From ksc15@cc.keele.ac.ukSat Sep 30 16:12:08 1995 Date: Wed, 27 Sep 1995 14:01:32 +0100 (BST) From: Grail Reply to: b5-creative@best.com To: b5-creative@blob.best.net Subject: Spectre (Prologue) - "SPECTRE" - A Doctor Who / Babylon 5 crossover This story imagines an alternative five-year-arc for B5 which fits it pretty nicely into the Doctor Who universe, in the usual 2258-2263 period. In this story, we join the arc just after "The Fall of Night" with the third season premiere. A big spoiler warning, therefore, for American people wot have not seen the final four episodes of season two. Unfortunately for those folks who haven't seen much DW, this story may well seem a little confusing, especially at the beginning (because I have a lot to work in). If you haven't seen DW, I hope the story will be understandable - and, more importantly, readable - anyway, but if you have seen the programme (even better, if you know it well or are a fan) then you will undoubtedly enjoy the story a lot more. In any case, DW is the greatest science fiction programme ever made, so if you haven't seen much of it then you haven't lived yet. Well, okay, before the flames start....Yes, B5's pretty good, and way above Trek, but in my book it will never top a 26-year series with over 850 episodes and now an ongoing range of some 100 novels, covering 500 million years of history and the entire universe. :) Some minor points need to be made about the story and this "alternative arc" : + Given that the DW universe takes for granted that the Ice Warriors and Silurians / Sea Devils are part of Earth's existence, the subplot of growing human racism which was present throughout the first two seasons has been altered slightly to become isolationist rather than racist (a viewpoint the aliens in the Earth Alliance also share). + The Mars independence struggle takes place with the Ice Warriors involved on both sides. Oh, and one more thing - being as I'm not restricted by any censors as television chaps (and chapesses) are, I've upped the budget, violence, and sex content (just because I'm desperate for readers :)) in a few places. It's nothing particularly offensive, honestly, but it'd probably be enough to get the story a 15 or maybe 18 rating. For the US people, read PG-15 or NC-17. And yes, I know NC-17's a death rating for films, but bear with the story anyway, okay? :) Ta very much. Grail. -- //=== ||==|| //\\ || || ksc15@keele.ac.uk // ||__|| //__\\ || || Hawthorns V28, Keele University, ST5 5DT \\__|| || \\ // \\ || ||=== ...nearly 20 but definitely in love... From ksc15@cc.keele.ac.ukSat Sep 30 16:12:24 1995 Date: Wed, 27 Sep 1995 14:02:49 +0100 (BST) From: Grail Reply to: b5-creative@best.com To: b5-creative@blob.best.net Subject: Spectre, Part One (1/7) The Babylon project was our last best hope for peace. It failed. We began the 2260s in chaos and disruption, terror at home and death abroad. Only one thing could save us, a threat to unite us all. Now it's our last hope for just one thing. Victory. The year is 2260. The name of the place is Babylon 5. "SPECTRE" - PART ONE - Written by Mark Overton Extract from Commander Susan Ivanova's personal diary, 2nd January 2260. Things are better than anticipated. It's a week after B5 destroyed the Centauri cruiser and Captain Sheridan is still in command. The Centauri haven't even declared war on Earth yet, although EarthGov are kissing all kinds of anatomies trying to appease them. The Centauri formally annexed the Drazi homeworld yesterday and for the first time I actually saw a human here on B5 say we should attack the Centauri. The fact that he was so drunk he couldn't stand upright had nothing to do with it. I hope. In any case, I've started to stop crossing my fingers every time I step outside my apartment. This may be a mistake, but of course everyone here knows I'm an incurable optimist. Garibaldi leaned on the railing and watched over the central corridor with an avuncular but cautious eye, overseeing the busy diversity of the station with half his mind while the other half thought about the ancient cartoons he'd purchased from a Draconian seller earlier that day and was going to watch over a packet of popcorn that very evening. The selfsame Draconian, his tall green-scaled head tapering to a point at least a foot above the other people milling around below, was still selling his wares not far off from where a couple of Minbari traders were politely refusing to pay more than fifteen commercial credits to a human who was offering shimmering crystalline gemstones ("A Stone For All Species"). Some sullen-faced Narn pushed brutally through the crowded corridor on their way to get drunk, knocking into a Drazi who was already inebriated. Garibaldi watched them shout at each other, but relaxed as he realised it wasn't going to turn into violence. So far that morning the security forces on the station had locked up fifteen humans for brawling; seven Narns for beating up Centauri and seven Centauri for beating up Narns; another human (drunk), another Narn (for robbing the drunken human), an Ice Warrior (beating up the thieving Narn for robbing the drunken human), and one pak'ma'ra (eating carrion in a public place). It was an ordinary day. "How goes the day?" a voice asked jocularly from behind Garibaldi. The security chief straightened up as the broadshouldered shape of Captain John Sheridan appeared beside him, his hands clasping the rail firmly. Garibaldi had noticed, after a year's experience of the man, that Sheridan had a habit of moving everywhere with a brisk efficiency like he was inspecting a top-class Alliance spaceship instead of a down-at-heel half-cocked multiracial space station. This efficiency was particularly distressing because Garibaldi always felt he was being expected to act the same. Meeting Sheridan at two a.m. could be a horrifying experience. "Fine," he shrugged, and recited the list of crimes and punishments. Sheridan listened silently until Garibaldi had finished. "Sounds about right for a usual day," he nodded, with one of those wide smiles of his, deceptively friendly-looking. "Any trouble from Londo about locking up Centauri people?" Garibaldi shook his head. "Nah. He's quiet enough at the moment." "Ominous," Sheridan said, with a little chuckle. He leaned on the railing, studying the central corridor thoughtfully, an appraising look suddenly coming into his dark eyes and making him look a lot more serious than he had originally appeared. "Michael, a question for you." "Go ahead." Sheridan rubbed at his nose. "Well...do you think Ivanova's having an affair with someone?" Garibaldi blinked and rocked on his heels. The question had taken him completely by surprise. "I," he said, then decided that didn't sound too competent for a security chief. "Well," he tried, "I don't exactly keep watch over the command staff, Captain. I mean, if you can't trust - " "It's not that," Sheridan interrupted hastily. "I'm just - " "Gossiping." Sheridan gave him a reproving look. "Mr Garibaldi, that's an unwarranted assumption." "Sorry." The captain nodded, mollified, and returned his gaze to the people below. "Well, do you think that's what she's doing?" he prompted after a minute. "Er," Garibaldi offered. "That's not very helpful." Garibaldi sighed. "I haven't been looking, Captain, but offhand I'd say no. What's up?" Sheridan rubbed at his nose again, like he was summoning a nostril genie. "She's been disappearing bang on the end of every duty shift and turning up late for the start of them. And yesterday she was wearing scent." "Scent?" "Scent." "Oh," Garibaldi nodded sagely, "scent." "I mean," Sheridan continued, oblivious to the odd look he was getting, "call me mad if you like, but that suggests to me she's trying to impress someone, doesn't it? I know it's not me and I know it's not anyone in C and C because she snaps at them just as normal. So it's someone outside her work. She's got to be having an affair, hasn't she?" Garibaldi spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "What d'you want me to do, Captain, put a tracker on her so we can follow her round the station?" Sheridan looked thoughtful. "Might not be a bad idea." "You're not serious!" The captain grinned widely. "No, I was only joking." He nudged Garibaldi. "Come on, you've got to admit it's interesting, though, isn't it? Our very own Susan Ivanova head-over-heels in love with someone around here, wearing scent and making promises of eternal affection?" Garibaldi licked his lips. "You're putting me off my dinner," he said reproachfully. Sheridan sighed. "Michael, come on. Admit it, you're intrigued." Garibaldi thought about it. Now he was actually considering it (rather than imagining Ivanova dewey-eyed and submissive - sexual implication not intended), it was indeed an interesting problem. Garibaldi was rather piqued he hadn't noticed it before Sheridan, in fact. He nodded slowly. "Come to think of it, you're right. It is an interesting thought." Sheridan clapped him on the shoulder. "Knew you'd see it my way. We have to find out who he is." "Could be a she," Garibaldi said slyly, and had the satisfaction of seeing Sheridan physically flinch. "Let's - let's leave that possibility aside for the moment," the captain managed. "Just go on the assumption that the object of her affections is male, and probably human too. I can't see Ivanova snuggling up to an Ice Warrior, somehow." "Sure about that?" "Very," Sheridan said firmly. "She did spend time on Mars...." "Garibaldi!" The security chief chuckled. "Just joking, captain. Okay, I'll keep my eyes open, suggest to a few trusted friends that they should notice if they see Ivanova acting cosy with anyone. Maybe I'll let Doc Franklin in on the secret as well." Sheridan frowned. "Why Franklin?" Garibaldi folded his arms. "Well, if Ivanova's planning a family...." Sheridan flinched again. "Little Ivanovas," he muttered, closing his eyes. "Running about the station, staging a coup d'etat in the kindergarten..." After a moment he opened them again, looking haunted. "Now you've put me off my dinner, Michael." Garibaldi was about to say something in response when a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention and he turned sideways. His expression froze for a moment and then resumed its usual blandly interested look he always used when in standard security-officer mode. "Captain," he murmured, nodding downwards and behind Sheridan, who was frowning. "What is it?" Sheridan turned, looked downwards, and his eyes widened a fraction. At the same time his mouth hardened into a thin line and the knuckles of his hands, clasping the railing of the gantry over the corridor, went utterly white with the force of his grip. Not seeing them, Morden left the corridor and disappeared from sight. -- //=== ||==|| //\\ || || ksc15@keele.ac.uk // ||__|| //__\\ || || Hawthorns V28, Keele University, ST5 5DT \\__|| || \\ // \\ || ||=== ...nearly 20 but definitely in love... From ksc15@cc.keele.ac.ukSat