The Pursuit of War Part 2 ================================================================ Aboard the White Star, Franklin took over the ship's infirmary, establishing the essential monitoring on his patient and making her comfortable. It intrigued Garibaldi to see that only after he had seen Lyta locked in a cabin and a guard posted at the door did Bester turn his attention to his lover. Franklin left them alone and busied himself with the sleepers for Lyta. It took only a moment for Michael to stow his own gear before heading to the bridge. Marcus was in the chair, calling orders in Minbari. They were already underway, the movement of the sleek craft barely perceptible. "Welcome aboard, Michael," Marcus offered as Garibaldi reached his position. "All to your liking, I trust?" "Thank you. She's a magnificent ship," Garibaldi replied. "Any problems?" "None thus far," the Ranger replied, eyes still on his viewport. "Your extra passengers are settled in?" Garibaldi nodded, though the other man could not see him. "Sorry about that. I didn't get much warning myself. But I think it's going to work out just fine." This time Marcus nodded. "We've laid in a course according to your specifications, and we will be jumping shortly. As for the other end of the trip," he looked at the man beside him, "well, that's your bit, now, isn't it?" Garibaldi's head rocked up and down and his jaw hardened with resolve. His gaze was deep into the blackness beyond the viewport. "We'll be fine." ================================================================ Garibaldi had abandoned any hope of sleep in the angled Minbari bunk. Sitting instead in the mess hall of the White Star, he sipped distractedly at a lukewarm cup of tea. A young Ranger appeared in the doorway, and although no greeting passed between them, he immediately commanded Garibaldi's full attention. "Ranger Cole wishes you to know that we are approaching the jump point," the young man said with a small bow. Michael rose and fastened his jacket. "Thank you. You'll notify the Doctor?" "Yes, sir." And he was gone. Garibaldi strode quickly through the decks of the White Star. In a quiet passageway, he nodded at the guard on duty and hit the door release for the tiny cabin. The redheaded woman looked expectantly toward the doorway where he stood. "It's time," Garibaldi said softly. Without reply, she followed him through the corridor, down the companionway to where the shuttle waited. "Are you OK?" he asked as they entered the bay. She did not get the opportunity to answer. Bester's bellow echoed off the hull. "What is the meaning of this?" Garibaldi stepped between the telepaths. "We're getting off here," he said simply. "The rest of you will continue on to Earth." "Please don't be stupid, Mr. Garibaldi. Ms. Alexander is my prisoner. I have no intention of letting her leave this ship until we reach Earth." "Yeah, well, I'm afraid I have other plans." A touch of impatience rang in Michael's voice. "If you'll excuse us, we are expected on the planet." He moved toward the shuttle. "Don't make this unpleasant, Mr. Garibaldi," Bester cautioned, reaching out mind to mind. "Don't you!" snapped Lyta. A burst of energy hit the PsiCop's mind, breaking his concentration and spinning him backwards, eyes wide with shock and horror. "But the sleepers!" Bester could manage nothing more articulate. "You know, it's amazing how well Franklin is able to fine tune those drugs," Garibaldi noted. "Control intensity, duration -- great stuff. He's a fine doctor. Your lady's in very good hands." Michael saw squint lines around Lyta's eyes. Bester must be fighting back, he realized. "You can't stop us, Bester," Michael explained. "Try, if it makes you feel better, but it's pointless. You do have a choice, however. You can stay aboard, travel to Earth, and be with her when they remove the last of the biotech, or you can come with us. But I have to warn you: you are not expected, and I can't guarantee what kind of reception you'll get." Hearing no reply from Bester, Garibaldi watched the telepaths struggle mind against mind. On the periphery of his experience, Michael saw a movement of shadow, heard a faint click. "Let him go, Lyta," he said suddenly. The telepath complied and Bester's body sagged as though released from a grip. In a heartbeat, he turned on Garibaldi, ripping savagely into his mind. Michael reeled back but raised a hand to show Lyta he was all right. Wide-eyed, Bester released his grip on Garibaldi's mind and stared in astonishment. "Were you just leaving, Mr. Bester," prodded Garibaldi, "or shall I let Lyta back in the game?" Bester stumbled backward, still staring at his adversary. Horror and incredulity were in the gaze he turned first to Lyta, then back to Garibaldi. Then he fled. There was silence until Bester was out of sight, silence Michael broke. "Thanks for the back-up, Marcus." The Ranger stepped into the light and snapped the pike closed. "Not a bother," he replied. "I suspected he might fuss a bit. Now then, shall we?" He gestured toward the shuttle. Lyta boarded silently, settling in one of the cockpit seats. Garibaldi put his body between Marcus and the hatch. "We?" Marcus grinned. "I thought you might have need of a bit of back-up." Garibaldi's face was serious. "Marcus, you are not expected. You show up and you may not fare any better than Bester. Drop us off, get the hell out of here, deliver your other passengers, and get yourself and the Doc back to the station as fast as you can. You're both going to be needed there." He clapped a hand against the Ranger's shoulder. "Your pick-up...." "Marcus, let me do this my way." "You're certain?" "Certain." The Ranger studied him a moment then backed away. Garibaldi stepped inside the shuttle and acknowledged him with a nod. A few words of Minbari crackled over the com system, and Marcus called back an acknowledgment. "We're ready to jump," he told his companion. Garibaldi nodded again. Cole mirrored the movement, then bolted for the bridge as Garibaldi slammed the hatch. ================================================================ The tiny shuttle broke free of the White Star the moment they were safely in normal space. It sank toward the surface of the planet while the shimmering craft above it spun, accelerated, and disappeared into the flash of a jump point. Garibaldi piloted the little craft carefully