From: Stephen J. Barringer Date: July 29, 1999 To: b5-creative@lists.best.com Subject: WANDERING STAR 35/?? This one goes out to Erik Lund, who was worried about my getting caught up in VS6.... This one's for you, Erik. Everyone else out there, blame Mr. Lund for the cliffhanger. *****************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: Tiny spoiler for "A Distant Star". ************************************************** < < W A N D E R I N G S T A R > > PART II: SCAVENGER HUNT - 30 - ORBITAL VECTOR X22-Y03-Z300 E.A.S. *SAINT-GERMAIN* 23:05 EST DeClercq strode onto the bridge; Ramirez saluted and got out of his way, jumping for the tac officer's console even as DeClercq slid down the ladder and flung himself into the command seat. "Position!" "Taking up geosynchronous orbit over the Vorlon city, Commander," answered Ramirez crisply, going over his beloved weapons controls. "The *Darktalon* is taking up orbit beside us." "Keep a constant scan going on them," DeClercq ordered the comm-station tech, a second-shifter named Yurievich. "I want to know the instant they show anything that looks like fire control targeting or weapons powering. I *think* they've shut everything down, but at this range we won't have much time to react." "Instructions if they do?" said Yurievich. "If they do, inform Lieutenant-Commander Ramirez immediately; and Mr. Ramirez, if you are so informed, you will blow them out of the sky. No warnings, no second chances." Ramirez grinned. "Understood, sir." "Philip." DeClercq pointed at him with a glower. "That's *only* if they show signs of fight. Don't jump the gun on me here. We need prisoners to demonstrate to the EA and the Interstellar Alliance." He swiveled to glare at the screen. Its main display still showed a night-shrouded world, the city obscured by lightning-scored cloud. "Any slacking off in the storm or the atmospheric disruption?" "None, sir," reported the second-shifter at Enfield's station, an older man by the name of Clegg. "Whatever we lit off down there, it looks like it's gonna go a good long time." "Unacceptable, Mr. Clegg." "Sir?" "We have to get word to the Captain and get her and the others up here. I want you to find a way to boost the primary comm signal until we can establish contact. I *have* to talk to Captain Ivanova, Mr. Clegg, and as soon as is humanly possible." DeClercq pounded his fist on the arm of his command chair, still not looking at Clegg, and unaware that his voice had taken on a firmness and authority it hadn't had in years. "Punch me a line into that underground, Clegg. Now." Clegg gulped and began tapping commands at his station. VORLON HABITAT 23:07 EST ~So long,~ hissed the thing, in a deep roar like a rapids at full flood. It looked around at them all, and the true terror was in the *intelligence* in those red eyes. ~So long concealed. So long waiting. The Masters and the Heirs spoke true. At last, to slay upon the worlds of the Enemy themselves.~ It looked from figure to figure, from Drazi to human to Sharasai, like a gourmet at an elegant buffet, on the verge of choosing which delicacy to use as an appetizer. ~So long I have dreamed. And now the dream is over, and it is real.~ Dreaming and reality. Even the darkness dreamed. Somehow Ivanova didn't even consider raising her PPG. The Dark Soldier they'd defeated on Babylon 5 had been weakened and disoriented by its long imprisonment. This thing seemed to be at the full of its strength, moving with a fluidity and danger she'd never seen from the beast on B5. She felt trapped in syrup, the air about her thick and cloying. Fear was a freezing molten cloud in her mind. Every muscle moved like congealing clay as she tried to press herself into the wall. "What the hell?" Corelli muttered beside her. "It dreamed it was hungry. It woke up, and we're the blue plate special." Ivanova couldn't raise her voice above a whisper. But Corelli frowned. "What?" "Can't you hear it?" "I hear a roaring like wind, I don't hear words." The telepathic shriek staggered them all. Ivanova saw the Soldier sway back briefly like a tree against a strong gust of wind. ~The City is dying.~ What washed back out felt nothing like Tisiara's sendings. It was colder, darker, more primitive. ~Your Messenger is an untrained weakling.~ Messenger -- ? ~This is *our* time. The Masters are gone, but the Heirs remain. The Heirs told this one, hide here. Wait. And wait, and be faithful. For if faith is sufficient, worlds are moved. And worlds were moved, and here came this one. And there will be blood.~ Yet still it hesitated. For a moment, Ivanova wondered. This was, after all, a Vorlon habitat. Home to the living technology and defenses of the Shadows' greatest enemies, their only match in power. Could the Soldier truly be as confident as it claimed? Could it *know* how weak the City was now? Could there be a way to strike it would not anticipate? Ivanova thought of the word *messenger*, considered its irony. For the word was the literal meaning of the Greek term *angelos* -- the word from which came "angel". And the Vorlons, clad in the guise of angels, had created angels and servants of their own, agents to act in their name, to bring their Word and work their will. The Vorlons had created telepaths. And though she had never wanted it, had lost almost everything she'd ever loved in her life to the curses surrounding the truth of her gift, she was out of choices. For the first time since she'd seen Sofie Ivanova's limp body slowly spinning in the air, she reached out with her mind. <...city...?