From: LtCmKieran@aol.com Subject: A Place to Call Home - 17 of ? - WIP Date: Thu, 20 Jan 2000 21:56:22 EST My apologies for the delay in this posting. And, to add to my usual statements of gratitude, I'd personall like to thank the makers of DayQuil, which was integral in the writing of this part. Terri ---------- A Place to Call Home Part 17 of ? Terri Osborne LtCmKieran@aol.com ---------- All Babylon 5 characters and settings belong to JMS, Warner Brothers, TNT and anyone else with legitimate legal claim. No infringement of copyright is intended by this work. Only a few select characters are mine, and should the Great Maker need them, or anyone similar to them, I can probably be bought off with a story credit. ;-) Even though this covers the same time period and the same major event, no infringement upon J. Gregory Keyes' novels is intended. Though, I will draw upon them for some background information. Content Warning: [AC] [AL] Anything encased in <* these *> is telepathic speech. Anything encased in *these* should be read as emphasized or italicized text. Spoilers through Season 5, as well as the Psi Corps novel trilogy. And thanks to my eagle-eyed beta readers! Virtual boxes of Godivas to all of you! ---------- *April 9, 2264* For the first time in years, Susan Ivanova was terrified. Doubts flew through her mind as she stepped over the threshold into the small room that Garibaldi had set aside. Once a private medical testing facility, Susan wondered briefly if the mysterious telepath-hating virus had been engineered here. If so, were any of the bugs remaining? Would they find her? After Vorlons, Shadows and an all-out civil war, would a microscopic, otherwise insignificant little creature be her final destruction? *Why not? Couldn't think of a more Russian ending.* The solid black of the walls did nothing to soothe her anxiety, nor did the bed that sat in the center of the room. The head of the bed was tilted at an angle to the floor, with electrodes of more sizes, shapes and colors than Susan could ever recall seeing in her life dangling all around. Sensors, scanners, equipment she didn't even know names for rested in various areas of the small room. A shiver ran down her spine at the memories the sight evoked. The last time she had seen so much medical equipment had been on a Minbari cruiser, so close to death that she could taste it, and the sole intent of the equipment to make her final hours comfortable. Now, however, death was not following her through the door. No. Death was something she could handle. For Susan, doubt was far more powerful a force. *Buck up, Ivanova. Marcus said she was trustworthy. And from what I've read that virus would have killed me by now. As long as Lyta's not around-* "Contact me when you're finished." Susan's heart leapt into her throat at the commanding sound of Lyta Alexander's voice. The redhead stepped around a large bank of equipment, a smile on her attractive features. "Susan, right on schedule," the telepath said, her hazel eyes bright. With a gesture toward another large rack, one that looked as if it contained medical scanners, she added, "Alina and Andrew are right back there. If you need me, I'll be back at the camp." "You're not-?" Lyta quickly shook her head. "Alina insisted that only the necessary people be around. It'll just be you, Alina and Andrew. I'll check in on you when you get back, if that's all right?" "Yes," Susan replied around the fear in her throat. "Good." A smile on her lips, Lyta walked out into the hall. Susan could feel her presence recede, but once the door closed it was gone. *This room is shielded somehow. I didn't even know that was possible. Wonder if Garibaldi knows about this?* "Hello, Susan." Alina stepped around the largest bank of equipment, shrugging a white medical coat over her usual clothing. How the thing fit over the woman's seemingly ever-present black vest without looking like a hand-me-down was astonishing. The bulges that riddled the vest were barely noticeable under the white cloth. "If you're ready to begin, please lay on the bed and relax." "What about-?" "Andrew? He will remain in the other room until we finish." Susan stepped toward the inclined surface of the bed. "Does he know about this room?" "That it's shielded? Yes. Says he discovered that while working on something for Mister Garibaldi a few months ago. We suspect that this is where Edgars did his experiments." "How did they shield it?" Alina looked at the dark walls that surrounded them. "No idea. I wasn't even aware that telepathic shielding was possible. All I know is that when the doors are closed I can't send to anyone outside of this room." Susan's brain stumbled at that point. If Alina couldn't send through these walls, the odds were good that nobody else could, probably not even Lyta. *Hell, odds are good enough I'd stake a month's pay at New Vegas.