to a low orbit around the planet. Instrumentation was quiet. They appeared to be alone. "Are you ready for this?" he asked Lyta calmly as he spotted his landing site. The redhead nodded. "I understand, Michael. It will be all right." For a moment, Michael studied her face, not sure he understood that answer. His attention was recaptured by a bleating indicator on his control panel. Quickly, he adjusted a few switches, then carefully eased the shuttle down to within inches of the surface, and slid it into a concealed docking bay carved into the side of the mountain. They both donned breathing apparatus before exiting the shuttle. Michael wondered whether Lyta truly needed it but thought it wiser not to make clear all he knew. Morden was waiting for them in the bay, smiling beneath his own breather. He motioned to them to follow and led the way to an enclosed area. A moment later, he removed his breather and the others followed suit. "Welcome back, Michael. Good to see you again," Morden offered brightly. "And it's a pleasure to have you here, Ms. Alexander." Michael could see the shudder the telepath tried to suppress. He reached an arm out to support her. "Lyta is still feeling the effects of some of the drugs they shot her up with on the station," he explained. "She could use some rest." "Of course, you must both be tired. Come this way." He keyed a sequence into a locking mechanism. The feedback tones made Michael smile. Through a long corridor with doors on either side, they followed, until by Garibaldi's count, they were almost even with his former lodging. Morden touched a single switch on the next panel and the door slid back, giving entry to the same sitting room where Morden had first welcomed Garibaldi to Z'ha'dum. The door to Michael's quarters stood open and another, to which their host now gestured. "I hope you'll find it comfortable, Lyta. If there's anything you want, please don't hesitate to ask." The telepath left the strength of Michael's arm with a weak smile and a mumbled thanks. She surveyed the room from the doorway for a moment then stepped inside. Morden crossed to where Garibaldi stood. In hushed tones, he explained. "We weren't sure what arrangements you would want, so we thought the suite was the wisest course." Garibaldi smiled, though his was not the salacious leer his companion wore. "This will be fine," he said, his head tipped close to Morden's. He raised up as Lyta reappeared in the doorway. The squint was Michael's only warning, but it was enough. As Morden grabbed his temples, Garibaldi threw an arm across his chest, restraining him and turning him round face to face with the telepath. The other hand clamped over the man's mouth to muffle his agonized cries. In only a moment, Garibaldi felt the man go limp in his arms. He dragged the unconscious form into the bedroom and tossed him onto the bed. The mind blast would keep him out of action, but if he was discovered, they could have other company. Back in the sitting room, Garibaldi locked both bedroom doors. "This way," Lyta whispered, as she peeked into the hall. "You sure none of his friends are around?" Garibaldi asked. "The only minds here, besides ours and his, are behind the doors. Out in the bay," she cautioned, "there were others." "We'll deal with that when we get there," Michael replied, not really knowing how. Lyta led the way back through the corridor they had traversed, pausing now and then before a door. Finally she stopped. "This one." "You sure?" Michael asked, stepping around to face her. She nodded. "Whatever they've done to them, it's made their minds flat, almost mechanical. You have to listen closely to find the person underneath it. But this is it." Michael turned to the keypad. "Wait!" Lyta whispered. She closed her eyes, and touched the door lightly with one hand. After a slow breath, she nodded. "Now." Garibaldi entered the eight-key sequence, listening carefully to the feedback tones. Octave, chord, single steps. The door slid back. Michael noticed the squint as Lyta turned to enter the room. In the dusky light, he could see John Sheridan rise from the bed, his smile bright, his arms wide in welcome. "Anna!" Sheridan exclaimed. "It's so good to see you again, darling! I've missed you." Lyta accepted his embrace, her hands skimming quickly over his torso. Garibaldi took a step closer. "Mr. Morden, I'm sorry." Sheridan straightened and half-turned from the woman in his arms. "What can I do for you?" Michael glanced quickly to Lyta. Somehow, she was making Sheridan believe she was Anna and he, Morden. He didn't understand it, but he went with it. "You need to come with us now, John," he said calmly. Sheridan smiled. "Sure," he agreed. "Lead the way." Michael took point into the passageway and down the hall. If any alarms had been tripped, they were silent. The door to the air lock was next, and then the shuttle bay. What the hell were they going to do there? He looked back at the couple following him, their arms around one another's waists, Sheridan smiling down at the woman he believed to be his dead wife. Stopping short of the air lock entrance, he turned and took hold of Lyta's free arm, leaning down to whisper in her ear. "Will this work on our friends in the shuttle bay?" he asked, jerking his head in Sheridan's direction. Lyta considered for a moment. "I might be able to. The more minds, the harder it is. I won't be able to sustain it for long. We'll have to move fast and afterwards..." She didn't finish the sentence but Garibaldi understood. Afterwards she'd be exhausted, useless. If he asked this, it would take all she had. After that, he'd be on his own. He nodded. "I'll take care of the Captain. Will you be able to get yourself to the shuttle?" "If all goes well," she assured him. Garibaldi turned back to the door, once again sounding the familiar tones on the keypad. The three entered the airlock and the woman handed round breathers as the lock sealed. Michael moved closer to Sheridan. "Stay close to me, Captain," he advised. "I'll show you the way." "Wait," Lyta hissed. As Michael looked toward her, she hitched up her skirt and slid a hand inside her high leather boots. The weapon she handed Garibaldi was warm from her body. "I grabbed it from the shuttle while you were closing up," she explained. Seeing Michael's stunned reaction, she smiled. "Hey! I don't trust anybody