In Valen’s Name Part 7 = = = Confirmation that Sheridan and Delenn were safely in the Tuzanor camp came through before Michael had brought the White Star to its mooring. Relief moved through him like a drug. His body felt heavy in the command chair, his legs unwilling to hold him when he tried to leave. Back on the ground, Drew was waiting for him. "Michael!" Other voices swirled around him, words of congratulation and concern echoed, hands patted his back. "I was glad you were there, buddy," Michael said softly and simply when he reached the young blond. Drew nodded and laid an arm around Michael's shoulders. "Makes me feel good to know I'm starting to think like you." Both men smiled sheepishly. "Michael." This voice was Navain's. Garibaldi was surprised to find him here among the hubbub of shaken, bewildered, relieved trainees. "You are wanted in the Entil'Zha's office." The voice was as emotionless as the face. Michael swallowed hard and nodded. "Thank you, Sech Navain, " he said with a bow. "I'm on my way." Garibaldi left at a trot without another word. Drew had to push a bit to catch up. "What are you doing?" Michael challenged with a scowl. "It's me they want." "Just along for the walk," Drew shrugged. "You could walk, you know," he chided. Michael slowed his pace only slightly. "What's this about, Michael?" Garibaldi shook his head. "Aw, I was way out of line up there. I had no business barking orders." "You did what needed doing, Michael. For god's sake, we were under attack ... " "Chain of command, kid. Sheridan was the ranking officer." They stopped in front of the administration building, and Garibaldi straightened his uniform. "Thanks for the company. I can take it from here." Drew's frown spoke his disapproval, but he made no argument. Michael left him in the courtyard and made his way briskly to the Entil'Zha's office. The door was open and Delenn welcomed him inside before he could offer any greeting. "Michael!" Sheridan strode toward him, brow furrowed, voice sharp. "What the hell just happened up there?" Garibaldi froze in place, right hand on his heart. He attempted a bow, but aborted it to avoid knocking heads with Sheridan. "Mr. President," he began. "Who were they, Michael? Could you get an ID?" Sheridan stretched an arm around Michael's back and drew him over to the desk where Delenn waited. Immediately Garibaldi was reporting. "They show up as Star Furies, but they're unmarked, and that organic black surface looks suspiciously like Shadow technology." "Are you suggesting they're EarthForce?" Sheridan demanded. "I don't think so." Michael shook his head rapidly. His eyes narrowed as he remembered. "I think that black skin was laid on over an EarthForce design Star Fury, but I don't think those babies were EA. When we went in close on the last one, I got a glimpse -- I thought I saw markings shining through the skin." He looked at Delenn, her eyes wide with anticipation and fear, then at the rage and determination in Sheridan's steely eyes. "I think they were Black Omega." "Black Omega?" Delenn's brows knit in confusion as she made the inquiry. "An elite squadron attached to PsiCorps," John explained. "Answerable directly to the EarthGov President." "And now, maybe not even to her, " Garibaldi pointed out. He turned to face Sheridan. "John, I think they've gone rogue -- not that they were much better than that before." The other man nodded. "You may be right. If they were Black Omega that would explain how they seemed to know where we were and what we were going to do. Telepathic fighter pilots." He shook his head. "Helluva weapon." "But why?" Delenn interjected. "Why did they attack us?" The two men looked at her for a moment, then Sheridan glanced to his left at Michael. The President's jaw was set, his eyes hard. "You thinking what I'm thinking, Michael?" Garibaldi met the glance, then his eyes dropped to the floor, as he sighed, "Bester." He shook his head. "This one's never gonna be over, is it?" "Bester?" Delenn asked. "John?" She looked to her husband for clarification. "That confrontation we had with him the other day, in Stephen's office?" John laid his hands gently on her arms as he spoke. Delenn nodded to urge him on, but he looked to Michael before he spoke again. "He threatened us," he whispered to Delenn. Fear and fury mingled in her face. "Then you think he ordered this attack?" she asked Michael. When he nodded she went on. "But how did they know where to find us?" The men were silent for a moment. "John?" Garibaldi studied the man, but his mind saw a memory. "You said you came to Stephen's office to find me, to tell me you were coming here. Is it possible Bester scanned you?" "And that's how they knew where and when to attack." Sheridan completed the thought. "It makes sense. With all that was happening, he could have, I suppose. Susan always said strong emotion made it easier." Strong emotion was obvious when Sheridan looked at his wife. He draped a long arm around the tiny Minbari. "But it's over now," he said soothingly. "They made an attempt on us, and were routed. Hopefully, Mr. Bester will learn something from this." Garibaldi straightened as the subject returned to the battle. Clearing his throat drew Sheridan and Delenn's attention to him. "Mr. President, Entil'Zha," he said with a small bow, "I apologize for my behavior up there. I had no right to give orders like that. I recognize that it was a serious violation of the chain of command." Sheridan looked down at Delenn, his brows arched in question. "Chain of command. Yes. That is