Kansas 2 - The Yellow Brick Road, Part 18
Title: Kansas 2 - The Yellow Brick Road
Author: Soledad
Author’s notes: For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the secondary index page.
Some of the dialogue is quoted from the episode “Shadow Dancing”, swapped around between characters with slight modifications.
There are different opinions about what the Warrior Caste dialect is called: I’ve seen Lenn’ah, Vik and Fik so far and decided that Lenn’ah was the one I liked best.
Reed and Mayweather aren’t identical with the “Enterprise” characters, of course. I just needed to give the Babylon 5 pilots names and faces.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
PART 18 - 15 December 2260
Meanwhile, the White Star had been lying silent near a moon in Sector 83. Marcus was sitting in the command chair, having relieved Ivanova but a few minutes previously, while the Minbari crew was doing their jobs without the need for any specific instructions. Rastenn, who had spent as much time on the bridge as he could without resting, reluctantly admitted that they weren’t bad at what they were doing. Especially if one considered that they were Religious Caste, with no proper Warrior training.
Marcus clearly thought the same, because he mainly let them work as they saw fit. He did order the computer to run another check on the weapons systems, though. Just to be sure they were ready. Rastenn nodded in approval; when facing a potentially superior enemy, one could never be prepared enough.
“He appears reasonably fluent in Minbari,” somebody said and the pointy-eared alien officer from Voyager walked up to him.
“The Anla’shok coming from outside Minbar cannot finish their training until they can speak and think in our language,” Rastenn explained. “At least in one of the three main dialects, although more than one would be preferable.”
“True,” Marcus added, having caught the tail end of their conversation. “I’m pretty fluent in Adronato, which is the language of the Religious Caste, but I’d be lost without at least a smattering of Lenn’ah, as over ninety per cent of the vocabulary concerning weapons and combat was created by the Warrior Caste.”
“Interesting,” Tuvok commented. “One would assume that when training the members of a paramilitary organization they would emphasize infiltration and combat techniques, not language skills.”
Marcus shrugged. “To them it's all the same thing.”
“And meditation,” Rastenn offered. “Only one who is rooted firmly in oneself as well as in the universe can hope to emerge from a fight victorious; or to fight the right combat to begin with,” he flashed Marcus a wry grin. “Apparently, my uncle meditated more after having fought denn’sha with you than he had done in the last ten cycles in his life… for which you should be grateful. Otherwise our Clan would not fight on your side in the upcoming battle.”
Marcus seemed more than a little surprised by that bit of news but before he could have replied - if he had an answer indeed, which Rastenn doubted - the door slid open, allowing Ivanova back to the bridge.
“What are you doing here?” Marcus asked in surprise. “You should be resting. You’ve been awake for thirty-six hours or longer; you’ll need your strength later.”
Ivanova rolled her eyes. “Assuming I could get any sleep on those stupid tilted platforms, No offence intended,” she added hurriedly with a side glance at the smirking Rastenn. “The captain warned me about the things, but I had no idea!”
“They're very restful,” Marcus replied serenely. “Good for the back.”
Rastenn bit the inside of his cheek to suppress his grin. The utilitarian platforms on a warship were the Minbari equivalent of the human military bunks - meant to keep the soldiers on constant alert, even in their sleep, not to make themselves comfortable.
Ivanova shot the Anla’shok a dirty glare but obviously held back the first answer occurring to her in front of third parties. “Yeah, sure. Well, if everything is quiet here I’ll just have to give those torture benches another try.”
“I’m sure you’ll conquer them eventually,” Marcus said, amused; then he added in slow, deliberate Adronato. “Nu zin falani en allys midhron.”
The bridge crew, while pretending not having heard a word, involuntarily stiffened; and so did Rastenn. That was unexpected, to say the least - and at such a time, too. On the verge of battle one usually did not declare oneself.
“And what does that mean?” Ivanova asked warily. She had noticed the reaction of the crew, slight it might have been, which was another proof of her excellent abilities as a commanding officer.
Marcus smiled at her innocently. “It’s just a greeting. It means: 'My words are inadequate to the burden of my heart’."
“Liar!” Rastenn muttered under his breath, so that neither the humans would hear it.
Tuvok, however, clearly had, because he raised an interested eyebrow… but chose not to ask just yet.
“Well,” Ivanova clearly wasn’t buying the explanation, “that's an unusual greeting.”
“Well, they're an unusual people,” Marcus replied with an enigmatic smile. “Go and rest. I'll wake you in four hours.”
After a moment of hesitation Ivanova did just that and Marcus leaned back in the command chair with a strangely satisfied smirk. Tuvok waited for the door to slide shut behind Ivanova before turning to Rastenn.
“Am I right to assume that Ranger Cole did not translate that Minbari phrase truthfully?” he asked in a low voice so that no-one else present would hear.
Rastenn gave him a surprised frown. “I thought that communication device of yours would translate foreign languages for you as soon as they are spoken.”