that much." Garibaldi returned the smile and slipped the weapon into his belt. "Ready?" he asked, placing an arm round Sheridan's back. The woman nodded and hit the release. There was a moment's pause as the pressure equalized then a change in light and the door opened on the shuttle bay. Michael could see the intense concentration in Lyta's face as they struck out toward the shuttle. He guided Sheridan, a quick walk, not a run, nothing to attract attention. One technician passed them, nodded, smiled, and continued. They only needed a few more yards. Suddenly, he realized Lyta had stopped. She stood now shock still, her eyes onyx orbs. Activity in the bay had stopped as well, as workers stood staring at the woman in their midst. Concern about attracting attention evaporated now, and Garibaldi broke into a run, half-dragging Sheridan to the shuttle's hatch and shoving him inside. From all sides, Michael could hear a rising percussion, an eerie clickety-chirp that raised the hairs on his spine. He started back to the where the telepath stood, pushing against bodies he could not see. "Lyta!" he heard himself scream as he fought his way to her. He reached out, grabbed a sleeve, and yanked. "Come on!" The woman stumbled toward him, nearly dead weight, conscious but unseeing, incoherent. Michael fought for a better grip on her limp form, then punched forward to the shuttle. Whatever illusion Lyta had created crumbled now, as the bay workers moved to attack. Garibaldi pulled the PPG from his belt and used it to clear a path to the shuttle. Three techs dropped in that path and several times Michael noted a peculiar shimmer in the air and an ear-piercing whine. Those few yards had lasted a lifetime, Garibaldi thought, as he dropped Lyta onto a bench and slammed the hatch. And the fun was just beginning. He fired up the little craft without bothering even to sit down and punched the engines to full power the moment they cleared the shelter. Protocol suggested a low orbit of the planet before moving to rendezvous altitude. Protocol be damned. If, that is, they had anyone with whom to rendezvous. The Shadow fighters had scrambled, coming at him now in waves, and his little shuttle had minimal weapons systems. He was going to have to get through this one on evasive maneuvers. He banked the craft hard to avoid a burst of fire from a Shadow fighter, and Sheridan, unsecured and unprepared, tumbled into the bulkhead. Michael had no time for apologies. He glanced behind him at Lyta lying limply on the bench and Sheridan climbing to his feet again. "I'll take weapons control," John was saying. Garibaldi almost laughed. They'd have a better chance with a rubber band and a box of paper clips than with what passed for weapons here. He dodged another fighter, led a third into the path of his comrade's fire. The shuttle bucked, concussion echoing through its hull, and the panel beneath Sheridan's hands shorted out as if on cue. Finding the ship still willing to respond, Garibaldi continued to dance it through the firefight but his hope of any successful escape was slipping away. Agility could only save his ass for so long. The fancy flying required to keep body and soul together didn't leave him much time to check his instrumentation, but the flash of one sensor stirred a hope that drew his eyes to the displays. Even as he looked, a jump point flared against the blackness of space and Garibaldi let out a chuckle of relief. "What is it?" Sheridan asked. Garibaldi adjusted his course, his smile broadening. "Our ride is here." He wove through the Shadow fighters, heading for the Centauri cruiser. The big ship sprayed cover fire at the diving fighters as Garibaldi guided the shuttle into the yawning bay. The whine of the bay doors closing was followed closely by the boom of the cruiser's jump to hyperspace. Garibaldi sagged back in his seat, allowing himself just a moment of relief, then spun out of the chair to check on Lyta. The telepath, exhausted and barely conscious, could reply to his murmured questions only with grunts and mumbled monosyllables. She had no visible injuries; Michael let her rest. Sheridan looked on without emotion. "Is she OK?" he asked as Michael returned to the pilot's seat. "We'll see," said Garibaldi, turning to the instrument console. "Shall I pop the hatch? Maybe there's a doctor on board?" "Not yet," Garibaldi mumbled. "Not yet? Why not?" Garibaldi's attention remained on the video display screen and the controls surrounding it. "What are you doing?" Sheridan asked. "Just a little housecleaning," Michael answered calmly. He turned from the console, PPG in hand, and fired three quick blasts. The sound would haunt his nightmares. ================================================================ Lyta Alexander rose slowly, shaking off the fog in her head. Garibaldi darted from his seat to steady her. "Monitor shows us clear," he said. "You agree?" The telepath nodded. "It's just the three of us now." "What are you talking about?" a stunned Sheridan demanded. "Are you trying to kill us?" "Not exactly," Garibaldi corrected. He spoke again to Lyta, hushed words, her nods and smiles drawing forth his own grin. He released his hold on her and observed a moment to see if she was steady. Satisfied, he released the hatch. Outside, a detail of Centauri stood stiffly waiting to escort her. "It's not perfect, I know," Garibaldi apologized, "but this way you'll be safe. From both of them." "Thank you," Lyta said as she stepped out of the shuttle. She glanced back to the cockpit, then up at Michael. "You be careful," she admonished. Garibaldi nodded thoughtfully, his mind reviewing the various reasons to take her concern seriously. When the list reached the point of absurdity, he laughed aloud. "I will, I will," he assured her, "and you too." Alexander stepped clear of the shuttle. As Garibaldi swung the hatch closed, he could see the Centauri officer stepping forward to greet her. "What the hell is going on?" Sheridan demanded again as Michael returned to the cockpit. Garibaldi studied the other man now. He seemed healthy, looked rested. Except for his questions, he showed no sign of disorientation, which seemed odd, since the illusion Lyta had perpetrated on him had crumbled abruptly. He expressed no emotion concerning their escape: no relief, no resistance, no gratitude. He functioned as an efficient