something to consider." Delenn's eyes widened and she nodded. "Discipline is essential." The corners of her mouth twitched. "Such actions should not go unremarked," she agreed. Through a long silence, both Sheridan and Delenn looked thoughtful. "We could have him court martialled," Sheridan suggested abruptly. Delenn looked concerned. "Valen made no provision for such action when he established the Rangers," she explained. "Oh," Sheridan said flatly, stepping away from his bride. "Well, then, reduced in rank?" he asked after a moment, looking back over his shoulder. Delenn shook her head. "We do not have ranks." "Really?" Sheridan asked in surprise. The Minbari nodded as her husband turned to her. "Is that true?" Sheridan addressed the question to Garibaldi. "Yes, sir, " Michael answered, staring at the wall over Delenn's head, and suppressing a smile. "There is the designation of Anla'shok Na -- Ranger One -- but otherwise no rank." "Who assumes leadership?" the President pressed him, stepping up to the desk. "Leadership shifts according to situations, talent, experience," Garibaldi explained, eyes straight ahead. "Hmmm. Interesting, "Sheridan mused. He turned back to Delenn. "We have to do something." Entil'Zha nodded, a look of puzzled intensity on her face. "Drum him out of the Rangers?" Sheridan asked. Delenn began to nod, then stopped abruptly. "Technically, he is not yet a Ranger," she pointed out, head tipped to the left, brows knit in confusion. Sheridan pursed his lips in mock serious contemplation. "Perhaps a stern talking to ... " Delenn suggested, her face lighting up. Sheridan looked up with interest and pleasure. "About respect ... " he agreed with a nod. "And what it means to be a Ranger," Delenn continued, stepping closer to him. The President interrupted. "You should handle that one." "Yes, of course," Ranger One agreed, nodding vigorously. "And some serious words about the consequences." "Yes, if something like this were ever to happen again," John concurred. After a moment of thought , he asked, "Shall I start?" "Yes, fine." she answered. Michael sensed he was being ribbed, but he bit his cheek and said nothing. Sheridan and Delenn came around the desk and took position directly in front of him. Sheridan spoke first. "I understand that respect is one of the principles Rangers hold sacred." His stare challenged Michael's resolve. "Your behavior today sure as hell earned my respect, Michael, and I'm willing to bet, the respect of every trainee up there." Grinning broadly now, he continued. "You clearly demonstrated your leadership ability, your talent for strategic thinking, and the benefits of experience in battle." As Sheridan paused, Delenn began. "Every Ranger swears an oath, a solemn vow which guides all action." She had to look up at him, and Garibaldi dared not peek at the tiny figure with the solemn voice. " 'We live for the One. We die for the One.' Your actions today made clear that those words are inscribed upon your soul. You were willing to risk your own life to protect us, and you expected the same from every one who aspires to the title of Anla'shok." "And if anything like this ever happens again, Michael," Sheridan admonished him, stepping even a little closer, "I will personally kiss you right on the lips." Garibaldi's resolve buckled. Laughter exploded through the carefully set face of humility, laughter that Sheridan and Delenn quickly joined. Handshakes and hugs and whispered words of gratitude and affection stayed with Michael's heart as he went back to his training. = = = Evening and morning were filled with the buzz of nervous talk about The Visit and The Attack. Michael could hear the capital letters in his colleagues' voices. Cooler heads spoke soothingly. It had been dealt with. Move on. Routine finally helped to quiet the mood. Back in the normal daily schedule, the Ranger candidates settled into the last few days of their training. Lunch table talk wavered between the anticipation of the final ritual and the curiosity about the President's role. Would he conduct an inspection? Would he take part in the commissioning ceremony? Michael wondered with some amusement how comfortable John would be with all this ceremony. Jhevnak was always the authority on the rituals; he would know if there were a role for Sheridan. Michael scanned the room for the Minbari, but he was nowhere in evidence. Garibaldi made a note to ask him later. There had been no sign of the visiting dignitaries by the time they settled down to meditation, and Michael had begun to think the John had begged off. He'd never liked that kind of thing anyway, and if he could plead that he was shaken up from yesterday ... Michael's mind turned back to the attack as he eased into his rhythmic breathing. Though he tried to let go of the disquieting thoughts, they returned again and again. He relinquished the attempt to control, relaxed, and let his mind take him where it would. Images came and went, dreamlike. The black Star Furies. Telepaths. Mars. Sheridan. Bester. 