From fn62@dial.pipex.comMon Jan 29 19:10:23 1996 Date: Thu, 25 Jan 96 21:59:58 GMT From: Alison Hopkins Reply to: b5-creative@blob.best.net To: Babylon 5 Creative Subject: To Fight Legends [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] OK. I did warn you. It's not exactly polished, and has no literary merit, but it might provide a little light amusement....until you see VOA that is! this started because I got bored at a conference and was writing too much death stuff. I thought it would be fun to see just how many crossovers you could get in one story. See how many you can spot.....and some are very obscure (or British). I would WELCOME any suggestions or embellishments that anyone cares to offer, 'cos I don't see the thing as finished, and it might be fun to add bits. The bad jokes are my husband's fault. but I did resist his favourite one about getting a Coke from the minibar in hotel rooms. Just rearrange the spelling. Oh, and this hd a British spellchecker on it! Copyright.....well, no one would want to claim it, but it belongs to Warner, BBC, Paramount, ITC, Fox, assorted publishers, Allen and Unwin, and anyone else I could steal from! +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ "To Fight Legends" or......."Late Arrivals at the Babylon 5 Ball" The Zocalo was a madhouse. Not merely the usual kind of Babylon 5 insanity, but a whole new order, that even a whole asylum full of Jungians, Freudians, psychoanalysts, EST counsellors and assorted therapists couldn't have fixed. Garibaldi had long since decided that *Babel 5* would have been a far more appropriate name for the station, and today just proved his point all over again. Even over the hubbub of what seemed like a thousand different languages one voice carried. His ears were assailed by his own name at a level of decibels that would have woken Lazarus Long . "Garibaldi, what in the HELL is going on here? I just got attacked by a green lizard with wings, there's a thing that looks like a ten foot long pizza tunneling in Downbelow, and _what_ is a talking white horse with blue eyes doing drinking Scotch whisky in Earhart's?" Ivanova ran out of breath. Her patience had gone out of the window when the bowl of petunias fell on her head, waking her from pleasant dreams of an easy job selling hair restorer to the Minbari Grey Council "Oh Boy", was Garibaldi's first thought. He frowned, suddenly puzzled at the name that had passed through his head. "Hey, Susan, you know anyone called Gooshie, who has real bad halitosis?" Ivanova growled. He thought better of continuing that particular line of thought. "Yeah, well, I'm sorry Susan, I shoulda warned you. There are some real crazy things going on all over the station. I figure it has something to do with Kosh - and maybe Delenn - but I haven't worked it all out. "Ha. Regular aliens, I can cope with. But, what the hell is a giant bronze dragon doing in the Cobra Bay?" Ivanova looked confused. "And, how did I know his name is Mnementh?" Garibaldi shifted his feet uncomfortably. "Yeah, meant to warn you about that too. Still, it's keeping the pilots warm between missions..." At that moment, a disturbance grabbed his head round. A tall woman, dressed in what seemed to be fighting gear, her weather-beaten face topped with fading red hair, held a long knife at Lando Mollari's throat. "Zandru's Hells!" She spat. "You would lay a finger on *me*, you spawn of a rabbithorn?" "Madam, I meant no disrespect.........GARIBALDI, will you allow an Ambassador to be killed?" For a long moment, Garibaldi was tempted. Then he sighed, remembering just how long it had taken to clean up the floor the last time. "Okay, lady, let's cool it here...... Don't panic, Mollari, I'm on my way" ******************************************* There were feet thudding down the corridor behind him. He froze. "Captain, Captain Sheridan?" Sheridan turned and looked straight in to a younger version of his own face. "Captain?" The other stuck out an enthusiastic hand. "I'm with The Agency; we heard you could use some help here. My name's Lee Stetson and this is my partner, Amanda." Sheridan frowned, as an unkempt figure redolent with Rogan Josh and Chicken Madras hurtled past them, screaming something to do with Christmas. At least, Sheridan assumed that the words "String up Holly" related to the festive season. The apparition was trailed by a two headed human and a tall, gleaming figure, sounding sparks off the metal floor as it walked. "Brain the size of a planet and all I do