“Only those that are already programmed into the universal translator,” Tuvok explained. “Our database of Minbari words and expressions is still far too limited for that. So, what did Mr. Cole say in truth?”
“He said: ‘You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met’,” Rastenn said.
The Vulcan nodded. “A compliment then; with the usual human exaggeration.”
“It was more than that; at least in Minbari terms,” Rastenn corrected. “Making such a statement in the presence of witnesses means he has declared his intention to court her.”
“Mr. Cole is not a Minbari, though,” Tuvok pointed out logically.
“But he chose to live among Minbari and has been trained to think as a Minbari,” Rastenn answered. “And, according to my uncle, he is id’Minbari: a human with a Minbari soul. That recognition was what stopped my uncle from killing him during denn’sha, a fight that, by right, should have ended with the death of one of the participants.”
“That is right,” Tuvok called up in memory the basic information about Minbari Voyager had been given. “Your people believe in rebirth.”
Rastenn nodded. “It had been the topic of much discussion ever since our numbers started to diminish, where those souls have gone. Then, at the peak of our war with Earth, the Grey Council captured one of the human pilots - who happened to be Jeffrey Sinclair, the first commander of Babylon 5 - and they realised that he had a Minbari soul.”
“How?”
“There is a device left behind by Valen himself that recognises a Minbari soul, even in an alien body. The same device Delenn used for her transformation.”
“And after this your people simply surrendered, although they had practically won the war,” it wasn’t a question, but Rastenn nodded nonetheless.
“Minbari don’t kill Minbari. There hasn’t been a murder on our world for a thousand years, which is why the last millennium is generally known as Valen’s Peace.”
“And yet Alyt Neroon was willing to kill Ambassador Delenn, not so long ago,” Tuvok reminded him bluntly.
“That wasn’t an easy choice,” Rastenn sighed. “You see, Commander, ending the war was the decision of the Religious Caste. They persuaded the Grey Council of the rightness of that action, but the other castes were never told the reason. My uncle learned the truth when he was chosen as Satai, a member of the Grey Council, but…”
“… but he did not believe it,” Tuvok finished, as it seemed the logical conclusion.
“Not at first, no,” Rastenn admitted. “Not until he looked into the eyes of a beaten Anla’shok Cole who was ready to die for Delenn - for the same Delenn Uncle was willing to kill for Minbar’s sake, regardless of the damage to his own honour - and recognised him as a kindred soul.”
“I must admit that I lack the necessary references to fully understand the logic behind your beliefs,” Tuvok said after a long moment of consideration, “therefore I have to accept your word for it. So, if Mr. Cole thinks as a Minbari and has a Minbari soul, he just initiated a courtship between himself and Commander Ivanova?”
“In the presence of witnesses,” Rastenn emphasized. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be valid. Our courtship rituals are time-honoured and rather… rigid.”
“Which would make his claim a valid one, I presume; at least in the eyes of other Minbari,” Tuvok continued thoughtfully. “However, I doubt that Commander Ivanova has any idea what just happened between them.”
“That is unlikely,” Rastenn agreed. “Our rituals are not widely known among outsiders.”
“In that case perhaps Mr. Cole would have done better if he stated his intention simply and clearly,” Tuvok said. “It has been my experience that most humans are rather ignorant towards the subtleties of foreign cultures.”
“Perhaps,” Rastenn allowed. “But I shan’t be the one to tell him that; not being bound to either one, not by blood neither by oath, it is not my place to play matchmaker. They will have to figure it out on their own.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Garibaldi, in both Sheridan and Ivanova’s absence acting commander of Babylon 5’s combat pilots, eyed the volunteers from Voyager lining up in the Cobra Bay warily. Ayala was there, of course, together with Nozawa and Trumari and a couple of others Garibaldi didn’t know by name but recognized them as Maquis - the same ones that had helped taking out the Nightwatch base in Red Sector.
He wasn’t particularly surprised to see them - they were freedom fighters, after all, so it seemed logical for them to join the fight. But there was also B’Elanna, wearing her old Maquis garb and, to general surprise, Fleeters like Walter Baxter, Harry Kim and even Tom Paris. They wore borrowed EarthForce uniforms instead of their own ones.
Garibaldi looked at Babylon 5’s own pilots who were waiting impatiently to board their fighters.
“Are you sure they’ll be able to fly our machines?” he asked doubtfully.
The ranking one among them, a young lieutenant named Malcolm Reed, nodded confidentially. “Yes, Chief. We gave them a thorough crash course at flying the Cobras last week. They’re all pilots; all they needed was to make themselves familiar with our instruments. They’re okay; even though that one,” Reed winked at Paris, “is a little crazy behind the joystick.”
“Hey!” Paris protested. “I’m the best damned pilot you can possibly get!”
“That doesn’t mean he isn’t crazy,” Sergeant Mayweather, another Babylon 5 pilot commented, grinning like a loon. “But crazy or not, he’s too good to leave him out of this. I vouch for him, Chief. I trained with him.”
“What about the others?” Garibaldi asked. “Can you vouch for them all?”