> Nothing. she repeated, the call stronger now, wordless and terrified and furious all at once. The Shadow Warrior was moving forward, slowly, closing the gap between them all, claws hovering like lightning waiting to leap down from the clouds. She put all her anger into one last terrified psychic screech. Nothing. She was too weak. The Soldier was right. She'd left it too late. She was untrained, weak, useless, no match even for the power of a child - Her breath caught. Braun watched, preparing himself to jump. He had made his decision. The moment the Warrior made its move, he would leap in the opposite direction, duck past it, and run. Once into the tunnel he would implant more biostimulus units and seal off the cave. It was the only way to deal with this thing. With luck, a few would follow him out. And then Captain Ivanova, who had been staring at the creature as if willing it to leave, suddenly shifted her gaze to Tisiara, the little alien child. Tisiara's head snapped around to face hers; a moment later, so did the rest of the Sharasai. Braun hesitated. The Soldier froze, eyes shifting from Sharasai to Sharasai, seeming to vibrate like a serpent's rattle. Braun waited, finger poised on the trigger of his control unit, the same one he'd used to send the floor into spasms. In the confusion of all that noise no one had noticed him planting the units when he'd "fallen" to his knees. Those units were still there. If he triggered them again - The room exploded. The Sharasai burst into motion, lunging towards Tisiara, converging on the tiny alien even as she leapt to stand by Ivanova. At precisely the same moment, the Shadow Soldier screamed, and lunged towards the Sharasai with whipcrack speed. And Ivanova screamed at the top of her lungs, "FIRE!" Every weapon in the room, Human PPG rifle and Drazi disruptor, discharged simultaneously. The Soldier screamed like tearing steel, staggering back under the rain of gold and blue fire. Light flickered from its black, translucent hide. Its face glowed, lit from beneath as it reared, a horror of fang and carapace and mandible. And then, *through* the rain of fire, staggering under its impact but otherwise unwounded, the thing lashed out with one claw. A Drazi fell, gutted and almost bisected in a single vicious slice. With fluid speed the thing whirled, struck out again; one of Corelli's men went down, decapitated. The rain of fire began to falter. Gathering speed and fury, the Soldier struck again; again. With every blow a man died. A fifth, and now the second of the four remaining Drazi was down. The two still standing moved forward, still firing, screaming imprecations in their native tongue. Braun shook his head. Why was stupidity so often mistaken for courage? The Sharasai had gathered by Ivanova now, Tisiara at their heart, clinging together as if to take consolation in sharing death. Braun grimaced. Sentiment. He was going to die surrounded by foolish sentiment. There was something fundamentally unsatisfying about that - The wave of thought that flashed out from the group of aliens staggered even him. And the walls began to move. SKYHOPPER FLIGHT LANDING SITE 23:08 EST Morgan saw it first, more through luck than anything else. He'd just finished reassuring the Drazi, for the ninth time, that nothing bad was going to happen to them - a statement he wasn't sure he believed, but his acting skills stood him in good stead for convincing *them* he did. The Drazi didn't have a history of honourable prisoner treatment - they didn't actively despise prisoners as weaklings and unworthy, the way some more brutal peoples (or human cultures) did, but there was no particular honour attached to treating them well, either. Most seemed despondently convinced they would be taken away quietly somewhere and shot. Morgan wasn't so sure they were wrong. Nonetheless, he'd done his best to convince them otherwise, gone back to the cockpit of Shuttle One, carefully locked it so they wouldn't be tempted to break in and steal it - he trusted Ilvridas, but there was no point in unnecessary risk, now was there? -- and collapsed into the seat. He'd just been contemplating trying to contact Ivanova again when it happened. It was difficult to distinguish through the lightning and the rain. But for a moment, it seemed that light *rippled* throughout every structure still standing in the building. Morgan jerked upright, staring, wide-eyed. Again it happened. No mistake this time. A wave of rainbow-coloured light, starting in the outermost buildings and traveling inwards and northwards, towards the boresite where the Captain and her crew had disappeared. "Sacre merde!" screamed Yves' voice over the com. "Did you *see* that?" "I saw it, I saw it!" Takayama shouted back. "Skyhopper Flight and shuttles, kick the tires, light the fires!" Morgan's hands flashed over the controls. Banks of lights came alive, displays flickering and cycling through startup rhythms as a deep vibrating roar began to ripple through the shuttle's hull. Through the darkness of the storm-shrouded night he saw flares of light, heard more rumblings of power as Shuttle Two and the Thunderbolts began bringing their engines on line. The walls of the arroyo gleamed briefly. Gravel fountained from the VTOL airjets as they came on line in testing surges. With a flick of his hand he activated his own comlink. "Orders, sir?" he called. "Shuttles One and Two, I want you on overflight over the bore-site. Skyhoppers, we're going into a corkscrew pattern circling the city. Cardshark, Angel, Dazzler, Wildfire, Howler - you're below cloud level, I want Titan, Raven, Victor, and Skyjacker above. Five-kilometre increments below the clouds, fifty-kilometre levels upward." "Lieutenant? Where are you gonna be?" asked one of the pilots. "Inside the storm. I'm the midpoint. Standard Handoff guidance formation." Morgan's eyebrows shot skyward, but he repressed his first urge to shriek disbelief. Not for the formation - the Handoff had been standard procedure in Earthforce since Captain John