The Pursuit of War Part 3 ================================================================ Breakfast had lost much of its appeal by the time Garibaldi turned back to his desk. He laid the palms of his hands on the desktop, tilting his body forward at the waist to find the level. His eyes fell on the viewer that awaited his selection, its image topsy-turvy from this perspective. His mind's eye was elsewhere, running, dodging, feinting, and rolling. When finally it went quiet, he turned and left the office. Two young agents were at their posts in the outer office, and several more moved about collecting or filing reports, conferring, or simply shooting the breeze before the shift change. Viewers around the room monitored various public areas of the station. One of the most tiresome aspects of desk duty was the responsibility of sitting for eight hours watching nothing happen in a dozen different places. Garibaldi waited for Fernandez to finish with the call she had taken on the Babcom, then to the young woman's charming greeting he replied, "I'm going to be moving around the station. I've got an appointment up on the Zocalo in a little while..." Instinctively, they both glanced to the viewer relaying images of the marketplace. It showed its normal morning bustle. "If anybody needs me, just link in." Fernandez nodded. "Hold that image." The agent followed Garibaldi's gesture to the monitor on the Zen Garden. Two mismatched figures stood amidst its tranquil landscape. A touch or two locked the camera on the duo, but Fernandez seemed puzzled. "It's just the ambassadors, Chief. Ambassador Kosh and Ambassador Delenn walk in the garden every day." "Do they, now?" Garibaldi inquired, his gaze never leaving the monitor until the Vorlon drifted from camera range. "Set up a capture for me. All securecam records of Delenn and Kosh fed to me for review." "Are we allowed to do that, sir?" Fernandez asked as she set the process in motion. "Isn't that, like, spying?" Garibaldi, already on his way out, threw a winning smile over his shoulder. "If anybody asks, tell them I'm doing research for my Halloween costume. " With that, he turned into the corridor and headed for the Zocalo. "What's a Halloween costume?" Fernandez' confused call followed him. ================================================================ Even this usually quiet corner of the Zocalo was beginning to bustle by the time Garibaldi took his leave of the Brakiri diplomats. "Thank you for seeing me," he said softly as they stood. "I'm grateful that you understand my concerns." "Your logic is clear, Mr. Garibaldi, and your thinking is in everyone's best interest," the taller of the aliens replied. "We will be there when you need us. You have only to call." "Thank you," Michael said again, this time with a small bow. When the Brakiri had taken their leave he fell back in his chair with a sigh. He paused a moment to collect his thoughts and his belongings, then rose and turned back to the daily routine. Years of patrolling this station had given him a sixth sense about what was normal. Tension, even open conflict, was not unusual with so many different entities crammed into a tin can in space. But bar fights and cultural cuss- outs, while they had to be dealt with, were not worrisome. Some far quieter events, sometimes even a presence -- those were. This was. Alfred Bester sat calmly at a table in a small café. Just out of the flow of traffic, he seemed not to notice the bodies bypassing him. His full attention seemed to be focused on the steaming cup on the table before him. Garibaldi didn't believe it for a minute. Spinning in behind a support pillar, out of line of sight, the security officer quieted body and mind. Carefully, he selected a single image from his memory, focusing all his mental energy on that one thought. He replayed the sight and sound of that moment two, three, ten times. Finally, he stepped out into the crowd. A few strides took him to calling distance of the café. "Mr. Bester!" he boomed, his voice edged with irritation. The PsiCop looked up, expression neutral, no sign of emotion in his body. "Good morning, Mr. Garibaldi," he replied in a tone that belied the words. "Is there something I can do for you?" Unbidden, Garibaldi perched on the chair opposite the older man. "Look, if you and the Commander wanna make hush-hush about this, fine, I don't care. But if it's going to effect security, then I think I have a right to know." Bester flashed a weak smile. "A right to know what, Mr. Garibaldi? I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." "Right. Where have I heard that before?" Garibaldi looked down at the tiny cup sitting before the PsiCop. "Is that real coffee?" Bester ignored the question. "What exactly is it you would like to know?" "Simple," Garibaldi answered. "Are you bringing in your hounds or are you gonna be expecting me to provide a security detail to help you make the collar? I gotta schedule people, you know." "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Garibaldi," the PsiCop repeated, but in his eyes Michael saw all he had actually come looking for. He focused the image one more time. "Oh come on! Even you can't be arrogant enough to think you can do this alone?" Yet again, Bester denied. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." Standing now, he looked down at Garibaldi. "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Garibaldi, I have an appointment with Commander Ivanova. And I'm certain that if security services are needed for any reason, the commander will brief you. Good day." Garibaldi smiled at the departing figure in black. "It just might be," he thought. "It just might be." ================================================================ Garibaldi stirred the pot one more time, sniffing appreciatively. He set the cover back on the saucepan, inspected the table setting, and checked the wine. With a few swift motions he opened the bottle and drew its contents off into a decanter. The door signal chimed just as he stashed the bottle in the trash. Crossing patiently to the door, he opened it manually. His guest smiled broadly. "Good evening, Michael! I hope I haven't kept you waiting." "You're right on time," Garibaldi replied. "Come on in." Morden surveyed the small apartment with a smile. "Something smells good." "Hope you like it. Out here you always have to work around what you can get," Michael