“One of us for each one of them,” Lieutenant Reed said. “They’re ready to go, Chief. But even if they weren’t - we don’t have enough people to put into all the cockpits. Do we have a choice?”
“I won’t send unprepared people into battle,” Garibaldi declared categorically.
“You’re not sending us anywhere, Chief,” Ayala said with a grim smile. “We’ve all volunteered, remember? Don’t worry about us; impossible odds are our bread and butter, and we want to help.”
“That’s all well and nice, but does your captain know about it?” Garibaldi asked.
“She left the matter in Chakotay’s hands, and Chakotay said we can,” Ayala replied. “He’s coming, too.”
Garibaldi shook his head in exasperation. “You’re a bunch of crazy fools, you know that? The commander is in no shape to get into a fight.”
“He’s not coming with us,” Ayala clarified. “He’s going with that Minbari Warrior, what’s his name? Perón or something similar.”
“Neroon?” Garibaldi asked in surprise. “He’s going with the Ingata?”
Ayala nodded. “As an observer and a tactical advisor, yes.”
“And Neroon agreed to that?” Garibaldi still couldn’t quite believe it.
Ayala shrugged. “Chakotay can be very persuasive when he puts his mind to it,”
Garibaldi shook his head again. “You know what? I don’t even want to know. Board your fighters, all of you; and try not to get killed before we actually engage the enemy.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“You are doing what?” Janeway had the feeling of having fallen down the rabbit hole like Alice - and that not for the first time since their arrival in this alternate reality.
Frankly, she was way beyond pissed by now. The meeting with the Centauri ambassador had been a complete waste of time; Mollari very obviously only wanted to save his own reputation with this audience and was not the least willing to share any information. Not even Jurot’s presence helped much. The Centauri was clearly used to have telepaths poking around in his head - with or without his consent - and had developed a confusingly circular way of thinking, full of lies and half-truths that would have maddened even an experienced investigator.
Oh, there was a great deal of information; only that most of it was likely useless. It would take a long time - and Tuvok’s analytical mind - to sort out everything Jurot had picked up from him and part the junk from the very small bits of useful facts.
Only that Tuvok had gone with the White Star to make his own impression about the Shadows and see if his telepathic powers would be any help against them.
That was bad enough. The fact that a dozen or so of her crew had volunteered as fighter pilots to help Babylon 5 was worse. And now this…
“I’m going to accompany Alyt Neroon aboard his warship in the upcoming battle,” Chakotay repeated calmly. “This is a unique opportunity to see the Warrior Caste and their warships in action; we can’t afford to lose it.”
“Why not?” Janeway massaged her temples against an upcoming headache. “We have nothing to do with the Warrior Caste. They don’t seem to think much of us humans as a whole.”
“Exactly,” Chakotay said. “And considering how uncertain the situation is on Minbar itself, we can’t be sure that the majority of the Warrior Caste won’t turn against us - against humans in general -, should the tensions between them and the Religious Caste escalate. If that happens, tactical knowledge may be crucial.”
Janeway shook her head unhappily. “We’re getting more and more involved in a conflict not our own. I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I, but we can’t really avoid it,” Chakotay pointed out reasonably. “We are humans; and neither the Shadows, nor the xenophobic Minbari Warriors would care that we’ve come from a different reality.”
“That still doesn’t mean we ought to take sides,” Janeway replied stubbornly.
Chakotay shook his head and sighed. “If we want to survive at all, we have to take sides, Captain. As you’ve said before, we’re but one ship, with a small crew, and we happened to show up here in the middle of the greatest conflict of the millennium.”
“All the more reason to remain neutral!” Janeway insisted.
“That is not an option,” Chakotay declared coldly. “You are an able scientist, Captain, but, by all due respect, you are not a tactician. I am. So try to trust me in this, because I know what I’m talking about. If we want the help of that mysterious alien machine down on the planet beneath us, we need the help of Babylon 5. And if we want their help, we ought to give them something in exchange. It’s that simple.”
“I can’t accept that,” Janeway protested. “This goes against every principle we were taught as Starfleet officers.”
“Perhaps,” Chakotay allowed. “But Starfleet and its principles and regulations are beyond our reach, a hundred years ahead of us, in a different reality. If we want to ever get back to them, we need to be a bit more flexible in our thinking.”
Janeway wouldn’t have given in any time soon, but their discussion was interrupted by Hogan, currently on duty in the transporter room.
“Hogan to Chakotay.”
Chakotay touched his comm badge. “Go on.”
“Commander, the Ingata is ready to accept you now. The coordinates are all set and they want to leave the station as soon as you’re aboard.”
“I’m ready to go,” Chakotay replied. “Lock on to my comm badge and beam me over.”
“Understood,” Hogan’s voice said. “Initiating transfer now.”
In the next moment Chakotay turned into a sparkling column of energy and disappeared.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
What he didn’t know yet was the fact that Janeway wasn’t the only one who didn’t take his decision to go to battle with Neroon well… to put it mildly.
