From: "Stephen J. Barringer" Subject: WANDERING STAR 30/?? Date: Mon, 29 Mar 1999 20:21:43 -0500 Hi folks... yes, it's the next instalment... FINALLY, I know... and if yer REAL lucky I might just have another one done for the 31st, but the end of this one seemed like a good place to stop for the nonce. More seriously: apologies for the delays, all and sundry, but I just finished a three-week run of performing in Chekhov's THE SEAGULL, and let me tell you, it didn't leave a lot of energy to write. The demands of the Virtual Sixth Season notwithstanding, however, you will hopefully see instalments with a LITTLE more frequency from now on. Oh, and for real atmosphere, try reading this one to the soundtrack of "Severed Dreams". SJB *****************DISCLAIMER***************** Susan Ivanova and all BABYLON 5 characters and situations are the creations and copyrighted property of J. Michael Straczynski and Babylonian Productions, and are used here without permission strictly for the purposes of non-profit entertainment. Other characters and situations are copyright of the author, but permission is hereby granted for free, non-profit use by other fanfic authors. (Though it would be nice if you asked anyway.) WARNING: A slight spoiler for "The Geometry of Shadows" in this one. ************************************************** < < W A N D E R I N G S T A R > > PART II: SCAVENGER HUNT - 25 - 22:09 EST The moistness of the corridor walls was thankfully an illusion: the wall felt perfectly dry when Corelli risked putting an ungloved hand against it, although its surface *gave* just slightly beneath his fingers in a queasy way. He had taken rearguard with Harmelink and Southwell, putting Burns, Snow and the little alien Snow called Tisiara up front. The other Sharasai had gathered with their leader, and the group of them bounded and raced ahead, Snow and Burns barely keeping up. Indeed, Snow looked distinctly peaked, and Corelli found himself wondering seriously for the first time about her endurance. They were moving in a long arc that was taking them around the outside of the cavern, spiraling upwards towards the surface and, as far as Corelli could tell, back towards the city. Now and then gusts of warm air washed over them all. Corelli could not escape the faint but sickening sensation of something *breathing* around him. In his mind, a solid wall continued to ripple and thrash like the living muscle it was. Every mote of dust seemed to glitter with a faint edge of pain, a dim harsh light like the gleam in the eye of a wounded, dying dragon. He had fought on a dozen different and alien worlds, and never anywhere but here, on one of the most Earthlike of them all, had he found himself in terror of the truly unhuman. A soft paw touched his hand and a pulse of concern and comfort washed into him like a jolt of strong hot tea. The little Sharasai had probably only meant to help. But his species – Corelli knew instinctively it was a he, from nothing more than that empathic contact – were born empaths, born telepaths. Privacy and distance were things unknown to them, inconceivable. And Corelli was a trained Earthforce soldier on the hair-trigger of his nerves. The empathic pulse, most likely meant to be gentle for a Sharasai, crashed over him like a scream in a silent room. He jerked away, fury and fright blasting through him, and yanked back his gun as if to club the little alien to the ground with its butt. But the Sharasai had already run, emitting a high-pitched whine. At the head of the column, Snow turned back and glared at him. "What did you do?" Corelli opened his mouth, then closed it. It wasn’t worth it. "Never mind." The pulse caught them all, a command. Awkwardly the troop of soldiers and aliens came to a stop. Tisiara stood up on her tiptoes, front paws dropped down for balance, looking absurdly like a gopher atop a hole. Her head up, she turned slowly in a circle, nose sniffing as if for the scent of predators. But Corelli felt her mind wash over his like a wave. He shivered. She was using other senses than normal, hunting for something darker. he thought. He had been scanned once by a telepath, a strange and frightening experience – and that telepath, a military liaison helping them in a scouting