See Part One for Disclaimers

The journey to the Ambassadorial suites took forever, or so it seemed to the dark clad Ranger as he finally exited the transport and headed down to the Minbari section of Green sector.  He leant heavily against the wall as he pressed for entry.  The headache from the night before had returned, along with a savage pain over his eye.  It would not surprise him to find he suffered from concussion too, just to make life interesting.

Lennier opened the door and stared in some consternation at the striking figure.  "Marcus?  Let me call Doctor Franklin for you!"

"No time, Lennier.  Where's Delenn?"

"Ambassador Delenn and Commander Ivanova have already left for the White Star.  The commander felt..."

Marcus interrupted the aide without compunction, much to his discomposure.  "How long ago?  Come on Lennier, their safety is at stake."

"About thirty minutes I think, they..."

"My denn'Bok, where is it?" Marcus' eyes scanned the room quickly, finally catching sight of the ancient weapon on the small altar Delenn kept in her room.

"She has been praying for you, every day."

Lennier's voice was soft yet caught him like a sledgehammer in mid stride.  Marcus felt a sudden rush of emotion as his breath caught painfully in his chest.  He had behaved so badly at their last meeting, he had deserved her wrath and yet she cared enough to seek Valen's help on his behalf.  As a matter of personal philosophy had never truly believed in any all-powerful being, call it God or Valen.  If you could not see it, touch it, if it was not tangible in some way, then he found his disbelief hard to suspend.  But he respected the Minbari and their beliefs.  Marcus knew that Delenn felt somehow guided by the saviour of her people, and that she must be truly worried over him to take this course.

Taking a hasty step forward Marcus retrieved the weapon, feeling it fit snugly into his grasp, its weight solid, familiar, and somehow comforting.  Until this moment he had still not trusted his judgement fully.

"Well it worked, okay! Shaker is going to try something, I don't know what but I know it's going down now.  We have to get to the White Star before they depart for the meeting place."

At the name 'Shaker' Lennier had stiffened almost imperceptibly, but still Marcus noticed.

"No, I'm not bloody delusional, nor am I paranoid.  I had a run-in with two of his thugs and what I learned from the people who took me in makes me positive Shaker is up to no good."

"Then let me call Mr Garibaldi, he has men on the ship as escort for the Ambassador."

"No!" Marcus' hand flew out to stop the Minbari from touching the com panel.  Lennier's reply was swift and painful as his other hand caught Marcus' wrist in a crushing grip.  "Let me explain! Lennier, let go damn it."

Their eyes locked and Lennier searched the sea green eyes that pleaded with him for understanding.  What he saw there seemed to reassure him as to the validity of Marcus' beliefs.

"Explain then."

"Thank you," Marcus replied, rubbing his wrist where the imprint of Lennier's fingers still gleamed angrily against his pale skin.  "Shaker is not some myth that I dreamed up.  I know I lost it a few days ago but, as you probably know, someone was spiking my food and drink."

Lennier nodded, standing quietly attentive.

"Well that piece of vermin has been causing trouble for longer than I care to think about.  A couple of years ago, before I was assigned to the station, I had my own little run in with him.  He was ferrying refugees from Transcar Prime to a supposedly safe haven, charging a small fortune for their passage and yet only half ever arrived.  He had connections in the emigration offices, in the local government, everywhere; no one questioned his movements.  A friend of a friend was one of those who didn't make it.  I went looking and caught him disposing of some passengers.  It seemed he had 'connections' in the slave trade."  He saw the Minbari's look of horror.

"Oh yes, for all our supposedly civilised ways slave trading still goes on.  Anyway, I discovered he had dropped off about twenty men on Chandran Six, I couldn't get to them..."

"Chandran Six?" The normally polite Lennier interposed quickly.

"Yes.  Now do you understand why we must stop the Ambassador from taking my White Star?  She would be such a prize for them.  Think what they could do to the treaty."

"We still need help, you and I alone can not take on this man if he has somehow infiltrated Garibaldi's security detail."

Marcus thought furiously for a moment.  "You call Garibaldi, make sure he is a alone and fill him in.  Who is piloting the White Star?"

"Shen, at least he was assigned.  He was taken ill last night and I had to arrange cover."  The soft voice trailed off.