is park Starfuries......". The words floated back to him. Sheridan winced. You didn't just need to be crazy to work here, you needed to be a certified manic depressive with strong paranoid tendencies. His face brightened at the thought. So *that* was why Ivanova was so good at her job. "Look Mr. Stetson...." He began. "_Lee_" insisted the other grinning inanely. That damned smile was really beginning to bug Sheridan. That, and the fact that his double was not just younger, but carried a good twenty pounds less. Maybe Franklin had been right about the food plan. Strange how people who looked like him kept turning up. There'd been that - what was his name - McLanahan, that was it. And the guy who claimed to be the last of the great African hunters. "Lee. Well, I'm sorry I have an appointment to keep. We'll have to talk later." With that, he turned on his heel, striding purposefully down the corridor. He was so deep in thought as he rounded the corner, that he nearly collided with an whining blue box, that seemed to have materialised from nowhere. He made a mental note to remind the station cleaners to put their tools away more tidily. Stetson turned to Amanda and shrugged. "Shame, I wanted to introduce him to Bodie, Doyle and the others before the meeting." "Yes" squeaked his companion in a voice that would have shattered transparent aluminium. "Hey, Lee, do you think Jimmy can get a good vodka martini round here? He gets real mad otherwise. And, do you know, I don't think we're in Washington anymore" "Ah, well, honey, at least it's not like that last job." Amanda groaned. "Yes, that bald guy.....I never want to hear Dickens again as long as I live" "Yeah, and what about that goofy one with the funny head" "Aaaah, his Shakespeare was better. Especially in the original." ***************************************************** Sheridan peered through the clouds of vapour in Kosh's quarters. Why the hell the Ambassador couldn't have a regular sauna he'd never know. Five tones sounded. "To fight legends, you must summon legends to help" The breathing mask made it difficult for Sheridan to take a deep calming breath before replying. His first instinct was to respond in a way that would make him feel better. With some regret, he decided that it would be difficult to dispose of the Vorlon's body tidily. Idly, he wondered what the Vorlon afterlife was like. If Vorlons were angels, what did *they* see when a Vorlon took off its encounter suit? Naah, that belonged on the speculation list. "How in the name of Nicodemus can I call on legends?" "They are already awakened". A musical chime and Kosh spoke again. "The dreams of others have given them form". A melody of notes. "Go" "Once, just once" Sheridan muttered "I'd like to get the last word" There was a long silence. "Good" ************************************************************** The Command Centre was chaos. "Commander?" Corwin ducked as Ivanova snarled through the door. "WHAT" "We've got traffic coming in from all over. The Jumpgate's going crazy, we got ships appearing outta hyperspace all on their own and......." "Yes, Corwin?" Ivanova's voice was dangerously silky. "Ah, there's some guy out here says he came through a wormhole from the Gamma Quadrant, and do we have the Orb of the Prophets?" Ivanova indulged in a little primal scream therapy and instantly felt better. Jantz jumped as her coffee cup shattered in her hand. Unnoticed, the liquid dripped slowly on to a small furry creature with huge ears hidden underneath the console. Jantz yawned - it was after midnight already. And, what _had_ happened to the jam doughnut she'd been eating? The animal cooed, and licked sugar crumbs from his fur. "So, Mr. Corwin, just who are they?" Ivanova's smile was a terrible thing. "Ah, of the ones who gave us names....there's Star Wolf, Cygnus, Jupiter II, Nostromo, Moon Zero Two, Fireball XL5, a Viper, an Eagle, Heart of Gold, and Discovery. The ones who didn't....well, there's this weird thing with a big dome and two long bits, something that looks like a hairdryer and a coupla guys in an orange cigar who say they're from International Rescue, and want to know where the danger zone is. Every time I try to scan _them_, they scream about no photography, and ask if my name's Hood. " Jantz interrupted : "Corwin, any idea what klaatu barada nikto means?" Ivanova made a mental note to place a bulk order for Prozac. Or, maybe chicken soup would work better. "OK. Let em all through, kick that docker's guild woman out