An Unsatisfied Hunger
Part 4


= = =

In the corridor, he balked.  He now had even more questions to ask her, but that 
could wait.  Did she know what had happened?

"Ms. Sullivan," he began.  It sounded awkward, overly formal.  "I don't know if 
you know, but there's been a fire in your quarters."  He tried to keep his voice 
cool, even, hoping not to alarm her too much, and yet remembering the 
destruction he had seen.  She stopped and turned, looking up at him.  

"What?"  She looked startled, but not shocked.  "Fire?"

Garibaldi nodded.  "I'm sorry, it was pretty bad..." He chased after her as she 
strode toward her quarters.  She halted in the main room, staring at what had 
been her kitchen.  Michael could see the horror in her eyes, and all his doubts 
and suspicions faded before the desire to give comfort.

"Why don't you see if you can gather up a few things?  You can stay in my 
quarters tonight.  I'll crash with Zack."

"No.  Thank you, Mr. Garibaldi.  That's very kind of you, but I couldn't put you 
out."  Her words were flat, emotionless; her voice that of an automaton.  Her 
eyes never strayed from the charred remains of her quarters.  Michael approached 
her and gently laid a hand on her arm.  Finally, she looked at him.  

"You shouldn't stay here.  Not tonight anyway." 

"I can clean up the bedroom a little.  It'll be all right..."

"Not tonight," Michael interrupted.  He took hold of her arm and led her toward 
the bedroom.  "Let's get your things."

The bedroom and bath had escaped the flames, though they were covered in soot.  
Michael wondered if it was worthwhile to try to find a change of clothes for 
her.  He doubted that anything in here would be wearable and she seemed too 
deeply in shock to give him much help.  Maybe he should just get her the hell 
out of here.

She spoke at last, although Michael was not sure if it was to him or to herself.  
"He won't stop here."

"Who?"  Michael crossed to where she stood.  "Who won't stop?"

"Roger.  This is his work."  Suddenly she seemed to wake from the stupor.  
"Michael," she said, looking up at him at last,  "if Roger wants me dead, he 
won't stop with one attempt.  He'll strike elsewhere to get to me, and he won't 
care who else he hurts in the process.  I'm a danger to the station.  I have to 
leave Babylon 5."  Her words came in a rush now, keeping pace with her racing 
mind.

"Hold it.  Slow down," Michael cautioned.  "Why would Roger want you dead all of 
a sudden?"

She shook her head.  "He's wanted me dead for a long time, but he left me alive 
because he thought I had information he wanted.  He must finally believe I don't 
know.  He doesn't need me alive anymore.  Oh god, I hope they're all right."

"Who?  And what information?"

"Tim and Karen and the kids.  Sean's brother and his family.  Roger was sure I 
knew where they were."

"Did you?"

"No.  They were safer if I didn't know, if we had no contact.  The information 
was offered to me, but I turned it down."

"So he gave up on the hope that you'd lead him to them, and that's why he put me 
on their trail," Garibaldi mused.

Sullivan started.  "What did you say?  Put you...?  Who?  When?"  As concisely 
as he could, Michael related the story of Gordon Francis' quest for his 
'family'.  Still unsure about how much she could be trusted, he did not share 
all the details.

"When I got to Mars, I found out that the woman wasn't Gordon Francis' wife at 
all.  She didn't know who Francis was or why he was looking for her."  OK, it 
was a small lie.

"This Gordon Francis' is probably working for Roger.  Ask her what she did to 
tick Roger off -- or Clark.   Roger works for him."  The analysis that had been 
going on behind Sullivan's eyes halted suddenly.  "Where does Tim come in?"

Garibaldi drew the other photo from his pocket and handed it to her.  "Shit," 
she breathed as she recognized the family.  "Francis gave you this?" 

Michael nodded.  "Said it was his daughter and her family." 

"And did you find them for him?"  She didn't meet his eyes as she asked it, and 
Michael could see her steeling herself for his answer.

"No," he reassured her.  "Once I realized on Mars that I had been duped, I just 
focused on finding out why and by whom."

"And they know you're on to them, judging from Willis' reaction, she pointed 
out.  So I'm no longer of any use to them, and I fear, neither are you.  That 
means you may be in danger as well, and god knows how many people Roger had 
dispatched to do the job." 

Michael remembered the data crystal Jeremy had given him.  Perhaps it would 
contain some helpful information.  He felt for it in his pocket, contenting 
himself that it was safe, and finding as well the sketch of 'Gordon Francis.'  
He withdrew it, and showed it to her.  

"That's Matlin," she blurted out.  "Who did this sketch, and why?"

"Who's Matlin?"  Michael pressed, ignoring her questions.  

Sullivan looked at him for a long moment, and he realized suddenly that she was 
fighting her own doubts about him.  At last she spoke, in what Michael sensed 
was a conscious decision to trust him in spite of questions.  "He's one of 
Roger's hired hands, a mercenary, specialist in explosives and incendiary 
devices." 

