Kansas 2 - The Yellow Brick Road, Part 02
Title: Still Not in Kansas - The Yellow Brick Road
Author: Soledad
Author’s notes: For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the secondary index page.
For the explanation of certain Minbari terms and phrases see the end of this chapter.
PART 02
Time seemed to stand still for Michael Garibaldi until the core shuttle finally reached the end of Brown Sector, where he could access the fusion reactors. Not directly, of course, but that was the closest thing, unless he wanted to put on an EVA suit and take a look from the outside. Which he most empathically didn’t. Zero-G environments always made him sick. The only place where he could bear the lack of gravity was the cockpit of a Starfury.
Morishi, a short, wiry man in his late thirties, whose harmless appearance belied his true strength, was waiting for him in the small fusion control cubicle. His hawkish features showed definite concern, and that made Garibaldi nervous. Morishi wasn’t one who’d panic easily.
“So, what do we have?” Garibaldi asked.
Morishi moved to the side to let him take a look at the control screen of the external sensors.
“It seems to be a bomb all right,” he said, and a cleverly hidden one, at that. We’re lucky that Voyager’s technicians were checking out the C&C comm system and picked out the low-level electronic emissions, or we’d have only realized what was going on when the fusion reactor went off like a supernova.”
Garibaldi tried to make out details of the explosive device, but with little success. The picture was too dark and even blurred a bit on the edges. Still…
“It seems familiar somehow,” he said.
Morishi nodded. “Yeah, looks very similar to the one that whatshisname, that crazy character used a few months ago.”
“Robert Carlson?” Garibaldi suggested.
Morishi nodded again. “Yeah, that one. We’ll have to try tracing the explosive’s molecular code to identify the manufacturer and the buyer, but with most our contacts to Earth gone, it won’t be easy.”
“Could the Home Guard or Night Watch be involved this time?” Zack Allen, who’d just arrived to the crime scene, asked.
Morishi shrugged. “It sure as hell wasn’t the same crazy guy. This time, there might be political motivations, yeah.”
“Well,” Garibaldi said. “You’re our demolition expert. Do you think you can disarm this bomb?”
“I can’t tell it from here,” Morishi replied. “I’ll scramble a zero-G team and check out the fusion reactor. It helped last time; perhaps it will work again.”
“As long as you don’t want me to get into one of those claustrophobic suits, it’s fine with me,” Garibaldi said. Then he activated his comm link, which - like all those of the senior staff - had been synchronized with Voyager’s comm system. “Garibaldi to Ayala.”
“Ayala here,” came the answer promptly.
Garibaldi chose his words very carefully. In theory, this channel was supposed to be secure, but after the recent events, they couldn’t be sure about anything anymore.
“Greg, we’re having a… situation here,” he said, “and could use some help. You told me about that guy of yours who used to work for spaceport security…”
“You mean Dalby?” Ayala clarified.
“I can’t remember the name,” Garibaldi admitted. “But whoever it was, we could use his… expertise. Preferably an hour ago.”
There was a moment of silence at the other end of the connection.
“I see,” Ayala finally said, the deepening of his voice revealing that he’d already figured out what the problem was. “Yep, Ken is the guy you need. I’ll check it with the Captain and send him directly to you… not necessarily in that order. Ayala out.”
Garibaldi released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Directly meant that Ayala would “beam” his bomb expert over, or whatever they called the use of their amazing particle transporter device. They might actually deal with this bomb in time.
Moments later the sizzling golden column of a transporter beam flickered up in the small chamber, releasing a human male with a hard-bitten face, clad in a black-and-gold uniform.
“I’m Ken Dalby,” he said. “Greg meant you needed help?”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In the surprisingly opulent quarters of Londo Mollari - opulent in Babylon 5 terms, that is; the ambassador himself was usually referring to them as “that fetid hole where I have the indignity to live - Vir Cotto was preparing dinner for his boss and himself. It was a rather… colourful affair, as if someone hade captured the rainbow and broken it to food-sized pieces. Practically every colour of the spectrum was represented in the form of foodstuffs - with the exception of red.