recall, had been only rated P6. What was Tisiara, P11? P12? And that was without training and still in childhood. What might her elders have been? What might she become? Tisiara dropped to all fours again and began to lope down the corridor, faster now and with a straight-line intensity that had been missing before. Drawn by that intensity as if by gravity, the other Sharasai began to move faster as well, pulling in closer to her and running low. Snow, Corelli noted, was moving with the Sharasai as if part of them. Tension flared along his nerves and muscles. "What do you mean, followers?" said Burns. She glanced back over her shoulders; the passageway behind Corelli was clear and silent. "What followers? I don’t hear a thing." Tisiara did not look back. The thought faded like an image breaking up into static, the blankness of a mind momentarily stunned with incomprehension. < -- I do not know> Corelli shook his head. That was a lot of use. "How far behind?" Fear suddenly washed over them all. "*Steady*." Corelli didn’t shout, but his voice carried to them all in a flat order that cut through Tisiara’s growing fear like a cold wind through steam. "Claymores, pursuit formation. Lieutenant Snow, take centre with our guests. Agder, Reilly, take point. Weapons hot." As the troopers spread out, forcing their way ahead of the Sharasai and encircling them, Corelli jogged up to lope steadily alongside Snow and Tisiara. "Lieutenant. I’m relying on you to keep Tisiara and her friends under control if we see combat. Can you do that?" "I can try." The terseness of the response alone was enough to tell Corelli just how apprehensive the engineer had become. "Do so." Corelli charged his own rifle with a whirring hum. Around him he felt the walls draw back like a child shrinking from a needle. 22:10:13 EST Through the rain, Ivanova had barely enough time to see the green-scaled figures spin and level weapons before Northrup slammed into her with a cry of "*Captain!*" Blue-white energy seared over her, so close that the heat dried her skin beneath the EDI armour and crisped a trailing strand or two of auburn hair. She felt Northrup punched off her even before they hit the ground with a splash. Fear froze in her stomach even as rage burst up in her chest and throat; she rolled up from the impact into a kneeling position and fired back. In the red-gold flash of the plasma burst, she saw them clearly for the first time: Drazi, armoured in warrior garb, feral and crazy with the light in their eyes. The draz who’d fired was caught in that light in a frozen moment of doom, arms flung up, weapon spiraling away, face burning with white killing heat. Then more bursts of light strobed the darkness. Ivanova flung herself backwards, falling prone onto her back, as the dying draz fell in rapid-fire bursts of vision – the stone smacked her hard, her neck muscles twanging as she held her head clear of the impact. Disruptor bolts burned the air above her. She set the PPG rifle to full automatic and strafed a fan of return fire, all across the bore-site. Then strong hands were on her, yanking her up, dragging her to safety. "Northrup -- !" she choked out. "I got him, I got him, Cap, *move your ass!*" Waverly shoved her towards cover before turning to help Tseng with the fallen Northrup. Lightning blasted a hole of brilliance in the night; Ivanova saw the Drazi fleeing, their forms seared into her retina. Something about that garb – Then they were down, behind the edge of a perfectly cubical building, its walls already scorched with the black marks of energy fire. Ivanova felt sick. God *damn* it, but she hated being right about this crap. She pulled her sodden hair out of her face. "Who’s down?!" Waverly was bent over Northrup. "Two of them. Northrup’s alive, but he’s not gonna last long unless we can get him to medbay, and Auster’s gone. Right in the face. *Crap*, these bastards are good." He leaned around and fired a few shots, more for the sake of angry punctuation than any tangible result. "Goddam Drazi, *knew* they were fraggin’ scavengers, we shoulda thought of this! *Frag!*" "Okay, Matt, that’s *enough!