Kansas 2 - The Yellow Brick Road, Part 30
Title: Kansas 2 - The Yellow Brick Road
Author: Soledad
Author’s notes: For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the secondary index page.
The technical details about the Type 6 shuttlecraft are taken from the Memory Alpha Wiki and are therefore canon. G’Kar’s words of wisdom are directly quoted from the Season 3 finale, “Z’ha’dum”.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
PART 30 - 23/24 December 2260
Chakotay stole a moment in the turbolift to call Lillian and tell her about his mission. It was only fair, after all, that she would know where he had gone - and why. Especially if the mission turned out more dangerous than expected, which was a distinct possibility.
Besides, having lived on Babylon 5 for the last three years, Lillian probably knew more about the dangers lurking in this pocket of space than anyone else on board Voyager. She was the only one with local knowledge, after all.
Accordingly, she accepted the news with the stoicism of a war-probed veteran, too.
“Just be careful,” she said. “And no unnecessary heroics. They would be of no use against the Shadows; only get you killed.”
“I’ll try to make Paris understand the value of subtlety,” Chakotay replied. “See you when we’re back.”
“Hopefully,” she said and broke the connection.
Clearly, she was unhappy to see him go but knew better than trying to talk him out of it.
Chakotay sighed and stepped out of the turbolift, hurrying down the corridor that led to the shuttle bay. As a rule, he didn’t mind dangerous missions - no Starfleet officer did, and he still had enough of a Starfleet officer in him to enjoy a good adrenaline high - but right now he had other priorities. Like the responsibility for his unborn child, for starters. But he was needed, and he would never think of wriggling himself out of situations like this.
He found Tom Paris already in the cockpit of the Cochrane, one of Voyager’s Type 6 shuttlecrafts, running the obligatory pre-flight check. To his surprise, though, Kes was also present.
“I’m going with you,” she said simply. “You’ll need protection, should one of those Shadow ships spot you. The weapons of the shuttle won’t even scratch them.”
That was depressingly true, of course. The Type 6 shuttlecraft was a light, short-range vessel that wasn’t even meant to have any armament. Only those used by special operations would be equipped with a pair of Type II phaser emitters. As Voyager’s original mission - namely to hunt down Chakotay’s Maquis cell in the Badlands - counted as a special operation, all her shuttles had been armed with those phaser emitters. But, as Kes had correctly pointed out, they would be of no use against a Shadow ship. Not even against their scouts, not to mention the big battlecrabs.
Besides, Chakotay had seen Kes deal with Shadow ships during the battle of Sector 83.
“Just don’t overextend yourself,” was all he said.
Kes gave him one of those gentle smiles. “At this point, that would be hardly even possible, Commander,” she replied. “In fact, blowing off some excess energy would be beneficial - both for me and Voyager.”
Considering her exponentially growing mental powers that was probably true as well. Thus Chakotay simply nodded and slid into the co-pilot’s chair (the Type 6 being designed for two flight crew) and went through the checklist one more time, just in case.
As expected, he found everything in perfect order. One could think of Tom Paris what one wanted, but when it came to flying, he was an ace.
“Ready when you are, Lieutenant,” Chakotay said.
Tom nodded and switched on the comm system.
“Shuttlecraft Cochrane requesting permission to depart,” he said crisply.
“Granted,” Janeway’s voice answered. “Good luck; and be careful!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tom replied. “Engaging thrusters… now.”
The shuttle bay having been depressurized in the meantime, the huge outer doors slowly opened, and they slipped through with minimal thrusters, taking up temporary position just outside of Voyager’s aft section.
“We’re clear,” Tom reported. “Harry, where are my coordinates?”
“Already programmed into the navigation computer,” Harry’s voice said. “You’ll be halfway between Babylon 5’s fighters and those of the Minbari ships.”
“Perhaps we should warn them in advance,” Chakotay suggested. “So that they won’t mistake us for the enemy and start shooting at us.”
Tom made an inviting gesture towards the communication system. “All yours, Commander. You are the diplomatic envoy here.”
Chakotay shook his head tolerantly and switched to the secure channel Voyager always used when calling their local allies.
“This is Commander Chakotay for Commander Ivanova and Alyt Neroon,” he said. “I understand that you are in need of an amplifier in order to reach each other… and outside forces. We’ve established a mobile communications centre in one of our shuttlecrafts for you; it should work as long as you use this channel.”
“Where are you exactly?” Ivanova asked, relief obvious in her voice. The jamming of their communication must have distressed her greatly.
“We’ll change positions to avoid being spotted by the enemy,” Chakotay replied “I’m sending you our ID-code; try not to shoot at us.”
“We’ll try our best,” Ivanova laughed, but there was no real mirth in it. “There are enough other targets out here.”
“Indeed, there are,” the deep, rumbling voice of Neroon said. “I wish we could shoot at them already.“
“Oh, don’t worry; you’ll get the chance; more of it than you might wish,” Ivanova returned.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Neroon found Ivanova’s prediction all too likely, and thus he decided to have the Ingata launch all her fighters. He did not need to order the Dogato and the other Minbari ships - including the recently arrived battle group of the Moon Shields - to do the same. They had been instructed in advance to follow suit as soon as the Ingata’s fighters started to launch.
He had held back the fighters until now, in concern that they might be destroyed by friendly fire due to the lack of proper communication. Now however, that Voyager had helped them with that problem, there was no reason (or excuse) to hold back any longer.
