FreezeFrame Part 5 JULY 13, 2261 Morning Garibaldi and Sheridan settled down with two cups of kafe, and Michael tried to lay out for John all that he knew, and more importantly, all that he didn't know, about Jeremy and his information, about the destruction of the Valhalla, the analysis of the debris, and the path it had taken to get to them. He spelled it out step by step, in as much detail and with as much order as he could manage, as much for himself as for John. He needed to find the pattern, the logic, the key that would unlock the puzzle. He found himself talking about Daniel Shannon, more than he had intended to, and from there it was a short hop to PsiCorps, and to Evan Lomeda, and soon he had come full circle to Jeremy. "John, I think we've got to get him out of there," he heard himself say. "He's in danger, and with what he knows, that puts us all in danger." Sheridan slumped back in his chair. "You don't do anything by halves, do you, Michael?" He breathed a long sigh, and looked back to his old friend. "So what now?" Garibaldi hid a smile in his coffee cup. "I was hoping you had the answer to that one." Sheridan stood and paced a path between the couch and the desk. "We're on alert, Michael. I've got to put the defense of the station first. And we've already diluted our resources to send help to Mars." He stopped and looked at Garibaldi. "I understand your concern for your contact, but I don't think we're in a position to mount a rescue operation." Michael jumped up. "No, no, no. I wasn't asking you to, John. I'm sorry. I'm thinking out loud more than anything else. We'll find a way to get Jeremy to safety. That's our problem." "But what I hear you saying, Michael, is that we may have a larger problem than just the explosion of the Valhalla and Clark's retaliation for that. You're telling me that PsiCorps is running covert operations on both sides of the conflict." "I think I am, John." He crossed to Sheridan's desk, danced his fingers across the polished surface. "John, you know me. You know how I am about telepaths. I could sit here and go down a list of little things that have stuck in my mind, stuck in my craw, over the years, things that to me said PsiCorps is the real enemy. But that's just me, being paranoid again." He stepped up closer to Sheridan, met his eyes, swallowed hard. "Or maybe it's not." The silence was long, icy, and deep. Sheridan's sigh broke it finally. "All right, but we need something more solid. Let's...damn it, Michael! Investigation is your field. Let's what?" "I'm going to get the computer working on the names I got from Jeremy last night. Lomeda isn't even using an alias. That says they're getting brazen, so maybe we can track the others too. Zack is trying to find Shannon again. We've got some more questions we want to ask him. With your permission, I'd like to have the lab take another pass at the debris he brought us. See if they missed anything the first time." Sheridan nodded his assent. "If you could get Stephen to make touch with the folks on Mars, see if they've got anything else -- debris from the explosion, leads, hunches, anything -- that would be helpful. In particular, if you don't think we're tipping our hand too badly, ask them about the Corps, whether they're aware of increased activity." Garibaldi shrugged. "Ask them what they know about Daniel Shannon. Or about Cameron Reynolds." "Consider it done, Michael," Sheridan replied. "If Lyta identified Lomeda, is it possible she can help with the others?" "Possible. We'll certainly ask." Sheridan stepped behind his desk, contemplated the flimsies scattered across it for a moment, and then looked up at Garibaldi with a new determination. "Michael, I want you to present the whole thing to the War Council at 1700." "John, this is still in the realm of hunch..." he protested. The captain held up a hand to silence him. "Your hunches are better than most people's facts, Michael. And if hunch is all we've got, then hunch is what we'll go with." He came back around to Garibaldi's side of the desk. "What's important is that we face this together. I want everyone up to speed on this." Garibaldi cocked his head to one side and raised an eyebrow. "Whatever you say, Captain." He paused in the doorway and turned back to Sheridan. "Can I ask you one other question, Captain?" The commander, seated now behind his desk, looked up, curious. "Why isn't Zack in the War Council?" Sheridan's mouth opened but no answer came forth. "Don't get me wrong, John, I'm honored that you asked me back. But I resigned -- that was probably one of the stupidest things I ever did, but I did it. Zack Allan's your Chief of Security. Seems to me, he ought to be at that table." JULY 13, 2261 Late morning The dark figure of Marcus Cole blocked the door to the Chief of Security's office, Garibaldi noted as he arrived. He smiled a greeting at the agent working the front desk of the station house and approached the Ranger. "Mr. Allan just asked for a moment," Marcus offered when Garibaldi was in earshot. "He has a message from the Captain." "No problem," Michael assured him. "Thank you for setting this up, Marcus. Are we on now?" "As soon as Mr. Allan is available, if that meets with your approval." "That's fine, thank you." With that the office door slid open and Zack Allan ducked under. "Come on in, fellas. Sorry to keep you waiting." He gestured toward the chairs. "Sit down, sit down." Garibaldi didn't sit. Rather he hovered near the open door and considered what was ahead of them. "Zack," he said softly, "would you mind if we closed this? I think we may want some privacy." Allan bustled around the little office, locking the doors and double-checking that all surveillance devices were off. Garibaldi and Cole stood near their chairs until the lanky figure in the black uniform joined them, and then the three settled down together. "Michael, before you start," Allan began, "I've got a couple of things for you. First of all, Daniel Shannon..." Marcus looked up with interest. "I did find him last night, at least, I found his hotel. He rolled in early this morning. I didn't want to wake you, so I made an appointment with him to show up here today, and I let him know how disappointed we'd be if he forgot us." Zack flashed his predecessor an evil grin, before continuing. "I got a man on surveillance just in case he needs reminding." Allan's long arm fished a folder from the desk behind him. "The other thing...I thought you'd wanna see this right away. Our friends in the lab passed it on to me early this morning." He drew a document from the folder and handed it to Garibaldi. The older man whistled when he saw what he held. "Interesting, huh?" Allan asked. "Especially after our conversation last night." Garibaldi thanked him, and asked to have that thanks conveyed to the people in the lab. Tucking the document inside his jacket, he looked to the bearded man opposite him. "Marcus, I think it's time we brought you up to speed on what we've learned about Daniel Shannon, and then I'm going to ask you to help us put the rest of the pieces together." The Ranger's eyes narrowed with interest. He listened closely as Garibaldi summarized his interactions with Shannon over the last few days. Information garnered from Lyta and Carly was accepted without comment. Garibaldi reminded the man of their conversation on the observation dome, and explained the results