Michael found himself less able to quell his doubts.  "I don't believe your 
father-in-law introduced his thugs with a list of their credentials," he 
challenged, and saw the concern return to her face.  In the moment her eyes 
searched his, he felt her search his soul, and he reached out with all his 
energy to touch her spirit in return.  In this moment, he knew, it would all be 
decided between them.  She touched his hand as she spoke again.  

"I know his name, and know that he works for Roger, because I saw him at the 
house.  His background information I acquired through..." She stared into his 
eyes.  "...other sources."

It dawned on him at last.  "It's you.  You're the contact."  She only nodded.  
"Lou.  I assumed it was a man's name.  Lucia.  All this time..." He realized he 
was babbling, shook his head, and moved away.  Still she said nothing.  He spun 
round to look at her, his face a mix of wonder and horror.  "Does Roger know?"

"He suspects.  If he could prove it, I wouldn't be here.  But that's why he 
wanted me out of Sean's life."

"Did Sean know?"

She nodded sadly.  "Yes.  I wouldn't have -- couldn't have -- kept it from him.  
I probably told him sooner than I should have, certainly sooner than Jeremy 
thought I should.  But I trusted Sean, right from the start -- he had such 
integrity -- and I didn't want there to be any thought in his mind that I was 
seducing him for political reasons -- although Roger suggested that every chance 
he got."

"What was Sean's position?"

"He knew his father worked for Clark, and he knew Clark was scum, even before we 
met.  At first he felt it was private, a family matter, but in time, as he 
understood more and more the atrocities Clark was perpetrating, his opposition 
became more public.  That's when he and Roger really started to battle."

"Was he a member of the Resistance?"

"No, though if he had lived, that might have changed.  He looked the other way 
when I had an assignment.  He didn't ask which of my friends were or weren't 
involved.  He accepted who and what I was and I tried to do the same for him."

He knew he had to ask the question once, to have it in the open between them.  
"Who killed Sean?"

He could see the pain sweep through her body as surely as if he had sliced into 
her with a knife.  Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and composed 
herself.  She sighed and spoke, not looking at him.  

"There are a lot of answers to that question.  Your friend Matlin is probably 
the one who did the job, probably did this too," she said, gesturing to the 
kitchen.  "You could say he's responsible, or you could say I am, because Sean 
would be alive today if he hadn't gotten involved with me.  But ultimately, 
Roger gave the orders."

"Roger Sullivan put a contract out on his own son?"

Shaking her head, she spoke sadly.  "No, even Roger isn't that much of an 
animal.  In his own way, he loved Sean.  No, the contract was on me.  Roger had 
tried repeatedly to break up our marriage.  He wanted me gone from Sean's life.  
The blast was designed just to kill the driver.  He didn't anticipate Sean 
driving my car." The more Michael heard the more questions he had.  "When Roger  
found out what had happened, when he realized Sean was dead and I had survived, 
he was enraged.  He became obsessed with what he saw as revenge.  Roger believes 
I'm the reason his son is dead, and he wants my life in payment."

"And Tim?"

She smiled down at the picture she still held.  "Tim was even more opposed to 
Clark than Sean had been.  Sean mattered more to Roger -- his first born -- but 
he got into some real battles with Tim too.  I tried to avoid discussing 
anything with Tim, lest I give Roger something else to attack me for, but I know 
he had been talking with some of our people, and I think he was close to joining 
us.  He came to the hospital to see me -- it felt like minutes after it happened 
-- and I tried to tell him that it hadn't been meant for Sean.  But that's what 
he believed, and he believed he was next."

She handed back the photo, and looked around the room.  "I have to get a few 
things together, Mr. Garibaldi, if you'll excuse me.  I have to leave the 
station." 

Michael walked to the closet and located a small suitcase.  He laid it open on 
the bed.  She thanked him and opened the chest by the wall, withdrawing a few 
items of clothing.  Like the case she set them in, they were smoky and sooty, 
but she would have to deal with that later.  Michael stepped into the bathroom 
and gathered up a few toilet items: her toothbrush, her hairbrush, a few 
cosmetics.  He tucked them into one arm, and with his free hand, snatched up the 
nightgown and robe from the back of the door.  He carried his burdens out to the 
bedroom.

Silently he added the toilet items to the case she had packed, and offered her 
the robe.  Numbly she accepted it from him, but as she began to fold it tears 
slipped down her cheeks.  He dropped silken slip on top of the case, reaching 
his hands out to her in an offer to take away the robe and whatever pain it had 
caused her.  Instead, she clutched it to her, burying her face in the folds of 
terry and letting the tears flow freely.  

Gently, gingerly, Garibaldi wrapped his arms around her, unable to offer any 
words, trying only to assure her that she was not alone.  A few moments, a small 
lifetime, passed in those tears.  A single sob shuddered through her before she 
calmed herself, looking up, stepping back from Michael's embrace, thanking him 
quietly.  She began to fold the robe again.  Setting it carefully on top of the 
pile of belongings, she spoke softly, as much to herself as to Michael.  "It's 
the only thing of Sean's I have left."  She closed the case.