replied. "Wine?" he offered, raising decanter and glass. "Thanks," his guest replied, smile broadening as Michel poured. "I'm sorry to hear you can't get what you want, Michael." With a glass in each hand, Garibaldi regarded the man blankly. "No," he said at last, "I can't always get what I want, but I expect to have something you and your associates want, very soon now. And I need you to arrange for delivery." He extended one glass to the dark man. Morden accepted the proffered libation and raised it in a toast. "To our associates, Michael," he purred, "and to getting what you want." ================================================================ Michael Garibaldi let the door drop closed behind his departing dinner guest, then turned and gathered up the empty carafe and glasses. He washed them quickly, leaving them to dry on the counter, wiping his hands on a towel. He sighed with satisfaction. Things were going well. Those that had been planned were proceeding as planned, and for once, serendipity was smiling on him. There wasn't much more he could do until morning. Except... With a resolute smirk he pulled a chair up to the desk and ordered the viewer on. He called for replay of several recordings that had been directed to his personal folders. He watched them all through once, just to see what he had. Then, restarting, he played each clip again, several times, watching first one, then another of the players. He could have asked the computer to analyze the images for signs of stress, he knew, but he still preferred to look himself, to trust perceptions and hunches honed from years of security work. Several times he was tempted to make notes but decided against it. Better not to have any telltale material around. Instead, he watched again, locking the information into memory. He stood finally, stretching stiffened limbs and scrubbing his hands past burning eyes and up, over his already aching head. The bed before him was enticing and he contemplated its warmth longingly as a yawn shimmered through his body. His eyes went again to the viewer, then to the kitchen. He brewed a mug of tea and carried it back to the desk. Calling up the video segments in reverse order, he danced his fingers over the keypad as he watched, until he found what he was looking for. Recognition and relief filtered out in a mumbled thanks. "Way to go, Zack." For a moment, he sat back and sipped at his tea. Then, setting his mug down, he turned his attention to the other clips to see what -- or who -- he could find. ================================================================ "Schedule?" Garibaldi threw the one word command in the vague direction of the Babcom unit. The synthesized voice began its recitation. "You have the following meetings..." There was the appointment with the Pak'ma'ra this afternoon. He wasn't looking forward to that one. And there was a meeting with Ivanova -- she must have called that -- first thing this morning. If he were a gambler, he might speculate on what that would concern. "Computer, request appointment with Dr. Stephen Franklin. Earliest mutual convenience." He would need Stephen if he were going to make this work. The computer chewed on the request for a moment before reporting back an 11:30 appointment. Maybe he'd take Stephen to lunch. Garibaldi heard himself humming lightly as he made his way to Ivanova's office. She was just arriving as he did, and Garibaldi did not think she looked well. Fatigue was etched in her face, and her uniform hung oddly, as though she had lost weight. He wondered how much vodka wasn't helping her sleep. And her eyes. Vacant was the wrong word, he thought. Absent was closer. Her body was here but Susan was elsewhere, hearing some other voice. It made Garibaldi shiver. "Good morning, Commander," he said, forcing a smile. She snarled at him. "I don't see what there is to be so damn cheerful about, Michael." He murmured an apology and followed her into the office. Waiting just inside the door, he watched her drop into the chair and shuffle through a pile of flimsies. "Commander," he interjected, "you wanted to see me?" Ivanova looked up sharply, seeming surprised to find him there. A wince and the beginning of a head shake, and then as though she suddenly remembered..."Yes. I need you to detail some security officers to assist Mr. Bester in making an arrest." She turned back to the flimsies. Garibaldi stepped up to the desk. "Some?" he pursued. "Two? Ten?" "What?" She looked up absently. "Oh. I don't know...six." Not willing to be so easily dismissed, Garibaldi pressed on. "May I know who we're arresting?" he asked. "He didn't say," Susan mumbled without looking up. "He didn't say?" Garibaldi echoed, close to shouting, although the young commander scarcely seemed to notice. He modulated his voice marginally. "Susan, it's bad enough you've let this creep on the station. Now you're providing him with personnel to make arrests and you don't even know who he's chasing?" Ivanova rose from her chair. She was, Garibaldi noted with relief, finally angry. "First of all, Mr. Garibaldi, I don't recall asking for your opinion. Second, it is one arrest, not arrests." She stressed the plural. "And all you need to know, Mr. Garibaldi, is that Bester is doing his job -- tracking and arresting telepaths who violate the rules. "Is there anything else, Mr. Garibaldi?" He didn't move but he did resist the urge to shout. "Susan," he began again, "we know this guy's history. Would it be terribly out of line to ask a few questions?" "I'll thank you to do your job, Mr. Garibaldi, and let me, and Mr. Bester, do ours." "Commander, I must speak to.... Oh!" Delenn froze in the doorway of the office. "I did not realize...." "Mr. Garibaldi and I are finished, Delenn. What can I do for you?" Delenn glanced again at Garibaldi's unmoving figure, then stepped closer to the desk. "Commander, we must act. If our enemy thinks that we have lost our resolve, they will overrun us." "Ambassador, I'm glad to hear you feel that way," Ivanova said. "I have some thoughts on the matter myself that I had wanted to talk with you about." "We must strike swiftly and decisively," Delenn continued, seeming not to hear the reply. "There must be no doubt about our intent, no matter the cost. Z'ha'dum must be destroyed." Delenn's eyes flamed as she spoke and Michael thought he could almost see rage pounding through the tiny body. Susan, for her