'This one's never gonna be over, is it?' His despair echoed. Alfred Bester's face stayed before him, but he wasn't afraid now. He knew who and what he was. He wasn't afraid of himself anymore. There was nothing Bester could use against him. Even the rage had dissipated. The face in his mind, its dark eyes and twisted smile, no longer stirred blood lust in him. Why? In his mind he heard the voice, the sick, evil voice. A part of his gut twisted but he felt only ... what? Michael Garibaldi centered himself, reaching down to quiet his soul, to focus on the nameless something. The image of Alfred Bester played in his mind again, and he named the feeling: pity. Somehow here in the quiet of his heart, even against the backdrop of all the horrors Bester had perpetrated, Michael Garibaldi saw him as a pathetic little man, locked in a prison of hatred and unhappiness. And so what? a voice in Michael's mind challenged. Why does that matter? What do you do about it? Michael released the questions and focused on his breathing. He let his mind soar and dive with the images that danced there: scenes of a life, his life, joys, sorrows, friends, missions. His mind came home to his heart like a bird to roost. Bester would not change. And this wouldn't be over. Not for a while, anyway. Maybe once he pressed charges. Maybe not even then. But he had changed. And he was free. His life was rich with people who loved him, and he had work to do that mattered. Gratitude filled him, a little corner held out to feel just a bit of sympathy for a one time enemy who would never know this kind of joy. Garibaldi exhaled slowly, and opened his eyes. Rising, he moved on. The martial arts class was well underway when the party of dignitaries arrived. Sheridan and Delenn, with Navain and Ardret behind them, entered without fanfare. They moved around the edges of the room, observing, stopping from time to time to watch an exercise. No one gave any indication that they noticed the couple's presence, save for the breathless, electric edginess that rippled through the room. When the group of visitors had reached the platform where Sech Durhan stood, greetings were exchanged. The teacher signaled an end to the drills in progress and the denn'bok appeared. One of Durhan's assistants produced two more of the metal cylinders, offering them to Delenn and Sheridan. Michael smiled at the awkwardness in John's face, and though he couldn't hear the words he could imagine the exchange: John struggling to find a way to decline without offending anyone. Eventually, both the Entil'Zha and the President accepted the weapons, and the trainees shamelessly watched and waited. Sheridan jumped as Delenn snapped the weapon open. Amidst the ensuing giggles the Minbari demonstrated for her husband the subtle movement that extended and retracted the pike. It did not come naturally for the President. When finally Sheridan succeeded in mimicking the move, the snap of his weapon startled them all. Durhan set the trainees to work finally, and the group began the form practice. Sheridan watched with interest, and Michael guessed he was trying to gauge how like their EarthForce training in staff fighting this art form was. Durhan approached the guests and said something, gesturing toward the training floor. Michael saw the worried look on John's face again. After some resistance, Sheridan could be seen to laugh, and nod, and offer something that seemed like a scolding look to the amused Delenn. She held his pike as he removed his coat . Durhan halted the form practice and motioned for the trainees to gather around. He wasn't really going to do this, was he? Michael snapped his pike closed and maneuvered through the group for a better vantage point. His sparkling eyes met Sheridan's frantic ones. Garibaldi shook his head and grinned. Durhan himself instructed the President, taking him through several combinations. The circle of onlookers were encouraging and forgiving. Perhaps that was what made Sheridan do it. Michael winced as he heard John agree to take an opponent. Sheridan looked to his friend, seeking a bit of inspiration. Garibaldi cocked an eyebrow, dipped his head a bit, and slowly shook it left and right. A guffaw escaped the President, part delight, part anxiety. An opponent was called forth to do battle with the President, and Jhevnak stepped up without a trace of reticence. He bowed stiffly, without greeting, and assumed a fighting pose. Durhan moved aside, and Sheridan tested the heft of the pike in his hands, then he too took his stance. Jhevnak struck first, his weapon crashing down toward the older man's left shoulder, but Sheridan managed to block. The effort cost him his balance and he stumbled sideways. Old training rose to the fore as he spun round into a solid footing again. They traded blows, the encircling onlookers cheering every solid hit on either side. Michael watched Sheridan's eyes. He knew firsthand the pain of those blows, and knew too that John would never admit it. Jhevnak struck out at Sheridan, leaving John an opening to thrust the pike under his opponent's weapon, a blow to ribcage that knocked the air from Jhevnak's lungs with a grunt. The Minbari staggered back a step or two, and Michael saw concern sweep over John's face. He shifted the pike to one side of him as he stepped forward to inquire about the trainee's well being. The question was lost in the blinding shot of pain as Jhevnak's pike caught him hard on the unprotected right side. Sheridan staggered now, right elbow close in to his rib cage. Figures stepped forward: Durhan, Delenn, Michael. Sheridan waved them all back, flashing a weak smile at Delenn. He had something to say about not babying himself before he nodded to Jhevnak to begin again, but Michael met Delenn's frightened gaze, remembering John's injuries on Mars. The group gathered round was quieter now but the combatants took nothing away from their efforts. The metallic clang of the weapons meeting echoed in the training hall, punctuated by Sheridan's grunt each time the Minbari landed a blow. Those