sheridan shrugged in answer and asked, "Have you alerted Dr. Franklin?" "He's on his way down to the docking bay," the tech answered. Sheridan nodded and asked, "Which one?" "Bay Nine, Sir." Sheridan caught Garibaldi's eye and said, "If anything happens, let me know *immediately*. And tell Dr. Franklin we'll meet him there." Garibaldi nodded and the two of them hurried out again, heading for Bay Nine at a run. By the time they arrived, Dr. Franklin was already there, examining the pilot. Garibaldi and Sheridan hung back a little to keep out of the med team's way and watched. Franklin took some readings, checked them and frowned, then took another series. "Dr. Hernandez, could you take a look at this?" he asked, moving aside to allow her access. When she took the readings they both looked them over and frowned. Sheridan couldn't stand it anymore. "Well, what's wrong?!" he demanded, looking from Franklin to Hernandez and back again. "Nothing," they both answered, a note of frustration echoed in their tones. "Nothing?" Garibaldi asked, moving forward. "So wake her up! We've got to find out what *happened* to them!" "That's the problem, Garibaldi," Franklin replied. "There's nothing wrong with her, but she won't wake up." "Wonderful," Sheridan grumbled. "We'll take her to MedLab for observation, and alert you the moment there's any change," Franklin said. Sheridan nodded and said, "Maybe when Talia's had some rest --" He was interrupted by the beep of his Link. "Sheridan, go ahead." Lt. Corwin's voice said, "Captain, another Starfury just came through the Jumpgate -- it's Zeta Ten, and the readings we're getting are a match to those of Zeta Five. We're bringing him in." Sheridan frowned, puzzled, and said, "Lieutenant, see if you can trace the trajectory, and alert me if anything else happens! Sheridan out." Garibaldi met his gaze, his expression confused but slightly hopeful -- if two of the Starfuries came back in one piece, maybe the rest were okay. Wherever the hell they were coming from . . . "Captain, if you don't mind my asking, what the heck is going on?" Franklin asked. Sheridan and Garibaldi looked at each other, then Sheridan turned to Franklin and answered, "To tell you the truth, I have absolutely *no* idea." "Well, at least we're all on equal footing then," Dr. Hernandez said, looking down at the sleeping pilot. A few minutes later the second Starfury was brought through the docking system, the pilot in the same condition as the first. They were readying both for transport to MedLab when Sheridan's Link beeped again. He and Garibaldi looked at each other apprehensively, then he keyed the Link and said, "Sheridan." "Sir," Lt. Corwin's voice said, "You're never going to believe this, but Zeta Two . . ." Sheridan's eyes widened and Garibaldi heard him mutter, "This is just *too* strange . . ." then he spoke into the Link, "The same as the first two?" "Yes, Sir," came the answer. He and Garibaldi could hear the puzzlement in Corwin's tone. "We're still working on the autopilot trajectory, but . . . Sir, I don't know, maybe I'm making too much of this, but they've come in *exactly* fifteen minutes apart . . ." Sheridan frowned and met Garibaldi's puzzled gaze, then spoke into the Link, "Follow the same procedure as the other two. And if any more come in, keep me informed but ship em on in. If Zeta One or --" He stopped, trying to remember if any of the records mentioned which Starfury Sinclair was in. "Zeta Seven," Garibaldi provided. "Zeta Seven comes in, let me know *immediately*." "Yes, Sir," Corwin answered. Once Sheridan shut off the Link, he asked, "What the heck is doing this? Every fifteen minutes?" "That's *damned* strange, Captain," Garibaldi observed, looking at the two unconscious pilots. "I've got no idea what's going on." Sheridan shook his head and said, "They don't *seem* to be harmed . . ." He turned to Franklin and said, "Why don't you have a team bring those two to MedLab and get ready for the next one." Franklin nodded and sent the two pilots off with some of his subordinates and Dr. Hernandez, and called to MedLab for replacements with more gurneys. Sheridan corralled one of the maintenance crew and requested downloads of each Zeta Squadron flight recorder and gun camera recording, brought to his office as soon as possible. Then he turned back to Garibaldi and said, "Maybe there's some sign of whatever's doing this on one of those recordings . . . But for now, we can't do anything here other than get in the way or ask the same questions everyone else is asking. We've got to prepare for the *other* problem . . ." Garibaldi nodded, thinking that he'd much rather stay with Franklin and deal with *that* puzzle than how to keep Neroon appeased. Sheridan said, "Doctor, we'll be in my office if you need either of us. There's another matter that needs our attention." Once Franklin nodded an acknowledgment, they turned and walked out. On their way back to Sheridan's office, the captain briefed Garibaldi on what he and Kozorr discussed. Garibaldi didn't say much in response, just mumbled the right words at the right time to show he really *was* paying attention. Even if his mind really was awhirl with worry for Sinclair and questions about why Neroon really *did* care about what happened . . . *Is it just because of the nice speech Jeff gave in praise of Branmer? Seems like an awfully small deal to earn this kind of . . . dedication from a warrior like Neroon,* he mused. *Or maybe,* he thought, *Neroon really is more enlightened than we thought, and he's one of the Rangers -- or at least believes in the fight against the Darkness . . . Or . . .* Garibaldi thought, a shiver running through him, *Maybe he really IS looking for an excuse to start another war -- like he threatened the last time he was here . . .* Suddenly, he realized the chill wasn't going away, and the area between his shoulder blades was twitchy, uncomfortable . . . In one move he spun and placed himself in front of Sheridan, and drew his PPG. Standing before him, with fury in his eyes, was a young Minbari warrior. Sheridan stopped and looked over Garibaldi's shoulder, just as Garibaldi said, "Ansharr, damn it, don't follow me!" Sheridan took a step closer, noticing as he did so that the young Minbari's lip curled in a snarl. "I see you two have met," he said to Garibaldi. "Yes, we have," Garibaldi answered, unwilling to offer more explanation. A moment later a second warrior rushed around a corner to join them. This one Garibaldi recognized instantly from his research through the arrivals logs. "Ah, and you must be Kozorr of the Star Riders." Kozorr placed a hand on Ansharr's shoulder and said something quietly. Sheridan and Garibaldi could see him visibly relax, and did so themselves once he no longer seemed ready to attack. "And *you*," Kozorr said, "are Mr. Garibaldi. It is -- good -- to finally make your acquaintance." "I only wish the circumstances were better," Garibaldi responded. He bowed to Kozorr, as both Sheridan and Ansharr blinked in surprise. "We share a very difficult job, Mr. Garibaldi. I am well aware how hard a task it can be, sometimes." Sheridan frowned, thinking, *Here we go again. Three lines into a conversation and suddenly I'm the only one who doesn't know what's going on. This is starting to piss me off.* However, he kept a tight rein on his temper and merely said, "Can we help you, Kozorr?" The warrior looked at him and said, "We have learned that some of your missing pilots have been recovered -- can you confirm this?" Sheridan opened his mouth, about to ask *how* they'd learned that, but realized asking was futile -- it was becoming more and more obvious that there was little on Babylon 5 that was *truly* secret. It made him very nervous, but right now it was the least of his worries. Instead, he answered, "Yes, it is true. So far we've recovered Commander Ivanova and three of the pilots from Ambassador Sinclair's wing." "But not the Ambassador?" "Not yet," Sheridan answered reluctantly. Just then his Link beeped and he said, "Excuse me for a minute," then spoke into his Link, "Sheridan." "Captain, just recovered Zeta Eight -- same as the others," Lt. Corwin said. "We're still having trouble with the autopilot trajectory." "What's the problem, Lieutenant? The computer must store the settings, why can't we backtrack it?" "Uh . . . I'm not really sure, Sir," Corwin answered nervously. "The data storage doesn't seem to be damaged in any way, but each time we try, we just aren't getting anything . . ." Sheridan heaved a sigh and said, "All right, keep trying. Sheridan out." He turned back to Kozorr and said, "I assume you heard that." "Yes. I am afraid I must admit I have no answers for you, Captain. Are you able to ask any of the pilots?" "No, they're all -- asleep," Sheridan said. "We haven't been able to wake them yet . . ." "All of them?" Garibaldi shook his head and said, "Ivanova isn't, but we found her out in space in the wreckage of her rescue wing -- she didn't come floating home on autopilot from some unknown place, fast asleep for some unknown reason." Kozorr frowned thoughtfully for a moment, then shook his head. "Quite a mystery . . ." "And one I *don't* like," Sheridan said. "Now, are we going to stay out in the corridor all day, or can we move this conversation to my office?" "My apologies, Captain," Kozorr said, bowing. The four of them continued on to Sheridan's office. * * * To be continued . . . -------------------------------------------------------------- Babylon 5 is copyright 1995 PTEN and Babylonian Productions. This is not intended to infringe on any of these copyrights. Patterns of Light and Shadow is copyright 1995 Isoline M. Sanderson --------------------------------------------------------------- Okay, folks -- look for part 17 possibly *before* this weekend! : ) Be seeing you -- Isoline From UVAlpha@aol.comSun Nov 12 15:48:30 1995 Date: Tue, 10 Oct 1995 01:24:10 -0400 From: UVAlpha@aol.com Reply to: b5-creative-owner@blob.best.net To: b5-creative@blob.best.net Subject: Patterns of Light and Shadow pt. 17 Okay, here's another short one -- I was going to put all of the next section in, but it kept getting longer & longer, with no good place to break it. So, here's pt. 17, and pt. 18 will hopefully be along Wednesday or Thursday. It's getting closer to the end, but I don't really know how long it's gonna be... Enjoy! ---------------------------------------------------------------- Another half-hour passed, during which Zeta Four returned, and Sheridan received the first set of downloads from the flight recorders. He was in the middle of trying to explain why he couldn't just show them to Kozorr when his Link beeped again. Kozorr raised a hairless eyebrow inquisitively as he saw Garibaldi check his chrono and frown. "Sheridan here, what is it?" "Sir, there's something *big* coming through the Jumpgate . . ." Corwin's voice said nervously. "Uh oh . . ." "'Uh oh'? What *is* it, Lieutenant?" Sheridan asked, glancing over at Kozorr. The warrior looked apprehensive, and Sheridan was almost certain he knew why. His suspicions were confirmed when Corwin said, "It's a Minbari war cruiser, Captain." "I'm on my way. Sheridan out." He stood and asked Kozorr, "Well?" Kozorr nodded and said, "That will be the *Ishum*, the Star Riders' primary war cruiser. Satai Neroon has arrived." Garibaldi, Ansharr, and Kozorr stood to follow Sheridan, and Garibaldi muttered, "Fun fun fun . . ." Then he added, slightly more seriously, "Do you think Neroon would be offended if we showed up in flak suits?" Seeing Kozorr's and Ansharr's grim expressions, he sighed and mumbled, "Forget I asked." Sheridan led the way out of his office with Garibaldi right behind him. Kozorr walked next to Garibaldi with Ansharr following him. As they rounded a corner, Sheridan stopped dead, Garibaldi nearly colliding with him. Before them, in the middle of the corridor, stood Ambassador Kosh. Out of the corner of his eye, Garibaldi could see Kozorr bow, deeply, to Kosh. A quick glance back told him Ansharr was mirroring him. When he turned his attention again to the Vorlon, he realized Sheridan had asked, "Is there something I can help you with, Ambassador?" Garibaldi felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as the shutter-like eye of Kosh's encounter suit widened. He got the sudden and disturbing feeling that the Vorlon was looking at him, not Sheridan. Then the odd musical sounds that were the Vorlon's native language vibrated through him, bringing a strange sense of relief even before the translation device intoned, "The sun still shines on the mountain." Garibaldi found himself bowing to Kosh as the Vorlon shuffled past, realizing as he straightened that his conscious mind hadn't participated in the exchange. If he *thought* about it, he was as confused as Sheridan obviously was, judging by the look on his face. On the other hand, on some deep instinctual level he understood *exactly* what Kosh had said. And the implications of that thought terrified him . . . Sheridan frowned and asked, "Mr. Garibaldi, just what the heck was that?" The spell broken, Garibaldi scrambled to collect his thoughts, found himself answering, "I'm not *really* sure, Captain . . ." He couldn't help glancing at Kozorr and Ansharr to see what they made of the exchange. Ansharr seemed rather unsure, but Garibaldi could see a slight smile, and something that looked suspiciously like a conspiratorial gleam in Kozorr's eyes. "Hmnh," Sheridan mumbled. "Let's not waste any more time. Sometimes I just *don't* understand Kosh . . ." When they arrived in C&C, Kozorr and Ansharr waited near the entrance as Sheridan and Garibaldi headed for the observation window. Lt. Corwin had just finished instructing the *Ishum* to move out of the path from the Jumpgate to B5, and was being met with reluctant compliance. As the *Ishum* moved to its new position, Sheridan saw Corwin glance at his chrono and begin counting down under his breath. When he reached zero, the Jumpgate flared again, and another of the missing Starfuries emerged. He checked the readings, then sent a maintenance team out to retrieve the fighter. "Down to the minute, Lieutenant?" Sheridan asked, once the retrieval instructions were issued. "Yes, Sir. Really strange, if you ask me . . ." Sheridan nodded his agreement, than asked, "Which one is it?" Corwin checked the readings and answered, "Zeta Nine, Sir." One of the other techs suddenly spoke up, "Excuse me -- Captain, the commander of the Minbari vessel is demanding to speak to you." Sheridan caught Kozorr's eye, then walked to his console with Garibaldi right behind him. Kozorr joined them there, with Ansharr continuing his haughty vigil at the entrance to C&C. Once Garibaldi and Kozorr were positioned so that they would be visible on-screen, Sheridan nodded and said, "Put him through." The Stellar-Com screen faded and was replaced with an image of a Minbari warrior. Garibaldi recognized Neroon instantly, his jagged crest and sneer unmistakable. Sheridan's first thought was that if the dictionary's definition of 'arrogance' had an illustration, this would be it . . . From what he could see, Neroon was slightly younger than Kozorr, but definitely had the look of a seasoned warrior. And the bearing of one who thought himself far superior to *any* representative of Earth. Sheridan wondered once again *why* the warrior Satai was so concerned about Sinclair. "You are Captain Sheridan?" Neroon asked, his tone as haughty as the angle he looked down his nose at them from. Sheridan answered, "Yes, and you must be Satai Neroon," mentally congratulating himself for his even tone. Neroon merely stared at him for a moment, then turned his attention to the two standing behind Sheridan's chair. "Kozorr, what is your report?" Sheridan bristled at the dismissal, but said nothing -- he *had* been warned about the warrior's attitudes . . . Garibaldi glanced at Kozorr, could see he was uncomfortable with Neroon's treatment of Sheridan, but knew he would do nothing. After all, he had to put up with Neroon's temper tantrums on a daily basis. Kozorr answered, "We do have news, Satai Neroon, but would prefer to deliver it in person." Garibaldi relaxed minutely, relieved that they wouldn't be discussing the matter over an open channel, with at least one NightWatch member in earshot. Plus, it took Neroon out of the war cruiser and made it less likely he'd blow them to bits if he got *really* angry . . . "So, he has not been found?" Neroon demanded. Kozorr glanced at Garibaldi, who had gone rigid with tension again, and said, "The matter needs to be discussed in detail, Satai." Then he added something in Minbari which caused Neroon to frown then heave an annoyed sigh. "Very *well*, I will join you *there*," Neroon said, his tone just short of angry. "Sheridan, I will be staying until this -- matter -- is corrected. You will have suitable quarters ready for me. *Out.*" Once the Stellar-Com logo replaced Neroon's face, Sheridan turned to face Kozorr and Garibaldi. "Just who the hell does he think he is?" he demanded. "We aren't managing a fraggin' *hotel*!" "Captain," Garibaldi murmured, looking around C&C, his eyes lingering for just a second longer on the female tech with the NightWatch armband. She seemed to be engrossed in some readings on her console, but . . . Sheridan's eyes followed Garibaldi's gaze, and he frowned for a moment, then his expression transformed into calm professionalism. Garibaldi was impressed by his control. Sheridan cleared his throat softly and said, "Garibaldi, you've dealt with the Satai before -- scare up some decent quarters in the Ambassadorial wing, and meet us in arrivals as soon as possible." "Yes, Sir," Garibaldi responded, thinking the placement of those quarters could be another potentially explosive situation, but unfortunately one they couldn't avoid . . . He turned and headed out to make arrangements. Lt. Corwin turned to Sheridan and reported, "Minbari flyer *Ninildu* is approaching. It will dock in Bay Ten." "Thank you, Lieutenant. Kozorr, if you will come with me, we'll go meet the Satai . . ." * * * To be continued... --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Babylon 5 is (c) 1995 PTEN & Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended to infringe on these copyrights. Patterns of Light and Shadow is (c) 1995 Isoline M. Sanderson -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Just as an aside, to show you how my mind works, I'd been trying for *months* to figure out what the Koshism should be. I knew the *idea* I wanted him to get across, but not the *words* to use. One afternoon I was *dead* tired, and was going to lie down to nap at lunchtime, & suddenly there it was. I had to get up, grab my notebook, & scribble it down so that I didn't forget it. I think this is a pretty similar method to what JMS uses...(He said he keeps a notebook near his bed, & if he wakes in the middle of the night with an idea, he scribbles it down & leaves it where he's going to step in the morning so he doesn't miss it.) Dunno if it's a sign of a sick mind or a creative one, but...what the heck -- if it works, I'll take it! : ) BTW, if anyone is interested in the meanings & sources of the Minbari ship names I've been using, well... just ask... Bye for now -- UVAlpha@aol.com From ISANDERS@OASH.SSW.DHHS.GOVSun Nov 12 15:48:46 1995 Date: 12 Oct 1995 16:04:16 EDT From: "Sanderson, Isoline M" Reply to: b5-creative@blob.best.net To: cschumac@waun.tdsnet.com, b5-creative@blob.best.net Subject: Patterns of Light and Shadow pt. 18 -- *CORRECTED* ---------------------------- Forwarded with Changes --------------------------- From: Isoline Sanderson at ~DCP Date: 10/12/95 2:20PM To: b5-creative@lists.best.com at INTERNET cc: cschumac@waun.tdsnet.com at INTERNET Subject: Patterns of Light and Shadow pt. 18 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Duh...I've got this note in my notebook to fix one part, and I forgot to. It's just replacing one name with another, and might not even be obvious, but it kinda doesn't make sense otherwise... Anyway, here's the fixed version! ______________________________ Forward Header __________________________________ Subject: Patterns of Light and Shadow pt. 18 Author: Isoline Sanderson at ~DCP Date: 10/12/95 2:20 PM I'm hoping this works -- I'm posting it from work, where I have the use of a monospaced typeface instead of the fun & games on AOL where I'm hoping I've got the spacing okay to not run into another line... Enjoy! -------------------------------------------------------------------- Patterns of Light and Shadow Part 18 by Isoline M. Sanderson Sheridan, Kozorr, and Ansharr waited in the arrivals area, at least one of them hoping that Garibaldi would join them before the *Ninildu* was finished docking. Sheridan didn't really want to be the only human there when Neroon arrived . . . A few minutes later Garibaldi ran up to them, panting for breath. When he was finally able to talk, he wheezed, "Damn -- I'm getting one hell of a workout today," as he leaned against the wall. "Did you get his quarters?" Sheridan asked, eyeing him with some concern until he caught his breath. "Yeah -- on Green Eight. It was the best we could do on such short notice, but at least he's not right next door to Delenn . . ." "Oh hell," Sheridan grumbled. "I didn't even think -- we probably should have her here to greet a -- VIP -- like Neroon . . ." "It is probably better that you do not, Captain," Kozorr said quietly. Sheridan decided that once this disaster was past, he was definitely going to have to ask Delenn what had *really* happened the last time Neroon had come to Babylon 5. He leaned closer to Garibaldi and said, "By the way, Zeta Six came back -- same as the others." Then he straightened and said, "Right," glancing up at a computer display for a moment. "Well, looks like the *Ninildu* is safely in the docking bay. Let's get this over with." He walked into the bay with a purposeful stride, Garibaldi and Kozorr right behind him. Ansharr again brought up the rear. Two Minbari strode towards them, both of them attired as Star Riders although the one in the lead was dressed slightly more ornately. The warrior following him wore a cloak almost identical to Kozorr's, and Garibaldi figured they held the same rank -- whatever that rank might be. From the way the warrior glanced around, obviously checking the surroundings for any sign of danger, Garibaldi surmised he must be Neroon's personal guard. *Funny,* he thought, *I would've thought Neroon's personality would be enough to keep things away . . .* Then the pair stopped before them and Neroon looked icily up at Sheridan. Garibaldi squashed the impulse to laugh at Neroon's obvious annoyance at actually being shorter than StarKiller'. "Captain Sheridan," Neroon acknowledged with the minutest of nods. "Mr. Garibaldi . . . This is Komarr, leader of my personal guards." Garibaldi could tell Kozorr and Ansharr were bowing deeply, but Sheridan had shown Neroon only slightly more respect than he'd received. After an instant of hesitation he decided to compromise and bowed respectfully, but not *too* much. "Satai Neroon," Sheridan said, glancing sideways at Garibaldi as he straightened. "If you and Komarr will come with us, we will brief you on what has happened so far. "I trust there has been *some* improvement since Kozorr's initial report," Neroon said threateningly. Sheridan bristled but continued down the corridor, ignoring the deliberate attempt to provoke him. Garibaldi made sure he walked next, separating Sheridan and Neroon. He could *feel* Neroon's annoyance as the warrior marched along behind him. Komarr, Kozorr, and Ansharr brought up the rear, Komarr constantly scanning the corridors around them for any signs of trouble. Although very alert, he seemed to be even more calm and stoic than Kozorr, if such a thing were possible, Garibaldi mused. *Then again,* he thought, *if he's old Antlers' personal guard, I guess it makes sense he's calm. Otherwise, Neroon would've been spaced long ago!* In answer to Neroon's comment, Kozorr once again said something in a Minbari tongue, and Neroon snorted. "People sneaking around on Babylon 5?" he asked, "Why I certainly can't imagine *that* . . ." Sarcastic venom practically dripped from his words, and Garibaldi raised an eyebrow. *Hmm . . . still sore about that, eh Neroon?* he thought. *Boy, this is gonna be *such* a thrill . . .* As they walked, Sheridan activated his Link and spoke into it, "Sheridan to C&C." A moment later, Lt. Corwin answered, "C&C here, Captain." "Lieutenant, I'm going to be unavailable for a while. If more of Zeta Squadron come back, please handle them the way you have been, and just send me a message regarding which ones they are. *Unless* Zeta One or Seven come in -- then call me *immediately*. If any of the pilots wake up, call me *immediately*. If anyone else wants to speak to me I will have to get back to them later, unless it's an emergency," he instructed. "Yes, Sir," Corwin replied. "And I mean a *real* emergency, Lieutenant, not Londo or G'Kar pissed off because one of them shut the transport tube doors on the other." "Yes, *Sir*," Corwin answered. Garibaldi could tell from his tone that he was trying to stifle a laugh. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Sheridan out." They arrived at Sheridan's office a few minutes later. After encouraging everyone to make themselves comfortable, Sheridan began to explain the situation to a very impatient Neroon . . . Garibaldi watched Neroon during Sheridan's briefing, calculating whether he'd be fast and strong enough to actually *stop* him if he launched himself for Sheridan's throat. From the way the warrior Satai twitched in anger and dug his fingers into the armrest of his chair, an attack didn't appear to be that unlikely a possibility . . . When Sheridan finished, Neroon stared daggers at him for a few seconds, then asked, "Captain Sheridan, is it common EarthAlliance practice to allow your ambassadors to enter dangerous situations while they are on *vacation*?" His tone was challenging -- Garibaldi watched his expression very carefully to gauge how well he took Sheridan's response. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Kozorr doing the same thing with Sheridan. *Hadn't thought of that,* he realized. *Captain's got a pretty short fuse sometimes too . . . This whole fraggin' room could blow if they really set each other off . . .* Sheridan straightened and said, "*Satai* Neroon, Ambassador Sinclair went out on a *routine patrol*. He did *not* go into a dangerous situation." Neroon stiffened, causi g a chain reaction around the room. Briefly, Garibaldi wondered which of them would end up with the worst tension headache at the end of all this. "*Captain* Sheridan, do not insult my intelligence. Any warrior knows that routine patrols are done because the *threat* of a dangerous situation *exists*." "The area they were patrolling is outside the reach of the current Narn and Centauri hostilities," Sheridan said stiffly. "I certainly hope you are not so *stupid* as to believe the Narn and Centauri pose the only danger in the reaches of space, Captain . . ." Garibaldi inwardly winced at that, but with a tiny glimmer of hope thought, *Maybe Neroon really *is* more enlightened than we thought . . .* "I am *well* aware of that, Neroon," Sheridan responded. His voice was suddenly so controlled that Garibaldi had to sneak a quick glance at Kozorr to see if they were heading for a meltdown. Kozorr didn't seem any more tense than the last time Garibaldi had checked, but it was more than obvious he did not like the tone the conversation had taken. Garibaldi's attention snapped back to Neroon when the warrior shifted in his chair and spoke again. "Then you truly must *be* stupid, Captain. If you know of the dangers and *still* allowed Ambassador Sinclair to fly out into it . . ." "I don't have to sit here and take your insults, *Satai* Neroon," Sheridan growled. "Ambassador Sinclair is a capable pilot and the squadron he went out with is our top fighting squadron. They're coming back in a mysterious fashion, but so far none of their fighters have been damaged and *none* of them are injured!" "If you truly *know* about what you *claim* to know about, StarKiller, then the fact that these people *vanished* and are now reappearing -- completely unharmed -- should be a matter for great *concern*, Captain. Not relief, and most *certainly* not rejoicing . . ." When Neroon called Sheridan StarKiller', Garibaldi could feel the temperature of the room plummet. However, it was the rest of what he said that caused everyone in the room to stop short and think. Garibaldi glanced at Sheridan, saw horror and pain reflected in his eyes for a moment. *Damn,* he thought, *Does Neroon mean like Morden surviving the *Icarus*? Shit. I hadn't even thought of that, and I bet Sheridan didn't either!* Then Neroon jumped to his feet and Garibaldi tensed, ready to intercept if necessary. "No, I can see *that* thought never crossed your mind! You give the Darkness an open invitation to come in here and kill the lot of you in your sleep!" Sheridan pounded his fist on his desk, causing Kozorr to tense, suddenly as ready to spring as Garibaldi. "Goddamn it, Neroon, I've had just about enough of your holier-than-thou attitude and your *insults*! I would've stopped the Ambassador if I could have, but it's too late. Now we have to find out where --" Neroon spun around and asked, "This is *your* station, as your people have reminded us since the beginning of the year. If you are in control here, why couldn't you stop the Ambassador?" He started pacing, unable to contain his fury and remain still. In the half-beat of silence following Neroon's question, Garibaldi thought, *Please, Captain, don't fall for this . . .* "Because the Ambassador is resourceful and went over my head, you fraggin' --" Garibaldi almost cringed as Neroon swung around and fixed Sheridan with a poisonous gaze. "You didn't know he was going? You -- didn't -- KNOW?!" *Shit*, thought Garibaldi, *We weren't going to let him know that, Captain . . . Oh hell. Okay, now's a good time to remember you're a diplomat . . .* Sheridan took a deep breath and met Neroon's furious glower as calmly as possible. "Ambassador Sinclair was granted the clearance for his flight by higher officials in EarthForce. *They* have enough confidence in his ability and in the pilots flying with him that they decided the squadron would be able to deal with any dangers they encountered." "Or they thought it would be a good way to dispose of him," Neroon observed. "Do not think I am unfamiliar with your officials' opinions of the Ambassador." "Well, the one who gave the clearance can be trusted," Sheridan answered indignantly. "Ah, such naive faith. Tell me, StarKiller, is this trustworthy official aware of *all* the dangers in the *darkness* of space?" Garibaldi frowned. From the way Neroon emphasized darkness', he knew the Minbari was talking about the Shadows. And unless Sheridan, who obviously knew a *lot* more about them than he'd let on, had told General Hague about them, then Neroon was, in essence, correct. *Damn it,* he thought, *It still all boils down to the fact that *I* know how dangerous it is, and I didn't try to stop him . . .* Sheridan didn't answer, knowing that the truth would only inflame Neroon more, and a lie wouldn't help them. Instead he met Neroon's sneering gaze with defiance. *So, what now, Satai?* he wondered. Neroon snorted and resumed pacing the office, his expression suddenly thoughtful. Garibaldi stole a glance at Sheridan, saw he was lost in thought himself. *Probably rethinking whether we can trust Zeta Squadron,* Garibaldi mused. *Damn, I hadn't thought of that . . .