From rebecca@allinux1.alliance.netSat Nov 25 22:16:32 1995 Date: Fri, 24 Nov 95 03:13 EST From: Karen Koole Reply to: b5-creative@blob.best.net To: b5-creative@blob.best.net Subject: The Promise (Part I) Greetings, This is my first try at a story. I know some things are screwed--I haven't paid close attention in the episodes to what things are in what sectors and I don't remember what a Narn knife is called. As always, comments and criticism are always welcome, and needed...The story begins right around CTI. Thanks, Rebecca@mail.alliance.net The Promise (Part I) Berry stared at the destruction with dull eyes. The civilian quarters were tiny by a Narn's estimation but D'Grann had accumulated more than most of his kind. That accounted for the amount of the debris. D'Grann himself was missing. Berry didn't blame him. A weight that had almost been forgotten returned. She wanted to sit amidst the rubble and sift the remains. Looking for what he had promised. Forcing dry eyes to weep. But the hard part of her nature took control. So she ran, back to DownBelow. Curled in the space between a broken turbine and the silver pipe of its housing, Berry did the most sensible thing she could think of--she fell asleep. In the darkness, the word she had scrawled over and over on the walls of the tubing was mercifully invisible: home. The Narn was larger than most of his fellows, so when the muttering began, he was the most visible. More importantly, he disdained the darker traditional colors of Narn fashion. He was the first to go down. Being the bottom of the stack in a bar brawl is often better than it looks. When security started sifting through the pile, D'Grann was one of the few alive. He cursed his luck fluently in a holding cell. Security Chief Garibaldi could only shake his head. Couldn't blame the guy. Going from free to slave in a matter of hours can do that to anyone. He'd probably feel the same way. Centauri, he'd maintained since the beginning, were a tricky, slippery lot. And not a race he'd want in control of his world either. The whole thing stunk but all the commisseration in the world wouldn't do this guy any good. You got other things to worry about, old son, he thought, shaking his head. The pile of data crystals on his desk winked a reminder. With a sigh, Garibaldi returned to his reports. Sleep was not an escape long on release. When the humming of the motors began, signalling it was time to be up and out of her temporary shelter, Berry's mind was still awash in pent up nervousness. She couldn't seem to stick to a direction or path. Eyes watched her move the tunnels in DownBelow and she felt no unease. As if the fears of the real world paled against the fears of her dreams. Feet followed the patterns of routine and she found herself in Blue Sector again. This time caution won over impulse and she passed D'Grann's quarters as if she never been there. More wandering drove her to the places she knew he frequented. The games, the fights, and the bars. She was careful to keep out of sight. But he was no where. In desperation she moved up the levels toward the one place he might and shouldn't be: security. Crowds were thicker than normal. Half-heard dark conversations and the murmerings of anger, the eddies of odors lingering longer than normal. Half of her knew somewhat was up, but the other half was tired. So in the end it was the name that finally triggered the fear. She had to crane her neck to see the woman on the monitor. Others around her were craning their necks too. And then she saw it. The planet he had described to her so many times, with its leisurly swirls of brown and green and slivers of gray sheen like mist--it was roiling under the assaults of weapons fire. The artificial booming of the ISN soundeffects matched the roaring in her ears. It was worse than she imagined. How could these people stare so? Like so many curious fish, stupid and insular in their aquariums. A planet and more was dying. As beautiful and terrible as the formation of a dream was the end of one. Where was D'Grann? With no where else to go, she returned again to Blue Sector, to sift finally what remained. And against all hope she found him there, standing to one side of the door, motionless and hulking and unnaturally quiet. She stood next to him for a while before the familiar weight of his hand fell to her small shoulder. "Pouchling." he said, the roughness gone out of his voice. Berry just waited. "Ach, the pain. My poor aching head. Vir, get me another pillow and try not to make so much noise." Vir Cotto had his own pain and contrary to the disposition of the Ambassador, his was not caused by too much drink. He had to grit his teeth some days just to be keep from shouting at Londo. Not that it would do any good. He never listened anyway. In a moment of uncontrolled annoyance, Vir accidentally bumped into a decorative table, knocking the bronze and gold statuette of the Centauri god of food onto the floor with a clang. Londo grabbed his head and wailed. "Vir are you trying to kill me? Where is that pillow?" "Oh I'm sorry, here Ambassador." Vir tried vainly to slip the satin and gem trimmed item in question behind Londo's head but ran into trouble dodging the Ambasadoor's flailing arms. "No no NO. Oh just give it to me and get me another drink, and pick up Ragesh from the floor. Have you no respect, letting her lie there like that? " Vir was starting to get a headache of his own. "No Vir the drink first. How can you be so noisy. Have you no respect for my head?" Vir was trying very hard to be quiet. No good would come of venting his thoughts today. He had done enough yesterday when the truth of the assault had come out. And so had Londo, drinking much more than usual, even for a "victory" celebration. Enough to drown feelings of guilt? Vir was never sure. Some days Londo would seem on the point of questioning the terrible things he was doing but most days not. Vir wasn't sure how long he could stand to be in the position he was in. And here on the vanguard ship of the Centauri fleet surrounded by Refa and the rest of the Ambasadors cronies, there was no one to talk to. What he was feeling were not the feelings of a proper Centauri and here in this time and place those feelings could get him killed. Unlikely as it was, Vir missed the Babylon station. He hoped they would return to it soon. Delenn was not crying, as he had feared she would. But she stood at the far end of the gardens, her face averted. The captain stood uncertainly close, yet too far away to