Sep 30 16:12:32 1995 Date: Wed, 27 Sep 1995 14:03:18 +0100 (BST) From: Grail Reply to: b5-creative@best.com To: b5-creative@blob.best.net Subject: Spectre, Part One (2/7) The jump gate floated motionless and silent in space, the glinting metal of its four-spined shape shining dully in the light from the distant sun of the Epsilon system. With a sudden roar sprays of light began to explode out of the various exhaust ports down the length of the spines, an incandescent mini-star coalescing into existence in the centre of the spines. The star shrank, seemed to somehow twist, and space distorted into a howling spinning blue vortex that frayed and gnawed at the very edges of the senses, bringing the curved n- dimensional thing called hyperspace to the fringes of the different dimension laughingly described by humans as reality. The black hole in the centre of the jump vortex suddenly spat out a tiny shape that grew into full size in seconds, emerging from the gate as the vortex vanished behind it and turning in the direction of the big blue shape hovering beside Epsilon III, Babylon 5 itself. The ship was streamlined and painted a light green, with a knobbly surface that made it look like the ship had been grown rather than made - which it had. "Silurian ship Reconciliation has entered normal space," the tech reported. Standing beside the big black console in front of one of the few portholes which actually looked directly out from Babylon 5 into space, Susan Ivanova gave no sign that she'd heard other than to punch a command into the console. "Reconciliation, this is B5 control," she said aloud. "Greetings." "Greetings, Babylon 5," said the dry harsh voice, produced from a reptilian larynx developed over centuries of evolution inconceivably different from humans'. "We will be docking with you in approximately forty minutes time from now and require no special facilities." "Fine," Ivanova nodded. "We'll resume contact in thirty-eight minutes. B5 control out." She hit the key a second time, closing the channel, and resumed her former hands-behind-the-back stance, absently tossing her harshly-tied ponytail back over her shoulder at the same time. She was aware that the whole control staff in C and C were watching, and equally aware that the moment she turned round every single member of the staff would be busy studying their console displays. Ivanova sighed, hunched her shoulders a little, and concentrated on watching the distant green shape of the Silurian ship that was gradually growing larger. A humming sound in her ears told her someone had just entered C and C. "Commander," a deep-throated and similarly reptilian-sounding voice said. "I have a couple of requests to put to you." G'Kar was waiting slightly nervously beside the door, looking at her with an undeniably hopeful expression on his face. Ivanova turned away from her console and crossed over to him. "Yes, Ambass - Mr G'kar?" she asked, cursing herself for the slip and the way it caused such a look of pain to flash across G'kar's face. Since the Centauri triumph over the Narn and the dissolution of the latter race's nation, G'kar had been no longer an ambassador - just a favoured person who happened to enjoy the respect of the command staff on the station. Ivanova resolved to be a little more accommodating to make up for it. "What is it?" "I've been hearing - rumours," G'kar said, looking diffident and ill-at-ease. "The new telepath being sent to replace Miss Winters." Ivanova stiffened a little. "Yes?" she said discouragingly. G'kar winced a fraction, obviously uncertain of his ground. "Apparently she won't be human." "She's arriving at the moment," Ivanova said. "On a Silurian ship direct from Earth." "Silurians?" G'kar's eyes darted from Ivanova to the open viewport and back to her again. "She's not - " "She's not Silurian," Ivanova said. Relief showed in the Narn's eyes. "I'm glad. Oh, not that I have anything against them, but, well - " G'kar looked shamefaced and Ivanova concealed a smile. She knew that Silurian females were considered almost irresistible by Narn males, rather like - well, no, there wasn't a human equivalent. Ivanova couldn't think of any particular race who always made her feel weak at the knees, with the possible exception of the pak'ma'ra (but then, love wasn't exactly the reason for her feelings about them). "Mr G'kar," Ivanova decided, taking him into the captain's alcove, "I really can't tell you who our new telepath's going to be, alright?" G'kar sighed. "Alright, commander, I understand. I - " "In fact," Ivanova interrupted, ignoring him, "I will tell you that it quite definitely, categorically, without a doubt, isn't a Martian. Understand?" G'kar regarded her with fascinated interest. "I, er, I see," he agreed. "The new telepath is very definitely not a Martian?" "Definitely not," Ivanova agreed. "Without a shadow of a doubt, not." G'kar chuckled drily. "Thank you, commander. I'm glad you're obeying your duties by not telling me that." "You're welcome," Ivanova said politely. "What's the other favour? You said you had two." "I did? Oh yes," G'kar remembered. "I came to ask if you could arrange for me to view some Earth government documents." Ivanova blinked. "I trust that's a joke, G'kar." G'kar gave a fraction of a shrug. "No, Commander. They're historical documents, nothing classified or up-to-the-minute. It's just that I no longer have authority to do so." Again there was that brief look of pain on his face at being reminded of his loss of authority by the Centauri invasion. Ivanova chewed her lower lip in indecision. "Historical documents?" she queried. G'kar produced a small displayboard, seemingly from out of nowhere (if he'd been keeping it in his pouch, she didn't want to see where he'd got it from) and handed it to her. "These are the documents," he said, looking suspiciously eager. "They're dated 1975, 2000, and 2070 in your calendar." Ivanova glanced at the screen. "So they are," she agreed noncommittally, then sighed and nodded. "Alright, G'kar, these look fine." She took the displayboard from him. "I'll have them routed to the terminal down in your quarters in about an hour." G'kar smiled widely, then made an obvious effort to control his pleasure. He crossed his fists over his chest and bowed briefly. "Thank you, Commander," he said briskly, and started down the steps out of the alcove and towards the exit from C and C. Ivanova followed him down the steps and stopped at the bottom. "G'kar," she said. The Narn ex-ambassador stopped and turned. "Why do you want them?" Ivanova asked. G'kar shrugged, made a little well-you-know-how-it-is gesture. "I have no government to represent, Commander," he said sadly. "I just take an interest in history." Ivanova watched him leave, a puzzled expression on her face. As G'kar's back disappeared out of the doorway, the trim broad-shouldered form of Sheridan entered the room, glancing at G'kar as he did so. "What did G'kar want?" he asked Ivanova. "Some history files," Ivanova shrugged. "Nothing special. Okay?" "Sure, give it to him," Sheridan said, dismissing the question. "Maybe G'kar wants to be a professor at Cambridge or Harvard." *** Outside C and C, G'kar leaned against the wall of the corridor, feeling its cool marble-like surface beneath his fingers, the thrum of power in the floor under his feet. He felt both exulted and frightened at the same time, like a man on the edge of a precipice who knows there is both death and glory waiting for him with the single gesture, the jump, the plunge over the edge into boundless infinity. "I did it," G'kar whispered. "The first step. The first step towards reclamation." He pushed himself away from the wall and walked away from C and C, absently making a series of hand gestures that any other Narn would have interpreted as a sign-prayer evolved during the days of Centauri occupation, so that the enslaved Narns could pray to their gods without their vicious and oppressive masters noticing. The prayer thanked G'Quan for all his blessings until now, and prayed that the Narns would be given more blessings. It was the prayer of undertakings, journeys, voyages, and commitments. In a more archaic sense, a sense that only the educated like G'kar remembered, it was the prayer of pacts and deals. "May the alliance soon begin," G'kar murmured. -- //=== ||==|| //\\ || || ksc15@keele.ac.uk // ||__|| //__\\ || || Hawthorns V28, Keele University, ST5 5DT \\__|| || \\ // \\ || ||=== ...nearly 20 but definitely in love... From ksc15@cc.keele.ac.ukSat Sep 30 16:12:44 1995 Date: Thu, 28 Sep 1995 13:59:09 +0100 (BST) From: Grail Reply to: b5-creative@blob.best.net To: b5-creative@blob.best.net Subject: Spectre, Part One (3/7) "I suppose I could kill myself," Vir Kotto said thoughtfully to his dispirited-looking reflection in the mirror, his chin on his hands. "Or maybe defect." He brightened a little. "Defect to Earth, maybe. I could have six women at a time then." "Vir!" Guiltily, Vir leaped to his feet, overturning the stool he'd been sitting on. It crashed noisily to the floor and Vir winced, picking it up as his master, Ambassador Londo Mollari, strode into the room. Londo's peacock-like hairstyle was glinting with particular lustre this morning and his uniform looked utterly immaculate, the purple jacket pressed and smoothed, the stars and medals polished until they shone. Vir looked him over and couldn't find a hair out of place, a crease where there shouldn't be, a rough where there ought to be smooth. It was the smartest he had ever seen Londo and by far the most effort the ambassador had ever put into his own appearance for some time. Vir wrung his hands anxiously. "I knew it," he moaned. "I'm fired, aren't I?" Londo stopped dead. "What are you talking about, Vir?" he frowned, his gravelly voice suddenly filled with puzzlement. "Why are you fired?" Vir indicated Londo's immaculate clothing. "You never dress yourself completely," he mourned. "You always wanted me to brush your hair or straighten your sash or kiss - I mean polish - your boots. You're doing that yourself now. You're going to tell me I'm fired, aren't you?" With a sigh and a shrug, he looked down at the floor. "I suppose it was inevitable. I'd better - " Londo exhaled impatiently. "Oh, Vir, you fool!" he growled. "I'm not firing you, you young idiot!" Vir looked up. "You aren't?" "No," Londo said disgustedly. "I just thought I would dress myself this morning instead of getting you out of bed." He caught sight of himself in a mirror and paused to admire the reflection. "It was just an idea I had, that I should be capable of pulling on a shirt and straightening my own sash. I am an ambassador!" he emphasised forcefully, making Vir jump. "I am important," he added. "I can dress myself." He turned to Vir. "I thought you would be grateful. You never liked doing it before." "I am grateful," Vir agreed quickly. "I'm...sorry, Londo. What did you call me for?" "I called you?" Londo frowned, then remembered. "Oh, yes. I