* When Garibaldi returned his attention to Neroon, he saw the warrior had stopped pacing, and was staring at him. *Uh oh . . .* "*You* . . ." Neroon said, his tone dangerously quiet. "*You* are the one who helped Sinclair arrange all this, aren't you. Your own *friend*, and you let him go out there . . ." He clenched his fists, his hands starting to shake ever so slightly. "*That* is why StarKiller did not know -- this is all *your* doing!" Suddenly, without telegraphing his move, Neroon launched himself at Garibaldi, his hands going straight for Garibaldi's throat. In trying to stand to defend himself, Garibaldi tripped over the chair leg and fell back, Neroon going down with him. Kozorr and Komarr rushed in to try to pull Neroon off him, and Sheridan rushed around his desk yelling, "Neroon! Damn it, act like a fraggin' adult!" When Garibaldi and Neroon hit the floor, there was a metallic clatter as something fell from Garibaldi's pocket. Garibaldi struggled to defend himself until Kozorr and Komarr succeeded in grabbing Neroon and hauling them apart. Ansharr watched from a slight distance, wishing he could join the melee. As Kozorr and Komarr held Neroon's arms, Garibaldi saw the warrior Satai glaring at the floor next to him. He glanced down and saw his Ranger brooch lying there, quickly picked it up before Sheridan reached him and helped him up. "Are you okay, Michael?" Sheridan asked as Garibaldi slid the brooch back into his pocket and straightened his uniform. Garibaldi glanced over at Neroon, who had gone from raging at Kozorr and Komarr for daring to stop him to oddly subdued and thoughtful. *Weird,* he thought. *What the hell was that? Did he want to beat up on Sheridan but couldn't because it's not his fault, so he took it out on me?* "Yeah, I'm fine, Captain. Satai," he said, looking at Neroon, "I'm *not* an enemy. Jeffrey Sinclair is a friend, and I feel terrible that all this has happened. If anything serious *has* happened, I *know* how grave a matter it could be. I *should* have stopped him, but I didn't. I can't go back and chan e that, much as I *really* want to . . ." Neroon relaxed his stance, and Kozorr and Komarr released his arms, then stood to one side, both watching warily. "I think -- if you've been speaking with the Ambassador at all -- that you know how important it is that we all work together . . ." He glanced aside at Kozorr and continued, "If we don't work *together*, we'll do their job for them." Kozorr nodded his agreement, and both Sheridan and Neroon frowned -- Sheridan wondering again what abrupt direction change the discussion had taken without him, and Neroon because he knew Garibaldi was right and couldn't bring himself to admit it. Sheridan righted Garibaldi's chair, then walked back around his desk and sat. *It's not like I don't understand the words they're saying,* he thought, frustrated again. *It's that everything seems to have some special significance to them -- like they're all members of some club. And I don't know the secret handshake . . .Dammit, I even know they're talking about the Shadows, but there's still something I'm missing!* He cleared his throat and asked, "Now that that's out of our systems, can we go back to discussing this like --" The beep of his Link interrupted him, and he caught Garibaldi's eye before he answered. "This is Sheridan . . ." "Captain," Lt. Corwin's voice said, "We just brought in Zeta One -- all of the Squadron is accounted now except Zeta Seven . . ." "I -- see. And his condition?" Sheridan asked, his heart suddenly pounding with adrenaline. "Same as all the others, Sir. Oh -- and the Starfury thruster Commander Ivanova's wing found came from his. Something sliced right through it . . ." *Wonderful,* Sheridan thought. Then he said, "Okay, tell Dr. Franklin we're on our way back down there, and we're bringing some guests." "Yes, Sir." "Well," Sheridan said, looking at the rather disorganized group standing before him. "If we can all behave like members of civilized races, we'll go down to the docking bay and see if we can get to the bottom of this . . ." "And if, like the others, this pilot will not wake up?" Neroon asked. "Then we take a look at the recordings from the Starfuries and hopefully find out what the hell is going on," Sheridan answered, relieved that Neroon seemed to be back under control. "The Starfuries have been returning at regular intervals, so with any luck in another fifteen minutes Ambassador Sinclair will return." "For your sake I certainly hope that he does," Neroon said disdainfully, straightening his clothing and giving an arrogant toss of his head. Komarr moved to stand behind him as the group readied to follow Sheridan. * * * To be continued... ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Babylon 5 is (c) 1995 PTEN & Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended to infringe on these copyrights. Patterns of Light and Shadow is (c) 1995 Isoline M. Sanderson ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Hopefully part 19 will be out before the week is over -- and hopefully this gets to the list instead of floating around in limbo. If you only get a partial, let me know & I'll send it again. Bye -- Isoline From UVAlpha@aol.comSun Nov 12 15:48:51 1995 Date: Sun, 22 Oct 1995 03:39:42 -0400 From: UVAlpha@aol.com Reply to: b5-creative@blob.best.net To: b5-creative@blob.best.net Cc: isanders@oash.ssw.dhhs.gov, cschumac@waun.tdsnet.com Subject: Patterns of Light and Shadow pt. 19 Okay, here's part 19 -- sorry for the delay -- I was not expecting all of the last minute sh*t that happened this week...(They killed the agency that my division is under, and we had to get *all* of the related personnel orders done by payroll cut-off this month. Too bad the other agencies who were picking up the people didn't have any of their paperwork done until the day before...) Bleah. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ----- Patterns of Light and Shadow Part 19 by Isoline M. Sanderson By the time they arrived at the docking bay, Franklin had Keffer ready to transport to MedLab. Sheridan headed straight for him while Garibaldi stopped the rest of them near the entrance. He could tell Neroon wanted to get closer -- probably to make sure Sheridan hid nothing from him -- but he managed to impress upon the impatient warrior the need for the med team to have maneuvering room. Neroon nodded his understanding but said nothing, leaving Garibaldi wondering if he *really* understood, or was just unwilling to cause another scene. While they waited, Kozorr walked closer to Garibaldi and said, "I apologize for the earlier incident." Garibaldi blinked and looked at him, then asked, "Why should *you* apologize? He's the one who blew up, and I *did* screw up by letting Jeff go out . . ." "Perhaps, but I was supposed to try to keep him from 'blowing up'," Kozorr explained. "The discussion was far too volatile." "Yeah, well, don't worry about it. Sheridan's like that, Neroon's like that. You get the two of 'em in a confined space, and that's gonna be the result. No matter *how* hard you or I try to stop it." He grinned as Kozorr nodded. "I am afraid that you are correct," the warrior admitted. Garibaldi stole a glance over Kozorr's shoulder, confirming the fact that Neroon's attention was focused elsewhere, and quietly asked, "So why *did* he stop trying to kill me?" Kozorr frowned and said, "I am not certain. All I can assume is that it is because you are one of the Rangers . . ." "Garibaldi, come over here!" Sheridan called, motioning to him from beside the gurney bearing Keffer's unconscious form. "Uh oh . . ." Garibaldi muttered before he left Kozorr's side and jogged over. He could feel the attention of all four Minbari zero in on Sheridan and him. "Yes, Captain?" "Doc says he's the same as the others, and nothing they've tried has revived any of them. How are our guests doing?" "Neroon's going to want some answers -- soon," Garibaldi answered. "We're going to have to check the Starfury downloads if we can't wake any of the pilots up." He stopped and looked uneasily at his chrono, then asked, "How much longer to the next fifteen minutes?" "That's the other problem," Sheridan answered uncomfortably. "We're going on two minutes late . . ." "Shit." Garibaldi tapped a button on his Link and spoke into it, "Computer, is there any activity registering in or near the Jumpgate?" Half a moment later, the computer replied, "Negative." "*Won*derful," Garibaldi groaned, looking back at Sheridan. "*Now* what?" One of the med teams asked for permission to take Keffer up to MedLab. Sheridan nodded and let them wheel him off, then looked over at Neroon and frowned. After a moment he returned his attention to Garibaldi. "We don't tell him yet and pray he doesn't push the issue. Check out the downloads and see if there's any answer there, see if they *finally* managed to backtrack the autopilot trajectory . . . If they have, maybe we can send a heavily armed squad out to wherever they came from and search for the Ambassador." "Captain, have you thought about what Neroon said? What if --" He paused, trying to figure out exactly how to word his question without giving away the fact that he'd looked at files Sheridan most likely hadn't wanted anyone to see . . . "This sleep is -- not natural. What if someone *has* done --" "Something unpleasant?" Sheridan cut in. "Yes, I've been worrying about that. If we don't find out how those pilots got back here, we have no way of knowing if we can trust them . . . Much as I hate to admit it, Neroon's got a point." "Maybe Talia can scan them, see if someone has tampered with their minds . . ." Garibaldi mused. "I don't know if we can do that without some kind of court order -- if they refuse the scan, which they're allowed to do . . ." Sheridan answered. "Well, we'd better see what happens *when* they wake up -- hell, for all we know, they'll *want* the scan," Garibaldi said. "When I couldn't remember who it was who shot me, *I* was willing to do it, even with the worry about having someone from Psi-Corps poking around in my head. Of course it was Talia . . ." he trailed off with a little grin. "Is there a *problem*, Captain?" Neroon called to them. Keffer was on the way to MedLab, and most of the remaining medical staff were packing up equipment and preparing to leave. It was fairly obvious that Sheridan and Garibaldi were discussing more than the unconscious pilot. "Hell. Get the downloads, and we'll go back to my office," Sheridan instructed. Garibaldi nodded and headed over to the maintenance crew while Sheridan returned to the waiting Minbari. "Neroon," he said when he stood before them, "The leader of the fighter squadron is in the same condition as the others. We're collecting the data from the gun cameras and flight recorders, and we'll see if we can find out what happened to them." "You will allow us to view these files even though we may learn some *great* Earth military secrets?" Neroon asked derisively. Sheridan nodded, ignoring the jibe. "I think the situation warrants it. Now, if you'll give me a moment to check a couple more things, we'll return to my office." Neroon nodded and stood aloof while Sheridan keyed his Link. "Sheridan to C&C." "C&C here, Captain," Corwin answered. "Have you been able to backtrack the autopilot yet?" Sheridan asked, trying to keep the impatience out of his tone. "Captain, we've tried everything we could think of, but it's almost like the data was erased as soon as they came through the Jumpgate." "Erased, Lieutenant?" "I don't know, Captain, it's just not *there* . . ." "So we have *no* idea where they came back from. Great. Okay, if Zeta Seven shows up, contact me *immediately*. Sheridan out." When he disconnected, he could feel someone staring at him. He turned around to face Neroon. "So, you have not found him, and you cannot trace where the others returned from," Neroon observed with a sneer. "You had better pray that those recordings shed some light on the subject, or I --" He stopped abruptly as Kozorr moved into hearing range, and just glowered at Sheridan until Garibaldi joined them a few minutes later with a fistful of data crystals. "Got em, Captain," Garibaldi reported. "Good. Let's get back to my office and find out what the *hell* is going on here." * * * When they rounded the corner into the corridor leading to Sheridan's office, they were surprised to find Delenn pacing outside. Her eyes widened and a smile appeared briefly when she saw Sheridan, but her expression suddenly returned to stiff formality when Neroon came into view. "Captain," she said softly as he walked up to her. "Ambassador -- I'm glad you're here," Sheridan said, remembering at the last second Kozorr's warning and keeping his tone coolly professional. "Ah, *Ambassador* Delenn," Neroon said, drawing himself up to his full height and looking down at her. She bowed deeply and responded, "Satai Neroon . . ." Something about Neroon's body language and the close scrutiny Kozorr gave their meeting set off all of Garibaldi's internal alarms. Compared to this potential meltdown, the meeting between Neroon & Sheridan was nothing. Garibaldi could almost feel the waves of fury coming from Neroon. "Um -- we ought to move this little party inside, Captain," he suggested, hoping Sheridan could see the sparks flying. "Uh . . . yeah," Sheridan agreed, seeing the tension building. "Ambassador, we were about to review the data recorded by Zeta Squadron to see what happened to them. It might help us find Ambassador Sinclair . . ." He opened his office and ushered everyone in, then locked the door behind him, hoping that if Neroon blew his top, being locked in the confined space wouldn't prove *too* deadly . . . "Captain," Delenn interrupted, "I met Kosh in the corridor. He gave me an important message --" Just then Sheridan's Link beeped, and Garibaldi heard him mutter, "It never fails." Then he looked at Delenn and said, "I'm sorry, Ambassador. I'll be with you in just a second." He keyed his Link and answered, "Sheridan." "Captain," Lt. Corwin said, his voice somewhat shaky, "You'd better get back up to C&C -- *now*." "What is it, Lieutenant?" Sheridan answered impatiently. "It's a Vorlon ship, Sir. A war cruiser . . ." Sheridan swung around, looking from Delenn to Garibaldi and back, then said, "I'll *be* there!" He keyed off his Link and addressed the group now giving him their full attention. "I don't know what this is about, but I have to get up to C&C. The rest of you can wait here or join me." "We will accompany you, Captain," Neroon said, brushing past Delenn to follow him directly. Komarr mouthed an apology to her and followed his lord while Garibaldi, Kozorr, and Ansharr waited for her to join them. As they rushed to C&C, Garibaldi said, "We saw Kosh too, Ambassador." "Yes, so he told me. You and I must talk later, Mr. Garibaldi," Delenn answered. *Hope it'll explain some of what's going on . . .* Garibaldi thought as he nodded. Sheridan slowed just before arriving at C&C, knowing it wouldn't do for the crew to see their captain rushing around like a madman. He walked to the observation window and looked out at the magnificent, deadly ship floating before the station. He'd seen the file of the Deathwalker incident and knew how powerful the Vorlon cruisers were, but to see a real one, right there in front of his station . . . He felt Neroon and the others joining him, and smiled to himself, secretly pleased, when even the arrogant Minbari stared in awe. "Have they tried to hail us, Lieutenant?" Sheridan asked as he studied the strange ship. He knew the massive pincer-like arrangement at the front of the huge ship was some kind of weapon generator. It was powerful -- deadly -- and it was also the extent of his knowledge about the ship. "No, Sir." "Then we'll make the first move," Sheridan said, nodding to Lt. Corwin. While they hailed the Vorlon cruiser, Garibaldi took a few moments to check the reactions of the Minbari to what was transpiring. Komarr stood off to one side, eyes warily sweeping C&C, although Garibaldi did catch him taking one peek at the Vorlon cruiser. Ansharr stood next to him, and Garibaldi realized the younger warrior was imitating every move and posture of the older. Studying them side-by-side like that, Garibaldi was suddenly struck by the similarities. *My god -- I think I've found the pit-bull puppy's sire!* he thought, almost amused now by Ansharr's earlier behaviour. *No wonder he's such a blowhard brat,* he thought with a grin. *Has to try to live up to his dad's reputation as leader of the big cheese's personal guards . . . Poor kid.* Delenn stood to Garibaldi's left, looking out at the mottled yellow ship with an expression he couldn't quite place. Something similar to awe, but not quite . . . Kozorr stood to his right, a look of relief on his stern features. Now that he was somewhat relaxed, Garibaldi could see how drawn and tired the warrior was. Last, but definitely not -- in his own mind, that was -- least, Neroon stood to the right of Kozorr -- as far as he could get from Delenn and still look out the observation window. Garibaldi was relieved to see that even a 'shoot first and just forget the questions' type like Neroon was humbled by the awesome beauty and sheer power of the Vorlon ship. Garibaldi turned his attention to the ship itself, and to what Sheridan was saying. The captain had just given them permission to come aboard, and the musical tones followed by the translation accepted the invitation. As Garibaldi watched, a section of the cruiser's skin became elastic and dipped inward. A Vorlon transport emerged from the opening in the cruiser's side and headed towards the main docking entrance. Once the transport cleared the cruiser, Garibaldi saw the cruiser's skin return to its original shape with no sign of an opening of any kind. *That is *so* strange,* he thought. The transport entered the main docking bay and Garibaldi reluctantly returned his attention to Sheridan. "Where're they going?" "Bay 13," Sheridan answered with a slight grin. "Let them catch up on old times -- or something like that." Delenn softly cleared her throat and Sheridan brought himself back to the matter at hand. "They requested that Ambassador Kosh see them alone first, and said he already knows," he explained to the group standing around the observation window. "Ambassador Delenn, did you say you know what this is about?" "If Kosh has already spoken to you, then you have the same information I do. We should go to the docking bay and await Kosh's instructions." Sheridan frowned and said, "Kosh spoke to us, but it didn't make much sense . . ." Neroon raised a hairless brow and said, "I was not present when the Vorlon spoke. What *was* this cryptic message of his?" Kozorr opened his mouth to answer, but Sheridan beat him to it. "Something about sunshine and mountains . . ." Neroon narrowed his eyes and said, "It *obviously* lost something in translation . . ." Garibaldi frowned and thought, *You got *that* right . . .* Sheridan frowned at Neroon but didn't respond to his jibe. Instead he turned back to Delenn and said, "Well, we'd better get down there and see what's going on . . ." To be continued . . . ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------- Babylon 5 is (c) 1995 PTEN & Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended to infringe on these copyrights. Patterns of Light and Shadow is (c) 1995 Isoline M. Sanderson ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ --------- Hopefully more to follow early next week! Bye -- Isoline From ISANDERS@OASH.SSW.DHHS.GOVSun Nov 12 15:49:06 1995 Date: 01 Nov 1995 16:13:16 EST From: "Sanderson, Isoline M" Reply to: b5-creative-owner@blob.best.net To: b5-creative@blob.best.net Cc: uvalpha@aol.com, cschumac@waun.tdsnet.com Subject: Patterns of Light and Shadow pt. 20 Well, here's hoping this works -- I haven't seen a message from this list since... Friday? I think... ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Patterns of Light and Shadow Part 20 by Isoline M. Sanderson As he led them to Bay 13, Sheridan pondered the latest development. Delenn had mentioned one more source', and the strangeness surrounding the returned Starfuries and their pilots was just odd enough to be the work of the Vorlons . . . And their inability to backtrack the autopilot trajectory made it obvious that whoever or whatever had returned them did *not* want to be found. Sheridan frowned, hoping that he was right -- the alternative was just too unpleasant to imagine. They arrived in Bay 13, each of them looking in awe at the two elegant Vorlon transports. There was a strange kind of feeling in the docking bay, almost as if some subsonic vibration were filling the air. Garibaldi frowned, seeing some of the others looking around. He turned to Kozorr and asked, "Do you feel something?" The Minbari warrior nodded slightly and motioned in the direction of the ships. "I think they are -- singing." Garibaldi looked back at the ships and muttered, "Great. Now I'm going to have dreams with *both* of these things in." Sheridan glanced back at him for an instant when he overheard, wondering what kind of Vorlon-induced dreams he was referring to. His own dream had faded with time, but he still knew Kosh had done *something* to cause it. Maybe the right words would trigger some memory of it . . . He frowned, thinking, *The Vorlons seem to be getting awfully involved in things all of a sudden . . . Just what are they up to? Is this all preparation for the War?* They finally stopped at the end of the walkway, and Sheridan said, "I thought Kosh was supposed to be here." Delenn looked off to one end of the visiting ship and said, "I think he is here -- inside there." She pointed out an area of the ship's skin that was starting to dip inward, like the skin of the war cruiser when the transport had emerged. Instead of Kosh, however, multiple pseudopod-like tentacles grew from the edge of the indentation and reached down inside the ship. The group watched, fascinated, as the tentacles emerged again, wrapped around something. They gently lowered their burden to the walkway surface and slowly unwrapped from it. There was a collective gasp as the tentacles withdrew to reveal a pile of twisted metal, machinery and plastic, one of the larger pieces easily identifiable as part of a blasted Starfury cockpit canopy . . . Garibaldi felt his knees buckle, barely registered Kozorr's surreptitious move to support him. His mind was awhirl, memories of another twisted and blasted pile of wreckage from twenty years ago - another dead friend - another mistake he'd made threatening to drown him in the panic gripping his heart. *Ohgod, that was Zeta Seven,* he thought with painful certainty. *But . . . I thought Kosh said Jeff was still --* He paused, closing his eyes in an attempt to shut out the sight of the debris. In his mind's eye he saw Kosh, standing there plain as day. The Vorlon said, "The sun still shines on the mountain . . ." Just as it had before, the musical sounds of Kosh's native language soothed Garibaldi's fears, and he opened his eyes again to see Sheridan kneeling by the debris, inspecting it. "Jeff's not dead," Garibaldi said, not realizing he'd spoken aloud until Sheridan turned back to stare at him. At the same time, Neroon moved forward, only to be blocked from reaching Garibaldi by a very stern-faced Komarr. Kozorr, still standing close enough to Garibaldi to brush his shoulder when he moved, turned to his lord and shook his head. "Listen to him, Satai," Kozorr said. "He *knows*. It was he the Vorlon spoke to earlier." At that, Sheridan frowned thoughtfully and studied Garibaldi's face. Now that he thought about it, Kosh *had* been looking right at his security chief. *And none of the discussion about the dangers in the 'darkness' of space fazed him much, either,* Sheridan thought. *Just how much does he know about what's going on?! If that operation he and Sinclair stumbled across on Mars was really the Shadows, and those ships were the same as the one Keffer saw in hyperspace . . . Exactly *how many* people know about things we're supposed to keep secret?! And how does he get 'Jeff's not dead' out of 'the sun still shines on the mountain'? What on earth is the connection between the two, other than it's still -- light. Of *course*!* He stood and walked over to Garibaldi, who still looked extremely pale as he eyed the wreckage of Zeta Seven. Sheridan glanced over at Delenn, whose brow was furrowed with concern, then back at the wreckage for an instant. Even if Sinclair were alive, what kind of condition would he be in? Delenn moved to stand at his side, ignoring the sour look Neroon shot them. "Mr. Garibaldi?" Sheridan reached out to squeeze Garibaldi's shoulder -- he felt awkward doing it, but knew the man needed some support. He knew he would have if it were his best friend's fighter lying in pieces on the walkway . . . Garibaldi cleared his throat and said, "I -- I'm okay, Captain, Ambassador." He was about to say something more when he heard a gasp come from behind him -- Ansharr, most likely. He glanced back at the Minbari, then followed their startled gazes back to the pile of debris. Sheridan and Delenn spun, following Garibaldi's gaze, to see Kosh standing next to the debris. He hadn't been there an instant earlier, and although they had been distracted, they hadn't heard him exit either ship or approach them. "Ambassador Kosh?" Sheridan and Garibaldi asked simultaneously. Delenn merely bowed. Kosh inclined his headgear in acknowledgment, then said, "The eclipse has been undone." Delenn clasped her hands over her heart and whispered, "Thank Valen!" Sheridan and Garibaldi stared at Kosh, Sheridan's brow creased again in confusion. Garibaldi's eyes widened as understanding struck him, the full implication of Kosh's words sending an icy chill through him. They had come *that* close . . . Suddenly Garibaldi and Kozorr were shouldered aside as Neroon finally escaped Komarr's restraining grasp. He stopped a few feet from Kosh and demanded, "If the darkness lost this battle then *where* is Ambassador Sinclair?!" The docking bay was suddenly deafeningly quiet and even Garibaldi found himself holding his breath, waiting to see if Kosh would actually be angered by Neroon's audacity. After about five tense, breathless seconds, the subsonic thrum of the ships resumed, and Kosh 'looked' down at Neroon. "Time has its own course," the translation device provided as Kosh spoke. Garibaldi could see Neroon's sureness fade a little, the rigid stance soften finally, just before Neroon took a step back. He wondered, *Did Neroon understand that the way I understood his other statements? I don't get it -- I *know* his translation device is missing all kinds of little details, but I don't know *how* I know. I don't speak Vorlon . . .* His musings were interrupted, however, by the skin of the visiting transport dipping inward again. This time the tentacles came from inside the ship, bearing a mass that was roughly man-sized. It appeared to be encased in the same kind of energy field that Dr. Jacobs had been when they'd hidden him on Kosh's ship. Garibaldi noticed that this energy field appeared to be brighter -- whatever that meant. The tentacles gently lowered their burden to the walkway and withdrew. No one saw their return to the ship or the closing of the transport's skin -- all attention was focused on the glowing mass on the deck. Kosh said something which the translator did not even translate, and the glowing covering shimmered and appeared to dissolve, revealing Ambassador Sinclair. He was still wearing the flight suit, although the right arm and side appeared to be singed and torn. He was not wearing his helmet, and his face was smudged, a bruise darkening his left cheekbone, but he looked peaceful and relaxed. Garibaldi and Neroon both practically dove to their knees beside him, Kozorr also starting to follow until his rational mind kicked in and realized there was little room. In the midst of checking vitals and satisfying themselves that Sinclair was indeed alive, Garibaldi and Neroon looked up, meeting each others' gaze. Although he was determined to not let the Minbari intimidate him, Garibaldi could almost *hear* the accusation that glittered in Neroon's eyes. Behind them, Sheridan called Dr. Franklin on his Link, ordered him to bring a team down to Bay 13 on the double; then stood by, gently laying a hand on Delenn's shoulder. He could tell from her distressed expression that she needed someone to lend support, and Neroon or no Neroon, he wasn't about to abandon her to her worries. Sheridan also noticed that Komarr and Ansharr were having a heated discussion, the younger warrior glowering with fury when he looked in Garibaldi's direction. Komarr said something that quieted Ansharr, and although displeasure was plain in his tone, unlike the younger warrior he didn't seem to be directing it anywhere specific. As Garibaldi knelt next to Sinclair, part of his mind registered the chaos around him. Neroon knelt on the other side of Sinclair's unconscious form and was alternately checking vitals and glaring daggers at Garibaldi. All Garibaldi could do was kneel there and grip his friend's hand as emotions threatened to overwhelm him. The near-panic he'd felt while Sinclair had been missing washed away in the flood of relief to see him alive, but there was still the hard lump of guilt weighing on him -- none of this would have happened if he had kept Sinclair from going . . . And there was Neroon, and probably Ansharr behind him, putting all of the blame soundly on him . . . Then there was the terror he didn't quite dare to analyze. It danced around the edges of his mind, little sharp icicle-ended arachnid legs scratching at the door of his rational mind trying to get in. He steeled himself and let the thoughts come . . . *If Jeff is The One, then he's the uniting force for good -- that's why he's on Minbar and these warriors are willing to fight for him. If he's The One, then he's somehow connected with Sector 14 and its weird time rift -- and if they were attacked by the Shadows, and the Vorlons saved them . . . then the Shadows were *waiting* for him to return to Sector 14 . . . They know who and what he is, and how dangerous he is to them, and they tried to stop him! And they nearly *got* him! If the Vorlons hadn't 'undone the eclipse', the Shadows would have him!* A violent shiver passed through him and he slammed the door on those thoughts, pushing them away into a corner where he didn't have to hear them. For an instant he got the feeling that someone was watching him, but as the unpleasant thoughts faded, so did the sensation of being observed . . . "Mr. Garibaldi?" a voice intruded. He looked up, surprised, to see Dr. Franklin and a med tech. "Huh?" he asked, realizing some time must have passed -- he hadn't heard Franklin's arrival, or anything anyone may have said. Neroon was already on his feet again, and Sheridan was kneeling by Sinclair now. "Oh -- sorry . . ." "You okay, Michael?" Sheridan asked quietly, studying his face even as he nodded. He didn't really *look* okay -- more like he was going into shock -- *Or,* Sheridan mused, *is already there.