Part Five:
.~~.
MINUTES LATER, in the MedLab, G'kar had been in and out of conciousness for only an hour, tops. When he opened his eyes now, he saw Vir there. G'kar asked, "What do you want?"Vir winced. "I don't want anything," he said honestly.
"Why are you here," G'kar asked again; his throat hadn't been too badly hurt, nowhere near the level of pain there as was in his chest. Phantom pains flickered across where one of his pouches had been.
"I just came by to drop something off; a gift for you. Ambassador Mollari approved it." `I'm too busy right now, Vir' Mollari had said, `you go down and give it to him.'
And like a good little aide, Vir had done so. But he'd heard the tones in Londo's voice; the ambassador could hide things from everyone else, but Vir could tell things, he knew things from quiet listening. Londo's voice had been heavy with more than just the usual weight that had taken up a position ever since Mister Morden had become associated with Centauri business.
G'kar sniffed at the air. "Bree?"
Vir gave the Centauri version of a nod; G'kar recognized the gesture from during the Centauri occupation of Narn.
"Where did you get it?"
Vir gave the truth: "I bought it from a grocer here on the Station."
"I see," G'kar said, neutrally.
If Vir was a Human, he may very well have started to sweat bullets, as the saying goes.
.~~.
MEANWHILES, Zack and Lyta were walking together, discussing pizza toppings. He hadn't really known what to discuss with her, and the idea of pizza just slipped from his lips before he could've stopped it. "_Hygrag [giskt] slhopp_," Zack said. "Pak'ma'ra delicacy." When Lyta raised an eyebrow, "Not kidding. And it's probably the one thing they eat that hasn't been sitting out for a week."Skeptically, "I might try it one day. Might," Lyta emphasized.
"What about you?" Zack asked, curious. "What's your favorite non- Earth topping?"
Lyta thought about the foods of the worlds she'd visited while in the employ of the Shadows. And she named none of them. Secrets. "_Bree_," she said, simply and bluntly.
Just as Zack was about to respond, reply, comment on that, there was -- "_Hhhhhrrrhhhggghh_," said the Shadow. Lyta knew it said _Duty required / Vir / Now / G'kar / Now / Reciprocal obligation_ and a few other things. Their language was multi-level.
Lyta knew she hadn't yet asked Vir what he wanted; Morden had tried, and only gotten a death request.
Zack muttered to himself. "I really have to get the maintainance guys down here, get the ventilation pipes fixed once and for all."
Lyta didn't reply to that. But she did say, "I should probably be going, Zack. You've probably got a lot of work to do."
"I'm off-duty right now."
"Well, most people need to sleep so they're at their best," Lyta said.
Zack nodded. "Yeah. That's me, alright. So," he said, just before heading off, "so I'll be seeing you?"
Lyta smiled. "I have the strangest feeling that you will, Zack." Once Zack had walked off, Lyta turned around and headed for the MedLab -- her next target, the locality she'd been instructed to go to.
.~~.
TEN MINUTES LATER, Bester stood in one of the observation rooms that looked out on the stars.No ships or manmade things obscured the view. Only clear material and frameworks divided Bester and the air he breathed from the not- really-a-vacuum of space. Bester just stood, watched the stars as the station moved, presenting the illusion of stellar motion.
"Carolyn," he said quietly to the stars.
She had been killed by whatever had destroyed the PsiCorps on Mars. It had been no Human hand that'd wrecked that havoc, Bester knew; he felt that much deep in his heart, in his mind.
"You will be avenged," he said in that same decibel level as before. "Even if I have to..." the phrase `make a deal with the devil', however apt, was too cliched. "Whatever I have to do, it will be done. On my life, on my -- on my soul."
No Shadow or associate of the Shadows heard him.
.~~.
ONE DAY LATERS, Evening-time as Garibaldi's clocks recorded it. He answered the ringing at the door of his quarters, finding that it was Lyta. "Can I help you?" he asked.He knew he knew her, from back when Sinclair was new on the station. He knew they'd interacted only a little back then. But he didn't know that Lyta was conciously keeping him from remembering anything about work from the last few days.
"I was in the neighborhood," Lyta said, "and thought I'd stop by. Is that okay?"
A nod. "No problem," Garibaldi said. "Come on in. Sit down if you want."
`Want'. "I'd like that," Lyta said, taking a seat.
"It's been a while," Garibaldi said. "What've you been up to," trying to remember what she used to to here on B5 -- memories wove and tangled, associations forming with various things. He didn't think she'd been PsiCorps -- because she wasn't wearing the badge of that group.
More block.
"Oh, this and that. Mostly though, I've been traveling."
"Sounds like fun."
"For the most part, yeah, it was. And what about you?"
"What about me?" Garibaldi asked, self-depreciatingly. "Same old same old."
Lyta nodded sympathetically. "Well, would you change it if you could?"
"I don't know, maybe, maybe not. Time and me, we don't always get along, ya know?"
_No, not really._ "Oftentimes. So, what do you want?" Lyta asked, curious.
"I don't follow."
Lyta frowned. "I thought it was a nice, simple question."
_Not on your life, it's not,_ Garibaldi thought to himself. "With me, nothing's ever nice and simple."
"People are complicated," Lyta agreed. "But questions don't have the same depth . . . at least, not that I've noticed."
To avoid having to answer the question, he asked, "Want something to drink?"
Lyta nodded. "Do you have any orange juice?" Her favorite, along one or two others.
"Comin' right up," Garibaldi said, ducking into the kitchen. As he poured, he couldn't help but muse, _What do I want?? What - do - I want? I want a second chance with Lise. I want to never touch another drop of alcohol again. I want...I want... I think that's it._
He left the kitchen and handed Lyta a cup with orange juice. Garibaldi shook his head. "Nothing you could help with, sorry."
Lyta kept a neutral face on. "Just thought to ask. Thanks for taking some time out of your busy schedule."
"Not a problem."
Sipping the orange juice, "Delicious. All natural?"
Nodding, "But don't tell anyone, okay? I don't want the rest of the station pounding down my door."
Making a mental note of that, Lyta nodded. "You have nothing to worry about, Mr. Garibaldi."
They made a little bit more small talk, then, glass empty, Lyta excused herself, and left.
The door shut behind her, and Lyta rushed to the nearest corner, to collapse against, breathing heavily. The psi effort had been immense, given how often Garibaldi had tried to think about his job.
_Workaholic._
"Is there a problem?" Morden asked her.
_Trust him to be here,_ Lyta thought to herself. "No, no problem. Just catching my breath." Standing back up, "Thanks for asking."
"Not a problem." Morden spread his hands out. "I live to serve." The grin on his face was not the usual fare that folks like Londo got to see.
Morden considered Lyta. "Hungry?"
She nodded. "Famished."
.~~.
tbc.next time...things start to wrap up...preparing for the future, while settling some things in order.