vocalizations became more frequent as the President grew weaker. He backed away from his opponent, defending still, but unable to strike an aggressive blow. It was time to stop this. Michael looked to Durhan, whose widened eyes and upraised hand reflected the same concern. Durhan called out in Adronato, but neither of the men took notice. Jhevnak's next thrust sent Sheridan's pike flying upward, only a desperate lurch by the older man keeping it within his grasp. The Minbari never paused, but swung his weapon round on the backs of John's legs, tumbling him. The Earther tried to tuck and roll, but the effort was not wholly successful. He came up kneeling, disoriented, hanging on to his weapon with one hand. Michael heard Durhan's voice again, frantic this time, and joined by others. He saw Jhevnak raise the denn'bok, and in that instant, Garibaldi saw the intended path and purpose of the move. He heard a single English syllable echo somewhere far off; "NO!" reverberated as if through a temporal rift. His own pike, long clutched in a sweating palm, snapped open as Garibaldi launched himself out of the crowd and injected his body between the fallen man and the pike bent on severing his neck. It struck instead on the flashing metal of Garibaldi's staff, that weapon thrusting back against the blow, setting the Minbari off his balance. Michael saw fury in the eyes of the trainee he had counted friend as Jhevnak steadied himself and charged again. Standing his ground, Michael watched as though in slow motion. When the Minbari was hard upon him, he sidestepped, bringing the tail of the pike up into Jhevnak's midsection, driving up and forward to lift the trainee's feet off the floor and tumble him. Jhevnak's pike clattered across the floor as he landed hard on his back, the resulting breathlessness sapping his consciousness. Several trainees moved to restrain the Minbari as Michael turned to look into the ashen face of Sech Durhan. The teacher said nothing, and Navain, with a nod to Michael, guided him out of the area. Assistant teachers dispersed the trainees, as Delenn dropped to her knees at John's side. Michael snapped the denn'bok closed and moved toward the pair. Delenn believed not one word of John's assurances that he was all right, and from the look of the man, Michael thought that showed the Entil'Zha's wisdom. Garibaldi stood over his fallen comrade, and silently extended a hand. Sheridan's eyes followed hand to arm to shoulder, to solemn face with stormy blue eyes. Wordlessly, Sheridan clasped the offered hand, and together the two men raised him up. "Let's not make a habit of this, OK?" Sheridan whispered before he released Michael from his grip. Garibaldi smiled, and nodded, at John, and at the young Ranger candidate hovering nearby. = = = It violated every instinct in his soul. Garibaldi had tried, sincerely tried, to go about the normal business of the evening. Jhevnak had been detained in the administrative offices, he was certain of that, and he suspected, assumed, that the trainee had been questioned: by the master teachers, by the Entil'Zha, probably by Sheridan. It was under control. It wasn't his job. It made him crazy. He was a security agent. It wasn't the job, the title; it was who he was. And the idea that an investigation was being conducted without him drove him nuts. If he were honest with himself, it went beyond that. He thought of Jhevnak as a friend. He needed to understand what had happened. He excused himself from dinner, the Adronato for his apologies forming thoughtlessly. The silent glance he exchanged with Drew before leaving the hall was enough to put that night's jog on hold. Drew nodded his understanding. Michael made his way quickly to the administration building, once more to Entil'Zha's office. He did not know where Jhevnak was, but he was certain he'd need permission to talk to him. Might as well go to the top. Through the open door, behind the glass desk, he found only Navain. Delenn and Sheridan had gone to the residence, the Ranger explained, to rest, and to eat something. Michael put his request to Navain. "May I see him?" The Minbari was silent, his eyes searching the office for a place to light. "Please," Michael pressed, "I'm not looking for a fight. I just want to talk to him." Navain moved his eyes slowly to Michael's. "No," he breathed, "you don't." Garibaldi's eyes widened as he stepped closer to the teacher. There was in Navain's face more emotion than Michael could ever remember. "What are you saying?" The Ranger turned his back on Garibaldi and walked a few steps away. He paused there and when he turned back Michael detected a greater composure but no less distress. "I understand that you want to investigate, Michael. It is your way. You will not like what you hear." Navain brushed past Michael on his way to the door. "Come," he prompted, resignation in his voice. Navain led the way down the corridor, around a corner, to a door where two Rangers stood guard. On Navain's authority the door was unlocked, and Michael was admitted to the small office where Jhevnak sat. "Not long," Navain whispered as he withdrew. The young Minbari sat stiffly in the slender high-backed chair, his impassive face reflecting in the black lacquer table top. Michael looked long, hard, and deep, searching that face for something he couldn't name, something his investigator's eye would know when he saw it, something that would make sense of what happened today. Jhevnak gave no acknowledgment of his presence, even when Garibaldi crossed to the table and sat