Michael lifted the case from the bed and laid an arm around Sullivan's 
shoulders.  "Come on," he whispered, guiding her toward the door.  

"I have to get a transport -- somewhere.  Maybe I should just go back to Earth 
and face it head on."

"Tomorrow," Garibaldi said quietly.  "Right now you need some sleep." 

"Carly," came a voice Michael recognized as Sparky, "it's five a.m. Earth 
Standard time.  You're scheduled to be on duty in a few hours.  You wanted me to 
wake you."

"Cancel that instruction," Michael barked at the artificial personality.

"I'm sorry, that instruction cannot be canceled without voice authorization from 
Ms. Sullivan."

"It's all right, Mr. Garibaldi.  I should shut him down before I go.  It's a 
shame.  We had made real progress."  She walked haltingly to the data terminal, 
and Michael followed, a few steps behind.

"Security said the damage here would have been even worse if it hadn't been for 
Sparky."  Michael couldn't believe he was paying the beast a compliment.  
Sullivan looked back at him, and it was clear her mind was racing.  "What are 
you thinking?" he asked, setting down the bag and stepping closer to her.  

"They'll try again.  My office, C&C, wherever they think they can strike at me.  
Too many people will get hurt.  Unless..." She looked at the console.  "I have 
to talk to the Commander," she said, reaching for the com unit.

Michael grabbed her hand.  "Ivanova will never OK it."

"Sparky's security systems are superior to the central computer's, and now that 
he's seen Matlin's work, he'll be even better able to detect it.  He could save 
lives.  She has to listen to that."

"Maybe, but let me handle it," Michael ordered.  "You start uploading him into 
the main systems."

"I'll need security codes.  My codes will get me to certain levels, but this has 
got to go all the way to command levels."

The first thing Zack Allan should have done when he became Chief of Security was 
to change all codes.  Michael was counting on the fact, that like most people, 
he had procrastinated.  "You'll have them.  Let me handle Susan," he said as he 
hit the com button.

= = =

"Under no circumstances!"  Ivanova's adamant voice reached through the com 
system like a hand for Garibaldi's throat.  "No, Michael.  Are you crazy?  Don't 
you remember?  Damn, Michael, you have no business in this at all.  You're a 
civilian now.  Where is Sullivan?"

Sullivan opened her mouth to respond, but Michael silenced her with a gesture.  
"She's here, but she's busy right now.  Susan, we need to do this.  There's more 
at stake than I can explain on an open channel, but you have to trust me.  We 
need Sparky for this one.  I'd like to do it with you and the Captain, but if I 
have to, I'll do it on my own."  He was counting on Ivanova to know he could 
forge their security codes.  "We're in Sullivan's quarters -- what's left of 
them," Michael said, glancing around him.  "We're going to need your codes soon.  
Garibaldi out."

The darkening viewer strangled off Ivanova's objections.  Sullivan continued her 
work as Michael started to pace.  "So," she asked with a little smile, "what 
made you give up the diplomatic service?"

With a chuckle of admission, Michael stepped over to join her at the console.  
"Can I help?" he asked.

"Not this instant," Sullivan answered, "but I've gone just about as far as I can 
go without those command level codes."

"What the hell is this about, Michael?"  Sheridan demanded, pulling up short.  
Ivanova came behind him at a trot as well, along with Marcus Cole.  

"Short version of the story, John, and I'll give you the details another time.  
Security should be reporting to you shortly that this fire was arson.  Sullivan 
believes the people responsible want her dead, and they'll try again.  Beyond 
that, I've got information that Clark has saboteurs aboard the station, whose 
assignment is to cause enough accidents' to cripple us.  It's all part of the 
same crap, John, and Sparky is our best hope of catching them before people 
start dying."

"Sullivan, I told you I would not have that thing back in the system," Ivanova 
growled.  "Michael, you of all people..."

"How good is your information, Michael?"  Sheridan interrupted.  He was studying 
his former Security Chief, seeing his colleague, his friend, the man with whom 
he had been through so much, the man who had been with this station, loved this 
station, defended this station, from the very beginning.

Garibaldi looked to Sullivan.  In her eyes, he found the assurance he sought, 
assurance that he could speak freely to Sheridan of Earth Resistance.  "Very 
good, John."  He reached in his pocket, handed over the crystal.  "That should 
tell us who Clark has on station."  Sheridan accepted it silently, looking over 
to Sullivan.  

"You know about this too?" the Captain demanded of Sullivan.  

"I didn't have that information, Captain, no.  But I can guess at its source, 
and I'll second Mr. Garibaldi's confidence."

"Captain, you can't be considering..." Ivanova objected.  Sheridan raised a hand 
to silence her.  

Sullivan turned to Ivanova.  "Commander, I understand your concern but I've made 
serious progress with Sparky -- Garibaldi can vouch for that -- and even if it 
means I have to work day and night to purge it when the threat is over, it's 
still our best chance."

"John, my information is at least a week old, and the people who did this know 
by now that they didn't get their target," Garibaldi warned.  "We can't afford 
to waste time."