* "Come on, Mr. Garibaldi," Franklin coaxed, sidling between Sheridan and Kozorr to Garibaldi's side. "I need you to move so I can get the ambassador to MedLab." Garibaldi nodded and stood, moved out of the way as the med team moved in to put Sinclair on a gurney and get him to MedLab. Garibaldi looked around at the others, realizing that Delenn had walked a short distance off and was talking to Kosh. As she and the Vorlon glanced in his direction, his memory suddenly brought up an image of them walking down the hall, Delenn agitated and glancing back at him. *She knows something,* Garibaldi realized. *And I think she knows that I know . . .* To the other side stood Ansharr, glowering sullenly at him while Komarr and Neroon spoke quietly a few feet away. Komarr appeared to be gradually talking some sense into Neroon, but how long that lasted was unknown. Kozorr walked to his side and said, "They're ready to bring the ambassador to MedLab. We will try to keep Neroon from making too big a scene. Ansharr wanted to blame you for all of this, but Komarr has explained the ambassador's quirks to him a little more. I believe he is willing to let you live now." "That's big of him," Garibaldi quipped, not realizing until after he'd said it that he had spoken aloud. "Ahh . . . sorry. Hell," Garibaldi said, looking Kozorr in the eye, "Jeff's bull-headedness or not, I *should* have tried to stop him . . ." "You cannot change what has happened. Now you should go to be with him -- you know how he is -- while you are busy blaming yourself, he will be blaming himself . . ." "The Vorlons saved him . . ." Garibaldi said, glancing at the transports. "They know about the darkness, and they know how important he is . . ." Kozorr followed his gaze, watching the mottled patterns change, and finally answered, "The Vorlons know quite a lot . . ." Thinking back over the events of the past couple of years, Garibaldi had to nod in agreement. Then he said, "Too bad they only share their knowledge *after* things blow up in our faces . . ." Kozorr said nothing in answer to that, and finally Garibaldi sighed and said, "And a hell of a lot more people know about the darkness and all of the rest of this than they've been letting on." "Secrets have a way of getting out, Mr. Garibaldi," Kozorr said. "Right now, preparations are still underway -- if the wrong people were to learn of what is being done, what little advantage we have would be lost forever." Garibaldi nodded, his expression grim, glanced over at Sheridan who was now talking with Kosh and Delenn, and said, "Yeah. And I've been keeping quiet on it myself, so I can't really blame anyone else . . ." *Sheridan knows about the Shadows -- that's more than obvious after what he saw in Morden's cell and the things he and Neroon were saying -- and Delenn too. Now I'm even *more* convinced that she's the Rangers' other contact. When all this is over, we've gotta talk . . .* He turned away from the Vorlon ships and headed towards Sheridan and the two ambassadors. Kosh said something that must have alerted them, because Delenn and Sheridan simultaneously turned to face him. "Captain, I'm going to MedLab to see how Jeff -- Ambassador Sinclair -- is," Garibaldi said as firmly as he could manage. "I'm sure that considering things he's said so far, Neroon will want to see him too . . ." "We should all head up there," Sheridan agreed. "I want to get some answers about what happened out there . . ." Delenn looked past Garibaldi at the cluster of Minbari warriors, Neroon once again beginning to show signs of annoyance. "It would not be wise to have so many visitors at once," she said softly. Garibaldi followed her gaze and snorted slightly. "I don't think he's gonna take 'no' for an answer." He jumped slightly when Kosh said, "He *will*." The Vorlon suddenly turned and walked away, heading out of the docking bay. Delenn frowned and looked up at Sheridan, puzzlement creasing her brow. "I had better follow, Captain," she said, then hurried after Kosh, leaving Garibaldi and Sheridan behind, stunned momentarily. "Captain, is there a *problem*?" Neroon asked, suddenly heading for them before his companions could stop him. Kozorr and Komarr looked at each other briefly, and Garibaldi saw Kozorr shrug wearily, then follow Neroon. Komarr and Ansharr followed him, and the group arrived almost on Neroon's heels. Neroon continued, "The ambassador has been found and has been taken to your medical facility, so why are you standing here *talking*?" "We were about to go there, Neroon," Sheridan explained, "If you will come with us . . ." * * * To be continued . . . ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Babylon 5 is (c) 1995 PTEN & Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended to infringe on these copyrights. Patterns of Light and Shadow is (c) 1995 Isoline M. Sanderson ---------------------------------------------------------------------- From ISANDERS@OASH.SSW.DHHS.GOVWed Nov 15 18:05:20 1995 Date: 14 Nov 1995 15:40:15 EST From: "Sanderson, Isoline M" Reply to: b5-creative@blob.best.net To: cschumac@waun.tdsnet.com, b5-creative@blob.best.net Subject: Patterns of Light and Shadow part 21 (finally!) Patterns of Light and Shadow Part 21 by Isoline M. Sanderson --------------------------------------------------------------------- Susan Ivanova looked at the MedLab staff running around and heaved an irritated sigh. *I've been in here for hours and they're just too busy to even come by and release me!* After another minute she sighed again and threw the blanket off, then sat up carefully. She took a cautious deep breath, relieved to find that while her ribs were somewhat tender, there was no difficulty inhaling. She knew she must have screamed her throat raw and bruised herself on the cockpit restraints when the -- whatever it was -- hit her, but she was considerably better off than she could have been. Considerably better off than five other pilots -- people for whom she'd been responsible -- were. She looked across the room at the isolab area and felt her throat constrict when she saw a covered body on the table. *Damn . . .* She closed her eyes for a moment, squashing the emotional response that was trying to force its way out. *Damn it, I am a Commander in EarthForce -- I'm not going to break down here!* Once again under control, she opened her eyes and looked around the immediate area for her clothes. Unable to see them, she sighed again and carefully stood, wrapping the MedLab gown and one of the blankets around herself. *It doesn't matter where you are, medical facilities are *always* cold,* she thought, restraining a shiver. She padded out to the busier area and caught Dr. Hernandez' attention. The somewhat harried woman frowned, her lips compressing into a thin line, and walked over to her. "Commander, you shouldn't be --" "Doctor, I'm not that badly hurt -- I was conscious when Dr. Franklin examined me, and I know enough first aid to know that all I'm doing here is taking up space," Ivanova explained crisply. "You need more time, and one less patient will at least help a little. And I have things I need to do. May I please be released, and could you tell me where my clothes are?" Dr. Hernandez sighed and walked to a cabinet, withdrew Ivanova's clothes and flight suit, then said, "I'm sorry, Commander. We've been running test after test on the other pilots -- I should have been by to okay you a while ago, but . . ." Ivanova nodded and said, "I've been watching. *Any* idea why they won't wake up?" "Not yet. Hell, at this point, for all I know, it could be *magic*!" Hernandez snorted. She checked a few items on Ivanova's chart and said, "Go easy on your wrist for a day or two, Commander." "Yes, Doctor," Ivanova replied, carefully pulling on the soft, insulating shirt that went under the flight suit. For a moment the memory of floating helpless in the chill of space gripped her, and she restrained another shiver. Then she forced the memory back and continued to dress, while Dr. Hernandez hurried off to check the results of another useless test. She strode out of MedLab and headed for the crew quarters, knowing that while what she *wanted* to do was get back to C&C and throw herself into her work, what she *needed* to do was unwind and give herself a little time to recover. Pushing herself to exhaustion would not help *anyone*. The first priority was to get a change of clothes -- something warm and comfortable. Then there was someone she had to see . . . She shivered slightly and huddled deeper into the warm sweater as a chill skittered down her spine. Ringing the door chime again, she frowned and thought, *She's probably getting the sleep she needs, and now I'm interrupting that . . .* She sighed and turned to leave, when Talia's voice came from the intercom, "Yes?" "It's Susan -- if you're sleeping, I can come back --" The door slid open and Talia, dressed in her nightgown and a heavier robe than her usual, said, "Susan, please come in." Ivanova entered, then stood in the middle of the room, looking around while Talia shut the door and keyed the lock. As she looked around, Ivanova realized the decor was not what she'd been expecting, the walls done in deep greens and blues, with dark wood furniture and soft lighting. The whole effect was calming, but also a little isolating, and Ivanova wondered briefly if it gave Talia some small psychological advantage in blocking out all the minds around her -- or did it only serve to keep her isolated as the gloves and PsiCorps brooch did? "Susan?" Talia asked softly, walking to her side, "Are you all right? You're shivering . . ." "There's a chill that won't quite go away," Ivanova answered quietly. She turned to face Talia and tried to smile, but knew it wasn't very convincing. Talia merely nodded and said, "I know what you mean," and pulled her robe a little tighter. "It makes me wish I had my old flannel nightgown . . ." She laughed a little and Ivanova smiled a little more at the image. "Would you like some tea?" Talia asked, heading into the little kitchenette. "Thank you -- tea would be wonderful," Ivanova answered, wondering if she should follow or not. Talia said, "I thought so. Your throat is sore, isn't it . . ." and then suddenly fell silent. Ivanova frowned for a moment, then joined her in the kitchen. "I was about to --" She paused, wondering if she was really doing the right thing, then sighed and continued, "Damn, it must be reflex by now." She smiled wryly and said, "I was about to ask you how the hell you knew . . ." Talia looked at her and said, "You know you don't have to be afraid of me or hate me, or anything like that . . . I thought we'd gotten past all that." Ivanova sighed and nodded, then said, "I know. And I'm sorry . . . I think it's gotten to be a defense mechanism. Things get too tense or people get too close, and I . . ." "You try to drive them away," Talia finished for her with a small smile. "I know . . . 'I'm in the middle of fifteen things, all of them annoying.' You don't know how often I've wished I could use that phrase with some of my clients here." She laughed, and Ivanova laughed with her for a moment or two. "Really?" Ivanova asked when they fell quiet again. "*Really*," Talia answered. "There's nothing worse than working a Drazi business deal when I've already got a headache . . ." She rolled her eyes and Ivanova laughed again. "I can imagine -- I've had to deal a little too closely with Drazi 'negotiations' myself," Ivanova answered, still smiling. Talia poured hot water into two mugs and handed one to Ivanova. "Apple cinnamon -- I hope you like it." "It smells *wonderful* -- now what we need is a nice fireplace to sit in front of and an old afghan to curl up in," Ivanova mused. "That sounds wonderful . . ." Talia said, "but unfortunately I don't have either . . . I've got a nice warm quilt, though." Before Ivanova could say anything, Talia walked from the kitchenette. When Ivanova followed, she found the telepath pulling a deep green quilt from where it lay, folded, on the foot of her bed. She turned back to face Ivanova and smiled, then asked, "Would you like to sit on the couch with me?" Ivanova nodded, suddenly unwi ling to trust her voice, and walked to the couch. Talia sat, holding out her arm with the quilt in hand. When Ivanova sat beside her after placing her teacup beside Talia's on the table, Talia wrapped her arm and the quilt around her, pulling her into a gentle embrace. Ivanova leaned into Talia's warmth and sighed, and for a while they both just sat, bundled in the warmth and comfort of the quilt and each others' arms. Finally, Talia murmured, "I was so frightened . . . I thought you would be lost . . ." "You saved my life, Talia," Ivanova said quietly. "I . . . Thank you. If you hadn't been there . . ." She swallowed, unwrapped herself a little and fetched her tea, then drank some, sighing as the warm liquid eased some of the soreness and chased away some of the chill. She finally put the cup back on the table and wrapped herself back up, then leaned into Talia's embrace. "If you hadn't been there, I would have died -- with the rest of the rescue wing . . ." She stopped, feeling her throat closing again -- the emotions were simply refusing to stay where she hid them. She blinked back tears and cleared her throat, then tried again. "Whatever it was that hit us was huge, dark . . . it was just *there* all of a sudden, and no one had time to react . . . I got them all killed *and* we didn't find Zeta Squadron . . ." A tear rolled down her cheek and she turned away from Talia, muttering, "Damn it." "Susan, please," Talia coaxed gently, "There's nothing wrong with crying -- I won't ridicule you or belittle you for it." "I know," Ivanova said, her voice rough with emotion, "It's just -- habit. It's a --" "'Russian thing'," Talia finished for her. Ivanova started to laugh, and then the tears came and this time they wouldn't stop. Talia held her, wrapped in her arms and the quilt, and in as much love and comfort as she could project, while she cried. "Don't worry, Susan," Talia whispered while she stroked Ivanova's hair, "I'm here with you. You're safe, and you're *not* alone." Eventually, Ivanova's sobs subsided, and she relaxed, exhausted and asleep, in Talia's arms. * * * When Sheridan, Garibaldi, and the Minbari arrived at MedLab, they stopped short in surprise, finding Kosh and Delenn already there in the corridor. "Ambassadors," Sheridan said politely, although something about Kosh was making him uncomfortable. "Are you also going to visit Ambassador Sinclair?" Kosh answered, simply, "No." Garibaldi raised an eyebrow but remained quiet, while Sheridan tried to figure out if he'd asked the question wrong or something. Finally, he decided to go for the obvious follow-up, "Then, can I ask why you're standing outside MedLab?" Garibaldi winced as Sheridan asked that, fairly certain he knew why they were there. Kosh had seemed pretty adamant about keeping Sinclair safe from the chaos that followed this group around. He peered into MedLab through the door panel window, trying to see where his friend was, finally gave up when all he could see was Dr. Franklin rushing around and yelling at his staff. *Just does *not* like things he doesn't understand, does he . . .* he thought with some amusement. Kosh loomed at Sheridan and answered, "Guarding." "Guarding?" Sheridan asked, his tone a little sharp. He peered up at Kosh, then looked at Delenn and asked, "What do you mean, 'guarding'? No one here is going to *hurt* the Ambassador -- we're all *worried* about him!" Garibaldi sighed and wished he could pace the corridor -- anything rather than stand there helpless as Sheridan put his foot in it with Kosh. He frowned and wondered, *Should I stop him? Should I say something? Ah -- hell, let him learn the hard way . . .* When Kosh said nothing, Sheridan pressed, "Look, Ambassador, it's pretty obvious that this weird sleep was caused somehow by your people. That's fine -- if you didn't want them seeing -- whatever -- fine. But we have to know what *happened* to them. We *need* to talk to Ambassador Sinclair and ask him what happened." "He must sleep," Kosh answered. Garibaldi could have sworn there was an edge of annoyance in Kosh's tone. "Ambassador, please -- we-" "Ambassador Kosh," Neroon said abruptly, cutting Sheridan off, "We need to speak with Ambassador Sinclair. My people are responsible for his well-being, and I demand to know *why* we are not allowed to see him!" Garibaldi felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up as soon as Neroon began speaking. He carefully edged out from between Neroon and Sheridan, realizing the Vorlon was staring at the Minbari -- through him. *Oh shit,* Garibaldi thought, *Here come the fireworks.* He glanced back at Kozorr and Komarr, found them whispering urgently to each other in Minbari. Even Ansharr seemed to have enough sense to realize Neroon had overstepped the bounds, but he was rooted to the spot, staring nervously at Kosh. Kozorr suddenly nodded firmly in response to something Komarr said, and headed for Neroon, reaching for his shoulder just as Kosh spoke. "Now is not for talking, Warrior. It is the hour of sleep -- recovery -- healing." The warbling sounds and tones of Kosh's native language seemed more active, Garibaldi thought -- almost as if the Vorlon were saying much more and the translation device was simplifying it. *Almost as if he was talking to children,* Garibaldi mused. Just then, Sheridan stepped forward and said, "Now wait *just* a min--" Kosh turned to face him directly, and Garibaldi almost took a step back, startled by the speed of his movement. Kosh 'spoke' and the translation device provided, "*You* must wait." When Sheridan opened his mouth to protest, Garibaldi caught his eye and shook his head, then prayed Sheridan would listen to him. The frustrated captain sighed in defeat, but finally nodded. "Okay, Kosh, we'll wait . . ." Sheridan walked off a little distance, feeling everyone's eyes on him, then heard Neroon and his entourage nearing. When he turned to face them, he could see the fury in Neroon's eyes. He also saw that Garibaldi was still standing by the door to MedLab, leaning dejectedly against the wall. He was surprised to see Kozorr standing nearby in an attentive 'guard' position, and wondered why until he suddenly remembered Kozorr saying he was responsible for Sinclair's safety. *He's playing guard out here, Kosh is playing guard -- just *how* important *is* Sinclair to the cause?* Neroon stopped in front of him, abruptly bringing his mind back to the current situation. "Just who does that Vorlon think he is, Captain?" Neroon hissed angrily. Sheridan caught a glimpse of Delenn out of the corner of his eye -- she had been silent throughout the small confrontation, and now she was frowning at Neroon. He wondered absently if she realized how much anger she was allowing to show. "It's not a good idea to cross him, Satai Neroon," Sheridan warned. "He *is* on our side, and I think we *need* him on our side . . ." Neroon snorted and turned, catching Delenn's expression before she could school her face. "So, *Ambassador* Delenn, why not join us, if we must wait to see Ambassador Sinclair . . ." Garibaldi tried again to get a good look into MedLab, trying to block out Neroon's and Sheridan's miniature power struggle. He finally sagged back agai st the wall and jammed his hands into his pocket, eyes suddenly widening in surprise when he encountered the Ranger brooch again. *Forgot I had this here, with all the insanity . . .* he thought, taking it out of his pocket for a moment to study it. In the field of blue-green stone he could see the reflections of the corridor lights, and the reflection of his own face. For an instant the reflection seemed to blur and he felt a moment of sudden dizziness, and for just a second he could have sworn he saw a Starfury hurtling uncontrolled through space, a vicious energy beam sweeping towards it -- and a bright flash. *What the *hell*?!* Only sheer force of will kept him from crying out or dropping the brooch, but he leaned back -- heavily -- against the wall. It felt like every hair on his body was standing straight on end, almost as if an electrical charge had passed through him. He suddenly realized there was a green glow before him, rapidly fading now, and looked up to see the shutter-like eye of Kosh's encounter suit closing slowly. The Vorlon was 'looking' right at him . . . *Ohmygod . . .* Garibaldi thought, a slight shiver running through him. He remembered Sinclair's unconscious form on the docking bay floor, his helmet off and his cheek bruised . . . The shiver was stronger now, a chill chasing down the back of his neck as he realized exactly *how hard* it was for someone to hit their cheek in a Starfury pilot's helmet. Forehead maybe, but cheek? That took some doing . . . He swallowed hard and gripped the brooch firmly in his left hand, then said, "Kosh, I think I know exactly how grave a mistake we made, and . . . If I could go back and keep it from happening, I would. But," he paused, taking a shaky breath, "I can't do that . . ." "No." "I can do my damnedest to keep it from ever happening again, though . . ." Kosh spoke, and Garibaldi answered before he realized the translation device had remained silent, "No, I know *exactly* how much was at stake: *everything*." The Vorlon bowed slightly and backed away a little, allowing Garibaldi nearer to the door. Delenn turned her attention away from Sheridan and Neroon in time to see this. She watched, surprised, as Garibaldi bowed in return and said, "Ambassador, I really *do* need to go in there and see him." "Why?" Kosh asked, his tone partially curious, but mainly challenging. Garibaldi squeezed the brooch tighter for an instant and steeled himself, knowing a test when he saw one. "Because," he answered truthfully, "He needs a friend beside him when he wakes up." He held his breath, thinking, *Not to question, not to badger him or yell at him -- just someone to *be* there, so he isn't alone . . .* Silently, Kosh bowed and stepped completely out of the way. Then he said something in his native tongue, and the door slid open. Garibaldi looked back at Kosh, then Kozorr, who nodded; then he stepped into MedLab, sighing with relief as the door slid shut behind him. The instant Garibaldi was through the doorway, Kosh turned to face the others in the hallway and stood, sentry-like, as the door slid shut. Sheridan and Neroon both barged forward, Sheridan demanding, "Why did you let *him* in?" Kosh looked down at him and answered tiredly, "He -- *understands*." * * * To be continued... ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Babylon 5 is (c) 1995 PTEN & Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended to infringe on these copyrights. Patterns of Light and Shadow is (c) 1995 Isoline M. Sanderson ------------------------------------------------------ From UVAlpha@aol.comSat Nov 25 22:14:14 1995 Date: Sat, 25 Nov 1995 14:44:29 -0500 From: UVAlpha@aol.com Reply to: b5-creative@blob.best.net To: b5-creative@blob.best.net Cc: tavo@marlin.gulf.net Subject: Fwd: Patterns of Light and Shadow pt. 22 Okay, it looks like I didn't check this one, it must have gotten hit by the same Whatever-the-h*ll #23 did. Derek, you might want to see if there's some bug in the list, because I've been seeing a couple of people's messages come thru as partial ones with the rest of it mixed in the header... Bye -- Isoline --------------------- Forwarded message: From: ISANDERS@OASH.SSW.DHHS.GOV (Sanderson, Isoline M) To: uvalpha@aol.com, cschumac@waun.tdsnet.com, b5-creative@blob.best.net, tag@astral.magic.ca Date: 95-11-24 14:14:58 EST Patterns of Light and Shadow Part 22 by Isoline M. Sanderson ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Garibaldi sat in a chair next to Sinclair's bed, watching his friend's chest rise and fall with every breath. Dr. Franklin had explained that for some reason he could only guess at, Sinclair's sleep was much deeper than that of the other pilots. Garibaldi decided against explaining the reason to him -- if he did, Franklin would either dismiss it, or ask him *how* he knew -- and right now that was a question Garibaldi did *not* want to deal with. It was bad enough knowing *why* Sinclair needed to sleep and heal -- bad enough knowing how close they had come to losing the war to the Shadows . . . Losing the *entire* war, before it ever really began. Losing his friend . . . He had thought, earlier, that Kozorr and the Rangers were being overprotective, coddling Sinclair because they were underestimating his fighting skills. Now he knew with painfully sharp clarity that they had never doubted Sinclair's skills -- instead he had underestimated the Shadows' determination to win. Even though he knew that Sinclair had to be The One, he hadn't quite grasped the true significance of that fact -- until the Shadows attempted to kill The One. Or worse, to claim him for their own side . . . Garibaldi shook his head, trying desperately to sort out his jumbled thoughts and just calm all of the noise inside his head. *How do I *know* all these things, anyway?* he thought, frustrated -- and more scared than he wanted to admit. *More hunches, more gut feelings . . . I'm understanding Kosh without thinking about it . . . My instincts aren't *that* good! And just what the hell was that with the Ranger brooch? Did Kosh make me see that, or . . .* He slammed the door on those thoughts, knowing where they would lead to and refusing to take a peek. *Cop's intuition. That's all. Just using my well-honed skills of observation to make educated guesses. That's *it*.* He ignored, with no small amount of effort, the voice in the back of his mind, echoing Lou's 'devil's advocate' role. It was late and they'd had a stressful day, and he suddenly realized just how exhausted he was. He could feel his eyelids drooping and struggled to stay awake, realized shortly that it was a lost cause, and lay his head on his folded arms on the edge of the bed. * * * Sheridan once again sat behind his desk, one of the jammers quietly whirring in front of him. He studied the Minbari sitting before him: Neroon on the right with Komarr and Ansharr standing behind his chair, and Delenn alone on the left. He knew the situation made her extremely uncomfortable and wished he could do something to help, but any attention he paid her seemed to further stoke Neroon's already considerable ire. Ansharr leaned over to Komarr and said something quietly. Sheridan noticed Neroon's eyebrows twitch but not quite settle into a frown as Komarr answered and Ansharr bowed. Then the younger Minbari spoke to Neroon and bowed much deeper, then left the room -- ignoring both Sheridan and Delenn. "Where is he going?" Sheridan demanded once the door shut again. "To stand watch at your MedLab along with Kozorr," Neroon answered, all of his earlier arrogance and haughtiness back in his tone and carriage. The concern he'd shown around Sinclair was hidden -- gone -- and Sheridan was beginning to think he had imagined it entirely. Sheridan sighed and looked at Komarr, offered, "You are welcome to sit, Komarr. We may be here a while." When the stoic Minbari merely shook his head, he said, "Okay. Offer's still open, though." Then he turned to Delenn. "Ambassador, you were awfully quiet outside MedLab -- could you please explain what happened?" Delenn took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment, a gesture Sheridan had come to connect with her gathering her thoughts on a very serious matter. When she opened her eyes she met his gaze and began, "As I am sure you have guessed from the condition of Ambassador Sinclair's Starfury, they encountered -- something -- in space. I do not know the details -- Kosh was not very forth- coming . . ." When she paused, Sheridan grumbled, "What else is new?" For the briefest of moments, he thought he saw Neroon smile -- slightly. Delenn, on the other hand, continued in the same almost lecturing tone, "From what I do know, the Vorlons interceded just in time and the attacker either fled, or was destroyed; but not before Ambassador Sinclair's fighter sustained serious damage. "His wounds must have been serious," she continued, looking first at Sheridan, then Neroon. "Kosh did not want anyone interrupting his recovery." "So why," Neroon interrupted, annoyance obvious in his tone, "was Mr. Garibaldi allowed in?" Sheridan sighed and said, "I think I know why, Satai Neroon. Garibaldi is the ambassador's friend -- he wanted to sit with him and be there for him -- that's even what he told Kosh in the corridor. On the other hand, you demanded a chance to *talk* to the ambassador, which implied you wanted to wake him up." "*I* wanted to talk to the ambassador?" Neroon asked, his voice raised in outrage. "*I* wanted to?! You told him the same thing, StarKiller, and you demanded it *before* I did!" Sheridan opened his mouth to protest, but before he could speak Neroon pounded a fist on his desk. "Do not try to lay all of the blame on *me*, StarKiller," the warrior threatened. "I do not take kindly to accusations -- *especially* not wrongful ones!" "I--" Sheridan started, although he stopped when he realized he really had no idea what to say. So much had happened, and he was exhausted, worried, and stressed -- for all he knew, Neroon was right. At this point everything was becoming a blur. Finally he met Delenn's gaze questioningly, and she nodded, very slightly. *Damn . . .* he thought, *so the arrogant little shit *is* right. He's not going to hear it from *me*, though.* "Whoever asked it first is not important," Delenn said forcefully. "Kosh did not want Ambassador Sinclair disturbed." "So," Neroon began, "Now you are spokesperson for the Vorlons, *Ambassador* Delenn?" "Kosh is an ally in the struggle, *Satai* Neroon," she answered, seeing Sheridan's eyes narrow at Neroon's challenge. "Those who are wise listen to advice, and *learn* from it." "So, do you intend to share your new-found knowledge with us, or keep it all for yourself, Ambassador? You seem so *fond* of secrets," Neroon said unpleasantly. Sheridan thumped his fist on the desk this time and yelled, "That's *enough*!" Neroon turned away from Delenn to glare at him, but before the warrior could speak, Sheridan continued, "Your attitude since you've arrived here has been deplorable, Satai Neroon. You've insulted me, you've attacked my security chief, you've argued and accused and threatened us; now you're starting in on your own ambassador! I don't care if you are a member of the Grey Council, I'd expect a member of your government to behave with at least a scrap of dignity --" Neroon jumped to his feet and snarled, "How *dare* you?!" but before he could go for Sheridan's throat, Komarr restrained him, apologizing to him even as he did so. Delenn stood, her expression shocked, and put a hand on Sheridan's arm. "Captain, please," she urged, "We cannot afford to fight over this . . ." Komarr held Neroon's arms, restraining him until he stopped struggling. "Satai, please," he said quietly, "she is right -- we must not fight." "Let me go, Komarr," Neroon ordered stiffly, "He is just StarKiller -- so many would thank me. Even you --" "Satai," Komarr warned, his voice suddenly totally emotionless, "We must *not* fight. The War is too close, and battles long past are not a part of it. Killing Sta-- Captain Sheridan will not bring anyone back -- not even Branmer." The sudden look of anguish in Neroon's eyes shocked Sheridan. The warrior Satai almost drooped in his bodyguard's grasp, all the fight gone as if it had never been. Sheridan opened his mouth to say something, but before he could utter a sound, Neroon must have realized how much vulnerability he was showing. He tossed his head, stood tall, and shook his arms from Komarr's grasp; then sat down again, extremely subdued. Delenn looked down at Neroon, then up at Komarr, carefully keeping her expression as neutral as possible. "Captain," she said gently, "we know the pilots are safe, and that we will not be able to talk to them yet -- this day has been very long, and everyone is tired and -- stressed, I believe is the correct term?" When Sheridan nodded, she continued, "Perhaps we should all adjourn for the night?" Neroon frowned, but Komarr gently placed a hand on his shoulder and very quietly said, "Satai, she has a point . . ." "To tell you the truth, I don't think I've eaten all day," Sheridan said, "I think Delenn does have the right idea." Neroon sighed and reluctantly agreed, "Very well, since -- as the ambassador has pointed out -- we will not be able to see Ambassador Sinclair yet anyway . . . But in the morning -- or as soon as he is awake -- I demand a chance to speak with him!" Sheridan nodded, knowing he had no right to say no, no matter how much he really wanted to. He deactivated and pocketed the jammer, then he said, "If you will accompany me, Satai, I will show you to your quarters. Ambassador Delenn?" "I have some things to see to, Captain -- I will speak with you later," she answered, bowing to him, then turning to bow deeply to Neroon. He acknowledged her with a slight nod, then stood to follow Sheridan. * * * To be continued... ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Babylon 5 is (c) 1995 PTEN & Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended to infringe on these copyrights. Patterns of Light and Shadow is (c) 1995 Isoline M. Sanderson ---------------------------------------------------------------------- From UVAlpha@aol.comSat Nov 25 22:14:20 1995 Date: Sat, 25 Nov 1995 02:46:45 -0500 From: UVAlpha@aol.com Reply to: b5-creative@blob.best.net To: b5-creative@blob.best.net Subject: Patterns pt. 23 again Well, I sent one copy to the list, and one directly to my aol account, and the one that went to the list obviously went blooey. So, here's hoping that this version reaches everyone okay... (grumble snort... Nothing like finding half of your story mixed up with the header gibberish. Wish Kosh would stay out of my e-mail!) Also, a couple of corrections in here -- tiny things, but... Thank you, Trudy! -- Isoline ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Patterns of Light and Shadow Part 23 by Isoline M. Sanderson -------------------------------------------------------------- The first thing Sheridan did after getting Neroon and Komarr settled in was pick up some dinner at one of the Zocalo restaurants. Then he dropped by MedLab to see if there had been any changes. He was surprised to find Kosh gone, but from the glare Ansharr gave him, and the wary expression on Kozorr's face, he knew Sinclair was still well guarded. When he approached, Ansharr moved to block the door. "Damn it," Sheridan muttered, "I just want to know if there's any news." "None, Captain," Kozorr replied. "We have instructions to let you know 'when it is time'. Do not worry, we *will* make certain you know." "Kosh gave you those instructions?" Sheridan asked, not really expecting an answer. When Kozorr merely met his gaze, he was not surprised. "Okay, I'll be waiting to hear, then . . ." he said, and continued on his way, shaking his head at all of the sudden restrictions put on him on his own station. The Vorlon ambassador was a needed ally in the war to come -- he knew that, had said it himself -- but he couldn't help feeling some annoyance at the way Kosh was treating him. Instead of heading for his own quarters as he had originally planned, Sheridan found himself continuing on to the Ambassadorial Wing and Delenn's. He had a couple of the Starfury downloads and the jammer with him, and he *had* wanted a chance to discuss things with Delenn without Neroon's posturing and threats disrupting everything. He stopped at her quarters and rang the door chime, then waited, feeling a little self-conscious standing outside the Minbari ambassador's quarters with a bag of carry-out dinner . . . Lennier's voice asked, "Yes?" and Sheridan frowned for an instant, concerned about whether he would be able to freely discuss things. "It's Captain Sheridan -- I wanted to speak with Ambassador Delenn," he answered, deciding that if Delenn trusted Lennier, so would he. The door opened and Lennier ushered him in. Sheridan could tell instantly that the young aide was worried about something. Lennier leaned close and said, "I am glad that you are here, Captain. The ambassador is -- come in, see for yourself." Lennier led him to the kitchen area where Delenn sat at the counter, her back to him, looking at something in front of her. When he walked close enough to see what she was looking at, his jaw dropped and he stopped dead. On the counter in front of Delenn was a Starfury pilot's helmet, the left side partially smashed in and the clear face plate crazed with thousands of tiny cracks. Delenn was staring at it, her expression neutral except for the horror in her eyes. He turned to look at Lennier and whispered, "Where did she get it?" "Ambassador Kosh," was the answer. Sheridan nodded, knowing what it was and why she looked so shell-shocked. Lennier walked into the living room, trying to remain inconspicuous while Sheridan pulled up the chair next to Delenn, put the bag of food on the counter, and sat down. Delenn suddenly snapped to alertness and looked at him, the horror in her eyes slowly fading. "John?" "Delenn . . . I -- came by so you and I could discuss this without Neroon's interference . . . That's Sinclair's helmet, isn't it?" She nodded, swallowing hard past the lump in her throat. "Kosh brought it . . . He had to return to his ship to rest . . . we left Kozorr and Ansharr on guard." "Yes, I noticed," Sheridan said quietly. "This and the damage to the Starfury -- did the Shadows do this?" "I am almost certain," she answered. "I know of no others who would -- and no others with whom the Vorlons would feel it necessary to involve themselves to this extent . . ." "Are you okay, Delenn?" Sheridan asked, reaching out to gently touch her hand. "I'm sorry, John," she answered softly. "I consider Jeffrey Sinclair a friend -- I -- this has been very disturbing." He gently squeezed her hand, then moved the battered helmet aside and slid the bag of food closer. "Would you like some dinner? It might be a little cold now, but it's probably still tasty." Delenn brightened a little and looked up at him, "Yes, I would like that, I think." "It's shrimp stir-fry -- or treel stir-fry, or something like that," he explained, pulling out the little cartons. Suddenly Lennier appeared, setting out bowls, trays, glasses of water, and eating utensils. Sheridan managed to hide his surprise at the young Minbari's reappearance -- Lennier had been so quiet he had forgotten he was there. "Thank you, Lennier," Delenn said quietly when he finished setting her place. Lennier nodded, then slipped away again, Sheridan not even sure if he were still in the quarters. He shrugged and spooned out equal servings of the food, then watched hopefully as Delenn tasted some. Her eyes widened and a smile lit up her features, and he smiled in relief when she said, "I *like* this." "I'm glad," he responded. He ate a few mouthfuls, then said, "This has got to be pretty rough on you, but if you're up to it, I've got some of the downloads from the flight recorders. I thought we might want to watch them and see whether there's anything on them we should -- keep quiet." She nodded and said, "That would be wise, I think. The Vorlons are not ready yet -- this was a special case . . ." "Delenn," Sheridan began, "I don't mean to be nosy, but can you tell me why Sinclair is *so* important that the Vorlons *would* get involved?" She studied her stir-fry, flipping a piece of treel over and over, then looked up. "You know why we ordered the surrender after scanning Jeffrey Sinclair," she began softly. "I know what Lennier *told* me," he answered. "Our people are not . . . very open to things that -- alter -- the make-up of our race. The Warrior Caste, or at least some parts of it, feel very . . . strongly about this." She paused and sipped some water, then continued, "In order to fight the Shadows, we *must* work together -- my people, your people. The further we are apart, the easier it will be for the darkness to destroy us -- from within and without. "While my -- transformation has not been . . . so successful a bridge yet, Jeffrey Sinclair has a unique ability to understand other ways -- to reach my people. Some of them may resist it still, but he seems to be able to touch something inside them . . ." She trailed off and ate a few bites of food, while Sheridan mulled over what she had said. Finally he asked, "Is that why someone who hates humans like Neroon supposedly does seems to like *him* so much? It seems to be a little more personal to Neroon -- more than just his clan duties." Delenn frowned and stared at a point on the wall, then sighed and said, "There were certain -- problems when the ambassador first arrived on Minbar. You know of some of those." "Yes -- the attempt to frame Sinclair for an attempt on your new leader. I remember." "Neroon was eager to see the ambassador killed -- or, at the very least, removed," Delenn said, returning her attention to her food, "Until at one point, the ambassador proved he had a great knowledge of our laws. After some other -- difficulties, from what I have learned from Kozorr and some others, Neroon has had a few private discussions with him and seems to be becoming somewhat loyal to him. I hope it is true, and not some elaborate grab for further power by the Warrior Caste . . ." Sheridan frowned slightly as he watched her -- it was more than obvious that there was a lot she wasn't saying, but he knew she probably wouldn't tell him before she was ready to. Still . . . "Delenn, does any of this have to do with whatever happened the last time Neroon was here? He seems to be directing a lot of hostility at you . . ." He watched her expression carefully, saw her lips compress into a thin line as her eyes grew wary. "Neroon disagrees with what I have done -- he believes I am a freak. His hostility stems from that," she answered. He frowned, wondering why she had avoided the actual question, then tried a slightly different tack. "Is there some reason Neroon might be equating what's happening now with the disappearance of Branmer's remains? I did have time to read at least that much from the station logs . . ." Delenn frowned again, but this time her eyes were thoughtful instead of stony. "Branmer," she whispered, then turned to meet Sheridan's puzzled gaze. "John, did you know who Branmer was?" "He was the general who led the attack at the Battle of the Line." "Before he was a great general, he was a great religious, *peaceful* man. He took the Star Riders and others into battle because it was a holy war." "So what does this have to do with Sinclair, other than the fact that they fought each other?" "You don't know the ambassador's background before he became a soldier, do you," she said, a slight, wistful smile now curving her lips. When he shook his head she continued, "He was a religious man, who was trained in a monastery by your -- Jesuits. A religious, peaceful man who became a warrior . . ." She drifted off, thinking to herself, *No wonder Neroon is so furious . . .* Sheridan nodded slowly and said, "So Neroon *is* equating him with Branmer . . ." Delenn nodded slowly and then returned to her dinner, hoping that he had enough answers for now. The rest of it was -- difficult -- to explain to someone who would not truly understand. Sheridan ate more of his dinner, realizing it had gone quite cold, then asked, "So why is Neroon acting like the disappearance is *your* fault?" Delenn sighed and answered softly, "I am not certain." Sheridan frowned, once again wondering just who *had* come up with the notion that Minbari don't lie, but let the question go. It was obvious that she didn't want to deal with it now, and he suddenly realized he was pushing her with questions that were probably quite upsetting considering recent events. "Delenn, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be pestering you with all of this when you're worried about a friend." He gently brushed the back of her hand with his fingertips and tried to catch her eye. "I'm sorry. If you want me to go, I'll --" "No," Delenn answered quickly, grasping his wrist as he started pulling away. "Don't leave. It's all right. You -- said you wanted to review those downloads . . ." Sheridan nodded, gently extracting his wrist from her grasp and then taking her hand in his. "Just to make certain there isn't anything on them we *should* be hiding from Neroon." She nodded, then looked down suddenly, feeling the colour rise in her cheeks. "We should do so, then, because you need to get some rest if we must deal with Neroon again in the morning." Sheridan took a deep breath, trying to regain his own composure, and nodded. "Yeah, don't remind me," he joked nervously, then reached into his pocket for the data crystals and jammer. Delenn stood and walked to the computer console, Sheridan joining her an instant later. Lennier came out of another room and began cleaning up the dinner while Delenn and Sheridan settled themselves before the console. Sheridan activated the jammer, then occupied himself with checking through the crystals while Delenn activated the computer. "Ah -- here's the flight recorder and gun camera downloads for Zeta 1 -- the squadron leader, Warren Keffer," Sheridan said, holding up one of the crystals. Delenn smiled and gently took the crystal from him, slid it into the crystal port, and instructed the computer to access the gun camera file. "I just don't *get* it," Sheridan grumbled. "They're *obviously* fighting something, but there's nothing *there*!" Delenn frowned as she watched the camera footage. This was the third one, and all of them were the same: a brief, fierce battle with a foe that could not be seen. Except . . . "John, let me see Zeta 1's download again." Sheridan looked through the crystals again, asked, "Did *you* see something? Other than when the Vorlon cruiser arrived?" He watched her place the crystal in its port, then closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off a headache. "Here, John, look," Delenn said, startling him out of a slight doze. He blinked and squinted a little at the image she pointed out. The devastating pink beam-weapon that had to be what damaged Zeta 1's wing was originating from a point just outside of the camera's view. As Delenn instructed the computer to advance the film slowly, the point the beam originated from gradually moved into the picture. "Right there, John, look," Delenn said, pointing at the screen. "Where the beam is coming from." Sheridan frowned and rubbed his eyes, then squinted at the screen again. "There's nothing there, Delenn." "Exactly -- there is *nothing* there. Look at it -- no stars, no ship, just darkness." "Darkness . . . The Shadows?" Sheridan whispered, looking at her with uncertainty and some fear. *What else *could* it be?* "It must be . . ." Delenn breathed, bringing a clenched fist to her chest, right over her heart. She studied the image, and although her face was a mask of stony determination, fear gleamed in her eyes . . . A few long seconds later, she looked back at Sheridan, saw how exhausted he was despite the slight adrenaline jolt of their discovery. "You need to sleep, John," she coaxed. "Tomorrow may be just as difficult as today has been . . ." He shook himself back to alertness and nodded, collecting the data crystals as she shut down the computer. "There's a slight chance we might be able to enhance the image, see what we're really up against . . . But I'm not about to do it tonight, and I'm not sure it'll work anyway . . ." "We will see," Delenn said softly, deactivating the jammer and handing it to Sheridan. As she walked him to the door, she said, "Be careful." "Delenn, we're on my station," he protested, then paused to think, remembering Morden's companions in his cell. "You're right . . . I will, I promise. Sleep well . . ." "Sleep well, John," she whispered as he left. *If any of us can ever sleep well again . . .* * * * To be continued... ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Babylon 5 is (c) 1995 PTEN & Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended to infringe on these copyrights. Patterns of Light and Shadow is (c) 1995 Isoline M. Sanderson ---------------------------------------------------------------------- From ISANDERS@PSC.SSW.DHHS.GOVFri Jan 5 19:51:53 1996 Date: 04 Jan 1996 10:45:10 EST From: "Sanderson, Isoline M" To: akosut@ace Subject: Patterns pt. 24a Patterns of Light and Shadow Part 24a by Isoline M. Sanderson Garibaldi twitched, the movement waking him as his upper body started to slide off the side of Sinclair's MedLab bed. He sat up, wincing at the stiffness in his shoulders and back, and mentally grasped at the last fading wisps of his dream. Something with calming, soothing music, and light . . . Suddenly he realized someone was watching him. He rubbed his eyes, blinked, and looked at the bed before him. Sinclair lay there, eyes very slightly open, and a weak smile curving his lips. "Michael?" he rasped, trying for an instant to raise his head before he realized he was too weak. "Jeff?" Garibaldi exclaimed. "You're okay!" He bounded out of his seat to hug his friend briefly, then looked around for the doctor on duty. "I was *so* worried, Jeff," he said as he scanned the room. When there was no answer he looked back at Sinclair, who had drifted off again. "Jeff?" "Mr. Garibaldi, what is it?" Dr. Hernandez asked, walking over to investigate the commotion. "He was awake -- for a little bit he was actually awake!" "You sure?" "He said my name -- he recognized me . . ." She checked the monitors reading Sinclair's vitals and allowed herself a tiny smile. "You're right -- he was awake, and this sleep he's in now is a much more natural one. He'll be okay." "I think that's the best thing I've ever heard a doctor say," Garibaldi said, grinning. "Thanks." "You should go back to your quarters and get some rest yourself," she suggested, eyeing his rumpled uniform and the dark circles under his eyes. "No -- I need to be here when he wakes up . . ." She frowned, but said, "Well, then, would you like a cot to nap on? That chair you were in *can't* have been comfortable . . ." Garibaldi tried to roll his head from side to side, winced when his neck twinged in pain, and said, "Can I have it rolled in here near his bed? I don't want anyone hassling him when he first gets up." "I guess so . . ." she answered, looking around the area to see if a cot would fit. "Dr. Franklin's going to be on duty at 06:00 -- I'll update him on the ambassador's condition and make sure he lets you sleep. Don't worry, no one's going to come into MedLab and hassle *anyone* while he's on duty. Not to mention the 'honour guard' out front . . ." Garibaldi smiled and said, "Thanks, Doc." A short time later, once they had his cot set up nearby, Garibaldi lay down and was fast asleep in minutes. * * * Ivanova woke with a start -- she wasn't in her own bed or her own quarters, she was sore, and there was someone snuggled up against her, bundled in the quilt with her. *What the --* She blinked and looked around, trying to kick-start her brain, then peered at the person next to her who blinked back sleepily with clear green eyes, wisps of blonde hair falling into her face. "Susan, are you okay?" "Talia . . . for a moment, I couldn't figure out where I was, or how I got here . . ." She groaned and stretched sore muscles, wincing at the ache in her ribs. Talia sat up and rubbed her eyes, tried to straighten her hair, then smiled a little and reached out to rub Ivanova's neck and shoulders. Ivanova stiffened for an instant, then sighed and relaxed into the neck rub. "Susan, I don't think I've ever seen anyone with muscles this stiff -- you should have said something . . ." "Couldn't -- I was asleep," Ivanova answered softly. "And when I fell asleep, it didn't hurt this much. Guess I got thrown around a bit in the cockpit, and sleeping on a couch didn't help . . ." "I'm sorry -- I should have thought," Talia said, then she smiled and stood up. "I know you prefer coffee in the morning, but would tea be okay?" "Good, strong, black tea," Ivanova answered. "And please, don't blame yourself for my stiff muscles . . . I really -- needed a friend, and you're the only one who really knew what I'd been through." She stood carefully and followed Talia into the kitchenette. "Thank you. For everything." Talia blushed and occupied herself with the tea for a minute, then looked up and met her gaze. "I guess the next time I should offer a hug somewhere a little more comfortable than the couch." "That would be a good idea," Ivanova agreed, a tiny smile curving her lips. "Look, I know the Captain is going to want to debrief me on what happened to . . . the rescue wing, and I've got no idea what happened since I came here last night. For all I know, they've got half the station out searching for the ambassador now. I have to go back on duty -- but I'd like to talk again, soon." Talia nodded and said, "I'd like that, too." "How does dinner sound?" At Talia's nod, she said, "Good. Tonight is probably out, unless all the problems miraculously solved themselves overnight, which I doubt. Tomorrow?" "Tomorrow sounds great," Talia said, pouring the tea. As she handed Ivanova her cup, she asked, "Where should we go?" "I don't know yet. Why don't we meet on the Zocalo, and go wherever we feel like then?" "It's a date," Talia said, smiling and raising her teacup in a toast. * * * Neroon sat at the computer console in his quarters, glowering darkly at the screen. Komarr emerged from the kitchenette carrying a tray of breakfast, a teapot, and two cups. He poured tea for Neroon, then sat down across from him and said, "Satai, I know of no easy way to say this, but . . ." "Yes, Komarr," Neroon sighed, "I know, we should not fight. No matter *how* painfully stupid and arrogant Sheridan is, I should not fight with him . . ." He looked up, his expression now mixed annoyance and tiredness, and sipped his tea. Komarr boldly met his gaze and said, "As much as you dislike her, Delenn is correct, Satai. We cannot afford to fight. The Darkness takes the easiest path -- if we keep ourselves apart from those who could be allies, or if we fight amongst ourselves, we make their job easier. This is part of the message Ambassador Sinclair has brought. It is part of the purpose of the Rangers . . . we *must* work together." Neroon frowned at the mention of the Rangers, but said nothing. Encouraged by the neutral reception, Komarr continued. "Sta-- Captain Sheridan may be difficult to deal with, but we must try to. He is in charge of Babylon 5, the Rangers say he speaks regularly with the Vorlon; whether we like it or not, he *is* an ally in the fight . . ." Neroon frowned more and grumbled, "You listen far too much to what Kozorr and the Rangers say." "Satai, Ambassador Sinclair himself has said how important Babylon 5 is in the struggle. If you will not believe the Rangers or me, then believe him . . ." Neroon stared at him for a count of eleven, then sighed and said, "I will try to work with StarKiller, but I will *not* apologize to him. He is arrogant and disrespectful, and unlike Sinclair, does not deserve the respect an apology would show." "But he will not apologize to you -- if you apologize to him, you will prove yourself to be better than he." "There is no need," Ne oon answered with a half-smile. "He proves himself *inferior* almost every time he opens his mouth." Komarr looked down at his breakfast, attempting to hide the dismay in his eyes. A moment later, his expression once again under control, he looked up and said, "You realize he will most likely demand to see the ambassador before you do." Neroon frowned and said, "He does not even *know* Ambassador Sinclair. He just wants to find out what they encountered." "That may be true, but they *are* both humans," Komarr observed. A moment later, he added, "Although I suspect the final word will be Kosh's. He will decide who will see the ambassador, and when." Neroon nodded, his expression suddenly thoughtful. "The Vorlon spoke in many riddles last night -- have you managed to glean the true meaning from *anything* he said?" Komarr raised a hairless eyebrow at Neroon's question, then frowned thoughtfully. "At least twice he used the sun to refer to Ambassador Sinclair . . . The symbolism there must have been obvious even to Sheridan, but as to any *deeper* meanings, I am afraid I do not know. One such as Liann might be able to interpret it." Neroon snorted and said, "Somehow this does not surprise me . . ." Komarr allowed himself a tiny smile at that, careful to hide it from Neroon. "Well, I guess we aren't going to get any answers until we are *allowed* to speak with Ambassador Sinclair and find out what Sheridan has on those recordings he's managed to avoid showing us . . ." With that, Neroon turned his attention fully towards his breakfast, the conversation effectively finished. Once done with their breakfast and finished dressing, they sat, Neroon impatiently awaiting word on Sinclair's condition, and Komarr studying the general station information that was available on the computer system. He offered Neroon the screen, but the sullen answer was, "No, I've already seen more of the bowels of this place than I ever wanted to." After that, Komarr was careful to not address his lord unless spoken to; and Neroon brooded about the last time he had been on the station, and the reason for visiting places such as the Pak'ma'ra quarters . . . * * * (Continued in part 24b) ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Babylon 5 is (c) 1995 PTEN & Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended to infringe on these copyrights. Patterns of Light and Shadow is (c) 1995 Isoline M. Sanderson ----------------------------------------------------------------------- From ISANDERS@PSC.SSW.DHHS.GOVFri Jan 5 19:51:58 1996 Date: 04 Jan 1996 10:49:10 EST From: "Sanderson, Isoline M" To: akosut@ace Subject: Patterns pt. 24b (Continued from Part 24a) --------------------------------------------------------------------- The first thing Sheridan did after eating a quick breakfast was call MedLab. Dr. Franklin answered him, the image on the screen looking the best he had in days. "Captain, I was about to call you," Franklin said, a definite note of happiness in his tone. "Good news, I assume?" Sheridan asked, trying to see what was going on behind Franklin. "Some of the pilots are awake -- and Ambassador Sinclair woke up briefly, a short time before I came on duty. He's sleeping normally now." "That's *great*," Sheridan said, a broad grin spreading across his face. "Let him sleep for now," he added, suddenly remembering the helmet and sobering slightly. "Is Ivanova okay?" "Dr. Hernandez released her late yesterday afternoon -- before we even brought Sinclair in. She must have gone back to her quarters. You know how she is about mornings -- she's probably still sleeping, too." "Probably. So, she's not too badly hurt?" "Just what we said yesterday, bruised ribs, a slightly sprained wrist we wrapped up . . . She'll probably be a little *sore* this morning, but other than that, physically she's fine." "Physically . . ." Sheridan repeated. "While she was there, was there any indication how she's doing emotionally?" Franklin frowned and shook his head. "She's strong, but being the only survivor of her wing -- that's got to be tough." Sheridan merely nodded, being somewhat familiar with the feeling himself. Then he forced his thoughts back to the present and asked, "Is Warren Keffer awake yet?" "Yes, he is. Captain, there *is* one thing weird about all of the pilots who are awake so far . . . Each one has made comments about strange dreams with lights and different kinds of music -- apparently what the individual considers soothing, although the type of music actually seems to differ slightly from person to person . . . *None* of them remember *how* they got back from Sector 14 . . ." Sheridan frowned for a moment, thinking once again that Kosh and the rest of the Vorlons were extremely mysterious, and wondering if they just did what they did because they *could* . . . "Captain?" Franklin prodded, impatient to return to his work. "Sorry, Doctor," Sheridan said. "Could you please have Lieutenant Keffer report to my office at 09:00?" "I'll let him know." "Thank you, Doctor," Sheridan said, letting the connection cut off. He sat there for a few minutes, thinking about Kosh and his fellow Vorlons. *Obviously they don't want others knowing about them or their ships . . . is it because they don't want to be 'recognized', or is it that they don't know who might be allied with the Shadows? *They're so far ahead of all of us -- they probably don't want to share any of their tech with us until they're certain we're 'worthy' -- or whatever. So, just like Dr. Jacobs, they wouldn't let anyone be conscious around them or on their ships . . . Or -- we couldn't backtrack *where* the Starfuries were coming from, which means the Vorlons might have had to bring them somewhere, away from Sector 14, before they sent them home . . . Wonder if they took them somewhere near their own space? *And Sinclair . . . Damage like that to his helmet, and there's only a *bruise on his cheek*? Just what are the Vorlons capable of?* "And," he muttered to himself, "if they can do all of the things they seem to be capable of, and they still aren't ready to fight the Shadows, what are the *Shadows* capable of . . ." He shivered and dropped that line of thought before he came up with any answers. Then he returned his attention to the screen -- he really did need to debrief Ivanova, but was she ready to deal with what had happened? And how much could he say without revealing things about the Shadows he wasn't supposed to? *Although it seems that a lot more people know about *that* than I originally thought, too . . .