* Stepping toward the nightmarish contraption that Alina referred to as a bed, Susan forced herself into a sense of calm. What did she have to lose? Minette knew about Marcus. So long as she kept certain thoughts in the background, buried them as deeply as possible, everything would be okay. *I hope.* Leaning back against a surprisingly soft surface, Susan was unable to resist the urge to close her eyes. A quick mental exercise threw thoughts of Marcus, the Valkyrie and Major Ryan into the deepest, most protected area of her mind. "Susan, are you certain you're ready?" Moistening her lips, Susan managed to unclench the fist that rested against her leg. "Yes. Just do it." Sensing movement, she opened her eyes to find Alina standing beside the bed. One look into the telepath's concerned green eyes and all of her worry began to drain away. "Stop that." "Stop what?" was the innocent reply. "Whatever you're doing." Alina's dark brow furrowed. "I'm doing nothing, Susan. I simply asked if you were ready for me to begin." With a quick nod, Susan forced her eyes to close once again. "Just do it and get it over with." A hand touched hers, a familiarity in the grasp that she could not quite place. "Susan," Alina whispered, "you have no reason to be so concerned. I know this isn't something you're looking forward to. You should not feel anything. I promise you that I will be as brief as possible. If you want me to stop, tell me." *If I want you to stop, Minette-* "And nothing I do will harm Marcus. That you can trust." With a long sigh, Susan asked, "You're sure?" "Positive." "What about-?" "Doctor-patient confidentiality," Alina whispered. "I won't scan you at all. If I do see anything, it goes no further than my own mind, Susan. Not even Lyta is strong enough to scan me." Susan stared directly into Alina's eyes. "How can you be sure she can't scan you?" "She tried once, and failed." The confidence in Minette's voice bolstered Susan's own faith somewhat. "If anything goes past you, so help me-" "On my honor as a Ranger." Susan raised one eyebrow. "I thought-" "Delenn never truly allows anyone to leave, does she? Leave of absence. Technically, I'm still one of them, but *only* technically. Besides," Alina added, smiling, "that just proves that we all have our secrets. You and Andrew are the only ones who know mine." *But you're not quite the enemy,* Susan thought, immediately chastising herself. *Wait a minute, if she's trading secrets that Lyta doesn't even know....* Taking a deep breath, Susan leaned back against the inclined bed. "All right." "Good," Alina replied, reaching toward something behind Susan's head. "Now, let's get to work. I'm going to put these monitors on you. It's nothing to worry about, trust me." *Why? Why do I let myself go along with these things?* Susan thought as sensors were pressed onto her forehead. Alina stepped away for a few seconds, returning with an oddly-shaped crystal. "Hold this." "What?" "Hold this crystal. I want you to focus all of your thoughts onto it. Study the shapes, colors, texture, every aspect of its essence." Not quite certain that she understood the purpose of the exercise, Susan relegated herself to doing as she had been instructed. It was a crystal unlike any she had ever seen before, oblong in shape and large enough to sit comfortably in her cupped hands. Its surface was smooth, with ridges and valleys that gave it a sculpted feeling. The swirls of lavender and pale blue in its depths begged her attention until slowly the world around her narrowed. The remainder of her universe was blackness, her vision and concentration focused solely on the crystal in her hand, the cool stone having surprisingly little weight as she rolled it in her palms. Marcus probably would have found the exercise more intriguing. He always did seem to enjoy the meditation and intellectual games more than she ever would. *Where did *that* come from?* Her dreams began to come back to her, walking in the green grasses of Kazan Cathedral, the peaceful tranquility of Menshikov Palace. The pictures floating through her mind meshed, swirling and resolving into more images than she could count; visiting her brother before he departed on the Lexington during the Earth-Minbari War, talking to her father for the last time, trying desperately to control an Advisory Council meeting. Memory upon disconnected memory drifted to the surface, only to merge with another and fade away. She was slowly swept away by the images, until they began dissolving into pure colors. Vibrant reds coalesced into incredible violets, blues, greens and oranges. She could recall nebulas that were less spectacular to watch. Finally, when she thought her stomach couldn't handle any more of the visual assault, it simply stopped. Everything around her was darkness. She could no longer feel the cool crystal that had rested in her hands, nor the soft surface of the bed that had supported her weight. "Susan?" She searched