Sheridan had invented it to rescue a hyperspace-lost explorer ship in 2259 - but for Takayama's choice of position. Storm-riding was the closest thing to suicide a pilot could attempt in a semi-sane mind: the currents and winds made the explosion he'd rode look like a calm sea, and offering yourself as a handy target for immense electrical discharges wasn't much of a bright idea either. Still, Takayama was like any pilot: reminding him of an action's inherent danger was usually only an encouragement. "Sir, I trust you know you're out of your mind," he said conversationally. "Look where we are, Ensign. Would you put bets on any of our sanities at this point?" Morgan opened his mouth, hesitated thoughtfully, and closed it. There wasn't really much to say to that. Instead, he called up a map of the city and began picking open sites close to the borehole. A new thunder shook the sky as the Thunderbolts, one by one, rose off the ground and began arcing up into the sky, engines blazing with white light. VORLON HABITAT 23:10 EST The hard stony substance of the walls and ceiling rippled like muscle, then lunged out in two columnar protrusions that struck the Shadow Warrior like twin hammerblows. The Warrior screamed. Ivanova staggered as that scream resonated on both auditory and psychic levels, too much like the sound of a Shadowship flyby. Horrible memories rose up to choke her, acrid and black. The gunfire trailed off as the Warrior struck back against the wall-formed limbs. Tentacles flashed and whirred like the teeth of a farm combine. Hot liquid spattered from the moving limbs. The Warrior ducked, spun away, moving with inhuman speed, almost invisible in the flickering darkness. The wounded hammerlimbs drew back. Others emerged, clawed this time, slashing at the Warrior. It dodged, lashed out, leapt back. A few of the Claymores shot frantically at the thing, but it was moving too fast to hit. Ivanova trembled in the grasp of the Sharasai as they held her up, supported by both minds and hands. She felt as if she'd been strapped into a kayak and tossed into a rapids-choked river in flood. The power here was immensely beyond her. The Sharasai between them were hideously, terrifyingly strong, stronger than they even understood. And the power they in turn rode, though dying and disintegrating, still retained much of its ancient might. All of it moving at *her* direction. It was *her* mind and reflexes the chamber attacked with, *her* fighting skill it drew upon. Though she didn't move a muscle, her mind flared and flickered with the frozen heat of combat. She felt like a flea upon the back of a tiger, screaming commands at something that could destroy her in a moment. Yet the Shadow Warrior was a servant of Chaos even older than the order the Vorlons had embodied. And its defenses were not purely the physical that everyone saw. Its blackness, its screaming chaos, was agony and poison to the very substance of this room. Every blow she struck, every blow struck against her, *hurt*. Her face was wet with sweat and tears. The conflict raged in the telepathic aether like a swirling invisible storm. And Ivanova, open now to it as she had never been in her life, reeled beneath an increasing and unbearable pain. The speed and fury of the chamber's attack faltered. The Shadow Warrior, sensing it, suddenly ducked away from one clumsy thrust, sidespun and slashed down with all its limbs at once. The protrusion came free with a burst of hot fluid. Pain blinded Ivanova's mind, her eyes, her soul. She fell back and screamed, the Sharasai screaming around her. The tentacles from the chamber walls spasmed uselessly. The Warrior dropped low, came swirling over the ground towards her, eyes blazing with a red fury and triumph. ....TO BE CONTINUED From: Stephen J. Barringer Date: August 15, 1999 To: b5-creative@lists.best.com Subject: WANDERING STAR 36/?? The end of Part II *is* coming eventually, folks.... This one's dedicated to Gemma Files, who got me into reading OZ fanfic. For a sample of her stuff (warning: it is NOT for children or the faint of heart -- "Oz" is an HBO cable show set in a maximum security prison, and it's *just* as brutal as it sounds) go to and read MY WIFE AND MY DEAD WIFE. And you thought fanfic was fluff.... Onwards we go. *****************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: Tiny spoilers for "A Distant Star" and a fair bit of goriness. ************************************************** < < W A N D E R I N G S T A R > > PART II: SCAVENGER HUNT - 31 - VORLON HABITAT 23:12 EST Like everyone else, Braun had watched the battle with wide, unblinking eyes. Like everyone else, there was a cold, searing fear in his stomach. But unlike everyone else, he was not simply watching. He was observing. He saw the data his sensors had registered with every movement of the chamber's substance. He saw how it changed with each blow the dark being struck. He saw how the alien children cried and shrieked in tune with those electric waves of pain. Ivanova, clearly caught up in whatever mindmeld the aliens were using to control the walls, screamed along with them. Braun spared a burst of almost absentminded contempt for the woman. How an Earthforce officer could be so vulnerable to sentiment that she put her own life and sanity on the line like this, without concern for her crew - He chopped off the thought. There was no time for it now. But he carefully remembered the unfinished fragment, and stored it away for later perusal. His fingers tapped commands into the biocontroller's simulation matrix. The waves changed as he had anticipated. He frowned in consideration. Yes, he had been right, but if his simulation was inaccurate in even the slightest way - And then the shadow-being spun out from under an attack and neatly amputated