did. I want you to do something for me." "What?" "Make me breakfast." Vir relaxed. "It's right here, Londo, I got it all ready." "Good." The ambassador crossed towards the kitchen area when the door suddenly chimed for attention. He stopped, sighed, and waved a dismissive hand. "Forget breakfast, Vir. Stay in the background. And whatever you do, don't say anything." "You know who that is?" Vir asked. "Oh yes. Enter!" The door slid aside and a dark-haired immaculate-looking human entered, dressed in a grey suit with a smile of welcome on his face. "Londo," he said, smiling in greeting. "It's been a while." "Yes," Londo agreed briskly, turning away and crossing to the seating area. Vir, standing in the kitchen, felt a shiver of hatred; seeming to sense it, Morden turned and looked directly at him. Again that damnable smile appeared and the human gave a slight bow of recognition. Then he turned his back on Vir and moved to join Londo. "What is it we can do for you this time, Ambassador?" Morden asked. "The war seems to be going well without our help. You have the Drazi and the Narn subjugated, the pak'ma'ra soon to follow. Even the Draconians are looking wary of you." "Exactly right," Londo agreed. "An excellent summing-up, Mr Morden." Morden smiled modestly. "Then what do you want from us?" Londo help up finger and thumb to make a zero sign. "Nothing." Morden frowned. "Ambassador?" "Nothing," Londo repeated. "We do not want anything more from you, Mr Morden. The Centauri Republic is recapturing its old glories. We want no more help. We need no more help. As you said, the Drazi and the Narn have been crushed. The pak'ma'ra will follow. Next the Draconians, perhaps even the Earth Alliance. We want nothing from you." Morden's smile had frozen in place. "Are you withdrawing from our alliance, Ambassador?" "Dissolving," Londo corrected emphatically. "I am dissolving our alliance. You are no longer useful to us and your...masters...are expendable. The humans and Minbari are aware you exist since you shot at that starfury pilot in hyperspace. We don't need you any more." The ambassador stared defiantly at his one-time associate. Vir let out his breath in a rush; he hadn't even realised he'd been holding it in. Morden had lost his smile completely and his expression had darkened menacingly. "I hope you're sure of this, Ambassador," he said. "Very sure," Londo confirmed. "You realise that the Centauri will now be our enemies as well? Like the humans, the Draconians, the Ice Warriors, the Silurians, the Minbari? Like the Vorlons?" "Listen to yourself, Mr Morden," Londo growled. "You are but one race. How can you hope to win?" Morden's smile returned, though it did not lighten his expression. "And how are you so sure that we're one race, Londo? How are you so sure?" He backed away from Londo until he was level from the door. "I'll take my leave of you now, Ambassador. Enjoy your power." Without looking at Vir, he turned and left the ambassador's quarters in one smooth movement. The door slid closed behind him. Vir emerged from the kitchen area. "Londo, congratulations!" "Congratulations?" Londo said darkly, looking at the door. "For ditching Morden and his alien paymasters!" Vir said effusively. "You've done a great thing. You've stopped selling Centauri souls." Londo looked at Vir and the latter saw his master's teeth were set in a snarl. "Yes," he agreed, "I've stopped selling us to Morden's men. But do you remember those alien ships? How they destroyed the Narn at Quadrant 37? Do you remember, Vir?" Vir hesitated. "But you said yourself, we're winning." "We are now," Londo growled. "But now so rarely influences what is to come, Vir." He prodded Vir on the chest with one thick finger. "What is to come, Vir, now we have no friends left in the galaxy? What is to become of us now?" *** "Hello again, Angela. I know you're there, Angela. I know you're listening. I know you're hearing to my voice and you're feeling the same way as I do. You want to be wrapped in silk and cotton, entwined in the sheets, your body warm against mine. Your skin so spicy, your body so beautiful. Your breasts firm and - " Garibaldi's finger hastily stabbed against a control key and the breathy voice fell silent. Garibaldi's eyes darted sideways towards where one of his guards was fidgeting. "Zack? Problems?" Zack Allen blinked. "No sir. Absolutely not." He coughed. "If I could, er, have permission to visit the bathroom for a moment?" "Go ahead," Garibaldi said with a reasonably straight face. He turned to the prisoner in custody as Allen made a quick exit. "Well, it turned him on at least. Unfortunately it didn't turn Angela Ducati on, because she's made formal charges of harassment against you." "I was just declaring my feelings for her," the prisoner said sullenly. Garibaldi pointed to where the data crystal containing the recording of the communicator call sat plugged into his console. "That was the fifteenth message this week," he pointed out. "Angela says she told you at least twice that she wasn't interested any more and that she was breaking it off. Anyway, the charges are standing and you'll be kept here on remand until court tomorrow." He sighed. "Take her away." As the small woman was led away by two of Garibaldi's guards, protesting to each of them alternately, Garibaldi's link went off with a little chirrup. He stabbed at it. "Yes?" "Garibaldi, this is Ivanova," a voice said brusquely. "Captain Sheridan wants you down in docking bay twelve to welcome our new telepath. See you there. C and C out." Garibaldi opened his mouth to say something, realised Ivanova had already closed the channel, and shut his mouth slowly. "Jawohl," he said making a mock Nazi salute, and got to his feet just as Zack Allen returned, looking a little more relaxed than he had been during the replaying of the communicator calls. Garibaldi nodded in acknowledgement. "I'm going to bay 12 to meet our new telepath," he said. "Hold the fort here, okay?" "Sure," Allen nodded, stealing Garibaldi's chair and putting his feet up on the console as Garibaldi left the office. The security chief caught a glimpse of this and considered going back inside to complain, but decided it wasn't really worth bothering. He caught the first lift he came across and gave the instruction, standing alone in a corner thoughtfully. The lift stopped a little early and someone else got in. "Mr Garibaldi," said a female voice with a soft accent. "How are you today?" Garibaldi looked up and blinked in surprise. "Uh, Ambassador Delenn," he managed. Delenn cocked her head on one side. "Is something wrong?" "You look," Garibaldi gestured hopelessly, "different." Delenn nodded proudly. "Do you like it?" "It's very good," Garibaldi said honestly. As a rule, the not-quite-Minbari ambassador preferred flowing Japanese-like gowns, patterned in obscure ways (which Garibaldi happened to know for a fact were considered very desirable by Minbari) that reached from her small shoulders all the way down to her ankles, her dark hair loose and framing her swept-back features with the half-bone around her head almost hidden. Today was very different. Delenn clasped her hands together and regarded his staring eyes with an amused look in her own. She wore black trousers with a dark purple silk blouse on her shoulders, the ensemble topped off with a black Edwardian waistcoat. Her feet, Garibaldi noticed in passing, were in high-heeled shoes and her hair was subtly different in a way he couldn't quite pin down. "It occurred to me," Delenn explained, "that perhaps one way of understanding Earth culture better was to imitate your dress, as well as your physical form." She turned sideways a little so he could see her profile, and then back to face him. "Commander Ivanova advised me on it some time ago and I have been practicing." She smiled a little ruefully. "High heels take a lot of getting used to." Garibaldi nodded. "Yeah. I only wear them myself in private circumstances." Delenn frowned. "I thought only women wore high heels?" Garibaldi thought about carrying the joke further, but decided it wasn't worth risking a war. "I wasn't serious." "Oh." Delenn smiled politely, obviously not understanding the joke, as the lift stopped and the doors opened. She swept out of the lift and Garibaldi followed, shaking his head in admiration. They approached the doors of bay 12, which opened as they approached to let them into the vast cavernous space beyond. The bay was cigar-shaped, which suited the Silurian vessel admirably. It rested gently on two rising spires from the base of the bay, the lines of a closed hatchway in its side almost indistinguishable from the rest of the ship. Close up, it had none of the subtlety or grace in Vorlon ships, with a green knobbly appearance and the rough texture of the hull all contributing to the half- finished look of the craft. Sheridan, Londo and Ivanova were waiting in front of the ship; they turned in greeting as Garibaldi and Delenn entered. As Garibaldi could have predicted, Sheridan's jaw hit the floor as he saw the Minbari ambassador. Londo actually took a step back in surprise, while Ivanova smiled proudly, obviously congratulating herself on what she'd done for Delenn. "Delenn," Sheridan said. "You look....stunning." Delenn smiled, obviously pleased by the compliment, and Garibaldi's suspicious mind immediately went to work on the theory that Sheridan might need surveillance just as much as Ivanova. "Thank you, captain," Delenn said as she reached them, nodding with the minimum of politeness to Londo as she did so. The Centauri ambassador made an audible 'harrumph' noise and turned back to the Silurian ship, very deliberately paying no more attention to Delenn's image change. "Is this permanent?" Sheridan asked. Delenn smiled again and shook her head. "No. Just an experiment. For today only." The Silurian ship suddenly hummed loudly. "Captain," Ivanova notified unnecessarily. Sheridan, Delenn and Garibaldi looked round to the craft. The hatchway suddenly became fully distinguishable as parts of the ship shuffled backward, and the hatch itself folded slowly down and out, a dull red light spilling out from the battlecruiser's interior and casting menacing shadows on the face of the people assembled there. There was a moment's uncertain silence before a tall green-skinned shape emerged from the hatch and regarded them interestedly. The Silurian captain was around six feet tall, easily beating even the top of Londo's hairstyle, and the fluted ridges on his head added an extra inch to his height at least. His third eye was pulsing in time with his heartbeat and his eyes, a startlingly gentle blue, surveyed them briefly. The rest of the Silurian's body was green scales, smooth and perfectly clean, as if he had brushed them especially for this arrival - which he probably had, since Silurians took appearances very seriously indeed. The captain gave a tiny bow. "Captain Avrachtl," he introduced himself. "Captain