in the chair directly opposite the trainee. "Why?" The question snapped out with a harder edge than Michael had intended. Only then did Jhevnak look at him. After a moment the face before him was the young trainee whose departure he had averted that first night. "Why what?" Innocence dripped like honey from that voice, but Michael couldn't lose the bitter taste of the venom he had seen flashing in those eyes the moment before. Garibaldi tried to maintain an investigator's dispassionate tone. "You were ready to strike a blow you knew would be lethal. Why?" In the long pause, Michael could see the Minbari appraising him. " I became a Ranger to defend my people against those who would destroy them." Garibaldi strained to hear the coldly uttered words. "Starkiller destroyed my people. He cannot be allowed to gain control." Michael fell back in his chair, open-mouthed. He stared at the figure across from him, the resolute face that looked through him. "You're serious," he muttered, as disbelief ebbed. There was no reply. Garibaldi swung himself out of the chair and began to pace. He stopped to look again at the young Minbari. He shook his head and sat down again. Leaning across the table, he spoke the trainee's name. "Jhevnak ... " Steel grey eyes stared over Michael's left shoulder. "Jhevnak, do you know what you're saying?" No reaction. Garibaldi slapped a palm on the table, and the stony figure jumped involuntarily. "You look at him and say 'Starkiller' and the man in front of you is easy to hate." Michael was on his feet again, towering over his companion. "But we all wear a lot of labels. I look at him and say 'friend.' Delenn looks and says 'beloved.' " He bent down to the Minbari's eye level, palms on the table. "Is it still simple to hate him?" No response was offered to his question. Garibaldi began to pace again. " You talk about 'your people.' Don't you get it yet? Don't you see it's 'our people?' We're all in this together. We have to be. We aren't enemies, not any more." Garibaldi searched the stoic face, horror and confusion contesting within him. "The war is over," he said softly. "Put it behind us." Jhevnak lifted his eyes to Garibaldi's face. "If the enemy is not destroyed the battle is not over." His voice was icy. Michael's body dropped into the chair with a thud. "I was wrong," he said, each word slowly and separately enunciated. "It was hard for me to learn, but I found out it is possible to forgive, and to accept forgiveness." His brows pressed down so low they hurt, but he could not find reaction in the face across from him. Michael pushed the heels of his hands across his forehead. "I found out," he continued softly, his hands still shading his eyes, "that where you see an enemy, if you look close enough, you can find a flawed, suffering, struggling being." Garibaldi spread his palms on the table and looked again at Jhevnak. "Not unlike yourself." The Minbari's eyes scoured him, searching beyond his eyes, hope fading into disappointment. "I had thought you might be different, that knowing Entil'Zha Sinclair would give you the vision to see the Starkiller for what he is." "Whoa!" Michael snarled. "Time out! Sinclair, Sheridan, and Delenn worked together to make Valen's vision real -- his vision of peace." "There is no peace." The words, his own words, razored into Garibaldi's gut, far too close to a far too fresh wound. He forced a breath to the bottom of his lungs and let it leave him slowly. Behind closed eyes, he remembered, but his jaw still trembled when he opened his eyes and spoke. "The night we met you were ready to leave here." Michael opened his eyes. "You said you weren't prepared for what was required." Garibaldi leaned forward, trying to force eye contact. "But you chose to stay, to fight against the darkness." With a sigh, the older man rose again, stood behind his chair and continued. "Sometimes the greatest darkness is within us. There is peace, real peace, but each of us has to make room for it inside himself, has to drive out the darkness and the hatred, and make a place for the light and the peace. That's the choice we have to make every moment, every day." The swift shush of the door drew Michael's eye; the sight of Navain at the threshold told him it was time to leave. He looked again at the friend who would not look at him, then crossed wordlessly to the entry. In the doorway he stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. "Jhevnak?" The silent figure shifted just a tremor in his chair, but Michael knew he was listening. "Choose the light." _________ The twin moons of Minbar had shone over the compound when Michael and Drew took their last circuit together. Now Garibaldi stood alone in the lemony light of the sun that rose on his last day in Tuzanor. The final days of training had passed quickly, a haze of business as usual and immersion in new ritual. The Ranger candidates were not told what action was taken against Jhevnak; they knew only that no place was held for him in their rehearsals for the commissioning ceremony. And now rehearsal yielded to reality. Garibaldi had not slept, and his attempts at meditation had only added new images to his already racing mind. He surrendered, dressed, and walked out to the courtyard where the ceremony would soon take place. He strolled in the sun's soothing warmth, passing in and out of the shadows of the platform where shortly Entil'Zha would accept their oath. Do not speak the words, Navain had said that first day, unless you speak from your soul. For three months now his soul had moved