soldier but made no move, Michael noted, to exercise command. "You and I have one more leg to travel," Garibaldi explained as an indicator began to flash on the panel. "Strap in," he admonished as he did the same. "Here we go." Obediently, Sheridan drew the harness around himself. Garibaldi fired the shuttle's engines and stepped them back to a gentle hum. A few moments later the bay doors opened and the shuttlecraft dropped gracefully from the belly of the Centauri cruiser. As soon as they were clear, the big ship accelerated, dwindling and finally disappearing in the flash of jump engines. Garibaldi flipped on the com system. "Shuttle alpha three zero requesting permission to dock," he intoned. "Babylon 5 C&C, do you read?" ================================================================ The arrival of the misplaced shuttle caused a fair commotion, which escalated to pandemonium when Sheridan stepped out. Garibaldi personally escorted the Captain to Medlab where, in the absence of Stephen's curmudgeonly caution, he was pronounced fit and released. Delenn was there before the doctors were done with him, of course, and as Michael watched the reunion, he tried to imagine what she must be feeling. He studied her face and tried to name what he found there: disbelief, concern, something that looked like anger. He searched for joy, found it in Sheridan. He was happy to be here, anxious to get back to work, Michael heard him say. Garibaldi exited Medlab just behind Sheridan and Delenn, but turned in another direction, making his way patiently through DownBelow, to Green Sector, to the Zocalo, and finally back to the Station House. Zack was there, full of welcome and apprehension, and wearing, Garibaldi thought, a new maturity. Or perhaps it was just fatigue. The two men entered the small private office and shut the door. "She's fine." Garibaldi answered the young man's unspoken question. "She was extraordinary through the whole thing, and now they'll see she gets settled some place safe." Zack nodded sadly. "I don't suppose we'll hear from her?" Garibaldi shook his head, though he knew Allan knew the answer. "It's too risky. Maybe after a while, if things quiet down." Another nod. "Things quiet here?" "Pretty much," Zack replied. "Ivanova's been trying to stir something up but she says she needs help from Delenn and every time the two of them get together they wind up shouting. And G'Kar's been doing his best to kept the Commander distracted." "How is Ivanova?" Zack seemed startled by the question. He thought it over, answering with confusion in his face and voice. "OK, I guess. I mean, she seems pretty normal. Except for the arguments. Which really aren't all that strange. For the Commander." Michael wasn't sure what answer he'd been hoping for, but that wasn't it. "I'm gonna get cleaned up," he proposed, realizing suddenly how spent he felt. "I should be back in time for the shift change." "Right, Chief," Allan replied. "Take your time." ================================================================ Time, Michael Garibaldi thought as he entered his quarters, might not be his to take. Things could come to a head quickly now, and if he wasn't careful, he could lose control. If that happened, everything could disappear in one great blinding flash. Literally. He couldn't let that happen. With each stroke of the razor, he mentally ticked off another step in the process; with each rinse, he evaluated. Shirt buttons bulleted the mental To-Do List. By the time he slipped his feet into his shoes, he had a pretty good idea of how the other shoe would fall. One major question mark hung over the whole thing, he realized as he stepped out into the hall, and now he knew just how to find his answer. He let the door slide closed, waited for the click of the locking mechanism, then set out with brisk strides to overtake the uniformed figure ahead of him. "Good morning, Commander!" Garibaldi sang out with fictitious energy. Ivanova jumped, a reaction Michael found odd since he had made no effort to conceal his approach. She looked up with an incredulity Garibaldi soon reflected. The Commander's appearance was shocking, even alarming. Her usually erect posture was replaced with a helpless slump, her voice and infrequent gestures were devoid of animation. Grey hollows sat beneath her eyes and caverns where her cheeks had been. Her uniform hung on her, the waist cinched in by a belt. "Garibaldi!" she spit out curtly. "What the hell are you doing here?" "Good to see you too, Commander," he joked, wondering if she had slept at all since he left. "You're supposed to be on Earth with Bester," she insisted petulantly. He heard irritation in the first syllables of his reply, and tried to soften it. "I was supposed to provide safe transport to Earth for Bester. My presence wasn't necessary all the way." They stopped at the lift and signaled. "How the hell did you get back?" she demanded. He shrugged. "Shuttle." He hadn't entered this conversation to give information. Inside the car, alone with Ivanova, he broached the first of his questions. "Susan, are you OK? Pardon my saying so, but you look like hell. When was the last time you slept?" The glare she turned on him should have been accompanied by a snarl. "Do you think I've got nothing else to do but worry about my beauty sleep? There's a station to run here, and despite the lack of cooperation I've encountered, I'm still trying to orchestrate an extraction." "Extraction?" he teased. "You make it sound like dental work." "I still don't see you providing any help, Mr. Garibaldi," she scolded, "despite your claims to be running security. So, don't give me any of your mouthing off. It's bad enough I've got G'Kar in my office every twenty minutes with some imagined Centauri slight." Michael couldn't help but smile. "Ah, the life of a diplomat!" She was not amused. "We have got to move on this. We need a clean, precision operation that will get in there and bring it out." "Bring it out?" Garibaldi echoed. "Bring what out?" "Bring the Captain out!" Susan was shouting now. "Bring him out. I don't care what the damn Vorlon says, I know he's alive, Michael." She was, he realized, very close to breaking and despite his suspicions, it was probably wiser that he not push her now. She had enough of a shock ahead of her. Together they made their way to C&C. As they walked, Garibaldi