of the computer searches that exchange had prompted. "Marcus, when you met Cameron Reynolds, did you get any idea, even a hint, that he was a telepath?" "None at all," he replied. Reflecting for a moment, he lifted his gaze to his companions. "Neither from Reynolds himself nor from anyone else there. There was no indication that anyone was aware of such ability." Marcus shifted uncomfortably in his chair and huffed out a sigh. "You're certain he truly is a telepath? This is not some fiction he's concocted?" Garibaldi's head rocked side to side. "Lyta confirms it from the scan." A glance at Zack found him studying the Ranger. Michael decided to add the information he'd been debating about. "She says he's stronger than any P12 she's ever known." "So you're suggesting that not only was I giving him information because I trusted him as a member of the Resistance," a now angry Marcus observed, "but he was helping himself to anything else in my brain which might have appeared useful to him." "We don't know that," Zack interrupted. "Let's stay with the facts, all right, and try to establish what is and isn't true. We know Shannon's a strong telepath, but it doesn't appear that anyone in the Resistance knew that. We don't know when he went rogue. He may have been hiding the fact that he was a teep because he was on the run." "Or because he was spying for those buggers," Marcus' anger erupted. Garibaldi spoke softly, simple words carrying faint comfort. "Either way, Marcus, you couldn't have known. There's no way you could have seen he was a telepath if he didn't want you to." He opted to say the words no one ever wanted to hear. "It's not your fault." The Ranger fumed and fidgeted; his eyes searched the air over his companions' heads. Allan spoke again. "If he was getting any information, from you, or from anyone else in the Resistance, it doesn't look like he was doing much with it. I talked to the Doc this morning, and we can't come up with any raids on the Resistance, or any actions that were disrupted. It doesn't look like Shannon was there to sabotage things." "Why then?" the bearded man asked, his mood shifting as curiosity seized him. "And why shift his story when he gets here?" Zack asked. "Why tell us he's a rogue?" The Ranger considered a moment. "Perhaps he was attempting to win our sympathies..." Garibaldi shook his head. "No. Think about this. Put yourself in his situation. Let's suppose I'm a PsiCorps operative and I've infiltrated the Resistance on Mars. Successfully, it would seem, form what you've told us, Marcus. Now I want to get to Babylon 5 and insinuate myself with the people there." Michael abandoned his chair. "Why would I change my story? I'd set it up so that it looked like Clark's goons had made me -- maybe arrange to get myself arrested and then escape. If I'm working with the Corps, I can pull that off. Show up here, with references from the Resistance folks on Mars, and our sympathy right off the bat because Clark's people are after me." "OK," Zack suggested, "so let's back up. What if he was already rogue when he joined the Resistance? He's not letting on that he's a teep because he's afraid of it getting back to the Corps. But maybe it gets back to the them anyway, and they start looking for him. So he works up a new alias, gets off planet, and heads for Babylon 5 to disappear." He looked from one to the other of his companions. "Whadda ya think?" "Why does he deny knowing me?" the Ranger queried. Zack's face went slack. Garibaldi slipped back into a chair. "Who knows? Maybe he really didn't recognize you. Maybe -- if we buy Zack's scenario -- he thinks you're the one who ratted him out." "I'll watch my back," Marcus interjected. Garibaldi's grin faded quickly. "What's more important is that we find out what he knows about the bigger picture." "Bigger picture?" the Ranger asked. Garibaldi and Allan leaned forward and began to recount their suspicions. Marcus' confusion yielded to comprehension then to concern. "If they've infiltrated the Resistance, and the highest offices of EarthGov, where else might they be? Are they in the military?" He looked from one to the other. "Do you think the station's been compromised?" "We simply don't know, Marcus. It's all guesswork right now," Garibaldi said. He cocked his head to one side, regarded the Ranger with a calculating glance. "Marcus, you said one of the White Stars has been near Mars but left for Io shortly after the explosion." "Yes, White Star 22," he replied. "Almost immediately after the blast." "Why?" Garibaldi inquired. "Why at that moment? And why for Io?" The Ranger was suddenly on his feet. "Mr. Garibaldi, I resent the implication..." "Hold it!" Zack's voice broke through Marcus' declamation. "I don't think Michael was implying anything. And if he was," Allan looked at his predecessor sternly, "I'm sure he's thought better of it by now." "I'm sorry, Marcus, I didn't mean it the way it sounded. You know the respect I have for the Rangers." Zack Allan huffed in resolution. "So maybe you could just sit down," he said to Marcus, "and maybe you could explain yourself." This last was aimed at Michael. Marcus sat silent and still sullen. Garibaldi nodded and tried again. "I'm sorry. None of us would want to think the Rangers had been compromised. All I was trying to say was there must have been something they thought was important out at Io for them to head there instead of staying around to gather information about the explosion. But what was it?" Marcus considered the question in silence. "Michael," Zack's voice was cautious and curious, "your guy -- what's his name? Trevor? Wasn't it Io he took off for too?" "Exactly," Michael replied, punctuating it with a rap on the table. He sat back in his chair. "So what's at Io?" "Trevor?" Marcus inquired. "The gentleman...?" His eyes widened as he looked at Garibaldi. The older man understood the unfinished question. "Yeah, that guy." "That may have been personal, Michael," the Ranger began but the sound of Allan's link interrupted. "Chief," said the voice of the agent in the outer office, "there's a Mr. Shannon here to see you." Zack shot a glance at Garibaldi. "Thank Mr. Shannon for coming, and tell him I'll be right with him." He tapped the link off. "We ready to do this?" Michael nodded. Marcus rose and straightened the duster around him. "I'll leave you then." "Actually," Michael said, jumping from his chair, "I'd like you to stay, if you're willing. The more eyes and ears on him the better, and besides, you've got a personal stake in this conversation." Cole looked from Garibaldi to Allan. "Sit down, Marcus," Zack said. " I'll get Shannon." He strode to the door, unlocked it, and let it slide open. "Mr. Shannon! Please come in. Sorry to keep you waiting." Stepping aside, he cleared the doorway for the telepath. "I believe you know Michael Garibaldi and Marcus Cole." The men exchanged greetings, and Shannon was offered a chair. Garibaldi thought he looked surprised, though not nervous, and remembered Lyta's comments about Shannon's lack of defenses. He realized Zack had begun. "We appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Shannon and I want to make it clear that we didn't ask you here in connection with any civil or criminal investigation. There are no charges against you and none being considered at this time." Shannon rocked a bit in his chair. "I appreciate