Red foodstuffs, while generally present in the Centauri cuisine, were considered unworthy the table of a man of importance - assumedly because it reminded people with delicate stomachs of the barbaric times when their ancestors hadn’t tamed the fire yet and were forced to eat their butchered prey raw… including their enemies. How many of those outrageous legends were actually true, no one could tell in these days. Nonetheless, Centauri servants were cautions not to serve any red foodstuffs - or raw meat - to their masters. Such mishaps could result in the loss of a hand… if they were very fortunate.
Vir wasn’t a servant, of course, but since Londo couldn’t afford servants on Babylon 5 (mostly because he didn’t have the nerve to watch all the time whether they were trying to poison him or not), such small tasks usually fell to him. He didn’t really mind, most of the time. He genuinely liked Londo (most of the time), he liked his life on Babylon 5, and was grateful to Londo for keeping him here, far from the murderous intrigues of the court. He had more freedom here than he’d ever dreamed of; and here he even had friends.
Lennier for example. Or Rastenn, however, unlikely it seemed. Or that friendly blonde lady from Voyager, with the little girl. And having friends meant that he might be do certain things on Londo’s behalf.
The lady officer - Sam, he corrected himself, as they’d reached first name basis early on - had kept her word. She’d got permission to invite Vir to a visit aboard Voyager, and she’d talked Commander Chakotay, the executive officer of the ship, into having an interview with Vir during that visit. Vir hoped fervently that he’d be able to make the First Officer understand how important it would be for Londo to be invited to Voyager; how important it was that Londo kept his position at court, however insecure that position might be.
Perhaps he would succeed. Commander Chakotay seemed a reasonable man; one with considerable influence. Perhaps he could persuade Captain Janeway to meet Londo. That would strengthen Londo’s position at court - and take the wind off at least one of Lord Refa’s sails.
He arranged the coloured crystal plates, bowls and calices on the table according to protocol. He’d cooked Londo’s favourite dishes, in the hope that good food would lift the ambassador’s mood. Although, considering their current lack of success to get an audience with Captain Janeway and the upcoming visit of Minister Virini, Vir seriously doubled that all the delicacies of the universe could do that.
There was a buzz at the door, which perplexed him a little. Had Londo forgotten his own code, or was he being deliberately bothersome? Well, there was only one way to find out…
“Open,” he ordered, and the computer obediently opened the door.
But it wasn’t Londo who stood on the doorstep. It was a young Minbari, in full warrior regalia.
“Greetings, Vir,” Rastenn of the Star Riders said calmly. “Do you have a moment? We need to talk.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Outside the station, a crew of four in EVA suits had just opened the 12x24-foot hatch in the side of a long, narrow tail section that housed the fusion reactor. Garibaldi was grateful for the security cameras they had installed after the most recent bombing, back in September, as they enabled him to watch the progress of the zero-G team from the relative safety of the control cubicle.
“Be careful,” he warned them. “This part of the hull isn’t pressurized and does not rotate. One wrong move, and you’ll find yourselves floating in space.”
Morishi’s men didn’t need the warning, of course, but Voyager’s Crewman Dalby wasn’t familiar with the station, and Garibaldi didn’t want any accidents. Especially ones that would involve guests from an alternate universe.
“Take it easy, Chief,” the grin was audible in Morishi’s voice. “We know what we’re doing.”
“I hope so,” Garibaldi replied, “because I’m so not interested in a small-scale reproduction of the Big Bang.”
The technicians floated inside the tail section, using their suit thrusters. They had so much practice in that sort of stuff that they didn’t even bump against the hull. Once inside, they fanned out with scanning devices to search for the bomb. The security cameras had been placed in a rather weird angle, to oversee as much of the section as possible, so that the transmission wasn’t much help.