Not that they would want to hold back. They were Warriors, born and bred and trained to protect the innocent against overwhelming odds if needs must be, and they embraced this legacy fully, from the very day on when they had first experienced the calling of their hearts.
For the same reason, the thought of not sending out Rastenn with the fighting troops did not even occur to him. Holding back his heir would have dishonoured not only him and Rastenn, but their entire Clan. It would have meant that he questioned Rastenn’s very calling - something that had not happened on Minbar for uncounted millennia.
Nidell went out with the fighting troops, too. Not for some nebulously romantic reason humans might have seen in the act, though. Minbari saw nothing romantic in useless sacrifices. Had Nidell not been a trained Warrior, she would not have volunteered for the fighting troops; and even if she did, Neroon would not let her off the ship.
While it was true that all Minbari lived to serve, people were also supposed to serve in a place that suited their abilities best - for the good of the crew, for the good of Clan and Caste; for the good of the whole Minbar. It was that simple, and useless heroics had no place in the time-honoured order of Minbari society.
But Nidell was a trained Warrior. Just as her mother had been; just as her aunt still was. And considering that she had received said training from Siarann herself, one could be certain that she would fight well.
Which was the very reason why she went out with the other fighters. It was her calling; just as it was Neroon’s and Siarann’s and Rastenn’s.
Just as it was Tannier’s calling to leave his Clan and join the Anla’shok - to go a Warrior’s way, while still remaining in his own Caste. At least nominally; because Neroon was not certain that the young man, who was legally still his brother-in-law, would find his right place within the temple again. To put it mildly.
That was a very real risk when turning Religious Caste members into Anla’shok. It was no coincidence that all the original Rangers had come from the Warrior Caste. The training itself, brutal though it might be - and many carried the scars to prove that - was not the actual problem. The actual problem was the mindset that everyone who chose to wield a weapon had to develop, if they wanted to survive.
A mindset that was basically that of a Warrior and thus the polar opposite of Religious thinking.
Neroon wondered how many of Delenn’s bright-eyed young recruits would be able to live with that contradiction without seriously damaging their own souls. Perhaps this was why Sinclair decided to accept humans among the rows of the Anla’shok (save for the fact that he, too, was human, of course - at least at the beginning). Humans were living, walking contradictions to begin with. Perhaps they adapted more easily.
Whatever the true reason might be, he could not afford the luxury of pondering over it. He had to coordinate the fighters of an entire battle group, not to mention the heavy war cruisers themselves. The ships that had already fought in Sector 83 could act on their own, but the Moon Shields were new to the whole situation and therefore needed guidance.
Neroon was determined to do his best to guide them. They might not have a real chance against the huge Shadow battle fleet, but at least hey would go down fighting, to the last Warrior.
“The ones pray. The others build. We fight,” he murmured his own version of the ages-old mantra; then he raised his voice, just enough for Siarann to hear.
“Put the ship on battle alert!”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Commander,” Lieutenant Corwin reported to Ivanova, “the Minbari fleet’s just gone to battle alert. They’ve launched all their fighters and took up position on the other side of the station.”
“About time,” Ivanova muttered. “Pull back our own Starfuries to this side, then, so that we’d have a better covering.”
G’Kar, who’d chosen to remain in C&C, where he could follow the events outside the station better, shook his head regretfully.
“It still won’t be enough,” he said. “As you humans like to phrase it, we’re outgunned and outnumbered by several magnitudes.
Ivanova gave him her best scowl.
“I know that, all right?” she snapped. “But at least we’re not alone in this. Try not to undermine morale any more, will you? It’s low enough as it is.”
G’Kar opened his mouth as if he’d wanted to argue, but one look at Ivanova’s stony face made him reconsider. One did not argue with Ivanova when she was in the mood, as C&C personnel carefully put it; and she seemed to be in the mood ever since Sheridan left.
Besides, she’d been right. Morale was low among the troops - understandably enough. They were facing certain death, and as competent as Ivanova was, people missed Sheridan’s leadership keenly.
Despite Ivanova’s prediction, though, nothing really happened in the following hours. The troops were keeping position: the Alliance fighters on one side of the station, the Minbari on the other one, the fire crews of Babylon 5 at the weapons controls. They might be outgunned and outnumbered, as G’Kar had said, but they were determined to give the Shadows the toughest fight possible.
And then something unexpected happened. From one moment to another, the large Shadow war fleet shrieked as one, making everybody cringe with both telepathic and very real physical pain, and rippled away into nothingness. Once again, Babylon 5 was surrounded by empty, star-dotted space.
Everyone at C&C stared out of the windows, slack-jawed and utterly dumbfounded. It was Lieutenant Corwin who expressed their mutual bafflement first.
“They're leaving!” He stated, somewhat unnecessarily, since everyone could see that. “I don't get it! What happened?”
His fellow technicians shrugged, one of them having a clue. Even G’Kar seemed puzzled, which was saying a lot. Very few things could still surprise him.
“They wouldn't just leave,” he murmured. “Unless we were no longer a threat.”
Ivanova, however, shook her head in terrible sadness. Alone of them all, she realized what must have happened.
“Oh,” she whispered, “he's gone!”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“No, I do not believe so,” Neroon said; he was discussing the situation with Chakotay through a secure channel. A truly secure one, not known to either Voyager or Babylon 5. “This war isn’t over yet; far from it. It has merely stopped for a moment; as if the universe were holding its breath, waiting for the fight to break out in earnest.”