that, Mr. Allan. May I ask, then, what this is about?" "Let's just say it's a security concern," the young chief proposed. Garibaldi interjected. "Perhaps I should explain, Dan, since it was our conversation that led to this. And please don't be concerned," Michael said, hand raising to ward off protest. "I assure you I've kept my part of the bargain." He thought he saw relief. "But new questions have arisen since we talked, and Ms. Alexander gave me to understand that you might know more than you were telling." "I never lied to you, Michael," Shannon replied. "No, she was very clear on that, but she was also aware that while you were answering my questions truthfully, you weren't volunteering anything either. So, if you don't mind, we have a few more questions we'd like to ask you." Shannon glanced quickly around the circle, nervousness creeping into his face, Michael thought, when he looked at Marcus. Nevertheless, he agreed, and Garibaldi suggested that Marcus begin. The Ranger nodded but his silence continued a moment longer. Finally he asked, directly and simply, why Shannon chose to pretend they had never met. At first Shannon said nothing, then he looked at Garibaldi, and inquired, "I assume you've shared our conversation with these gentlemen?" Michael nodded. "All the relevant bits." Shannon looked back to Marcus, shrugged off a half-smile. "At first I really didn't remember you. When you came up to me in Customs that first night, I had a vague sense that I knew you, but I couldn't put it into context. As time went on, it started to come into focus, but by then I had realized you weren't altogether sure yourself. It seemed safer to try to convince you it had never happened. I was afraid if you did remember exactly when and how we'd met, you'd betray me." "Whadda ya mean, 'betray me?'" Zack asked. "I'm a rogue telepath, Mr. Allan. A report to the Corps, even a casual comment that finds its way back to them could bring the bloodhounds down on me." "Are you sure that's all?" Garibaldi asked, and watched Shannon's jaw go tight. "Or were you afraid that Marcus would realize that you were still working for the Corps when he met you on Mars?" Shannon closed his eyes, a long meditative blink. "That too, Mr. Garibaldi." Only Shannon's face showed no surprise, no anger. "I'm not particularly proud of that, but I have made my peace with it." He faced Marcus fully. "I'm sorry, Marcus, sorry that I deceived you then, and sorry that I lied to you these last few days." Cole spoke through gritted teeth. "I want to know every piece of information you stole..." "And what you did with it," Zack added. "I really didn't steal all that much. Once I got inside and initially gained people's trust, it was fairly simple to get them to talk to me. You gave me what I wanted. I wanted to know why you were there, who you were looking for, why he was so important. I actually made very little use of my psi powers during my time in the Resistance." "When exactly did you leave the Corps?" Garibaldi asked. Shannon smiled, a smile that piqued Garibaldi's curiosity. "January 13, 2261," the telepath replied without hesitation. He turned to Zack. "I believe, if you check, you'll find that the thirteenth was the day you received the communiqué telling you where to find Mr. Garibaldi." Michael caught Zack's eye, a tiny pulse of the younger man's head confirming Shannon's account. The telepath turned to Marcus. "You convinced me that he was important to the cause." "Thank you," Michael teased Marcus. "Wait a minute!" Allan protested. "You saying you sent that message?" Shannon nodded. "And saw to it he'd be there when you arrived. Sort of my farewell to the Corps." The man's smile was contagious, Michael thought. "One thing I don't understand," Garibaldi interrupted, shifting subject a bit. "OK, you figured Marcus didn't really have you nailed, but someone made you shortly after you got here." Shannon's head bobbed. "Ms. Sullivan?" At Garibaldi's assent, the teep continued. "That scared the hell out of me, but she let me know right off that she wasn't interested in turning me in. She just wanted the truth from me." "If you don't mind my saying so, I don't see why she didn't turn you in. I mean she recognized you as a PsiCop, and we're not real fond of them around here." Zack's challenge met no argument from Shannon. "I'm told that Lyta Alexander supports your claim to be on the run from PsiCorps," Marcus observed, "and I hear some interesting turns of phrase: important to the cause, farewell to the Corps. But why should I believe you're not lying, when you admit you were working for the Corps when last we met." Shannon shook his head. "I can't give you a reason, Marcus. That's why I agreed to the scan, because there is nothing else I can offer to convince any of you that I'm telling the truth. I was a spy. I lied routinely. But if it means anything, it was the time I spent with the Resistance that made me realize that I had to leave the Corps. It didn't start there, and it didn't happen overnight, but I came to that truth while I was there. I came to believe." "Why'd you come here?" Zack challenged. "Why Babylon 5?" This answer didn't come as quickly, and Garibaldi wondered what caused Shannon's hesitation. They waited in silence and finally he responded. "I don't know how much of this you know, and frankly, I am concerned about sharing this, because I may be putting a lot of people in danger." He looked from one man to the next. "But I think I have to give you the truth, if for nothing more than a token of trust. " He drew a long breath and continued. "PsiCorps has been interested in Babylon 5 for a long time and for a lot of reasons. Some were personal: Bester's interest in the blips who were being handed over to the Shadows was really about his Carolyn -- he didn't give a damn about the others. Some were political, some strategic, some propaganda. One, however, was 'family,' shall we say. Babylon 5 has been a meeting ground for blips, rogue telepaths, for a long time now. Word is they're forming a colony here, in the hope of moving off-station when they're larger. As a PsiCop, I listened to plans to hunt them down. Now I'm trying to find them, hoping they'll take me in." "Do you really think they would believe you?" Marcus asked. "I can only hope, Marcus." Garibaldi tipped his chair back and considered Shannon. "What if I could give you a chance to prove yourself?" he asked. Confusion and curiosity contested in the telepath's gaze. "How so?" "Work with us. I can think of a couple of ways -- just off the top of my head - - that you could be useful to us, to the cause as you put it. Work with us, and if there really is a colony of rogue telepaths on the station, we'll put in a good word for you." "Deal," Shannon replied, without pause to consider. "When do I start?" Michael leaned in again. "Right now. We need answers. You were sent to penetrate Mars Resistance. Who else from the Corps has infiltrated those ranks?" Shannon produced two other names, and the advice that in all likelihood he had been replaced, although he did not know by whom. "What about Earth?" Zack asked. "The Resistance there? I've been off world for a couple of years, but to my knowledge, the Corps hasn't made moves into Earth Resistance. The prevailing view when last I was there was that the Resistance movement on Earth was too small to be a serious threat." "What