Sheridan," the latter said. "Greetings, captain. Did you have a pleasant journey?" "Indeed," Avrachtl nodded. "But it is not me you have come to see. Let me introduce your new telepath's personal guard, Warrior Ssrax." Another green figure emerged from the ship, but this one was a good seven feet tall. The Ice Warrior guard was reptilian, just like the Silurian, but its skin was dull and leathery without the smooth scales, and it wore a rock-solid green chestplate that made its bulk all the more impressive, the red eyes inside the helmet looking out menacingly. A forked tongue flickered between the guard's razor-sharp teeth. "Lady Alixyr," the guard hissed in a whispery voice. A third form stepped onto the bay pedestal. Alixyr was a complete contrast to the male guard, being no taller than the petite Delenn. Her body was recognisably feminine, with small breasts pushing out the thin one-piece sleeveless garment she wore; green soft and delicate skin emerged from the shoulder holes, terminating in tiny delicate three-fingered hands, far more subtle than the guard's massive clamp- like fist. Alixyr's head was utterly different as well. Whereas the guard's head was encased in a protective helmet, Alixyr's was unprotected, giving her a surprising air of gentleness; her eyes were yellow and framed in black-tinted sockets, her hairless skull looking just as soft and delicate as her arms. A cloak sprayed back from her shoulders and she pulled this around her shoulders. "Captain Sheridan?" she whispered, her voice like the rustling of tree leaves. Sheridan had been held momentarily spellbound by this, his first sight of an Ice Lady. Whereas he had seen male Martians before - the smaller Lords and the massive Warriors alike - he, like many people, had never seen one of the super-well-protected females before. How someone as small and fragile-looking as Alixyr could possibly give birth to something as huge and intimidating as Ssrax was beyond him. "I'm Captain Sheridan," he acknowledged eventually. "Welcome to Babylon 5, Lady Alixyr." "Thank you." She stepped delicately forward and a cool hand enveloped his briefly. "I am glad to be here. It took plenty of persuasion for the authorities to assign me." "They're getting awkward about putting non-humans in positions of power," Garibaldi said darkly. "I know," Alixyr murmured. "My security chief, Michael Garibaldi," Sheridan introduced him. "Usually paranoid, and usually right as well." He chuckled and a whispery hissing echoed from Alixyr's mouth - could it be laughter? "Anyway," Sheridan continued, "allow me to introduce Ambassador Delenn of the Minbari Federation, and Ambassador Londo Mollari of the Centauri Republic." "It is a pleasure," Delenn said warmly. "Thank you," Alixyr nodded. "And for the Centauri as well," Londo agreed, the first words he had spoken in the entire encounter. His arms were folded and his stance perilously close to aggressive. "I'm surprised you came to such an assignment as this, Lady Alixyr, when it's well known Babylon 5 is in such a dangerous position these days." As he said those words, Londo shot a malevolent look at Sheridan, who smiled blandly in response. "Babylon 5 is important to all of us, Ambassador," Alixyr whispered softly, "even to yourself." Londo's smile vanished in an instant. "What do you mean by that?" "Why else would you stay here?" the Martian female responded, her forked tongue flickering briefly towards him and then vanishing back inside her mouth. "Captain, I have this for you as well." Her left hand was holding a data crystal, though Sheridan hadn't seen her take it from anywhere. "I was given this by a representative of the Earth government before I left the Solar System," she hissed. "It is coded specifically for you." Sheridan turned it over in his hand, then slipped the crystal into a pocket. "Thank you, my lady," he said with a smile. "I'll look at it later. Commander Ivanova, would you be so kind as to show Lady Alixyr around the station and make sure she knows her way around?" "Of course," Ivanova nodded briskly. Alixyr nodded as well, like a bird's beak diving for food. "I shall be very interested to see it," she murmured, turning towards Ssrax and beckoning to him. The guard lumbered towards her, causing Alixyr to snake her neck upwards to see him at all. "Move the luggage to our quarters," Alixyr instructed. The guard nodded - more like a leaning forward. "Yes, Lady Alixyr," he hissed. "I'll show you the way to the quarters," Garibaldi volunteered. Sheridan opened his mouth to say something just as he felt Delenn's cool hand on his arm. "I want to speak with you afterwards," she murmured, so quietly that none of the others could hear. "If this little meeting is over," Londo interrupted bad- temperedly, "I will be on my way. Nice to have met you, Lady Alixyr." He turned and left the bay without looking back, drawing angry looks from the others with the exception of Delenn, Alixyr, Captain Avrachtl, and the inexpressive Ssrax. "Captain," Sheridan said finally, turning to Avrachtl. "Can I invite you for dinner?" Avrachtl held up a clawed hand. "No, Captain. Thank you, but I prefer to eat with my crew." "Fine," Sheridan nodded as he heard the bay doors open a second time. Turning, he saw Ivanova and Alixyr leaving, Delenn following at a slower pace. With a nod to Garibaldi, standing dwarfed by the bulky Ssrax, Sheridan headed for the corridor as well. He caught up with Delenn just as they left the docking bay, Ivanova and Alixyr now invisible round a corner. "What was it you wanted to say to me?" he asked her. Delenn was looking troubled. "John - " she began, then stopped. Sheridan was immediately concerned that Delenn thought the situation serious enough to warrant her using his first name. "What is it?" Delenn trailed a hand along the wall. "I have been given some information by the latest communiqué from Minbar," she said finally. "They should have told me long ago - I suspect some of my enemies held it back to try and embarrass me, or make the information useless." "What information?" Sheridan prompted. She turned, faced him, and took a deep breath. "The squadron leader you lost some time ago, the one attacked by the alien ship." Sheridan bit his lip. "Keffer," he said softly. Zeta Wing's flight leader had been lost without trace just under a week ago, the only clue provided by the recovered flight recorder from his starfury. ISN's shock broadcast of the recorder's last data, revealing a mysterious alien race afoot in hyperspace, had prompted whole fleets of Earth, Centauri and Minbari ships to probe hyperspace. Nothing had been found. Sheridan jerked himself out of his reverie. "What about Keffer?" he asked Delenn, who was looking even more uncomfortable. "He has been found alive," she said. "On Minbar." *** -- //=== ||==|| //\\ || || ksc15@keele.ac.uk // ||__|| //__\\ || || Hawthorns V28, Keele University, ST5 5DT \\__|| || \\ // \\ || ||=== ...nearly 20 but definitely in love... From u4d41@cc.keele.ac.ukSat Oct 7 23:37:46 1995 Date: Sun, 1 Oct 1995 11:21:29 +0100 (BST) From: Grail Reply to: b5-creative@blob.best.net To: b5-creative@blob.best.net Subject: Spectre, Part One (4/7) My apologies, but I can't remember if I've already posted this or not. If I have, then forgive the repost. As usual spoiler warnings for 'merkans who don't want to know about post-"Confessions and Lamentations" events... The bulky towering shape of Ambassador Kosh was instantly sensed by those in the Garden as the encounter suit shuffled out from the corridor into the greenery and vegetation. A human couple who had been kissing whilst sitting on a seat near the entrance looked up as a sudden uncomfortable feeling swept over them, like someone had walked over their grave; one grabbed her partner's hand, and the two women edged a little closer as if seeking security. Ignoring them, the silent form swept past them and entered the entrance to the maze, vanishing from sight but leaving a faintly disturbing, almost imperceptible, vibration on the air. Out of sight from those beyond the maze, Kosh paused for a moment as if listening to some sound; then the Vorlon ambassador selected a path and drifted along it. Several turns later, Kosh emerged into a small circular area that few people managed to find without a map of the maze; the area contained but one bench, and was otherwise empty. Kosh halted at the edge of the area and waited. The air suddenly parted like someone had peeled an orange and a human in a pinstripe suit stepped through the dark nothingness revealed, adjusting his bowler hat a fraction and then raising it in greeting to Kosh. Behind him, the rift vanished as suddenly and silently as it had first appeared. "Hello there," said the man. "Why the summons?" A whispery echoing sound, overlaid with chirrups, emerged from Kosh's suit; a moment later, a rippling voice - the translation - sounded. "The darkness is coming." The man set down his briefcase and removed his bowler hat. He had a long thin face with a beak-like nose and would have matched much better had he been in London during the twentieth century. "Yes, that's quite right," he agreed. "Already I imagine Ambassador Mollari has summoned Mr Morden and made his government's decision quite clear." Kosh whispered, chirruped, and said, "They will come." "It will change their plans," agreed the other. "I imagine they will reveal themselves a lot sooner and be a lot more aggressive into the bargain. Our projections have suggested you have a week at most before the first battles of the War begin." "They are not ready. You must intervene." He wagged a reproving finger. "You know very well we can't do that sort of thing. It's just not on." "You can. You choose not to. Your own power is not threatened." "Very true," the man nodded cheerfully. "All things pass on in time, Ambassador Kosh. At least you've been privileged enough for us to keep a regular contact with your people and give you information. We won't be intervening; the situation isn't sufficiently threatening." Kosh jerked a fraction, then said something nobody on Babylon 5 had ever heard him say. "Please." A small smile flickered across the businessman's face as he replaced his bowler hat. "No. Just remember the information we've already given you. Oh, and I urge you to consider the danger from the Narn exiles here. They are already beginning to develop something that should have been laid to rest a century ago, now they have the information from the Earth Alliance's files." He picked up the briefcase, opened it, and twiddled a control set into the interior. Silently blackness rippled and opened up behind him. "Good luck with your war, old chap." Stepping backwards, the Time Lord retreated into the rift, which slid noiselessly closed as if it - and he - had never been there. Kosh stayed rock-still for a moment, as if considering, then turned and glided from the clearing as well, with a new purposefulness to his actions. The ambassador