the striking limb from the wall. The Sharasai screamed with the high-pitched trill of tortured angels; Ivanova's scream beneath them was rawer, bloody with pain. Every limb protruding from the chamber walls spasmed in wild, blind flailings. The shadow-being avoided them with ease, dropped low, and scuttled towards Ivanova and the Sharasai like a deadly night-dark centipede. Braun knew he was out of options. He set the biocontrol transmitter to maximum and activated his command code. The pain vanished. Ivanova had no time to wonder how or why. She simply gathered the substance of the floor before her and thrust upwards in one massive punch. The Shadow Warrior screamed as the ground, buckled instantly into a stalagmite-like spear, smashed upwards through its body and carried it up off the ground. Black liquid ran smoking and searing from its body where the spike had impaled it. It thrashed wildly and uselessly, unable to secure any grip, and its movements thrust it deeper onto the spike. Its shrieks split and shredded the air, but the fury and bloodlust had gone, submerged now in helpless agony. Corelli recovered first. "Claymores, *fire at will!*" he shouted. Suiting his own actions to his words, he brought up his PPG and began pouring fire into the Shadow Warrior's shrieking body. Within half a second everyone else in the chamber with a weapon had followed suit. The room lit again with gold and blue light. Energy crackled around the writhing Soldier in a tangible aura; its shrieks rose louder and louder, higher and higher, until they were silent but razor-lined blasts of sound that staggered them in waves of painful impact. But no one slackened off the fire. The end was sudden. The Warrior stiffened, all limbs flung out in a quivering climax of agony: abruptly its blackness turned to glorious radiant light. For a moment it was completely, perfectly visible, in all its hideous translucent size and raw venom. And then it flared with subatomic fire and dissolved. Black powder sifted down. The walls and floor shuddered once, then smoothed out with slow, painful movements. Silence settled onto them all. Ivanova could feel Tisiara shuddering against her, steady, autonomic paroxysms of terror; her breathing was hyperventilation-fast. Unable to do anything else she hugged the little alien and poured all the love and reassurance she could through their link. The sense from the City was strange, thick, numb, as if drifting towards shocked unconsciousness. She was dimly aware of the soldiers still kneeling with rifles raised, as if waiting for the dust to swirl together and become the Shadow Warrior again. Braun rose from his crouch by the wall and strode swiftly to the centre of the room. The stalagmite that had emerged from the floor was slowly sinking back into it, melting like a tower of ice cream in sunlight. The scientist bent, scooped up samples of the powder and sealed them into his sample cases, then moved to the wall where the protrusion had been cut free and took similar samples of the thick, clear liquid seeping from the wound. His eyes were alight with interest... but nothing else. If he felt any relief at their escape, any surprise or shock or fear, it was invisible. The sight sparked her to a weak, flickering anger that was still more than she'd thought herself capable of. "Doctor Braun," she managed, her throat raw. Braun turned and raised an eyebrow. "How...." She had to swallow and moisten her lips. "How *dare* you?" "How dare I -- ?" "This." Ivanova pushed herself upright, letting the stuttering pulse of her anger carry her where her exhausted muscles would not. "The City... it *saved* us." Even now, she knew, there was no speaking of what role she had played in that battle. "The City and the Sharasai. And you just walk over as if nothing happened and take your samples - " Her voice failed. "Captain Ivanova, I am doing my job." Braun's face and gaze were absolutely level. "I am collecting the data Earthforce sent us to collect. You are doing *your* job - you're keeping us all safe while I do so." He paused, glanced to one side in a deliberately stylized take, and then smiled thinly at her as if something had just occurred to him. "Except you didn't keep us safe, did you. The organic defense routines of the city did, with some help from your alien friends. And," he added almost as an afterthought, "from myself." "You?!" Tiffany thrust herself to her feet and staggered shakily over to them. "What the frag did *you* do?" Braun smiled at her patiently, bent over, and took hold of something on the floor. It came free with a *snick*. He straightened and tossed it to Ivanova, who caught it reflexively. She stared down at the tiny device for a moment or two before recognizing it. A bioelectric transmitter. "I took the chance to plant a few of those in the floor," said Braun smugly. "I have considerably refined my observational data since the first failure with the tower. I can now use those to attain a limited control over the systems of the City... and, if need be, I can neutralize the signals and tissue that serve the functions analogous to pain." Tisiara stiffened. " - who anaethetized the pain of that last strike, so that the City might not be too crippled to defend itself and us." Something in his smile glinted like serrated bone. "Gratitude is not necessary, Lieutenant. I was acting in my own interest as much as yours." Ivanova and Snow stared at him. Corelli joined them, limping a little. He glanced from Braun to the Captain, clearly aware of the tension but unwilling to interfere with it. Instead he directed his attention to Ivanova and cleared his throat. "Captain?" "Lieutenant." "The Drazi Huntleader wishes to speak to you." "Does he now." "I told him who you were," Corelli added. "He seemed... pretty