“Sometimes I think all men are insane,” Lillian Hobbs complained to Maya Hernandez in the relative privacy of her - well, Franklin’s - office.
The MedLabs were quiet and semi-abandoned, with only duty personnel at their stations, but both doctors knew that this war merely the calm before the storm. After the battle, regardless of its outcome, they’d be up to their eyeballs in blood and gore.
They were prepared for it. They were both professionals, with a great deal of experience where battlefield trauma medicine was concerned. That didn’t mean the knowledge would make them happy, though.
“It was rather… reckless of him,” Maya Hernandez agreed. “I still don’t fully understand how that regeneration gel therapy of theirs works, but last time I checked Voyager’s medical logs, the most the commander was capable of was sitting upright and walking without aid.”
“You got into their medical logs?” Lillian was impressed. “How did you manage that? I thought our systems weren’t compatible.”
Hernandez shrugged. I told that holographic doctor of theirs that I needed the data for our medical logs, since we were the ones who began the immediate treatment of the commander, and he simply sent me the results.”
“Just like that?”
“Well… he demanded all possible details on Centauri physiology and illnesses that we could give them in exchange, but that’s okay. I think they’re trying to treat Vir’s condition… if they can. Nerve damage is something even their technology may not be able to repair fully.”
“I hope they can help Vir,” Lillian said. “He’s such a kind person; he doesn’t deserve to be permanently damaged because of Londo’s political scheming.”
“Unfortunately, bad things often happen to good people,” Hernandez replied with a shrug. “Even to those who do not take unnecessary risks,” she paused; then she lowered her voice to prevent being overheard. “Did you find the chance to speak with the commander in private?”
Lillian shook her head unhappily.
“I see. So he still doesn’t know about the baby?”
Lillian shook her head again. “That isn’t something I’d discuss via a comm channel.”
“But you visited him, several times. Spent hours in their Sickbay with him,” Hernandez said in surprise.
Lillian sighed. “Yes, but we were never alone. The healing process was constantly monitored; and he wasn’t even fully conscious, most of the time. I didn’t want the whole ship know it beforee him.”
“I understand that,” Hernandez said. “Still, it would have been a good opportunity to tell him. I don’t believe the medical personnel would have violated his privacy. They might not have sworn the same oath as we, but at least the hologram was programmed with the necessary medical ethics, or so I’m told.”
“Perhaps; but I don’t think that either Lieutenant Paris or the alien girl have sworn any kind of oath,” Lillian replied. “They’re not trained nurses or med techs; they might not even know what they’re supposed to keep quiet about. They could have babbled, without meaning to…”
“I seriously doubt it; they seem to take their jobs very seriously,” Hernandez looked at her colleague searchingly. “Are you sure you aren’t just looking for excuses why you haven’t spoken to the commander about the baby?”
“No, I’m not!” Lillian’s face crumpled. “You’re right; I was a coward, and now he’s gone and might never come back, and I might never get another chance to tell him, and the baby might never know him and…”
She burst out in tears. It was as if a floodgate had opened; she simply couldn’t stop. All the stress, the fear, the tension of the recent months broke loose and she just sobbed her heart out.
Hernandez took the younger woman in her arm and made quiet, soothing noises that didn’t really mean anything. She knew Lillian needed to let out all that pent-up tension to be able to function again. So she simply held her and let her cry.
Lillian just began to calm down when the intercom system came alive.
“Security to MedLabs,” Zack Allan’s scratchy voice said. “We need a med team on the Zocalo at once. We’ve got a victim with a knife wound and he’s bleeding out rapidly.”
“Understood,” Lillian pushed her personal problems to the side and was full the professional again. ”Mr. Kiriyama, take your team and a gurney and bring in the patient. Doctor Hernandez and I will prepare the operation room in the meantime.”
Kiriyama, the ranking med tech of the shift, nodded once crisply, and a minute later four medics were running with a gurney towards the elevator. They were the senior team that had weathered many conflicts since Babylon 5 had come online; very few things could shock them in these days.
That this would be one of those few things no-one could have known in advance.
Endless minutes of tense waiting followed. Lillian and Hernandez scrubbed up and prepared everything for the arrival of the presumably critical patient, but despite keeping themselves busy, time seemed to stretch on and on into eternity.
Finally, after what seemed forever but hadn’t likely been longer than ten minutes altogether, the med team came running in, pushing the gurney before them. Lying on the gurney was a dark-skinned man in dirty rags. On his chest the knife wound was still bleeding profusely. He was unconscious.
“Let’s move him to the operation table and cut these filthy clothes away,” Lillian ordered.
Under normal circumstances she would have helped to move the patient, but in the first trimester of her pregnancy it would have been too risky. So she left the task to the experienced med techs and approached the patient when it was done, to cut away his clothes.
She was about to start when she accidentally took a glance at the man’s sweaty face that was twisted into a pained grimace. Her hand stopped with the scissors and she felt a sudden wave of dizziness.