Dalby’s small, handheld device - he called it a tricorder - beeped first, and he honed on to its signal.
“I’ve found the bomb,” he repeated calmly. “It’s fastened to the reactor housing, and it’s big enough to blow straight to its core.”
Morishi floated up to him to take a look. “It’s exactly the same place where Carlson’s bomb was,” he said. “Someone’s playing a macabre game with us; someone who knows exactly where that bomb used to be.”
“Perhaps,” Garibaldi said. “Or perhaps they just want to make us believe that it’s Carlson on the loose again, should we manage to find the bomb in the first place.”
“It must have been one of those who left us to join Night Watch,” Morishi speculated. “We never made it public where the bomb actually had been.”
“Possibly,” Garibaldi said. “If we’re lucky, he might even have left behind his DNA for us. But let’s deal with first things first. Can you remove it from the reactor housing?”
“Not this time, I’m afraid,” Morishi replied. “It may look like Carlson’s handiwork, but in fact, it’s a lot more sophisticated. What if it’s outfitted with a motion trigger?”
“How likely is that?” Garibaldi asked.
“Very likely, in fact,” the voice of Dalby answered. “It doesn’t have a timer - at least none that I could recognize, and I’ve seen my fair share of those things - so it must be detonated via remote control. The bomber wouldn’t risk letting it be removed.”
“So, what are we doing, then?” Garibaldi asked.
“I’ll try to interrupt the electronic emissions of the bomb,” Dalby replied. “That might take some time, so I’d suggest that the others return to you… just in case I failed.”
“If you fail, it won’t really matter where we are,” Morishi pointed out logically. “Just try to get done with it before the bomber pushes the button, and we’ll all be fine. How are you gonna do it anyway? We don’t even know the right frequency.”
“I’ll send a record of the emissions to Voyager,” Dalby explained. “Engineering can analyze them and suggest the best method to interrupt them. That would be the fastest and most secure way - unless you want Seven of Nine assimilate the bomb, that is.”
The joke was completely lost on Garibaldi and the rest of the Babylon 5 crew, of course. Dalby shook his head, murmured something like “never mind” under his breath and started with the recording.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“To talk about what?” Vir demanded nervously. “Can’t it wait? Ambassador Mollari can return for his dinner any time now, and he will be most displeased - and very vocal about it - if he doesn’t find everything in readiness. Can we talk later, perhaps?”
“It depends,” Rastenn answered calmly.
“Depends on what?” Vir had reached the phase of nervous hand-wringing by then.
“Whether you can give me any information about a certain Mr. Morden,” Rastenn said. “I have just had the most… interesting conversation with him; and it is my understanding that Ambassador Mollari has been associated with him - perhaps still is.”
Vir deflated within a second and practically collapsed onto one of Londo’s overstuffed chairs. Morden on Babylon 5 again! That never meant any good. And so shortly before the arrival of Minister Virini and Lord Refa…. No, that wasn’t good, not good at all!
“What did he want from you?” he asked tonelessly.
Rastenn raised a hairless eyebrow. “Now that is an interesting question, my friend. In fact, the very same question that he asked me: What do you want?”
“Oh, Great Maker!” Vir was nauseous with anxiety already. “And what did you answer?”
Rastenn shrugged. “I told him it was none of his business. That a Minbari warrior is well capable of getting what he or she wants on their own. That the only thing he can do for me is to get out of my way and leave me alone.”
“Oh, good, good!” Vir nearly passed out from relief. “Listen to me, Rastenn, that is a question you should never, never answer when it’s being asked by Mr. Morden… or any of his associates.”
That hairless eyebrow was lifted again. “Why not?”
“Because you’ll get what you want,” Vir replied, deadly serious now, “and the price would be a horrible one. Look what happened to the Narn… and that genocide, too, had begun with that simple question.”
“I fear I don’t understand you,” Rastenn admitted.