"Trust them, Captain."  Marcus' voice came softly from the doorway.  As the 
others looked to where he stood, Akirai appeared beside him.  "The Rangers have 
been receiving the same kind of information -- that was what I had come to tell 
you."  He grinned at Garibaldi.  "We didn't get names, though." 

"The man responsible for this fire is still on station, Captain," Akirai added.  
"As long as he's here, he's a danger."

"Captain..." Ivanova began again.

"Do it."  Sheridan said simply to Sullivan.  

The woman turned back to the console for a moment.  "It will request your 
command authorizations.  When it has those, the rest is automatic.  We can step 
outside until you're done."  She moved away from the console, and passed between 
the two Rangers into the corridor.  Michael followed the two men out.  

"You!"  Garibaldi growled at Akirai the moment the door closed.  "Didn't I tell 
you to keep an eye on her?"

"It's not his fault, Michael," Sullivan interjected.  "He tried his best.  I had 
to work damn hard to ditch him."

The three men looked at Sullivan with surprise, and she smiled sheepishly.  
Garibaldi recovered first, turning back to Akirai.  "You said the man 
responsible was still on station.  What do you know?" 

"Your friend Gordon Francis turns out to be a merc," Akirai began.  

Garibaldi looked over at Sullivan.  "Matlin," she said.  

The young Ranger continued.  "My sources came up dry on the matter you asked me 
to check out..." He paused and looked at Michael to see if the message had been 
received.  Garibaldi circled his fingers to indicate Akirai should continue.  
"...but I came up with one informant who heard Francis telling Willis what he'd 
need to set up the blasts.  And yes, my man was certain it was plural." 

"What was?"  The voice of the Captain interrupted them.  "Ms. Sullivan, you 
might want to check that everything has gone correctly.  It would ease the 
Commander's mind." 

Sullivan returned to the console to check on the upload, while the four men 
gathered in the doorway.  "Michael, I'd like to take a look at the information 
on that data crystal."  He turned to the Rangers.  "Do you have anything to 
add?"

"The man we believe to be responsible for this has been using the name Gordon 
Francis," Akirai began.  "He's about six feet tall..."

Michael fished in his pocket, and handed the sketch to Sheridan.  "This is 
Francis.  Or Matlin, if that's even his real name.  He's a mercenary, working 
for Roger Sullivan, who in turn works for Clark.  Willis -- the guy I had the 
run-in with tonight -- is part of it too."

"Our information suggests there are several saboteurs on board, Captain," Marcus 
added.  "It would seem they are all independent contractors, unaware of one 
another's presence or assignment."

"The data crystal should have some of them, but my source thinks there are 
more," Garibaldi cautioned.  

"Matlin -- you say he's working for Roger Sullivan?"  Sheridan asked, and 
Michael nodded.  Sheridan hit his link.  "Patch me through to Zack Allan." 

As the Captain instructed his new Security Chief to put the station on alert, 
his former Security Chief stepped inside the apartment.  Carly Sullivan stood by 
the console, with Ivanova at her elbow.  The voices began as Michael approached.

"There!"  Sullivan pointed out.  "Security Alert!"  Sparky was calm but 
insistent.  "Captain, we've got something," Ivanova called.  "Yes, Zack, we're 
getting it too," Sheridan announced.  "Security Alert!"  Sparky again.  "Where 
is it?"  Marcus queried.  "Down, Sparky, the whole station doesn't need the 
details," Sullivan murmured as she made some adjustments.  "John, we've got 
multiple readings," Susan informed him.  "Mr. Allan, are you getting this?" the 
Captain asked.  "Security Alert!" repeated Sparky.  "What does he have?"  Akirai 
inquired over Sullivan's shoulder.  "Invasions of the electrical system, in 
several places," Sullivan replied.  "Is it our boy?"  Michael asked finally.  
"Matches Matlin's work pretty closely, right down the line."

Over Sheridan's link, they could hear Zack dispatching teams to each of the 
locations.  Marcus studied the display from over Sullivan's shoulder for a few 
moments, then took off to lend what help he could.  Sheridan sent Ivanova back 
to C&C to coordinate and stepped into her position by the console.  As he 
questioned Sullivan about the information there, Garibaldi grabbed Akirai.  

"The case, there -- that's her stuff," he pointed, then pressed his key into the 
Ranger's hand.  "I want you to take her back to my quarters, see that she gets 
whatever she needs, and make her sleep.  And don't leave her alone, whatever you 
do.  Watch over her."

Akirai nodded in acknowledgment.  "What about you?" he asked.

Garibaldi looked over at the information Sparky was sending back.  "I have to 
report back to a client."

= = =

Another man would run, catch the first transport out the minute his job was 
done.  But Gordon Francis was gutsier, more brazen, smarter than that.  He'd 
stay on station, and act as horrified as everyone else when his handiwork blew 
the place apart.

Garibaldi was counting on that, and counting on him to avoid getting hurt.  He 
had surveyed the list of sites where explosives had been planted, and headed 
away from them.  He found his man in the casino.  