in and out of light and shadow, and today, in just a few minutes, he would be called upon to speak that oath. Was he prepared? Other figures appeared in the courtyard, men and women, human and Minbari, all dressed in a common uniform, all sharing that kindred sleeplessness. As the sun cleared the horizon they returned to classroom building, and took their places. They marched silently out into the compound again, moving as a body, taking their places before the platform, candidates in front, Rangers to the rear. The master teachers assembled next on the platform, to the candidates' right: Ardret, Durhan, and the others. Michael was startled by Navain's absence. Why was he not here? Finally, Delenn appeared, and with her, Sheridan. The Alliance President took his place at the rear of the platform, with no role to play save that of interested onlooker. Delenn moved to the podium and began to address them, words about delight, and respect, and compassion. Words about the Light and the battle to preserve it. Words about the new Alliance and a shared future. Words about honor and courage and certainty. Michael heard them with half a mind. Within him, the ceaseless self-examination raged. Could he truly take that oath? I am a Ranger. Could he pin that label on himself? Did he believe it all, all the philosophy, all the mysticism, all the tradition that was The Rangers? We live for The One. We die for The One. Did he even understand that, before he could say he meant it? Did he deserve to speak those words? Had he done the work, as Navain put it? And it didn't end here. If he became a Ranger, he would be a Ranger forever. This was a commitment to a life, and a helluva lousy time to think about changing your mind. And then they are called upon to speak the oath. Many voices as one voice, candidates and Rangers alike, they pronounced the solemn words. Michael Garibaldi heard his voice within that voice. "I am a Ranger." The oath begins with this. Not ends, begins. I am a Ranger. It is who I am, what I am, and have always been. I came to this because, in my soul, I am a Ranger. That was what Jeff knew. "We walk in the dark places no others will enter." The dark places of drunkenness. The dark places of fear and pain and rage. The dark places created by the Shadows, and the PsiCorps, by Clark, and Edgars, and Bester. The dark places of betrayal, the ones he had known both as betrayer and betrayed. "We stand on the bridge and no one may pass." Michael's eyes fell on Sheridan, there at the back of the platform, and memory stabbed. I failed you, John. I failed you, betrayed you, when I should have been protecting you. I am so sorry for that, John, and so grateful for your forgiveness. I swear to you, today, as solemnly as I swear this oath: I will never fail you again. I will guard your life with even greater care than I guard my own. You have my word. "We live for The One." These are the words that must come from your soul. But who is The One? Entil'Zha? Delenn now. Sinclair before. Valen once upon a time. And where does President Sheridan fit in? They said the little Zathras guy, the one that went with Jeff, that he had called Sheridan The One Who Will Be. Sheridan? Entil'Zha? "We die for The One." So who are you willing to die for, Michael? What are you willing to die for? The One. What is The One? Unity. Wholeness. Perhaps the person is only the sacrament of the idea. Valen. Jeff. Delenn. John. Perhaps, someday, others. Each of them a sign of something greater, something more important, something worth dying for. The One. Our oneness, the reconciliation of all peoples in peace. Something I can be a part of, something I have been a part of. Something that is inscribed on my soul. I live for The One. I die for The One. I am a Ranger. Silence descended on the compound, an awed hush that even the birds dared not break. Slowly, soundlessly, a procession began, each new Ranger climbing to the platform in turn. Once there each offered a solemn salute to the Entil'Zha, who, with a smile and a word or two of welcome, accepted them into the corps of Rangers. This greeting done, Delenn turned to a table carefully placed behind her, spread with rows of Ranger badges, the symbol of their new role. For each she selected one pin, affixing with ceremony the symbol of Minbari-Human unity over the new Ranger's right breast. A handshake then, and the Ranger moved past her, to be congratulated by Sheridan, who likewise shook each one's hand. A solemn bow to the masters, who bowed in turn, and the Ranger left the platform. Again and again the ritual was repeated, a new face each time, but the same mantra of motion. And then Michael's feet were on the stairs and the shiver of joy told him it was real. He stood at attention in the brilliance of that morning, looking down with respect and affection at the petite figure before him. His right hand pressed to his heart, then extended to her. "Entil'Zha veni!" Delenn's smile widened as she mimicked the salute, and she spoke of her joy in lilting Adronato. Michael's thanks, for all that had gone before, floated gently back in the same tongue. The Entil'Zha turned toward the table on which a scattering of badges remained, turned and looked, then looked back at Michael, and turned further to face Sheridan. She spoke softly to him, and the President jumped, patting at his suit jacket. With a look of relief, he reached into a pocket, extracted a small package, and opening it, presented it to Delenn. With the box in hand, Anla'shok Na turned back to Garibaldi. There on