about the government?" Michael demanded. Shannon gave a little chuckle. "The top people in the Corps will be livid when they find out that you suspect that. They really believed they could pull it off invisibly." He sighed. "Oh yes, they're in EarthGov, Michael. The stated goal was to have an operative on the staff of every major legislator, to control their action and influence their decision making." "Names," Zack demanded. "Who's a plant and where?" "I could give you a few names, people I knew personally who were assigned to that project, but they're probably not using those names, and I don't know what offices they ended up in." "How about we give you some names, and you tell who you recognize?" The telepath acquiesced and one by one, Garibaldi threw out the names he had gotten from Jeremy. Two of them Shannon confirmed as members of the Corps. "Evan Lomeda?" Garibaldi asked. "Yes. You made Lomeda too? They're going to be wild when they find out." "Reynaldo Cameron?" As Michael put this final name to Shannon, Marcus shot a perplexed glance across at him. Shannon laughed, waggled his head in chagrin. "You're good. Put him down as ex-PsiCorps. Never did government, though, just Mars Resistance." The group sat quietly for a few moments. No other questions needed immediate answers. "We're going to start a search on those other names, and hopefully locate images of them which can be cross-referenced with the ID files," Garibaldi noted. Shannon offered himself, his help, again. "If you can get images, I may recognize them. And I may still be able to get you into some files you wouldn't ordinarily be able to access." "Can we ask you to work with Sullivan on this?" Michael inquired. Shannon agreed and left for Sullivan's office. JULY 13, 2261 Afternoon The three men stood in Zack Allan's office, silently contemplating the conversation with Daniel Shannon. "What now?" the Ranger asked at last, looking at each of the taller men in turn. "Io," Garibaldi said abruptly. "What?" Zack asked. "I beg your pardon?" Marcus replied. "I want to know what the deal is with Io," Michael elaborated. "Why does a Ranger ship that's close enough to Mars to witness the explosion take off for Io as soon as it happens? And why does a courier who regularly makes the rounds of Resistance cells on Earth and Mars and Babylon 5 drop everything and hop a transport for Io soon after?" "Allow me to pursue these questions, gentleman," the Ranger suggested. "Our inability to make contact with White Star 22 has been a deep concern of mine these last few days. This will provide me the opportunity to unravel several mysteries." The determination in the man's eyes told Michael not to question what he was planning. Marcus took his leave without further discussion. "Michael," Zack asked when the Ranger had gone, "you got another minute?" When Garibaldi indicated affirmatively, Allan again ordered the office door closed. His tone was serious, confidential, and concerned. "Michael, if you can't talk I understand, but..." Allan sighed heavily. "...this whole business of being on alert when it doesn't look like anything's happening is starting to creep me out. I'm not getting much information from the Commander. Do you know what the deal is?" Garibaldi considered his response. "I do, Zack," he said slowly, then with greater determination he continued. "And I'll tell you whatever you want to know, but I think it would be better, and more appropriate, for you to talk to the Captain, and tell him how you feel." He took a breath to continue but stopped short at Zack's response. "I was thinking about doing that. I got a meeting with him later this afternoon." Michael tried not to let his surprise show. "Well good. I'm glad you asked for a meeting." "I didn't." Zack's head rocked back and forth. "He called this morning, said there were meetings he wanted me to start attending and that he'd brief me this afternoon. 1630. I figured I'd ask him then." Garibaldi smiled, communicated again his approval, and proceeded to give Allan a clearer picture of the possible threat. "So why don't we send a squad of 'Furies out to look for her?" Zack asked impatiently. "Clark would just love that. He'd have it all over ISN that we went hunting for an EarthForce cruiser. Besides, you know how tough it is to play hide and seek in hyperspace." The older man started to pace. "Unless..." Zack Allan said softly. Garibaldi halted and swiveled his head round to look at the security chief perched on the edge of the desk. Allan returned the attention, and slowly the two men smiled. JULY 13, 2261 Late Afternoon Garibaldi checked his portfolio yet another time. If he was going to lay out everything he knew for the assembled War Council, he wanted to be sure he had his documentation in order. He fidgeted a bit more with his suit jacket, tucked the briefcase under his arm, and set out for Sullivan's office. The last pieces of information he wanted to collect were, he hoped, waiting with Carly. She and Daniel Shannon had spent the afternoon attempting to trace the identities of PsiCorps' plants in EarthGov. His signal at her office door did not bring immediate response; he judged ten to fifteen seconds between signal and response. Michael ducked under the still opening door, and saw relief flutter in the faces of the man and woman inside. Sullivan ordered the door closed again, rising from her chair and inquiring if they'd like some kafe. Shannon accepted; Garibaldi passed. The telepath had already begun to show Michael what they had found by the time Carly returned with the mugs. As they sipped the hot brew, Garibaldi transcribed some of the information into his notes, and tucked some of their hardcopy into his portfolio. Looking up to offer his thanks to the pair, he froze on seeing Sullivan's face. "Carly! What now?" "Michael, we've got something we to propose to you. It's about Jeremy." JULY 13, 2261 Evening Michael Garibaldi dropped his pace from a flat out run to an easy jog as he neared the War Room. Great impression he'd make being late the day John wanted him to present. Mercifully, as he entered the room he saw that the group was not yet fully assembled. Mentally, he took attendance. Marcus was missing, and the Captain himself. Garibaldi slowed to a walk. He dropped his portfolio on the table in front of his usual chair, but he did not open it, nor did he yet take his seat. Members of the council were chatting quietly in little knots, but he was too nervous for small talk right now. He checked the projection system, fiddled with its controls, and finally returned to his portfolio. One last time he reviewed his notes; one more trip through the documents. His link sounded as he turned the last page, and he hit the metal tag before the full chirp had escaped. "Garibaldi, go." "Mr. Garibaldi," the voice of a young lieutenant said, "I have a message for you from Ms. Sullivan. She says, 'He's gone.'" Michael offered his thanks to the young woman and signed off. He hoped that was good news. The door to Sheridan's office slid open, signaling the group to take their seats. Three chairs stood empty, Michael noted: Sheridan's, Marcus', and one other. The Captain entered, accompanied by Zack Allan. He glanced around, greeted individuals, then raised his voice to address the group. "I hope Marcus will forgive us for starting without him, but we have a good bit of information to share