Michael approached the gaming table where Francis was absorbed in play, coming 
up from behind the man to lay a hand of his shoulder.  "This take your mind off 
the loss of your family?"  Garibaldi challenged.

Francis turned toward the voice.  "Mr. Garibaldi!"  He didn't flinch.  "Did you 
find anything?"  The innocent act made Garibaldi furious.  

"Actually, I did," Michael began, trying to keep his cool.  "Why don't we find 
somewhere a little more private?"

Francis gathered up his chips, and Michael stepped aside to let the older man 
lead the way to a table against the wall near the door.  Garibaldi remained 
standing when Francis seated himself.  

"So how long have you had this identity crisis, Mr. Matlin?"  Michael opened.  
He watched the mercenary's face harden at the realization that Garibaldi had 
made him.  

"Matlin?  Who's Matlin?" the man inquired, feigning ignorance.  

Rage boiled up in Garibaldi, rage that felt like it would spew forth in an 
explosion of emotion, anger that would boom out of him.  He struggled with it, 
torn between the desire to control it and the need to let it erupt.  His reply 
was lost in the deafening report of the explosion.

The screams seem to come from every side, but the concussive force that threw 
Garibaldi to the floor came from a single focused source, directly in front of 
him.  When Michael was able to look back to where he had stood a moment before, 
he realized that the jagged fragments had been the table.  He inventoried his 
body.  He was bloody in several places and sore but alive and able to move.  It 
was when he moved that he realized bones were broken.  

Garibaldi fought through the pain, raising himself up.  He would not let Matlin 
get away from him.  The med team was on scene, he noted, as he got to his feet.  
They would be too late for Matlin, whose lifeless body lay broken and bleeding 
in the debris.  

= = =

Garibaldi was relieved to be finally released from medlab, almost as relieved as 
the medtechs who had been enduring his impatience while trying to tend to his 
injuries.  His right arm was in a cast -- again -- but the rest of his injuries 
were minor.  Matlin had not been so lucky.  Based on preliminary investigation, 
security believed that the charge had been set directly under Matlin's table.  
Between the force of the blast and the flying shrapnel, Matlin hadn't had a 
chance.  

His own handiwork had not had a chance to show itself.  Sparky had traced and 
reported every intrusion into station systems that Matlin had made, and Security 
had been able to locate and defuse them before any more damage had been done.  
Along with those, Sparky noted a few other suspicious looking spots.  The teams 
that checked them out found devices that didn't look like Matlin's work, but 
clearly had the same intent.  Sparky had added the details of those to his 
library of threats.   

The blast in the casino they had not foreseen.  Independent contractors, Marcus 
had said.  Unaware of what the others were doing.  Matlin had chosen the casino 
as a refuge, a place where he intended no damage.  He didn't know Roger Sullivan 
had others working on this project, didn't know that one of them, someone whose 
work was far less sophisticated but just as deadly, had targeted the casino as a 
place to cause terror.  

That much had worked.  People were frightened now, frightened by the blast, the 
senseless attack on innocents, frightened by the security teams who were 
searching public spaces looking for other devices, trying to avert any further 
injuries.  They had been lucky this time actually.  Matlin was the only 
fatality, and injuries, while numerous, were largely minor.  They couldn't allow 
a next time.

Garibaldi let himself into his quarters.  A security team had checked the place 
and it had come up clean.  Apparently, he wasn't regarded as a target.  Except, 
he thought in the darkness, by whoever's holding the PPG that just armed.

Michael raised his arms slowly, staring toward the sound, trying to focus in the 
darkness.  A voice called for lights, and as the computer complied, Garibaldi 
felt the breath return to his lungs.  

"Akirai!" he said, lowering his arms as the Ranger lowered his weapon.  "You 
scared the hell out of me."

"Just following your orders, Chief," the young man teased.  "Watching over her."

"Any trouble?"  Garibaldi asked, noting the trench coat thrown over the chair, 
the high-heeled sandals beside it.

"Only in persuading her to get some sleep," came the reply.  "You could have 
warned me about how stubborn she is." 

"I heard that."  Sullivan's voice came from the sleeping area, and she followed 
it into the room, wrapped in Michael's silk robe.  "We heard what happened.  
How's the arm?"

"It'll heal," Garibaldi responded.  "Matlin's dead.  Willis is in lock-up.  
Security is rounding up the others named on the data crystal, bringing them in 
for questioning.  We may have gotten through this one without too much damage."

Sullivan reached for her bag and found it empty.  "I know I packed," she said 
looking back and forth between Garibaldi and Akirai.  

The Ranger jumped up and retrieved a pile of clothing.  "Sorry.  Everything 
looked smoky.  I took the liberty..." He handed the laundry back to Sullivan, 
who thanked him as she settled most of it into the case.  She padded back into 
the bedroom with a few items in her hands, calling back as she went.  "Sparky's 
been behaving himself, delivering results and keeping his mouth shut.  Even the 
Commander has stopped complaining."