part, looked cautious. "Delenn, believe me, I understand, but the Captain may still be alive there. I've got some thoughts on how to get him out, but I will need help from the Rangers. If you could provide White Stars..." "The White Star fleet, of course, and all of your fighters. We must strike with force. We must leave nothing alive." "Whoa-ho-ho!" Garibaldi waggled his hands in front of him to stop them. The two women turned, bemused, his presence forgotten until that moment. "I'm sorry. I'm as concerned about the Captain as you are, but I have to ask both of you to take a deep breath and thing about what you're saying." Anger flashed in Ivanova's eyes. "I don't think this concerns you, Michael." "Begging your pardon, Commander, but it damn well does concern me. As Chief of Security, I have a professional concern for the safety of this station, and I'm listening to a proposal to move a significant portion of its ordnance to a remote location at a moment when anybody or his cousin could come through our jumpgate with guns blazing. Not that I don't have confidence in the defense grid, Commander, but that sounds plain reckless to me." He shifted his gaze to Delenn. "And on a personal level, while all this rhetoric about a decisive show of force sounds very nice, it's my poker buddies who won't be coming home afterward." "How dare you object?" she raged, steel clanging in her tone. "Sheridan knew that the Shadows only wish to destroy us, to destroy everything that is true and good. He sacrificed his own life in the attempt to destroy them." "That may be, Delenn," Michael began. "You did nothing to deter him, nothing to help him, nothing to rescue him. And now you will not even avenge him?" "Delenn, do you even begin to comprehend what you're proposing?" Garibaldi interjected. "An assault like that takes planning and coordination. It takes resources that, frankly, Babylon 5 doesn't have and Earth isn't likely to provide." "We can see to whatever needs there may be," Delenn said coldly. "We have allies...." Michael was certain of that. A soft cough came from the direction of the door. "What is this, the public access channel?" Susan demanded as she spun toward the sound. An embarrassed flush spread over Lennier's features as he made a slight obeisance. "I am sorry, Commander. I was seeking the Ambassador." Slowly, Delenn retracted her icy stare from Garibaldi and turned to her aide. "Delenn, the Gaim Ambassador is awaiting you," the young Minbari said softly. A scowl flirted with Delenn's features. "Please extend to the Gaim my apologies that I am unable to join them, Lennier. You are familiar with the agenda, however, so please carry on in my absence." Discomfort pinched in Lennier's face, but he bowed. "As you wish, Delenn." "Now, wait a minute..." Garibaldi's voice froze Lennier, but Delenn spun on him. "This is no concern of yours!" "It is most definitely my concern when I see someone behave in a way that puts this station in jeopardy." "You accuse me of putting Babylon 5 in jeopardy?" Delenn asked, incredulous. "It is I who bring the proposal to destroy our enemies once and for all." "That may be," Garibaldi answered, "but it's going to have to wait. You have a meeting with the Gaim ambassador." Delenn glowered at him. "Lennier will represent me quite capably," she replied as evenly as she could manage. The man winced dramatically. "Delenn, I'm sorry." He tried not to sound condescending. "I know you're upset. We all are. But think about this." He sat on the arm of chair to put himself on eye level with the petite woman. "Our most important task right now is holding the station together. If we don't, we have no hope of accomplishing anything else. And we have no hope of holding this place together without the support of the League Worlds -- support we're not going to get unless they believe we still have strong leadership. And I'm sorry, but that doesn't mean Lennier, however capable he may be. It means you." "You're very quick to tell other people how to do their jobs, Mr. Garibaldi," Ivanova sneered, "but I believe you have a charge." "Bester will get his detail, Commander, don't worry. But while we're talking about letting people do their jobs, may I ask why Security wasn't consulted when you started planning strategic operations?" The massed anger of the two women was a wall dividing the office into zones of hostility. Delenn shivered with a rage barely contained. Without a word, she spun on her heel and exited the room. Silently, Lennier followed. Ivanova scowled at him. "And exactly what is Security doing about finding the Captain?" she challenged. Michael sighed. "Look, Susan, I know how much it hurts. Finding the Captain, getting him back, is high on my list, but my first duty -- and yours -- is to the quarter million humans and aliens who are on station. And I dare you to tell me John would say anything different." He reached to put a hand on Susan's shoulder, a hand she defiantly shrugged off. "Come on, Susan, he knew what he was doing, what risks he was taking. And he'd want us to behave like soldiers." "Well, consider this your notification, Mr. Garibaldi. We will be mounting a rescue operation for Captain Sheridan. Security will receive its assignment in that operation and I willexpect you to fulfill your responsibilities without argument or question. "Do I make myself clear, Mr. Garibaldi?" Michael studied her eyes. "Clear, Commander," he said reluctantly. "Dismissed," she said curtly. He left without comment, checked his chrono, and then tapped his link. "Garibaldi. Patch me through to Zack Allan." There was a momentary pause. "Allan here." "Zack, I need you to pull four agents to assist us. Suit up in riot gear and meet me at the Station House in an hour." "You got it, Chief," the young man replied. "There trouble?" "Just a detail that could be unpleasant. I'll fill you in when I see you. Garibaldi out." Michael Garibaldi stepped into the transport tube and called for a stop at Medlab 1. ================================================================ Stephen Franklin was not alone when Garibaldi arrived, and it was obvious his guest was not particularly welcome. "....if we bring her around now I cannot guarantee..." Garibaldi's rhythmic tap interrupted the doctor's disclaimer. Irritation was clear in the PsiCop's face as he turned, so Garibaldi did not wait for a greeting. "Hey! The two people I need to see in the