fully touch her grief. Lennier himself was farther still. As it should be. Yet her griefs always drew him. Before the change she had balanced the things that could not be changed with the faith of those that could. Now it was as if something had wilted in her. The young Minbari aide patiently reminded himself of his duties, and settled down to watch from a distance, trying to put both sides of himself in balance. There was the man he was first, the man who served and assisted and looked after the great Satai Delenn. But then came the man after, that served the Grey Council and his House, who was sometimes set to watch over the Ambassador with different purposes in mind. Neither role fit him like his own garments, yet he was obliged to wear what he was given. Captain Sheridan put a protective arm around Delenn and Lennier turned away. There were other things he should be doing. Even if he was loathe to leave his duty to another. There are some moments not meant to be intruded upon. Berry was afraid to leave D'Grann alone. The Narn barely seemed to notice her as he buckled on sheath and Hrat knife. Some few things he had bundled away already in a carry sling. When he slung it over his shoulder and keyed the door, Berry knew something dreadful was happening. She followed him along the brightly lit hallways until the lights grew dimmer and the walls less finished. Down lifts and even a ladder once, to Brown sector and then the docks. As if waking momentarily from a dream, he stopped and looked at her full in the face. "I am sorry, pouchling. Did you hear?" She nodded. "There is no home for either of us now. But I have some friends. They will take you to a nice place far from here, where you will know peace." Slinging the traveling bundle from his own shoulder, he fastened it to her small one. She winced a little at the weight and his smile became even more bittersweet. "You are not coming." She said, some terrible emotion straining her features. He smiled, all teeth, his spots in sharp relief on a face gray with the strain of the past hours. Red eyes glittering like a snakes, he looked her carefully in the eyes to convince her. "I am coming. It is like I promised." But with the certainty of her age, she knew he was lying. He said no more and pulled her along toward the perimeter of security waiting to let them pass onto a ship's ramp. D'Grann saw them first, their swaggers and flashy clothing driving a rage in him that pounded at his temples. He hadn't been circuitous enough. And he had known when he had killed three of their number in the brawl that they would come for him. He had been so carefull for so long, just as the Ambassador had told them all, and one moment had put everything of his in jeopardy. But then, if the news reports were right, this little one was all he had left. And now would be as good a time as any to exact his pound of flesh before he died. Before the rage took him completely, he pushed Berry towards the station guards, then faced the oncoming pack of four Centauri toughs with a terrible cry of vengeance. He let the memories fuel his anger and his knife. The Centauri pulled dueling blades from their coats, security shouted, weapons met, danced and through it all, Berry stood frozen at the sight. Too many people were in her field of vision and there was too much noise. D'Grann, where was... "D'Grann!" she screamed,starting forward in a rush, hampered by the sling pack. Someone grabbed her and she bit and kicked. Fell free, was grabbed again. She realized she was crying. Twisted and squirmed but couldn't get loose. And then it was all over. People were clearing away. The Centauri were scattered, flung about and not all were moving. Someone was still shouting into a hand link and men in gray clothes were running up but Berry knew. D'Grann was not coming. And with the same amount of certainty she knew she wasn't going either. He had made a choice and decided for them both. But now she could decide for herself. Something dark began settling over her heart. She let the men holding her take her. Inside she was watching and waiting. From rebecca@allinux1.alliance.netMon Dec 18 13:46:33 1995 Date: Fri, 15 Dec 95 16:16 EST From: "K. Rebecca Koole" Reply to: b5-creative@blob.best.net To: b5-creative@blob.best.net Subject: The Promise (Part II) get to read part 1, E-Mail me and I'll get it to you. PLEASE PLEASE, give me feedback. Love it, hate it, whatever. I just need to know what you think. (It's my first child, you see, and it's growing up.) rebecca As always, the legal stuff, well, you all know it by now. I didn't create B5, I'm just caught up in the magic of it. Any mistakes or disloyalties are my own. The Promise (Part II) There is a part of the night that always falls during the time of deep dreaming, even in space where night and day is of one's own making. It is the time between alter shifts when anyone who's awake is thinking seriously of sleep. It is the time when the not-heard senses of the mind cry out for awareness. To some, it is a time of meditation, to others a time when the endless search for wisdom is finally fruitfull. To Garibaldi, it was the time for making the last rounds before turning over his duties to his second in command, when he liked to wander, letting intuition take hold of his steps. When he allowed the station to talk to him. An intimate dialogue between friends. Tonight, he had been led to the main security check- ins, Bay 5-7, final destination of most of the station's commercial traffic. During the day, the flow of traffic could get as cut thoat as a river in full flood, but at this time of night, all was placid. No lines, no people, no trouble. Lt.'s Ivers and Barrymore were too professional to slouch on duty, so when they caught sight of Security Chief Garibaldi, their snap to alertness was not so drastically artificial. He nodded in their direction, and sauntered over to put the new pair at ease. They were promising, but still a little too uptight for Garibaldi's comfort. He wanted to loosen them up before Ivanova's example took firm hold of them. He saw the Narn with human child in tow from the corner of his eye. The only reason it stuck and begged notice was the oddness of it. Narn with human child. Dressed out for traveling. "Quiet night, sir." Garibaldi turned to Ivers, with the intent to reply, keeping one corner eye on the pair coming through the checkpoint. He would have missed the group of Centauri toughs had it not been for Barrymore's intake of breath. As it was, the situation was still