“What, do you think, might have happened?” Chakotay asked.
“I believe that Sheridan somehow managed to deal the Sher’shok Dum an unexpected blow,” Neroon said. “I have no idea how, but he must have caught them unaware. He is good at that sort of thing; he was the only human who managed to surprise us during the war, too. Whether or not he has survived the task is another question, of course.”
“The Shadows were more than just surprised,” Kes commented quietly. “They are hard to read, unless they are angry; but this time they were angry, as well as shocked. Frightened, even. I caught the impression of a great urgency, at the moment they left.”
“The question is, of course, where they have gone,” Chakotay said.
“That is easy,” Neroon replied.” They went to Z’ha’dum. It is their homeworld, after all; and the place where Sheridan was heading, armed with two thermonuclear devices, if Commander Ivanova was guessing correctly. There are no other forces that could represent a threat for the Sher’shok Dum - unless the Vorlons have launched an all-out attack on their planet, which I doubt.”
“They haven’t,” Kes said. “They won’t get directly involved… hopefully.”
Chakotay gave her a surprised look. “What do you mean with hopefully? Aren’t they on our side? Well… on Sheridan’s side anyway?”
“I didn’t dare to scan the Vorlon ambassador directly,” Kes admitted. “It would be too risky; we don’t know what a Vorlon is truly capable of, and I don’t have a safe grip on my powers yet. But I did catch a few stray thought from him time and again. Unlike his predecessor, he seems to believe that all younger races have been tainted by the Shadows - even the Minbari - and that helping Captain Sheridan’s forces in that one battle was a grave mistake.”
“From their vantage point he might even be right,” Neroon offered. “It cost them Kosh - the original Kosh - after all.”
“So they would remain impassive?” Chakotay clarified.
“If we are very, very lucky,” Kes answered grimly. “If they decide that we’re indeed all tainted, though, they might choose to remove that taint.”
“And destroy the only force that’s still willing to fight the Shadows?” Chakotay asked incredulously. “Are they mad?”
“They are self-righteous to the extreme,” Kes corrected. “And so is the other side. I do not think this is about fighting each other; at least not directly. It appears to be about being right and proving it to the others - regardless how many lives it will cost and if either of them will ever succeed.”
“And where does that leave us?” Chakotay asked, rather rhetorically, as the answer was glaringly obvious.
“Between a rock and a hard place, to borrow an old Earth expression,” Neroon said glumly. “Worse off than we have ever been. But that cannot be changed, I fear. We have to face what the universe throws at us.”
“And how do you intend to do that?” Chakotay inquired, not without irony.
“For the moment, I shall order our fighters back, but have the ships maintain alert status,” Neroon explained, “so that we can act quickly should anything… unexpected happen again.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“And we’ll return to Voyager for the time being,” Chakotay decided, after Neroon had terminated the connection. “Our special services are no longer required, so there’s no use sitting out here. Spirits, but I hate unfinished things!”
“Would you have preferred a battle?” Tom asked. “You know as well as I do that the good guys didn’t stand a chance.”
Chakotay nodded. “I do. But I also know that the battle had merely been postponed. Alyt Neroon is right: this is far from over. And the good guys, as you call them, won’t get any better chances tomorrow; or the day after.”
“Still, we’ve done what little we could,” Tom said philosophically; then he looked at Kes in mild suspicion. “How comes that you know so much about the Vorlons and their possible intentions?”
“I’ve got my sources,” she replied with that serene smile of her.
Tom raised both eyebrows in amusement. “Chatted with that creepy ship of theirs again, have you?”
“Among other things,” Kes smiled, but she wasn’t willing to tell them more, no matter how much Tom pressed her for answers.
Finally Chakotay had enough. “Leave her alone, Paris; it’s not our business. Take us back to Voyager, so that we can give our report to the captain and sit out things until something happens again.”
Tom gave him a mock salute. “Aye, aye, Commander Chakotay, sir!”
And then he engaged the thrusters to get them home indeed.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
After having called back Babylon 5’s fighter squadrons - save for the regular patrols - Lieutenant Corwin stepped over from his station to Ivanova, who was staring at the large viewscreen, without actually seeing it. Not that there would have been anything to see.
“Commander…” he started carefully; then he trailed off, because there wasn’t much to be reported, either.
“Any word on the Captain?” Ivanova wasn’t even looking at him, trying to keep up her professional mask at any costs. “Anything at all?”
Corwin shook his head regretfully. “Afraid not. We've tried everything, but he White Star isn't receiving. As far as we can tell, it's been destroyed.”
Ivanova nodded, her face stony with effort to remain calm. “Anything else? Are all our fighters accounted for? Have you checked the fighter bays?”
“Of course, Commander!” Corwin tried not to sound insulted; the news was bad enough, without him letting his ego come out to play. “Only one of the fighters we sent out didn't come back.”
Ivanova flinched at the news; then responded with resignation. “Who was the pilot?”
Corwin swallowed hard before answering. “Mr. Garibaldi.”
“I see,” Ivanova rose from her seat after a moment of shocked silence. “Take over here for me. I need some air; and probably a drink too… or five or six.”
Without waiting for an answer, she marched out briskly, leaving a shocked and saddened crew behind. Corwin made a futile attempt to follow her but was stopped by G’Kar.