"Then the one telepath available, the one person who might pick up on the threat, is not on board," Marcus stated quietly.  "You call Garibaldi, I'll make my way to the ship now, you can catch me up.  It won't be difficult."  Managing a small rueful smile Marcus headed as quickly as he could toward the transport tube that would take him to the White Star's berth.




He had made it a policy to know every face within the Security Corps.  Names sometimes eluded him but he never forgot a face.  The man standing guard on the entryway to his ship was unfamiliar.  Though he wore the familiar uniform, Marcus was sure he was not legitimate.  There was little cover, but he moved quietly from shadow to shadow, his black garb blending into the darkness, until he was a few feet behind the substitute.

Marcus was almost on top of him before the man became aware of his approach, as he spun around, hand reaching for the ppg at his side, Marcus' denn'bok sprang open, catching the unwary victim between the eyes with a savage force.  The Ranger watched him go down, standing over him for a moment to make sure he was out of the running.  Splinters of pain seared his head from the recoil impact, for a moment the vision in his damaged eye seemed to waver and cloud.  Taking a deep breath, Marcus concentrated on keeping upright and staying focused on his mission.

With the entryway clear, he crept quietly up into the ship.  On each side of the narrow corridor rooms exited, two for storage, two as sleeping areas.  Normally Marcus ran the ship alone, though there was space enough for five passengers at a push.  The ship almost ran itself; there was no need for crew unless the mission demanded it.  He opened one door.  Inside, trussed like a Christmas turkey, was one of Garibaldi's men, unconscious.  Marcus swore softly and closed the door with care.  He crept toward the next door, opening it quietly and poking his head into the gloom.  In there lay another unconscious form -- two down.  That left two security, the Minbari pilot, Ivanova and Delenn.

With his heartbeat racing, Marcus made his way to the bridge where final checks would be just about completed.  From his position flattened against the wall he could just make out the backs of two security guards and Ambassador Delenn's small form in the captain's chair.  He knew that the pilot would be at his controls, out of his sight at that moment, but there was no sign of Susan.

He could feel the tremble in his legs as exhaustion threatened, and closed his fist tightly around the weapon in his hand, forcing his body to respond.  Where the hell were Lennier and Garibaldi?  Damn cavalry were always late.

"C & C, this is Ambassador Delenn, we are now ready for departure."

"Ambassador, you should be clear to leave in five minutes, please hold your position until notified."

Marcus saw the glance exchanged between the two fake security men, watched as one took a step toward the chair, ppg easing from its holster, as the other headed to the left where the pilot would be standing.  He could not wait; it had to be now.  His priority had to be Delenn.  Stepping forward with all the speed he could muster his pike flew open as he aimed for the arm holding the gun.  Delenn, hearing his approach, turned rapidly, saw the ppg aimed at her, saw Marcus swinging into action and moved with speed out of the line of fire.

Ivanova, who was standing at the Minbari pilot's shoulder watching with interest his manipulation of the unfamiliar controls, caught the movement from the corner of her eye.  There was the faint buzz as a ppg discharged and the pilot fell, a jagged hole blown through his chest.  She moved to intercept, not quick enough though to stop the fake security guard from lashing out with his weapon, catching her a glancing blow to the face that sent her sprawling.

Marcus saw the assault and a red mist seemed to descend in front of him.  Charging recklessly at the man who had tried to fire on Delenn, his weapon crashed down with stunning effect on the hand now swinging around toward him.  He quickly followed with an upward swing that took his opponent under the chin, lifting him high into the air to land heavily against the panelling.  Delenn's caused him to spin around as the other guard lifted his ppg, firing at his swiftly moving form.  Fuelled by adrenaline and anger Marcus dodged to the side, the blast catching him high on the shoulder, spinning him backwards and sending his pike clattering to the floor.  Stunned, his head whirling from sleep deprivation and the effects of withdrawal, Marcus watched helpless as the man closed in.

His adversary suddenly staggered, almost falling onto the downed Ranger and Marcus saw Delenn raise his denn'Bok once more.  By now the man was in his range, and he lashed out with both booted feet, sending him careening back into the Minbari Ambassador's skilful down stroke.