impressed." Ivanova snorted. "Yes, I imagine he was." She turned and moved carefully to where several of the Claymores, accompanied by Waverly and the security guards, were holding the Drazi in a tight group. The disruptor rifles had been taken and placed to one side. The leader, the yellow-scarred giant who'd claimed the planet for the Drazi Freehold, stared at Ivanova with a sort of sullen, angry shame burning in his eyes. "I am Captain Susan Ivanova," said Ivanova without preamble. "Imbrakh Kesuri, Green Leader, until the next Dro'hannan. You are Huntleader of the Silent Shadows?" "Khovrath I am," rumbled the draz after a moment. "My Hunt-second... Mazrakh... it was in him the Shadowservant lived." "How?" Khovrath took a breath. "Three cycles ago, during war with Ancient Enemy, Mazrakh was of a Hunt named Glorious Teeth." Waverly glanced at Corelli. "Okay, I'm not gonna make fun of you guys for *your* platoon nickname anymore." "Mr. Waverly," snapped Ivanova. "Sorry, Cap." Khovrath ignored them, which itself was a startling sign of how shaken he was. Drazi *never* ignored insults, even the bantering ones that species like Humans, Narn and Centauri liked to toss around amongst themselves. "Mazrakh... one of three survivors, when Glorious Teeth were destroyed in outpost near edge of Ancient Enemy's space. Slain by creature such as we fought here. Mazrakh claimed creature... *overlooked* him. Others... could not say." "It's a shapeshifter of some sort," said Ivanova, voice low. "Like the Vorlons, in a way. It can live inside another body, feeding off their mass. The one we fought on B5 had been trapped that way for over a hundred years." "Hibernation mode, possibly," said Snow. "Coming awake to scan through whatsisname, Mazrakh, if it could tap into his senses, and then going dormant again." Khovrath nodded. "Captain Green Leader. Must claim status... as prisoner-of-war. I demand return to Zhabar soon as possible." "Demand?" said Corelli, raising his gun. "You were quick enough to deny the Interstellar Alliance's regulations out here. Now you invoke them when you need them?" "Lieutenant, belay that." Corelli looked over at her, mouth open; but the look in her eyes stopped his protest. He simply nodded brusquely and lowered his rifle. Ivanova nodded. "Very good, Lieutenant. And because you didn't give me any backtalk, I'll explain." "I gotta say, Cap, I kinda wish you would," murmured Snow as diffidently as possible. "This thing, this Warrior, was inside that Drazi for years, learning what he learned, seeing what he saw," said Ivanova. She looked from Corelli to Khovrath to Snow to Waverly, trying to make sure they all understood. "Who knows what secrets it might have sent, somehow, back to others? What it's learned about the Drazi Freehold? And who knows whether there aren't other agents still left over in places like the Centauri Republic, or on the Narn homeworld? Even," she added after a pause, "in the Earth Alliance? Or Earthdome itself?" Her only answer was silence. Ivanova turned to Khovrath. "Your status is granted. We'll return you to our ship, take you to Outpost VC-22 and have a diplomatic courier meet you there to transport you to Zhabar." "Own ship we have," said Khovrath. "I'm not surprised," said Ivanova. "But I don't trust you that much, Khovrath. Put you aboard a corsair or a battlehawk, you might decide to keep your own scavenging secret by trying to take us out." Khovrath looked offended. "Do you doubt Drazi honour?" "Let's just say I'd rather not offer anyone any unnecessary temptation." Without waiting for his answer she turned away and beckoned Snow to follow her. They walked back to Braun, who was running instruments over his tissue-samples, absorbed. The Sharasai sat around him and glared at him, but he was lost in the readouts of his sensors. "Doctor." Braun looked up. "Captain." "You said you had gained some control over the nervous systems of the City." Ivanova really, really hated doing this, but going back wasn't an option, not with this many people, not now. "Can you operate the portals?" "I believe so." Ivanova felt like punching him. She didn't want to hear "believe". Still, she knew there wasn't much choice. She needed the insurance. With any luck she wouldn't need it, but.... Carefully she formed a thought in her mind and tried to send it to Tisiara. The feeling was strange, like walking on weak and trembly limbs after a long sickness: quivering and uncertain, an almost painful strain. <[fatigue]/[reluctant amusement] too long a story to tell now> A shadow of something vast and terrifying moved over Ivanova's mind, like a hand demonstrating a grip of crushing strength. She understood with a sickening gut-drop of fear. Communion. Total merging - Tisiara would know everything she knew, and she would know everything Tisiara knew. No. There was not even any thought to it - only a blind, reflexive recoiling like a jerk away from a live cable. Susan had not shown her soul to anyone since her mother had died, not her father, not Marcus, not even Talia, though the long-lost young telepath had been the closest she'd come. Now there was no question of even trying. The fear alone almost threw her out of the link before Tisiara strengthened her own power to compensate. Sheer astonished confusion radiated from the little alien's mind, like a doctor offering to cure blindness and being rejected. It was almost breathless, but hard as a gallstone. Tisiara hesitated. The Sharasai lifted her head, the others around her following her lead, and the signal wafted skyward into the aether. There was no response. Silence. "Captain?" It was Waverly's voice. He and Corelli had followed them over. Ivanova had to moisten suddenly dry lips. "The Sharasai are attempting to contact the City's consciousness and learn a