“Leave her,” the Narn said. “She needs to deal with the shock in her own way.”
“But… but she’s needed here!” Corwin protested. “More than ever, if the captain is really gone!”
G’Kar shook his head. “No, not right in this moment. Right now, she needs to find her way out of darkness.”
Corwin stared at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“G'Quan wrote: There is a greater darkness than the one we fight. It is the darkness of the soul that has lost its way,” G’Kar quoted. “The war we fight is not against powers and principalities; it is against chaos and despair!"
He looked at Corwin expectantly; as the young man still didn’t seem to get it, he tried a different angle.
“Both the commander and Delenn are struggling with the loss of hope,” he explained. “Greater than the death of flesh is the death of hope, the death of dreams! Against this peril we can never surrender! They have to find hope again, and they have to find it on their own way. There’s nothing you or I could do to help them.”
“And what if they don’t find their way out of darkness, as you put it?” Corwin asked, still not entirely persuaded.
“Then we’ll have to continue the fight without them,” G’Kar replied simply.
“Can we do that?” Corwin asked doubtfully.
G’Kar nodded with emphasis. “We must; to stagnate is not an option. All life can be broken down into moments of transition or moments of revelation. The future is all around us, waiting in moments of transition to be born in moments of revelation; and we, too, have to wait for the right moment to receive that revelation.”
“What future?” Corwin asked pessimistically; all this philosophical mumbo-jumbo went a bit above his head, to tell the truth.
G’Kar shrugged. “No-one knows the shape of that future or where it will take us. We know only that it is always born in pain”
“Geez, you’re really full of good cheer today,” Corwin said dryly; then he looked up to Technician Guerra at the monitoring station. “Still no sign from Mr. Garibaldi?”
The man with the unfortunate likeness to the infamous Mr. Morden shook his head.
“None, Lieutenant. However, we’re picking up a small vessel exiting the jumpgate right now.”
“What?” Corwin whirled around to the large viewscreen. “Show me!”
Guerra put the image on the big screen and they all watched with wary interest as the jumpgate collapsed, releasing a little ship that simply remained in position, making no attempts to come any closer. There was nothing in particular that would stand out about it, save for the fact that it appeared to be black.
“Can you give me more details?” Corwin asked, but Guerra shook his head in apology.
“We’re already at maximum magnification, Lieutenant. Whatever it is, it is really small.”
“About the size of a standard Starfury,” Technician Robertson supplied, consulting her scanner readings. “But the specifications seem slightly different.”
“Not Mr. Garibaldi, then,” Corwin sighed. “All right, let’s see if they’re in the mood to talk,” he adjusted his headset, opened a channel and spoke in what the other technicians called his official voice. “Babylon Control to unknown vessel. Do you require assistance?”
For a moment, there was silence. Then a vaguely familiar - not to mention somewhat smarmy - voice answered, sounding very smug.
“I do not. But, according to Captain Sheridan’s message, you do.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ivanova was at her second very large glass of vodka, trying to cope with the sudden loss of both Sheridan and Garibaldi as well as she could, when her comm link beeped.
It was, unsurprisingly, Lieutenant Corwin.
“Sorry to disturb you, Commander,” his voice sounded genuinely apologetic, “but we’ve got an unexpected visitor.”
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know. They’re hovering right at the exit of the jumpgate and won’t come closer until given the okay. They were presumably called by Captain Sheridan for help.”
Ivanova was on high alert at once. She had a fairly good idea who the unexpected guess might be; and if she was right, precautions had to be taken.
“What kind of precautions?” Corwin asked.
“Give them permission to dock, but send Narn guards to the docking bay. And inform Voyager that they should prepare to transfer their coma patient to MedLab One.”
“Their coma patient?” Corwin echoed in confusion. He wasn’t informed about Commander Tuvok’s status; no-one outside the command staff was.
“Just tell them,” Ivanova said. “Captain Janeway will know what it’s about.”
“Understood. Should I call Doctor Franklin to MedLab One, too?”
“No. I’m sure they’ll send Doctor Hobbs with the patient, and Franklin needs his sleep. He’s still far from his usual shape.”
“Are you coming to C&C, Commander?”
“No, I’m going down to the docking bay to meet our guest. If he is who I think he is, the less people encounter him the better. Especially now that neither the captain nor Garibaldi is available.”
She broke the connection and headed to the nearest elevator. She calculated the time the not-quite-so-unknown vessel (which, she was fairly sure, would turn out to be a Black Omega stealth Starfury) would need to reach the station and nodded to herself. It ought to be enough time for the Narn guards to reach the docking bay before her arrival, and for MedLab One to prepare for the transfer of Commander Tuvok and whatever medical personnel might accompany him.
The transfer itself would only take seconds, thanks to advanced, twenty-fourth century Federation technology.
By the time she reached the docking bay, the Narn guards were already in position, standing in parallel rows along the bulkhead, their faces hard and unmoving like stone. Between their rows a short, black-clad man was standing, holding his lifeless left hand in place with the right one. Both hands were covered with black leather gloves.
That, and the Psi Corps emblem on his jacket would make his identity easy to guess; even if Ivanova hadn’t had the questionable pleasure of meeting him before. She was pathetically grateful for the presence of the Betazoid ensign Captain Janeway had dispatched from Voyager mere minutes earlier. At least she didn’t have to fend off Bester’s potential mental intrusions on her own.