Because the supposed lurker with the ugly knife would in his chest was no lesser person than Dr. Stephen Franklin.
Author: Soledad
Author’s notes: For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the secondary index page.
Some of the dialogue is quoted from the episode “Shadow Dancing”, swapped around between characters with slight modifications.
There are different opinions about what the Warrior Caste dialect is called: I’ve seen Lenn’ah, Vik and Fik so far and decided that Lenn’ah was the one I liked best.
Reed and Mayweather aren’t identical with the “Enterprise” characters, of course. I just needed to give the Babylon 5 pilots names and faces.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
PART 18 - 15 December 2260
Meanwhile, the White Star had been lying silent near a moon in Sector 83. Marcus was sitting in the command chair, having relieved Ivanova but a few minutes previously, while the Minbari crew was doing their jobs without the need for any specific instructions. Rastenn, who had spent as much time on the bridge as he could without resting, reluctantly admitted that they weren’t bad at what they were doing. Especially if one considered that they were Religious Caste, with no proper Warrior training.
Marcus clearly thought the same, because he mainly let them work as they saw fit. He did order the computer to run another check on the weapons systems, though. Just to be sure they were ready. Rastenn nodded in approval; when facing a potentially superior enemy, one could never be prepared enough.
“He appears reasonably fluent in Minbari,” somebody said and the pointy-eared alien officer from Voyager walked up to him.
“The Anla’shok coming from outside Minbar cannot finish their training until they can speak and think in our language,” Rastenn explained. “At least in one of the three main dialects, although more than one would be preferable.”
“True,” Marcus added, having caught the tail end of their conversation. “I’m pretty fluent in Adronato, which is the language of the Religious Caste, but I’d be lost without at least a smattering of Lenn’ah, as over ninety per cent of the vocabulary concerning weapons and combat was created by the Warrior Caste.”
“Interesting,” Tuvok commented. “One would assume that when training the members of a paramilitary organization they would emphasize infiltration and combat techniques, not language skills.”
Marcus shrugged. “To them it's all the same thing.”
“And meditation,” Rastenn offered. “Only one who is rooted firmly in oneself as well as in the universe can hope to emerge from a fight victorious; or to fight the right combat to begin with,” he flashed Marcus a wry grin. “Apparently, my uncle meditated more after having fought denn’sha with you than he had done in the last ten cycles in his life… for which you should be grateful. Otherwise our Clan would not fight on your side in the upcoming battle.”
Marcus seemed more than a little surprised by that bit of news but before he could have replied - if he had an answer indeed, which Rastenn doubted - the door slid open, allowing Ivanova back to the bridge.
“What are you doing here?” Marcus asked in surprise. “You should be resting. You’ve been awake for thirty-six hours or longer; you’ll need your strength later.”
Ivanova rolled her eyes. “Assuming I could get any sleep on those stupid tilted platforms, No offence intended,” she added hurriedly with a side glance at the smirking Rastenn. “The captain warned me about the things, but I had no idea!”
“They're very restful,” Marcus replied serenely. “Good for the back.”
Rastenn bit the inside of his cheek to suppress his grin. The utilitarian platforms on a warship were the Minbari equivalent of the human military bunks - meant to keep the soldiers on constant alert, even in their sleep, not to make themselves comfortable.
Ivanova shot the Anla’shok a dirty glare but obviously held back the first answer occurring to her in front of third parties. “Yeah, sure. Well, if everything is quiet here I’ll just have to give those torture benches another try.”
“I’m sure you’ll conquer them eventually,” Marcus said, amused; then he added in slow, deliberate Adronato. “Nu zin falani en allys midhron.”
The bridge crew, while pretending not having heard a word, involuntarily stiffened; and so did Rastenn. That was unexpected, to say the least - and at such a time, too. On the verge of battle one usually did not declare oneself.
“And what does that mean?” Ivanova asked warily. She had noticed the reaction of the crew, slight it might have been, which was another proof of her excellent abilities as a commanding officer.
Marcus smiled at her innocently. “It’s just a greeting. It means: 'My words are inadequate to the burden of my heart’."
“Liar!” Rastenn muttered under his breath, so that neither the humans would hear it.
Tuvok, however, clearly had, because he raised an interested eyebrow… but chose not to ask just yet.
“Well,” Ivanova clearly wasn’t buying the explanation, “that's an unusual greeting.”
“Well, they're an unusual people,” Marcus replied with an enigmatic smile. “Go and rest. I'll wake you in four hours.”
After a moment of hesitation Ivanova did just that and Marcus leaned back in the command chair with a strangely satisfied smirk. Tuvok waited for the door to slide shut behind Ivanova before turning to Rastenn.
“Am I right to assume that Ranger Cole did not translate that Minbari phrase truthfully?” he asked in a low voice so that no-one else present would hear.
Rastenn gave him a surprised frown. “I thought that communication device of yours would translate foreign languages for you as soon as they are spoken.”
“Only those that are already programmed into the universal translator,” Tuvok explained. “Our database of Minbari words and expressions is still far too limited for that. So, what did Mr. Cole say in truth?”