his chest, above her own eye level, the tiny Minbari attached the Ranger badge that had belonged to Jeffrey Sinclair. = = = The courtyard erupted in celebratory noise when at last the ritual was concluded and the Rangers dismissed. Delenn and Sheridan and the master teachers left the platform by the rear stairs, and were no sooner out of view than the ranks broke in a flurry of congratulation. Michael searched the crowd with his eyes, his quest repeatedly interrupted by the greetings of his comrades. The face he sought he could not find. He moved through the crowd, offering and accepting best wishes, his peripheral vision still keeping watch. The group moved gradually toward the dining hall, where the day's first meal awaited. Garibaldi's path took him another way. Inside the little temple he found the one he sought, off to one side, on a bench, in the cool blue light. Michael approached quietly, not to disturb the Ranger's meditation, and gently lowered himself to the bench as well. He closed his eyes, and turned his mind to his heart. He was not sure how much time had passed when the greeting came. "Congratulations, Michael," the familiar voice intoned. "Welcome to the Rangers." The joy that rumbled through him made him giddy, but even as he spoke his thanks, concern seized Garibaldi's heart. "Why weren't you there, Navain?" The Minbari smiled faintly. "I was there, Michael. I would not have missed it." "You weren't on the platform," Michael protested. "Because I did not belong there," Navain completed the thought. "My teaching here was only a temporary assignment, Michael, as I told you. I return to active duty tomorrow." He rose, and Michael followed suit. "I was in the ranks of the Rangers, where I belong." Navain smiled proudly. "There is no place I would rather be." Garibaldi studied the face of the Minbari who stood opposite him, his own smile gradually growing until it matched the one he saw. Memory and promise were in that moment, soul imprinting on soul. Michael's lips formed 'thank you' but no sound made it past the lump in his throat. Navain extended a hand, which the new Ranger clasped eagerly, then spoke a soft goodbye. "I leave tomorrow on a new assignment." The hurt ambushed Michael's heart. He shook his head. "I don't want to lose touch with you." "You've done the work, Michael. You don't need me." Garibaldi nodded. "I understand." Then with a shrug, he added, "but we both miss him very much." Navain closed his eyes and nodded. "That will always be true." They embraced one another, colleagues, friends, brothers. Then together they turned and together offered the traditional salute to statue of Valen above them. Finally they saluted one another. "In Valen's name!" It was a single voice. Navain left him there in the temple, and Michael's eyes and his heart returned to Valen, to Jeff. Words were useless, pointless, inadequate; all he could do was to be here, to savor this moment. "I thought they were crazy when they told me to look in here for you." Garibaldi couldn't help but smile at that greeting, as he turned toward Sheridan's voice. John strode across the room, hand already outstretched. "Congratulations, Michael!" The new Ranger accepted the hand and the wishes it represented with a broad smile. His left arm wrapped around the President's shoulders, clasping him close in friendship, an embrace heartily returned. When they stood back to look at each other, Sheridan was full of questions. "How does it feel, Michael? Is it all that you hoped for?" Garibaldi began to chuckle as he realized there was no pause long enough for an answer. "Who else knows you've done this? Stephen? God, he'll be proud of you." John stopped for breath finally, and Michael cycled back to the first question. "It feels good, John. It feels right." He laughed aloud. "And I don't intend to let the good doctor rest until he admits I was right." Sheridan joined him in the laughter, but then his smile faded. Garibaldi cocked his head, concern and curiosity mingling in his narrowed eyes. "What, John? What is it?" John began hesitantly."Michael, there's something ... " His voice trailed away, and he shifted uncomfortably. Garibaldi's face became serious, his voice compassionate. "Just say it, John. Truth between us." John looked, gauging Michael's reaction. "Michael, there were calls ... from Lise." The Ranger winced. "C&C told her you weren't on station, but she was convinced you were. Finally she demanded to speak to me. " "I'm sorry, John. You shouldn't have gotten dragged into it." Sheridan shook his head. "That's all right, Michael. It's just that I didn't know how you left it with her, or what you told her. I didn't know what to say to her, or whether I should tell her you were here." "I'm really sorry, John." Michael sighed. "What did you say to her?" John took a few steps away, added his own sigh, turned to look again at his friend. "Not much, Michael. She did most of the talking." He closed the gap between them and laid a hand on Garibaldi's shoulder. "She said that she and Franz had been talking through a lot of things. She said she wanted you to know they were going to try to begin again." Michael's eyes squeezed shut and he choked out a bitter laugh. "Were those her words?" he asked. "Begin again?" John's hand gripped Michael's shoulder as he nodded, "yeah, that's what she said. Michael, I'm sorry." Garibaldi laughed in earnest. "Don't be, John. I appreciate it, but it's all right." He shook off Sheridan's concern and sat down to consider this news. "Lise couldn't accept my choosing