"What about you?"  Akirai asked Garibaldi.  "Your job still isn't finished, is 
it?"

Startled by the question, Michael turned to the young man.  "What do you mean?"

"You were supposed to find the people in both photos.  You've only found the 
woman."

"Yeah, well, Gordon Francis isn't gonna be complaining," Garibaldi snorted.  

"Michael, I'm serious," Akirai insisted.  "It's not about Francis, or Matlin, or 
whatever his name was.  It's about the people he works for."

"That would be Roger Sullivan," supplied Sullivan, emerging once again from the 
bedroom, this time in slacks and a tailored shirt.  She dropped the bustier and 
leather skirt from the previous night on top of her tote bag.  "What's your 
point?" she challenged Akirai.

"We got the people on Mars to safety but your employers didn't know that, or 
they wouldn't have gone ahead and torched the place," he pointed out.  "They may 
know you're wise to them, but in all likelihood, they still expect you to be 
looking for the people in the other picture." 

"I'm not going to lead them right there," Michael protested, "even if I did know 
where they were."

"Maybe we have to let them think you are," Akirai suggested.  "It worked on 
Mars."

Sullivan shook her head.  "This one's more complicated.  The woman from Mars he 
wanted dead." She looked from Garibaldi to the Ranger.  "He's going to want his 
son alive."

When they had dealt with Akirai's astonishment at the identity of the family, 
they collaborated on a plan.  "Let's suppose, just for a moment, that Roger 
assumes I've found them, tracks me to a location that he believes is where Tim 
is hiding," Garibaldi suggested.  "Then what?"

"What do you mean, 'then what'?" the younger man asked.  

"What does Roger do?  Have Tim kidnapped?  Beg him to come home?  Drop in for 
coffee?"

"If Roger's true to form, it'll be strong-armed persuasion," Sullivan offered.  
"Kidnapping wouldn't be out of character."

"You still have the ring?"  Akirai asked.

Michael shook his head.  "I lost that back on Earth." Seeing Sullivan's 
quizzical look, Garibaldi explained, "Gordon Francis gave me a ring..."

"...with a tracking device inside," Sullivan interrupted.  "Roger likes that 
trick.  He's pulled it before."

Akirai came back to the subject.  "So they haven't been able to track you back 
here?"  Garibaldi shook his head.

"But with all that's gone on, one of Roger's people is going to report that 
you're back on station," Sullivan pointed out.  "And if they know you've made 
contact with me, that will only reinforce Roger's suspicions."

Michael was pacing now.  "If I do nothing?"

"If I were Roger Sullivan, I'd be trying to monitor all your travel, all your 
communications, on the theory that you know where my son is," Akirai speculated.  

Michael considered that.  "We don't know he's not doing that already."  He 
resumed his pacing.  "If I lead him someplace, try to sell it as Tim's hiding 
place, he'll find out pretty fast that it's a ruse, and we're right back where 
we started."

"Unless..." Sullivan's eyes narrowed as a plan formed in her mind.  Quickly she 
sketched for the two men.  

"I like it," Akirai said.  "Bested at his own game."

"One problem," Garibaldi noted.  "We don't know where Tim and his family are."

"But we know who does," Sullivan replied.  

= = =

"It's bloody risky, if you ask me."  Marcus Cole was not thrilled with the plan, 
and without him it could not go forward.  Garibaldi started to argue, but 
Sullivan waved him off.

"Will you at least discuss it with Tim?" she asked Marcus.  "For all I know, he 
may want to go back to his father."

"I can assure you that is not the case," Marcus said with a sly smile.  After a 
moment, he capitulated.  "Very well, I'll contact him, but if he's at all 
hesitant, I will not encourage him."

"Thank you, Marcus, -- for everything," Sullivan said.  "It's been a relief to 
me to know Tim has been in such good hands." 

Marcus looked at Garibaldi.  "Has anyone ever managed to say no to her?"  With a 
smile, Michael shrugged, and the Ranger left.  Akirai followed him, after 
assuring Garibaldi and Sullivan he would report back.

"How did the Rangers get involved in this?"  Garibaldi asked Sullivan when they 
were alone.  

Sullivan looked a bit puzzled herself.  "As I said, Tim took off while I was 
still in the hospital, and I tried to keep my involvement to a minimum, because 
I thought it was safer for everyone that way.  But as I understand it, he had a 
friend who had joined the Rangers, and when he packed up his family and went 
into hiding, he went to that friend for help.  The Rangers set them up 
somewhere, new identities, the whole business."

"And Marcus has been your contact to Tim and his family?"  Michael asked, 
remembering the hallway outside her office.

"Just an occasional update.  'They're doing fine.  Here's a recent photo of the 
kids.'  That kind of thing."  The photo on her desk, Michael remembered now, had 
been of two redheaded men: Sean and Tim.  "Rarely even a photo," Sullivan 
continued.  "We tried to stay away from anything that could be traced."