* he thought, remembering how much Neroon and Garibaldi both seemed to be aware of the night before. He sighed and finally decided he had to give it a try. However, when he tried to contact Ivanova's quarters, there was no answer. "Damn," he muttered. "So, where *is* she?" "You looking for me, Captain?" Sheridan jumped, badly startled, and looked accusingly at the doorway. Ivanova stood there, in full uniform, an apologetic expression on her face. "Sorry," she said, walking to the desk and sitting in the chair he motioned her to. Once seated, she tilted her head from side to side in an attempt to keep muscles from tightening up again. "Are you okay, Susan?" Sheridan asked, his concern obvious in his tone. "A little stiff and sore, but I'll live. Has there been *any* news? Has Ambassador --" "Yes, he's back, Susan," Sheridan said as reassuringly as possible. "Thank God," she whispered. "Is he okay?" "He's in MedLab, recovering. I haven't been able to speak with him yet," Sheridan answered, hoping his impatience wasn't too evident. Ivanova raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. Instead she took a deep breath and said, "I assume you want to debrief me on the rescue mission, Captain." The change from candid conversation to official wording was not lost on Sheridan -- he could tell she was trying to distance herself from the events by relying on her cool professionalism. "Actually, I wanted to talk to both you and Lieutenant Keffer about your encounters, but he'll be here in a few minutes, so we can discuss your flight first. Susan, I know you're upset about the other pilots, but you should *not* blame yourself. From everything I've seen and heard, you didn't even have time to react." She frowned and nodded very slightly, and said, "I know. Whatever it was that hit us came out of nowhere -- one second we were flying freely through space, and the next this -- thing -- was in the way . . . or *we* were in its way . . ." She paused and shook her head. "It all happened so fast, I just . . . There was nothing I could do -- I *know* that. But it still hurts knowing all five of them died, and here I am. Why did I live when they didn't?" "I asked the same thing when I found out about Lieutenant Ramirez after the Streib caught me," Sheridan said softly. "All I can say is that it wasn't my time, and this wasn't your time . . ." She just looked at him for a minute, then sighed and said, "I guess that explanation makes as much sense as any . . ." "If you need any time--" "No, Captain, thank you," she said firmly. He nodded and let the subject drop for the time being. Then he placed a couple of data crystals on the desk and said, "Downloads from your Starfury, a couple from your rescue wing, and some from Zeta Squadron." "Can I take a look at mine?" she asked apprehensively. Sheridan nodded and put it in the crystal port, then studied her face as she watched the gun camera footage and reviewed the readings from the flight recorder. While she studied the data, her expression changed from a cool, professional mask to a deep frown. Finally, she said, "Computer, stop playback," and looked up at Sheridan. "There *was* something there." He nodded and said, "I know -- all f the readings show it. Something *definitely* hit you -- but nothing shows up on the footage." "Are they all like this?" Ivanova asked, concern plain in her voice. When Sheridan nodded, she said, "My god, Captain, just what the hell is *out* there?" Sheridan frowned and said, "I'm not sure, but it's obviously very powerful -- and dangerous." He took a deep breath and looked her right in the eye. "I've got a strong suspicion that whatever this is is the ship Keffer says he encountered in hyperspace. We're going to have to tell all of the pilots to be *very* careful . . . And restricted area or not, I think we're going to have to start some regular patrols of Sector 14 -- whatever this is could be hiding out there *because* there's less traffic to spot it . . ." Ivanova nodded, but added, "It'll be really dangerous duty, though, Captain. Look at the cost of *one* unexpected encounter . . ." "Two," Sheridan said absently. "What?" "Ah -- well," he hedged, "probably two. The downloads from Zeta Squadron look a lot like yours . . ." "Wonderful," Ivanova muttered. The knock on the door startled both of them, but Sheridan recovered quickly and said, "Come in." Warren Keffer, in uniform but looking somewhat distracted, entered the office and came to attention when he reached Sheridan's desk. "You wanted to speak to me, Sir." "Yes, Lieutenant, please have a seat," Sheridan said, motioning to the empty chair. Once Keffer was seated, he asked, "How do you feel this morning?" Keffer glanced at Ivanova, who smiled slightly and nodded a greeting, then he turned back to Sheridan and said, "To tell you the truth, Captain, I feel a little strange . . . physically I feel *fantastic* -- like I've gotten the best rest in years!" He paused and shrugged, then said, "But I don't really remember what happened after the battle . . . From then to waking up in MedLab this morning, it's all missing . . ." "Do you remember *anything*? Something you might have dreamed?" Sheridan pressed. Keffer frowned thoughtfully, finally said, "Only thing I can remember dreaming is music . . ." "Music," Sheridan repeated, thinking of what Franklin had mentioned, and remembering what Dr. Jacobs had said about the Vorlon ship *singing* to him . . . "Yeah," Keffer said. "It was quiet -- kind of off in the distance . . . really kind of soothing -- like a lullaby or something." "Hmm . . ." Sheridan murmured, thinking, *Were the Vorlons using the music to keep them all asleep?* Then he straightened up in his chair and leaned forward. "I was just telling Commander Ivanova that the downloads from your squadron are a lot like hers. It seems you both encountered something that doesn't like its picture taken . . . "The Commander's wing was run over by the unidentified ship -- it hit them and ran -- but it looks like you had more time to get a look at it. Can you tell me anything about it, Lieutenant?" Keffer swallowed and looked at Ivanova for a moment, then said, "You saw it?" "Not well -- it collided with my Starfury, knocked me completely out of control. All I know is that it was big and black . . ." Ivanova answered, stepping firmly on the impulse to shiver. Keffer turned back to Sheridan and said, "Captain, you remember that unidentified craft that I followed out of hyperspace -- the same kind of ship that killed Commander Galus? It was one of those." At the mention of Galus, Sheridan frowned. After what Delenn and Kosh had told him about the Shadows, Sheridan was glad all mention of an unidentified ship had been dropped from the official report . . . Keffer had balked at that, and had been searching for the ship on his own, until Sheridan had put a stop to it. Maybe -- just maybe -- this new encounter would help the headstrong pilot grasp the potential danger of the situation . . . Sheridan finally asked, "Did you *see* this ship?" Keffer fell silent for a moment, then sighed and answered, "No. Not really . . . But I *know* it was one of them. There was something there so black you *couldn't* see it." He frowned again, then slowly said, "But -- the ambassador . . . Ambassador Sinclair followed it -- before we lost communications entirely, he told us he *saw* something." "Sinclair *followed* it?" Sheridan asked, his mind scrambling to follow the implications: *If Sinclair actually followed that ship, then did he *see* it, or . . . did he see the same kind of nothingness Delenn and I saw? And if he *saw* it . . . How?* "Captain, Sinclair's an incredible pilot," Keffer said, "He can probably do most Starfury maneuvers in his sleep. Whatever it was out there, he followed it -- our instruments were giving us crap -- we *couldn't* fly by them. Somehow, he saw something." Sheridan frowned, and searched through the crystals until he found the one from Keffer's Starfury, then put it in the crystalport and ordered the computer to access it. "Lieutenant, this is the download from your own Starfury. I've already reviewed it, and I definitely agree with you on the unreliability of your instruments. I want you to watch this, and let me know if you can see this ship of yours." By the time the file had finished, Keffer was simmering with frustration -- he *knew* the ship was one of the black, spidery things, but again, he had absolutely *nothing* to prove it. "Damn it, I'm sure it was there, and it was one of those ships. Maybe the download from Sinclair's Starfury'll show it," he said hopefully. Sheridan shook his head and said, "The files from Zeta Seven are irretrievable . . ." He knew both of them were shocked by the news, but didn't elaborate. Instead, he continued, "Now, off the record, I *am* sure that what attacked you was the same ship you encountered before, Lieutenant. However, without some kind of proof this will *remain* off the record." "Well then I--" Keffer started. "No," Sheridan interrupted, "you will *not* go out looking for proof. That is an order, Lieutenant." "Yes, Sir," Keffer answered stiffly. "However," Sheridan added, "Whatever this ship is, it has proven to be very dangerous, *and* a potential threat to the station. We *will* be adding more extensive patrols of the area it was spotted in, but *no one* is to try any freelance recon expeditions. This thing is already responsible for the deaths of five pilots, and came too damned close to killing Ambassador Sinclair. Do I make myself clear?" Keffer nodded at first, too stunned by Sheridan's words to speak. Then he cleared his throat and said, "Yes, Sir." Ivanova was frowning at the news, but before she could open her mouth to ask anything, Sheridan said, "What I said about Sinclair is not to leave this office -- do both of you understand me?" When they nodded, he explained, "We've got a slightly touchy situation right now with some of the Minbari, and I *don't* want to make it any worse." "I think I missed some of this, Captain," Ivanova said, "And considering my increased diplomatic duties, I think it would be a good idea to update me before I step in it . . ." Sheridan smiled slightly at her wording, and nodded. Then he looked at Keffer and said, "Thank you for your input, Lieutenant. Due to the recent events, I'm giving Zeta Squadron today off -- I'll have Major Otambe rearrange the schedule. I'd appreciate it if you'd convey my thanks to your people for protecting Ambassador Sinclair. That'll be all." "Thank you, Sir," Keffer responded. He stood and saluted, then once Sheridan returned the salute, he turned and walked out, wishing he could have heard at least a *little* more . . . Once the door was safely closed again, Sheridan turned to Ivanova and began to update her on Neroon's arrival and less-than-friendly demeanour. He stuck mainly to the Satai's attitude about Sinclair and the hostility towards the rest of them, although he really wanted to explain other parts of the situation. However, he had promised Delenn it would remain a secret until it was time, and a promise was a promise . . . * * * To be continued . . . ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Babylon 5 is (c) 1995 PTEN & Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended to infringe on this copyright. Patterns of Light and Shadows is (c) 1995 Isoline M. Sanderson ---------------------------------------------------------------------- From ISANDERS@PSC.SSW.DHHS.GOVFri Jan 5 19:52:05 1996 Date: 03 Jan 1996 14:48:14 EST From: "Sanderson, Isoline M" Reply to: b5-creative@blob.best.net To: b5-creative@blob.best.net Cc: cschumac@waun.tdsnet.com, uvalpha@aol.com, tag@astral.magic.ca Subject: Patterns of Light and Shadow pt. 25 Patterns of Light and Shadow Part 25 by Isoline M. Sanderson ---------------------------------------------------------------------- ~~Garibaldi was comfortable, and everything was right with the world: His best friend, Jeffrey Sinclair, was safe, and back where he belonged on Babylon 5. The soothing, gentle music told him that everything was all right. Funny, though, he didn't usually listen to choral music -- especially not the religious type, which this was beginning to sound more and more like . . . With that realization, his conscious mind -- or at least the dutiful part of it -- made a move for the surface. *C'mon, Michael,* he thought, *you don't want to wake up. It's nice and warm and safe in here . . .* He muttered something incomprehensible and rolled over, pulling the blanket up over his head to shut out the light. In the dream, he turned around, looking for the source of the music. *Time to change the station,* he thought. Suddenly, Sinclair was there, dressed in the white robes of the Minbari religious caste. He smiled at Garibaldi and said, "Don't be silly, Michael. This is my music. It's time to wake up." Something in the back of Garibaldi's mind heard odd musical undertones as Sinclair spoke, and while most of his brain was still processing what had been said, that tiny part wondered, *Kosh?*~~ He sat up, suddenly wide awake, grasping for the threads of the dream and sighing with frustration as all he could remember was some kind of soothing music . . . Reality suddenly crashed in on his thoughts as he realized he was in MedLab, and more importantly, *why* he was in MedLab . . . *Jeff!* he thought, looking over at the other bed in the curtained- off section. Sinclair lay there, blinking himself awake. At that moment, he looked to the side, smiling when he recognized Garibaldi, just before he was overtaken by a huge yawn and the urge to stretch. Garibaldi stood, trying to shake some of the wrinkles out of his shirt and uniform trousers, giving it up as a lost cause quite quickly. Instead he stepped closer to Sinclair's bed and asked, "How do you feel?" Sinclair sat up and answered, "Pretty good, I think." His voice was rough, and when he cleared his throat he felt a twinge in his chest that felt more like the remnants of old injuries than anything else. He frowned in puzzlement when he couldn't come up with anything recent enough for lingering aches, but pushed that thought aside when he remembered what had been happening the last time he had been actually up and around . . . "Michael -- is Zeta Squadron okay?" he asked apprehensively. Garibaldi sighed, thinking, *Oh yeah, he's better . . .*, then answered, "They're all okay -- you're the only one of them who got hurt at all." He was about to pull up a chair and start explaining things, when footsteps neared and a moment later Dr. Franklin drew aside the curtain. "You *are* awake! Thank god it wasn't a monitor malfunction," he said, relief plain in his voice. "How do you feel, Ambassador?" Sinclair smiled slightly and said, "Besides some lingering aches, pretty good. I'm sorry I caused everyone all this trouble . . ." "You certainly didn't do it on purpose," Garibaldi said a little less patiently than he'd intended. "Um . . . Doc, what's going on out there?" Sinclair frowned at the question and studied first Garibaldi's face, then Franklin's, in search of some insight. Franklin sighed and said, "The Minbari have been out there all night, from what Dr. Hernandez said. The younger one snarled at me a little on the way in . . ." "Minbari?" Sinclair asked. "Yeah, well, he's like that. He's trying to impress people," Garibaldi commented. "*What* Minbari?" Sinclair asked, frowning slightly. Garibaldi continued as if he hadn't heard, "I'd ignore him, Doc, although keep some rabies vaccine on hand in case he *does* bite someone . . ." "Right," Franklin said with a bit of a smile. "Look, I think you had something you wanted to catch the ambassador up on, so I'll just come back to take a look at him in a little while." He grinned at Garibaldi, then turned to Sinclair and said, "It's great to see you again, Ambassador." Then he turned and fled while Garibaldi grumbled, "Thanks a lot, Stephen." He turned back to Sinclair, sighed, and pulled the chair up to the bedside. "Michael," Sinclair said, very softly. "*What* Minbari?!" Garibaldi turned the chair backwards so he could lean his arms on the back, and sat down heavily. "I wanted to tell you about things in order . . ." "Well, now you can tell me about them in order. Of priority. *Starting* with the Minbari." Garibaldi sighed, thinking, *So much for him taking it easy! At least it's taken his mind off blaming himself for this mess!* Then he leaned forward and said, "When we lost contact with you, Ivanova took out a rescue wing, since she knew you were flying with Zeta Squadron. Figured we'd be able to sort everything out before Sheridan ever had to hear about it . . . Well, Ivanova's wing missed a check-in, and Talia told me she'd -- I dunno, sensed Susan in trouble somehow. I had to go to Sheridan so I could take a shuttle and MedTeam out to get her, and he -- um . . . when he made noise about wanting to lead the group, I let slip that we had enough high-ranking people missing in space already . . ." Sinclair grimaced and said, "And he picked up on that . . . This *is* leading to the Minbari, isn't it?" "It just got there," Garibaldi answered. "Seems the rabid youngster Stephen and I were discussing *heard* Sheridan blow his stack about you flying with Zeta Squadron . . ." "Rabid youngster . . ." Sinclair thought aloud. "Had some fancy claw-weapon I shoulda confiscated if I'd been thinking; really hates Sheridan -- Ansharr." "Ah." Sinclair nodded. "Yes. Ansharr . . . He is a little enthusiastic . . . and he doesn't like Sheridan because he lost family on the *Black Star* -- his mother and brother." Garibaldi's eyebrows shot towards his hairline, but he didn't say anything. *Ansharr's mother -- Komarr's *wife*? And Komarr is that cool around Sheridan? No *wonder* he's Neroon's bodyguard . . .* Sinclair cleared his throat and encouraged, "Go on . . ." "Ah -- sorry." Garibaldi drew even closer and said quietly, "Ansharr told his boss, Kozorr, and Kozorr did what he'd been ordered to do." "He told Neroon . . ." Sinclair murmured, his expression freezing. "And Neroon dropped everything he was doing and came directly here. With a war cruiser that's parked outside." "Oh no." "*And*, he's been demanding to see you and accusing us of negligence and everything up to handing you over to the Shadows personally, and, in general, being Neroon." "Oh no . . ." Sinclair threw the sheet back and started to climb out of bed, but Garibaldi leapt to his feet and dodged around the chair-back to block him. "Whoa -- *where* do you think you're going?" He grasped Sinclair by both shoulders, forcing him back against the pillows. "I have to--" Garibaldi cut off his protest with a firm shake of his head. "You have to *rest*, first." Sinclair heaved a frustrated sigh and relaxed in the bed. "Garibaldi . . ." "Not this time, Jeff. You -- you don't remember anything, do you?" When Sinclair shook his head, Garibaldi sat down again, relatively certain that his friend really would stay in the bed this time. Then he met the troubled gaze and said, "I don't know what happened to you, but Zeta Seven is a scrap pile . . . All of the other Starfuries came back on autopilot -- at exact fifteen minute intervals. You -- and what's left of Zeta Seven -- came back in a Vorlon ship . . ." "*Vorlon?*" Sinclair asked, his expression suddenly very thoughtful. "A Vorlon war cruiser brought the smaller ship you were on. It's parked outside with the *Ishum* -- if it hasn't left already," Garibaldi explained. "I . . . remember --" Sinclair closed his eyes, concentrating. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, low. "I remember the battle -- this huge, sweeping energy beam. It looked almost pink . . . A jump point opened -- we had to scatter as something big -- and yellow -- came through. It must have been the Vorlon ship . . ." His brow furrowed as he began to frown, his voice shaking slightly. "I remember losing control. Screaming . . . The Vorlon ship turned to face me, and the pink beam swept down from behind . . . There was a bright flash and --" His eyes snapped open, startling Garibaldi. "And?" "And then I woke up here . . ." He shook his head. "That's all." A feeling of foreboding settled over Garibaldi as Sinclair paled. "I -- *can't remember* . . ." *Uh oh,* Garibaldi thought, realizing exactly what was upsetting his friend. *Another memory gap -- oh, this is *just* what he needs . . .* "Can't remember . . . damn it, not again . . ." "Easy, Jeff. Take it easy. You told me to 'stay close to the Vorlon' -- well, certain things happened a couple of months ago and someone had cause to be on Kosh's ship. But Kosh wouldn't let him unless he was asleep." Sinclair looked up at Garibaldi, making a rapid mental search through reports from Garibaldi and various Rangers. "Jacobs?" he whispered after a slight delay. Garibaldi nodded, "That's the one. Anyway, it's more than obvious they don't want anyone seeing them or the inside of their ships. You don't remember anything because you were asleep -- that's all." Garibaldi repressed the urge to cross his fingers and studied Sinclair's expression. "That's all?" Sinclair asked, and Garibaldi knew he didn't believe it. Sinclair's eyes no longer held the old fears and ghosts of the Line, but they were still haunted. "What am I supposed to believe, Michael, that the Vorlons made me fall asleep while I was still in my Starfury, tumbling out of control?" *Ah!* Garibaldi thought, *there's an out.* "No," he said calmly, "You probably blacked out from *that* -- then once they got rid of your attacker they brought you on board and *kept* you asleep." Sinclair nodded slowly, thinking it over, casting his memory back. "That -- makes sense," he finally admitted. "But . . ." "It's okay, Jeff, really." "The flash of light . . ." "Y'know, Kosh was standing guard outside MedLab last night?" Garibaldi asked, trying to change the subject before the question he didn't want to think about came up. "Kosh?" "Yeah. He was determined to make sure you got a chance to recover *before* you have to deal with the -- with Sheridan and Neroon," Garibaldi explained. At Sinclair's raised eyebrow he elaborated, "They were really carrying on. When Neroon found out Sheridan didn't know anything about your little flight, he went after me . . ." "He what?" Sinclair sat up again, eyes flashing with anger. "That does it--" "Whoa! Easy, Jeff," Garibaldi said, trying his best to restrain him. "He stopped when he saw the Ranger brooch -- it fell out of my pocket when we fell." "When you *fell*? He attacked you?" Sinclair sighed and met Garibaldi's worried gaze, "I thought I was finally getting through to him . . ." "Must be working a little -- he's mainly been ranting because of the danger we allowed you to expose yourself to. For someone who hates humans, he sure likes you . . ." Garibaldi frowned thoughtfully and amended, "Or at least he acts like he does." "I don't think he quite understands the idea that the Minbari as a race need to work with us as a race, not with two or three individuals." Sinclair relaxed back against the pillows again and said, "I really thought he was learning." The disappointment in his tone was obvious. Garibaldi smiled a little and said, "He must be learning a *little*, or he never would have backed off." Sinclair sighed and nodded, then explained, "The Rangers -- he doesn't seem to like the idea one bit, but he tolerates them. Half the time I think he does so only to stay in my good graces." Garibaldi raised an eyebrow at that, wondering again why Neroon seemed to care about Sinclair's reaction to him. It was obvious the warrior still carried a grudge against Delenn for her part in Branmer's disappearance, but was that all of it? Neroon obviously knew about the Shadows -- did he also sense Sinclair's importance in the coming struggle? *Hell,* Garibaldi thought, *if he didn't before, the Vorlons' actions probably clued him off -- he's *not* stupid. . .* "Michael?" "Huh?" Garibaldi suddenly realized Sinclair was studying his face. "Sorry, Jeff." "That's all right -- this past day can't have been easy on you, either . . ." He studied his friend, seeing the rumpled condition of his uniform and the cot nearby. "Did you sleep in here?" Garibaldi smiled and answered, "Didn't want you to wake up and have no idea what the hell was going on . . ." "You didn't have to--" "I figured it was the least I could do after doing such a lousy job of protecting you . . ." Garibaldi shrugged. Sinclair opened his mouth to protest, but saw the concern in his friend's eyes. "Michael -- thanks. I'm glad you were here." Garibaldi smiled warmly and squeezed Sinclair's arm. He was about to say something when they heard footsteps approaching. A moment later, Dr. Franklin opened the curtain and said, "I'm sorry Ambassador, Garibaldi." He closed the curtain behind him and turned his attention to Sinclair. "I need to take a look at you, Ambassador. Captain Sheridan just called -- he's starting to worry about how long we can stall before the 'time bomb in the Ambassadorial Wing goes off'." Sinclair raised an eyebrow and asked, "Neroon?" Both Franklin and Garibaldi nodded, and Garibaldi said, "Who else . . ." Then he stood and pushed the chair out of the way and said, "I'll be waiting out here. Jeff, let me know if you need anything. Hey, Doc -- go easy on him, okay?" Franklin gave Garibaldi a mock glower and said, "Get outta here!" as Garibaldi grabbed up his uniform jacket and fled the curtained-off area. Then he turned back to Sinclair for a quick examination. * * * To be continued . . . ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Babylon 5 is (c) 1996 PTEN and Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended to infringe on these copyrights. Patterns of Light and Shadow is (c) 1996 Isoline M. Sanderson ----------------------------------- ---------------------------------- From ISANDERS@PSC.SSW.DHHS.GOVSun Feb 18 13:43:30 1996 Date: 05 Feb 1996 15:16:15 EST From: "Sanderson, Isoline M" Reply to: b5-creative@blob.best.net To: cschumac@waun.tdsnet.com, b5-creative@blob.best.net, teresa@sidhen.demon.co.uk, tag@astral.magic.ca Subject: Patterns of Light & Shadow pt 26 (yea, I know. About time!) Patterns of Light and Shadow Part 26 by Isoline M. Sanderson ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Garibaldi donned his jacket and glanced around MedLab, which was much calmer now that the pilots from Zeta Squadron had been released. A couple of med techs were straightening up the area, and a nurse was looking at a dockworker's injured arm, but beyond that it was quiet. He walked to the doorway, noting that Kozorr and Ansharr were still standing guard in the corridor. *Well, they're definitely dedicated, I'll give 'em that,* he thought as he opened the door. He saw Ansharr glance sideways at him, then return his attention to the corridor, his stony expression not quite hiding the accusation Garibaldi saw in his eye. *Yeah, yeah, I know already. Ain't nobody as mad at me as I am, Junior . . .* "Mr. Garibaldi?" Kozorr asked, weariness starting to creep into his tone. Garibaldi turned to face him, realizing that as tired as he felt, Kozorr had to be feeling worse -- he, at least, had slept for a couple of hours in MedLab, while Kozorr had stood guard all night . . . Garibaldi nodded and said, "He's awake. Dr. Franklin's making sure he's okay and ready to face the kind of aggravation that's coming." While Kozorr nodded sagely, Garibaldi could feel Ansharr bristle behind him. He wondered briefly if the young warrior's mood would improve if he knew Garibaldi considered Sheridan a part of that aggravation. "I'll be sticking with him as long as I can, so if you two want to get some rest, or if you have to report to anyone --" "After all that has happened you expect us to trust you to guard him?" Ansharr snarled, turning to glare directly at Garibaldi. For an instant, both Garibaldi's and Kozorr's expressions registered shock, then Kozorr frowned as Garibaldi tried to hide the pain and -- almost -- succeeded. "Ansharr . . ." Kozorr began evenly, "perhaps you should bring the news to the others." The younger Minbari frowned slightly, and opened his mouth to protest, but Kozorr shot him a stern glance. Ansharr sighed, knowing that he'd annoyed Kozorr again. *Valen knows why he sides with this useless human,* he thought, but he bowed slightly and said, "Yes, Kozorr." He turned and strode off, his attitude nearly as haughty as Neroon's. Once he was gone, Kozorr sighed and turned back to Garibaldi. "I'm sorry about that, Mr. Garibaldi." "That's all right," Garibaldi answered, finally succeeding in schooling his face. "Although Junior there's taking after the wrong one of that pair . . ." Kozorr looked around to make sure no one could overhear, then quietly said, "Satai Neroon's attitudes are somewhat easier -- but less admirable -- to emulate than Komarr's. Ansharr is young, and has quite a temper of his own." "Yes, I noticed . . ." "Mr. Garibaldi, believe me, I would take advantage of your offer to rest, but I cannot. It is my duty to guard the Ambassador -- I know that you understand why I cannot shirk that duty. And it has nothing to do with trusting *you*." Garibaldi nodded and said, "Yeah, I understand. Well, want to come in and wait with me, or will they look at that as abandoning your post?" Kozorr glanced back into MedLab, then down the corridor. "I think I should stay out here -- it will give you another few seconds' warning." Garibaldi nodded. "Fair enough. I'll see you in a bit, then." He turned and walked back into MedLab, while Kozorr returned to his post by the door, refusing to yawn when the urge hit him. * * * Ansharr strode to Green Sector and headed for the Ambassadorial Wing, stewing over Kozorr's dismissal. Garibaldi was useless, and anyone with any sense *had* to be able to see it, yet Kozorr *liked* him. And Sinclair liked him, which meant that no matter what, they had to put up with him. The only good thing about the man was that he seemed to be more loyal to his previous commander than he was to the murderous idiot who was his current one . . . He stopped, realizing that he'd taken a wrong turn while involved with his thoughts. Instead of the quarters Neroon was in, he was nearly at Delenn's quarters. Delenn, as the official leader of the Rangers assigned to Babylon 5 itself, was entitled to be involved in this, but her presence would infuriate Neroon . . . However, before he could make a decision one way or the other, the door to her quarters slid open and she emerged, dressed in a long tunic over soft trousers in deep blues and lavender, with her human hair arranged in a surprisingly attractive curl to one side. She turned and saw him standing in the corridor, and for an instant seemed unsure, then smiled slightly and walked towards him. He blinked and bowed to her, then said, "Ambassador Delenn -- Kozorr sent me to tell -- Ambassador Sinclair is awake." "That's wonderful, Ansharr!" she said, a real smile lighting up her face. "Have you told Neroon? Does Captain Sheridan know yet?" At the mention of Sheridan, Ansharr frowned, but he answered, "No -- I haven't seen Satai Neroon yet. As to Sheridan, I believe he knows, but I am not positive." "Thank you, Ansharr," Delenn said softly, seeing his reaction and also noticing that he had, at least, made an effort to keep his tone neutral. "Are you heading to see the Satai now?" "Yes," Ansharr answered. "If I don't tell him, you know how furious he would be, Ambassador." She nodded again and said, "Then you should be on your way. Thank you again, Ansharr." He bowed to her, then he headed for Neroon's quarters while she hurried in the direction of MedLab and Sheridan's office. Ansharr stood before the table Neroon sat at, trying his best to look as composed and sure of himself as he could. Komarr stood nearby, relaxed, but as always ready for anything. Ansharr adjusted his stance slightly to mirror his, then turned his attention back to Neroon as he spoke. "So, he's awake? Did you speak with him yourself?" "No, Satai. Garibaldi came out to inform us. He and the medical staff are the only ones who have spoken with him." "And most likely they informed StarKiller . . ." Neroon grumbled. "If we go there, they won't allow us in until StarKiller gives his permission, anyway. He thinks that just because this is his station he can dictate to me . . ." "Satai," Komarr warned, unwilling to correct Neroon in front of Ansharr, but upset that his tolerance of Sheridan had lasted less than one day. Of course, having to wait for so long had not helped Neroon's mood, as Komarr understood all too well. "Yes, I know. It *is* his station, and he is perfectly entitled to do that," Neroon said with an annoyed sigh. "But he *irritates* me so." Ansharr allowed himself a small smile, knowing that at least the Satai shared his views on Sheridan StarKiller. *Maybe, once we are done with this war and no longer need the humans as allies, perhaps he will let me kill StarKiller,* he thought, then looked up at the disapproving expression on Komarr's face. He swallowed and looked down guiltily; if Komarr could forgive -- or at least tolerate -- then he should too . . . "Perhaps if we were to go to St-- Sheridan's office?" Ansharr asked. "Then he would have to bring you with him." Neroon frowned thoughtfully, then shook his head. "No," he said, turning to glance at Komarr. "We will go directly to the MedLab facilities and wait outside. Provided the wait is not *too* long." Ansharr bowed and answered, "Yes, Satai Neroon." * * * Delenn headed to Sheridan's office, arriving shortly after Ivanova left to resume her duties in C&C. Sheridan was pacing back and forth, a frown creasing his forehead, and when she entered he didn't see her until she cleared her throat softly and said, "Excuse me, John?" "Delenn? Oh -- I'm sorry!" He smiled and walked up to her. "I guess I was distracted." She returned the smile, then looked around for a moment. Once certain they were alone, she said, "I met Ansharr in the corridor in the Ambassadorial Wing -- he told me Ambassador Sinclair is awake." "Yes, he is -- Dr. Franklin is looking him over. Did Ansharr specifically go there to tell you?" "Actually, I believe he intended to tell Neroon, but I exited my quarters in time to run into him. He seemed a little -- uncertain, at first, about what he was actually there to do." "Delenn, I have to ask -- I know Ansharr hates me because of the *Black Star*, but where does he stand, really?" "He is a young warrior -- and a member of the Star Riders clan. He is loyal to his clan; but he is also aware of the coming struggle, and I believe the true calling of his heart is to help, not to seek revenge. Although he may not truly understand that yet." "Somehow I never pictured Minbari going through that kind of confused stage," Sheridan mused aloud. "It can happen -- sometimes the heart can be hurt so much by a loss that the pain and anger cloud the mind and spirit. It is not just a human weakness," she said, not realizing until after Sheridan's smile vanished exactly *what* she had just implied. "Oh John, I'm sorry . . ." She raised a hand as if to touch his arm, then bit her lip and instead drew her hand in, clenching her fist over her heart. "I'm sorry." Sheridan forced a smile and raised a hand to gently touch her shoulder. "No, Delenn, don't apologize. I *did* let Anna's . . . death . . ." He paused for a breath, shoving the other possibility to the darker corners of his mind where it belonged, then continued, "affect me badly. I was -- not thinking at all when I was questioning Morden, I only wanted to a way to make the pain stop. Realizing that it's possible for a Minbari to feel the same way makes it a little easier to understand Ansharr." She could still see the pain in his eyes, despite his calm tone, and hoped fervently that she hadn't opened old wounds too much. Right now they *all* needed to be able to think straight and work efficiently together . . . Sudden realization struck her, she nearly gasped in surprise as her own words echoed through her mind: *Sometimes the heart can be hurt so much by a loss that the pain and anger cloud the mind and spirit . . . In Valen's name, no *wonder* he's lashing out so. No wonder he hates me . . .