this life. She needs something very different." He stared at the floor as he shared his reflection. "I love her, John, and I hope she's happy, but I'm not the man who can make her happy. It's better this way." Sheridan searched the blue eyes, looking for assurance that there was truth in the words. Michael stood, patted him on the back and smiled. "It's OK. Really." Almost convinced, the President was nonetheless uncomfortable. Eyes averted, he asked, "What now, Michael?" "Now?" He didn't really know. He was a Ranger now, with all that meant. "I guess I'll be given an assignment." "That," Sheridan replied, stretching the word out over a long breath, "is what I wanted to talk to you about." Michael's head tipped forward, left eyebrow and corner of mouth dipping down in challenge. "Mr. President?" John laughed awkwardly, then he sobered. "Michael, the events of the last week have proven that we still have enemies. I wish I didn't have to think in those terms, but it doesn't pay to be naive. Security is still an issue, and as long as there are covert operations launched against us, I need -- the Alliance needs -- someone looking out for our safety." Sheridan took a step closer to his former security chief. "I believe in going after the best, Michael. I want you in that role." It was Michael's turn to feel awkward. "John, I appreciate it. I really do. And I don't think you understand how much it means to me to know I have your respect." The words emerged in an intimate whisper. Flushing, Garibaldi brushed past Sheridan's left shoulder. "But I'm not ... available, John." He stopped, turning to face his friend. "I'm a Ranger. I'll be given an assignment. It's not my choice to make." "Yes, well," Sheridan stammered, his face coloring, "I have a certain amount of influence with Ranger One." The two men laughed, even as Garibaldi began to shake his head. John raised a palm to silence him. "Delenn and I have talked about this at length. We both want you handling security and intelligence for the Alliance. Now, it's going to be in your orders one way or another ... " He dropped his hand to his side. " ... but I was hoping you'd want to do it." For a long time Garibaldi looked at him: without guilt, without remorse, without anger, without pain. He simply looked into the eyes of a friend. Neither spoke until Michael put forth a hand. "I do, John, very much." Relieved and delighted, Sheridan clasped that hand as Michael added a whispered word of thanks. Sheridan took his leave, extracting from Michael a promise to return to Babylon 5 as soon as the official orders came through, and offering the promise that no surveillance tags would be slapped on him when he did. "Lochley be damned," the President laughed. "You work for me now." Michael watched him leave, then sat, feeling for the first time the effects of his sleepless night. His eyes went again to Valen, his heart to Jeff. He let himself drift into meditation. Or perhaps it was sleep. His eyes snapped open as the hands touched his shoulders. "We missed you at breakfast." The voice was as gentle as the touch. Drew took a seat beside him on the bench. "I missed you." Michael searched for the right words: an apology for not sharing this special morning with his friend, an explanation of his need to be here, congratulations, and thanks. Most of all, thanks. Drew turned his head to look as Michael sucked in the breath to start his speech. "Don't start with me," he quipped, one eyebrow arched. To Garibaldi's open-mouthed stare, he explained, "You're gonna start talking about honor and courage and respect. You'll start in about the meaning of being a Ranger, about how significant what we've done is, and pretty soon you'll be going on about friendship and how important we've been to one another." Drew looked away, wrinkling his nose as he bit his lip. "Next thing you know, I'll be bawling -- probably you too -- and won't we look impressive marching in to get our orders with puffy eyes and runny noses?" The first guffaw echoed off the walls of the temple, and soon, in truth, the tears were flowing, as the two dissolved in helpless giggles. Garibaldi caught his breath with some effort. He turned his body sideways on the bench, folding a leg out of the way. "Drew?" The young Ranger looked at him. "I know, Michael," he whispered. "Same here." The older man showed just a trace of a smile. There were no other words needed. "Orders, you say?" Garibaldi raised an eyebrow. The blond stood and straightened his waistcoat. "We can pick them up in the Entil'Zha's office. Word is she's handling it personally." Garibaldi got to his feet. "Well, then," he said as he brushed himself off, "we should present ourselves." Smiling, they headed for the door, falling naturally into step. At the door they paused, looking backward to the image of Valen. Michael's eyes lingered there, but Drew turned to look at his companion. "He was right about you," he whispered when Michael met his gaze. "Yeah," Garibaldi answered, finally secure in that knowledge, "he was." They left the temple and strode briskly across the sunlit compound. "Would you be interested in working in security and intelligence?" Michael inquired of his companion. "I'd be interested in working," the young man laughed, "anywhere they want to put me. I can't imagine newly commissioned Rangers get any say in their assignments." Garibaldi held the door of the administration building open for his friend. "Yeah," he said grinning broadly, "but I have a certain amount of influence with Ranger One." In Valen's Name 1