“He said: ‘You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met’,” Rastenn said.
The Vulcan nodded. “A compliment then; with the usual human exaggeration.”
“It was more than that; at least in Minbari terms,” Rastenn corrected. “Making such a statement in the presence of witnesses means he has declared his intention to court her.”
“Mr. Cole is not a Minbari, though,” Tuvok pointed out logically.
“But he chose to live among Minbari and has been trained to think as a Minbari,” Rastenn answered. “And, according to my uncle, he is id’Minbari: a human with a Minbari soul. That recognition was what stopped my uncle from killing him during denn’sha, a fight that, by right, should have ended with the death of one of the participants.”
“That is right,” Tuvok called up in memory the basic information about Minbari Voyager had been given. “Your people believe in rebirth.”
Rastenn nodded. “It had been the topic of much discussion ever since our numbers started to diminish, where those souls have gone. Then, at the peak of our war with Earth, the Grey Council captured one of the human pilots - who happened to be Jeffrey Sinclair, the first commander of Babylon 5 - and they realised that he had a Minbari soul.”
“How?”
“There is a device left behind by Valen himself that recognises a Minbari soul, even in an alien body. The same device Delenn used for her transformation.”
“And after this your people simply surrendered, although they had practically won the war,” it wasn’t a question, but Rastenn nodded nonetheless.
“Minbari don’t kill Minbari. There hasn’t been a murder on our world for a thousand years, which is why the last millennium is generally known as Valen’s Peace.”
“And yet Alyt Neroon was willing to kill Ambassador Delenn, not so long ago,” Tuvok reminded him bluntly.
“That wasn’t an easy choice,” Rastenn sighed. “You see, Commander, ending the war was the decision of the Religious Caste. They persuaded the Grey Council of the rightness of that action, but the other castes were never told the reason. My uncle learned the truth when he was chosen as Satai, a member of the Grey Council, but…”
“… but he did not believe it,” Tuvok finished, as it seemed the logical conclusion.
“Not at first, no,” Rastenn admitted. “Not until he looked into the eyes of a beaten Anla’shok Cole who was ready to die for Delenn - for the same Delenn Uncle was willing to kill for Minbar’s sake, regardless of the damage to his own honour - and recognised him as a kindred soul.”
“I must admit that I lack the necessary references to fully understand the logic behind your beliefs,” Tuvok said after a long moment of consideration, “therefore I have to accept your word for it. So, if Mr. Cole thinks as a Minbari and has a Minbari soul, he just initiated a courtship between himself and Commander Ivanova?”
“In the presence of witnesses,” Rastenn emphasized. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be valid. Our courtship rituals are time-honoured and rather… rigid.”
“Which would make his claim a valid one, I presume; at least in the eyes of other Minbari,” Tuvok continued thoughtfully. “However, I doubt that Commander Ivanova has any idea what just happened between them.”
“That is unlikely,” Rastenn agreed. “Our rituals are not widely known among outsiders.”
“In that case perhaps Mr. Cole would have done better if he stated his intention simply and clearly,” Tuvok said. “It has been my experience that most humans are rather ignorant towards the subtleties of foreign cultures.”
“Perhaps,” Rastenn allowed. “But I shan’t be the one to tell him that; not being bound to either one, not by blood neither by oath, it is not my place to play matchmaker. They will have to figure it out on their own.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Garibaldi, in both Sheridan and Ivanova’s absence acting commander of Babylon 5’s combat pilots, eyed the volunteers from Voyager lining up in the Cobra Bay warily. Ayala was there, of course, together with Nozawa and Trumari and a couple of others Garibaldi didn’t know by name but recognized them as Maquis - the same ones that had helped taking out the Nightwatch base in Red Sector.
He wasn’t particularly surprised to see them - they were freedom fighters, after all, so it seemed logical for them to join the fight. But there was also B’Elanna, wearing her old Maquis garb and, to general surprise, Fleeters like Walter Baxter, Harry Kim and even Tom Paris. They wore borrowed EarthForce uniforms instead of their own ones.
Garibaldi looked at Babylon 5’s own pilots who were waiting impatiently to board their fighters.
“Are you sure they’ll be able to fly our machines?” he asked doubtfully.
The ranking one among them, a young lieutenant named Malcolm Reed, nodded confidentially. “Yes, Chief. We gave them a thorough crash course at flying the Cobras last week. They’re all pilots; all they needed was to make themselves familiar with our instruments. They’re okay; even though that one,” Reed winked at Paris, “is a little crazy behind the joystick.”
“Hey!” Paris protested. “I’m the best damned pilot you can possibly get!”
“That doesn’t mean he isn’t crazy,” Sergeant Mayweather, another Babylon 5 pilot commented, grinning like a loon. “But crazy or not, he’s too good to leave him out of this. I vouch for him, Chief. I trained with him.”
“What about the others?” Garibaldi asked. “Can you vouch for them all?”