ahead of him. By the time he knew trouble was afoot, the battle was already joined. And the child was in the way. Coming down the ramp of the Minbari relief vessel, Me'Roc was careful to keep the religious sigil of his order from showing underneath the beleaguered guise of Narn warrior garb. He tried to keep to a normal pace as he hurried to the customs point. The C'Syr was nervous about something and it was never wise to keep her wondering. The Scholar was overdue. It was his job to find him as soon as possible because it was never wise to keep the C'Syr waiting either. By the time he was in sight of the customs line, chaos was on its way to being tidied up. The ambush had been swift and lethal. The bodies had been carted off and only one wounded Centauri was left, being perfunctorily interrogated by two obviously green and uptight security personnel. Their fellows were crawling over the scene looking for evidence. Someone must be alive to prosecute, Me'Roc thought, but he knew who it wasn't. He was just in time to see the child taken away by men in gray, dressed like they were on constant casualty alert. Me'Roc was one of the few Narn to have no combat experience but he knew a battle scene when he saw one. The mixing of Narn and Centauri blood was a common enough sight even if you spent your entire life engrossed in study. He knew who had died here, on this foreign soil, and he was full of the anger of his race. But though his fists clenched in rage, his mind burned with the cold fire of his mission. The C'Syr must be told of this. And the Scholar would be avenged. But the child was their first concern. Franklin was busy with the other Centauri they'd brought in and another medtech was running a tissue regen over Garibaldi's arm. He was mostly embarrased about the wound, and impatient with the necessary treatment but had nowhere else to go while his men did what needed doing. He was supposed to be asleep or at least off duty but his mind was tugging at him and he couldn't figure out why. He was of half a mind to interrogate the kid, even though anyone could see she was in a serious mental state but the doc given her something and she was fast asleep. Franklin had given Garibaldi a nasty look when the whole lot of them had arrived, as if the Chief of Security had engineered the whole thing just to annoy him. As if the kid's state was my doing. "Hell, "Garibaldi thought, "I'm the one who got bitten." As if summoned, Franklin appeared at Garibaldi's elbow, looking over the medtech's work. By the look on the Doc's face, neither the Narn nor the four Centauri had survived. Franklin shook his head, giving the Chief the technical details. "I can do extended autopsies on all parties involved." Garibaldi shook his head. "Thanks, doc, but I don't think that'll be necessary. " He had just turned toward the door when Franklin handed him the inevitable. "And I don't have to remind you not to get your arm stuck in anyone else's mouth this week do I?" Ha ha, Garibaldi thought. He wasn't looking forward to explaining it to the Captain either and something told him he hadn't heard the last of it. He cursed to himself. 'First time I ever got bitten,' he thought as he directed the turbolift, then amended quickly, 'on the job.' Sheridan was taking a nap when Garibaldi arrived. The Chief stood in the doorway a minute in surprise. He waited. The Captain's head remained where it was, in his hands, bare inches from the top of his desk. Papers covered the entire surface yet looked as if they hadn't been touched in a while. Garibaldi wasn't sure what to do. Finally, feeling like a fool, he ducked into C&C. The Commander was in her usual position: smack in the middle of complaints and traffic. It took her a harried second or two to notice him. "Garibaldi." "Morning, Commander." he started out, warily. Ivanova had a reputation regarding mornings. "What can I help you with?" she said, without the usual edge of sarcasm. He raised an eyebrow. "Are you having a good day?" She frowned, "I'm busy, but the world is still functioning. Was this a social call?" Then he noticed the steaming mug set off to one side. Aha, he thought, that explains it. Must be real coffee. "Is the Captain..." "Not to be disturbed" she said for the benefit of the communications techs busy working around them. She sidled up to Garibaldi and said in a lower tone, "He's asleep and I'd rather you not disturb him. I'd wake him up if I thought he'd get some sleep in his quarters but--" "Right." Garibaldi said. "Let me know when he becomes, uh, available again." Ivanova nodded and Garibaldi returned to the lift. He knew he should take heed and get some sleep himself but something just kept nagging at the back of his head. He was pretty sure the incident early this morning was just what it appeared to be. He knew the Centauri would try something like this sooner or later, now that their law had declared a Narn less than an animal in the personal rights department, but he wanted to go through the formalities just in case. He'd beefed up security, standard procedure, and he had Lou checking the quarters of both attackers and victim. Sooner or later they would have to say something about it to both G'Kar and Londo and he wanted clear cut accusations by then. Regardless of what they did on their home planet, the Centauri wouldn't get patted on the head for this incident. There was one attacker left and he was going to make sure the guy got as much coming to him as they could reasonably pin on him. The mood Sheridan was in of late, he knew the Captain wouldn't be satisfied with a simple deportation. Any sympathy Londo had once had around the station had disappeared with Sinclair. In Brown Sector there are places where the shadows are kind to those who keep from the light, where secrecy of face or race supercedes the concerns of safety. The patrols are few and far between in an area used mostly for storage on a station bigger than its operational budget can handle. The Narns were clusted around each other, uncertain, some showing the fear beneath the racial bluster. In the center stood the former Ambassador, the last surviving member of the Kharee, with his aide at his elbow. Facing them in almost ritual style was a very old female Narn, the robes she wore barely concealing the dessication of the body, her head heald regally high in spite of the surroundings. The whispering was intense, sibilant, surrounding him with almost a mystical quality. G'Kar did not like what he had been told but he couldn't ignore the