*" Ivanova looked around. The rain had prevented both sides from seeing or hearing the other until they were almost on top of one another. The advantage was that the Drazi might be just as thrown as they were; how many had there been? Nine, ten? Against her eight – six, now – that wasn’t good. Not good at all. Advantage? Crap. The words felt colder than the rain. She thought back to the lightning bolt. At least twenty seconds gone, the ionization should be down enough to try. She touched her link. "Ivanova to *Saint-Germain*!" Something came through the static, but it was too blurry to be any kind of recognizable voice. Frustration and fury thickened her voice. "Ivanova to *Saint-Germain!* Come in, *Saint-Germain!*" In desperation she switched the link to general broadcast and screamed into it even as thunder drowned out her voice. "This is Captain Susan Ivanova to *anyone*, goddammit! Can *anyone* hear me – " Waverly leaned round to fire and got a booted foot right in his chest. He fell backwards, winded, as three Drazi sprang out of the shadows. Susan got her PPG up but was unable to bring it round to fire before the leader, a smaller and slighter draz than the other two, got its claws on the barrel and wrenched it backwards. Ivanova rolled with the tug, not letting go, and spun around, pulling the Drazi with her, its green-sashed armour glittering with rain, lightning and fire. Dark green eyes burned at her, the snarling teeth white. To her side she saw Waverly pinned and helpless, Tseng flat on the ground with a booted Drazi foot between his shoulders. Then something caught her foot – a stone, a shard of rubble, she didn’t know – and she went over backwards. The impact smashed the air from her lungs. The Drazi tore the PPG from her grasp and hurled it away, then fell on her. Taloned hands pinned her shoulders against the street. The draz leaned down. "Surrender, Captain. Surrender, or your men die." The Interlac growl was curiously high-pitched. "Ilvridas I am, Huntleader for Silent Shadows Hunt. Surrender, Captain. Now." Ivanova stared at the draz. And then her eyes dropped to the sash flapping against the armour, sodden and dripping now with the rain. The *green* sash. And a smile broke across her face like sunlight. She was unable to stop the crazy laughter that welled out of her throat. The very strangeness of it made Ilvridas’ grip relax for a moment with surprise and puzzlement. But she was unable to say anything before Ivanova imposed just the fractional control necessary to get the Drazi words out, the words she had learned for a religious celebration years ago, the words she had thought she ’d never need to use again. "*Imbrakh Kesuri!*" she shouted. The cry seemed to carry across the boresite like the howl of a triumphant wolf. Echoes rippled back through the rain. Ilvridas’ eyes went wide in shock. And then she looked down herself at the sash she wore. "Green Leader," she whispered. And then, even more softly: "*Ivanova.*" 22:10:57 EST Hughes’ fighter exploded. Swann and DeClercq broke to either side, away from the fireball. Bare seconds later two missiles came flashing in on infrared guidance and detonated amid the blast, expanding it into a miniature sun. Swann was cursing a blue streak. "I have the track!" snapped DeClercq. "Drazi Sunhawk-class corsair, rounding the horizon, distance seventeen thousand!" A bleeping sound came from the console; DeClercq let himself relax in momentary relief. "And Hughes is clear! The pod’s clear. He ejected." "Yeah, if that secondary blast didn’t fry him -- *watch your six, Commander!*" Swann’s engines pulsed in perfectly timed blasts of fusion fire, and her Starfury spun in place, hurtling backwards. DeClercq did the same, acceleration pulling him into his seat with the weight of an angry giant’s boot; he gasped, and then he was reversed. The fighter following them decelerated frantically, surprised by the agility of the manoeuvre, but it was too late. Before he could open up enough distance the Starfuries’ pulse cannons erupted. The Drazi ship vanished in a burst of light and heat. DeClercq’s thoughts moved at lightspeed. Drazi. Well, that answered a few questions. They had the edge in manoeuvrability – only the Minbari Niall-class fighters could outfly a Starfury -- but the Drazi fighters were more heavily armed and armoured, more massive. By that very