watched her as closely as he dared. He didn't want to stir her ire but he was concerned about her. The doors to the command deck slid back at the woman's authorization, and though Michael knew from her bent head that she could not have seen who was standing there, the sound of Sheridan's voice was enough to freeze Ivanova. "Delenn, can't you understand what I'm telling you?" Sheridan broke off when he saw them, though he showed no embarrassment over his strident tone. "Commander Ivanova! Mr. Garibaldi!" He flashed a broad smile. "Good to see you again." Michael stepped close to Susan, reaching out to steady the bewildered woman. "How?" Ivanova, staring now at the Captain, could manage no other words. Sheridan approached her, arms outstretched. "What kind of greeting is that?" he asked. "No 'welcome home'?" Ivanova looked from Sheridan to Delenn and back, but found no words, nor could she move herself into the offered embrace. As Garibaldi mimicked her glance, he thought the couple personified the maxim of opposites attracting: the tall, pale man in the crisp, dark military uniform beside the tiny dark-haired Minbari in the vivid, flowing robes. Rested, healthy, smiling broadly, Sheridan stood in contrast to Delenn's sunken, sullen scowl. "Well, since you're here, Commander," Sheridan went on, "I'll let you take over." He gave no sign that he noticed her shock except to slowly drop his arms to his sides. "It's all yours. I'll be in my quarters if you need me." With nothing further, John Sheridan left the command deck, a resolute little figure following close behind him. Garibaldi still supported his comrade, who stared at the space where Sheridan had been. Slowly, the sounds of C&C crept into her consciousness. She nodded in response to a report, accepted a manifest handed to her. When Corwin informed her of a freighter requesting permission to dock, she spoke instructions and drifted away from Michael's arm. He watched her move into position, turning her eyes to the various screens on her console. He listened as she began to give orders. "Drazi freighter, you are cleared for docking. Surrender control of your vessel on my mark. Five, four, three, two, one, MARK. "We are not finished, Mr. Garibaldi!" she barked as he turned to leave. Wordlessly, he turned back, found a spot reasonably out of the way of the crew moving about to do their jobs, and stood at ease. She authorized several dockings, established sequence, and assigned bays. She accepted reports on routine maintenance, and hearing calls from the floor of anomalous readings, ordered crews to investigate. She handled a call from the dock workers union president and deflected one from G'Kar. Then she turned to Garibaldi. "I want answers, Garibaldi," she informed him fiercely. "I want explanations. I want them now, and if you have any affection whatsoever for your hide, you will tell me the truth." "Yes, sir, Commander," Michael replied, fighting back flippancy. "Fire away." Too late, he realized it was a poor choice of words. "How did the Captain get home?" she demanded. "Commander, the Drazi freighter Captain is on the com. He's unhappy about his bay assignment." "Deal with it, Lieutenant," she spat, tightlipped. "Mr. Garibaldi?" "I brought him in on the shuttle a few hours ago." "Commander, the maintenance crew down in Brown Sector reports that there is structural damage. They say they'll need six more people, and they want Security to close the section until repairs are completed." "Give them three people and a detour sign," she barked, her eyes never leaving Michael's face. "Where did you find him?" "Commander, G'Kar is on the line for you again." "Put him on hold." "He was on Z'ha'dum," Michael answered. "Commander?" "Deal with it, Lieutenant." "How did you get in there? And why didn't you tell me what you were doing?" "Commander, the Vree are refusing to submit to a weapons scan." "Shoot them." There was no hint of facetiousness. "Michael?" "Commander, the reactor is...." "NOT NOW!" "When I left," Garibaldi said softly, "I was told I was welcome to come back any time." "COMMANDER?" Garibaldi did not get to answer her other question. "Get a medic up here!" he called out as he caught Ivanova's crumpled body. ================================================================ She was conscious and complaining by the time the team arrived at Medlab. Garibaldi hovered as Dr. Hobbes completed her examination. He could not hear what was being said in the examining room, but based on what he could see through the window, Ivanova did not like what she was hearing. Michael approached the doctor as she emerged. "Doc? How's she doing?" Hobbes looked up at him as she slid behind her desk. "Were you with her when she collapsed?" Seeing Michael's nod, she continued. "I don't think there's anything life-threatening, Mr. Garibaldi, but she is exhausted. She's lost weight, she's anemic, and despite what she says, she clearly hasn't been sleeping. She faces tremendous stress under normal circumstances, and with all that's been going on, well, I think she's just reached her breaking point." The woman broke off to make a few notations on a chart. Garibaldi took the opportunity to drop into a chair. "Is she going to be OK, Doc?" he asked. Hobbes regarded him for a moment. "She can be fine, if she'll listen to reason." Garibaldi raised a skeptical eyebrow, drawing a smile from the physician. "She needs to rest and to take care of herself. I'd like to run a few more tests, just to be safe. I'm going to try to keep her here for a day or two, but..." "But she'll probably sign herself out," Garibaldi finished for her. "I'd offer to put a couple of my people on her door, but I think they're all afraid of her." He glanced over his shoulder. "Can I see her?" Hobbes grimaced. "Of course, you can, Mr. Garibaldi, if you must." Michael turned back to the pained expression. "I've just sedated her," the doctor explained. "I suspect she's already asleep and that really is the best thing for her." "I won't disturb her then," Michael agreed, calculating quickly. "Maybe I'll come by later." "I suspect she'll sleep for quite a while once she drifts off," Hobbes said as they stood. "You might be better off to wait until morning." Garibaldi resisted the urge to kiss her and left with only a thank you. ================================================================ Ivanova out of commission for a few days, in addition to giving the crew in C&C a much-deserved respite, would provide Michael Garibaldi with some new opportunities. It could, he reasoned, also create some new complications. Deciding it would be best if Sheridan heard the news first from him, he turned toward the Captain's billet. He found his commanding officer alone in his quarters, and Garibaldi's first thought was to wonder whether Sheridan or Delenn had won the argument. Whatever the outcome, it hadn't soured Sheridan's mood. "Sit down, Michael," he said brightly, dropping down on the sofa himself. "What can I do for you?" Garibaldi moved near to the chair, but did not sit. "I just came by to let you know, Captain. Ivanova collapsed in C&C today. She's down in Medlab now. Hobbes says she exhausted, stressed out. Wants her to rest." Sheridan nodded as Michael spoke. "Well, she's in good hands. I'm sure she'll be just fine. We can cover for her without any problems." The security chief perched on the arm of a chair. "Yeah, she will. I just thought.... Captain, she's been under a lot of stress, and seeing you back here this morning really knocked her for a loop. Don't get me wrong, she's happy to have you back, happy that you're OK. We all are. But it was a shock, you know? And I thought, well, maybe if you dropped by Medlab and talked with her, filled her in on what happened, it might help." Sheridan seemed thoughtful. "If Dr. Hobbes thinks the Commander needs to rest, I don't think I should be barging in there to bother her with my war stories, Michael. Let's just let her be. There's plenty of time to talk when she's feeling better." He dropped his stockinged feet off the coffee table and slowly stood up. Garibaldi rose with him. "Unless..." Sheridan hesitated. "Are you suggesting, Mr. Garibaldi, that you question Ivanova's fitness for command?" "No, sir!" The question had caught Garibaldi off guard, a circumstance he didn't like at all. The smile returned to the Captain's face. "Well, then, I'm sure everything will be fine. Thank you for letting me know." "Yes, sir." Garibaldi took his cue and started for the door. "One more thing, Michael," Sheridan called after him. "There's a matter we really need to move on. I'm calling a meeting for tomorrow morning at 0700. I want to hit the ground running, so we don't take up anyone's time." "Yes, sir." Time, Michael Garibaldi thought as he exited the Captain's quarters, would not be his to take. ================================================================ Intellectually, he knew that repeated taps on the call button did not make the transport tube arrive any more quickly, but Garibaldi whacked it one more time anyway. He'd lost count, if he'd ever had it, of how many times he'd pressed it now, and he was generally impatient with the fact that the universe did not share his impatience. Two tones sounded finally, one announcing the arrival of the tube car, the other the chirp of his link. One more button to tap. "Garibaldi. Go." He covered the link with his other hand and spoke to air inside the mobile cabin. "Green 4." "Mr. Garibaldi, this is C&C." David Corwin's voice sounded unduly composed given all that had gone on in C&C today. "We've received a transmission from White Star 7. Marcus asked that we let you know he and Dr. Franklin are on their way home." "Good, thanks," Garibaldi muttered. "He give you an ETA?" "No, sir." "Well, if he checks in again, you tell him I said to haul ass. We need them here. Garibaldi out." The car halted, discharging Garibaldi a few strides from his destination. He reached for the door signal. Another button to push. He was not kept waiting. Inside, he spoke without preamble. "I need another favor," he said, straddling the chair across from the Centauri. "I really appreciate all you've done, and I wouldn't ask if I could see another way, but I don't know where else to turn. Is that what I think it is?" Unsmiling yet untroubled, Mollari nodded. "Yes, yes. Would you care to join me, Mr. Garibaldi?" Carefully, Michael reached across the table, seizing Londo's glass between thumb and middle finger. He lifted it toward his face and with eyes closed, sniffed deeply. A look of surprised satisfaction appeared on his face as he set the tumbler back down. "Damned if it's not! Yeah, thank you, I'll take a glass." "Now tell me, Mr. Garibaldi," Londo commanded as he poured, "other than thirst, what needs can I fulfill for you?" Michael accepted the glass and raised it in a quick toast. "Not just for me, Londo, for the station. It seems we find ourselves without a telepath." "And you have need for such services?" "I have cause to believe that we do. Of course, everyone knows that the Centauri Regime has a long history of revered and finely trained telepaths." "This is true," Londo agreed. "We most certainly do. And we would be delighted to be of assistance." Garibaldi smiled. "Thank you, Ambassador." He raised his glass again. "Cheers!" ================================================================ "Ah, good, Mr. Garibaldi! We can begin." Captain John Sheridan stood in front of the desk in his office, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. The chrono on the far wall read 06:59. Garibaldi glanced around the room to see who else had been summoned to this meeting. He found only Ambassador Delenn. "Do we have others coming?" Michael asked. Sheridan seemed surprised by the question. "Others? No, we don't need any others. Actually, I just need you to help me talk some sense into Delenn, Michael." "Beggin' your pardon, Captain?" "The Captain has lost sight of his objectives, Mr. Garibaldi." Frost crackled in Delenn's voice. "He is confused. He can no longer distinguish his enemies from his allies." "Right." Garibaldi drove his hands down into his pockets. "Somebody wanna bring me up to speed?" Sheridan stepped toward him, turning his back on Delenn. "Michael, I understand Delenn's confusion. We all saw the Shadows as the enemy. We learned to fear them, learned to hate them. All our energies were directed toward destroying them." "I think I hear a 'but' coming up," Garibaldi quipped. Sheridan laughed. "Always right to the point, eh, Michael? Yes, 'but.' But that was exactly what the Vorlons wanted us to do. They've been setting this up, steering us into fighting their battles for them." "Have you forgotten so