had reached a decision; certain actions would have to be taken now. *** Morden entered his rented quarters as expressionless and composed as ever, carefully closing the door behind him and making sure that it was sealed. He turned just as space rippled darkly in front of him and a massive arachnid form coalesced out of nothingness, its eyes glittering menacingly. The creature made no sound, but Morden nodded briskly. "Yes, I understand that. Will the invasion take place as planned, then?" Again, no sound. "Shall I remain here on B5?" Silence. "Alright. What other instructions?" The creature wheeled around, claws clicking on the surface of the room, and moved more into the centre, stopping by the sofa. It whirled round and faced Morden once again, the four expressionless eyes transfixing its agent. Morden nodded. "Yes, I understand that, of course. Then, if I can ask - this place will be the battleground?" Nothing was said, but the creature faded and vanished into nothingness once again. Morden seemed to have found the answer satisfactory, though, for he made a small smile and turned to the kitchen area to prepare himself a drink while he waited. It wouldn't be long before he had much to do, so it would be as well to make sure he wasn't going to be hungry in the middle of it. *** TOP SECRET EYES ONLY : UN Secretary-General Robert Wigner UNIT Chief Director Winifred Bambera Date Filed : 11/09/2000 Date Concerned : 05/09/2000 Time Filed : 11:06 am GMT Ref : UNIT6670-890ACC-4R9980 Author : Alison Williams Subject : Technology recovered from North Pole The inventory is attached with this report, but major items include 4 alien spacecraft, 29 samples of alien weaponry, 60 cyborg corpses, and one alien computer. It is my opinion that the spacecraft, weaponry and computer are most useful in the short-term; the corpses can teach us much about bio-implantation technology in the long-term. Technical analyses of spacecraft have produced the following : G'kar hit a control and the information speeded up to an unreadable blur, casting flickering shadows over the Narn exile's leathery skin, his red eyes glinting in the glow from the screen. After a moment G'kar hit the stop key and the text stabilised once again. corpses have been identified by surviving members of Snowcap base personnel as those which were responsible for the invasion. Our current analysis confirms that bio-implantation has taken place to an unbelievable degree, extending even to partial brain replacement. Such sophistication is currently unattainable even with the Butler Institute's latest techniques; however, I have given what schematics I can below, with the help of scientific adviser Dyson : "Ah," G'kar breathed, leaning forward and paging down the screen very very slowly, absorbing each detail, each word of the information. He was shocked and surprised to find out how childishly simple the information he was reading truly was; humanity in the year 2000 had found these developments incredible, but in the 23rd century they were merely impressive. G'kar memorised the schematics with growing dismay; could he have been so wrong, he wondered, about the power of the aliens recorded as attacking Earth two hundred and sixty years in the past? The reports had been so dramatic that - He stopped, focussing on the last paragraph of text. no justification for the current assumption that these creatures had no home base other than on the destroyed tenth planet. Scans of the spacecraft's internal recordings confirms my own theory; Planet 14 as mentioned in the 1975 invasion was not in this solar system. Co- ordinates for this planet are given below. G'kar read the co-ordinates and felt a cold triumph run through him. Carefully, not wanting to make the slightest error, he found a hardcopy star chart and unrolled it, spreading it out on the table in front of him. One by one, he checked every aspect of the co-ordinates and found each tiny piece of it corresponded exactly to his initial piece of guesswork. He released the chart and it rolled closed with an audible snap. "Then it is true," he murmured joyfully. "I was right. It is true!" "What is?" Na'Toth asked questioningly. She had been standing silently watching her former master all this time; though technically no longer employed, since the Narn government was gone, Na'Toth continued to serve G'kar because he alone of the Narns on Babylon 5 offered the best hope there was. "Their base, Planet 14," G'kar whispered. "It was here, Na'Toth. In this solar system. Epsilon Two, the planet no further from here than eighty million miles." "Whose base?" G'kar didn't seem to have heard. "I must charter a fighter," he murmured, staring blankly at the screen. "I shall fly to Epsilon Two tomorrow and find their base. There must be something left there, some sample." "Sample of what?" Na'Toth demanded. "Not sample of what," G'kar said. "Sample of who. The reports say clearly that they were not just brilliant at biological implants. They were experts in cryogenesis as well." "Who were?" she insisted. G'kar's eyes, almost dreamy, suddenly focussed sharply on her. "Our new allies, Na'Toth. The ones who could help us to regain our lost homeworld. They invaded Earth four times, had a gigantic war in 2150 but were beaten away by sheer chance, and a planet called Voga. Near-invincible cybernetic warriors, beyond anything the Centauri can think of. An ancient race from Earth's own solar system in centuries past." He smiled briefly. "Pay attention to your history, Na'Toth. G'Quan spoke of this race as well - the metal demons, he called them. Soon, we may call them saviours." Na'Toth suddenly looked enlightened. "You mean - " G'kar held up a hand, cutting her off. "I mean Epsilon Two is the mythical Planet 14 that was spoken of during the invasion of Earth in 1975. Their other home base." He was staring at her in hushed enthusiasm. "Na'Toth, I speak of the Cybermen." *** -- //=== ||==|| //\\ || || u4d41@keele.ac.uk OR ksc15@keele.ac.uk // ||__|| //__\\ || || \\__|| || \\ // \\ || ||=== ...nearly 20 but definitely in love... From u4d41@cc.keele.ac.ukSat Oct 7 23:37:52 1995 Date: Sun, 1 Oct 1995 11:21:54 +0100 (BST) From: Grail Reply to: b5-creative@blob.best.net To: b5-creative@blob.best.net Subject: Spectre, Part One (5/7) "It's just through here," Garibaldi said, as they turned the last corner and came upon an open door which revealed empty rooms beyond. He carefully concealed the pain he felt at being reminded of the room's previous occupant, who had left them in such terrible circumstances; Talia Winters, revealed as being a non-person, a non- existence carefully created by the Psi Corps to serve as an agent. Gone forever, he thought. Gone forever. Garibaldi took a deep breath and stepped inside the room; behind him, ducking to enter the relatively small entrance, the massive green form of Ssrax lumbered in carrying a half-ton box as easily as Garibaldi might lift a feather. "These are Lady Alixyr's quarters," Garibaldi announced. "If you're going to be sleeping with her - ahem, I mean, living here as well - then there's a spare room on the opposite side." Ssrax set the box down and Garibaldi felt a faint tremor run throughout the floor. The Ice Warrior swung heavily towards him. "I will rest in the spare room," he hissed. "I must rejoin Lady Alixyr now." "Sure, sure," Garibaldi agreed. "Oh, one thing." He handed Ssrax a slim card. "This is your keycard to let yourself in and out of the room. Take this one for Lady Alixyr as well. If you need another one to replace it you'll have to come to me, understand?" "Yes," Ssrax hissed, and he led the way out of Talia's old quarters. Garibaldi took a last look round, the shimmering grey box in the centre of the rooms a harsh counterpoint to the remnants of feminine furniture Talia had draped over the place during her two-year stay there. With a sigh, Garibaldi cast the memories back to the dungeon he called lost friends, and left the rooms as well. Ssrax was waiting motionless, like a reptilian statue, the people in the corridor making detours around him rather than he moving for them. Garibaldi closed the door and tapped his link. "Garibaldi to C and C. Locate Commander Ivanova for me." "She's in the Garden, sir," the reply came back quickly. "Thanks. Out." Garibaldi closed the channel and looked up - well up - at Ssrax. "Let's go, then. That way." Ssrax swung ponderously around and lumbered off, Garibaldi following alongside. The two of them together took up at least half the corridor and a Draconian they met en route had to press himself right against the wall before they could actually get past. "Have you been Lady Alixyr's bodyguard a long time, then?" Garibaldi asked, more for the sake of making conversation than anything else. He always felt uneasy about giant beasties that could take off his head with one swing of their arm. "All her life," Ssrax hissed as they entered a lift and the doors closed behind them. "Yeah? How old is she?" "Twenty standard years." Garibaldi nodded thoughtfully. "Why these questions?" Ssrax whispered. "Huh? Oh, just wondering. I haven't met a lot of you people. You keep quiet most of the time." "We prefer...isolation." "Yeah," Garibaldi said. "You and EarthGov both right now." The lift doors opened. To Garibaldi's surprise, Ssrax hissed, "The Earth government has troubles," and left the lift with long strides. Garibaldi stood in surprise for a moment and then hurriedly followed Ssrax as the lift doors closed behind him. They went down a long corridor and then suddenly emerged into open air, in the west part of the massive Garden. Ssrax halted for a moment, head tilted back as if sniffing the air, allowing Garibaldi to catch up with him. "There they are," Garibaldi said, nodding to where a stiff blue- uniformed figure and the slightly smaller shape of Alixyr were standing by the entrance talking. Ssrax said nothing, waiting, and Garibaldi remembered suddenly that the Martians' sight was usually poorer than humans'. He pointed in the right direction and started off, Ssrax lumbering beside him. "Lady Alixyr," Garibaldi greeted her politely, "Ivanova. I brought you your bodyguard." Alixyr's tongue flickered briefly. "Thank you," she murmured. Ssrax uttered a sequence of hissing whispers that could have been Morse code for all Garibaldi and Ivanova understood them, but Alixyr nodded lightly in response. "Thank you, Ssrax," she whispered. Ssrax backed off a couple of paces and resumed his previous motionless stance. "I thank you for your time, Mr Garibaldi," Alixyr said. "Think nothing of it," Garibaldi assured her. "It's been fun. I haven't met many Ice Warriors before." "I know," Alixyr said, and her golden eyes fastened on him briefly before turning to the maze. "Commander Ivanova, I thank you as well. I think I know my way around. May I explore on my own?" "Of course," Ivanova said. "Call if you need anything." She turned, nearly bumped into Garibaldi, and froze him with a glare. Together