today and I'd like to get moving. Before we do that, however..." His right arm reached behind him to draw Zack up closer to the table. "I've asked Mr. Allan to join us. I think it's important that our Chief of Security be party to the discussions at this table." Sheridan nodded toward the empty chair. "Zack, please have a seat." Allan arranged himself in the chair, greeted softly by his neighbors, while Michael tried not to look too obviously pleased. Sheridan continued. "We've all been frustrated by our lack of information and by odd and seemingly meaningless pieces of intelligence we have. Sometimes, we fail to see the big picture because we're too concerned about substantiating all the information. This morning Mr. Garibaldi laid out a lot of pieces for me, and we think we see a pattern. I've asked him to present all of you with that information tonight in the hope that together we can make sense of this thing. Michael?" Garibaldi rose and Sheridan sat. The portfolio already lay open on the table, his notes on top of the stack, but he didn't really need them now. "The principal issue would seem to be the destruction of the EarthForce vessel Valhalla, so let's begin there. I say 'seem to be' deliberately, and the reason will, I hope, be clear in a few moments. The Valhalla was newly commissioned as of July 4, 2261, a Hyperion class cruiser captained by Stephen Jennings, and carrying a full load of new weaponry and defensive enhancements. She was dramatically superior to anything else in her class, probably to anything else in the fleet, and the rumor was that Clark himself had chosen her command crew. Her orders of record were to take station off Mars Colony, and it appears that along the way she ran some tests of her jump engines. "Shortly after arriving in Mars' space, the Valhalla exploded, a catastrophe expounded upon at length in the media, but for which, oddly, no investigation or analysis was published, nor can any be located in a search of EarthGov records." He threw an anticipatory look in Ivanova's direction. "And yes, that includes the records we know nothing about." Susan smirked. "We had the good fortune to come into possession of what is purported to be debris from the explosion of the Valhalla. I say 'purported' and I think it is important for all of us to keep in mind that some of the evidence we have in front of us relies heavily on our faith in the people that brought it to us." Garibaldi paused, took a long breath. "In any case, we had this debris analyzed and while the sample was too small to yield much information, what it did produce was interesting." He laid a flimsy on the projector. "The metallurgical analysis tells us that we're looking at a sample approximately seven years old. Again, we have to be cautious about this information, but if we accept it, what this is telling us is that the ship that exploded was not newly constructed, but in fact had seen several years of service." Michael looked around the table at the brows furrowing in confusion. John and Zack nodded, and urging him on. He removed the flimsie, replacing it with another. "Despite the small size of the sample, the lab was able to isolate some fragments of DNA. They ran those against all EarthForce records, including workers in the construction yards where the Valhalla was built. No matches were found. We considered the possibility of cross contamination, and asked the lab to run these tests again, with that concern in mind. The results were identical. However, Mr. Allan's lab techs took the initiative to run their results against some other databases. They were able to match one of the DNA samples..." He consulted his notes for the name. "...as Alisandra Ontero, a telepath registered with PsiCorps." Sheridan looked up, startled. "Just got that report this afternoon, sir," Michael said softly. He snapped the projector off, tossing the flimsie back onto the table. "The next several pieces of this depend upon reports from informants, some of whom, possibly all of whom, may seem less than credible. We recognize that but we realize too that information gained from them, independently of one another, seems again to fit the pattern emerging here. "The first bits of intelligence come from a member of the Resistance organization on Earth, a person highly placed within that organization and also, under another identity, highly placed in Clark's government. While this obviously raises questions about loyalties, our previous dealings with this operative tend to allay our fears. The first communication from this source came before the Valhalla exploded, and I shared it with you: 'Stay away.' Our contact knew something was about to happen on Mars, and advised us to distance ourselves from it. The second communication was more difficult to accept. It said that Clark's government was itself responsible for the destruction of the Valhalla, that they had put the ship on a suicide mission in order to orchestrate a campaign of retribution against those Clark views as his enemies. We received further communication from that source as Clark was announcing action against the Mars Resistance. That was, you will recall, the news that Clark planned to strike against us as well as against Mars. Finally, our contact was able to supply us with the names of those who seem to be Clark's closest advisors in recent weeks. More on that later." Garibaldi paused and gathered his courage. Everyone had been polite, even intent, thus far, but this next might not go down so easily. "Our other informant is a rogue telepath," In the hair's breath pause, he glanced around for reaction. "...a former PsiCop..." There it was. "...who admitted to having infiltrated Mars Resistance on behalf of the Corps. This source told us first that just prior to the explosion of the Valhalla, there was an increased presence by PsiCorps on Mars Colony. The report indicated that most of these personnel were PsiCops and that many of them were not wearing the uniform or the insignia of the Corps. Our source could not supply a reason for this increased presence. "On further questioning, this same source reported additional infiltration of Mars Resistance by PsiCorps operatives, and confirmed information we had acquired from another source: PsiCorps has placed undercover agents in EarthGov. We were aware, from that other source, of one such operative, and we suspected there might be others. Our rogue confirms that there has in fact been a systematic effort to place PsiCorps agents throughout EarthGov, in the hopes of controlling decision making both directly and indirectly. When we crosschecked, we found that several of those named as President Clark's closest advisors were also identified as PsiCorps operatives. " The silence was an entity when Garibaldi paused, a palpable, restless beast sharing the space with them, crowding them, stealing their air. He gave his companions a moment to elbow out a space for themselves. "We are speculating," he said finally, "that the ship which exploded off Mars was in fact not the Valhalla, but an older ship rigged to look like her. We suspect -- we hope -- that her crew was evacuated before the blast. We had reports of a great deal of traffic to and from the ship prior to the explosion and we hope that these trips may have been evacuation runs. While this is more in the realm of intuition, we hazard the guess that this decoy vessel