same place. Terrific!" He entered the cubicle without waiting for an invitation. Relief, gratitude, and curiosity cycled through Stephen's eyes. "Think we can get this check-up over with quickly, doc? Ivanova wants me to detail a squad to assist Mr. Bester and the all-clear from you is the only thing standing in my way." Franklin nodded vigorously, a rather convincing performance, Michael thought. "Not a problem. Step into room 3 and I'll be right with you." He turned to Bester. "If you'll excuse us?" Before the little man could express his irritation, Michael jumped in. "Squad's suiting up, so as soon as I'm through here we'll be ready for briefing. You want to come down to the Station, or...?" Impatiently, the PsiCop cut him off. "There's nothing your people need to know except to do their jobs." Garibaldi noted the black-gloved fist clenching and releasing as he spoke. "Just meet me on Blue 12 as soon as possible." Bester marched out and Michael headed, as instructed, for exam room 3. He did not bother to undress, however, and Franklin followed close behind him. "A little risky, don't you think, Michael? Trying to con a PsiCop?" "Not too bad, I figure, as long as he was only doing surface stuff. We did have an appointment. I was only lying about the reason for it, and there are any number of reasons for a man to be embarrassed about seeing his doctor." "You're a brave man, Michael Garibaldi," Stephen chuckled with a shake of his head. "Now, what is this visit really about?" Garibaldi thought a minute about where to begin and how much to share. "I need your help, Doc, and if I'm right about what's about to go down, I'm going to need it soon." Franklin looked over his shoulder to where the PsiCop had been, then back to Garibaldi. "Sleepers?" ================================================================ Garibaldi quicktimed his way from the transport tube to the security office. Zack Allan was waiting, as ordered. "Detail set?" Michael asked stripping off his tunic as he passed through the outer office. "Suited up and ready," Allan replied as he followed. "Where're we going?" When both were inside Garibaldi's office, the older man ordered the door closed. He reached for his own flak vest and continued to suit up as he spoke. "I don't know for sure, but I've got a pretty good hunch we're about to arrest Lyta." He saw rage in the young man's eyes. "Listen to me! Zack, you have to trust me on this, and you have to do exactly what I tell you." Allan's eyes narrowed and his voice grew hard. "You used her. You used me to use her. You wouldn't protect her from the Vorlon, and now you're just gonna hand her over to Bester. Why the hell should I trust you?" "Because things aren't always what they appear." He laid a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Zack, Lyta trusts you. The two of you are..." He searched for the right words. "...comfortable with one another, sensitive to one another. "You hear her, feel her in your head, and I'm gambling that when this goes down, she's going to be reaching out to you, listening to what's in your head. I want you to give her a message." "You want me to lie to her," Zack charged. "On the contrary, Zack. I want Lyta to know the truth. Here's what I want you to stay focused on..." ================================================================ Bester was waiting in the corridor of Blue 12 when Garibaldi, Zack, and their squad arrived. "It's about time, Mr. Garibaldi," he said peevishly. Then with a vapid smile, he added, "I trust Dr. Franklin pronounced you in good health?" "Yeah, fine," Garibaldi replied. "You want to tell us why we're here?" "I am about to arrest a telepath who has violated PsiCorps regulations, invading the minds of normals without their permission. In all likelihood, there will be no resistance, and you will do nothing, except escort the prisoner to a holding cell. "On the remote chance that the suspect resists, you will provide back-up. But let us all be clear, here and now: this is my arrest. I will give the orders. I will call the shots." That unctuous grin again. "Any questions?" Had there been any, they were moot, for Bester turned immediately and started down the hall. As they moved to follow, Garibaldi spoke softly to Zack. "Remember what I told you." The young man nodded, clearly troubled by what was before him. Garibaldi took station to the PsiCop's left; Zack and the rest of the squad waited behind. Bester signaled at the door of the little apartment. There was no response. "Ms. Alexander, this is Alfred Bester. I know that you're in there. Don't make this difficult. Open the door please." Garibaldi looked again at Zack, whose nod was almost imperceptible. No response came from inside the apartment. "Well, nobody home!" Garibaldi snapped, putting up his weapon. "Guess we can leave." Bester gave a weak smile. "Very funny, Mr. Garibaldi. Have no fear. She is at home. If you would be so kind as to override the locking mechanism?" Garibaldi shifted his weight to put his body in front of the access panel. "I don't suppose things like personal privacy mean anything to you? You have any authorization for what you're asking?" he demanded. "Mr. Garibaldi," Bester strung the words out slowly to emphasize his exasperation, "you know very well that this is a Psi Corps matter and therefore I have complete authority. Now, please, open the door." "Come on, Bester. Lyta's not some rabble-rousing blip. She's a damn P5, and she's playing nursemaid to the Vorlon. Why do you need to come down on her now?" "Garibaldi, you and your people are here to assist in this arrest, not to impede it. Now open the door or leave the area." The PsiCop's stare was menacing. Slowly, very slowly, Garibaldi backed down. He keyed the security override and released the locking mechanism. Bester entered the darkened room first, halting a single pace inside, looking left and right. The security team in the hall heard the crash but in the dim light, they could not identify the object Bester dodged. Whatever it was, others followed. The PsiCop ducked, eventually hit the deck. At the first clatter, the young agents in Garibaldi's detail had surged forward, but he held up a hand to stay them. Softly, he murmured, "Mr. Bester is giving the orders here." It didn't last long, although Garibaldi couldn't tell why. Ultimately, Bester sighted the woman, and from his vantage, Garibaldi could see in the faces a