they moved off, Garibaldi glancing over his shoulder to see the elfin figure of Alixyr entering the maze, Ssrax clumping after her like a pet dog or similar animal. Garibaldi turned to Ivanova. "What d'you make of her?" "She's a very pleasant person," Ivanova said briefly, ascending the steps. "Say anything unusual?" "No." She paused to look at him. "Why d'you ask?" Garibaldi stopped too. "Just something odd that happened. I don't know much about Ice Warriors, but I know they've got very specific strata in their society. Ordinary guards like Ssrax aren't supposed to know much. I suppose it might be because he's been with Alixyr a long time." "What makes you suspicious of Ssrax?" Garibaldi shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe I'm just paranoid. When we were in the lift I made a comment about Earth's growing isolationism and Ssrax said the Earth government has troubles." "Wouldn't take a Martian to work that out," Ivanova said drily, resuming her former pace. Garibaldi followed. "No, but would you expect an Ice Lady's bodyguard to be interested in interracial politics? A lowly Warrior? You know as well as I do that the Martians have partial autonomy in most matters - why should they care about Earth's problems?" Ivanova rolled her eyes. "You're right." "I am?" "You are paranoid." Garibaldi made a face. "Call it what you like, but I've got a hunch Ssrax isn't what he seems. Maybe Alixyr as well. I mean, we got a replacement for Talia awful quick, didn't we?" Ivanova stopped and halted Garibaldi as well. "Is that what this is about?" "What?" "Talia." She was looking compassionate. "I know you - well, you had feelings for her, didn't you? Maybe you're not giving Alixyr a fair chance because you're still so upset about Talia." Garibaldi shook his head impatiently. "I don't like losing Talia, but I'm not stupid. I'm sure something's up." Ivanova sighed. "Leave it, Garibaldi. You've got nothing but a hunch based on the fact that a Martian warrior knows a little bit about what Earth's up to. What d'you think Captain Sheridan would say if you went up to him and told him that? Leave it alone." She turned on her heel and left the Garden. Garibaldi bit his lip thoughtfully and looked back towards the maze; he could see Ssrax's head reaching above the hedges even now. With a shake of his own head, he left the Garden as well. *** Sheridan rubbed a hand tiredly across his forehead and blinked rapidly in an effort to make the rows of columns, deductions and figures focus more into some sense. Doing the expenditure accounts of an explorer ship such as the Agamemnon had been child's play compared to the accounts for something as huge and complex as Babylon 5, particularly since the vast majority of the station's employees regarded accounts in roughly the same way as they might a verruca on their foot, or a wart on their hand; a troublesome irritation that would probably go away if they ignored it long enough. Sheridan made a little circle around one column which didn't add up and punched a note into his terminal to contact the relevant employee and dock him an hour's wages; the captain had discovered that the easiest way to make employees do their accounts was to threaten their money - it was technically illegal under Alliance worker-treatment rules, but then so was not doing accounts, so the balance evened out. The chirrup interrupted his attention. "Captain Sheridan? Your call's through, sir." "Finally," Sheridan grunted, getting to his feet and turning to the comscreen. "Alright, put it through, and make sure nobody else is listening." "Yes sir." The face of the C and C techie vanished from the screen to be replaced by a standard Minbari Federation logo, which held for a second before dissolving smoothly into a lined older face that looked as if it had seen far more experience than anyone had a right to. The eyes in particular looked tired and drawn, and Sheridan was surprised by the difference between this picture and the records of the man's appearance during 2258. He nodded formally in greeting. "Ambassador Sinclair," he said. "It's good of you to talk to me." Sinclair shrugged. "You're welcome - sort of," he said. "The government here still isn't very impressed with Babylon 5 at the moment; they're not too happy with Sheridan Starkiller being in command. I'm sure you remember that." Sheridan winced. "Yeah," he said. "I've had a couple of complaints myself." Sinclair smiled, dismissing the question. "How's my old command, Captain? Still there? I heard a bit went missing towards the end of December." Sheridan chuckled. "A difference of opinion with some Centauri," he offered. "We stuck it back on with some superglue and sticky tape." "Sounds just like what they were using when I was there," Sinclair observed. "I take it this isn't a social call, though. What can I do for you, Captain?" "I had some information from Delenn just now," Sheridan said, his face going serious. "She said one of our pilots has been found alive on Minbar - Warren Keffer, his name is. He went missing on December 31st." Sinclair raised an eyebrow. "That's top secret, Captain. You're not supposed to know that." "You do." Sinclair chuckled. "How do you think Delenn did? A couple of my friends found out and told me. I told some other friends and they told Delenn. Keffer's appearance on Minbar is a closely guarded secret; even the Centauri ambassador doesn't know that he's here." Sheridan looked thoughtful. "Ambassador, he's one of my pilots. Obviously I want him back." "I don't think you can," Sinclair answered. "You mean the Minbari are holding him?" Sinclair glanced at something off-screen, nodded, then looked back to Sheridan again. "More than that, Captain. The Minbari have detained him as an illegal immigrant because there's no record of him arriving on Minbar. After that, I have instructions to ship him direct to Earth - although that will do no good." Sheridan frowned. "Ambassador, I don't understand. Why will it do no good?" Sinclair looked deadly serious. "I'm sending you the records now, Captain, but they all tell the same grim story. Keffer is missing his left arm and the lower part of his left leg; he's also blinded. The prognosis for his recovery is bleak. It's certain he'll never fly a starfury again." Sheridan stared blankly at Sinclair's impassive visage. The captain remembered the clean-cut handsome pilot and the way he had been so confident, so certain, so alive. It was almost impossible to imagine Keffer blinded with one arm and only one-and-a-half legs. "You're joking." Sinclair shook his head. "No. He's not expected to live out the year." "Dear lord," Sheridan said dully. He remembered the flight recorder ejected from Keffer's starfury, showing the creature-like vessel, the shadowship, that had attacked the pilot. For a moment his shoulders slumped; then they straightened up again. Sheridan faced the screen. "Ambassador, this still leaves unanswered questions. How and why Keffer got to Minbar; what happened in hyperspace; and so on." "Yes," Sinclair nodded. "I've got people working on the first of those questions right now. Keffer's incident occurred closer to B5, though; you can best answer the second. I do have news for you, though." "What?" "There's a brief week coming up in the next few days when I have leave from Minbar. I shall be coming to B5 - if you don't mind, that is." Sheridan smiled and shook his head. "Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Ambassador. Let us know about the details." "Of course. And I'm sorry I can't give you more news about Keffer." "You've done more than I expected, Ambassador," Sheridan said. "Goodbye for now." He touched a key and Sinclair's face vanished from the screen. The captain immediately lost his smile, staring emptily around the little office. It was so hard to accept Keffer's fate. *** Far far away from Babylon 5, in the outer reaches of the galaxy, black shapes soared through a red nebula and halted on the outskirts of the dark reddish gaseous clouds. They were writhing arachnid shapes, vessels the size of an ordinary Centauri transport but rippling with their own sentience as if alive. The four shadowships hummed to each other on communication frequencies, double-checking the time and place, and then fell silent. Waiting. Suddenly a flare of energy registered on every band of the shadowships' sensornets and a new star blinked into existence. It shrank, twisted, and spewed out a glittering blue jump vortex. A massive shape emerged from the darkness of the vortex, a long hexagonal prism of a mothership at least ten miles long. The mothership seemed barely to notice the shadowships as it swept majestically passed them and headed for the nebula, the arachnid vessels turning to follow it. At the same moment, the mothership opened a general channel to the shadowships and to the home planet, Z'ha'dum. A single three-word message was transmitted and then the channel was closed. The message was simple. WE ARE HERE. *** -- //=== ||==|| //\\ || || u4d41@keele.ac.uk OR ksc15@keele.ac.uk // ||__|| //__\\ || || \\__|| || \\ // \\ || ||=== ...nearly 20 but definitely in love... From u4d41@cc.keele.ac.ukSat Oct 7 23:37:56 1995 Date: Sun, 1 Oct 1995 11:22:17 +0100 (BST) From: Grail Reply to: b5-creative@blob.best.net To: b5-creative@blob.best.net Subject: Spectre, Part One (6/7) "Hi there, Captain," Garibaldi said brightly, seating himself at the bar and helping himself to a swig from the bottle Sheridan had placed in front of him. He wiped his lips, sighed satisfiedly, and beckoned to the bartender so he could order himself one. "Make yourself at home," Sheridan said resignedly. "Well, thank you, Captain," Garibaldi chuckled. "How's it going?" "Badly." Sheridan told Garibaldi what he had learned about Keffer's fate. The security chief listened silently, his smile slowly fading as each new awful detail came to light. When Sheridan had finished Garibaldi heaved a sigh and ordered a bottle of vodka for himself. The two men sat side-by-side silently in the bar, each alone with his memories of Keffer. "Something else as well," Garibaldi said eventually. "It's about Ssrax, the new bodyguard for Lady Alixyr." He told Sheridan his suspicions about the Martian arrior, being honest enough to add Ivanova's rebuttal of them into the story as well. Sheridan listened silently, then shrugged. "I'm with Ivanova there," he said. "Yeah," Garibaldi said dispiritedly. "So is everyone else I talk to." He brightened suddenly. "Talking of Ivanova, Captain, I did find something interesting. It's not that I spy on her, but I just happened to notice something interesting." "Care to share it with me?" "Yeah. She's been paying a lot of visits to an apartment on Blue level. I checked it out and the apartment's registered to a Christopher Cwej. Ring any bells?" "None," Sheridan said, shaking his head. "Do you know him?" Garibaldi shook his head. "I've got people checking, though. Should come up with something by tomorrow