“And I can’t tell you more, not now, perhaps not even later,” Vir replied. “Ask Lennier about the creatures your people call the Sher'shok Dum - the Shadows. Ask him about the fate of Babylon 4, and where Valen truly came from. And for Minbar’s sake, try to persuade that brick-headed uncle of yours not to cross Delenn right now, because that could have terrible consequences. Not for Minbar alone - for us all.”
“I don’t understand…” Rastenn began.
“And I can’t tell you more,” Vir interrupted. “Perhaps even this is too much. But you warned me before Delenn’s inauguration, so it’s only fair that I’d warn you, too. Please, leave now. The Ambassador must not find you here. Talk to Lennier. Talk to your priests - and then make your own conclusions. You will understand.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The sleek little ship - black against the eternal blackness of space - followed the luxurious Centauri shuttle transporting Minister Virini, Lord Refa and the rest of the Centauri delegation from their ship to Babylon 5 into the docking bay. The station’s sensors couldn’t discover it, with its cloaking device activated. Even if they had been able to pick up any readings from it, they couldn’t have identified it. The C&C crew would write the readings off as anomalous echoes.
Once within, the little ship touched down in the darkened corner of the docking bay, released a lone passenger, and then lifted off again. Staying in floating mode right below the bay’s ceiling. No one would be able to discover it by running into it by accident.
The passenger - a bald-headed human male, wearing a long black cloak and holding a strange-looking staff in his hand - remained in the shadows until the Centauri cleared the docking bay. Then he upheld his free hand, and a translucent globe, seemingly made of pure red light, appeared in it - or, to be more accurate, floating just half an inch above his palm.
“Hello Lennier,” he said to the tiny image of Delenn’s aide appearing within the globe. “I just wanted you to know that I’m here… and watching, in case you should need help.”
“I must respectfully admit that I do not know who you are, sir,” Lennier replied in confusion.
“Have you forgotten me so soon?” the man asked in a tone of genuine sorrow. “Sad… but that’s the way of the world, I suppose, so it doesn’t matter. You’ll need me, so I’ve come.”
“But I have not called you,” Lennier said, even more confused.
“Not yet,” the man said cryptically, “but you will. Expect me when you see me.”
He closed his hand around the globe of light and it vanished.
“Well,” he said to himself. “So far, I have followed my teacher. I thought I had an obligation. But now my mentor is gone, and I see no reason to remain uninvolved any longer.”
With that, he whirled around and merged with the shadows.
In his modest quarters in the Green Sector, Lennier of the Third Fane of Chu’domo knelt on the floor, wondering what it could mean for a Minbari to hear disembodied voices… and if he was about to lose his mind.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Most of the time, Lieutenant Joe Carey was a fairly competent engineer; confident enough to deal with things on his own. After all, he’d been considered for the position of the chief engineer at the beginning of their odyssey.
But when Dalby called in, telling him that he needed a thorough analysis on the electronic emissions of a bomb that could turn the whole station into a miniature sun at any given moment, Joe didn’t feel up to the challenge. So he called Torres to Engineering. Disarming bombs - or placing them to be completely honest - was something the ex-Maquis were more familiar with than simple, run-of-the-mill Starfleet officers.
“Okay, don’t panic, folks,” Torres said. “We can do this; it won’t be the first time. Hogan, start the analysis and look for parallels in the technical database. Where’s Harry? We’ll need him at the transporter.”
“He went to the MedLabs, to visit his Ranger friend,” Sue Nicoletti told her.
Torres said something in Klingonese that sounded positively menacing. Then she hit her comm badge.
“Torres to transporter room. Locate Ensign Kim and beam him directly to Engineering. Preferably yesterday.”
“But the captain told us not to use the transporters, unless it’s an emergency,” Lieutenant Rollins, currently on transporter duty, protested.
“I don’t know what you consider an emergency, Rollins, but in my book, the possible explosion of a fusion reactor would count as one,” Torres retorted snidely. “Now, could you just stop whining and beam me Harry over? Time’s something of an issue here, you know.”