Author: Soledad
Author’s notes: For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the secondary index page.
The technical details about the Type 6 shuttlecraft are taken from the Memory Alpha Wiki and are therefore canon. G’Kar’s words of wisdom are directly quoted from the Season 3 finale, “Z’ha’dum”.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
PART 30 - 23/24 December 2260
Chakotay stole a moment in the turbolift to call Lillian and tell her about his mission. It was only fair, after all, that she would know where he had gone - and why. Especially if the mission turned out more dangerous than expected, which was a distinct possibility.
Besides, having lived on Babylon 5 for the last three years, Lillian probably knew more about the dangers lurking in this pocket of space than anyone else on board Voyager. She was the only one with local knowledge, after all.
Accordingly, she accepted the news with the stoicism of a war-probed veteran, too.
“Just be careful,” she said. “And no unnecessary heroics. They would be of no use against the Shadows; only get you killed.”
“I’ll try to make Paris understand the value of subtlety,” Chakotay replied. “See you when we’re back.”
“Hopefully,” she said and broke the connection.
Clearly, she was unhappy to see him go but knew better than trying to talk him out of it.
Chakotay sighed and stepped out of the turbolift, hurrying down the corridor that led to the shuttle bay. As a rule, he didn’t mind dangerous missions - no Starfleet officer did, and he still had enough of a Starfleet officer in him to enjoy a good adrenaline high - but right now he had other priorities. Like the responsibility for his unborn child, for starters. But he was needed, and he would never think of wriggling himself out of situations like this.
He found Tom Paris already in the cockpit of the Cochrane, one of Voyager’s Type 6 shuttlecrafts, running the obligatory pre-flight check. To his surprise, though, Kes was also present.
“I’m going with you,” she said simply. “You’ll need protection, should one of those Shadow ships spot you. The weapons of the shuttle won’t even scratch them.”
That was depressingly true, of course. The Type 6 shuttlecraft was a light, short-range vessel that wasn’t even meant to have any armament. Only those used by special operations would be equipped with a pair of Type II phaser emitters. As Voyager’s original mission - namely to hunt down Chakotay’s Maquis cell in the Badlands - counted as a special operation, all her shuttles had been armed with those phaser emitters. But, as Kes had correctly pointed out, they would be of no use against a Shadow ship. Not even against their scouts, not to mention the big battlecrabs.
Besides, Chakotay had seen Kes deal with Shadow ships during the battle of Sector 83.
“Just don’t overextend yourself,” was all he said.
Kes gave him one of those gentle smiles. “At this point, that would be hardly even possible, Commander,” she replied. “In fact, blowing off some excess energy would be beneficial - both for me and Voyager.”
Considering her exponentially growing mental powers that was probably true as well. Thus Chakotay simply nodded and slid into the co-pilot’s chair (the Type 6 being designed for two flight crew) and went through the checklist one more time, just in case.
As expected, he found everything in perfect order. One could think of Tom Paris what one wanted, but when it came to flying, he was an ace.
“Ready when you are, Lieutenant,” Chakotay said.
Tom nodded and switched on the comm system.
“Shuttlecraft Cochrane requesting permission to depart,” he said crisply.
“Granted,” Janeway’s voice answered. “Good luck; and be careful!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tom replied. “Engaging thrusters… now.”
The shuttle bay having been depressurized in the meantime, the huge outer doors slowly opened, and they slipped through with minimal thrusters, taking up temporary position just outside of Voyager’s aft section.
“We’re clear,” Tom reported. “Harry, where are my coordinates?”
“Already programmed into the navigation computer,” Harry’s voice said. “You’ll be halfway between Babylon 5’s fighters and those of the Minbari ships.”
“Perhaps we should warn them in advance,” Chakotay suggested. “So that they won’t mistake us for the enemy and start shooting at us.”
Tom made an inviting gesture towards the communication system. “All yours, Commander. You are the diplomatic envoy here.”
Chakotay shook his head tolerantly and switched to the secure channel Voyager always used when calling their local allies.
“This is Commander Chakotay for Commander Ivanova and Alyt Neroon,” he said. “I understand that you are in need of an amplifier in order to reach each other… and outside forces. We’ve established a mobile communications centre in one of our shuttlecrafts for you; it should work as long as you use this channel.”
“Where are you exactly?” Ivanova asked, relief obvious in her voice. The jamming of their communication must have distressed her greatly.
“We’ll change positions to avoid being spotted by the enemy,” Chakotay replied “I’m sending you our ID-code; try not to shoot at us.”
“We’ll try our best,” Ivanova laughed, but there was no real mirth in it. “There are enough other targets out here.”
“Indeed, there are,” the deep, rumbling voice of Neroon said. “I wish we could shoot at them already.“
“Oh, don’t worry; you’ll get the chance; more of it than you might wish,” Ivanova returned.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Neroon found Ivanova’s prediction all too likely, and thus he decided to have the Ingata launch all her fighters. He did not need to order the Dogato and the other Minbari ships - including the recently arrived battle group of the Moon Shields - to do the same. They had been instructed in advance to follow suit as soon as the Ingata’s fighters started to launch.
He had held back the fighters until now, in concern that they might be destroyed by friendly fire due to the lack of proper communication. Now however, that Voyager had helped them with that problem, there was no reason (or excuse) to hold back any longer.