morning." "Yeah," Sheridan said absently, toying with his glass. "Too many things." "What?" "Too many things, Michael. Too many things all at once. This mystery with Ivanova, your suspicions about Ssrax, the problems with Keffer..." Sheridan sighed. All we need now is for some other problem to crop up." "Don't say that!" Garibaldi said hastily. "Why not?" Sheridan frowned just as his link tweeted for attention. He tapped it. "Sheridan." "You hadta ask," Garibaldi said, shaking his head mournfully. *** The Centauri colony on Maraquesne was huge and rapidly expanding as trade poured in and exports flowed out, boosted immeasurably by the wars with the Drazi, Narn and pak'ma'ra. Maraquesne had long been a poor colony, but the war had turned it into a haven for business and new settlers alike. Families and children had flocked there and one of the most prominent houses, House Mollari, had already begun making moves to get political ascendancy over the colony. Out by the Maraquesne sun, shadowships rippled and coalesced out of nowhere. They fired pink missiles at the sun, seventy of them burying themselves inside the star's outer shell, and then the ships immediately vanished again. When the sun rose in the Maraquesnean sky the next morning, it was no longer a golden yellow but a jaded menacing purple, brighter and larger. The sun was swollen and painful to look at, and it was scorchingly hot to walk across the plains. At midday, a single shadowship rippled into existence and soared into the star, melting and vanishing into the sun's shell. An explosion deep inside the star was detected by Centauri scientists on Maraquesne, but they knew not what it meant. The temperature soared as their sun expanded, heated up and began to race into heat death. The roads on Maraquesne melted and the buildings started to collapse. One hundred million Centauri looked up into the sky and cried their anguish and agony to an unforgiving sun. They prayed to their gods, they screamed to Centauri Prime for assistance, they killed each other. One hundred million Centauri looked into the face of Armageddon and each one of them could do nothing but die. The rocks liquefied and the seas boiled. The sun convulsed and wrenched itself apart in a massive supernova that tore across space and distorted the fabric of time with its violent explosion. Maraquesne was engulfed in flames and the population were burnt to death in an instant as the star's shattering destruction expanded, ripping and shredding space with its unnatural fury, as if angered by the way it had died so violently. There was no trace of the colony. *** "G'kar, we have clearance," Na'Toth announced suddenly, turning from her console. "C and C have given us permission to launch." "Good." G'kar leaned forward to the control panel and entered a sequence of commands. The Earth-constructed flyer hummed and rose gently up from the floor of bay 10 and headed up into the central tunnel-like docking entrance for the station. They passed through a moment of utter darkness and then were in the big cylinder, space looming in front of them. G'kar activated the thrusters and the flyer drifted smoothly forwards, the edges of Babylon 5 growing wider and then vanishing from side altogether. Epsilon III, to the left, rotated silently as G'kar powered up the flyer's main engines and the vessel began to leave Babylon 5 behind. They curved around the planet's upper atmosphere, then went to full power as a distant glittering sphere came into view, eighty million miles away. Na'Toth confirmed their clearance with B5's traffic control and then cut the message as they moved steadily towards the smaller uninhabited planet. "If Planet 14 is Epsilon II," she asked, "why the disparity in numbers?" "The Earth scientists theorised it was the fourteenth planet they went to," G'kar said. Both he and Na'Toth were keeping the identity of their target a secret from the two other Narns in the cockpit, whom they had made come along as security assistants. "There's a rumour that they didn't use jump gate technology, but some other method of faster-than-light travel." "There is no other method," Na'Toth said scornfully. "Never underestimate those about whom you know nothing," G'kar murmured, as a pinging noise began to fill the cockpit. He turned to the Narn co-pilot. "What is it?" "Sensor grid contact," the other Narn reported. "Backtracking the course locates it to Babylon 5, following our course exactly. Intercept speed." "Identify," Na'Toth snapped. "Centauri war fighter." Na'Toth cursed fluently, first in Narn, then in English, and then in Drazi. "They're following us. Somehow they got wind that we were here." "Mollari," G'kar muttered coldly, his red eyes glittering venomously. He sent the main engines into maximum drive and the flyer shot forward, the bulky bloated sphere that was Epsilon II slowly growing larger in their vision. It was a desertlike uninhabited planet long-rejected as unsuitable for colonisation or terraforming. The co- pilot reported after a few minutes that the Centauri fighter was gaining on them. "They're faster than we are," Na'Toth noted angrily. "Less maneouvrable, then," G'kar said firmly. "The planet's not far off. We can enter the atmosphere faster than they and lose them there. They don't know to look for and we do." "Do we?" Na'Toth queried. "Epsilon II's never been given more than a cursory survey." "It will get one now," G'kar said. "Do it." Na'Toth nodded and turned to her console, her fingers flickering over the console. G'kar risked a quick glance sideways and saw from the co-pilot's sensor displays that there was less than forty million miles between the Centauri fighter and themselves, and the fighter was gaining rapidly. Still fifteen million miles to go before reaching the upper atmosphere of Epsilon II. "We're receiving a transmission," the fourth Narn in the cockpit said suddenly. "From that fighter." "Audio only, V'skar," G'kar ordered quickly. A brief hiss of static filled the cockpit and then was suddenly replaced by a harsh voice with a Centauri acc "This is the Centauri fighter CV926. You will surrender immediately or be destroyed." G'kar leaned forward to the console. "Babylon 5 is neutral space," he said coldly. "Remember what happened to the last Centauri cruiser that tried to break that rule." "Sheridan has given you no sanctuary and you are far from B5. We will destroy you if you do not surrender immediately." "G'kar?" the two lesser Narns queried nervously. Na'Toth said nothing, but she watched her former master with intense interest, wondering what he would do. G'kar stared out the viewscreen at the dull red shape growing larger and larger as the two spacecraft shot towards it. "G'kar?" V'skar prompted. "Cut the channel," G'kar ordered. "But the Centauri can - " "Cut the channel," G'kar repeated harshly. "We are Narn. We will not surrender so easily. Na'Toth, do you have any results from that sensor scan I ordered to make?" Na'Toth glanced back at the screen of her console, which until now had been forgotten. To her surprise, a tiny series of numbers was flickering beside a grid. "Yes," she admitted, startled. "How did you - " "I sent a signal last night," G'kar interrupted. "A signal designed to trigger the base. Give me the grid reference for the signal, Na'Toth. I have a few tricks in mind that will lose the Centauri." "Will they work?" V'skar asked nervously. "Quiet!" Na'Toth snapped, angry that V'skar should have had the temerity to question G'kar as he had. Then they were all pushed back in their seats by the force of acceleration as the flyer went into overdrive. -- //=== ||==|| //\\ || || u4d41@keele.ac.uk OR ksc15@keele.ac.uk // ||__|| //__\\ || || \\__|| || \\ // \\ || ||=== ...nearly 20 but definitely in love... From u4d41@cc.keele.ac.ukSat Oct 7 23:38:01 1995 Date: Thu, 5 Oct 1995 09:33:13 +0100 (BST) From: Grail Reply to: b5-creative@blob.best.net To: b5-creative@blob.best.net Subject: Spectre, Part One (7/7) It was the buzz of the link echoing in his ear that woke Sheridan from a pleasant dream about a certain Spanish girl he'd met on holiday in the Algarve last year. With a groan he pulled the pillow over his ears and then, remembering he was commander of a big space station and ought to pay attention to duties, he pulled the pillow off again and reluctantly grabbed for the link. "Sheridan," he acknowledged. "Captain." It was Ivanova. "Captain, we've got problems." Sheridan felt suddenly nervous. Although he had theoretically dismissed Garibaldi's warning the previous night, the dire words still rang in his head like a dark and menacing tocsin. "What is it, Commander?" he asked eventually, with trepidation. "Two things, sir. Which one would you like first - bad or awful?" "Start with the least worst." "Ambassador Mollari's demanding an audience with you on the grounds that Babylon 5 and the Earth Alliance have in some way been involved in the destruction a Centauri colony." "What!?!" Sheridan exploded, sitting bolt upright. "That's impossible!" "I know, but the Maraquesne colony's a pile of stellar dust right now. Apparently there's evidence of starfury involvement and Babylon 5 is the nearest Earth Alliance installation." Sheridan rubbed at his forehead tiredly and scrambled to his feet, tossing the bedclothes aside and padding barefoot to a wardrobe. "Alright, that's the bad thing. What's the awful thing?" "Energy weapons have been detected in use around Epsilon II. Some time ago G'kar and Na'Toth took a flyer out in that direction. A Centauri fighter followed. It looks like they're planning to get rid of a big thorn in their side. So there's a battleground on our own doorstep." "G'kar left B5?" Sheridan cursed. "What the hell is he playing at? He's got no homeworld to go back to." "He's going to Epsilon II." Sheridan looked blank. "Why?" "I'll pop over and ask him if you want, Captain." Sheridan grabbed his boots and started to struggle into them. "Don't make jokes about that, Commander. Just get G'kar on the communications channels as soon you can. Tell Ambassador Mollari to meet me in C and C and make sure he's uncomfortable. Sheridan out." He stuck his link on the back of his hand, fastened his uniform, and hurried out of his quarters, nearly bumping into a Draconian as he did so. Heading for the lift, Sheridan rapidly ran through what he knew about Epsilon II - which, like most people, wasn't much at all. What could G'kar have wanted with that? *** The flyer's nose flared, streamed, and turned white-hot as G'kar plunged it steeply through the atmosphere of Epsilon II towards the energy source Na'Toth detected. Plasma bolts spat through the not-quite-air on either side of the flyer as it dove deeper into the stratosphere, the Centauri fighter now only thousands of miles away rather than millions. G'kar banked the flyer to one side and pushed the flyer's speed to the limit, the heatshields groaning as if in mechanical pain as the Narn forced it to the edges of its