Rollins wisely shut up, and moments later a shimmering transporter beam released a slightly confused Harry Kim in Engineering. Torres debriefed him in short, clipped sentences, mindful of the fact that some ruthless terrorist could push the deadman’s switch at any moment.
“Can we risk to simply beaming the bomb out of there?” she asked then.
Harry shook his head. “I wouldn’t do it; not while we know nothing either of its components or of its construction. The transporter beam running interference with its emissions could trigger the explosion prematurely. There are simply too many unknown factors.”
“Just what I’ve feared,” Torres sighed. “All right, let’s do it the old-fashioned way. Hogan, how far have you gotten with your analysis?”
“Almost there,” Hogan, a young, gentle-faced human engineer with haunted eyes, was working frantically on his console… then he stopped and stared at the screen I surprise. “That’s odd…” he said.
“What’s odd?” Torres asked impatiently.
“Remember that Cardassian outpost Sveta’s cell wanted to blow up, just before we got hurled into the Delta Quadrant?” Hogan asked back.
“The one where the bomb didn’t go off because of some interference of a nearby ore processing facility?” Torres clarified.
Hogan nodded. “This bomb seems to have very similar emissions. So, if we can recreate those of a Cardassian ore processing plant…”
“… we might prevent an explosion and remove the bomb safely,” Torres finished for him. “All right; look into it. This could actually work. Harry, do we have any detailed information about non-military Cardassian technology in our databases?”
“Is there such thing as non-military Cardassian technology?” Harry asked, voice dripping with sarcasm, but was working on the problem already. “Ask Dalby to send me more info about the bomb. It might be similar to the one you were talking about, but it’s most likely not exactly the same. We can’t afford any mistakes in this.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Captain Kathryn Janeway had spent the entire morning in her ready room, leaving the bridge of Voyager in the capable hands of his Vulcan security officer, Lieutenant Tuvok. Studying the history of this alternate Earth fascinated her to no end… and frightened her at the same time.
“Whatever happens to us, we must not get involved in the internal struggle of the Earth Alliance,” he said to Chakotay, who had just returned from the MedLabs of the station.
Chakotay nodded. “I agree. The current situation is volatile enough as it is. Have you managed to get a clearer picture about the balance of power between human-inhabited worlds?”
“Interestingly enough, there seem to have been tensions between Earth and the Mars Colony in this universe, too,” Janeway said. “A perhaps meaningful parallel between our realities.”
“Perhaps not so surprising,” Chakotay interjected. “Perhaps it was the natural consequence of the early colonization period in both universes. Like England and North-America all over again… just in space. It’s understandable that new colonies, as soon as they become self-supporting, begin to resent the colonial powers. It’s only human - and we both are humans, them and us.”
“Perhaps,” Janeway allowed. “In any case, the First Mars Colony of this universe was founded shortly before 2100, but was soon destroyed by a sneak attack.”
“Destroyed by whom?” Chakotay asked.
“That’s been an unanswered question ever since, although the best guess would be some isolationalist group of Earth-bound terrorists,” Janeway replied. “The Second Mars Colony was founded fifty years later, and that’s the one still in existence.”
“Have they terraformed the planet as well?” Chakotay asked.
Janeway shook her head. “Apparently not. They don’t seem to have the proper technology for terraforming. They live under large biodomes on Mars. They tried to become independent early on; for example, Mars was untouched in the Earth-Minbari war. However, getting self-supporting must have proved more problematic than they had thought, as just after the war, they experienced some tumultuous food riots.”
“I heard Mr. Garibaldi mentioning something about that,” Chakotay nodded. “He also spoke of various resistance groups with the strong intention to separate Mars from the Earth Alliance.”
“As far as I can tell, there have been two major groups fighting for independence in the recent decades,” Janeway said. “One is the terrorist group called Free Mars, the other the Mars Resistance: An organization with a broader base and more… temperate methods.”