Not that they would want to hold back. They were Warriors, born and bred and trained to protect the innocent against overwhelming odds if needs must be, and they embraced this legacy fully, from the very day on when they had first experienced the calling of their hearts.
For the same reason, the thought of not sending out Rastenn with the fighting troops did not even occur to him. Holding back his heir would have dishonoured not only him and Rastenn, but their entire Clan. It would have meant that he questioned Rastenn’s very calling - something that had not happened on Minbar for uncounted millennia.
Nidell went out with the fighting troops, too. Not for some nebulously romantic reason humans might have seen in the act, though. Minbari saw nothing romantic in useless sacrifices. Had Nidell not been a trained Warrior, she would not have volunteered for the fighting troops; and even if she did, Neroon would not let her off the ship.
While it was true that all Minbari lived to serve, people were also supposed to serve in a place that suited their abilities best - for the good of the crew, for the good of Clan and Caste; for the good of the whole Minbar. It was that simple, and useless heroics had no place in the time-honoured order of Minbari society.
But Nidell was a trained Warrior. Just as her mother had been; just as her aunt still was. And considering that she had received said training from Siarann herself, one could be certain that she would fight well.
Which was the very reason why she went out with the other fighters. It was her calling; just as it was Neroon’s and Siarann’s and Rastenn’s.
Just as it was Tannier’s calling to leave his Clan and join the Anla’shok - to go a Warrior’s way, while still remaining in his own Caste. At least nominally; because Neroon was not certain that the young man, who was legally still his brother-in-law, would find his right place within the temple again. To put it mildly.
That was a very real risk when turning Religious Caste members into Anla’shok. It was no coincidence that all the original Rangers had come from the Warrior Caste. The training itself, brutal though it might be - and many carried the scars to prove that - was not the actual problem. The actual problem was the mindset that everyone who chose to wield a weapon had to develop, if they wanted to survive.
A mindset that was basically that of a Warrior and thus the polar opposite of Religious thinking.
Neroon wondered how many of Delenn’s bright-eyed young recruits would be able to live with that contradiction without seriously damaging their own souls. Perhaps this was why Sinclair decided to accept humans among the rows of the Anla’shok (save for the fact that he, too, was human, of course - at least at the beginning). Humans were living, walking contradictions to begin with. Perhaps they adapted more easily.
Whatever the true reason might be, he could not afford the luxury of pondering over it. He had to coordinate the fighters of an entire battle group, not to mention the heavy war cruisers themselves. The ships that had already fought in Sector 83 could act on their own, but the Moon Shields were new to the whole situation and therefore needed guidance.
Neroon was determined to do his best to guide them. They might not have a real chance against the huge Shadow battle fleet, but at least hey would go down fighting, to the last Warrior.
“The ones pray. The others build. We fight,” he murmured his own version of the ages-old mantra; then he raised his voice, just enough for Siarann to hear.
“Put the ship on battle alert!”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Commander,” Lieutenant Corwin reported to Ivanova, “the Minbari fleet’s just gone to battle alert. They’ve launched all their fighters and took up position on the other side of the station.”
“About time,” Ivanova muttered. “Pull back our own Starfuries to this side, then, so that we’d have a better covering.”
G’Kar, who’d chosen to remain in C&C, where he could follow the events outside the station better, shook his head regretfully.
“It still won’t be enough,” he said. “As you humans like to phrase it, we’re outgunned and outnumbered by several magnitudes.
Ivanova gave him her best scowl.
“I know that, all right?” she snapped. “But at least we’re not alone in this. Try not to undermine morale any more, will you? It’s low enough as it is.”
G’Kar opened his mouth as if he’d wanted to argue, but one look at Ivanova’s stony face made him reconsider. One did not argue with Ivanova when she was in the mood, as C&C personnel carefully put it; and she seemed to be in the mood ever since Sheridan left.
Besides, she’d been right. Morale was low among the troops - understandably enough. They were facing certain death, and as competent as Ivanova was, people missed Sheridan’s leadership keenly.
Despite Ivanova’s prediction, though, nothing really happened in the following hours. The troops were keeping position: the Alliance fighters on one side of the station, the Minbari on the other one, the fire crews of Babylon 5 at the weapons controls. They might be outgunned and outnumbered, as G’Kar had said, but they were determined to give the Shadows the toughest fight possible.
And then something unexpected happened. From one moment to another, the large Shadow war fleet shrieked as one, making everybody cringe with both telepathic and very real physical pain, and rippled away into nothingness. Once again, Babylon 5 was surrounded by empty, star-dotted space.
Everyone at C&C stared out of the windows, slack-jawed and utterly dumbfounded. It was Lieutenant Corwin who expressed their mutual bafflement first.
“They're leaving!” He stated, somewhat unnecessarily, since everyone could see that. “I don't get it! What happened?”
His fellow technicians shrugged, one of them having a clue. Even G’Kar seemed puzzled, which was saying a lot. Very few things could still surprise him.
“They wouldn't just leave,” he murmured. “Unless we were no longer a threat.”
Ivanova, however, shook her head in terrible sadness. Alone of them all, she realized what must have happened.
“Oh,” she whispered, “he's gone!”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“No, I do not believe so,” Neroon said; he was discussing the situation with Chakotay through a secure channel. A truly secure one, not known to either Voyager or Babylon 5. “This war isn’t over yet; far from it. It has merely stopped for a moment; as if the universe were holding its breath, waiting for the fight to break out in earnest.”