the murkiness that surrounded her for the source of the voice, but came up empty. "Susan Ivanova, can you hear me?" She attempted to nod, but couldn't feel her head move. "Yes," she whispered. The darkness began to boil away, until she was back in the reality she remembered. The crystal was still, somehow, in her grasp. "How?" "Sometimes the senses are affected by that procedure." Susan turned her head slightly to the left, just in time to watch Alina duck briefly behind a rack of medical equipment. "The crystal...." "Yes, it's a meditation crystal," Alina replied. "It helps the mind focus on one thing, freeing the rest for work that needs to be done." "No, I -" Susan fumbled to retain her hold on the crystal. She was about to lose it when Alina took it from her hands. "I see," the telepath said. "You need rest. If you'd like, I can have Andrew check the blocks later." Susan feebly shook her head. "No, now." Alina glanced off toward a monitor and gave a quick nod. "Aside from exhausted, how do you feel?" "Okay, I think," Susan replied, taking a quick mental inventory. "What was all of that?" The sound of a door closing cut off any reply Alina may have had. "You're ready?" Andrew asked as he stepped into Susan's range of vision. "Yes," Alina replied, raising one dark eyebrow. "I think our dear Susan believes that if the blocks will hold now, when she can barely defend them, they'll hold when she's fully rested. Correct?" Susan nodded. "All right, then," Andrew stated. He stepped up to the side of the bed, and Susan couldn't help but be reminded that he wasn't that much taller than Alina. She could sense the concern in him as he looked down on her and grasped her hand. "If you're sure you're ready, I'll try it." "Do it," Susan instructed. She stared into his soft blue eyes for what felt like an eternity, preparing herself for the mental walls that she had worked so hard and for so long to fortify to come crumbling down. The first tentative probe at her defenses came, but it did not break through. "Harder," she whispered. Another probe, this time stronger, failed to breach the walls. "They won't pull punches, Andrew. You know Bester." Andrew licked his lips nervously. "A cold, full-blast attempt could kill you." "Would he care?" Susan asked, one dark eyebrow arching. "Okay," Andrew replied, leaning hard against the bed. "Here goes." He stared intently into her eyes, and she could feel the telepathic equivalent of a battering ram begin to attack her defenses. When it was clear that the hard-and-fast technique wasn't going to work, he attempted something more insidious. She felt a thin, almost serpentine probe begin its work. It caressed the perimeter of her mind, softly searching her defenses for any hole that it could use to break through. Exhausted, she chose not to fight the probe. If Andrew could get through on his own, with no defense from her, the blocks weren't going to hold. A single bead of sweat trickled down the side of Andrew's nose. Still, the blocks held. She looked into his eyes, watching them fill with disbelief. She sensed that he was trying every trick he knew of to get through, could feel the probe changing with every new tactic, still he was getting nowhere. The blocks were going to hold. "Enough," Alina finally stated, pulling Andrew away from the bed. "Andrew, did you get anywhere?" He simply shook his head. Alina turned toward the bed. "Susan?" "I wasn't even defending," she replied. "They're iron-clad," Andrew declared. "If she's not defending at all, those blocks will hold off pretty much everybody." "I think so," Susan added. "I could feel you trying to get through." Alina rubbed a hand over Andrew's shoulder. "You go rest." Turning to Susan, she added with a smile, "Now, it's time to teach you how to use these things." [End Part 17 of ?] From: LtCmKieran@aol.com Subject: A Place to Call Home - Part 18 of ? - WIP Date: Sun, 20 Feb 2000 13:38:01 EST Part 19 will follow. Terri http://members.aol.com/ltcmkieran/babylon5/ ********** "I must be daft to look to you for advice on matters of seduction. It's an art, Jack, not a contact sport." - Emilia Rothschild - Jack Of All Trades ********** Subj: A Place to Call Home - Part 18 of ? Date: 1/19/00 To: mckrs@mindspring.com, The_fic_ladies@onelist.com To: B5RS@onelist.com There was a slightly delayed beta that just arrived today. Sorry! Here it be, short but sweet. Enjoy! Terri ---------- A Place to Call Home Part 18 of ? Terri Osborne LtCmKieran@aol.com ---------- All Babylon 5 characters and settings belong to JMS, Warner Brothers, TNT and anyone else with legitimate legal claim. No infringement of copyright is intended by this work. Only a few select characters are mine, and should the Great Maker need them, or anyone similar to them, I can probably be bought off with a story credit. ;-) Even though this covers the same time period and the same major event, no infringement upon