source. The C'Syr was of a kind with him, and the only Narn of higher rank than he that remained alive. Although she had given up that rank before he was even in the pouch. Her spots had retained their definition if not their color, and her eyes just as intense as he remembered, though the years would not be with her much longer. He had fancied himself a traditionalist, a devotee of G'Quan, but this woman put all his learning and devotion to shame. They did not follow the same path but that did not mean their paths were not parallel. And at this point, G'Kar was willing to take any hope no matter how absurd a hope it was. The prophets moved in mysterious times. "I will think on it." was all he said to them. He bowed once to the C'Syr and made his way through the path they had opened for him in their ranks. Na'Toth had said nothing to him yet but he could feel her disapproval. He hadn't said yes or no yet, he would remind her but she would argue all the same. She did not have much respect for the way of G'Lon. It was good that she had kept that quiet during the meeting. The C'Syr was many things but forgiveness was not something she had a reputation for. Farther in the shadows of Brown Sector, a man pulled back from his vantage spot as the two Narns passed. He huddled closer into the brown roughspun cloak he wore, shielding the odd pin at his throat, and worked surreptitiously at a cramp in one leg. One thing he always liked about his job, he reflected, was the traveling. That's it, gang. Let me know what you think. Til next time, From rebecca@allinux1.alliance.netTue Jan 9 20:20:00 1996 Date: Mon, 8 Jan 96 15:15 EST From: "K. Rebecca Koole" Reply to: b5-creative@blob.best.net To: B5-creative@blob.best.net Subject: The Promise (Part III) [The following text is in the "iso-8859-1" character set] [Your display is set for the "US-ASCII" character set] [Some characters may be displayed incorrectly] Greetings, Well, here it is gang. It's been four weeks since my last confession--er, part 2 came out. Anyone need the previous, just E-mail me. As usual, comments PLEASE PLEASE. Great thanks are due to my two readers, especially Felicia (I bow in your general direction and will send you cookies) who keep my errors from getting too bad. Enjoy! The Promise (Part III) From the deep solitude of space, Babylon 5 is a thing of quiet majesty. A dream of a cylinder suspended. The backdrop of stars lims the hull with faint luminescence as it rotates on its own arc of infinity, oblivious to the lives it sustains within its belly. Outside there is only the hull of this thing, as graceful as a strange and beautiful beast. Inside is a whole different story. Most days the station and its inhabitants resemble an anthill overrun, with lines of people scurrying every which way. Always busy, always impatient. Though the core stretches five miles long, there are few spaces within that are as ponderously graceful as the simplicity of its outer silhouette. Life is tiny, diversified, and chaotic. C&C is no exception. The brain of a chaotic engine, Babylon 5's command and control center runs around the somewhat organized and always stressed Commander Ivanova. Trust a Russian to know how best to handle chaos. It bit, she bit back, and some other crisis would replace the old in endless progression. Spare attention was not a gift Susan Ivanova had in abundance. Except when it came to the Captain. He had been her first commanding officer at Io. Keeping a weather eye on him had been habit long before he had come to Babylon 5. Habits, for a Russian, quickly turn into tradition. And tradition for a Jew is as unbreakable as the Law of God. Today, the Law required that Sheridan rest. And since he had conveniently fallen asleep, Susan was doing her best to make sure he got as long a nap as she could arrange. She was worried about him. Since the fall of the Narn homeworld, he had been looking more haunted than normal. He had been spending more and more time with Delenn but instead of the energy he usually returned with from sessions with the Ambassador, he came back drained and restless. Ivanova knew something was up but she was too Russian to pry. She did the only thing her practical soul could come up with. As her mother always said, "There's no sorrow that time and proper sleep can't cure." Sheridan hadn't intended to fall asleep. Although he was conscious of the fatigue that had been creeping up inside his head, he thought he could hold it off for another shift at least. The time with Delenn in the garden had been frustrating and draining, leaving him with a terrible feeling of helplessness. He was at heart a man who liked to know his place in the world. The realization that his relationship with Delenn had so changed, lept so far ahead of his ability to retain understanding... His head felt as if all the mass drivers of the Centauri fleet were turning his gray matter to pulp. The light of the office had been so harsh and the darkness of his cupped hands so comforting. Familiar. What harm in a moment's rest of eyes that burned with fatigue? And so he had let hands cradle head, let eyes relax and shut and rest. Let darkness lay her mantle on him. The dream crept up on him imperceptibly, at first only a spreading lassitude. By the time the images came, unbidden sleep had completely taken over his mind. It was not a dream typical of the ones he had been visited with in the past months. There was no darkness, blood, and fire to it. No twisted shadowy shapes of people he knew he should recognize. This dream was simple. All around him was light. Not the bright harshness of man-made or the cold fire of the stars but a warm illumination that settled around him like flannel. It cradled him. It sang to him, with words he couldn't quite understand. The music was like a memory he had, tucked away and nearly forgotten. Familiar and a part of him, yet as undefinable as emotion. And suddenly in the midst of the singing and the almost remembering, a child walked in front of him, her hair a halo of colors. Her eyes caught his as water catches light. "Promise me." she said, as the singing began to fill him and the light started dimming. "Promise." The Captain woke up suddenly as his chin hit the desk. His hands fell away and a light so much harsher than what he remembered hit sleep fuzzy eyes. The pounding of his head returned full force. The muted grays and dark tones of his office turned hard and forbidding. And his chin hurt. Sheridan ran a hand through his hair and rubbed reflexively at his eyes, trying