* "Delenn? What's wrong?" Sheridan now gripped her by both shoulders and was looking worriedly down at her. "Oh John . . ." she murmured, meeting his concerned gaze. "I think I understand someone's motivations a little better now, myself. It -- probably would not be right to elaborate further without permission." He blinked and let his hands fall to his sides, caught off balance by the sudden change back to calm, proper Ambassador Delenn. He could see from her expression that she was distracted, working something out in her head. Obviously it had something to do with someone's irrational behaviour and some personal loss, but -- *Neroon?* he thought, then decided against it. *No one could get close enough to that arrogant bastard . . .* "Delenn?" he asked gently, "Are you okay? You feel up to dealing with Neroon? I can't be sure that things aren't going to blow up again." "I am ready to do what must be done," she answered calmly. "Remember the ordeal that Ambassador Sinclair has been through -- we should all try to be as rational as possible. Fights between Neroon and yourself will only upset him . . ." Sheridan nodded and said, "I know. I'll do my best." "Thank you." She smiled up at him and he grinned in response, then suddenly remembered something. "What about Kosh?" "Kosh will not be available," she said. "And I believe the other ship left before you even awoke, although the war cruiser is still outside." "Pity -- I would have liked to talk to another Vorlon," Sheridan said, thinking, *Maybe it's just Kosh, and another one would be more open . . .* Delenn smiled and said, "I believe you will find they are all like that." "Ah. Oh well," Sheridan commented. "Um -- Delenn, just how much does Ambassador Sinclair *know* about the Shadows and the rest? I don't want to say something I shouldn't . . ." "A sensible concern," Delenn said. "You needn't worry, John. He does know about the coming war." Sheridan nodded and said, "Yeah -- I just remembered what you said last night about uniting our people to fight the common foe. Okay . . . We had better get to MedLab and find out how he's doing." * * * Garibaldi waited for a few minutes until Franklin emerged from the curtained-off area. While he waited, he checked in with the Security office, hoping the station wasn't going completely to hell while he was out. Lou was manning the office and told him things were going pretty well, the Minbari warriors seemed a little agitated but weren't causing any trouble, and he'd stuck Zack with the paperwork. Garibaldi laughed and told him to keep up the good work, then signed off. "So, Doc, how is he?" he asked, not sure if he should be amused or alarmed by the thoughtful frown Franklin wore. "He's fine," Franklin said, "but there's something a little odd . . ." "Yeah? *What?*" "That bruise on his cheek?" Franklin asked. When Garibaldi nodded, he continued, "How long has he had that?" "He got it during the flight with Zeta Squadron. Why?" Garibaldi asked, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that he wasn't going to *like* the answer. "Because it's not a fresh bruise, Garibaldi, it's almost *healed*. It looks at least a week old," he said, his voice holding that annoyed but curious tone he got when he discovered some medical mystery. "And when I looked at the scan of his head to make sure he didn't have a concussion or something, there was a definite sign of damage, but it's old, almost healed damage. Like the bruise is all that's left of some severe head trauma. Garibaldi, a blow to the head like that -- I don't think he'd have survived. What the hell is going on here?" "Maybe the bruise just happens to be over an old injury?" Garibaldi asked, hoping Franklin would drop it. "There isn't one like that in his EarthForce record, and I think we would've heard if he'd been that badly injured on Minbar . . ." Franklin trailed off as Garibaldi shrugged, then asked, "This happened during the flight, and somehow the Vorlons--?" Garibaldi looked around, making sure there was no one in hearing range, then said, "To tell you the truth, I have *no* idea, but I sure hope it was the Vorlons." With that he turned and headed for Sinclair's bed, while Franklin frowned and asked, "What the hell is *that* supposed to mean?" "Hey, Jeff, how are you doing?" Garibaldi asked as he drew the curtain closed behind him. Sinclair was sitting up in the bed, propped against the pillows and looking slightly annoyed. "I would be doing a lot better if they'd let me out of this bed." Garibaldi shook his head and said, "That's not a good idea, Jeff. You need to rest." "I'm fine," Sinclair protested, although Garibaldi noticed he wasn't making any attempt to get out of the bed. "They're going to be here soon, Jeff. You ready to deal with them? You want Kozorr and me to keep them out?" Sinclair shook his head and said, "No. That would just make it worse when I finally *do* talk to them, and could get you in trouble." "And this is something new?" Garibaldi quipped. "Hell, Sheridan and Ansharr are already pissed at me, and Neroon too . . ." He grinned a little and said, "I'll stay here with you, though." Sinclair nodded and said, "Thank you." Garibaldi peeked out of the curtain in time to see some commotion outside MedLab, then turned back to Sinclair. "I think your visitors are here . . ." * * * To be continued... ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Babylon 5 is (c) 1996 PTEN & Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended to infringe on these copyrights. Patterns of Light and Shadow is (c) 1996 Isoline M. Sanderson ----------------------------------------------------------------------- From ISANDERS@PSC.SSW.DHHS.GOVFri Mar 8 21:21:13 1996 Date: 28 Feb 1996 14:55:14 EST From: "Sanderson, Isoline M" Reply to: b5-creative@blob.best.net To: cschumac@waun.tdsnet.com, uvalpha@aol.com, tag@astral.magic.ca, b5-creative@blob.best.net Subject: Patterns of Light and Shadow pt. 27 (sorry for delay!) Patterns of Light and Shadow Part 27 by Isoline M. Sanderson ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Neroon, Komarr, and Ansharr stopped in front of Kozorr, Neroon frowning darkly when Kozorr continued to block his way. "Kozorr, I want to speak with Ambassador Sinclair, let me past." "Satai, no one has given permission yet. I do not know if the ambassador is ready to receive visitors." "Then tell him we are here, Kozorr. I am tired of standing out in corridors and waiting for people to give *me* permission." Kozorr bowed and was about to speak when Sheridan and Delenn turned the corner and approached them from the other direction. "Damn him," Neroon muttered, then turned to face the two newcomers. "Captain Sheridan, Ambassador Delenn. I was informed that Ambassador Sinclair is awake." "Yes, Satai Neroon," Sheridan said calmly. "Dr. Franklin was examining him to make sure he isn't injured. If you'll wait out here, I will speak with the doctor and see if Ambassador Sinclair is ready to see anyone." "No, I think perhaps we shall all accompany you to speak with the good doctor," Noon said coolly. Sheridan heaved a quiet sigh and nodded. "Very well, come with me." He turned and stepped towards the door, Kozorr quickly moving out of his way. The door slid open and Dr. Franklin looked up as they filed into MedLab. "Captain, Ambassador Delenn, and you must be Satai Neroon," Franklin said, walking to meet the group. "I understand you all wish to speak with the ambassador. Before you do, I want to make certain you *understand* that he has been through a lot, and if you start arguing or yelling or doing anything else to cause him stress, I *will* kick you out." "Doctor," Sheridan said sharply. "No, I mean it, Captain. You're in MedLab and the ambassador is a patient here. I will *not* have anyone upsetting my patients. *Any*one. Is that understood?" Subdued, Sheridan nodded, and Delenn said, "Of course, Doctor." Neroon didn't speak, but Sheridan glanced at him and saw a slight smile. For a moment he was puzzled, until he realized Neroon was pleased Franklin had threatened him along with the rest of them. *You smug bastard,* Sheridan thought, wishing for just a moment that he had some psi-talent. "Okay," Franklin said, "then follow me." They followed, Ansharr, Komarr, and Kozorr bringing up the rear. Franklin opened the curtain and ushered them in, rather relieved when the three trailers took up guard stances near, but not in the curtained area. From the look of them, no one from outside would harm Ambassador Sinclair -- now he just had to hope that Garibaldi would be able to break up any trouble *inside* the curtained area. Or at least contain it long enough for him or the three warriors to assist in breaking it up . . . When they entered the curtained area, the first thing that greeted them was Garibaldi, his uniform looking a little worse for wear and a day's growth of beard on his face. When he saw who it was, he looked back over his shoulder at Sinclair and quietly said, "It's all of 'em." Sheridan frowned at him and he stepped back so that he was no longer blocking them, but still stayed close to Sinclair. Delenn found herself smiling a little at the show of loyalty, but Neroon frowned and Sheridan's lips compressed into a thin line as he remembered Garibaldi's first words to him: "I don't know you." After nine months of getting to know him, the man was still ready to protect Sinclair from him . . . Sheridan walked forward and extended his hand, smiling as Sinclair grasped it firmly. "John Sheridan," he introduced himself as they shook hands. "Pleased to meet you, Ambassador Sinclair." "Pleased to meet you, Captain. I've heard a lot about you," Sinclair said, keeping his expression totally neutral. For a moment, Sheridan thought, *Hope it wasn't *all* bad . . .* but he answered, "Likewise." Then Sinclair looked past him to see Delenn's concerned expression. He smiled as she stepped closer, then said, "Delenn, I'm sorry to have caused you so much worry. I'm okay -- really." Garibaldi was trying to keep an eye on all of them at once, but nearly missed Sheridan's look of surprise when Sinclair omitted Delenn's title. Either Sinclair wasn't thinking, or he was more concerned with reassuring her than he was about protocol . . . "I am so relieved that you are safe," she answered, and Garibaldi saw her eyes dart to Sheridan and back towards Neroon. *She* was worried about how informally he'd addressed her. "When I heard that you were missing, I . . ." "It's all right, Ambassador," Sinclair said gently, formality back in place now that he knew she was okay. "You know how Dr. Franklin gets about his patients. Hopefully I'll be out of here today." Garibaldi's hackles rose as Neroon suddenly stepped forward. "Then, Ambassador, you *will* be sensible and not go out into danger again," the warrior Satai said. It wasn't quite an order, but it definitely was more than a request. Sinclair took a deep breath and calmly answered, "I believe that is a subject for later discussion, Satai." Neroon frowned and said, "You will forgive me if I do not agree." Before Neroon could continue, Sheridan stepped back into the mix. "Ambassador Sinclair, I know you've been through -- a lot -- but . . . can you tell us what happened to you and Zeta Squadron? The downloads and recordings from the Starfuries were -- less than helpful." Neroon glowered at Sheridan, then heaved an annoyed sigh and waited for Sinclair's answer. "There's really not that much to tell," Sinclair said as he studied their expressions. "We started encountering odd interference, and Lieutenant Keffer determined it could possibly be a danger to the station. Since it seemed to be nearing, we headed into Sector 14 to investigate." "Sector 14 is restricted," Sheridan said. "I'm well aware of that, Captain," Sinclair responded, "I was the one who signed the order restricting it." His tone never changed from his calm narration, but Garibaldi saw the momentary flash of annoyance in his eyes. "When there is an unknown object causing interference on communications and sensors, it is better to investigate than hope it doesn't come to visit. Especially when it is already heading your way. "Zeta Squadron couldn't afford to be four Starfuries short when they investigated, so I went with them. We lost our sensors and almost complete contact with each other, but I *saw* . . . something." He paused, and studied his audience, finally locking eyes with Garibaldi. "I'm not really positive what it was -- at the best I could see some movement and . . . A strange kind of moving darkness." Garibaldi shivered, his memory casting itself back to the strange, unknown ships on Mars and knowing with too much certainty that that was why Sinclair was looking at him. Neroon followed the gaze to glower at Garibaldi momentarily, then he snorted and returned his attention to Sinclair. "I tried to tell the rest of Zeta Squadron about it, and the communication system must have been working a little, because I didn't lose them completely when I followed it." "Did you actually *see* a ship?" Delenn asked. Sinclair shook his head. "I could see -- something. I can't even really describe it. More like a hole in space than something physically there. Something so dark your eye skips off it *believing* there's nothing there . . ." He faded off, his eyes widening slightly as a chilling thought gripped him. Garibaldi shivered, seeing the sudden unease striking his friend, and said, "You saw whatever it was because they wanted you to . . ." He didn't realize he'd spoken aloud until all eyes were on him. All except Sinclair's held shock and fear. Sinclair's eyes held memories -- of Mars, of the alien ships and the Thing under the dome, and of the pristine landscape after everything vanished without a trace. If they could do that, then logic said they could travel through space equally undetected -- unless they *wanted* to be . . . Neroon frowned, and Garibaldi realized the Minbari was nearly trembling with anger. "This was a trap, then, to lure him in! And it nearly worked . . ." He took a step forwards, then stopped, remembering the Ranger brooch Garibaldi carried. Slightly calmer, he said, "*Someone* knew the ambassador was going out, and set a trap for him. When I find out who that someone is, he -- or she -- is *dead*." "Neroon!" Sinclair barked, anger flashing again in his eyes. Simultaneously, Sheridan said, "I will not put up with people making threats on my station!" but it was Sinclair that Neroon turned to. The others were surprised to see the arrogant warrior bow slightly to Sinclair, even more surprised to hear him say, "My apologies, Ambassador." Sinclair nodded, then looked up at Garibaldi. "You think it was a trap, Michael?" "It seems pretty suspicious, Jeff . . . I'll have to look into it. If there's someone spying for . . . Them . . ." He trailed off, looking up at Sheridan, whose expression was one of unease and slight annoyance. "It's not just a threat to visiting VIP's, Captain. It's also a threat to station security . . ." "Of course, Mr. Garibaldi," Sheridan said quietly. "Just be *careful* how you carry out your investigation, it'll be pretty dangerous." "No kidding," Garibaldi muttered, "Sir." Before anyone else could speak, Dr. Franklin slid aside the curtain and said, "I heard yelling. I said *no* aggravating the ambassador." "No, Doctor, it's all right," Sinclair said, trying to appease the angry doctor. "It was a small misunderstanding." "I heard *you* yelling, too, Ambassador." "I'm sorry, Doctor, I won't let it happen again," Sinclair said with a smile. "See that it doesn't. Any more yelling and everyone is out of here." With that, Franklin turned and walked out, leaving them all somewhat stunned. Finally, Sinclair asked, "So, does anyone have anything else they wanted to ask me?" "Yes," Neroon said, looking directly at him, "Once you are out of here, you will be returning to Minbar on the *Ishum*." "Uh . . . no, Satai, I won't. I have a two-week vacation, of which I've only taken three days so far. I am not leaving until my vacation is done." "Satai Neroon, now that we know the ambassador is here, we can all make every effort to keep him from any harm," Sheridan said calmly, although Garibaldi caught the warning glance Sheridan shot his way. "If the ambassador is staying, then I, too, shall stay," Neroon declared. "You don't have to," Garibaldi said without thinking. "I promise you I'll keep a close eye on him -- and no more flights." "I have already seen the results of your attentiveness, Mr. Garibaldi. I *will* stay." "Do you not have duties with the Grey Council, Satai?" Delenn asked softly. "Actually, it has come to my attention that *some* members of the Grey Council have been known to spend long stretches away from the others . . ." Several pairs of eyes flickered in Delenn's direction, then dodged away again, hopefully before drawing too much attention to her. Garibaldi glanced guiltily up at Sinclair in time to see the compassion and sadness in his eyes as he looked at Delenn. "Um . . ." Sheridan started, looking over at Neroon. "If you plan to stay, Satai, may I ask how many of your . . . people will be staying with you?" "Do you mean will the *Ishum* be staying? Will Komarr be staying? Yes, Captain, my ship and the captain of my guards will be staying with me." He paused, giving Delenn a triumphant glance, then continued, "The quarters you have provided are adequate." "Satai Neroon, you really don't need to do this," Sinclair protested. "I *have* learned my lesson, and I know there are people here who will see to my safety." "Ambassador, do not worry," Neroon said. "This will give me a chance to speak directly with the other Minbari living on this -- place. I can find out for myself how they feel about . . . current matters." With that, he again looked down at Delenn, who kept her expression neutral, although she clenched a fist at her side. Sinclair sighed and nodded, knowing it was a lost cause. Garibaldi frowned and thought, *I thought you didn't like this 'place', Neroon . . .* However, after another glance at Delenn, Garibaldi realized just how upset she was at the prospect -- most likely, the 'current matters' involved how the other Minbari felt about her transformation, and her recent closeness to Sheridan . . . "Um . . . Jeff, weren't you worried about this being turned into a working vacation?" Garibaldi asked. Sinclair frowned slightly and looked at him, catching the sideways glance at Neroon. "Well, I would hope that the Satai's presence and all of the guards won't be too . . . noticeable," Sinclair said, looking again at Neroon. The warrior frowned and asked, "What? You think *my* presence will cause all the other ambassadors to realize you are here?" He looked around at the others standing there and said, "I wish to speak with Ambassador Sinclair alone." Garibaldi raised an eyebrow, but at Sinclair's nod said, "Okay, I'll be *right* outside. Captain, Ambassador Delenn?" "Yes, of course," Delenn said, turning and following a reluctant Sheridan out of the curtained area. Garibaldi took one last look at Neroon, then followed them out. "If you don't *want* me here, Ambassador, why not just tell me?" Neroon asked softly once they were alone. "All of these excuses, and Delenn talking of Grey Council duties . . ." "I'm sorry, Neroon," Sinclair said. "But I can hardly presume to *tell* someone of your status to go away . . . Besides, I know that being here brings back some rather painful memories." Neroon frowned, but there was a flash of something akin to sadness in his eyes. "I am -- concerned for your safety. When I saw the wreckage of your fighter . . ." Sinclair's eyebrows rose at Neroon's admission -- or near-admission -- but he didn't comment, knowing it would only serve to annoy him again. However, he did say, "I won't have you and Komarr threatening my friends and following me everywhere I go, Satai. And you would not be happy staying here." Neroon sighed and said, "*Someone* on this station is a spy for the darkness. That is the only explanation for what happened." He paused and took a deep breath, then said, "I will return to Minbar For now I will leave the guarding up to Kozorr, Garibaldi, and the other Rangers. However, if *anything* should go wrong . . ." Sinclair shut his eyes, knowing Neroon's intentions were good but weary of the arguing and threats. "You promise you won't try to kill Michael again, and you'll stop threatening Sheridan?" "Sheridan is a fool and doesn't know what is going on all around him!" "Just -- promise me you won't threaten him." "I promise," Neroon said quietly. The reluctance was more than obvious in his tone, but Sinclair knew he would keep his word. "And Michael?" "He is your *friend* and yet he allowed you to endanger yourself . . ." "You, of all people, should know how difficult it is to talk me out of doing something I decide I'm going to do," Sinclair said with a little smile. Then he sobered again and said, "But if you attack him again, Neroon, I will never forgive you." Neroon bowed his head and quietly said, "I apologize for attacking him . . . I didn't realize he was so close to you. I thought he was -- just one of Earth's soldiers." He looked up again, meeting Sinclair's gaze and nodded. "I promise I will not attack him again. *Unless* he should prove to be the spy!" "I don't think you have to worry about that, Neroon," Sinclair said with a little smile. "Everything will be all right -- you can take the *Ishum* back to Minbar, and when my vacation is over, I will return." Neroon nodded and said, "Very well, I will do this." "Thank you. Now, I think I would like to sleep again . . . could you send Michael in, and give my apologies to Captain Sheridan and Ambassador Delenn?" "I will do it because you ask," Neroon said, then he bowed and walked out. Neroon emerged from the private area and looked at Garibaldi. "He wishes to see you, Mr. Garibaldi. Captain, Ambassador, he apologizes, but is becoming fatigued again. I will be leaving tonight for Minbar, but should anything else go wrong, I *will* be back." With that, Neroon motioned to Komarr, and the two warriors strode from MedLab before the others could react. Garibaldi shrugged and looked at Sheridan, then said, "I'll -- uh . . ." "Go ahead, Mr. Garibaldi," Sheridan said, looking first at him, then Delenn. "I will expect you to be back on duty tomorrow morning." "Yes, Sir," Garibaldi answered with a sigh of relief. Delenn turned to him and said, "Please tell the ambassador I will speak with him later." Garibaldi nodded, then watched as Delenn and Sheridan walked over to talk with Dr. Franklin. After what he figured was a request to let them know if anything changed or if Sinclair asked to see either of them, they left, and he went back to see Sinclair. When he re-entered the curtained-off area, he found his friend already asleep. He smiled, watching the peaceful expression, and thought, *Sleep well, Jeff. You deserve it after everything you've been through . . .* * * * To be continued . . . ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Babylon 5 is (c) 1996 PTEN & Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended to infringe on this copyright. Patterns of Light and Shadow is (c) 1996 Isoline M. Sanderson ---------------------------------------------------------------------- From ISANDERS@PSC.SSW.DHHS.GOVWed Mar 20 22:52:24 1996 Date: 20 Mar 1996 16:00:16 EST From: "Sanderson, Isoline M" Reply to: b5-creative@blob.best.net To: cschumac@waun.tdsnet.com, tag@astral.magic.ca, b5-creative@blob.best.net Subject: Patterns of Light and Shadow, pt. 28 Yes, finally, a new part! :) It's a little short -- sorry! Things are wrapping up and I figured I'd get this part out now. (And yes, I *do* need desperately to get this finished and all posted *before* War Without End...) -- Isoline isanders@psc.ssw.dhhs.gov OR UVAlpha@aol.com ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Patterns of Light and Shadow Part 28 by Isoline M. Sanderson ---------------------------------------------------------------------- "Delenn?" Sheridan asked, looking over at her as they left MedLab. "Do you think Neroon and Garibaldi are right? That there's some kind of spy, and the--" He broke off, abruptly, as someone turned from a side corridor into the one they walked down. Sheridan nodded politely to the man, who smiled slightly and continued on his way. Sheridan wondered briefly if the man's hooded tunic and the rest of his dark outfit was one of the new fashion trends, thinking, *I've seen some other people dressed like that recently. Must do a lot of business on cold-weather worlds . . .