The door signal sounded and Garibaldi opened it, left hand behind him to be 
nearer his PPG.  Akirai was smiling as he entered.  "Tim is in.  Marcus is 
making the arrangements."

= = =

By morning, everything was in place.  Marcus escorted Garibaldi and Sullivan to 
the docking bay, reciting admonitions the entire time.  By the time they bid 
good-bye to their mother-hen, both Michael and Carly were smiling.  

"Is he always like that?"  Sullivan asked.  

Garibaldi tipped his head to one side, thinking that one over.  "I think it's 
something about women that brings in out in him.  He fusses over Ivanova too."  
The look Sullivan gave him was half resentment, half amusement.  "This OK?" he 
asked, indicating a spot where they could settle down.  

"Fine," she replied, dropping her pack.  They doffed their jackets and made 
something of a fuss about getting comfortable, all the while surveying their 
fellow passengers.  With a few directed glances, they agreed on their prime 
candidate for their surveillance.  Finally, they sat.

"Ms. Sullivan?" Garibaldi began, and she turned to look up in to his eyes.  "Is 
there something less formal I could call you?"  

Her laughter charmed him.  "Please do, Michael.  It's Carly."  They made small 
talk for a while, working very hard at being casual, carefully observing their 
shipmates.  Finally, Garibaldi stretched and yawned.  "Why don't you try to 
sleep a while?" she suggested.

"What about you?"

"Maybe in a bit," she said, pulling a book out of her pack.  "I'm going to read 
for a while."

Michael slouched down, propped up his feet, folded his arms across his chest, 
and closed his eyes.  Sullivan gave her attention to her book.  Neither truly 
relaxed, but after a time, Sullivan too yawned, closed her book, and made to 
sleep.  As she searched for a comfortable position, Michael unfolded his arms, 
and reached one around behind her.  With a murmur of pleasure, she nestled 
against him, his arm round her shoulders.  

After a time, he leaned his head toward hers, whispering softly into her ear.  
"We'll be docking soon.  He still watching?" 

"Um hum," she murmured, curling in toward his body to nod and look up at him.  

"All set?" he said softly, feeling suddenly unsettled himself.  

She nodded, closed her eyes, and rested her head on his chest.  He stroked her 
hair and waited for the docking announcement.  When it came, they made a show of 
waking, stretching, gathering their things.  They strode purposefully toward the 
hatch, almost colliding with their prime candidate.  Sullivan halted suddenly, 
offered the man the opportunity to precede her.  He demurred, seemed 
embarrassed, motioned them on.  "After you," he muttered finally.

The directions Marcus had given them were clear and detailed.  They found their 
way to the meeting site without difficulty.  Their instincts seemed confirmed 
when they spotted their prime candidate following at a discreet distance.  

Garibaldi checked the time.  Timing was crucial to this whole endeavor.  They 
were right on schedule.  Left here, and a short walk to the meeting site.  He 
slipped an arm around Carly, guiding her around the corner.  

"Are you OK?" she asked, looking up at him.  

"We're doing just fine," Michael answered.  "You ready?"

"No problem.  There it is!"  Sullivan pointed toward a little house set off by 
itself.  She quickened her pace a bit, and Michael glanced back to see that 
their companion had stopped, but continued to observe.   

They approached the house, traversing the tidy little garden set between it and 
the road.  Sullivan knocked, and in a moment the door opened and a towering 
redhead scooped her up into a bear hug.  He spun her around before setting her 
back down, and allowing her to introduce Michael.  The two men shook hands, and 
Tim invited them in.  As he stepped inside, Garibaldi managed to check one last 
time for their tail.  

They spent a little over an hour in the house, during which Michael was struck 
by the real joy and affection that Tim and Carly shared.  She was thrilled with 
the present he had brought for her, a packet with recent photos of his wife and 
children, a letter from Karen, crayoned pictures from the kids with love notes 
to Aunt Carly.  She packed them away like treasures.

You were right, Carly, Tim said at last.  The more I see of Clark, the more I 
realize you were right about him all along.  I only wish Mom and Dad could 
understand that.

Michael could see the torment in her eyes as Carly searched for some response.  
Finding none, she hugged her brother-in-law, a long embrace that Michael 
imagined must raise so many memories.  He wondered if Tim yet knew why his 
brother died and who ultimately was responsible.  It's time, folks, he said 
softly, and they parted at last.  

Tim saw them to the door, kissing Carly again, shaking Michael's hand as he 
offered his thanks.  They walked slowly down the path, turning often to call 
back to Tim, who stood in the doorway, waving goodbye.  At last, they left the 
little house behind, and Tim disappeared into the house and closed the door.  
Garibaldi laid his arm around Sullivan, shepherding her past the alley where 
their tail lurked.  Instinctively, he sheltered her with his body when the blast 
rang out.  

After the initial shock, they turned to the source of the explosion.  A column 
of smoke and flame rose from where the little house had stood.  Sullivan 
screamed and broke out of Garibaldi's arms, ran full out back toward the site.  
Michael chased after her, catching her when she was already too near the blaze, 
dragging her back to safety.  He held her, drawing her close, as emergency crews 
responded.  She sobbed into his chest as the little structure collapsed in spark 
and ash.  He only held her, stroking her hair.  