to drive the confusion of the dream aftermath from his head. It was as if reality was duller and less real than the dream he had just lost. Commander Ivanova chose that moment to stick her head around the corner. "Good, you're awake." she said. "Garibaldi's looking for you. We had another incident with the Narn and Centauri about an hour ago." Sheridan wasn't befuddled enough to guess at her meaning. "Casualties?" "Four this time. One Narn, three Centauri, all dead. According to the treaty..." she left off ominously. Sheridan's head came up. "Treaty or no treaty I'll allow no executions on this station if I have to give every last Narn on board sanctuary. " Susan gave a non-committal response and merely raised her eyebrows. Sheridan sighed. "Tell Garibaldi to keep this latest incident under his hat until we can figure something out. Thank you Commander." he said by way of dismissal. She didn't take the hint. "You need to get some sleep, Captain, and, forgive me, but your quarters are probably more comfortable than your desk." Sheridan frowned, but he was too tired to put up much resistance. "You're probably right." "You just figure that out?" she said with a smile. Sheridan couldn't help responding in kind. "I'm a little slow lately. Tell Garibaldi, unless it's an emergency, I'll see him when I wake up in three hours. " Susan nodded and disappeared. Sheridan got up and shambled out the door to the lift. Things would only be getting worse. If he was going to be any good to anyone, he'd have to get some sleep now. The Roving Comet sat at the edge between respectful areas of the station and the areas that only those who had serious business and protection ventured into. The bar's position contributed to its color. That suited the Comet's owner and part time bartender just fine. Life, to a bar keep far from her usual haunts, could have been boring and routine. Tannen of Bredon's Clan-Roving did her best to keep boredom at bay, though most days it was a battle. Today had been a losing day, she decided. No brawls, no illicit deals, no danger. And no unannounced visit from the lieutenant in station security. Tannen sighed. As she pushed the rag across the long counter and faced the near empty room she was half praying for trouble, any kind of trouble to walk through her door. To add insult to injury, the flickering light that usually kept the bar in shadow chose that moment to flare fully to life. Tannen cursed under her breath. She'd paid good money to sabotage that thing properly. The last remaining patron squinted up at the light with a groan and lurched to his many feet. A few chirps and a grunt was his only comment as he lurched out the door. Tannen renewed her assault of the waxed faux wood of the bar, disgust powering her arm. She might as well close now until she could fix that thrice cursed light. Who wanted to nurse a hangover in bright daylight? Turning with rag in hand, she took two steps toward the doors when they suddenly creaked open (that effect had cost pretty dear too) to admit a customer. A man in a plain brown robe. Tannen saw the pin on his shoulder the same moment the man raised his head. Boy, she amended to herself. They get younger every month, she thought. Where is the Ambassador finding them now? Grade school? But the recognition was there and Tannen felt a flutter in her chest. Maybe the day was not completely lost. She only half heard the boy stumble through the code phrase. She was past him and locking up as she replied in kind. Inside she was smiling. Finally, the rangers had need of her special skills. The day was not lost after all. Garibaldi arrived at the late Narn's guest quarters while Lou's team was still going over the area. By the look of the place, the men wouldn't be done anytime soon, Garibaldi thought. The room looked as if a battle had been fought and lost in it. Recently. Bits and pieces of everything imaginable littered the floor and parts of the walls. "What have you got for me?" he asked his second in command while trying to find a clear space to stand. Lou was having similar problems. They ended out in the mostly deserted hallway. "Not much. Someone either got in one hell of a fight in there or was looking for something by turning the place inside out. We did come across this." Lou was handing him a wad of crinkling papers bound roughly into a book-like shape. The top was covered with angular pictograms scrawled in uneven rows on what looked vaguely like leather, faded with age and much handling. It had a rather pungent odor. Garibaldi wrinkled his nose while he opened it as carefully as he could, but the inside papers looked much the same as the cover. Covered in what had to be writing and obviously old. "Curiouser and curiouser," he remarked mostly to himself. "Where'd you find it?" Lou shook his head in puzzlement. "Right in the middle of all this mess, on top. As if someone took care not to disturb it, or left it like that deliberately." He shrugged. "That's all the mystery I got right now. " Garibaldi nodded and raised his link hand near his mouth. "Garibaldi to C&C." Susan's voice came back immediately, sounding uncharacteristically chipper. "Ivanova here." Garibaldi raised his eyebrows. What were the odds, he thought; twice in one day. Must have been *really* good coffee. "I'm heading over to Ambas--uh, Citizen G'Kar's quarters to follow up a possible lead." "Confirmed. The Captain told me to tell you he'll see you in a few hours, when he wakes up." Garibaldi lowered his hand as Lou asked, "Say, how's that kid doing?." "Still sleeping, you know how the doc is, but considering what she saw, pretty good. I hope we can wrap this up before she wakes up." And before the Captain does too, he mentally added. "Sure thing, Chief." Lou replied. Garibaldi headed toward the Ambassadorial quarters and the abode of the former Narn delegate, wondering if Commander Ivanova could be induced into sharing some of that coffee. Ambassador Londo Mollari of the Centauri Republic was not available at this time, to anyone, for any reason. The phrase had been Vir's only standing orders since yesterday, and he'd barely seen the Ambassador since then. He'd been fielding polite enquiries, not so polite communiqués from Centauri Prime, and requests from station security all morning. Something was going on and the Ambassador was ducking out of it. Whatever it was boded ill, Vir was sure. Whenever something was going on, Londo was always in the middle of it on the most questionable side. Vir sighed in long-suffering and went