battle of minds pursued, until silently, Lyta clutched her head and crumpled. Bester watched her fall, then rose and exited the room. "If you would transfer the prisoner to a holding cell, please, I'll arrange for transport to PsiCorps Headquarters." Garibaldi motioned Zack and another agent into the room. Bester stood clear of the door on the side opposite Garibaldi, smiling smugly as the two men lifted the limp body and carried her toward the brig. The three remaining agents fell in behind them. Bester's face lifted in a wolfish grin. "Don' try anything stupid, Mr. Garibaldi, or I'll see to it that the Commander has your job. And your butt in a sling." And he left. ================================================================ Garibaldi followed his detail to the brig, assuring himself that the prisoner was secured in holding cell # 1. Zack would file the necessary reports, but Michael could see that his second was distressed that Lyta had not yet regained consciousness. Truth told, he didn't like that himself. "Maybe you should give Franklin a call, have him get somebody up here to have a look at her," he suggested to Zack. "We can't be sure what that creep might have thrown at her. But I don't think there were any problems on our end of things. You?" "No," Zack replied. "We were fine, but I'll put in a call to the Doc, just in case." "Good. I've gotta go DownBelow a while. You OK here?" "Yeah, we'll raise you on the link if we need you." Garibaldi dropped his riot gear, passing on the chance to collect his uniform tunic. As he headed for the undeveloped area of the station, he opened his shirt collar and pocketed his link. This run, he didn't particularly want to be identified as Chief of Security. He found his quarry after about an hour, just thrown out of a high-stakes poker game. Bodily. Garibaldi extended a hand and a smile. "What did you say this time?" "Quite innocent really. Who knew the Drazi were sensitive about their mathematical deficiencies?" Marcus Cole brushed himself off, re-ordered his clothing, and surveyed his companion. "What brings you down here, Mr. Garibaldi?" "You do. I need a favor, Marcus, fairly quickly, and your help on a broader scale down the line." The Ranger started to walk, letting Garibaldi fall into step. "What's the immediate problem?" Marcus asked. "I need a White Star and a pilot, for a couple of deliveries. Without a lot of questions." "Yes, well, I assumed that last bit," Marcus noted. "Passengers or cargo?" "Passengers. Three total, if all goes to plan." A silent prayer for that outcome interrupted Garibaldi's regularly scheduled agnosticism. "A couple of deliveries, you say?" "Two passengers to one location, the third to another." The Ranger looked up at him. "And pick up again?" Garibaldi hesitated while an inner voice cursed. He had forgotten that bit and if he couldn't put it in place, this might all be a waste. "I'm not sure yet," he said finally. "I hope not, but plans aren't firm." "There are, I assume, risks involved in these deliveries?" "Some, but the risk should be minimal," Michael offered, thinking aloud. "Unless I have to ask you for a pick-up. Then it could get ugly." "So you're welcome to visit, but not leave?" Marcus asked. "Something like that." Marcus stopped at a bend in the corridor. "Now tell me about the long term." ================================================================ They did not leave DownBelow together. Divergent paths took them back to separate lives. Garibaldi's route would lead to the brig, where he had business to do, perhaps with a stop in his office to reclaim his uniform, but on the way, it took him past Customs. The voice was loud, irritated and irritating, and the sweetest sound Michael Garibaldi had heard in a long time. "I have been waiting here for an eternity!" Buttoning up his collar with one hand, and fishing for his link with the other, Garibaldi moved to rescue the beleaguered agent on duty. "I'll vouch for Ambassador Mollari, Henderson," Garibaldi called as he approached. "Let the Ambassador pass and bring through his baggage." The agent opened his mouth to protest. "I'll take responsibility," Garibaldi assured him. He turned to Mollari. "Welcome back, Londo. Exciting times, eh?" The Centauri scowled at him, making no response to the greeting save to scold the baggage handlers. Again, Garibaldi intervened. "Take the Ambassador's bags to his quarters. Londo, I'm sure Vir can handle all this. You look like you had a rough trip. Let me buy you a drink." At that offer, the Centauri's interest was aroused. He dispensed a few more harumphs as they exited the Customs Area, but allowed Garibaldi to lead him, with an arm stretched round his back, to the nearest bar. When they were settled at a table and the drinks Garibaldi had ordered were set before them, Mollari leaned toward his companion conspiratorially. "What exactly is so important, Mr. Garibaldi? Vir was insistent that I must return to Babylon 5 -- not that the Emperor's Palace was any more accommodating, you understand -- but poor Vir was nearly hysterical. This is not unusual, of course, but still..." Garibaldi chuckled in appreciation of the curmudgeonly babbling. Its familiarity was comforting. "Londo, I need your help. There's a lot you need to understand, but I'm gonna have to give you the short version, because there's not a lot of time." In quick whispers, Garibaldi sketched a picture for his companion. "I believe you're acquainted with a man by the name of Morden?" he asked. In answer, Londo scowled. "Let me tell you a few things you may not know," Garibaldi continued. Londo nodded his understanding as Michael spoke. "Vir said you were involved in defense now, Londo," Garibaldi asked. "Is that true?" "Yes, yes," Londo muttered impatiently. "It is the Emperor's idea." "Well, here's to the Emperor," Garibaldi said, lifting his glass, "because that's exactly what we need." ================================================================ Another chuckle escaped Michael Garibaldi as he turned down the corridor toward the holding cells. The few minutes he had spent with Londo Mollari had left him in an extraordinarily good mood. He whistled a sequence of tones -- an octave jump up, down a chord, then back up, and single steps down. Not particularly melodic, but pleasing in its own odd way. He did it again for memory and his own good mood. Such a positive outlook would be