J. Gregory Keyes' novels is intended. Though, I will draw upon them for some background information. Content Warning: [AC] [AL] Anything encased in <* these *> is telepathic speech. Anything encased in *these* should be read as emphasized or italicized text. Spoilers through Season 5, as well as the Psi Corps novel trilogy. And thanks to my eagle-eyed beta readers! Virtual boxes of Godivas to all of you! ---------- *April 10, 2264* Alina awoke, or at least thought she awoke, in the middle of painfully familiar territory. The empty corridors that surrounded her were so real, so like those she remembered, that she was forced to remind herself they no longer existed. Even the windows held the appropriate view of the forbidding surface of Arisia Three. It was a surface that she knew had been destroyed along with the only place that she had ever called home. "It still exists in our memories, Lee." Alina swallowed hard, fighting the pain that voice evoked. Too many years had passed since the last time she had heard it. Years of searching. Years of being just a bit too late. She shook her head slowly, convinced that her mind was playing tricks again. Lyta had warned her about the dreams she might have. Maybe it was the proximity of the other telepaths. Maybe it was just her imagination. Maybe. A tall figure stepped between her and the window. The vision was blurry at first, but it slowly resolved into something . . . someone that she had never honestly believed she would see again. Granted, he looked much older than she remembered, and she was not quite certain what it was that had possessed him to grow the beard, but the Marcus Cole that she had known still rested in the vision that stood before her. "Am I dreaming?" she asked. "Is that really you?" His lips twisted wryly. "You sound just like Susan." "Where are you?" "I'm not completely sure," he shrugged. "I think-" "You're in Susan's mind," she finished, rigidly keeping her emotions in check. "I thought she was carrying you, but I wasn't sure how." He shook his head slowly, the dark locks falling against his face. "Must have been that damned machine," he whispered. "What machine?" "It's a long story." She felt the pain coming from him; pain, sadness and longing. Garibaldi had been right all along. "No action taken out of love is ever wrong, Marcus." A flash of humor crossed his face. "I had almost forgotten how utterly annoying that was." "What, the fact that I always knew what you were thinking? I'm a telepath, Marcus. Considering your girlfriend's one, too, I would expect you'd be used to it by now." The corner of his mouth twisted with exasperation. "Don't tell me she told *you*, too." Alina shook her head. "No, Lyta did." "Lyta knew!" "Yes," she patiently replied. "She found out when she had to send some password telepathically. And would you like to tell me why this is driving you batty, or should I just scan you and get it over with? Of course, provided that's even possible here, wherever the devil we are." He watched her with a wide smile, the irritation that she sensed not quite making it into his gaze. "It's nothing. I'm just letting something get to me that I shouldn't, I suppose." For a long moment, she looked up at him, trying to decide whether to pursue the topic. Unable to suppress her emotions any longer, she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him into a tight embrace, burying her face against his shoulder. He brushed a hand against the back of her head, smoothing her dark hair. "Lee?" he murmured. "What's wrong?" Gathering what little of her composure remained, she lifted her head from his shoulder. "I've never been happier to see someone, Marcus. You have no idea how long I've been looking for you." He curled a finger under her chin, lifting her eyes to his. "Fifteen years?" he asked, smiling. She nodded. "I always kept missing you-" "-by that much?" It was old, utterly awful joke. Still, it lifted her spirits. "Yes. I was in Tuzanor when Will came, but our paths never crossed. When the news came in that he'd died, I was already working on a ship off-planet. I-" "You joined the Rangers?" She nodded. "It's a long story, but yes. Sinclair needed me there." His smile stilled. "Why am I not surprised that you knew Sinclair. Did they tell you how Will died?" "Yes," she replied. "It was not your fault, Marcus. Don't blame yourself for what the Shadows did." "Too late." She cupped a hand against his jaw, the scruff of the beard itching her palm. A storm of emotion clouded his normally brilliant green eyes. Everything she had ever known about him told her something was wrong, and that something had to do with Susan Ivanova. "You really do love her, don't you?" He very slowly nodded. The longing she felt from him grew more intense. "What is it, Marcus? What happened?" His eyes lowered to the floor. "I was an idiot, that's what." She gave a soft laugh, slowly shaking her head. "You