quickly?" Delenn demanded. "Do you have no memory of how the Vorlons moved against the Shadows -- at your request! Have you no memory of the price Ambassador Kosh paid for supporting us in that way?" "Come on, Delenn," Sheridan bristled. "I regret what happened to Kosh as much as you do. Hell, we've mourned for him more than his own people did. But all that attack proves is that the Vorlons are perfectly capable of waging their own war. Instead they want to use us, let us take the losses, the casualties, while they sit back and pull our strings." Garibaldi eyed the man suspiciously. "Exactly what are you proposing, Captain?" "We have been deceived, Michael. We've been used, and manipulated, and treated like pawns. They've tampered with us, trained us, and made us do their bidding like a bunch of trick ponies, jumping on command. We have got send a message that we are not going to be manipulated anymore. We have got to take action, Michael, and we have got to do it now." "What did you have in mind, sir?" Delight animated Sheridan's features. "We'll start with the Vorlon Ambassador. I want you to send your people down to Green Sector and place him under arrest." Delenn flew to his side. "You cannot mean this! What you propose is mad!" Garibaldi shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. But do we have the authority to do that, Captain? Diplomatic privilege and all that?" "Diplomatic privilege be damned!" Sheridan laughed cynically. "Are the Vorlons going to get mad at us? Well, let them. We've kowtowed to them long enough. No, Michael, once your people have him in custody, then we scramble our fighters and show the Vorlon Empire just what mad looks like." "Mr. Garibaldi!" Delenn's voice was pleading, frantic. "Please, I beg you, make him see reason. If the Shadows perceive any weakening in our alliance with the Vorlons, they will seize upon that weakness. As it is, we are in grave danger. They may already be on the attack. Unless we strike now to destroy Z'ha'dum, we may see the destruction of all we hold dear." "Lemme get this straight," Garibaldi interjected. "You're saying you want to destroy the Shadows home planet at Z'ha'dum," he said to Delenn. Turning to Sheridan, he continued, "and you want to send our fighters into Vorlon space -- from which, incidentally, only one person has ever returned, but we'll save that for another time." Sheridan shook a fist in front of him. "It's not just what I want, Michael. It's what we need to do, what we have to do to stand up for ourselves and tell the other races that we're not going to be pushed around any more. How fast can your people move?" "As it happens, Captain, I already have a squad down in Green Sector. You talked with any of the other races about this?" "He has talked with no one," Delenn declared, "listened to no one. The evil the Shadows have wrought upon the universe means nothing to him. The safety and security of younger worlds hold no value for him. You must not do this, Mr. Garibaldi. You cannot allow this to go on." "Captain, is this true? Are you proposing this unilaterally? No input from any of the other worlds?" Garibaldi asked. "We have to shape our destiny, Michael. They have to find their own. Come on, Michael! Am I my brother's keeper?" the Captain taunted. "Please, Mr. Garibaldi," Delenn whispered. "Please do not allow this to happen." "I don't intend to," Garibaldi said calmly. "I beg your pardon?" Sheridan demanded. "I gave you an order, Mr. Garibaldi." "Yes, sir," he said, "but it's an order we're not going to follow." "We, Michael?" the other man challenged. "I don't see anyone supporting your position." "No, you don't see them, John," he said mildly, "but they're there. You see, I have talked to the other races, John -- to the Narn and the Centauri, to the Brakiri, the Drazi, the Gaim, and the Vree, hell, I even talked to the Pak'ma'ra. I've met with every ambassador on this station, except Delenn and Kosh, and I did a fair bit of homework on them. I know what they think, and they understand me, and nobody thinks that turning on the Vorlons will do anything for us except get us all killed." Sheridan's glare burned into him. "You have your orders, Mr. Garibaldi. Either execute those orders, or I will have you removed from your position, placed under arrest, and replaced with someone who will." "That could be difficult, Captain." "We'll see about that." Sheridan touched his link. "Mr. Allan, to my office, stat." In an instant, Zack appeared in the office, and behind him, ranged just outside the door, a phalanx of security agents in riot gear. "Mr. Allan," Sheridan began, "I am removing Mr. Garibaldi as Chief of Security. Place him under arrest, and when he has been secured, return to me for a briefing. You will step up as acting Chief." Zack stood silently, looking first at Sheridan, then Garibaldi, and back to the Captain. "There's no need for that, sir," he said. Fury danced in Sheridan's eyes. "I gave you an order, Mr. Allan. Or would you prefer to join Mr. Garibaldi in the brig?" Allan stammered uncomfortably. "Captain, you've been under a lot of stress...." "What Zack is trying to say politely, Captain, is that no one is going to follow that order." Garibaldi approached the man who glowered at him. "It's not about any lack of respect for the chain of command, John. It's just that you haven't been yourself since you got back. Folks around here need to hang together, needed that especially while you were gone. We understand one another, trust one another. And we're not going to throw away a lot of lives because you think it will teach the Vorlons some kind of lesson." "Very well, gentlemen," Sheridan responded. "You are both relieved. I will take command of security personally. Confine yourselves to your quarters." With that, he strode past them, out of the office and into C&C. Allan's detail turned to follow Sheridan's movement. A worried look at Garibaldi, and then Delenn raced after him. Garibaldi followed more slowly. Taking position before the broad expanse of the principal view port, Sheridan turned to address the crew of the station. "As on this morning, I am assuming direct command of all services on Babylon 5. We have a critical campaign ahead of us, and I know I can count on all of you." There was silence on the command deck for a moment, and then a call from the pit. "Bay 13 requesting