helpful, judging by the noises coming from the holding cells. Garibaldi quickened his pace as he drew near to the commotion. He was delighted to see Alfred Bester's irritated face in the group in the anteroom. "Hello," he boomed out as he entered, letting something like surprise tinge the word. "What goes on here?" Zack provided the briefing quickly and efficiently. The prisoner had been unconscious when secured. Dr. Franklin was summoned to examine her and verified that there was no permanent damage from the confrontation between the telepaths. Shortly afterward, the prisoner roused. She was briefly quiet and controlled, responding calmly to the agent on duty in regard to her condition. A few minutes ago, coincident with Bester's arrival, she had become agitated and noisy, and monitoring equipment had begun to malfunction. "If this is some sort of ruse, Mr. Garibaldi," Bester began, but the Chief cut him off. "I was under orders to assist in the arrest. I did my job. We both know how I feel about it. But I'm running security for a whole station here, and your prize in there is creating a commotion we cannot tolerate." He activated the nearest Babcom unit. "And I intend to do something about it." Bester scowled and started to protest, but Garibaldi did not pause. As Ivanova appeared on the viewer, he explained, "Commander, Mr. Bester's prisoner is raising havoc in my brig. Requesting your permission to have Franklin administer meds to dampen the behavior." "Now just one minute!" Bester exclaimed. "This is my prisoner, and I will make the decisions about medical intervention. Drugging her will impede the most critical aspect of he interrogation." "Well, I hope you can conduct your interrogation long distance, because as long as this is going on, no one is getting into that cell," Garibaldi explained. "She is my prisoner," Bester repeated, his voice rising slightly. Garibaldi shouted him down. "And this is my brig! What you do for, with, or to her when you get her back to PsiCorps, I can't control, but while this matter is in my jurisdiction, either the Doc shoots her up, or nobody gets in to see her." The two men assessed one another in silence until Ivanova intervened. "Very well, have Franklin see to it. There's a transport leaving tomorrow at noon. Tell Franklin to control the dosage so that she's back to normal when she's transferred out tomorrow." Garibaldi turned to his second to hide his smile of triumph from the PsiCop. "Zack, raise the Doc and get him down here." Bester's face was hard and sour, but Garibaldi decided to play one more card. "Begging your pardon, Commander, but is that a good idea -- moving her on a public transport? And without meds? She could be a danger..." "And I suppose you'd like us to keep her right here, now wouldn't you, Mr. Garibaldi?" Bester's visage was calm, except for that little vein pulsing in his left temple. "Mr. Bester has the right to transfer the prisoner back to Geneva. This is a PsiCorps matter, Garibaldi," Ivanova insisted. "Despite what Mr. Bester thinks, I'm not advocating that they remain here," Garibaldi explained. "I'm only pointing out, Commander, that under the circumstances, there is a risk." The PsiCop protested again, unwilling to delay until the Corps could provide a ship appropriate for the journey. Ivanova responded in support. Garibaldi looked thoughtful. "With all due respect, Commander, since I'm the one who feels there is a security risk, it only seems fair that I provide a solution as well. How about I arrange private transportation for Mr. Bester and his prisoner? Something fast, secure, and..." he smiled archly, "...discreet?" Michael watched the quick darting of the other man's eyes as Bester tried to figure the angles. Ivanova's face frowned through the com unit. "Just what are we talking about here, Michael?" The idea makes good sense, but where are you going to find it?" "Leave it to me, Commander," Garibaldi soothed. "My problem...." "Excuse me?" Zack Allan broke in. "I just spoke to Dr. Franklin. He says there's no way he can come down now." "You tell him what's going on here?" Garibaldi demanded. "I did, Chief," Allan assured him, "but he said he's too close to a breakthrough on the telepath stuff to be interrupted now." Bester spun on the young man. "What breakthrough?" he demanded. Allan started, flustered. "He didn't say. He wasn't real happy. I..." Without word or gesture, Bester exited the little room. Garibaldi waited three beats after the door slid closed, then turned to the peeved face of Susan Ivanova. "So," he said slowly, holding his amusement at bay, "I'll see to that transportation, Commander, and perhaps we can get one of our lesser medical geniuses down here to administer some sleepers?" "All right. Fine. Do what you have to." Her irritation was apparent. "Ivanova out." When the viewer reached full blackness, Garibaldi allowed himself a smile. He turned toward the board of monitors for the holding cells. "You reset the equipment yet?" he asked Zack. "Couple of times," came the reply. "Again?" He restarted the electronics but they still showed little more than static. Garibaldi stepped to cell number one, leaning his head close to the door. "Lyta, it's Michael Garibaldi." He paused. "I'm coming in." Again, he waited. "I'm alone." He released the lock and watched the door slide back. Lyta Alexander sat on the end of the bunk, arms and legs wrapped around herself. "We're going to have to make this quick," Garibaldi was heard to say, but the rest of the conversation was cut off as Zack closed the cell door. One by one, each of the cell monitors returned to normal video. ================================================================ "Get him the hell out of here!" Stephen Franklin's voice boomed across the Medlab, and technicians scurried to usher the PsiCop out of the isolab. Ultimately, after some resistance, Bester was persuaded to wait outside, and in time, Franklin joined him there. "What the hell were you thinking?" the doctor bellowed by way of greeting. "That's a controlled environment for a reason!" Bester ignored his anger. "I understand you've made a breakthrough. How is she?" With a shake of his head, Franklin accepted that he would make no impression, and he sighed. "We are close to a breakthrough," he cautioned. "We've been able to remove much of the biotechnology successfully. We can wake her and she is lucid, but we have to keep her heavily