wouldn't be the first person, Galahad." A slow groan rose from the space between them. "What's the matter?" With a shake of his head, he answered, "Nothing. Look, Lee, I need your help." Her heart leapt into her throat at hearing his words. The Marcus she had known only asked for help on the big things, things he could not handle alone. It had happened so rarely in their youth, Alina had to struggle to remember any instance. At that moment, not a single one came to mind. Swallowing hard, she nodded. "What is it?" His eyes raised to hers once again, and she could see the trouble clouding their depths. "It's Susan. Is she with you and Lyta?" "Yes." Marcus sighed. "Then she *is* putting up a general block." Her jaw dropped. "A general block strong enough to keep you out? How is that possible?" "That was my next question." Needing to think, Alina turned toward the window. She stared at the roiling surface of Arisia Three and considered the question. If Susan really was as terrified of a scan as Lyta had suggested, the blocks made sense. Throw up everything you have and pray to God that it holds. However, Susan had only been able to block a P5 naturally before. Blocking an external influence was one thing, but how could she block out Marcus? *The neural blocks*, she thought, *but I didn't find Marcus when I was working. Kalenn always said that if you can't find it, you can't block it off. So, if I didn't do it, how? In Valen's name, Susan, did you do this yourself?* "Wait a minute," she said, turning back toward him. "How did you find me, Marcus?" He shrugged. "I'm not sure, exactly. I knew I couldn't get through to Susan anymore and I could feel all of these presences that hadn't been there before. Something told me that Lyta wouldn't believe me, she think I was a figment of her imagination. Then I found you." She smiled. "I'm going to be honest with you, I think you're tied into Susan's telepathy. I'm not certain precisely *how* you did it, but you obviously did. I put neural blocks into her mind, but I didn't find you while I was putting them in. I don't believe they're responsible for this. Whatever is blocking you out, I have a feeling Susan's put that up by herself. If she did, you'll be the only way that it can come down." A glimmer of hope surfaced on his features. "Really? How?" Wrapping an arm around his waist, she led him down the corridor. "Come on. Let's talk." [End Part 18 of ?] From: LtCmKieran@aol.com Subject: A Place to Call Home - Part 19 of ? - WIP Date: Sun, 20 Feb 2000 13:38:07 EST Outside of the usual, my thanks to Claire for keeping me honest. Happy early birthday, dear. :) Terri http://members.aol.com/ltcmkieran/babylon5/ ********** "I must be daft to look to you for advice on matters of seduction. It's an art, Jack, not a contact sport." - Emilia Rothschild - Jack Of All Trades ********** ---------- A Place to Call Home Part 19 of ? Terri Osborne LtCmKieran@aol.com ---------- All Babylon 5 characters and settings belong to JMS, Warner Brothers, TNT and anyone else with legitimate legal claim. No infringement of copyright is intended by this work. Only a few select characters are mine, and should the Great Maker need them, or anyone similar to them, I can probably be bought off with a story credit. ;-) Even though this covers the same time period and the same major event, no infringement upon J. Gregory Keyes' novels is intended. Though, I will draw upon them for some background information. Content Warning: [AC] [AL] Anything encased in <*these*> is telepathic speech. Anything encased in *these* should be read as emphasized or italicized text. Spoilers through Season 5, as well as the Psi Corps novel trilogy. And thanks to my eagle-eyed beta readers! Virtual boxes of Godivas to all of you! ---------- *April 18, 2264* *Not again,* Susan thought as she slowly regained consciousness. *If I wake up with this headache one more day . . . .* She stared at the dimly lit ceiling of the small bedroom Michael Garibaldi had given her three days before. *I swear to God, I'm going to kill Minette for this.* Susan had come to the Garibaldi residence partially to set up her cover story of working for Edgars-Garibaldi Industries. She had also hoped to rid herself of the godforsaken pounding that had been greeting her for the past seven mornings. She'd at least been able to put up the guise of accomplishing her primary objective. Her hand went to the nightstand, finding the bottle of aspirin and small cup of water. Without even turning, she popped the lid from the bottle and extracted the last three pills. Realizing that taking the pills would be almost impossible to do laying down, she forced herself to sit. *Hit it fast and hard,* she thought as she swallowed the aspirin and tucked herself back under the covers. *Then maybe I'll at least be able to function today.