back to picking up empty bottles from the floor. If anything was consistent lately, it was the drinking and the celebrating. The week of celebration declared in honor of the war victory had been over for days now, but the parties still went on and Londo had to be the guest of honor at them all. The new Emperor had made a public announcement-- one of only a handful of appearances he had made since taking office which naturally assured a high turn out-- thanking the Ambassador for his assistance in the war efforts. Londo had preened under the attention and what Centauri wouldn't, but Vir knew it had been somewhat forced. The Ambassador understood, as did his aide, that such a display only hung a giant bullseye target around Londo's neck. It was not public knowledge that there was resistance, despite the treaty provisions against it, but Londo had his sources. It made sense for the party in power to set up a convenient target just in case. Vir hated it that he was lumped in with the Ambassador, guilty by association. But as usual, he kept his head down, his mouth shut, and his conscience repressed. But someday, he knew, his convictions would be tested and it scared him that he wasn't sure whose side he would be on. He owed the Ambassador a great loyalty, but there were days when loyalty to that man seemed a crime of gigantic proportions. Arms full of empties and one half full, Vir turned toward the recycler, when the screen beeped again. He sighed, quickly released his burden and hurriedly smoothed his fan of hair. The screen cleared to reveal the face of a man Vir had seen much of this past year. He struggled to remain impassive. "Where is the Ambassador?" Vir inclined his head apologetically, the perfect aide showing embarrassment and regret. "The Ambassador is not available at this time but I will gladly tell him of your interest when he returns." "It is imperative that I speak with him. Now." "I am sorry, Lord Refa, but the Ambassador gave strict instructions--" "Lord Refa! I have not heard from you in a very long time." Londo interjected, coming up behind Vir in a rush. He must have just risen from an alcohol aided slumber but he looked impeccable as always, hair in the sharp angled style of those high in the Emperor's favor with the dipped curve of humble service at the end. Even his decoration trimmed jacket showed not a wrinkle, though it fell a bit off in line down the front. The only sign of hurry that Vir could see was the absence of the red orb of office he traditionally wore at his throat. That and the faint flush of the man's face that bespoke overindulgence of nightly revels and the wine that went with them. But then, Vir doubted Refa would notice anything amiss. The man could hardly see past his own nose these days. "Londo! Yes, there is much to do now that the war has ended. I trust you are enjoying your popularity? It was gracious of the Emperor to praise you so freely." "Yes." the Ambassador replied with just a slight hint of hesitation. Ah, he sees it today, Vir thought, trying to busy himself within earshot. "And how is the new Emperor? He is doing well I trust?" "Oh yes, very well." Refa replied. "His new popularity with the people has almost convinced him the war was all his doing. But we know the truth, eh Mollari?" "Yes, yes, and to what do I owe this pleasure? You yourself have said what a busy man you are. I cannot think you would take time from your schedule to speak with me just to exchange pleasantries." "That is true. Though the war is over, the work has just begun. As you know, we are still pursuing a few Narn criminals that remain at large. Harmless, but still, we must apprehend them before they do any harm. We know that at least two are on Babylon 5. The Council has sent a small force to apprehend them. We would like you to assist them, making sure there are no problems with the station's commander. I understand he is rather outspoken in his opinions." Londo made a face. "Yes, the Captain is a stubborn man, but he has much honor. He would not intentionally harbor criminals. You may tell the Council it is taken care of." "I will do that, Mollari. You have their gratitude, I am sure." Londo smiled. "I am a loyal servant to *Centauri*, Lord Refa. Her criminals are mine." As the screen went blank for a second, Vir made his way surreptitiously closer. The light came up again on the features and names of the criminals in question, one by one. "Pah," the Ambassador said grandiosely, hitting a button to end the visual display, "all Narns look hideously alike to me. I will see my good friend Chief Garibaldi. But first, there is still wine to be drank!" Londo missed the disapproval plain on Vir's face as usual, heading back into his bedchamber with the half-empty bottle of Idrean Passoul in one hand. As an afterthought, he threw over his shoulder, "Vir, I need a copy of that list Lord Refa sent. And if anybody else calls, I'm--" "Unavailable at this time, to anyone, for any reason." Vir quoted to the Ambassador's dissappearing bulk. The computer voice in no-nonsense military style asked him if he wanted to retain contents of message for retrieval. She repeated herself for the third time before Vir shook himself and hit the appropriate button. And stopped momentarily curious as the contents flashed by in review. This was odd. One of the files was mostly blank. In place of all the information and pictures the other files had listed was just, "Child, human" and a physical description. "Vir!" Londo bellowed from the next room and his aide scurried in response, all curiosity forgotten. From rebecca@allinux1.alliance.netSat Feb 24 21:45:11 1996 Date: Thu, 22 Feb 96 02:30 EST From: "K. Rebecca Koole" Reply to: b5-creative@blob.best.net To: b5-creative@blob.best.net Subject: The Promise, Part IV Greetings, all. Finally, here's Part 4. If any of you are new and need the rest of the story, either E-mail me direct or try the list archive. And as always, comments and criticisms are needed desperately. Enjoy and tell me what you think! rebecca The Promise (Part IV) There are really two kinds of people in the world. Those who believe the universe is a well-ordered place and those who know the truth. If you happen to be in the latter catagory, all kinds of people will label you a pessimist. But, as Commander Ivanova will tell you, you'll have the sole consolation of being right. The universe is chaos. Anyone who believes otherwise has never been to Babylon 5. But we humans are determined to fight against the nature of the universe and so we