was controlled by PsiCorps, that the real Valhalla is hidden somewhere, possibly, probably, also under the control of the Corps, that it may be used in the attack against us which our source from Earth predicted. Some very sketchy data would seem to say that something is going on near Io..." He wondered if it were possible to work in any more qualifiers. "...leading us to wonder if perhaps the Valhalla is hiding nearby. "More importantly, we believe that all of this represents the growing visibility of a move by PsiCorps to exert its control over the government and military forces of the Earth Alliance." Garibaldi took his seat and was pleased to notice that he was trembling. If you're going to make statements that could get you executed, it's nice to know the body can still produce a little adrenaline for the occasion. Conversation proceeded without him for the few moments he needed to compose himself again. He heard Zack's voice penetrating the pounding of blood in his brain. "Captain, I know I'm still trying to get up to speed here, but I'd like to add something if I may?" When Sheridan signaled his approval, Allan cast a glance around the table and began. "You all know station security has been on alert, expecting the ship we were warned about to jump in at any time. When that jump didn't come, people started getting nervous about who and what was out there, and why they were waiting so long." Garibaldi thought he looked embarrassed. "This afternoon I took a trip through the jump gate to see what I could see. But hyperspace is a great place to hide, so I asked Lyta Alexander to make the trip with me, as a sort of navigator. Hyperspace amplifies telepathy, so I thought having a telepath along might help me find whatever's out there." Sheridan was scowling hard; Michael could anticipate the kind of dressing down the kid was going to get. Zack looked straight at his CO. "Captain, what we found was not a cruiser. It was a carrier, large enough to transport several wings of fighters and full support. It was heavily armed, sir, and it carried the markings of Black Omega." Sheridan shouted down the pandemonium that announcement caused. When order had been restored the Captain invited any questions for Garibaldi or Allan. As he fielded a few of the inquiries his own report had stirred, Garibaldi noted again Marcus' empty chair. Zack's eyes fell there too and then joined to Michael's. As soon as Sheridan had reviewed their preparedness and dismissed the group, the two connected in the hallway. "Where the hell is he?" Garibaldi asked, concern masquerading as irritation. "I haven't seen him since he left the office today, but I think we better find him," Allan replied. "You check his quarters; I'll see if my people know anything." They parted company at the next intersection in the corridor, and Allan was on the link before his shadow rounded the corner. "Yeah, Allan here. Patch me through to the docking bays. Now." JULY 13, 2261 Evening An old security code got Michael Garibaldi past the lock on Marcus Cole's quarters. What he saw when he called for lights made him wonder if someone else had used the code first. The room was barren, save for a few pieces of furniture. No pictures, no personal mementos, no food in the cooler. No sign of habitation save the sheets on the bed and a few, very few, clothes in the wardrobe. And no sign of Marcus Cole. Garibaldi's link sounded and he acknowledged. "Give it up, Michael. He's gone." Zack Allan's voice came through. "Gone? What gone?" Garibaldi didn't like the hole those words left in his gut. "He launched in a scout ship this afternoon. It looks like he was headed for Io." "Damn him!" Garibaldi exploded, a series of expletives parading through his brain. Allan's voice was subdued, as though he had heard the thoughts. "Get some sleep, Michael. If we do get company, we'll need all the pilots we can scramble. Zack out." Garibaldi switched off the link, and looked around him. "Damn him!" he said aloud again, to the empty room. JULY 13, 2261 Night He had lingered under a steaming shower, dressed himself in soft fleece and comforting flannel. Candlelight shimmered in place of the glaring overhead lamps and the barest trace of music floated on the air. He had eaten well, and sipped on fragrant, soothing herbal teas, and Carly's hands had done their best to massage away the tension. But Michael Garibaldi was not sleeping. Stretched out in the recliner in Sullivan's quarters, he let the scenes of a familiar vid roll past on the screen. He didn't see them, really. His mind was on Io. Carly stood at his head and bent to place an inverted kiss on his lips. The offer of more tea was declined, the invitation to bed deferred. She settled down on a floor cushion beside his chair. "I'm sure he's fine, Michael." "Why did he have to go off alone?" "He is a Ranger. It's not like he's not trained for this work." "What work?" Garibaldi rocketed out of the chair. "Just what did he run off there to do? And now especially. Damn it! We're going to need every pilot we can scramble if that carrier jumps in. He's a damn good pilot. We need him here." Carly stood and stepped closer to him, her arms circling his waist. "I'm sure he's fine." Michael held her close for a moment, soothed by the scent of her hair. His hands slid up her back and he took hold of her shoulders, drawing her back so that he could look in her face. "I'm not going to get any rest," he said softly. "I think I'll get dressed and check on some things." She knew it made no sense to argue. Together they walked into the bedroom where Carly sat cross-legged on the bed to watch him change. He traded the soft navy blue sweat pants for briefs and trousers, and pulled on a pair of socks. Standing, he stepped into his shoes, and motioned for her to hand him his shirt. His link chirped as he reached for the garment, and he missed the hand off to answer its bleat. Ivanova's voice came through before he could even identify himself. "We've got company!" No acknowledgments were made, no good byes said. Garibaldi flew out the door, still shirtless, not pausing to notice Sullivan scrambling into her clothes, barking commands at the computer. A few minutes later Michael Garibaldi was suited up for space. He dropped with the next squadron. Orienting himself in the blackness, he recognized the attackers, blindingly black StarFuries marked with a single, shameless sign: Omega. Commands from C&C echoed in his helmet. Everywhere he looked were fighters bent on destruction of this station, fighters with telepathic pilots. The wing commander's voice barked in his ear. He formed up with the squadron, started the run, then suddenly broke and engaged with a passing Omega. His triumph was greeted with a rousing "what the hell do you think you're doing?" from Ivanova. Garibaldi smiled, just for a moment. "Spontaneity, Commander. The more forethought, the more chance they have to read us." He dropped and spun, then hit his engines hard and gave chase to another fighter. It soon looked like chaos outside the station, as one after another of their pilots abandoned formation and followed his lead. It was the hotshots who joined him, confident enough of their piloting skills to dodge and weave through one another's maneuvers and the continuing orderly attacks. Chaos, yes, but they were holding their own. Maybe -- there was no time to count -- maybe getting