sedated to counter the effects of the last of the biotech. The remaining piece is the brainstem implant. "When will you remove that?" "I won't." Bester began to protest but Franklin cut him off. "I don't have the experience or the equipment to perform that surgery without a wholly unacceptable risk to the patient." "I'll take the risk." "No, you won't," the physician informed him. "She will. And I won't allow that. We're talking about an area of the brain that controls respiration and heartbeat, an area through which neural impulses to every part of the body pass. One tiny error could leave her paralyzed, comatose, or dead." For a heartbeat, Franklin could see pain and grief in the other man's eyes. Then he blinked and it was gone. "So, you're giving up?" The doctor unfastened the neck clasp of his grey surgical tunic. "No," he said wearily, "I'm not." Fatigue seized him, rattling him, demanding his attention. He dropped into a chair, ran a hand down the back of his neck, squeezed his eyes shut. After a moment, he opened them again and continued. "I believe that the extraction that remains to be done bears significant resemblance to the work Dr. Liss has been doing in Geneva. She's repairing brain stem injuries but the demands are similar." "Have you been in touch with her?" "Not yet. Ms. Sanderson wasn't even a candidate for surgery until today. I'll send a message to Dr. Liss tonight, ask if it's possible for her to come to Babylon 5. If she's willing, we'll set it up at her earliest convenience." Bester stared at him as he spoke, and in the PsiCop's eyes, Franklin found not the hope and elation he expected but anger and calculation. Bester said nothing for a time, then turned to look toward the isolab. "Can she be moved?" he asked softly. Franklin started. "Moved? What do you mean?" Bester turned to face him. "Can she travel? Can I take her to Dr. Liss?" Franklin heaved himself out of the chair. "Now just wait a minute!" "Can she travel?" Bester demanded again, overspeaking the doctor's concern. "It is possible to move her, yes, but it's not a casual matter. She would need to be monitored, and sedated, and you'd have to have emergency medical care on call." "Fine, then you'll accompany us." Rage flared in Franklin's face. "Now you see here!" he shouted. "Doctor! I am leaving shortly to transport a prisoner to EarthDome. I see no reason why we should wait for several rounds of communication and the doctor's transportation to Babylon 5 when we have the means and opportunity to take the patient to her. Your presence on that trip will allow you not only to watch over Carolyn but also to administer sleepers if the prisoner should prove difficult." The doctor straightened. "Mr. Bester," he said coldly, "contrary to what you seem to think, you are not in command of this station." Bester smiled. "I'm confident Commander Ivanova will see the logic in the plan, Doctor. While you're waiting for her to make it official, I suggest you prepare the patient for transport. We will be leaving shortly. "Good day, Doctor." ================================================================ A quick walk through Brown Sector had turned up two of the trinity with whom he needed words. Alerted that they had the go, Marcus withdrew to make preparations. G'Kar walked with him toward Green Sector. "It could get ugly," Garibaldi cautioned. "Have no fear," his companion reassured him. "We understand what is at stake and we will not fail you. Babylon 5 offered a home to my people when we were forced to flee our own. We will see to it you have a home to return to." Garibaldi thanked him and they parted in the corridor of Green Sector. The door chime on Ambassador Mollari's quarters was answered quickly. Michael's greeting was all Londo needed to hear. He nodded knowingly. "I have been in contact with the Home World. Everything is prepared. They await your signal." Though no one was with them to overhear, Garibaldi dropped his voice. "Londo, I know the risks I'm asking you to take. If you want to change your mind, I'll understand. Just say the word. We'll go with the back-up plan." Mollari contemplated the offer. "It would give me great pleasure to call you a liar, Mr. Garibaldi. It would save me from admitting my own evil and my own stupidity." He sighed heavily, then stood, straightened his waistcoat, and faced Garibaldi. "But my heart and what remains of my conscience tell me you are right. The risks you speak of may be the price of our salvation." The sadness in the Centauri's eyes flooded over Garibaldi until he thought he might drown. "Shoo!" Londo said with a wave of his hand. "Go now." ================================================================ Zack Allan noticed the PsiCop first from the opposite end of the corridor. The short, dark figure took no note of the security agent, no notice, it seemed, of anyone or anything in the Blue Sector passageway. His gaze and his attention, it seemed to Zack, were elsewhere, as though the man was listening to some far off voice. It gave Allan chills. Bester entered Ivanova's office without signaling. Zack wondered if he had been expected, and if so, why, since Zack himself had been summoned by the Commander. He slowed his pace enough to avoid arriving on the PsiCop's heels, not enough to incur the Commander's wrath. He paused to signal. There was a wait before the Commander ordered him in. Both of the occupants of the office wore a look of surprise when he entered, and Zack thought Ivanova's seemed genuine. "You wanted to see me, Commander?" Zack reminded her. It took a moment for recognition. "Yes, Mr. Allan. Mr. Bester will be transferring his prisoner to Earth shortly. Please make sure that all the necessary forms have been filed so that the transfer can be effected the moment the ship is ready." "Yes, Commander." The young man stood at a loose attention, his eyes on the wall ahead of him, just slightly above Ivanova's head. "Also, it appears Mr. Garibaldi intends to supervise this transfer personally. During his absence, you will act as head of security. Can you handle that, Mr. Allan?" "Yes, Commander, thank you." Although he held his posture, Allan detected Ivanova's glance at Bester before she proceeded. "One other thing, Mr. Allan. There will be two other passengers for that transport. Doctor Franklin will be joining the party, along with one of his patients." She rose and stepped around the desk. "I'm