Crawling into a kneeling posture, Marcus clung to consciousness as best he could, not believing the fight was over, sure that there would be more for him to do.  He was vaguely aware of Delenn's hand on his shoulder, of Susan's curses as she raised herself from the floor and the clatter of boots as Lennier and Garibaldi ran onto the bridge.

"About bloody time," he muttered.  Feeling the last of his energy drain from his body Marcus gave up the fight and collapsed, face down, into the waiting arms of the Minbari Ambassador.

***

The dark garbed figure stared out from the small screen hidden in Shaker's palm.  Dead eyes seemed to sear through the man who even now tried to bluff his way out of his plight.

"It wasn't my fault.  We did everything you asked.  It was pure bad luck that the Ranger idea didn't work out, and there was no way we could know he'd be back on the scene in time to ruin our plans!"

"That is what I paid you for.  And you were paid handsomely, Mr Shaker.  You promised me the White Star and Ambassador Delenn.  You disappoint me.  With the specifications of that ship we could have halted the Minbari at a stroke, with the Ambassador we could have gained valuable time."

"We could try again?  There will be other meetings.  I know security will be tight, but they'll get lax soon enough.  We could still be partners, I can still deliver."

"I don't accept failure, Mr Shaker."

The words, uttered in tight monosyllables, struck fear into his heart.  The image spoke two softly enunciated words.  Shaker's eyes seemed to glaze over, then he screamed, just once, as his dead body toppled to the ground.  On the screen Bester's face was briefly replaced by the Psi Corps symbol before the link was lost.

***

"Can I go, Stephen?"

"I guess.  Don't do this to me again though.  If you have a problem you damn well come and see me, no matter how you think it looks!"

Marcus grinned hugely at the irritated doctor.  "Yes, mother.  Now can I go."

Ivanova was on her way to Med Lab from Delenn's quarters, a bundle under her arm.  Passing through the exit port she spotted Marcus standing a little to one side, as though waiting for something.  He still wore the all black outfit he had been wearing the day before and Susan had to admit it suited him.  About to join him she stopped as he suddenly smiled a welcome to a stunning dark-haired woman.  Marcus caught the stranger in a hug, then held her from him, hands still resting familiarly on her shoulders, and for a moment Susan felt a surge of some indefinable emotion.  Confusion followed as a young girl came speeding toward him, to again be held and hugged; and then an older woman who patted his cheek and smiled at him before pulling him close.  Susan had never seen the solitary Ranger interact with anyone like this before.  They looked like a family, she thought.  His family?  It suddenly struck her how little she knew about him, and yet ... she fingered the wolf's head through the thin material of her off duty blouse.  She could not see the Marcus she knew making such a gesture if he had a family like this to support.

The computerised voice called last boarding and she watched as he said his goodbyes, turn and make his way without a backward glance toward the transport.  Susan hurried to catch up with him, skimming in between the doors with millimetres to spare.

"Marcus."

"Susan!" The Ranger's face lit up.  Ivanova wordlessly handed him the parcel she had been carrying under her arm.

"For me?  You shouldn't have," he quipped.  Marcus tore one corner and saw the familiar material of his ranger uniform, his face serious now.

"We thought...  It wasn't right to leave your belongings there.  Garibaldi has changed your codes, but you can alter them to suit yourself.  Here, you need this as well."  Susan rescued the Ranger pin from its place pinned inside her blouse and handed it to him, still warm from its contact with her skin.

Marcus looked fairly bemused, looking from the pin to Susan with a kind of wonder.  "Thank you."

Ivanova coughed, a little embarrassed at the look in his eyes and tried to change the subject.  "I saw you just now, dispensing hugs -- Family?"

With a look of pure devilry Marcus cocked his head to one side and replied, "No, but if you need a hug, I am getting quite practised at it.  I believe they have a very beneficial effect, especially for people with black eyes."

Susan's hand moved involuntarily to the bruising around her left temple, a legacy from the gunman's assault on board the White Star.

"Thanks, but we Russians are made of sterner stuff."  Was that disappointment she had seen flit briefly across his features?

"Okay, but seeing that we have 'his and hers' matching injuries a mutual hug might have gone a long way to heal them!"

The door swished open, giving Susan the excuse she needed to flee from the laughing man who, unseen, blew a kiss at her retreating form.

"One of these days, Susan.  One of these days."

--the end--

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