way out." Everything she'd learned from those few minutes of union was fading. Already she had only a hazy idea of where they were in relation to their entry point, and none at all of where they were beneath the surface. "But they don't seem to be getting any response." Braun frowned. He tapped controls on his biocontrol unit. His eyes widened. "Oh dear." Ivanova turned slowly towards him. Her eyes burned, whether with incipient tears or fury she couldn't tell. "Doctor, if you would care to explain the comment 'Oh dear'?" Braun hesitated. "The signals in the tissue around us appear to be losing coherence. Apparently my neutralization of part of the bioneural network seems to have had greater effect than I thought." "What are you *saying*, Doctor?!" Corelli snapped. Braun visibly gathered himself. "That the energy expended in the battle with the creature, combined with the disinhibitory effect of my pain block, appears to have unbalanced the systems of the City. It is losing its ability to maintain organic integrity against the damage sustained above." The room was silent for a long moment. "You mean," said Snow at last, "it's dying." Braun took a deep breath. "Yes. I would estimate that we have less than an hour left before all organic activity ceases completely." "And what happens then?!" Ivanova wanted to grab the scientist by the shoulders and shake him until his teeth rattled, but she couldn't bring herself to touch him. "Possibly nothing. Possibly the collapse of the infrastructures. Possibly something worse." Braun shook his head. "I'm sorry, Captain. I simply don't know." Waverly's eyes widened. "Well -- well then we better leave as soon as we can, right?" He looked around. "Right?" Ivanova met his gaze and said one despairing word: "How?" EAS *SAINT-GERMAIN* 23:24 EST "Commander DeClercq!" DeClercq jerked upright. He was almost grateful for the cry, startled as he was; he had actually been on the verge of drifting off - an unsurprising response in a fifty-year-old body subjected to the crushing G-force of starfighter flight, but try telling that to the Articles of Duty. "Yes! Mr. Clegg!" "Sir, you'd better come and take a look at these readings." Clegg's voice was heavy with dread. Galvanized, DeClercq hastened to the ladder and climbed up to the second deck. Ramirez followed, frowning with concern. Together the two of them peered over Clegg's shoulders. "This energy reading here, the IR and the EM. A few minutes ago they started climbing." Clegg indicated the slow rise on the sensors' displays. "The output from the city's increasing." "Another weapons system?" said Ramirez. "No. No, it's not fast enough or focused enough for that, sir. I think - " Clegg swallowed. "I think something's changed in the blast zone from our attack." DeClercq's stomach sank into a cold darkness. "Changed?" "Increased. Sir - I think the subatomic dynamics have shifted somehow. The matter breakdown is becoming chain-reactive." "You mean that - " Ramirez couldn't finish. "Yessir. The blast zone is growing. And if my calculations are right - " a tremble came into Clegg's voice - "we have less than an hour before everything... and everyone... down there is irrevocably consumed." ...TO BE CONTINUED From: Stephen J. Barringer Date: August 29, 1999 To: b5-creative@lists.best.com Subject: WANDERING STAR 37/?? To the rest of the VS6 writing team: Anne, David, Gareth, Gary, and Sel. Your efforts inspire me more than I can say. (I was gonna *try* for humorous but it's too late at night and I'm zonked.) And to everyone who's liked what they've read so far, both of this and VS6.... *****************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.) ************************************************** < < W A N D E R I N G S T A R > > PART II: SCAVENGER HUNT - 32 - SKYHOPPER FLIGHT SHUTTLE ONE 23:26 EST It was all Morgan could think as he kept the shuttle circling around, only dozens of metres above the cityscape, trying with eyes and sensors and all his considerable intuitive faculties to find a landing site. But there was nothing. The buildings were *changing colour* as he watched, some of them developing a sick, fevered radiance while others slowly darkened into a corpselike pallor. Ripples of light moved from building to building in quick, almost spasmodic movements. And at the heart of the city there still burned the great inferno of the cannon detonation, the place where two mighty weapons drawing power from ancient technologies had clashed and destroyed reality around them. And somewhere down there, *underneath* that fire, were Tiffany, and Matthew, and Leandro, and Susan.... He checked one of the displays on his console. His eyes widened, squeezed shut for one involuntary moment of despair, then popped open again. He hit the comlink. "Morgan to Takayama!" "Go ahead -- Ensign." Only the broken jaggedness of Takayama's sentences showed the furious effort of holding his position in the storm. "Try to - be brief - if you can!" "Fuel's getting critical, sir. I can't circle much longer before I either have to burn for orbit or put down for good. Lieutenant Yves is probably in the same situation." He carefully kept silent his growing and somewhat uncharitable conviction that Yves would have preferred to strand them all rather than admit a problem. "Have you gotten an uplink to the ship yet?" "Skyjacker's uplinking - any second now - " EAS *SAINT-GERMAIN* 23:27 EST " - elta Flight Five calling *Saint-Germain*, come in, *Saint-Germain!