“It sounds as if civil war would be a very real danger within the Earth Alliance,” Chakotay commented grimly.
“Actually, it has already started,” Janeway said. “A major revolt occurred just two years ago, in October 2258 as they count time. After that, a provisional government was appointed by Earth. This government was still in charge when President Morgan Clark declared martial law for the entire Earth Alliance.”
“When did that happen?” Chakotay asked.
“Less than six months ago, on the eight of April this year.” Janeway replied.
“I assume the colonies didn’t take it well,” Chakotay said.
Janeway shook her head. “No, they didn’t. Provisional Governor Xavier Montoya refused to enforce Clark’s decree. As a retaliation, five days later Clark ordered EarthForce to bombard the Mars Colony.”
“What?” Chakotay cried out, not wanting to believe it.
Janeway nodded grimly. “I’ve seen the news feed with my very eyes. Three moths later, Earth Alliance troops landed on Mars, and the main cities, New Vegas and Slimtown, were besieged.”
“Unbelievable!” Chakotay shook his head. “And I thought we had it bad, being abandoned by our homeworlds and all that. How did the other Earth colonies react to that?”
“Proxima III and Orion VII declared their independence from the Earth Alliance upon the bombarding of the Mars Colony,” Janeway replied. “Captain Sheridan followed suit and declared Babylon 5 independent as well.”
“That was courageous of him,” Chakotay said. “A dedicated step in the right direction.”
“Was it?” Janeway asked dryly. “He’s promoted himself from a military commander to a military dictator, including creating his own uniforms and his own laws. Tell me, Chakotay - what is the difference between him and Morgan Clark? Aside from the fact that President Clark was actually elected, that is?”
“You can’t be serious!” Chakotay exclaimed.
“Oh, but I am,” Janeway replied. “I understand that you sympathize with their case - and I won’t deny that President Clark’s politics can’t be condoned - but it seems to me that on his own way Captain Sheridan is no less of a tyrant than President Clark.”
“Wasn’t it you who once said that one can’t run a starship like a democracy?” Chakotay asked mildly. “That there has to be a clear command structure and proper discipline, if we want a chance to survive?”
“I did say that,” Janeway agreed. “But I run a single starship with a small crew and a simple purpose: to get us all home, eventually. “I’m not responsible for a city in space, with a quarter million inhabitants, a great many of whom aren’t even humans. And I at least consult my officers before making any decisions that would have a profound effect on the lives of us all - which doesn’t seem to be a practice of Captain Sheridan, if what we’ve heard so far is any indication.”
“But when everything is said, it’s still your decision to make,” Chakotay pointed out,” regardless if we, others agree or not. Like when you chose to keep Seven on board.”
“It proved to be the right decision, didn’t it?” Janeway asked.
“So did Sheridan’s so far,” Chakotay retorted promptly.
Janeway shook her head. “I’m not that sure about that, Chakotay. And that’s why we must not get involved in the internal affairs of the Earth Alliance… or those of an entire alternate universe. This is not our fight.”
“But we’re already involved,” Chakotay said. “We’ve gotten involved in the moment when Ayala got trapped with Mr. Garibaldi in Grey 17. We’ve gotten even more involved when Tuvok chose to go in with a security team to help them. Or when we agreed to keep those captured Night Watch people in our brig. We’re already in knee-deep, and we can’t undo it again.”
“True,” Janeway said. “But we must make a clear distinction between the events concerning station security - and nothing else - and an open confrontation with EarthGov. Any direct action from our side could seriously endanger the balance of power and lead to a bloody civil war.”
“But what if the two are the same?” Chakotay asked. “And what about those Shadow creatures? Whatever you might think of Captain Sheridan personally, there seems to be general consensus about them being evil, malevolent and genocidal. How are we supposed to deal with them?”
“Not at all,” Janeway replied. “We’re supposed to avoid them if we can, because we don’t belong to this universe and therefore can’t take sides in this conflict.”