It was dark when the crews finally declared the blaze out.  Carly began to 
scream again as they carried out the body bags.  Members of the emergency crew 
helped Garibaldi hold her back, tried to tell her she should not look, could not 
look at the bodies burnt beyond recognition.  At last, Michael managed to bring 
her back into his embrace, to calm her enough to lead her away.  She sobbed 
softly all the way back to the docking bay, sat silent and staring through the 
entire trip back.  Michael only held her.

Docked on station at last, they walked slowly out of the ship.  Garibaldi set 
his arm around the woman's shoulders and led her gently to Blue Sector.  He 
opened the door to his quarters, drawing her inside, and after letting the door 
close, ordered lights.  She let out a long sigh.

"That was quite a performance, Carly!"  Michael congratulated her.  "For a while 
there, I was starting to believe it." 

Sullivan laughed, but only for a moment.  "We're not clear yet," she said, 
looking toward the com unit.  Michael called for messages.  There was only one: 
a brief message from a very relieved-looking Marcus Cole to say everything had 
gone as planned, and that Tim and Karen sent their regards.  Sullivan dropped 
down on the couch, and smiled at Michael.  "Now, we can relax."

= = =

Michael was busy preparing breakfast when Mak called from C&C.  "Garibaldi here.  
What's up, Maureen?"

"Sorry to bother you, Chief, but we've got a call for Ms. Sullivan, and she's 
not in her quarters because of the fire damage.  The Commander said you might 
know where she is."

Carly had heard her name as she was pulling on her shirt.  She padded out to the 
main room in her stockinged feet.  "Sullivan here.  Where's the call from?"

"Earth," Maureen replied.  "Geneva.  From a Roger Sullivan." 

Carly and Michael exchanged glances.  Garibaldi moved well out of the line of 
sight of the com unit.  "Put it through," Sullivan said at last.  She 
straightened as she turned to face the viewer.  

"Carly, there you are!" the silver-haired man on screen looked troubled.

"Good morning, Roger.  This is a surprise."  Sullivan's tone was neutral, 
controlled.

"I'm afraid I have terrible news, Carly.  I'm sorry to have to tell you this, 
but we got word this morning.  Tim and Karen and children, Carly, they're all 
dead." 

"Dead?  Roger, what are you saying?"  Horror played over Carly's face.

"It happened yesterday."  Roger looked truly grief stricken.  "An explosion, a 
fire.  They're all dead."

"Roger, I'm so sorry!"  Carly said.  "How is Elaine?"

"She's taking it very hard, very hard," Roger replied.  He shook his head and 
sighed.  "To think that this is how we finally find him."

The rest of the conversation was brief.  When the viewer went dark, Sullivan 
stood silently staring at the screen.  Garibaldi approached from behind her and 
laid his hands on her shoulders.  "Tell me we did the right thing, Michael."

The words stuck in Garibaldi's throat.  "We did the best thing, the best thing 
we could do under the circumstances.  If we hadn't, they would have kept looking 
for Tim, and in time, they might have found him.  In the meantime, you and I and 
a lot of other people might have gotten hurt.  This way Tim and his family are 
free.  They have a chance to make a new life.  We did what Tim wanted."

"We caused Roger and Elaine a lot of pain."

"Yes."  Michael acknowledged the truth of her words.  "But Roger has caused a 
lot of pain too.  I know that's no excuse, and it doesn't make it right.  But 
maybe, just maybe, we saved a lot of other people a lot of pain."

Sullivan made no reply.  After a time, Garibaldi led her back to the kitchen, 
and poured her a cup of coffee.  They shared breakfast in silence.  

"Carly, you're on duty in fifteen minutes.  You asked to be reminded."  Michael 
thought even Sparky sounded subdued.  

"Thank you, Sparky," she said, rising from the table.  She picked up her jacket 
from the couch, and slipped into her shoes.  Michael walked her to the door.

"You gonna be all right?"  He touched her cheek, and gently lifted her chin.  

She thought it over for a while, then spoke, but not to Michael.  "Sparky, 
station security status?"

After a few beats, the response came back.  "All systems normal.  No intrusions 
noted.  The station is secure."

She looked at Michael and nodded.  "Tim and Karen and the kids are safe.  We're 
safe, and so is the station.  We haven't won the battle yet, but we're still in 
the fight.  And Sparky's getting downright boring."  She and Michael both 
laughed.  "Yeah, I'll be all right, I guess." 

She opened the door and started out.  "You could make it better, though," she 
remarked, stopping just outside the door.  

"What can I do?" an earnest Garibaldi asked.

A mischievous smile flitted across Sullivan's face.  "What say we make some 
sauce tonight?"

"You're on!"  Michael laughed.  "I'll shop."

She bid him good-bye and headed for her office.  Michael watched the door close 
then moved to clean up the breakfast mess.  He poured himself another cup of 
coffee and started to whistle.