* She was teetering on the verge of falling back to sleep when a soft knock came at the door. "What?" A thin beam of light fell into the room as the door slowly opened. If the softness of the knock hadn't given her away, the sound of Lise Edgars Garibaldi's voice certainly would have. "Susan? You up? Breakfast is ready." Susan groaned. Why, in the name of all that was holy, had Michael Alfredo Garibaldi married a morning person? Sure, Lise was pretty, she'd grant him that, but looks hardly made up for such abysmal behavior. "I'll rise, but I refuse to shine." Her stomach chose that moment to voice its lack of substantial content. Lise chuckled. "Well, it's not the kind of breakfast you'd get on Earth, but we do have fresh orange juice. And Michael wanted you to know that you have a visitor." That got Susan's attention almost as quickly as the mention of food. "I have a visitor?" "Yes," Lise stated. "Lyta's in the living room." *Lyta. I wonder-* "Lise?" Susan quickly asked as the door began to close. "Yes?" She stared at the brunette for a long moment before replying, "As soon as this-" "-headache goes away? I'll tell her." The door whispered to a close, leaving Susan in peace once more. Only, it wasn't quite as peaceful; her aching mind was tending to that. *What is she doing here?* she thought. *I'm not going in for another three days. The staff is just about ready to work in there. Garibaldi didn't say he was calling her, but that doesn't mean a damned thing. I've already tried everything Minette said to lose this headache. What's going on?* Pulling the blanket to her chin, she stared into the near-darkness. *Marcus, where the hell are you when I need you?* A more solid knock came at her door. After days of working around so many telepaths of varying strengths, Susan had begun learning to 'read' her surroundings. It had nagged her at first, the thought of using abilities that she had fought for so long to keep a secret, but she had quickly realized that there wasn't much of a choice. If she didn't use them, there was the distinct possibility that her abilities would use her, giving her away to the Corps at the worst possible moment. The memory of Jason Ironheart's abilities leaking throughout the station returned to her with blinding clarity. Susan was hardly that strong, but the risk of her abilities leaking through her guard had simply been too great. She had subtly persuaded Alina to teach her more defensive tactics over their days of training. Alina had also taught her an old theory on telepathy, she hadn't been quite certain of the source, that treated telepathy as an atmosphere, and telepaths as the winds. Stronger telepaths were bigger gusts, normals were barely a breeze. What stood outside Susan's door at that moment felt like a hurricane. The ache in her skull finally began to fade. "Yes?" she called. The door cracked open once more, and her suspicion proved correct. The sharp contrast of the brightly lit hallway gave Lyta's hair a fiery aura. "Susan?" She attempted a smile, but it hardly felt genuine. "Hi, Lyta." The redhead slipped into the room, closing the door before settling onto the foot of the bed. "Are you all right? Lise said you still have the headache." Susan nodded, the throbbing subsiding even further. "Aspirin's the only thing that's actually helping." Lyta's hazel eyes seemed to look through her, but Susan felt no scan. "How are the dreams?" Susan's heart leapt into her throat. "The dreams?" "Marcus," the redhead whispered. "You asked me about them, remember? Kosh used to speak to me in my dreams. If what you have is anything like that . . . ." Historically speaking, Lyta Alexander and Susan Ivanova had never been what anyone would have called 'best friends'. Susan had simply been burned one too many times to trust a telepath *that* much. Still, she had trusted Lyta with her life on more than one occasion, which for a telepath was far more than even Susan would have thought possible. Most people were terrified of Lyta Alexander and everything their imaginations thought her capable. There were times when that list even included Susan Ivanova. Somehow, though, she trusted Lyta. That trust had eventually brought with it camaraderie, a sort of friendship, and enough of an understanding of the woman beneath the Vorlon weapon to know that tone of voice. Lyta Alexander had been as much in love with Kosh as had been humanly possible. "Lyta, I-" "Don't be sorry," she replied, holding up a hand. "You didn't kill him. I just - I just want you to know that I understand." Susan took a deep, frustrated breath, before stating, "They're gone, Lyta. I haven't had a single dream of any sort since Minette put these things in my head. I can't reach him anymore. Besides that, I keep waking up with this damned headache. She says she didn't do anything, but-" "You don't believe her," Lyta matter-of-factly finished. "This isn't a surprise, Susan. You said the aspirins were helping?" She nodded. "Nothing else works. I can't