“And if we can’t avoid them?” Chakotay asked. “What if we can’t return to our universe? What if we’re trapped in this nightmare and can never get out? Wouldn’t that make us part of this universe? Wouldn’t it be our duty to help defend mankind against these Shadows?”
For a long while, Janeway didn’t answer, just sat there, rubbing her temples against a building headache.
“Perhaps that is what will happen eventually,” she finally said, her voice tired and raw with sorrow. “But I’m not giving up hope just yet. I still count on that alien machine on the planet below us. Perhaps if its keeper recovers his strength, we might be able to contact him. Perhaps he’ll be able to open us a way back to where we truly belong.”
“I wish with all my heart that to come true,” Chakotay said with quiet compassion. “But until that does happen - if it ever will - we’ll have to take our chances with these people here. I agree that we can’t - mustn’t, in fact - take any active role in the human civil war; but it’s our duty to take our share in defending the station against those Shadows. A quarter million lives are at stake just here - and who knows how many more elsewhere?”
Janeway couldn’t find the right answer to that. She knew that Chakotay was right in much of what he’d said; but as likeable as she’d found Captain Sheridan when they’d been invited to dinner to Delenn’s quarters, she could not condone the way he’d made himself the judge and the law on Babylon 5 - perchance even the executioner?
Before she could have thought of something to say, her comm badge beeped.
“Tuvok to Janeway.”
She touched the badge. “Go on, Mr. Tuvok.”
“Captain,” the Vulcan said with his usual impeccable calm, “Lieutenant Torres has just informed me about some unforeseen events happening on Babylon 5. I believe you and Commander Chakotay should go down to Engineering and take a look.”
The captain and her executive officer exchanged identical blank looks. Then Chakotay shrugged.
“We won’t figure out anything by standing here,” he said. “Let’s go to Engineering.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Leaving Ambassador Mollari’s quarters, Rastenn went to one of the several contact points in the Brown Sector to meet his uncle’s informant. This time, his contact was Nidell, a young female of the Star Riders clan; a warrior herself, just a few cycles older than him. She was also a delicate beauty with an exquisitely formed bonecrest, with eyes as dark as the depths of space - and with absolutely deadly hands. Trained in the ancient self-defence art of Tha’Domo, she could break the neck of a man twice her size with only moderate effort - a skill that had already saved her life a few times since having taken up residence on Babylon 5.
“I’ve learned disturbing things today,” Rastenn told her. “I need you to have someone carefully watched around the clock: a human male by the name of Morden. He approached me in an empty corridor and asked me a strange question.”
“What question?” Nidell asked.
“He asked me what I want,” Rastenn answered.
“That’s a harmless enough question,” Nidell said with a shrug.
Rastenn shook his head. “Not according to Vir Cotto, and right now, he seems to be the authority in the matter. He told me, that was the very question this Morden had trapped Ambassador Mollari with. The thing what started the recent Narn-Centauri war.”
“That sounds rather unlikely,” Nidell judged.
“Not if this Morden person is an agent of the Sher’shok Dum,” Rastenn said grimly.
Nidell gasped in shock. “Did Vir Cotto say that?”
“Not directly, no,” Rastenn answered. “But he did tell me that I should never answer that particular question; and that this Morden is very dangerous. Then he told me to talk to Lennier.”
“Delenn’s aide, the priest?” Nidell asked in surprise.
Rastenn nodded. “I think Delenn knows more than she’s told our leaders when she warned them about the return of the Ancient enemy. I think she even knows more than she’s willing to tell Starkiller. And what she knows, Lennier probably knows as well.”
“Perhaps,” Nidell allowed. “But will he tell you anything? If he’s as loyal to Delenn as I think he is, and if Delenn isn’t even willing to tell Starkiller everything, why would Lennier be willing to tell you?”
“Because I am the heir of Alyt Neroon,” Rastenn answered simply. “If he can persuade me about the return of the Sher’shok Dum, I would have the right to ask for the ships and warriors of my Clan and my Caste to fight them.”