*" Bailey whipped about in her seat. "Commander!" she screamed, but DeClercq had heard the dim crackling transmission as well and was already bolting for her station. She thrust herself aside as the commander flung himself at the console. "This is Commander DeClercq to Delta Five! Status report! Over!" "Lieutenant JG Brian 'Skyjacker' Holmes, sir!" came back the young, ragged voice. "Skyhopper Flight is circling in handoff mode, ready to guide Shuttles One and Two up the moment we retrieve the ground team." "Have you had any *contact* with the ground team?" "Negative, sir!" DeClercq cast a helpless look at Ramirez, who clenched his fist. "We've got to get them out of there." "Suggestions?" Ramirez hesitated a moment; then fury and inspiration coalesced in his eyes into a hard, almost lunatic gleam. "Same way we got them in. Target a location, move off to ensure safety, and blast a way in with the main guns." DeClercq opened his mouth, but the rebuke he was about to shout died in his throat. Violent and brutally unsubtle it might be, but they had no other hope left. All they needed was some way to *target* them. Some way to get or receive a signal. But it was hopeless. Only a tachyon signal could penetrate the disruption and the hundreds of metres of solid alien matter that lay between him and the Captain, and not even the Minbari had ever made a tachyon transmitter small enough to be portable. And if any Vorlon transmitter remained intact and functioning down in that hell, the odds of the Captain finding it and figuring out how to operate it, even with Braun's or Snow's help, were impossible. From Clegg's console down the line of stations came a as a computer routine finished. Clegg's eyes flickered over the readout; his pallid face pulled tight in a grimace of dread. "Analysis completed, sir. Computer estimates forty-six minutes before the city is completely consumed." The comlink crackled. "Delta Five to Commander DeClercq - your orders, sir?" DeClercq's hands knotted on the back of Bailey's accelseat. "Orders, sir?" Ramirez' wide eyes shone. Sweat gleamed on his brow as he stared at his commander. But DeClercq didn't move. "Orders?" VORLON HABITAT 23:29 EST In the silence of the underground chamber, not even Tisiara or her fellows made any sound. Waverly's eyes were wide with something that he was rigidly refusing to let become panic. This wasn't how he had wanted to die. Not that he *wanted* to die, now or ever, really. But he'd grown up on tales of war and battle, grown up with a violent past of his own about which he thought as little as possible, and of which he spoke less. The reality of death itself, he thought he understood. *His* death - He had never really believed it. Even in a childhood of secrets and darkness, there had been a part of him that had simply refused to accept the possibility of his own demise. That conviction - that sheer arrogance, his few friends had called it - had itself been all that kept him alive more than once, in the face of injury and despair. It had never faltered. Not once. But the conviction had been based on a knowledge of himself, his allies, and his situation that had always been as complete as he could make it. Most of all it had been based on a knowledge of *place* -- of the home that was all the world he'd ever known. It had carried over into the strangeness of Earthforce with only slight mitigation. He had thought it would survive anything the universe could throw at him. The *Saint-Germain* had shaken Waverly badly. He knew his own worth. He was not the best of Earthforce but he was far from being the worst, either - and he'd been assigned to what *everyone* in the Force knew was a jinx ship. He didn't even know why. He supposed there was some senior officer sitting in an office back on Earth with a smirk of revenge - God knew he'd pissed off enough people by refusing to kiss ass twenty-four hours a day - but he couldn't have guessed which one if his life depended on it. Then he'd found out who he was stuck with *on* the ship. John Sheridan's right-hand woman, the Coward of Vega VII, a hothead from the *Apollo*, a bitter doctor with a grudge, the ditziest genius he'd ever met, and a host of other Earthforce ragtag. He didn't belong here. He might not have deserved the Force's plum assignment, but he deserved more than this. And then he'd found out where they were going. He hadn't let it throw him at the time - it had even sounded halfway exciting. But here, now, in unknown space, beneath a burning, dying alien city, battling Drazi raiders, living walls and shadow-spawned monsters, and suddenly slapped in the face with the realization that his own headlong drop into this chaos might be within minutes of killing him - He clenched his fists, quietly, down beside his thighs so no one would see him do it. No. He wasn't going to die here. Not now, not like this. He *refused* to let it happen like this. Not to him, not to Leandro and Tiffany, not to the Captain or the little aliens - The answer was so quick and complete he couldn't believe nobody had thought of it already. "All we have to do," he said, a roughness in his voice that he devoutly hoped they would think was anger, "is find a way to signal the *Saint-Germain*. We tell them to blast another borehole. Have the shuttles hover and drop in retrieval lines - they're both equipped. There's maybe - " he swept a quick look around the group - "fifty of us all told. Ten-fifteen minutes retrieval tops, then we burn for orbit and get the hell out of here." Corelli's jaw clenched. "Matt - we haven't been able to restore a signal connection since we went underground. Our links don't have the power to get through the interference!" "So who says we have to use ours?" Matt pointed at the Sharasai. "*They* signaled us from the goddam *listening post*! They've gotta have a goddam tachyon transmitter, why the hell don't we use *that*?" For a moment, nobody said anything. But Braun's eyebrows actually jumped skyward, a look of surprise more naked than any expression the young security chief had ever seen on the man's face. "Chief - " Ivanova's voice was slow, as if she had to fight to get the words out - "remind me, when we get back, either to promote you or kill you." Waverly grinned. Snow dropped to kneel beside Tisiara. "Tish, sweetie - do you know anything about the signal devices that we answered to come here? Where they would be, how they work?" Tisiara blinked back at her. "Um - the things the Masters used to talk to other places? To other worlds, other Cities? Did they have a special thing they used, or place to go, or -- " Without warning Tisiara broke from the clump of Sharasai, sprinting with a skittering sound of claws on the floor. The other Sharasai were quick to follow. Snow stared openmouthed. Ivanova struck her on the back of the head. Tiffany reeled. "Ow!" "Don't just *stand* there!" Ivanova snapped. She broke into a run herself, charging after the aliens. "Come *on!