sure you realize how delicate the whole situation surrounding the telepaths in cryo is, Mr. Allan. It is essential that Dr. Franklin and his patient board that transport without incident. I'm confident your security force will see to that." "Of course, Commander." Ivanova stepped back to the desk and shuffled through some documents. Zack noted a smug smile on the face of the PsiCop. "Will there be...." Allan's question was cut short by the voice of Ambassador Delenn. "Commander, I must protest!" Bester's smile faded as Ivanova turned to face the Minbari. "Protest what, Ambassador?" she asked, innocence and curiosity mingling. "I understand that Lyta Alexander has been arrested, Commander. Since Ms. Alexander functions as Ambassador Kosh's aide, she possesses diplomatic privilege. This arrest is a violation of that privilege." Zack watched confusion move across Ivanova's face. His eyes followed hers to Bester, who sat, head bent forward, eyes closed, his fist clenching and unclenching. He said nothing, and after a moment, Ivanova turned back to Delenn. "I'm sorry, Ambassador, but Ms. Alexander is an Earth Alliance citizen, and, as a telepath, under the jurisdiction of the PsiCorps. While she may be in the employ of the Vorlon ambassador, his diplomatic privilege does not extend to her." Delenn glowered at the Russian. "This is an insult to the Vorlon ambassador, and by extension, to every ambassador on this station," she stormed. "Delenn, let's not lose perspective here," Ivanova counseled. "You speak to me of perspective?" Delenn challenged. "Sheridan sacrifices himself to stop the evil on our doorstep, and you do nothing -- nothing to avenge him, nothing to destroy that which would destroy us." "I resent that!" Ivanova's voice snapped out with an anger that startled Zack. "My attempts to mount a rescue are met with diatribes about vengeance and demands for practicality." "What have we left but vengeance? What defense but destruction?" "Delenn, he's alive!" Ivanova insisted. "I know he is. We can bring him home. We can find him. John has to be alive." "Sheridan is dead." The voice of the Vorlon floated from the doorway, silencing what Zack suspected was as much Ivanova's attempt to convince herself as to persuade Delenn. "If you honor him, do his work." "Ambassador," Ivanova began, "with all due respect, I can't accept your conclusion that he is dead." "Sheridan is dead," the Vorlon repeated. Bester, until now content to observe, broke his silence. "I'm afraid I have to disagree with you on that point, Ambassador." The headpiece of the encounter suit swiveled in Bester's direction. "I have information that indicates Captain Sheridan is very much alive." The silence stretched far longer than Zack Allan found comfortable. "You impede the work," Kosh intoned at last. "Release the woman." "Are you referring to Ms. Alexander?" Bester smirked. "I'm sorry, Ambassador. I'm sure this is an inconvenience, but if you have need for a telepath, the Corps can arrange for someone who is properly trained and sanctioned." "You will release her. She is useful." The Vorlon's self-interest and Bester's self-satisfaction raised a fury in Zack, his control tried by Bester's next words. "I am sorry, Ambassador, but Ms. Alexander must be returned to Earth for reeducation." The PsiCop stopped abruptly, shock and pain flashing in his eyes. His face hardened in concentration and hatred. Tones came from the encounter suit that Zack had never heard before, sharp, piercing whines and plaintive wails as though the Vorlon moaned in pain. Delenn exploded, launching herself at the PsiCop, pounding his chest, screaming for him to stop. Zack acted quickly to restrain her, but not as quickly as Ivanova moved to defend the man in black. Allan stepped between the women to stop them, stepped into a vicious, nonsensical nightmare. "You are theirs," the Vorlon declared to no one or everyone. He looked to Delenn, who wordlessly exited. "The darkness will be destroyed," Ulkesh proclaimed as he floated out of sight. ================================================================ Three figures stood in silence when Garibaldi reached the office. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked, this once devoid of sarcasm. Ivanova slowly came to herself. "No, Michael, I'm sorry. What is it?" He glanced to the PsiCop as he replied. "We're set. We can move as soon as we're loaded and there's a shuttle waiting in bay five. Bester stood and straightened, a crinkle around his eyes speaking contentment. His eyes met Ivanova's and he nodded. "You'll have some additional passengers, Mr. Garibaldi," she explained. "Dr. Franklin will be accompanying you. He'll be taking one of the telepaths from Cryo back to Earth." Garibaldi stood silent, quickly calculating the new futures this might stir, but a history of rage was in the scowl he aimed at Bester. Finally, Ivanova dismissed the group. In the hallway, Garibaldi spoke only two words to Bester - - "Bay five" -- before he and Zack turned toward the Station House and were gone. ================================================================ Dr. Franklin and his patient were waiting in the shuttle bay along with the cases of medical technology that might be needed during the journey. The young woman was awake and seemed aware of her surroundings, although she was groggy. Michael smiled down at her. "You're not a woman who knows how to pack light, are you?" he teased. Carolyn Sanderson attempted a smile but the effort seemed to exhaust her. Michael let her rest. Security escorted the prisoner to the shuttle bay without incident, Zack's detail arriving just a moment before Alfred Bester. "Well," the PsiCop began, "I see she's quieted down." Franklin's voice was cold. "Sleepers do have that side effect, as you know." "But we can shoot you up, if you've forgotten," Garibaldi added. "Always the comic," Bester observed with a pained smile. "You never change, do you, Mr. Garibaldi?" They boarded the shuttle: first Lyta and her guards, then Bester, then the gurney carrying Carolyn Sanderson, with Franklin following behind. Garibaldi stopped in the hatchway to shake Zack's hand. "Don't worry, Chief," the young man said, "we'll be fine." "I know you will," Garibaldi smiled. "Just remember you have back-up if you need it." Zack's glance followed Michael's to a shadowy corridor where a lone figure briefly bowed a proud head, and then was gone.