* "John?" Delenn asked, looking up at him and carefully studying his expression. "Perhaps we should talk in your office, or the Garden?" "Maybe not the Garden," he answered, dragging his attention back to the matter at hand. "It's too -- open. You never know who might be listening . . ." Delenn nodded, knowing exactly what he meant, and said, "I think you are right. Your office, then." Once safely locked in his office, Sheridan poured a glass of orange juice for Delenn and one for himself, then looked around his office with a dark frown. Then he turned to face Delenn and said, "How the hell do we know they aren't in here?" She slowly walked once around the room, then back to him and said, "I would know. At least, in this room, at this moment, we are safe." Sheridan breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. "I didn't know you could do that." "I am sorry. I should have mentioned it before. But it is not an easy thing -- out in the open with many beings present, I would not be able to." She smiled a little bit, and Sheridan found himself smiling warmly in response. "Now, John, you were saying?" "Oh . . ." he said, suddenly sobering again. "Yes. Do you think there *is* a spy, and this whole thing was a set-up to catch or kill the ambassador?" He offered her a seat on the couch and sat down next to her, then added, "Or maybe some of those -- things -- were in the pilots' ready room before they went out . . ." "I am not certain," Delenn said thoughtfully. "But it could be . . ." She sipped the orange juice, then said, "Or they may have been patrolling themselves, and -- 'got lucky'?" Sheridan frowned and said, "That's some pretty good luck for a random encounter . . ." Delenn nodded and said, "Yes, it is." Then she shook her head and said softly, "I sincerely doubt it was 'just luck'." "So who *is* the spy, then? It *can't* be Garibaldi -- I don't think anybody could fake the kind of reactions he had to Sinclair's Starfury and the rest of it . . ." "Who else knew the ambassador was going on a patrol?" Delenn asked. "Everyone except me," Sheridan grumbled. Then he frowned and listed, "All of Zeta Squadron, obviously Ivanova, Garibaldi, General Hague . . . whoever transmitted the approval . . ." He paled and looked at her, shook his head. "If someone . . . if Hague or one of his people . . ." "I believe you will find you can trust Commander Ivanova and Mr. Garibaldi, but it may be prudent to watch your step with *all* of the others. It may simply be that someone managed to intercept the approval, which is disturbing in its own right, or overheard your fighter pilots talking. But, it is safer to prepare for all possibilities." "Yes," Sheridan agreed, uncomfortable with the possibilities raised in the discussion. They had taken every care possible, but may still have been compromised. There was a point where one had to just stop hiding and trust *someone*, but that always led to the risk of trusting the *wrong* someone . . . If they had done that, then everything they worked for would be lost, and the cell group would be exposed as anti-government conspirators . . . *Even if it *was* true,* he thought with a cynical grin. "John?" Delenn asked softly, "Is there some way I can help?" He blinked, meeting her gaze, and the smile warmed again. "I'm sorry, Delenn. I've been . . . I need to think for a while, and I guess I ought to start working on my report." "What will you tell them?" she asked, concerned. "Not the whole thing, believe me," he answered, shaking his head. "I'll have to come up with *something*, but we can't say anything about the Shadows . . . I guess they'd believe something about unexplained phenomena in Sector 14 . . ." "Will they believe that?" she asked. "Do you *have* to mention it?" "No, they probably won't believe that," he admitted. "Or if they do, they may want it investigated and we run the risk of alerting the Shadows anyway. I'll come up with *something*." He paused and stared into space for a moment, then said, "If I had a choice I wouldn't mention it at all, but too many people know something happened, and we lost one of the Starfuries. They're not cheap, and *not* reporting it would cause a heap of trouble . . ." "I had not thought of that," Delenn admitted. "I should let you work on that report, then." She stood and bowed slightly, smiling. He stood and bowed a little in return, watched as she walked from the room, admiring her grace. Then he walked back to his desk and reluctantly began composing his report. * * * The next time Sinclair woke up, Garibaldi was sitting in a chair at his bedside. He looked better rested, and Sinclair realized his friend must have taken a few minutes away from his vigil to get into comfortable clothes and at least shave. "Michael," he said softly, "how long have I been asleep?" "Few hours -- how do you feel?" "*Much* better -- I wouldn't mind getting out of here now, *if* that's all right with the good doctor . . ." Sinclair said with a slight smile. "I don't really want to spend my entire vacation in MedLab, and I don't like being a captive audience." "Can't fault you there," Garibaldi agreed. "Well, there is some good news: Neroon took his war cruiser back to Minbar. Stomped off with a little black storm cloud over his head when he was told you were still sleeping . . . The bad news is that he said he'd be back . . ." Garibaldi paused and shrugged, then said, "I don't know how you did it, but you might domesticate him yet." "Somehow I don't think so," Sinclair said softly. "But he does listen to me, sometimes. It *could* be worse." "Easily. So, you want me to get the Doc, or should we just make a break for it?" At Sinclair's slightly amused frown, he nodded and said, "Okay, I'll get him." A few minutes later he returned with Dr. Franklin, who seemed slightly irritated, but otherwise normal. Sinclair wondered why Garibaldi was frowning behind the doctor, but didn't have time to ask as Franklin a ked how he was feeling and began checking his eyes and reflexes before he could even answer. Garibaldi stood back, arms folded, waiting while Franklin performed his examination. It was finished very quickly, and soon Franklin was ready to approve his release. "Ambassador," he asked beforehand, "just to update your records, have you had any serious injuries since your physical prior to your transfer to Minbar?" "No, Doctor," Sinclair answered, then at Franklin's frown asked, "Why, should I have?" He caught the grin Garibaldi gave him and had to struggle slightly to restrain his own. Franklin stared at him for a moment, then said, "What? *No* -- I was just updating . . ." Then he caught the looks flying back and forth and snorted. "Okay, you're healthy. Get outta here before I change my mind!" He grinned and shook his head, then looked at Garibaldi and said, "This is *your* fault, I know it." He walked off, grumbling something about bad influences and smart asses, while Garibaldi tried to feign innocence. Sinclair looked around, then back at Garibaldi. "Okay, where are my clothes?" "Oh -- sorry." Garibaldi pulled a satchel out from under the chair and plopped it on the seat. "Hope you don't mind my picking through your luggage -- your flight suit is a little worse for wear." "Yes, I guess it must be," Sinclair said thoughtfully. He stood and began dressing, amused to find that Garibaldi had brought him one of his old academy sweaters for a shirt. When he held it up and caught Garibaldi's eye, his friend explained with a grin, "Hey -- you're on vacation, you keep telling me how comfortable they are. I've got a bit of a thick head, but I can take a hint." "You don't have a thick head," Sinclair said quietly. "Well, *we* both know that, but don't let the rest of 'em find out." They both chuckled and Sinclair finished dressing. "You ready? We'll go back to my quarters for now -- I have to go back on duty tomorrow, so we oughta make the best of the rest of my spare time . . ." "Sounds good. If we can, I'd like to just take a walk around to see the place again -- but I'll have to hope people don't recognize me . . ." "You could wear your Minbari cloak," Garibaldi suggested. "You're mainly worried about folks like G'Kar and Londo spotting you, right?" "Yes -- any of the ambassadors or representatives, really. There are some people I actually would like to speak to, but for the most part I want to just relax . . ." Garibaldi nodded and said, "Sounds good to me. Let's go." They left MedLab, not surprised when Kozorr and Ansharr bowed as Sinclair passed, then followed wordlessly a pace behind. Partway down the corridor, Sinclair turned to Garibaldi and said, "Hold on a minute." He turned back to Kozorr and Ansharr, and quietly spoke with them. Garibaldi strained to hear, but only picked up the words "drawing attention." Kozorr nodded sharply and Ansharr frowned but echoed the action, then Sinclair returned to Garibaldi's side and said, "Okay, let's go." Garibaldi glanced back and saw the two Minbari fade back into the scenery. He could pinpoint both of them, but only because of his training and the fact that he knew what he was looking for. "Are they going to stay there?" he asked as they resumed walking. Sinclair shook his head and said, "They'll follow -- There's no way I could talk them into leaving me completely alone. If Neroon found out, he'd make their lives miserable . . ." He looked at Garibaldi and said, "They will, however, stay at a distance, and stop marching around after me." Garibaldi grinned and said, "Well, that's a start . . ." He glanced behind them again, then said, "You know if they're caught loitering around the crew quarters they could get in trouble . . ." "They won't get caught," Sinclair explained. He smiled and said, "No slight to your men, but the Rangers have become nearly as well-versed in B5's shortcuts and hidden passages as you are." Garibaldi gave Sinclair a sideways glance and said, "Bet I can't guess where they got this knowledge from, either." Sinclair tried to feign innocence, saying, "I can't *imagine* what you're talking about . . ." but Garibaldi only chuckled. "And Stephen calls *me* a bad influence . . ." * * * To be continued... ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Babylon 5 is (c) 1996 PTEN & Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended to infringe on these copyrights. Patterns of Light and Shadow is (c) 1996 Isoline M. Sanderson ---------------------------------------------------------------------- From ISANDERS@PSC.SSW.DHHS.GOV Wed May 8 18:23:11 1996 Date: 24 Apr 1996 15:13:15 EDT From: "Sanderson, Isoline M" Reply-To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: Patterns of Light and Shadow part 29 Patterns of Light and Shadow Part 29 by Isoline M. Sanderson ---------------------------------------------------------------------- After stopping at Garibaldi's quarters and getting ready for their walk, Sinclair and Garibaldi headed through the Zocalo. Sinclair stopped to purchase some small items, explaining to Garibaldi that he had promised to bring back some gifts, including something for Alisa Beldon, the young human telepath who had gone to Minbar to study. "How's she doing, anyway?" Garibaldi asked as he watched Sinclair compare two brightly coloured bead necklaces, finally settling on the one in shades of blue and purple. "Rather well, actually," Sinclair answered as he paid the vendor. "Which reminds me, I have some letters from her for Talia and Susan. Don't let me forget those." Garibaldi nodded, and they continued on. As they passed a cafe, Sinclair slowed and asked, "How long has it been since I last ate? I just realized I'm *starving*." Garibaldi's eyes widened and he said, "Jeeze, Jeff, I didn't even think of that -- I'm sorry! You want to go in, or get something to go?" Sinclair looked at the people sitting at the cafe's tables and frowned, then said, "We'd better get something to go -- it would be rude to keep the hood on in there, and there's a better chance of being recognized. Besides, isn't this where we saw Morden the other day?" Garibaldi nodded uncomfortably, then said, "I don't see him now, at least. One lunch to go, coming up." "We can eat in the Garden," Sinclair suggested. "Sounds good to me," Garibaldi answered, then walked to the counter to order their food. Ten minutes later, they were on their way again with a bag of carry-out containers. As they made their way to the Garden, Garibaldi noticed the slight increase in the number of Rangers and Star Riders who "just happened" to be wandering the Zocalo and the corridors. At one point he nudged Sinclair's arm to get his attention, then said, "Looks like Kozorr got the word out . . ." Sinclair nodded and quietly said, "Efficient, isn't he." The note of weariness behind the amusement was not lost on Garibaldi. "You're important to them, Jeff," he explained. "The warriors may prefer fighting to peace, but it looks like at least this one group has realized we're not the enemy, and that keeping on Earth's good side is necessary to even have a chance against the *real* enemy." "And you think Earth cares about what happens to me?" Sinclair asked softly. "Well, Clark and his goons may not -- they don't care about anyone except themselves. But, you are Earth's ambassador, and if something were to happen to you they'd have to do something." He grinned then, and added, "Besides, I care. So do your other friends here." Sinclair nodded and quietly said, "I know. It just . . . Sometimes it's hard. They all treat me like I'm going to break if someone *looks* too hard at me. I'm used to leading people, but I've *never* been one to stay protected while the people I lead are risking their lives." "I know," Garibaldi responded, trying not to think about all the times Sinclair had risked himself while on B5. "You know, that's part of why people follow you so readily . . ." He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, then added, "It's also part of what drives me -- and probably Kozorr -- nuts while we're trying to keep you from getting your butt shot off . . ." Sinclair nodded, then said, "I know. I'm sorry." Garibaldi smiled and said, "Just keep yourself in one piece, and it'll be okay." "I'll certainly try," Sinclair said. Then he looked off to one side, spotting an open table in a clearing in a small thicket of flowering trees. "Ah -- looks perfect." Garibaldi nodded, and they settled at the table to eat their lunch. They spent the early afternoon talking, discussing things that had happened since Sinclair had gone to Minbar, things they'd heard from Earth, suspicions and theories, and anything else that came to mind. They were interrupted by the sounds of a good-sized group approaching through the Garden. Garibaldi paused to listen for a moment, then said, "Let's get outta here -- it's a bunch of Centauri." Sinclair flipped his hood back on and they made good their escape, dodging out of the Garden through a side-corridor. When they stopped in a deserted alcove, they leaned back against the bulkhead and each other, and laughed. Once they had calmed and caught their breath, they strolled casually back down the corridor. Garibaldi turned to Sinclair and said, "Just like the good old days when we were trying to get this place into shape . . ." Sinclair chuckled and nodded, then said, "Trying to avoid Londo when he came to complain about the mistakes the restaurant made with the Centauri cuisine . . ." Garibaldi grimaced and said, "Thought he was going to drive us crazy. 'Arrest the chef for attempted murder!'" he hissed in a fair imitation of Londo. They chuckled again, then settled down as they entered a more populated area. For most of the remainder of the day they explored the station, managing to (barely) avoid discovery a few more times. That evening, Garibaldi threw together a salad and heated up a pizza, and they talked some more. Garibaldi tried to call Ivanova to tell her Sinclair wanted to see her, but she wasn't in her quarters. He turned back to Sinclair and shrugged. "She's probably at Earhart's, or out looking for trouble . . ." Sinclair nodded and said, "That's all right, I have time." "You're going to be out sneaking around while I'm on duty tomorrow, aren't you," Garibaldi said. When Sinclair nodded, he continued, "Just be careful, okay? There's gotta be something to this spy theory, and I don't have the first idea *who* it is. That, and we know Morden's out there poking around . . ." "Believe me, I will be very careful -- and you know my ever-faithful watchdogs won't be far behind . . ." Garibaldi nodded, then said, "I just worry that one of my people will try to follow the suspicious 'Minbari warrior' sneaking around the station -- after all, I put them on guard when all the Star Riders started showing up." "Don't worry -- I'll try not to act too 'suspicious'," Sinclair said with a grin. "Okay," Garibaldi said. "And if you do attract anyone's attention, try to avoid any of the ones with NightWatch armbands." Sinclair nodded and said, "Definitely a good plan." * * * The next morning found Garibaldi back on duty, listening to Lou's update of the previous day. When Lou finished, Garibaldi nodded and said, "Guess things could've been worse -- thanks for covering for me." Lou smiled and said, "Anytime, Chief. Everything goin' okay now?" "Yeah -- all the little problems seem to be back under control." "Good -- don't need any more problems than the usual ones," Lou said with a chuckle. "You aren't kidding," Garibaldi replied. Then he settled more comfortably in his chair and said, "Why don't you go patrol, and I'll pull my weight here 'till lunch?" "You sure, Chief?" Lou asked, knowing ow little most of the security people liked sitting in security central *watching* things. There were those who seemed to enjoy it, however, and he'd noticed most of them were NightWatch. That said something, and he didn't like what it was saying. "Yeah, you go ahead. I'll see you later." Lou nodded and headed out on rounds, while Garibaldi watched the monitors and checked the logs from the previous day. Only part of his mind was really paying attention to the securi-cam feeds, the rest of it trying to figure out exactly how the enemy had known about Sinclair's flight, whether there really was a spy on station, and -- although he repeatedly tried to *avoid* thinking about it -- how he *knew* the things he knew . . . *He *is* The One,* he thought with a certainty that made him more than a little uneasy. *Or,* he amended, *if he isn't now, he will be The One . . . But how do I know this? Just because I was there? Just gut feelings? Cop's intuition? And what the hell was all that stuff with Kosh yesterday?!* He forced those thoughts to the back of his mind again and decided, *I've gotta talk to someone -- but I don't know who . . . maybe Talia can help . . .* He stretched and thought it over further. *Maybe I shouldn't talk it over with Talia, though. PsiCops can scan any telepath any time they damnwell feel like it, and for all I know, Bester's in on the whole assassination thing. He and Jack know the same salute . . . Then again, Jack may've been trying to mislead me.* "Dammit!" he muttered, realizing he was thinking himself around in circles again. *And whatever side any of 'em are on, that's exactly what they want me to do . . .* He took a couple of deep breaths and tried to relax, then thought, *What I really need to do is talk to the other contact for the Rangers . . .* Then he sighed and muttered, "So, who is it?" The little voice in the back of his mind said, *Well, who else would it be?!* He sighed and smiled slightly, thinking *And I've known that all along, too. Just *known* on some level.* He sat up and looked over the monitors, searching the Zocalo crowds and business meeting areas for any sign of the being he *had* to talk to. Not finding her that way, he sighed and sat back again, deciding he'd search for her while he walked rounds. *Now all I have to do is hope I can get a straight answer out of her . . .* * * * To be continued . . . ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Babylon 5 is (c) 1996 PTEN & Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended to infringe on these copyrights. Patterns of Light and Shadow is (c) 1996 Isoline M. Sanderson ---------------------------------------------------------------------- From ISANDERS@PSC.SSW.DHHS.GOV Thu May 9 20:28:41 1996 Date: 01 May 1996 09:37:09 EDT From: "Sanderson, Isoline M" Reply-To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: Patterns of Light and Shadow part 30 -- corrected Made a *stupid* typo mistake on the first version of this that went out -- Derek & Trudy, please archive this version instead of the last one. Thanks! --Isoline Patterns of Light and Shadow Part 30 by Isoline M. Sanderson ---------------------------------------------------------------------- At lunch, Garibaldi managed to catch Ivanova just as she was leaving the mess. She glanced at him as he came up alongside, but continued walking. "Something I can help you with, Mr. Garibaldi?" "Yeah -- our visitor has something for you from a friend of yours. We tried to call you last night but you weren't in," Garibaldi explained. "Ah," she said, but didn't offer anything further. Then she asked, "Something from a friend?" "Actually, it's letters -- one for you and one for Talia," Garibaldi explained quietly. He was somewhat surprised when Ivanova's expression remained pleasant. "Letters -- from Alisa?" When Garibaldi nodded, she smiled. "When should I come by to pick them up?" "Um . . . I don't know -- our friend is out . . . visiting. I was thinking I could drop the one off for Talia later . . ." "Don't worry," Ivanova said, "I'll come by at some point and get both, and deliver it to Talia myself." Garibaldi's stride missed a beat, just as Ivanova turned and entered C&C. He blinked and stared after her as the door hushed closed, thinking, *Huh. That was strange. Hope the doc didn't let her out too early . . .* He shrugged and continued on his way. "Ah-- Ambassador -- just the person I've been looking for!" Garibaldi said as the transport tube doors opened, revealing Delenn. She looked at him, startled out of her musings, then stepped into the lift before the door closed. "Yes, Mr. Garibaldi, how may I help you?" "I think that considering recent events, we need to talk . . ." He saw her eyes widen slightly, but an instant later her expression was back under control. She looked up at him and nodded, and said, "That may be a good idea." "Good. Are you free right now, or would you like to set up some other time?" he asked. "I have no appointments right now -- perhaps this would be the best time," she answered. The lift stopped at the level her quarters were on, and she frowned slightly, realizing she had never given the computer a destination. As they stepped out of the transport tube, she glanced sideways at Garibaldi and wondered, *Was he heading here to see me, or did he *know* I was going to that transport tube just then and anticipated where I would be going?* Garibaldi caught her look, tried to smile reassuringly. She smiled back, somewhat less than reassured, then returned to her musings as they walked down the corridor. When she let him into her quarters, he automatically began noting details -- new crystals hanging in the living room, doodads that had been moved since the last time he'd been in there, a small box of data crystals near the computer console with a design on it that looked suspiciously like the Ranger brooch design . . . "Would you like some tea, Mr. Garibaldi?" she asked, following his gaze and mentally kicking herself. *At least he's someone trustworthy,* she thought. "I uh-- yes, please," he answered, uncomfortably reminded that Delenn was an ambassador, and he wasn't exactly the most tactful of people. He mentally shrugged and thought, *Well, nothing much I can do 'bout that now . . .* Delenn walked to the kitchenette and began preparing the tea, then asked, "So, Mr. Garibaldi, how may I help you?" "Well, I've been thinking a lot about what happened to Jeff -- Ambassador Sinclair -- and I think that Neroon may be right." He mentally winced at the instant of hurt that flashed in her eyes and amended, "About the spy, I mean." *God, whatta yutz . . .* "Yes," she said softly, "I have been thinking the same thing." "Well, because of that, and because I have a hunch we're duplicating efforts, I thought we should pool our resources." He noted that while she didn't stop what she was doing or look at him, she did blink. "Matter of fact, I'm pretty certain we share the same resources already, and to tell you the truth, I think we can accomplish more working together . . ." She walked to the living room with the tea tray, set it down on the low table and motioned for him to sit all before she opened her mouth to speak. Then she poured two cups of tea, picked hers up, and focused on the pale green liquid. "I trust that you will not take this the wrong way, Mr. Garibaldi. Jeffrey had wanted to tell you all along, but there were others -- myself included -- who wanted to wait. It wasn't that we did not trust *you* -- Jeffrey has vouched for you repeatedly, and you have proven yourself quite worthy of that trust. However, there were questions about some of the people you know, questions about . . . about the security of any data in the computer logs after your own aide betrayed--" "Yeah, I get the picture," Garibaldi said uncomfortably, feeling an ache in his lower back that he knew was psychosomatic. "I am sorry," Delenn said softly. "No, don't worry about it," he responded. "Look, you don't have to tell me you're the other Ranger contact, I already *know*. There's no one else it really *could* be. And all those reasons are valid ones -- believe me, Ambassador, these are things I have to worry about each and every day. It's just that if I let those worries *really* get to me, I'll never get *anything* done . . . "So, do we work together or not?" "I must admit it would make more sense to," Delenn mused. "I have one request to make, however." "You name it," Garibaldi said easily. "You mention nothing of this to Captain Sheridan until the others agree he is to be told." Garibaldi looked up at her and tried to read her expression, but found her wearing her 'serene religious caste Minbari mask'. He shrugged and said, "I wasn't about to tell him about the Rangers *anyway* -- although you've got to know he's aware of *some* of what's going on . . ." "Yes, he is," she answered. "He is aware of the Shadows, and after what has been said over the situation with Jeffrey, he must know you are also aware of them." "And Neroon," Garibaldi added, watching her expression carefully. "Yes, Neroon," she mused. "I do not know how much he knows, or if he will even help us, but he does *seem* to be loyal to Jeffrey." "It's as good a place to start as any," Garibaldi commented. "Maybe Jeff can get him to be a little more open-minded and forgiving . . ." "I am not, as you say, holding my breath," Delenn said with a rueful smile. Then she met his gaze and asked, "What else did you come here to discuss with me?" Garibaldi tried to keep a straight face, although a tiny shiver went through him at her question. "Well," he began, "This whole thing with Jeff -- I -- aw, hell. I don't even know where to start." He took a sip of his tea, found it had a soothing, somewhat minty taste. He took a deep breath and tried again, "A while ago -- late last year -- we ran into something really strange in Sector 14." "Yes, Babylon 4. I have heard of this," Delenn said thoughtfully. *Now,* she thought, *perhaps I will learn the full truth of Jeffrey's encounter." "How did you -- oh. Yeah. Of course," Garibaldi said, trailing off when he realized the answer was obvious. "So, how much did he tell you?" "Probably not as much as he could have -- it seemed to me he glossed over some of the events. He told me that you encountered Babylon 4 -- it had somehow come forward in time so that the crew could be evacuated, and that it was going to become a base of operations for the forces of Light in a great war against the Darkness." "That's it?" Garibaldi asked, unable to conceal his surprise. He'd expected Sinclair to give her the edited version, but . . . "Well, he did also mention an alien of a kind he was unfamiliar with, and that this alien was the one who told you about the war . . ." "Yeah -- Zathras. Strange little guy. He told us in *his* time where they were taking B4 to, but we don't know where his time is in relation to ours . . ." Garibaldi said thoughtfully. Then he looked at Delenn who was watching him expectantly, and said, "Yeah, well, it looks like Jeff left a few points out here and there . . . Dunno if he did it on purpose or if he's just being . . . never mind. Um -- let's see. We got to B4 and ran into Major Krantz, the guy who was in charge, and then some weird kind of time fluctuation hit us. Jeff saw something -- he wouldn't tell me exactly what, but from the look on his face it must've been pretty bad. Krantz told us it was different for everyone -- some saw something from the past, some from the future. Jeff asked if there was anything else unusual that had happened, and he took us to see Zathras. "Apparently they had been in a meeting, and one of the time fluctuations hit, and all of a sudden there he was. He wouldn't tell any of 'em anything, because they were 'not the One'." Delenn's eyes widened at that, but she said nothing. Garibaldi frowned slightly, but continued. "When we walked in, Zathras clued right in on Jeff -- almost like he *knew* him -- but then he shook his head and said Jeff wasn't the One and that he wouldn't talk. We --ah-- convinced him it would be better for everyone if he did." "He told us that the One was hurt and he had to help him, about the great war, and that he'd been sent to pull Babylon 4 through time so the forces of Light could use it as a base. "Then the *really* weird part happened . . . one of the crewmen ran in, saying 'it' was back. We went out to the central corridor and there was this figure standing there. He was -- there and not there. Kind of like a ghost but not quite . . . He was wearing what looked like an old Earth space suit, with a darkened faceplate. "The next bits I'm not sure about the order, mainly because it seemed like everything was happening at once, and I was worried about Jeff . . . Zathras said the figure was the One, and *Jeff* said he was in pain. Zathras said it was because they 'stopped the time-taking to let these escape station'. "Then Jeff . . . started moving towards the One -- it was like he was mesmerized or something. I tried to warn him not to, but you know what he's like when he gets it into his head to do something . . ." When he paused, Delenn nodded quietly, knowing exactly how stubborn Jeffrey Sinclair could be. Garibaldi's lips curved in a wry grin and he continued, "Well, this time was no different. He walked to the One, and reached out to try and take his hand, and blammo! He got thrown backwards a good twenty-five feet or so . . . "While I was distracted helping Jeff, Zathras must've given his time-whatsis to the One, because all of a sudden he was telling us there was no more time. We had to get off B4 before it went -- wherever it was going . . ." "His 'time-whatsis'?" Delenn asked, carefully feeling her way through the unfamiliar term. Garibaldi grinned and explained, "Some device they were using to keep themselves from being affected when they made the time jump -- one of our pilots flew through the distortion field when B4 first showed up, and he died of old age . . ." "I see . . . so this device that Zathras gave the One was to keep him from aging when they jumped. Then Zathras was not protected?" "And even worse than that, unfortunately," Garibaldi said softly. "When the place started to shift, parts of the station started to collapse, and Zathras got trapped by one of the central corridor supports. Jeff said they had to leave him there . . ." Delenn closed her eyes for a moment, and Garibaldi could see the sadness in her face. When she opened her eyes again, she said, "Then at least he died nobly, serving his cause." "Yeah, he did," Garibaldi agreed, ignoring the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. Then he took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes. "Delenn, I don't really know how to say this -- I think if I was talking to anybody else, they'd say I was nuts, but . . . Damn, maybe I *am* nuts." "No, Mr. Garibaldi, I am sure you are not 'nuts'," Delenn said softly. "You can tell me whatever it is -- I will not laugh at you." Garibaldi nodded and said, "Okay, but you gotta understand I don't have any real proof for all this -- it's just hunches and gut feelings." When she nodded, he sighed and continued, "Okay, I think -- well, I'm pretty damned positive -- that Jeff is the One . . . When we first saw him, and Jeff walked to him, I dunno, I kinda felt something weird -- I thought it was just my instincts warning me it could be dangerous, but . . . I dunno. And when Jeff reached out to touch him? The One was reaching out too, and their movements were *exact mirrors* of each other. And . . . when they touched, just before Jeff went flying, it looked like the same kind of weird time distortion that we saw around B4 appeared between their hands. Then Jeff flew backwards, kinda like when you try to force the like poles of two magnets together . . ." Garibaldi paused for breath and realized he was shaking. He still held the teacup between his hands, but his knuckles were white. He looked at Delenn, who looked very thoughtful. "I'm not imagining it, am I," he pressed. "That's why the Vorlons came to help him -- that's why the Shadows attacked him in the first place. That's what all that weird shit with Kosh was about!" Delenn finally nodded slowly, unsure as to how to proceed with Garibaldi so obviously distraught. "Yes," she finally said, very quietly, "I believe Jeffrey may be this One you mention. He has a great Destiny -- I have felt this for quite a long time." She paused, realizing he was trying to see through her -- no, not through . . . inside! Sinclair must have remembered more than he had said, and told his friend everything he knew. Now Garibaldi was trying to find the *truth* behind the missing twenty-four hours -- and it was still not quite time for that . . . "Okay, Ambassador, from what I can tell -- from my hunches, intuition, whatever -- Jeff's the One, and he's going to some*how* take B4 some*where* and lead the battle against the Darkness. I *know* there's more to it -- I can *feel* there's more to it, but if you don't want to say anything yet, that's okay," Garibaldi said boldly. He paused, took a sip of the cold tea, then said, "The Shadows know too. How, I don't know. But what they wer trying to do was capture or kill him, so that he hasn't yet and can't later get Babylon 4 to lead that war. Whatever the whole story is, wherever B4 is going, the Shadows would've won the war *before* it ever started . . ." Delenn forced herself to maintain eye contact with Garibaldi, unwilling to let him see how uncomfortable the discussion -- and his wording -- made her. *It wasn't as if I told him the Prophecy,* she thought. *And I have sensed in him a part he is to play, so perhaps this knowledge comes from within him. He is frightened by it . . .* Then a thought came unbidden, *Even Neroon is starting to sense Jeffrey Sinclair's Destiny -- otherwise he would not willingly follow him . . .