token, too, they would not accelerate as fast. Slowest of all to accelerate or change course would be the Sunhawk itself, but its missiles and beams would not be so limited, and the aggression of the Drazi as a race meant they would not be quick to break off or flee.... DeClercq made one quick calculation, half guess, half intuited mathematics, and prayed it was right. "All ‘Furies, break off, break off! Full thrust, attack vector on incoming corsair! Now!" Without waiting to see if he was obeyed, he flipped his fighter again, orienting on the vector his computer fed him, and pushed the engines to full power. The Starfury flashed through space, his bones creaking with the weight of acceleration, his heart thundering. The distance shrank. Would they follow? Or would they see this as just another running away? "YEEEE-HAAAWWWW!" Swann’s rebel yell almost deafened him. "Train yer sensors aftward, C’mander, n’ check it out!" He did so, and gasped with relief. Part of his guess was right. Every Starfury had followed at once. The Drazi, caught flat-footed by the unexpected breakoff, were swarming like flies in an attempt to get back into a pursuit formation... and even as they drew together and vectored in, the distance between the squadrons grew. DeClercq flipped his ECM to full power and hit the general broadcast. "Jammers on full! Evasive action! Don’t let the bastards hit you!" Even as he gave the order white-green bolts blasted after them. He evaded them with ease. "Sunhawk tracking!" It was a third pilot, Wang. "Computer estimates lock in seventeen seconds!" "Time on target?" said Swann. "Eighteen seconds!" said DeClercq. "Hold your course!" The Starfuries spread out, stringing themselves into a lethal arc like a scythe of shooting stars. "Hold your course!" The computer bleeped. "Tracking beams detected," it said calmly. "Warning: lock imminent." "Hold your course." The bolts from behind faded out. They were too close now. The Drazi fighters didn’t dare fire for fear of hitting the mother ship, and *God*, this was going to be *close* -- "Target weapons blisters and engines!" "Targeted," said Swann calmly. "Commander, this is Burnett! Drazi fighters closing at six, high accel!" "*Hold your course!*" "*They have a lock!*" Wang screamed. "HOLD YOUR COURSE!" Even as DeClercq roared it into the mike his own console lit up in red as proximity and tracking alerts went off simultaneously. The Sunhawk filled the entire viewport, lean and deadly and God so *close* -- "All Starfuries!" he shouted. "*Break and fire!*" The fighters split apart like a wave curling smoothly around a triangular stone in a river. The bright froth of plasma fury filled the night. The Sunhawk reeled, explosions tearing holes in it even as its own weapons opened up. In the freezing silence of space the blooms of fire made no sound. One Starfury vanished forever in the detonation of its own fusion engines. Swann’s own fighter lost guidance and broke into a wild spin, hurtling towards the planet. There was no sound but Swann’s breathing over the com. Then a pod broke free at precisely the right instant, hurled away from the planet by the momentum of the fighter’s spin. The Starfuries were past now, and in their wake a long plume of flame and incandescent gas trailed from the torn and gutted thruster tubes of the Sunhawk. And then, rocketing past the wounded mother ship, the Drazi fighters came, engines at full power and their speed now a match for that of the scattered ‘Furies. And behind them the Sunhawk rolled to present its undamaged broadside. "Pour it on!" DeClercq ordered. "Full acceleration!" "We’re at full now, sir!" shouted Burnett in a ragged voice. "Tracking again – we’re not gonna make it! We can’t open up enough distance! We – " His voice died in the scream of an alarm. TARGET LOCK, flashed the warning on DeClercq’s screen. TARGET LOCK. Strangely, the only thing he felt was calm. Ah, well, it had almost worked. And nobody had thought he was running away. No one would ever say he was running away again. He lifted his face into the sunlight and waited for the end. ...TO BE CONTINUED From: "Stephen J. Barringer" Subject: WANDERING STAR 31/?? Date: Sun, 11 Apr 1999 00:29:13 -0400 Whine whine whine... I'm SIIIIIIIIIIICK....... Advice