make any sense out of it. I'm half tempted to contact Stephen, see if he can think of something." "No. If the aspirin is working, then you should stick with it. The last thing we need right now is another person involved in this. I hate to see you going into Syria Planum with a handicap, though." "So do I," Susan replied, rubbing her temples. "Can you have Andrew come and test the blocks again? I want to make sure this isn't affecting them." Lyta nodded. "I'll have him come over tomorrow." Rising slowly from the bed, she smiled. "Seems like you're feeling better. I'll let you get dressed. We'll talk more over breakfast." As the door closed behind the redhead, Susan stared once again at the ceiling. *God, I hope the aspirin isn't killing the blocks. I don't think I could handle that procedure again. Marcus, where the hell are you?* ---------- *April 21, 2264* The building that greeted her as the transport tube approached had to be the single most intimidating building that Susan Ivanova had ever seen. It was tall, almost grotesquely tall compared to the other buildings in Marsdome. Beige walls stretched upward, almost reaching the glass of the dome. A wall of windows was set into the building's façade. At the top, where everything tapered to an enormous wedge, was a gigantic Psi Corps logo. She stared at the out-of-place greenery that surrounded the oddly- shaped building, wondering if it had been put there just to humanize the structure. *It looks almost like an old-fashioned rocket with those fins at the bottom,* she thought, wondering precisely what demented personality had been the architect. "Man, looks just like the one in Geneva," Garibaldi mused from the seat beside her. "Originality is obviously not a must." As the transport pulled into the station, Susan fought to control the butterflies in her stomach. She attempted to convince herself that it was nothing more than an easy in-and-out; just go in, meet the people on high, invoke the just-passed bill, and head off for Syria Planum. She had accomplished far more difficult tasks during the Shadow War. *Of course, then you had help, Ivanova.* As she stepped through three separate banks of security scanners and into the building, the first thing that hit her mind was the sheer lack of telepathic noise. Even in the camp, the telepaths gave off a tremendous amount of psionic background noise. Here, however, that wasn't the case. She sensed order, discipline coming from the minds of those around her. *Curious.* She followed Garibaldi down a corridor that was nothing but shades of beige. The paint on the walls matched the outside of the building, while the carpet was a darker tone. White sconces lit the hallways, making the setting all the more neutral. The only items breaking the monochromatic décor were the framed posters that adorned the walls. White text on black, the first poster to greet her eyes held the Psi Corps mantra. The Corps is Mother. The Corps is Father. Then another. Obey. *Gives a whole new meaning to the Fifth Commandment.* A bone-deep throbbing slowly began to develop behind her left eye. *Of all the times to not have any aspirin.* "Hello, Mister Garibaldi." Susan's heart stopped for the briefest of moments at recognizing Alfred Bester's voice. Her first thought, as it always was with the little weasel, was hatred; hatred for the man that was a living embodiment of every reason that Psi Corps deserved to crumble. *Get it under control, Ivanova. Strong emotions may still let him in.* In the corner of her eye, she noticed Garibaldi's jaw tighten. His eyes fixed on Bester, and the hatred she felt in herself was multiplied tenfold in that gaze. The display, however, left the Psi Cop completely unfazed. "And Captain Ivanova. But, then, I suppose I can't call you 'captain' any longer, can I? Shame you resigned after finally getting that promotion." Ignoring the rapidly developing headache as best she could, she glared icily at the much shorter man and his outstretched, black-gloved hand. Did he actually want to shake hands? Arms folded at the small of her back, she gave him the briefest of nods. "'Captain' will do." "Ah, yes. The usual Ivanova charm," Bester said with an obviously forced smile. Turning his attentions back toward Garibaldi, he continued. "I understand that you have some urgent information?" "Yes," Michael replied in a tight voice. "This is probably a stupid question, but is there someplace secure where we can talk? I don't think you want this getting around." "Of course." One gloved hand gestured down a side corridor. Susan noted that it, too, was the same conglomeration of beige hues. Boring. The headquarters of Psi Corps on Mars, and it looked no different from what she would have expected of any office building on Earth; the same drab colors, the same monotonous sounds. How had Andrew tolerated working in such an environment? *Ivanova, what is wrong with you? He worked in Syria Planum, not here. Get it together. Think straight for crying out loud.