* "Yes, Mr. Garibaldi, I believe your hunches are correct," she answered. "And, since you understand Jeffrey's importance in the coming war, I ask that you continue to make every effort to protect him." She paused until he nodded, although she knew he would gladly comply, then continued, "I do not know if you are familiar with those who have greater Destinies, but it is usually a bad thing to explain their Destiny to them. Someone like Jeffrey will not believe he is anything more than another piece in the puzzle, and may continue to put himself at great risk. With his extreme stubbornness, he may even place himself at greater risk. "We cannot afford to lose him, or the Shadows *will* win, so you must not tell him what you have learned," she said, an edge of hardness now in her tone. Garibaldi looked down into the teacup, until the ripples on the surface of the tea made his vision blur. Then he shut his eyes, hurriedly, before they started playing tricks on him again. "Yeah, you're right," he said reluctantly, "But I hope you know how much keeping him in the dark is bothering him. He *hates* not knowing what's going on in his own life . . ." "Yes, I know," Delenn said, genuinely upset. *After all,* she thought, *it is because of me that he knows so little about himself . . . But he will, soon enough . . .* "For now, it is enough that he lead the Rangers and try to bridge the differences between our people. The time will come soon enough for the rest of it," she said, and the look in her eyes tugged at Garibaldi's heart. It was no easier, he realized, for her to keep it to herself. "Yeah, I guess you're right," Garibaldi said quietly. "Guess I'd better go -- I've gotta get back out there and make sure there aren't any more attempts to get him . . ." He finished his tea and put the cup back on the tray, then said, "Thanks for listening, and not telling me I'm nuts." "Thank *you*, Mr. Garibaldi. I can understand why he left out the parts he did, but it helps to know what really happened." They stood, and Garibaldi bowed awkwardly to Delenn, then he hurriedly left, returning to his rounds. Delenn remained, standing in her living room for a while, thinking. *It is all happening too fast . . . in Valen's name, we need more time . . .* * * * To be continued... ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Babylon 5 is (c) 1996 PTEN & Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended to infringe on these copyrights. Patterns of Light and Shadow is (c) 1996 Isoline M. Sanderson ---------------------------------------------------------------------- From ISANDERS@PSC.SSW.DHHS.GOV Mon May 13 18:34:38 1996 Date: 13 May 1996 15:35:15 EDT From: "Sanderson, Isoline M" Reply-To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: Patterns of Light and Shadow part 31 Okay, folks -- I'd send this last bit as one part, but there's too much of it to get through the text editor in CC:Mail and this is the *only* logical break-point to make it two separate sections. Sorry! The conclusion should be along tomorrow! ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Patterns of Light and Shadow Part 31 by Isoline M. Sanderson ---------------------------------------------------------------------- When Garibaldi got off duty that evening, he returned to his quarters to find Sinclair recording a data crystal. Sinclair stopped the recording to greet him, then Garibaldi asked, "Message for the troops?" "Yes -- at least some of them. Things here I want them keeping an eye on -- especially the NightWatch. I definitely do *not* like what I'm seeing there . . ." Sinclair answered. "They're going to be setting up a local office on the Zocalo, y'know," Garibaldi said, throwing himself down on his sofa. "Yes, I noticed that. Easier for people to just drop in and sell out their neighbors . . ." "I --ah-- talked to Delenn today," Garibaldi said, watching Sinclair's expression carefully. "Oh?" "About her role as the other contact for the Rangers." Garibaldi grinned as Sinclair's expression changed from guardedly curious to resigned, and he said, "Oh." With a struggle, Sinclair restrained a smile, then said, "I should have known not to try to keep something a secret from you . . ." "Yeah, well, you know how I get when I don't know the details of every little mystery on station . . ." "Yes, you turn into a pest," Sinclair countered with laughter in his tone. Garibaldi feigned hurt, but was unable to hold it with Sinclair's infectious smile. "So," Sinclair asked, "what did she say?" "We're going to work together -- it'll make things easier, cut down on duplication of effort -- and if there's something she finds out you or the Rangers no longer have to figure out how to pass it on to me." Sinclair cleared his throat and said, "Yes, there was that . . . I'm sorry I couldn't tell you." "I know -- it's okay. The others -- whoever the others are -- didn't want you to. Hell, with information that shouldn't be getting out doing just that, I can't really blame them. I'd've done the same thing." Sinclair nodded, although he knew Garibaldi had still been hurt by the apparent lack of trust. "Hey, Jeff, it's okay," Garibaldi said, seeing the sadness creeping into his friend's eyes again. "I have to keep things from my own people all the time, and I trust them." Sinclair raised an eyebrow at that, and after a pause, Garibaldi amended, "Okay, I trust some of them. Well, I trust Lou and -- yeah, forget it." "I've always trusted you, Michael," Sinclair said softly. "Unfortunately in the current situation the information was strictly need-to-know, and I actually passed on more than I was supposed to, anyway. After what you and I have seen, it was the least I could do." "Yeah, well, now you don't have to worry. And I'm *not* going to tell Sheridan until they all say it's time to." "If he knows so much about the Shadows already, that time may come sooner than we think," Sinclair mused, thinking again of the holding cell footage. Garibaldi merely nodded, and tried in vain to suppress a shiver. Then he slouched lower on his couch and loosened his uniform jacket collar, let his eyes drift closed. A couple of moments later his door chime startled him out of a doze. He looked sharply at Sinclair, who shrugged and shook his head, then he turned back to the door. "Who's there?" he asked, hoping it wasn't going to be trouble. "It's Susan. C'mon, Michael, open up." "Come in," he called, sitting up as the door swung open. Ivanova strolled in, smiling when she saw Sinclair. "Ah -- that explains it," she said. "Can't stay long, I've got other plans, but I came by to pick up the letters from Alisa." Sinclair opened a small box and withdrew two data crystals, then looked at Ivanova and said, "This one's for you, and the other one is for Talia. Michael was--" "That's okay, I already told him I'll deliver it to her myself." She took the crystals from him and said, "I'd love to stay and chat, but I have to run. Maybe tomorrow?" "That would be nice," Sinclair said with a smile. Garibaldi also smiled and said, "Have a great evening, Susan." She raised an eyebrow at him, then smiled slightly and said, "I plan to. Goodnight, Gentlemen." Once she left, Garibaldi turned to Sinclair and asked, "Date?" Sinclair answered, "Dressed in civvies, with her hair down and curled like that? I'd say so. And no, you are not going to follow her around to find out who it is." "Spoilsport," Garibaldi grumbled with a grin. "Troublemaker," Sinclair countered, trying (and failing) to hide his own grin. Then he returned to the message he had been recording, while Garibaldi finally stood again and headed for the kitchen. "You hungry yet?" he asked as he poured himself a large glass of water. "Hmmn? No -- not yet. I had a late lunch," Sinclair answered. "Maybe later. Thanks." Garibaldi returned to the couch and flicked on the ISN feed, and tried to divide his attention between the news and the information Sinclair was recording. He had just shaken himself out of another doze when the words "rogue psi" caught his attention. The picture behind the anchorperson showed ISN's stock shot of Mars with an overlay of "This just in." "Hey, Jeff," he called back to Sinclair as he sat up straighter and turned the sound up. The anchor, a brunette woman he recognized as ISN's regular newscaster, said, "I repeat -- Reports coming in from Mars Colony say that there has been some localized fighting. It is unclear who is behind the violence, but authorities suspect it may have been planned as a diversion. There are unconfirmed reports that a dangerous rogue psi has fled Mars in a transport, but the authorities and PsiCorps representatives are not providing any information at this time. We will update this story as we get more information." The instant the anchor closed her mouth, they cut to a commercial for IPX, and Garibaldi turned the sound back down. "What the hell was that?" he asked, noticing the intensely contemplative expression in Sinclair's eyes. "I'm not sure . . . But I've got people on Mars -- the last report I got said that there was something going on. I'll have to get in touch with Lee to see if he knows anything more than they're telling ISN." "Tomorrow's project?" Garibaldi asked. "At least a start -- this isn't the kind of thing I want to ask about over communication channels. It may take a couple of weeks to get any kind of news back . . ." "That's true -- don't want PsiCorps thinking we're aiding the escape of a rogue psi -- we'll end up with Bester breathing down our necks again . . ." He grimaced at the thought, then continued, "But if there's anything you need my help with, just ask." "You're first on the list, Michael." * * * The next week or so went relatively smoot ly, although at one point Captain Sheridan did finally manage to corner Sinclair and ask him for advice on how to handle the escalating Narn-Centauri situation. Despite all his best snooping, Garibaldi was unable to turn up any further information on the rogue psi on Mars, and resigned himself to waiting for the Rangers to come back with the news. He and Sinclair did have dinner one night with Kozorr, Delenn, and two of the Rangers. It started out as a strategy session, but Garibaldi caught Delenn's eye early on and she put her foot down, reminding both the Rangers *and* Sinclair that he really was there to relax. The morning of Sinclair's departure arrived too quickly. While Garibaldi tried to pretend he wasn't upset, Sinclair saw right through him. "Michael, it's all right. I'm not going off somewhere where you'll never see me again," Sinclair said as he packed his belongings. "Yeah, I know," Garibaldi answered dejectedly. "It's just that I miss you a lot -- I can *talk* to you. I can *trust* you. Now I've gotta go back to watching every damned sound out of my mouth . . ." "Michael," Sinclair coaxed. "You know I need you to be careful, but I also need you to work *with* Sheridan. You and Delenn need to steer him in the right direction, I think . . ." Garibaldi heaved a sigh and nodded. "Look, if it really gets to be too much, there's always an opening for a *good* Chief of Security at the Embassy . . ." "Yeah -- believe me, I'll keep that in mind. But . . . I guess I need to prove I can handle this on my own," he said quietly. "Was a bit while you were missing where I almost didn't. Handle it, that is." Sinclair stopped what he was doing and looked up at his friend. "You want to talk about it?" "It was just one of those momentary things -- I was worried about you and happened to be near a bar on the Zocalo . . . I got my butt out of there before the temptation got too bad -- after all, I wouldn't've been much help to you if I was drunk . . ." He shrugged and added, "Not that I was that much help anyway . . ." "Michael . . ." "I know, I know. I was just so worried that -- Aw hell, Jeff, you're safe now and I didn't blow it. Let's just leave it at that or we'll be on this all day." "You sure?" "Yeah, I'm okay." Sinclair resumed packing, although he was still concerned. *However,* he thought, *better to let him talk about it when he's ready to. Pushing him isn't going to accomplish anything . . .* Garibaldi checked around his quarters to make certain nothing had been forgotten, and returned to Sinclair's side. "Well, that looks like that's everything. Which transport are you going to be on, so I can cover things in customs?" "The *Zurvan* -- it leaves at 11:00 hours," Sinclair answered, pulling on his Minbari traveling cloak. "Damn," he muttered, "vacations are always too short . . ." "This is probably one of the longest ones you've *taken*, Jeff," Garibaldi said with a wry grin, "But I know what you mean." Then he drew his friend into a strong hug and said, "I can't give you a real goodbye hug when I'm passing you through customs, so I'd better do it now. Take care of yourself, okay?" Sinclair returned the hug and softly said, "You take care of yourself, too." Garibaldi stepped back and nodded. "I will, don't worry. Look, I gotta get to duty -- I'll meet you in customs in time to get you aboard the *Zurvan* without any trouble." "Okay, I'll see you there." Sinclair hung back as the announcement for boarding the *Zurvan* sounded, waiting until he was sure he would be last in line. He had already said his goodbyes to the Rangers aboard Babylon 5, and to Ivanova, Delenn and Lennier. He smiled slightly as he thought of Delenn's request for as much news from Minbar as possible, since "Universe Today" seemed to be having occasional trouble with their "Eye on Minbari" section. She definitely seemed to be becoming more human, not just in looks but in attitude, too. *Not that I can blame her though,* he thought. *It's much better to know what's going on, rather than stumble into a situation unprepared.* He looked towards the boarding gate and realized Garibaldi had replaced the guard who had been checking identicards. With all of the problems in Garibaldi's past, Sinclair was constantly amazed by his efficiency -- yes, he could be painfully blunt at times, and perhaps a little more -- enthusiastic -- than he needed to be, but he was the best at what he did. Sinclair smiled a little and thought, *I hope Sheridan realizes what an important resource he has in Michael . . .* The line inched forward and he waited patiently for his turn. As he drew closer to Garibaldi he saw his friend's eyes flick over him and a slight smile curve his lips. Then Garibaldi was looking past him and the smile vanished, replaced by a puzzled frown. Sinclair hazarded a quick glance behind him and noticed a marked increase in the number of Minbari warriors milling around the departures area, trying (and failing miserably) to look inconspicuous. *What *now*?* he thought. Garibaldi checked the last two people preceding him in line, then asked him, "Identicard please?" While he was slotting the card into the reader he hissed, "What's going on, Jeff?" "I've got no idea," Sinclair answered quietly. "I've got a bad feeling about--" The beep of Garibaldi's Link cut him off and he glanced sideways at Sinclair while he raised the Link to his mouth and answered, "Garibaldi here, what's up?" "Trouble, Chief," Ivanova's voice said tersely. "Are you in customs right now?" "Yes -- getting the last passenger onto the *Zurvan*. What the hell's going on?" Garibaldi asked. "Her departure's been delayed -- the Captain's on his way to meet you," Ivanova answered. Garibaldi frowned and looked at Sinclair, who shook his head and mouthed, "I don't know!" Then his eyes narrowed and he whispered, "Oh no -- he wouldn't . . ." To be continued... ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Babylon 5 is (c) 1996 PTEN and Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended to infringe on these copyrights. Patterns of Light and Shadows is (c) 1996 Isoline M. Sanderson ---------------------------------------------------------------------- From ISANDERS@PSC.SSW.DHHS.GOV Tue May 14 20:34:54 1996 Date: 14 May 1996 16:46:16 EDT From: "Sanderson, Isoline M" Reply-To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: Patterns of Light and Shadow Pt. 32 -- Conclusion! Patterns of Light and Shadow Part 32 by Isoline M. Sanderson ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Before Garibaldi could say anything in response, Sheridan ran up with Kozorr at his side. The various other people in the departures lounge were starting to notice the commotion, especially when the station commander ran in huffing and puffing as if he'd run a race, with a Minbari warrior easily keeping pace beside him. "I'm sorry," Sheridan gasped as he reached them, "I had no idea he was--" "Ah! *There* you are," a familiar voice boomed, and Neroon, flanked by a full honour guard, appeared at the gate next to the one leading to the *Zurvan*. For a split-second, Sinclair thought of making a break for it -- he knew Garibaldi would cover for him. However, he couldn't run from this -- he lived with the Minbari now, and would not be able to just leave this matter behind. Garibaldi looked around the lounge, seeing that most of the onlookers had scattered with Neroon's arrival. Even the Rangers and other Minbari had made themselves scarce. That many armed -- *Armed?!* he thought briefly -- Minbari were enough to startle just about anyone. However, there were a few, here and there, who hid behind columns or seats and peeked out at the spectacle. **Armed* Minbari,* he thought again, then stepped forward and said, "Satai Neroon, may I ask how you got in here with those weapons? They are not allowed aboard Babylon 5." "Your people are fine, Garibaldi. They are being detained by the rest of my warriors." "Detained?" Garibaldi asked, the edge of anger quite plain in his tone. "Michael, it's all right," Sinclair said softly. "Satai Neroon, this is not necessary -- I've already booked passage on the *Zurvan*, and my luggage is already loaded." "You're damned right it's not necessary," Sheridan growled. "You release my crewmen at once or I'll--" Kozorr's eyes widened and he stepped between Sheridan and Neroon. "Captain, please--" Neroon's eyes narrowed and he drew himself up to his full height. "No, Kozorr, let StarKiller make his threats." Sinclair stepped forward, glancing at Sheridan and Neroon. This had to be stopped -- now. "Both of you *stop* it. Captain Sheridan, Satai Neroon, this is *not* necessary." He took a second to scan the room, registering a couple of people and aliens too surprised, curious, or determined to stay for their own flights to flee, and decided against taking his hood off -- yet. Then he fixed Neroon with a steely gaze and said, "Satai Neroon, you and your warriors are in violation of the rules of this station. They will *immediately* return to whatever ships they arrived in, release Mr. Garibaldi's people, and leave their weapons *in those ships*. If they comply, they may rejoin you. Otherwise, I would ask that they stay aboard those ships until you are ready to leave." "Maybe Mr. Garibaldi's people should *make sure* they comply," Sheridan said stiffly, glowering darkly at Neroon. Sinclair turned to see Sheridan trembling with barely repressed anger, and while he couldn't really blame the man, it would not help the situation one bit . . . "Captain Sheridan, I--" Neroon cut in at that point, fixing Sheridan with a poisonous stare, "I do not know what it is about you humans. One would hope that by now you had learned *something* about our culture! The display of weapons does not always mean we are threatening -- is it so hard for you to understand that we may be honouring one of your own?" *Damn it, Neroon, not *now*,* Sinclair thought, seeing Sheridan bristle at Neroon's words. Aloud, he said, "Satai, please . . ." "Because it is against the rules of this station as they were established at its inception, we will comply. Do *not* think that it is due to any kind of respect for *your* authority, StarKiller." With that, Neroon turned to Komarr and handed his weapon over. Komarr bowed deeply and the honour guard echoed the motion, then as one they turned and marched back into the docking bay. Garibaldi watched the proceedings with some amazement, despite the anger he felt over the way Neroon had treated his people. The Minbari were a strange race, honouring others by displaying weapons -- or open gun ports -- it was a miracle they hadn't pissed off the wrong race and gotten *themselves* destroyed yet. But, right now his major concern was somehow keeping Sheridan and Neroon from starting some terrible diplomatic incident -- they needed all the allies they could get and the hostility twins were *not* helping matters one bit. *And poor Jeff,* he thought, *stuck in the middle of this whole thing -- again.* Before he could do anything, however, Sheridan's Link beeped and Ivanova's voice asked, "Captain, what's going on?" Sheridan frowned, then raised his Link and answered, "Commander?" "Sir, the *Zurvan's* captain is complaining about the delay and demanding they be allowed to launch." "Their last passenger isn't on board yet," Sheridan responded with a significant look in Neroon's direction, then added, "Tell them to wait another ten minutes. Sheridan *out*." He took a deep breath then, and said, "Satai Neroon, please. There's no need to turn this into an unpleasant incident. The ambassador has already reserved his flight, his baggage is already loaded, and as you just heard the captain of the transport is complaining about the delay. These people do have a schedule to try to keep to." Neroon snorted and closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and said, "*Captain* Sheridan, if you remember there was very recently an incident where the ambassador was attacked -- in a situation where his presence may or may not have been expected. Do you *really* think that a transport will be safer than a wing of fighters? Especially one booked in advance?" Sheridan shrugged and said, "Well, I don't know, Satai. I was under the impression that the *Zurvan* was a *Minbari* transport . . ." Neroon narrowed his eyes and took a step closer to Sheridan, then hissed, "The danger before did not come from the *fighters*, StarKiller. And the transport reservation was made from *here*. I still have *great* doubts about the security of communications . . ." "Satai Neroon," Sinclair protested, beginning to feel like a piece of property being fought over by two children. "I would like to think that Mr. Garibaldi and I have some skill where the communications are concerned. As for how public the knowledge may have been, it was probably a lot more secret *before* you forced your way in here and made a scene!" Neroon's attention suddenly zeroed in on Sinclair, his expression initially one of shock and anger, until Sinclair made a slight motion back towards the rest of the departures area. Neroon scanned the area, the anger fading from his face as he saw the various beings watching in curiosity. He then returned his attention to Sinclair and said, very quietly, "Once again, Ambassador, it would seem you are right." He bowed to Sinclair, then waited quietly, ignoring Sheridan completely. Sinclair bowed in response, then turned to Gari aldi and said, "You'd better have them unload my luggage, Michael." "You sure about that?" Garibaldi asked. When Sinclair nodded, he sighed and said, "Okay. Guess I'll go do that myself. You going to be okay out here?" Kozorr stepped forward at that point and said, "I will make certain nothing happens." Garibaldi nodded and made his way back to the *Zurvan*, feeling everyone's eyes on him as he walked past Neroon into the docking bay. Sheridan looked at Sinclair, then Neroon, and said, "You're going back to Minbar with *him*?" Sinclair nodded, then quietly answered, "I think I had better. The secrecy's kind of gone out of this trip. Once Michael comes back with my luggage you should let the *Zurvan* leave so they aren't too late." Sheridan nodded, but said, "Don't know why you let him get away with this . . ." Then he walked over to Neroon and said, "Satai Neroon, I realize that your position affords you a certain amount of latitude, but I would *really* appreciate it if you wouldn't show such *blatant* disregard for the rules and regulations of others from now on . . ." Neroon raised a hairless eyebrow at Sheridan's 'request', but refused to answer him. Instead he walked past Sheridan to Sinclair and said, "I am glad you decided to be sensible." In response, Sinclair raised an eyebrow and quietly said, "Neroon, it really *wasn't* necessary to do this -- I don't want everyone treating me like I'm something special. I am a warrior in this war; just like you, just like Kozorr, just like Komarr . . ." Neroon opened his mouth to say something, then met Sinclair's gaze and closed it again. After a long moment he bowed slightly and very quietly -- so quietly that Sinclair had to strain to hear him -- said, "You are correct once again, Ambassador Sinclair. You are a warrior -- but you are more than 'just' a warrior." He looked briefly towards Sheridan and said, "*He* is just a warrior. *He* could not do what you have done and bring our people closer together. We cannot risk *you*." Stunned once again by his words, Sinclair merely bowed to Neroon and said, "Thank you, Satai Neroon." Just then, Garibaldi returned from the *Zurvan* with Sinclair's luggage. On his way out of the gate, he saw Komarr standing off to one side, part-way down the corridor to the docking bay where the Minbari ships waited. One of his security men stood nearby, attentive but generally relaxed. He didn't know how, but Komarr must have given a *good* explanation for their outrageous behaviour. He made a mental note to get a full briefing later. "Here's your luggage, Jeff," he said, taking in the scene before him as he exited the gate. Neroon was standing near Sinclair, and had obviously just whispered something to him. Sinclair looked surprised and even a little pleased. He wondered what he had just missed, but knew he wouldn't get a chance to find out. He put the cases down near Sinclair, then turned to see Sheridan behind him, silently fuming. To try to distract him *before* he provoked Neroon again, he asked, "Captain, is it all right for the *Zurvan* to leave? Their captain was *not* very pleased with the delay." Sheridan was silent for a moment longer, watching Neroon's and Sinclair's quiet conversation with an expression halfway between anger and amazement. Then he shook himself and looked at Garibaldi and asked, "What? I'm sorry, Mr. Garibaldi -- what did you say?" "I asked if it was okay for the *Zurvan* to leave." "Oh -- yes. Yes, that would be fine." He activated his Link and said, "Sheridan to C&C -- tell the captain of the *Zurvan* they're free to leave whenever they're ready -- and give them my apologies for the delay." "Yes, Sir." While Sheridan did that, Garibaldi noticed that somehow, Kozorr had managed to clear out the remaining audience. The Minbari warrior was standing in the doorway, making certain that they didn't return until they were finished. He caught Kozorr's eye and nodded his thanks, then he returned his attention to Sinclair and Neroon. "Excuse me, Satai," he said carefully, not wanting to reignite the Minbari's temper. "Yes, Mr. Garibaldi?" "I've gotten the ambassador's luggage off the *Zurvan* and they're preparing to depart. I'd like to talk to the ambassador for a minute before you take him back to Minbar." Neroon nodded and stepped back, taking great care to ignore Sheridan, even though he now stood almost next to him. "Jeff?" Garibaldi asked quietly, "Everything going to be okay?" "I think so, Michael. I really think I'm starting to get through to him -- although it'll be a *long* time before he ever acknowledges Sheridan's authority." "Yeah, I noticed. Well, if he's willing to listen to you, maybe he will eventually learn . . . He's startin' to look antsy to leave, y'know," Garibaldi said, glancing in Neroon's direction. Sinclair looked at Neroon, noticing his deliberate snubbing of Sheridan, and sighed. "Yes -- we'd better go before the two of them set each other off again . . ." He paused for a moment, swallowing hard, then said, "Don't forget, help Delenn with him -- we need everyone to work together." "Yes, I will, don't worry," Garibaldi said, swallowing past the lump in his own throat, determined not to cry. "You be careful, okay, Jeff?" "You too, old friend." They embraced again, then Sinclair walked over to pick up his luggage, only to be intercepted by Kozorr. "I will take those, Ambassador," he said quietly. Sinclair shrugged and glanced back at Garibaldi helplessly. Garibaldi merely smiled back at him. As Kozorr carried the luggage back to the Minbari ships, Sinclair walked to Sheridan. "Captain, take good care of Babylon 5. I, and a number of others, are very fond of this place." "I'll do my best, Ambassador," Sheridan answered, extending his hand and continuing, "It's been an honour to meet you, and I hope the next time you visit things are a little less -- exciting." Sinclair firmly shook his hand and said, "I'll second that, Captain." Then he looked over at Neroon and asked, "Satai, are you ready to go?" Neroon nodded, then looked at Garibaldi and bowed fairly deeply. "Mr. Garibaldi, your loyalty is to be commended." Garibaldi blinked in surprise and bowed in return, then said, "Thank you, Satai Neroon." The whole exchange elicited a raised eyebrow from Sheridan, which Neroon saw when he turned to face him. Neroon bowed to Sheridan and said, "Perhaps the next time we meet will be under better circumstances. Goodbye, Captain Sheridan." "Satai Neroon," Sheridan responded, bowing to him in return, glad that he could use the action to hide his own surprise at the Minbari's sudden civility. Then Sinclair and Neroon walked into the docking bay, and Garibaldi stood in the middle of departures for a moment, feeling suddenly lost and alone . . . Sheridan's hand on his shoulder startled him out of his thoughts. "So, that's Ambassador Sinclair, huh? He's one heck of a diplomat, that's for sure." "The best, Captain," Garibaldi said, reining in his emotions before they got the better of him. He noticed the other people were beginning to filter back into the lounge, and a couple of his people returned from the departure gate. He corralled one of them and had her take the customs post he'd been andling, then told her that when someone arrived to relieve her he wanted a full report of what had happened with the Minbari. Then he jammed his hands into his pockets and turned to walk out, found Sheridan watching him. "Captain?" "I'm heading up to C&C," Sheridan explained. "You coming with me?" Garibaldi shrugged and followed him. Sheridan, Ivanova, and Garibaldi stood at the observation window, watching as a Minbari flyer entered the *Ishum's* docking bay. A medium-sized Minbari shuttle waited nearby for the docking to be complete. Garibaldi nodded towards the shuttle and said, "Must be what the troops arrived in." Ivanova glanced over at him and nodded. The ships turned as one and headed towards the jumpgate which flared with light as they neared. Garibaldi fingered the Ranger brooch in his pocket and watched as the ships entered the vortex and were whisked into hyperspace. As the light from the gate faded, he thought, *Goodbye, Jeff . . . Take care of yourself and don't stay away so long next time. And Neroon, if you let anything happen to him, Sheridan's gonna be the *least* of your worries!* Then the jumpgate opened again and a freighter came through, and everything very suddenly returned to the normal, daily bustle of Babylon 5. The End ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Babylon 5 is (c) 1996 PTEN & Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended to infringe on these copyrights. Patterns of Light and Shadow is (c) 1996 Isoline M. Sanderson ----------------------------------------------------------------------