just a bit ahead. Then she jumped. Space seemed to crackle with the discharged energy and the sounds of battle for a time went mute as the vivid blue vortex formed and opened and the immense and ominous hulk of the Black Omega carrier slid into normal space. In that awed silence, Garibaldi heard his own voice. "Oh shit!" As he snapped back to reality, he heard Ivanova. "Yeah." The only good news was that she wasn't carrying reinforcements; all the Omega fighters were already engaged. But her fire power hurt and having to maneuver around her cramped the action. Ivanova called in the White Stars, but whatever momentum they might have had was gone. They were in trouble here, trouble that only looked nastier when the carrier released breaching pods. "They're mine!" he barked into his headset and hit a burn. His arm still throbbed from the souvenir the last breaching pod had left him. It was payback time. It was so soft, he wasn't sure it wasn't his imagination, but he thought, just for a moment, he heard Ivanova on his headset. He thought she said, "oh shit." Then her voice blasted through the system. "Jump point forming!" He understood. Ahead of him, another vortex swirled, and from its center emerged an EarthForce cruiser, gliding to a halt as though presenting herself to him. She was clean and unscarred and she wore her name proudly: Valhalla. They were screwed. The cruiser immediately began to drop her fighters. The odds would be impossible if she launched her full complement. He circled around to come in behind them, banking and spinning in the hope of losing the Omega on his tail, but the teep fighter stayed with him. The Valhalla's fighters were dead ahead of him. He targeted the ship at the back of the pack. It spun dizzyingly through two axes and fired. The Omega bearing down on him erupted in a flare of color. "What?!" Garibaldi muttered. "What?!" Ivanova's voice crackled. A silence, and then she spoke again, cautiously. "You're patched through. Go ahead." The com system came to life in every cockpit with the message relayed through C&C. "Repeat: This is Captain Stephen Jennings of the Valhalla. With your permission, Captain Sheridan, we'd like to lend a hand with the defense of Babylon 5." Sheridan's voice echoed through the relays. "Sheridan here. Captain Jennings, we appreciate the offer. We can use all the help we can get. But you do understand..." "We understand more than you know, John. Either way I play this, someone's going to call me a traitor. I'd rather it be Clark." Sheridan's soft chuckle floated over the com system. "Welcome aboard, Captain Jennings." They engaged the battle again with a newfound energy, but the fight was short lived. The Omega fighters, now well outnumbered, began to flee, and when the Valhalla acquired weapons lock on the Omega carrier, she fired her jump engines and was gone. JULY 13, 2261 into JULY 14, 2261 Wee Hours There was a med team in the docking bay, dealing with the minor injuries as the pilots came through, taking the pressure off the medlabs. Enough men and women were in serious condition to keep Stephen's people busy through the night and well into the next several days. And then there was the morgue. They had lost people, good people, too many good people, again. This had to stop. But for now, for a moment, they had survived. 'Won' was too strong a word. But they could turn their attentions now to other things, other people, other places. Garibaldi caught up with Sheridan in the debriefing room. "Come by my office," the Captain whispered. "I've invited Jennings aboard." As Garibaldi started to strip off his flight suit it occurred to him that his bare-chested condition would be a bit more conspicuous now that things had quieted down, and probably was not appropriate for greeting guests. He kept the flight suit on and headed for John's office. The Command Staff and then some were assembled when he arrived. Ivanova was introducing an EarthForce officer he assumed was Jennings to Stephen Franklin, still in Med Lab greys. Sheridan guided Delenn over to join them. From the far side of the room Zack gave him a nod of greeting, a smile, and a jerk of the head toward the far corner. Garibaldi's eyes followed the movement, focusing beyond Captain Jennings on the dark robed figure of Marcus Cole. Michael's impulse was to launch himself across the room and keep the Ranger in that corner until he had gotten a full explanation, but Sheridan was introducing him to Captain Jennings. He returned the officer's greeting somewhat distractedly, while Sheridan continued in a voice pitched to the whole group. "Captain Jennings, we're deeply grateful for your help but I think I can safely say we were all quite surprised by the offer, and, frankly, by your appearance." Sheridan paused, regarding the man thoughtfully, judging the balance of formality and familiarity. "Could you possibly tell us what the hell is going on?" Jennings smiled and shook his head. "I'll try, but I'm not sure how much sense it will make. If I'm honest, I had a bad feeling early on. We took the Valhalla out after commissioning, with orders to Mars, but we were barely underway when we were ordered to divert to Io. We were told to jump immediately, and to wait in hyperspace just out of range of the Io beacon. Our orders were to maintain strict radio silence, and yet we were told that we would be contacted with the next phase of our orders. It was bizarre, but when I was given this command, I was told that the Valhalla would be used for undercover and reconnaissance missions. So I followed orders. "We sat in hyperspace long enough to make everyone on board, including me, very jumpy. My XO and I considered whether that was why we reacted the way we did to the rest of our orders." "The rest?" Ivanova inquired. "You were contacted?" "Oh yes," Jennings replied. "A ship found us in hyperspace, pulled alongside, and sent a shuttle over to deliver them." Astonishment was the universal reaction. "I've never heard of such a thing," Sheridan remarked. "Neither had I," Jennings continued, "and we were particularly spooked when we realized that the messengers were PsiCops. It was an intelligence mission, and EarthForce does sometimes employ telepaths in intelligence actions, but I have to tell you, it didn't feel right. And when I saw the orders, I really knew we were in trouble." "What orders?" Garibaldi's curiosity was piqued. The captain turned his body toward Michael, looking around at his audience. "We were told that we were to surrender the ship to a new Captain and crew who would be arriving within 48 standard hours." "What?!?" Ivanova's outburst startled them all. Jennings laughed. "Interesting, Commander," he observed with a grin, "that was my XO's reaction too." Sheridan stepped away from his desk, the two captains adjusting their bodies until they were face to face again. "That's outrageous," Sheridan remarked. "Did you question the orders?" Jennings shook his head vehemently. "I thanked the couriers and began preparations." He smiled wickedly. "I'm sure they did plenty of eavesdropping on our minds as it was. I wasn't going to tip my hand any more than necessary with the Corps listening." That drew a few smiles. "Once they were gone," he continued, "we started examining our options. We had just agreed to break radio silence and request confirmation from EarthDome when our second set of visitors