to everyone: avoid vegetables cooked as side dishes by franchise pubs. Nonetheless, here for your amusement, more adventure, mortal danger and angst with our (well, my) favourite starship crew of misfits -- *****************DISCLAIMER***************** Susan Ivanova and all BABYLON 5 characters and situations are the creations and copyrighted property of J. Michael Straczynski and Babylonian Productions, and are used here without permission strictly for the purposes of non-profit entertainment. Other characters and situations are copyright of the author, but permission is hereby granted for free, non-profit use by other fanfic authors. (Though it would be nice if you asked anyway.) WARNING: A slight spoiler for "The Geometry of Shadows" in this one. ************************************************** < < W A N D E R I N G S T A R > > PART II: SCAVENGER HUNT - 26 - 22:12:05 EST The energy that had torn throughout the *Darktalon* had backlashed through the bridge. Zarabakh coughed at the smoke trailing from blown consoles. Streams of inert gas flashed down, smothering the fires. Salathek had taken the sensors, tracking the Earthfighters. Beside him, the ship’s pilot lay dead on the floor, his features burned in a rictus of electric pain. Kharidos had taken over his station and fought with controls both unfamiliar and damaged. "Helm!" roared the Commander-First. "Steady bearing! Can you hold it?" "I think so." Kharidos looked at the screen with a sick expression, then away, not wanting to see what was about to happen. "Salathek?" "I have a lock." Rage and hunger were a thick guttural sound in the other draz’s throat. "They are ours." "Zarabakh to Flightleader," growled Zarabakh. "Synchronize your weapons with our fire control. On my mark. Mark." "Synchronized!" spat Salathek. "Subcommander. Full broadside. Fighters and main guns. On my mark." Zarabakh drew a deep, hungry breath. "FIR – " The *Darktalon* heaved like a plastic bottle kicked by a child’s foot. 22:12:26 EST Bright light filled DeClercq’s world – -- and faded -- -- leaving him still alive. He refocused ahead. The Sunhawk was spinning, slowly and heavily like a gigantic top caught in treacle. Fire trailed all along it. The fighters had broken off and were fleeing, but without hope. From a vast black shape, lit by a long trail of fusion fire, blue-white bolts lanced out. Stars of detonation pocked space. DeClercq saw the glitter as the rotating hull caught the sunlight. Then another barrage of fire burned into space, and in that brilliant searing light the Earth Alliance logo on the prow of the approaching starship shone like sunrise. "*Saint-Germain* to Commander DeClercq!" The grin in Philip Ramirez ’ voice was a tangible thing, like a sword set afire, even over the com link. "Are you there, Commander?" It would not do much for his dignity or authority, DeClercq had to remind himself, to cry audibly over a link. He paused a second until the thickness in his throat faded. "DeClercq here, Lieutenant-Commander. May I commend you on your timing, Philip." "Thank you, sir. Do you want to handle the formalities or shall I?" "You are senior officer on ship at the moment, unless the Captain’s returned." "Not yet." Amazing, how fast Ramirez’ voice and mood could change, and yet every mood carried equal conviction. Now it was grim and worried. DeClercq wondered if his own emotions had ever been that strong and swift. "We need to talk about that, sir, afterwards." "Understood." DeClercq set his course towards the *Saint-Germain*, watching as the remaining fighters closed in to follow. "Mr. Burnett, if you would kindly take the pods in tow from Mr. Hughes and Ms. Swann." "Aye aye, sir, I’m on it," responded Burnett. His fighter broke off and arced back towards the scene of the battle. DeClercq watched him go for a moment, then turned back to the *Saint-Germain*. No ship had ever looked so beautiful in his life. The link crackled. "Attention, Drazi corsair," said Ramirez’ voice. In another lightning-fast shift it had gone to righteous fury. "This is Lieutenant-Commander Philip Ramirez of the EAS *Saint-Germain*. You have attacked an Earth Alliance starship and fighters in defiance of all interstellar law. You will surrender your ship and crew