tolerance in his desperate dive to get into the planet's atmosphere. "Descent rate entering red zone," Na'Toth reported uneasily. "Would you like to stop and take tea with the Centauri?" G'kar retorted sarcastically as they hit the outer cloud layer and the forward vision vanished in a spray of white. Something shrieked distantly, some piece of the flyer shearing off and melting in the immense heat of the craft's rocket-like descent. "It won't serve anyone's cause if we die on the way down, G'kar." "We won't die," he said confidently. "Believe in the protection of G'Quan, all of you. Our cause is good and we have nothing to fear." The flyer groaned, shuddered, and suddenly the clouds vanished, replaced by a massive red desert that stretched beyond the horizon, sandy mesas clawing at an overcast sky and rocky mountain ridges making their unsteady way across the harsh surface of the desert. G'kar pulled the nose of the flyer up a fraction and banked it sideways, sending it sneaking between two ridges in a turn that the Centauri fighter, as it spat out of the clouds, was incapable of following. The fighter soared above the ridges and vanished into the clouds again as G'kar brought the flyer in a tight turn and dipped the nose. They lost height rapidly as a single pyramid-like mountain loomed up in front of them. "There's nothing there!" V'skar protested. "Nothing you can see," G'kar retorted. "Transmit the code I gave you." "We're heading straight for it!" "Transmit the code!" V'skar stabbed a thick finger at the relevant key and closed his eyes, offering a prayer to G'Quan as the flyer dove straight for the side of the mountain. Suddenly part of the south face rippled and vanished as a blue beam shot out and grabbed the flyer, slowing its descent and absorbing inertia in seconds. The flyer came to a dead stop within fifteen seconds as the blue tractor beam began to retract it inwards. Plasma bolts blew up the ground beneath the flyer as the Centauri fighter exploded from the clouds and roared towards them. Almost casually, a finger of the tractor beam reached outwards and swatted the fighter, sending it spinning to one side. The fighter hit the ground and disintegrated with a shattering roar, debris scattering over a massive area as the flyer was drawn inside the mountain. The synthegram - a solid hologram - rippled and reasserted itself as if the flyer had never been there. G'kar closed his eyes in relief for a moment. "We are here." "Where?" V'skar asked nervously. "Here," G'kar said simply. "Na'Toth?" "We're not registering a thing," she said in wonderment. "Every instrument is dead." "Communications are dead," V'skar reported. "Secondary flight systems also dead," said the co-pilot Narn, An'Trall. "Automatically they have control of us," G'kar whispered. "How?" The flyer shook a little and then settled still. The four Narns looked at each other and then, as if moving with one mind, each moved for the entrance hatch. *** Sheridan entered C and C to find it was in chaos. Ivanova was staring out of the viewport at space beyond, with Londo pacing angrily back and forth beside. Vir stood to one side looking he would rather have been being tortured by the Spanish Inquisition (Sheridan was still thinking of the Algarve holiday and things Hispanic), while Delenn, once again back in her usual clothing, stood near the captain's alcove looking on in mild disgust and discomfort. "Captain!" Londo bellowed angrily the moment he saw him. "Captain, this is beyond belief! How can you authorise an attack on a Centauri colony?! Is it some kind of claim for revenge after the business with the Narn cruiser last week? What do you think you are playing at?" "Ambassador!" Sheridan snapped angrily, grabbing hold of a railing and making a visible effort to control himself. He was dimly aware of Delenn watching him with concern. "Ambassador, B5 personnel have done nothing prejudicial to your nation - which has taken a lot of effort on our part, I add. We would never have attacked a Centauri colony!" "Then how do you deny this evidence?" Londo demanded furiously, waving a data crystal in the air. "Pieces of a starfury found on the outer edges of the system." Sheridan gritted his teeth. "And can you prove it was from B5, Ambassador? Can you even prove the ship was still commissioned?" Londo showed his own teeth. "Easily. Commander Ivanova, tell the captain what you told me." Ivanova reluctantly turned from the viewport. "It's a starfury registered to Zeta Wing, captain," she said, clearly not enthusiastic about imparting the information. "ID code 246-alpha-778." Sheridan's jaw dropped. "What!?" "You see!" Londo crowed. "Don't try to deny it, Captain!" Sheridan glared at Londo. "Ambassador, you should get your facts straight first!" He looked at Ivanova. "I'm surprised at you, Commander. Don't you recognise the ID?" Ivanova looked blank. Sheridan grinned humourlessly. "246-alpha-778 was Warren Keffer's ship." C and C went completely silent. "Keffer?" Vir ventured puzzledly after a moment. "The squadron leader who's vanished," Ivanova said. "The one whose flight recorder showed he had been attacked by some kind of mysterious alien ship." Londo's eyes were wide with - Sheridan hesitated - was it fear? "Is this the truth?" he demanded. "Why would we lie, Ambassador?" Sheridan said, stepping back from the railing. "Check it for yourself if you really need to." He glanced at Delenn and saw a twinkle of amusement in her clear eyes, though it was tinged with worry at the same time. "Whoever those aliens are," Ivanova said into the silence, "they just tried to start a war between the Alliance and the Republic." Londo was unable to stop himself from glancing at Vir. The latter was listening to the dialogue in wide-eyed shock, but when he met Londo's eyes a look passed between them that said Vir knew exactly why Maraquesne had just been so drasticaly destroyed. So did Londo, now. "They still might," Sheridan was saying. "There are hotheads on both sides." He crossed over to Londo. "Ambassador, you must do what you can to avert a disaster. A war between the Centauri and the minor races is one thing; a war between the Centauri and Earth could threaten the stability of the entire galaxy." Londo's hackles started to rise. "Are you saying you would destroy us?" Sheridan smiled grimly. "Perhaps we would. Perhaps you'd destroy us. More likely, Ambassador, is we'll destroy each other." "Exactly what these aliens might want," put in Delenn's soft voice. Londo looked away, then back to Sheridan. He nodded abruptly. "You are right, captain. I will do what I can to.... exert influence. And you?" "What I can," Sheridan agreed. "Then we can only hope," Londo said bleakly. Sheridan turned to Ivanova. "What about G'kar?" Ivanova shrugged. "Vanished. He and the fighter went below the planet's cloud level. We can't pick up a thing anymore." "Does that mean he's dead?" Vir demanded anxiously. "No way to tell," Ivanova said firmly. "Alright," Sheridan nodded. "Mobilise Alpha Squadron and send them to Epsilon II. Babylon 5 and this solar system is neutral space, not just the station." ooked at Londo. "You won't disagree, will you?" Londo shook his head silently. "Good," Sheridan said firmly. He turned away and headed for his captain's alcove where Delenn was waiting. They stepped up inside the alcove where they couldn't be easily heard and Sheridan turned to Delenn, speaking first. "You realise what this means?" he asked. "Keffer alive but injured on Minbar, and his ship discovered on Maraquesne. What are the chances of his being used like Morden is?" Delenn looked reassuring. "Low, captain. Injured, Keffer will not be of much use to the Shadows." Sheridan nodded grimly. "That's something. But why destroy Maraquesne? The Centauri have been in league with the Shadows until now." Delenn nodded as well. "Something has changed. Perhaps Londo has broken the alliance." "So the Shadows try to bring the Centauri and Earth into conflict," Sheridan said thoughtfully. "That makes sense. But it's a big step from what they've been doing before." He looked at Delenn. "What's changed, Delenn? Why are the Shadows beginning to move more openly? Are they ready for war?" Delenn licked her lips indecisively, in a curiously human gesture. "Perhaps, yes. We must consult Kosh." Sheridan nodded and followed her out of C and C. *** "Excuse me," said the dark-haired man in the immaculate suit. The dockworker paused and looked at him questioningly. Morden smiled briefly. "I'm looking for the ZX series of crates - one of them belongs to me." The dockworker grunted. "Room 617." "Thank you," Morden nodded politely. He left the dockworker and walked steadily along the gantry past the rows of red mini-holds on his right, counting the doors one by one. To his left gaped the vast space of the cargo unloading area, currently occupied by a Centauri freighter and a Draconian cargo carrier, the latter attended to by the tall reptiles who were handing out boxes to waiting Babylon 5 dockworkers. Morden spared them only a brief glance, his attention reserved for the mini-holds until he came to number 617. He hit the "open" key on the doorpad and it slid aside to allow him entry. 617 was a dark musty room, full of shadows. Only a single lightsource burned near the door, and with the door shut the room was completely silent. Morden's footsteps echoed in the emptiness as he crossed to where a group of six crates sat on the edge of the light. He found the crate he was looking for and tried to push it apart from the others, a task he quickly had to give up. The crate, or rather what was inside it, weighed far more than Morden's purely human strength was capable of pushing. Morden took a keycard from his pocket and moved to the sealing unit on the crate. He slipped the card into the reader and punched in a complicated sequence of numbers, then removed the card. The unit beeped twice and then a light shone green on the front of it as the door of the crate swung smoothly and silently open, revealing a tall pyramidal shape, white in colour, that was about Morden's height. The human crouched down by the base of the shape and flipped open a small hatch. As instructed, he touched the black button there just once, then closed the hatch and stood back. The shape jerked convulsively. Something moved in the darkness. The packing material on the base of the crate rustled. The shape emerged from the crate. It was white all over, except for gold trimmings in places; the spherical sensor globes on the lower section, the manipulator and weapon on the midsection, the eyestalk and circular monitor units. The creature made no noise, even when Morden was this close, as it moved into the light. Morden smiled with a small flicker of triumph at his achievement. This thing in front of him was the embodiment of nightmares, stretching back right to the occupation of Earth in the twenty-second century. The nemesis of humankind. It was a Dalek. TO BE CONTINUED