“What, do you think, might have happened?” Chakotay asked.
“I believe that Sheridan somehow managed to deal the Sher’shok Dum an unexpected blow,” Neroon said. “I have no idea how, but he must have caught them unaware. He is good at that sort of thing; he was the only human who managed to surprise us during the war, too. Whether or not he has survived the task is another question, of course.”
“The Shadows were more than just surprised,” Kes commented quietly. “They are hard to read, unless they are angry; but this time they were angry, as well as shocked. Frightened, even. I caught the impression of a great urgency, at the moment they left.”
“The question is, of course, where they have gone,” Chakotay said.
“That is easy,” Neroon replied.” They went to Z’ha’dum. It is their homeworld, after all; and the place where Sheridan was heading, armed with two thermonuclear devices, if Commander Ivanova was guessing correctly. There are no other forces that could represent a threat for the Sher’shok Dum - unless the Vorlons have launched an all-out attack on their planet, which I doubt.”
“They haven’t,” Kes said. “They won’t get directly involved… hopefully.”
Chakotay gave her a surprised look. “What do you mean with hopefully? Aren’t they on our side? Well… on Sheridan’s side anyway?”
“I didn’t dare to scan the Vorlon ambassador directly,” Kes admitted. “It would be too risky; we don’t know what a Vorlon is truly capable of, and I don’t have a safe grip on my powers yet. But I did catch a few stray thought from him time and again. Unlike his predecessor, he seems to believe that all younger races have been tainted by the Shadows - even the Minbari - and that helping Captain Sheridan’s forces in that one battle was a grave mistake.”
“From their vantage point he might even be right,” Neroon offered. “It cost them Kosh - the original Kosh - after all.”
“So they would remain impassive?” Chakotay clarified.
“If we are very, very lucky,” Kes answered grimly. “If they decide that we’re indeed all tainted, though, they might choose to remove that taint.”
“And destroy the only force that’s still willing to fight the Shadows?” Chakotay asked incredulously. “Are they mad?”
“They are self-righteous to the extreme,” Kes corrected. “And so is the other side. I do not think this is about fighting each other; at least not directly. It appears to be about being right and proving it to the others - regardless how many lives it will cost and if either of them will ever succeed.”
“And where does that leave us?” Chakotay asked, rather rhetorically, as the answer was glaringly obvious.
“Between a rock and a hard place, to borrow an old Earth expression,” Neroon said glumly. “Worse off than we have ever been. But that cannot be changed, I fear. We have to face what the universe throws at us.”
“And how do you intend to do that?” Chakotay inquired, not without irony.
“For the moment, I shall order our fighters back, but have the ships maintain alert status,” Neroon explained, “so that we can act quickly should anything… unexpected happen again.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“And we’ll return to Voyager for the time being,” Chakotay decided, after Neroon had terminated the connection. “Our special services are no longer required, so there’s no use sitting out here. Spirits, but I hate unfinished things!”
“Would you have preferred a battle?” Tom asked. “You know as well as I do that the good guys didn’t stand a chance.”
Chakotay nodded. “I do. But I also know that the battle had merely been postponed. Alyt Neroon is right: this is far from over. And the good guys, as you call them, won’t get any better chances tomorrow; or the day after.”
“Still, we’ve done what little we could,” Tom said philosophically; then he looked at Kes in mild suspicion. “How comes that you know so much about the Vorlons and their possible intentions?”
“I’ve got my sources,” she replied with that serene smile of her.
Tom raised both eyebrows in amusement. “Chatted with that creepy ship of theirs again, have you?”
“Among other things,” Kes smiled, but she wasn’t willing to tell them more, no matter how much Tom pressed her for answers.
Finally Chakotay had enough. “Leave her alone, Paris; it’s not our business. Take us back to Voyager, so that we can give our report to the captain and sit out things until something happens again.”
Tom gave him a mock salute. “Aye, aye, Commander Chakotay, sir!”
And then he engaged the thrusters to get them home indeed.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
After having called back Babylon 5’s fighter squadrons - save for the regular patrols - Lieutenant Corwin stepped over from his station to Ivanova, who was staring at the large viewscreen, without actually seeing it. Not that there would have been anything to see.
“Commander…” he started carefully; then he trailed off, because there wasn’t much to be reported, either.
“Any word on the Captain?” Ivanova wasn’t even looking at him, trying to keep up her professional mask at any costs. “Anything at all?”
Corwin shook his head regretfully. “Afraid not. We've tried everything, but he White Star isn't receiving. As far as we can tell, it's been destroyed.”
Ivanova nodded, her face stony with effort to remain calm. “Anything else? Are all our fighters accounted for? Have you checked the fighter bays?”
“Of course, Commander!” Corwin tried not to sound insulted; the news was bad enough, without him letting his ego come out to play. “Only one of the fighters we sent out didn't come back.”
Ivanova flinched at the news; then responded with resignation. “Who was the pilot?”
Corwin swallowed hard before answering. “Mr. Garibaldi.”
“I see,” Ivanova rose from her seat after a moment of shocked silence. “Take over here for me. I need some air; and probably a drink too… or five or six.”
Without waiting for an answer, she marched out briskly, leaving a shocked and saddened crew behind. Corwin made a futile attempt to follow her but was stopped by G’Kar.