“One of us for each one of them,” Lieutenant Reed said. “They’re ready to go, Chief. But even if they weren’t - we don’t have enough people to put into all the cockpits. Do we have a choice?”
“I won’t send unprepared people into battle,” Garibaldi declared categorically.
“You’re not sending us anywhere, Chief,” Ayala said with a grim smile. “We’ve all volunteered, remember? Don’t worry about us; impossible odds are our bread and butter, and we want to help.”
“That’s all well and nice, but does your captain know about it?” Garibaldi asked.
“She left the matter in Chakotay’s hands, and Chakotay said we can,” Ayala replied. “He’s coming, too.”
Garibaldi shook his head in exasperation. “You’re a bunch of crazy fools, you know that? The commander is in no shape to get into a fight.”
“He’s not coming with us,” Ayala clarified. “He’s going with that Minbari Warrior, what’s his name? Perón or something similar.”
“Neroon?” Garibaldi asked in surprise. “He’s going with the Ingata?”
Ayala nodded. “As an observer and a tactical advisor, yes.”
“And Neroon agreed to that?” Garibaldi still couldn’t quite believe it.
Ayala shrugged. “Chakotay can be very persuasive when he puts his mind to it,”
Garibaldi shook his head again. “You know what? I don’t even want to know. Board your fighters, all of you; and try not to get killed before we actually engage the enemy.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“You are doing what?” Janeway had the feeling of having fallen down the rabbit hole like Alice - and that not for the first time since their arrival in this alternate reality.
Frankly, she was way beyond pissed by now. The meeting with the Centauri ambassador had been a complete waste of time; Mollari very obviously only wanted to save his own reputation with this audience and was not the least willing to share any information. Not even Jurot’s presence helped much. The Centauri was clearly used to have telepaths poking around in his head - with or without his consent - and had developed a confusingly circular way of thinking, full of lies and half-truths that would have maddened even an experienced investigator.
Oh, there was a great deal of information; only that most of it was likely useless. It would take a long time - and Tuvok’s analytical mind - to sort out everything Jurot had picked up from him and part the junk from the very small bits of useful facts.
Only that Tuvok had gone with the White Star to make his own impression about the Shadows and see if his telepathic powers would be any help against them.
That was bad enough. The fact that a dozen or so of her crew had volunteered as fighter pilots to help Babylon 5 was worse. And now this…
“I’m going to accompany Alyt Neroon aboard his warship in the upcoming battle,” Chakotay repeated calmly. “This is a unique opportunity to see the Warrior Caste and their warships in action; we can’t afford to lose it.”
“Why not?” Janeway massaged her temples against an upcoming headache. “We have nothing to do with the Warrior Caste. They don’t seem to think much of us humans as a whole.”
“Exactly,” Chakotay said. “And considering how uncertain the situation is on Minbar itself, we can’t be sure that the majority of the Warrior Caste won’t turn against us - against humans in general -, should the tensions between them and the Religious Caste escalate. If that happens, tactical knowledge may be crucial.”
Janeway shook her head unhappily. “We’re getting more and more involved in a conflict not our own. I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I, but we can’t really avoid it,” Chakotay pointed out reasonably. “We are humans; and neither the Shadows, nor the xenophobic Minbari Warriors would care that we’ve come from a different reality.”
“That still doesn’t mean we ought to take sides,” Janeway replied stubbornly.
Chakotay shook his head and sighed. “If we want to survive at all, we have to take sides, Captain. As you’ve said before, we’re but one ship, with a small crew, and we happened to show up here in the middle of the greatest conflict of the millennium.”
“All the more reason to remain neutral!” Janeway insisted.
“That is not an option,” Chakotay declared coldly. “You are an able scientist, Captain, but, by all due respect, you are not a tactician. I am. So try to trust me in this, because I know what I’m talking about. If we want the help of that mysterious alien machine down on the planet beneath us, we need the help of Babylon 5. And if we want their help, we ought to give them something in exchange. It’s that simple.”
“I can’t accept that,” Janeway protested. “This goes against every principle we were taught as Starfleet officers.”
“Perhaps,” Chakotay allowed. “But Starfleet and its principles and regulations are beyond our reach, a hundred years ahead of us, in a different reality. If we want to ever get back to them, we need to be a bit more flexible in our thinking.”
Janeway wouldn’t have given in any time soon, but their discussion was interrupted by Hogan, currently on duty in the transporter room.
“Hogan to Chakotay.”
Chakotay touched his comm badge. “Go on.”
“Commander, the Ingata is ready to accept you now. The coordinates are all set and they want to leave the station as soon as you’re aboard.”
“I’m ready to go,” Chakotay replied. “Lock on to my comm badge and beam me over.”
“Understood,” Hogan’s voice said. “Initiating transfer now.”
In the next moment Chakotay turned into a sparkling column of energy and disappeared.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
What he didn’t know yet was the fact that Janeway wasn’t the only one who didn’t take his decision to go to battle with Neroon well… to put it mildly.