* All of you, *move!*" The floor echoed to a sudden thunder as the soldiers, Drazi, and Earthforcers poured down the corridor after their Captain. SKYHOPPER FLIGHT SHUTTLE ONE 23:31 EST Five minutes. Morgan fought the queasy cold in his stomach without success. Still there had been no word from the *Saint-Germain*. Five minutes was another few hundred kilos of fuel gone, fuel he couldn't afford to lose. If he set down sometime in the next five minutes, he might -- *might* -- be able to make one more blast for orbit. He didn't want to think about what would happen if he was wrong. He didn't want to think about what might be happening on the bridge, either, but he didn't have any choice at this point. It had been too long. And for all that he liked and respected DeClercq - believed in him more than DeClercq did himself, he knew - the possibility had to be faced. The Commander *had* lost his control in command once before. And he'd been broken for it while the colonists of Vega VII had died. If a similar panic had him now.... If DeClercq *had* lost it, there was one way to get around it. Whatever Ramirez's faults, freezing wasn't one of them. But Ramirez's odd conception of honour might prevent him actually taking command of the ship until somehow given fair permission. He would need an authorization he'd be reluctant to take for himself - Kimeda could certify that DeClercq was unfit for command. Morgan activated his comlink. "Computer - uplink to Medbay One, direct to Dr. Alexandra Kimeda's personal station, secure link." "Establishing," said the computer. And then, a beat later: "Link refused. Personal station of Dr. Alexandra Kimeda engaged in exclusive transmission." "Override! Authority Ensign Thomas Morgan, Emergency Protocol Alpha, ID 389FJY83874!" "Override denied. Authority insufficient." Insuf -- ? What the hell kind of transmission was Kimeda using that he couldn't override? What was she doing transmitting anywhere, for that matter? There was no time to worry about it now. He switched to signal Takayama. "Skyhopper Flight Leader!" "Go ahead!" "Lieutenant, I've got two minutes of fuel left to spare. I don't set down now, we are never getting off this planet!" "If you can find a place, Ensign -- !" Morgan scanned across the burning cityscape and gulped. Little was left. He wasn't sure he trusted any of the buildings down there to hold the shuttle's weight, and - wait. There. A park. Just barely big enough, but it might do. He banked left and shot towards it, smoke and rain whipping around him. "This is Shuttle One, setting down." Was the lake of fire at the city's heart getting bigger? He wasn't sure. God, he hoped not. VORLON HABITAT 23:34 EST They'd had to move single file through a narrow passageway before emerging into the Chamber - so Snow had begun calling it as they'd moved, and Ivanova could hear the capital in her chief engineer's voice. It had ascended a little, thankfully. If the *Saint-Germain* had to burn through all the way, the shorter the distance the less energy they'd spend - and the quicker the bore tunnel would cool to the point they could actually get through it. Nonetheless, the moment they did, they slowed and stopped. There seemed to be no choice when faced with the latest Vorlon wonder. The resemblance to the heart of the Great Machine, deep within Epsilon 3, could not be coincidental. What they stood on was not a floor, precisely. It was a mesh of thin but dense organic cabling that wove together to form a strong supportive surface. But through it they could see the open cylindrical space descending farther than light or sight could touch. Above them the Chamber ascended into darkness. Long ribbed and fluted columns of pearlescent material ran the length of the tube, disappearing above and below into shadow; they flickered weakly with residual energies. It was narrower than the Great Machine's chamber, and not as well lit. And it smelled - a stench like the ashes of a greenhouse. Tisiara sent, simply. Singing. Yes. But Ivanova knew what it was singing now. Silence and pain. Only the weakness of the power still clinging to the organic circuits gave any hint of potential. Like a brain lethally crippled by a stroke, the neural nets of the City were dying, sections shutting down one by one. Certain functions might cling for hours, others lost instantly. But the final darkness was inevitable. She could only hope that there was enough power left, and enough undecayed memory, to bring back the entity she had seen before - the automated simulacrum that, she suspected, had been the force that had summoned them. Why them? Why now? Those were still unanswered, and for now unimportant. But if there was any reason, any reason at all - and the Vorlons did *nothing* without a reason, obscure and incomprehensible as it might be - then that need for reason, for *order*, might be their salvation. It had to be. It was the only hope they had left. ...TO BE CONTINUED