“Leave her,” the Narn said. “She needs to deal with the shock in her own way.”
“But… but she’s needed here!” Corwin protested. “More than ever, if the captain is really gone!”
G’Kar shook his head. “No, not right in this moment. Right now, she needs to find her way out of darkness.”
Corwin stared at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“G'Quan wrote: There is a greater darkness than the one we fight. It is the darkness of the soul that has lost its way,” G’Kar quoted. “The war we fight is not against powers and principalities; it is against chaos and despair!"
He looked at Corwin expectantly; as the young man still didn’t seem to get it, he tried a different angle.
“Both the commander and Delenn are struggling with the loss of hope,” he explained. “Greater than the death of flesh is the death of hope, the death of dreams! Against this peril we can never surrender! They have to find hope again, and they have to find it on their own way. There’s nothing you or I could do to help them.”
“And what if they don’t find their way out of darkness, as you put it?” Corwin asked, still not entirely persuaded.
“Then we’ll have to continue the fight without them,” G’Kar replied simply.
“Can we do that?” Corwin asked doubtfully.
G’Kar nodded with emphasis. “We must; to stagnate is not an option. All life can be broken down into moments of transition or moments of revelation. The future is all around us, waiting in moments of transition to be born in moments of revelation; and we, too, have to wait for the right moment to receive that revelation.”
“What future?” Corwin asked pessimistically; all this philosophical mumbo-jumbo went a bit above his head, to tell the truth.
G’Kar shrugged. “No-one knows the shape of that future or where it will take us. We know only that it is always born in pain”
“Geez, you’re really full of good cheer today,” Corwin said dryly; then he looked up to Technician Guerra at the monitoring station. “Still no sign from Mr. Garibaldi?”
The man with the unfortunate likeness to the infamous Mr. Morden shook his head.
“None, Lieutenant. However, we’re picking up a small vessel exiting the jumpgate right now.”
“What?” Corwin whirled around to the large viewscreen. “Show me!”
Guerra put the image on the big screen and they all watched with wary interest as the jumpgate collapsed, releasing a little ship that simply remained in position, making no attempts to come any closer. There was nothing in particular that would stand out about it, save for the fact that it appeared to be black.
“Can you give me more details?” Corwin asked, but Guerra shook his head in apology.
“We’re already at maximum magnification, Lieutenant. Whatever it is, it is really small.”
“About the size of a standard Starfury,” Technician Robertson supplied, consulting her scanner readings. “But the specifications seem slightly different.”
“Not Mr. Garibaldi, then,” Corwin sighed. “All right, let’s see if they’re in the mood to talk,” he adjusted his headset, opened a channel and spoke in what the other technicians called his official voice. “Babylon Control to unknown vessel. Do you require assistance?”
For a moment, there was silence. Then a vaguely familiar - not to mention somewhat smarmy - voice answered, sounding very smug.
“I do not. But, according to Captain Sheridan’s message, you do.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ivanova was at her second very large glass of vodka, trying to cope with the sudden loss of both Sheridan and Garibaldi as well as she could, when her comm link beeped.
It was, unsurprisingly, Lieutenant Corwin.
“Sorry to disturb you, Commander,” his voice sounded genuinely apologetic, “but we’ve got an unexpected visitor.”
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know. They’re hovering right at the exit of the jumpgate and won’t come closer until given the okay. They were presumably called by Captain Sheridan for help.”
Ivanova was on high alert at once. She had a fairly good idea who the unexpected guess might be; and if she was right, precautions had to be taken.
“What kind of precautions?” Corwin asked.
“Give them permission to dock, but send Narn guards to the docking bay. And inform Voyager that they should prepare to transfer their coma patient to MedLab One.”
“Their coma patient?” Corwin echoed in confusion. He wasn’t informed about Commander Tuvok’s status; no-one outside the command staff was.
“Just tell them,” Ivanova said. “Captain Janeway will know what it’s about.”
“Understood. Should I call Doctor Franklin to MedLab One, too?”
“No. I’m sure they’ll send Doctor Hobbs with the patient, and Franklin needs his sleep. He’s still far from his usual shape.”
“Are you coming to C&C, Commander?”
“No, I’m going down to the docking bay to meet our guest. If he is who I think he is, the less people encounter him the better. Especially now that neither the captain nor Garibaldi is available.”
She broke the connection and headed to the nearest elevator. She calculated the time the not-quite-so-unknown vessel (which, she was fairly sure, would turn out to be a Black Omega stealth Starfury) would need to reach the station and nodded to herself. It ought to be enough time for the Narn guards to reach the docking bay before her arrival, and for MedLab One to prepare for the transfer of Commander Tuvok and whatever medical personnel might accompany him.
The transfer itself would only take seconds, thanks to advanced, twenty-fourth century Federation technology.
By the time she reached the docking bay, the Narn guards were already in position, standing in parallel rows along the bulkhead, their faces hard and unmoving like stone. Between their rows a short, black-clad man was standing, holding his lifeless left hand in place with the right one. Both hands were covered with black leather gloves.
That, and the Psi Corps emblem on his jacket would make his identity easy to guess; even if Ivanova hadn’t had the questionable pleasure of meeting him before. She was pathetically grateful for the presence of the Betazoid ensign Captain Janeway had dispatched from Voyager mere minutes earlier. At least she didn’t have to fend off Bester’s potential mental intrusions on her own.