impose order in our communities. We regulate, delegate, and argue and sometimes we have limited sucess, but the universe will reassert itself, given the barest of opportunities, no matter how dedicated we all are to the concept of order. Case in point: the wonderland the natives have dubbed DownBelow. Existing as a nexus of chaos amid the regulated order of the station. Despite numerous attempts to change that fact. A living example of the universe reminding us just what kind of reality lurks just past the safety of the bulkheads. Tannen of Bredon's Clan-Roving was one of the few denizens of DownBelow that truly appreciated the universe's efforts. Despite all that came with the chaos, she truly preffered it to the order of up above. At least that's what she told those around her when she was particularly drunk. It all depended on what kind of day she was having. And though this day had started on a high note, its purity was falling flat fast. Stefan was sharp, she granted him that much. He knew the right things to do and how to do them but the thing most crucial to any ranger was the thing he lacked the most: anonymity. He stood out like a god among pidgeons. There were times, Tannen thought to herself, when she longed to break that beautiful nose of his, roughen up the gentle face, and blacken one perfect, long-lashed blue eye. But it wouldn't help. Even if he was gap-toothed and black and blue, Stefan was the kind of guy that would still be breathtaking. Tannen was stumped. She had tried. Nothing had worked. She could teach him all the skills she knew but could not affect his worst fault. No woman would ever forget that face of his. Stefan wasn't helping either. He felt just as miserable as Tannen. The two of them sat dejectedly at the bar, in the bright glare of a fully functioning lighting system that only accentuated the boy's features. Hard black Mrachi shells littered the floor. Tannen just kept cracking them, eating the bits of meat, and tossing the empties angrily. She had to come up with something soon. The boy was due to be shipped off station in two more days. At least she'd gotten him to change that ridiculous robe. If only she could think of something. A certain Minbari Ambassador would have told her to have faith, that sometimes the universe takes care of its own. But Tannen was convinced despite her best efforts on its behalf, the cosmos just had it in for her. As she threw the last shell with a vengeance born of desperation, the answer to many questions and the answerer of none glided through the half open doors of the Comet. Tannen's gaze followed the shell as it skidded past the swathe of material swooshing the floor. She didn't need to look up into the heavy frontspiece of Vorlon technology to know that once again, the universe was asserting itself to her misfortune. Stefan's chair skidded in the direction of the shell as he stood suddenly, nervous and devoid of grace. Tannen made no move at all. "Naranek." There was no chirp or whistle in reply. As if she expected any. Stefan was wide-eyed but otherwise had collected himself. Tannen felt a moment of genuine pride. It passed quickly. "Go on," she said, anger and disgust barely flavoring her voice. She had worried that his cursed brethren might interfere. Though they had worked underneathe the same banner before, Tannen was not one to forgive and forget so easily. It was the unique gift of her race to remember. And to aquiese to the inevitable. So she turned her face away but the sound of the boy's footsteps pattered at her heart. The Vorlon made no noise at all. As they left, the light flickered barely once, and then died. In the darkness, Tannen ran one hand over her bare head in an almost human gesture. "Blood of the blood." she murmered with sudden insight, "We will see each other again." As a courtesy, Garibaldi contacted G'Kar through C&C as he would have had to do to see any of the other ambassadors. Lt. Corwin took the call and routed it through with only a second of hesitation. It was enough to annoy Babylon 5's head of security and he idly wondered where Susan was. He was pretty sure that it was her rotation. But alot had gone on since the incident in customs and the lack of sleep was starting to have its effect on his temper so he tucked this latest unrelated curiosity back into a corner of his brain. The door to G'Kar's quarters opened immediately to his query and Garibaldi sailed confidently through the opening with his usual style. When in doubt, put your best foot forward, as quick as possible. In his line of work you didn't make very many friends. Show an enemy hesitation or reserve and it might just be the last mistake you make. Although the enigmatic Narn was scarcely an enemy of Earthforce, with G'Kar you never could be sure of what reception you would get. Currently, the reception was mixed. The former Narn Ambassador was in a familiar pose, seated cross-legged upon a platform of sorts, made of stone, surrounded by smoking candles. Facing him was an open book. Garibaldi couldn't help but look at it, wondering. Narn books were why he had come here and it was going to be difficult to get the information he needed without making G'Kar suspicious. Without giving G'Kar much chance, Garibaldi launched into the story he had thought up on his way over, a pinch of truth with a pint of misdirection. "So I thought you might be able to identify this for us." he finished, holding out the pungent evidence. G'Kar's eyes narrowed in a flash of recognition as he reached one quad fingered hand for the proffered book. Garibaldi didn't miss it. "What makes you think this book is from Narn, Mr. Garibaldi?" Because it was in the personal effects of one, thought Garibaldi. "I was hoping you could tell me that, G'Kar." The former Ambassador studied the cover for a moment before opening it. Again, G'Kar's eyes narrowed, though this time it was in what Garibaldi could only interpret as shock. His response was quick and a bit louder than normal. "Where did you get this?" "At a crime scene. Do you recognise it?" "Yes." The admission was almost a hushed whisper and probably inadvertant, Garibaldi observed. "It is..it is a copy of a sacred text. Not a full copy, only a partial one, of a portion of writings of one of our prophets." Oh, Garibaldi observed. And what is so interesting about it that makes you clutch it so carefully? he mused. "G'Quan again?" he asked. The Narn shook his head, once, in what Garibaldi could only assume was an involuntary expression picked up from the alien's