to us now, or you will be destroyed. Do you understand? Respond, Drazi corsair!" For a moment, as DeClercq and the other fighters sped back towards the ship, there was no answer. DeClercq wondered if the Drazi’s comm systems were down. Then a reply in hissing, halting Interlac came over the speakers. "I am Commander-First Zarabakh, of Drazi Freehold Corsair *Darktalon*. You are outside ISA space, Human Ramirez. You have no authority here. No right to be here. We deny your authority!" A heartbeat. "Deny *this*," Ramirez’ voice snapped like a whipcrack. The main guns of the *Saint-Germain* ignited: blue-white energy raged outwards in twin coruscating beams, striking the *Darktalon* solidly in the hull and raking along what remained of its broadsides. The Drazi ship heaved. Air and fire blasted from the torn metal, accelerating the ship’s broken spin. DeClercq could hear the cries of rage and panic faintly over the still-open circuit. His stomach shifted queasily. "Surrender, Zarabakh!" Ramirez shouted. "I won’t ask again!" "*Never!*" the Drazi voice bawled back. "We fight! We do not surrender! Not to humans, not to traitors using tools of Great Enemy!" His control of Interlac seemed to be slipping in his raving. "You come as *we* do, thieves in night from Droshalla-kin, carrion scavengers, blighting all you touch! Drazi *die* before giving in to humans, to Earthforce! Drazi *die* -- " A sharp sound squealed over the comlink. Then again. DeClercq winced from the screeches. There was a moment of silence but for the faint sounds of crackling and static over the link. Then a new voice spoke. It had the same reptilian intonation but was pitched higher, and with an exhausted, broken note like a rape victim’s. "*Darktalon* to Earther ship. Do you copy?" "We copy." Suspicion and startlement made Ramirez’s voice flat. "This is Commander-First Kharidos," said the Drazi. "New leader of *Darktalon*. Promotion... sudden... and self-inflicted." There was no humour in the words at all. "*Darktalon* surrenders. We claim amnesty for our wounded." "Amnes – " Ramirez choked. "Of all the unmitigated *gall* -- " DeClercq stabbed a button on his console, switching the *Darktalon* out of his transmission. "Philip. Give it to them." "*What?*" DeClercq hardened his voice. "That is a direct *order*, Lieutenant-Commander! Do I make myself clear?" "Aye aye, sir," Ramirez muttered grumpily. A crackle heralded the reunion of link channels. "*Saint-Germain* to *Darktalon*, your surrender is accepted. Power down all weapons and engine systems. Tell your fighters to stand down and dock. You will match orbit with us and return to geosynchronous vector above these coordinates – " "I know where you want us to go," Kharidos interrupted. There was still no humour in her voice. "Blind draz knows where *you* want to go." GRID B-2, BORESITE, VORLON HABITAT 22:13 EST With the suddenness of a striking snake Ilvridas released Ivanova, rolled back to her feet and bellowed orders in Drazi. The two holding Tseng and Waverly stiffened with shock and fury, shouting back. Ilvridas ignored them, turning, yelling the same words in all directions. One by one the high-pitched shrieks of disruptor fire ceased. Ivanova got to her feet, staggering. "All units, *cease fire*!" she screamed. For good measure she repeated it into her link. The fight between Ilvridas and her two subordinates was not trailing off; neither, she noticed, had the aliens released the weapons they’d taken from the humans. Coldness clutched at her stomach. This still might not work. The leadership contest *had* been over three years ago, now, and her own status really only extended to the Drazi of Babylon 5... would that suffice? "Cap?" Waverly stumbled to her side. "What’s goin’ on?" Ivanova sucked in a deep breath, made her voice as steady as she could. It wasn’t very. "Three years ago I accidentally became leader of one of the factions fighting for power among the Drazi. These guys belonged to the same faction I did. And I guess Huntleader Ilvridas here is a traditionalist." She shivered. "Now we just have to pray that the rest of them are." Waverly frowned. "How the hell do you *accidentally* become leader of an alien political faction?" "You don’t want to know, Matt. Trust