“Sometimes I think all men are insane,” Lillian Hobbs complained to Maya Hernandez in the relative privacy of her - well, Franklin’s - office.
The MedLabs were quiet and semi-abandoned, with only duty personnel at their stations, but both doctors knew that this war merely the calm before the storm. After the battle, regardless of its outcome, they’d be up to their eyeballs in blood and gore.
They were prepared for it. They were both professionals, with a great deal of experience where battlefield trauma medicine was concerned. That didn’t mean the knowledge would make them happy, though.
“It was rather… reckless of him,” Maya Hernandez agreed. “I still don’t fully understand how that regeneration gel therapy of theirs works, but last time I checked Voyager’s medical logs, the most the commander was capable of was sitting upright and walking without aid.”
“You got into their medical logs?” Lillian was impressed. “How did you manage that? I thought our systems weren’t compatible.”
Hernandez shrugged. I told that holographic doctor of theirs that I needed the data for our medical logs, since we were the ones who began the immediate treatment of the commander, and he simply sent me the results.”
“Just like that?”
“Well… he demanded all possible details on Centauri physiology and illnesses that we could give them in exchange, but that’s okay. I think they’re trying to treat Vir’s condition… if they can. Nerve damage is something even their technology may not be able to repair fully.”
“I hope they can help Vir,” Lillian said. “He’s such a kind person; he doesn’t deserve to be permanently damaged because of Londo’s political scheming.”
“Unfortunately, bad things often happen to good people,” Hernandez replied with a shrug. “Even to those who do not take unnecessary risks,” she paused; then she lowered her voice to prevent being overheard. “Did you find the chance to speak with the commander in private?”
Lillian shook her head unhappily.
“I see. So he still doesn’t know about the baby?”
Lillian shook her head again. “That isn’t something I’d discuss via a comm channel.”
“But you visited him, several times. Spent hours in their Sickbay with him,” Hernandez said in surprise.
Lillian sighed. “Yes, but we were never alone. The healing process was constantly monitored; and he wasn’t even fully conscious, most of the time. I didn’t want the whole ship know it beforee him.”
“I understand that,” Hernandez said. “Still, it would have been a good opportunity to tell him. I don’t believe the medical personnel would have violated his privacy. They might not have sworn the same oath as we, but at least the hologram was programmed with the necessary medical ethics, or so I’m told.”
“Perhaps; but I don’t think that either Lieutenant Paris or the alien girl have sworn any kind of oath,” Lillian replied. “They’re not trained nurses or med techs; they might not even know what they’re supposed to keep quiet about. They could have babbled, without meaning to…”
“I seriously doubt it; they seem to take their jobs very seriously,” Hernandez looked at her colleague searchingly. “Are you sure you aren’t just looking for excuses why you haven’t spoken to the commander about the baby?”
“No, I’m not!” Lillian’s face crumpled. “You’re right; I was a coward, and now he’s gone and might never come back, and I might never get another chance to tell him, and the baby might never know him and…”
She burst out in tears. It was as if a floodgate had opened; she simply couldn’t stop. All the stress, the fear, the tension of the recent months broke loose and she just sobbed her heart out.
Hernandez took the younger woman in her arm and made quiet, soothing noises that didn’t really mean anything. She knew Lillian needed to let out all that pent-up tension to be able to function again. So she simply held her and let her cry.
Lillian just began to calm down when the intercom system came alive.
“Security to MedLabs,” Zack Allan’s scratchy voice said. “We need a med team on the Zocalo at once. We’ve got a victim with a knife wound and he’s bleeding out rapidly.”
“Understood,” Lillian pushed her personal problems to the side and was full the professional again. ”Mr. Kiriyama, take your team and a gurney and bring in the patient. Doctor Hernandez and I will prepare the operation room in the meantime.”
Kiriyama, the ranking med tech of the shift, nodded once crisply, and a minute later four medics were running with a gurney towards the elevator. They were the senior team that had weathered many conflicts since Babylon 5 had come online; very few things could shock them in these days.
That this would be one of those few things no-one could have known in advance.
Endless minutes of tense waiting followed. Lillian and Hernandez scrubbed up and prepared everything for the arrival of the presumably critical patient, but despite keeping themselves busy, time seemed to stretch on and on into eternity.
Finally, after what seemed forever but hadn’t likely been longer than ten minutes altogether, the med team came running in, pushing the gurney before them. Lying on the gurney was a dark-skinned man in dirty rags. On his chest the knife wound was still bleeding profusely. He was unconscious.
“Let’s move him to the operation table and cut these filthy clothes away,” Lillian ordered.
Under normal circumstances she would have helped to move the patient, but in the first trimester of her pregnancy it would have been too risky. So she left the task to the experienced med techs and approached the patient when it was done, to cut away his clothes.
She was about to start when she accidentally took a glance at the man’s sweaty face that was twisted into a pained grimace. Her hand stopped with the scissors and she felt a sudden wave of dizziness.
Because the supposed lurker with the ugly knife would in his chest was no lesser person than Dr. Stephen Franklin.