association with the human population of Babylon 5. "No. G'Quan is only one of many who saw the future. This is from another, one that I am unfamiliar with." With a sudden unexpected gesture, G'Kar thrust the book back at Garibaldi. "I am sorry I cannot help you further." Garibaldi took it back and nodded, turning back towards the door. Oh so casually, he turned back again as if a thought had just struck him. "I noticed some writing imprinted on the cover. Maybe a title or something. I could run it through the station computer but since I'm here maybe you could tell me what it means." G'Kar's forced smile of rueful helpfulness stretched even closer to a frown of annoyance and something Garibaldi couldn't interpret. "It translates roughly as 'The Promise'." "Hmm, curious. Well thanks for your help G'Kar." "I am always here to help you, Mr. Garibaldi." G'Kar replied as Babylon 5's chief of security headed out the door, with alot more questions rattling around in his head but wiser a few answers as well. All in all, a profitable encounter, he thought, heading toward the lift. He raised his link to check the time and realized that the Captain would surely be up by now and waiting his report. It wasn't much, he thought, but it was more than he had started with. Still no reason to believe anything odd was going on but then he had learned to pay attention to that feeling his gut was sending him. And he still had a few more avenues to go down before he put the affair to rest. Couldn't hurt to inform the Captain of what he'd found so far. Though he doubted Sheridan would appreciate the infallabitlity of his gut. Stick to the facts at hand he thought, raising his link to his lips. The open channel to C&C was filled with an odd background noise almost like shouting before Lt. Corwin replied to his query. "C&C here. What can I do for you, sir?" Corwin sounds younger and more respectful than normal, Garibaldi thought. Something must be going on. "Everything OK up there, Lt? A slight hesitation. "Yes sir. Traffic's light, no problems recorded. " "This link must be going bad then, sounds like you got a war on your hands up there. Isn't it Commander Ivanova's rotation?" "Uh, yes sir, but she's in with the Captain right now." Aha, thought Garibaldi. "Well, when the Captain's done, let him know I'm on my way up." "Yes sir." "And Lt., if that's the Commander in the background, I'd give her plenty of room today." "YES sir." Lt. Corwin replied. Commander Susan Ivanova was indeed in a high rage when she left Captain Sheridan's office. It was probably the first time she had ever felt betrayed by her commanding officer and more and more felt her thoughts straying to shower preferences and door codes. He had saddled her with questionable duties before, but this was too much. She'd rather spend the rest of her career as the Earth Ambassador to the infuriating Drazi instead of what awaited her in MedLab 4. For the first time in her career, Susan was facing an assignment she had no hope of rising up to sucessfully. The realization only made her angrier. She missed running into Garibaldi by a matter of seconds. The universe looking out for its own perhaps. Or simply a kind twist of chance. Garibaldi didn't care which. He just thanked whoever was listening fervrently and headed in to Captain Sheridan. G'Kar stared for a moment into the red pupiled eyes of the C'Syr. She stood before him wreathed in the smoke of his meditation candles as if summoned by his musings. It was unprecedented, for her to ask for his aid. As it was for him to even think of accepting. But life had lately handed him many new and unprecedented events that were harder to carry out than this. He suspected there were even harder times ahead. In these dark days sacrafice was expected from every one of his people. It was only fitting that he be expected to do more. He bowed his head to the C'Syr, his eyes falling before her fierce gaze. He would be humble if his people required it. "I will go to the Captain." was all that he said, but the unspoken bargain was plain between them. And in her way, the C'Syr smiled. The Captain of Babylon 5 was in the middle of a conversation with his head of security when the first request came in. Five requests later, he was shaking his head. "You can inform Ambassador Mollari that--Yes, I understand but--he's on his way? Yes, Mr. Cotto, I'll do my best." Sheridan shook his head again at Garibaldi. "I'm sorry, but it seems that half the Council are on their way to my office. You'll have to update me on that investigation later. Commander Ivanova's in charge of the girl until suitable arrangements can be made." Garibaldi's eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. "That would explain the shouting. Uh, Captain, if I were you I'd check your quarters real careful from now on." Sheridan chuckled. "I know what you mean. I may live to regret the decision." "May?" Garibaldi responded just as the first Council member strode angrily into the room. Stefan Amarin, lately of Io, and recently inducted into that most secret of organizations known only as the Rangers, made his way to MedLab 4. The Vorlon had left him a few minutes ago with specific instructions. Or as specific as a Vorlon ever got. The warnings he'd been given by his trainers had been well borne up. True to reputation he knew only that he was to escort and protect with his life some person currently under Dr. Franklin's care. And he'd only been told that in fewer than five words. If he hadn't been so nervous talking to a real Vorlon, he might have had the presence of mind to find out more about his assignment or of the person he was protecting. All he'd been told was the name, and an odd name at that. He gave a mental shrug. It was what he did now. He'd been taking orders all his life. At least now he knew he could trust those orders. Now he lived and breathed for a cause he could give his life to. All he had to do was find this person, this Berry. Shouldn't be too hard. It was a small Med facility. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------- Things I would love to say on Babylon 5... "That is quite the flattering offer, Marcus, but there's room in my heart for only one and that room is currently occupied." (Satisfied, Alan?) ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------- "When in doubt, make a fool of yourself. There is a microscopically thin line between being brilliantly creative and acting like the most gigantic idiot on Earth. So what the hell, leap!" rebecca@mail.alliance.net