me. You really do *not* want to know." She held up a hand, cutting off his bewildered response, as Ilvridas and the other two Drazi came towards them. They stopped, ranged evenly opposite Ivanova, and there was no way to read the crackling tension in their alien eyes. Ivanova felt the ridiculous urge to brace herself, as if that would help against a short-range disruptor or PPG burst. And then the Drazi dropped the weapons and stiffened to attention, shoulders back, eyes straight ahead, not meeting hers. Susan remembered that pose. It was the same pose all the Drazi had adopted, that fateful day three years ago, when in frustration she had snatched the sash of leadership from the leader of the Green faction and found out that bureaucracy made idiots of *every* sentient species. Waverly and Tseng looked around, perplexed and nervously wary, as the other Drazi came one by one out of the storm and took the same stance. All wore green-sashed armour. And all lay their weapons down. They did not do so happily – most looked bitterly disappointed or angry – but they did it. Ilvridas stepped forward. "In last Game of Power, Huntleader Khovrath draw for Silent Shadows Hunt." She gestured at the Drazi. "Khovrath draw Green. Silent Shadows are Green. Silent Shadows acknowledge Green Leader." "Even though there’s no way I could have been *your* Green Leader?" Ivanova pressed. "Does not matter. Any Green Leader commands Green obedience." And then something truly strange happened: something glinted in the Drazi woman’ s eye that might actually have been humour. "Besides, *this* Green Leader known. No other Green Leader like this one." Waverly stared at her. "You are gonna *have* to tell us this story, Captain." "Later." Ivanova tried one more time to get her sodden hair out of her face, then gave up and folded her arms. "Is this all of you?" "No." Ilvridas gestured at the boresite crater. "Huntleader Khovrath, Hunt-second Mazrakh and three others go. Zhamarok, Vrysh, and Uzbek. They go to find what treasures they can from Vorlon ruins." "Only five?" Matt snorted. "Hell, Leandro’s got five squads down there. They could take five Drazi with their hands tied." Ilvridas growled at him, a low, dangerous sound that made the young security chief step back smartly. "Remember, human. *You* not Green Leader." "Back off, Ilvridas," Ivanova snapped. "And Matt, it doesn’t matter how good Lieutenant Corelli is if he gets taken by surprise." she thought glumly. "Matt, I want you to detach a few guards and take the Drazi back to the shuttle landing site. Ilvridas, I want your word as a Hunter you’ll follow his orders." "We prisoners, Green Leader?" "Guests," said Ivanova firmly. "Do I make myself clear?" She raised her voice and directed the question not at the Drazi, but at the humans. Waverly suddenly grinned. "No, but it’s not like it matters. ’ Understanding’s not required, just obedience.’ Isn’t that what the Minbari say, Skip?" Ivanova sighed. "Mr. Waverly." She didn’t know what it was in her eyes or voice – she certainly didn’t feel particularly angry – but something evidently got through. Waverly straightened with more military crispness than she’d seen from him in a while. "Aye aye, sir." He turned to Ilvridas. "Huntleader – tell your people to follow Mr. Tseng. Jackson, Farren, you take Northrup over and once you’re there get one of the Thunderbolts to take him up to medbay. Symington, you gather the Drazi weapons and carry them with the others. The rest of you, fall in." He looked over at Ivanova. "I take it we’re going down, not up?" Ivanova nodded. "Once we’re down under the city we should be clear of the interference that’s blocking the links. We have to find our people and get them out of here." She raised her voice. "And we *will* find them, people. Am I understood?" Waverly looked around at the other guards. Together, they lifted their heads and bellowed in a shout that cut through even the thunder of the storm. "SIR, YES SIR!" Ivanova jerked a little, startled, as did Ilvridas behind her. Then, abruptly, the Drazi made a hissing gurgling sound under her breath. When Ivanova looked at her, she jerked her green-scaled head at the troops. "Now *that* loyalty," she remarked. Susan swallowed. ...TO BE CONTINUED