of whoever's bed she's in this week, and double the docking fees. No, treble them. I'm going to get some SENSE out of somebody." Corwin suddenly felt very sorry for somebody. Even Richard Arnold didn't deserve Ivanova in a snit. *********************************************************** Ivanova stomped her way to the Ambassadorial wing. "Delenn, Delenn" she thought "Delenn, Delenn, Delenn...." She hummed softly. There was a tune in that. "De-dum, de-dum, de-dum, de-dum, de-dum...." The turbo lift doors opened at her approach, fearful of her wrath. A small man in an old fashioned hat rushed out, nearly knocking her down. He apologised in a heavy French accent. "I am so sorree, madame. Did you sooffer a burmp?" Ivanova gaped stupidly at him, as he grabbed her arms and shook them. "Perhaps you can 'elp me? Now, I want you to listen very carefully, for I shall say zis only once. Do you know a man called Seagoon?" She shook her head mutely, too stunned to reply. The Frenchman vanished in a cloud of Gallic expletives. Ivanova was beginning to understand what Marcus had meant about the benefits of the Channel Tunnel silting up all those years ago. *************************************************** Sheridan was getting awfully fed up with being hauled out of bed in the middle of the night. The dream had just been getting interesting too, especially when Delenn.......but, this was the wrong list for that kind of fiction. Blearily, he pulled on sweat pants and an old shirt with the mysterious inscription "UFP Con 88, Birmingham". He wasn't too sure what a Birmingham was although UFP Con had been memorable, but the shirt was comfortable. It beat that Wolf 359 stuff, anyway. He headed purposefully for the conference centre. Maybe now he'd find out what was going on. Then he remembered that his name was Sheridan, not Sinclair, so he never knew what was going on. As the doors opened, he felt as if deja vu had hit big time. Delenn, he recognised, Garibaldi, yes, Ivanova and Marcus, too. And Franklin, trying to shoot stims unobserved. But, who were all the others? He'd thought that the Rangers were confined to Human and Minbari, with a few odd hangers-on, but the room was packed with the oddest assortment of beings he'd ever seen. All wore Ranger brooches. His jaw dropped as he scanned the crowd. At the back, a shaggy, golden furred seven foot hearthrug, gun belt crossing its chest, stood next to a tiny, white clad human female, hair wound round to hide her ears. From the direction of her feet, Sheridan could hear shrill cheeps and twirls. "Shit" he thought "Miniature Vorlons already?" In a corner, Marcus was deep in discussion with one of the transport guild pilots. Sheridan remembered him, alright. Pity regulations had stopped him taking the guy out. From the words he could catch, the discussion seemed to revolve around some sort of alcohol. "Now, my Bet could pull you a pint of Newton and Ridley's ......." he caught, before his attention was drawn away. The white horse was there, with a whole flight of the multicoloured lizards swarming round her head, caroling madly. Two human youths, aged no more than twenty, were in earnest discussion of the relative merits of fighting Xur and the Ko-Dan Armada, versus giant pink worms who loved dessert. A shower of round, furry creatures were increasing at their feet. "John?" Delenn gazed adoringly at him. he thought, She spoke again. "Ambassador Kosh and I have decided that we must have more allies for the war that is to come, so we have summoned assistance from the tales and stories of your own, and other worlds. They are gathered here to meet you." Delenn hesitated, drew breath and continued. "But, there is One here who leads another group of Rangers, who has much to tell, and much to teach us all". She stood to one side, and bowed more deeply than Sheridan had ever seen her before. A man, tall, dark haired with eyes of grey, stepped from the crowd. A great green stone, set in an eagle mount, was pinned to his shabby cloak. "Captain Sheridan." He began formally, nodding slightly. "I am the Captain of the Rangers of the North...........my name is Strider........" ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ *To be continued - if you’re really unlucky, and I can decide where it’s going!" "Sometimes, Jim, you REALLY piss me off!" McCoy "Someone's going to find their shower preferences reprogrammed for ice water" Ivanova "With all due respect, sir, I believe I have more hair than you do" Riker (after Alan Johnston)