clearance." "13?" Sheridan spun to face the technician. "That's the Vorlon ship. Permission denied." The technician looked over her shoulder at Lt. Corwin, who in turn looked up to where Garibaldi now stood on the walkway. "You are the officer on duty, Lieutenant," Michael said softly. "Your call." Corwin nodded, first to Garibaldi, then to the technician. With a nervous glance to Sheridan, she called out, "Bay 13, this C&C. You are clear for launch." Sheridan exploded. "This is mutiny!" Garibaldi shrugged. "Maybe. This is the people who get sent out to die saying this is not worth dying for." Delenn rushed to his side. "Mr. Garibaldi, you have seen first-hand the terror and destruction the Shadows bring. We have waited for this moment, built for it, planned for it. We must not stand helplessly watching. John is safe now, back among us. They can no longer harm him. There is nothing there, nothing on Z'ha'dum to give us pause. Now is our moment. We must strike." "You're right, Delenn," he said, looking down at her. "There is nothing there. There is nothing on Z'ha'dum worth risking more lives. Death can't erase death, Delenn." Disbelief clouded her eyes. "Have you too forgotten? For centuries the Shadows have terrorized the other races, taking what they wished, destroying anyone and anything that stood in their way. If you will not stand against them, the other races will." "I do not think so, Ambassador." Delenn's wide eyes found the source of the sound framed in the doorway of the command deck. Side by side, Londo and G'Kar stood, fierce and proud, and behind them, representatives of other races. "There is truth in what you say, Delenn," Mollari continued. "The Shadows are the enemy. But we, we have hated so hard that we have become the enemy: ruthless and far too good at killing." "The Captain, too, has his share of wisdom," G'Kar added. "We must live free, refusing to be the servants of other races, whether by force or coercion. But we must first live, and allow other races to do the same." Garibaldi turned to face Sheridan. "This station has always been about peace, John. We very rarely find any, but we keep looking for it. That's what she was built for. That's what Sinclair pointed us to. " "If you honor Sinclair, you will finish his work," Delenn charged. "All that he did, he did to defeat the Shadows." "Defeat, yes, Delenn," he responded, "but not destroy. Babylon 5 is about hope, not destruction." The tiny figure stiffened. "Very well then, if you will not cooperate, we will simply use the Rangers." "I think not, Delenn." Marcus Cole nodded in Garibaldi's direction. "Doctor Franklin went straight to Medlab," he explained. Garibaldi looked around him on the command deck. "Perhaps we should join him there." ================================================================ "I thought I might find you here." Slowly Michael Garibaldi turned from the panorama of space to the woman who joined him in the observation dome. He smiled as Ivanova drew closer. "It's always been a good place to think," he said simply. They both turned to look outward. "You learned that from Jeff, didn't you?" she asked. "Learned a lot from Jeff," Garibaldi replied. They watched the stars. "You're looking better," he offered, casting a glance her way. Ivanova executed a quick right face. "Michael, we have to talk," she said, looking up at him, the words choked off. Without acknowledgment, he reversed his position, sitting back against a ledge to be closer to her eye level. "Susan," he said softly, "you asked me that day why I hadn't told you..." "And I know now," she interrupted. "Londo came by to visit me in Medlab. He brought a friend along." "This friend wouldn't happen to be a telepath, would he?" Michael asked, cocking an eyebrow. "In fact he was." She stared at the floor. "Michael, in another circumstance I would have killed you for that." "I know," he whispered. She moved away from him across the empty dome, stopped, raised palms and eyes to the ceiling then planted her hands on her hips. "I was so sure I would know if Bester was in my head, you know? I always knew the other times." He stood and stepped nearer. "You weren't grieving the other times." Eyes shut tight against the tears, she nodded. "Losing the Captain..." Nothing more made it through. Garibaldi took hold of her shoulders. "We didn't lose him. We just misplaced him for a while," he joked. Susan laughed in spite of herself, but not before administering a sound thump to Michael's chest. As her giggles subsided, she grew serious. "Will he be all right, Michael? "Funny about that. Stephen knows how to pull those Shadow implants now. Thanks to Bester." Susan choked out a cynical little laugh. "Any repercussions from the Vorlons?" he asked. "None that I've heard," she said. His head bobbed in approval. Together they watched the stars in silence. "Word is you're off the wagon again." "The rumors of my intemperance are greatly exaggerated," he smiled. "You're not drinking?" she asked. His head rocked vigorously side to side. "Nooo," He stretched the vowel out through pursed lips. "Although that was the hardest part of the illusion to maintain." "Illusion?" Ivanova reflected. "You make it sound like magic. " "It is," he laughed, "or was, anyway. The oldest principle of sleight of hand. People will see what they want to see." He turned to face her. "I could have easily wound up in the same mess the Captain was in, Susan, except that I let them believe they had won. They wanted me to listen to them, so I let them think I was listening. They wanted me to believe, so I let them think I did. They wanted me to drink, so..." He smiled and shrugged. Some metallic cricket chirped, and instinctively, both looked to their links. "Ivanova." "Commander, you wanted to be notified when those diagnostics were complete." "Thank you, Lieutenant. Ivanova out." She looked up. "I have to go." Garibaldi nodded, and turned to study the stars as the woman crossed the dome. "Susan?" he called over his shoulder, stopping her in the doorway. He turned slowly around. "You gotta stop being polite to Corwin. It's scaring the wits out of the kid." Susan smiled the smile that said, "you will pay for that," and she was gone. In a place of peace and perpetual twilight, Michael Garibaldi studied the stars and smiled at the shadows. ================================================================