arrived." "Second? Who...?" John Sheridan was clearly puzzled. Jennings smiled, moving his glance from Sheridan to Marcus Cole. "And I am quite pleased to report that we do not have any direct experience with the Valhalla's new weaponry," the Ranger quipped. Nodding at Jennings, he added, "thank you for your patience, Captain." "I'm not sure we would have been so trusting under other circumstances," Jennings replied. "We'd heard reports about those new ships of yours. Impressive." The glance encompassed both Sheridan and Delenn. "I admit we paused to take a good look, but I don't think we would have held our fire as long as we did if there hadn't been a personal connection." "Personal connection?" Ivanova repeated. "What personal connection?" She regarded Marcus with suspicion. "One of the lovely things about Babylon 5, actually," the Ranger began, "is that you meet so many people. Fascinating how they all seem to know one another somehow." The assembled group considered that non-answer in perplexed silence, except for Captain Jennings, who laughed aloud. "I don't know how you hooked up with my brother, Mr. Cole, but I can tell you, his was the last voice I expected to hear hailing us." The jumble of sound contained the voiced questions of a half dozen confused people. Marcus waited for a lull before offering, "I have Mr. Garibaldi to thank, actually. It was he who introduced us and he who knew your brother was on Io. I found him there, trying to find a way to reach you." "How the hell did Trevor know we were off Io?" Jennings asked. "We didn't even get those orders 'til we were underway." Marcus shrugged. "Perhaps you can ask him later," he offered. "He wanted you to know he'd be waiting for you." Jennings offered his thanks before Marcus continued. "He may have had some sources in common with our White Star crew. They received a report of two jump points opening in rapid succession on the Valhalla's route to Mars. The observers noted it as extraordinary. In their eyes, the Valhalla jumped into hyperspace and almost immediately jumped back. They thought that odd. The captain of our White Star thought it a bit more than odd, so when he received reports of heavy traffic from Syria Planum toward Io, he decided it bore investigation." "Syria Planum?" Jennings asked. "What's at Syria Planum?" Ivanova and Garibaldi exchanged glances, glances Sheridan noted as he hesitated. "There's a PsiCorps facility near there," he said at last. "But I'm still confused. Your brother, the White Star, what does all that have to do with...." Sheridan's voice faded as his confusion grew. "Your White Star found us, my brother persuaded me to listen to what he and Marcus had to say. They told me about the Valhalla blowing up off Mars -- came as quite a shock, as you might imagine. They told me about Clark's retaliation -- against Mars, and against all of you. And well, the PsiCorps just kept turning up too often to make me comfortable. We decided we weren't going to rendezvous with that new Captain and crew, at least not until we had a chance to get over here and have a talk with you. And when we saw the state of things as we arrived, we felt pretty sure we'd made the right decision." The glow on Sheridan's face faded to a stern stare. "Captain Jennings, you realize what you've done by helping us? You'll be labeled renegades now, just as we are. You may be facing charges of treason." "Who?" Jennings asked, mischief dancing in his eyes. "The Valhalla exploded off Mars, Captain Sheridan. All hands went down with her." JULY 14, 2261 Morning A deeply sleep-deprived Garibaldi drew alongside Marcus Cole in the Zocalo as the marketplace began to fill with the day's activity. The Ranger returned Michael's greeting, but his gaze never wavered. Following that solid stare led Garibaldi's eyes to a table where Stephen and Trevor Jennings shared breakfast. "Who would have guessed they were brothers?" Michael asked. "I would, actually," Marcus observed. He turned finally, looking up at his startled companion. "I noticed he seemed particularly shaken by the news of the explosion. We had a few moments together. He appreciated having an ear." "But where was Trevor getting his information?" Michael asked when he found his voice again. "We hit all our sources time and again. No one was talking." "I inquired about that," the Ranger observed. "He said something about a group of telepaths down in brown sector." JULY 15, 2261 Late Afternoon He shifted again but the broken spring under his right buttock could not be escaped. Joshua Andrews knew every lump and bump in every chair in President Morgan Clark's outer office, knew them intimately. He ran his fingers over the slubs in the fabric of the chair arms and felt the trickle of perspiration down his spine when he tried to free his shoulder blades from their sodden attachment to the chair back. He wiggled his toes in the shoes that pinched more than a little when you'd been wearing them for twenty nine hours straight, the shoes that pained him when he jumped to his feet as Senator Hidaki exited Clark's office. Evan Lomeda stood as well, looking, Josh thought, too calm, simply too good for the week they'd had. Maybe it was his imagination. Carly's warning flitted into his brain. He pushed it all aside. Back in Hidaki's office, the aides kept their distance from the visibly agitated Senator until he had taken a few minutes alone to calm himself. Then he summoned them, and left them standing in front of his desk while he shared with them the harangue he had received from Clark. "The renegades on Babylon 5 put up too good a fight. The President suspects that they were tipped off, and that means he suspects a leak." He looked hard at the two men before him. "Everyone in this office -- and believe me, I mean everyone -- is now under suspicion." He stood and came around the desk. "There are going to be a lot of questions asked, hard questions, of all of us. If there is anything either of you needs to tell me, tell me now, because I swear to you: you blindside me and I will let you twist in the wind." The icy silence that filled the Senator's office did nothing to stop Andrews' sweating. His shirt was plastered to his back, thinned by its saturation so that he could feel the rough wool of his jacket scratching against his flanks. The only dry spot on his body seemed to be his mouth, a sandy saliva-less gorge over which no words could jump. The three men jerked to attention as a buzzer on Hidaki's desk sounded. "What is it, Sylvie?" the Senator barked as he punched the device. "There's a gentleman here asking for Mr. Lomeda," the nervous voice of a secretary replied. "He says it's important." Hidaki scowled and jerked his head toward the door. "Go and see about it, Evan." The aide moved toward the door. "I want to talk to you anyway, Josh," the Senator added. Surprise, then pleasure, washed over Evan Lomeda's face as he saw the caller awaiting him. "Please, come in," he said to the sandy haired figure as he led the way to his office. With the door safely closed and locked, he turned to his black uniformed guest. "Good to see you again, Mr. Cameron. What can I do for you?" Reynaldo Cameron paced around the little office, noticing the little touches, the phony photos, the fake mementos. He turned to Lomeda, delicately adjusting the black leather gloves. "I've come for the mole." The two men shared an evil smile.