* "Right this way." Garibaldi took up step behind Bester, with Susan pulling up the rear as they wandered off. She recalled turning at least five times but, even with her memory, she couldn't have verified that on sight. As they walked, Bester nodded to one of the younger Psi Cops, a woman dressed head to foot in the requisite black suit, with the copper Psi Corps shield on her left lapel. Dark glasses covered her eyes, and her close-cropped blonde hair did little to frame what were otherwise attractive features. Turning an eye to Garibaldi, Susan discovered him with a look of concern on his face. Catching his eye, she raised an eyebrow quizzically. Shaking his head, Garibaldi's footsteps grew faster. Susan got the distinct impression that he wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. He barely had control over his anger. The blonde took up step behind them, close enough for Susan to sense her presence; sense it, and recognize it. Swallowing hard, she buried the realization behind the blocks and fought to keep it from her expression. The headache made it difficult, but not impossible. Bester opened what appeared to be a solid, wooden door, revealing a small office. He gestured toward a light brown sofa as he entered the room. "Have a seat." Susan followed Michael to the sofa, sinking into its cushions. It felt suspiciously like the sofa that had been in the captain's office on Babylon 5. Comfortable, but not overly so. "I said someplace secure, Bester," Garibaldi warned. Bester smiled at the blonde, who had taken up a stance behind the large wooden desk. It was a paternal smile, warm, caring - and completely unnerving to anyone who had knowledge of the man. "You'll forgive my assistant's presence, Mister Garibaldi. Call it a little healthy paranoia, but not even Psi Cops travel alone these days. Even within our own walls we are in danger from Miss Alexander's people." "Didn't think they were hers anymore," Susan stated. "You, of all people, should know better than to believe the popular media, Captain. Whoever this Minette woman is, you can be certain that she is simply a figurehead. Lyta Alexander is still the real power to be dealt with." Susan and Michael exchanged looks. With a 'whatever you say' shrug, Garibaldi set the plan in motion. "You remember William Edgars' death a couple of years ago?" Bester nodded. "Well, since I took over I found out a few things. There were a few projects - personal projects - he was working on." "And those projects would interest me how?" Garibaldi took a deep breath and said, "A virus. It attacks the telepathic gene. There was only one vial of the bug in existence, and it disappeared when they ransacked the house. I've been hunting for it for months." A smug grin spread across Bester's features. "And you require the Corps' assistance." "Hardly," Garibaldi said with a snort of derision. "The only help I need from Psi Corps is compliance with the Trainor Bill." Bester glanced back at the blonde. When she gave a brief nod, he raised an eyebrow. "You wish to investigate the Corps itself?" Michael Garibaldi smiled viciously. "Damn right I do." "And what would you have to do with this investigation, Captain?" Susan pulled herself out of the sofa, stepping toward Bester. She stopped just close enough to properly look down upon him. "I'm leading it." Bester at least had the decency to look surprised. "You, Captain?" "Yes," Susan stated. "Me. My investigators will join us once I get settled in at the Syria Planum facility." *That* was when she felt the scan. She managed to curb her instinctive reaction to kill whoever was doing it, but it was a far from easy task. Instead, she continued to glare down at Bester, daring the little weasel to push further. One dark eyebrow raised at the realization that it wasn't Bester doing the scan. Crossing her arms over her chest, Susan strode over to the blonde. Staring into those dark glasses, she put every ounce of command into her voice. "Next time, Bester, if you want to bring one of your little lap bitches, make sure she knows how to behave." Indignance hit her from the woman. Genuine surprise hit her from Bester. "Why, Captain, we don't need-" Susan whirled on the man. "What we *don't* need, Mister Bester, are any more of your games. If you thought I wouldn't recognize Miss Winters, you were wrong. I'm warning you right now, if she, or anyone else for that matter, ever tries to scan me again, I will personally rip out their heart and force feed it down your throat. Do I make myself absolutely clear?" Bester's gaze went past her, presumably to where Talia Winters stood. "Yes." "Good." Stalking toward the door, her headache finally receding, she gestured for Michael to follow. As she stepped through the threshold, one final thought struck. "And Talia? Hate the haircut." [End Part 19 of ?]