“Would you?” Nidell asked. “Would you step forth and demand that our Caste forget its grievances and fight in a war on the side of Starkiller? And even if you do - would Alyt Neroon listen? Would the heads of the other Warrior Clans listen?”
“I hope so,” Rastenn said grimly. “Because if Vir is right, if Delenn and Lennier are right, then our only chance to survive would be to unite our strength and follow the one who has the vision to lead us through fire… as our ancestors have followed Valen a thousand years ago.”
“That is true,” Nidell admitted. “But what if they are wrong?”
“I don’t know,” Rastenn sighed. “I would call it madness myself, had I not met this human… this Morden myself. There was an air about him that made me shiver with fear. And I’ve seen the same fear mirrored in Vir’s eyes. But I need to learn more before I make my move.”
“Learning more is always good,” Nidell agreed. “We shall observe the human as you have ordered. What else do you want us to do?”
Rastenn thought for a moment.
“Send my uncle a detailed report,” he said. “Ask him for a digital copy of Valen’s Book, so that we may look up what there is to know about the Sher’shok Dum… just in case Delenn and her allies are right. And tell him he might want to return to Babylon 5, soon. I am too young and too inexperienced to deal with a case of this magnitude.”
Nidell bowed in what was almost Religious fashion.
“It shall be done as ordered,” she said. Whether she agreed with his conclusions or not was irrelevant. He was the heir to the leader of the Star Riders; his word was law, and she would obey, unless Alyt Neroon himself would tell her otherwise. As the priests said, understanding was not required - just obedience.
She left as unobtrusively as she’d come. After a moment, Rastenn followed suit to hunt down Lennier. There were still many questions he wanted to ask.
In the empty room, a bald-headed man with a long, black cloak and a staff in his hand emerged from the shadows and stared after them for quite a while.
“And so it begins,” he intoned softly.
Terms and expressions in Minbari:
(…for the slightly more geeky among us. Most of them are from jumpnow’s Minbari dictionary, one or two from BainAduial’s story, “A Minbari Courtship”.)
Alyt = roughly “Captain”, but specific to a member of the Warrior Caste who commands a Sharlin-class battle cruiser.
Anla’shok = “The one who watches the enemy”, a quasi-military organization that primarily operates behind the scenes as spies, messengers, and rescue personnel. Charged by Valen with watching for the return of the Shadows. Although a common misconception exists that the Anla’shok are associated with the Religious Caste, they are in fact completely separate from all three Castes, both by tradition and by law.
Id’Minbari - Minbari Soul. Used to indicate humans who are believed to carry reborn Minbari souls.
Sher’shok Dum - “Ancient Enemy”, the Minbari term for the Shadows.
Tha’Domo - a fighting order of the Religious Caste, known to accompany the Warrior Caste into battle in the ancient past. Now primarily a monastic order. The fact that Nidell is trained in this particular fighting style indicates Religious background. As Minbari are generally allowed to follow the calling of their heart when they choose the Caste they want to belong to, it is, at least theoretically, possible for the child of a Religious couple to become a warrior… or vice versa.
Part 03
Author: Soledad
Author’s notes: For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the secondary index page.
For the explanation of certain Minbari terms and phrases see the end of this chapter.
PART 02
Time seemed to stand still for Michael Garibaldi until the core shuttle finally reached the end of Brown Sector, where he could access the fusion reactors. Not directly, of course, but that was the closest thing, unless he wanted to put on an EVA suit and take a look from the outside. Which he most empathically didn’t. Zero-G environments always made him sick. The only place where he could bear the lack of gravity was the cockpit of a Starfury.
Morishi, a short, wiry man in his late thirties, whose harmless appearance belied his true strength, was waiting for him in the small fusion control cubicle. His hawkish features showed definite concern, and that made Garibaldi nervous. Morishi wasn’t one who’d panic easily.
“So, what do we have?” Garibaldi asked.
Morishi moved to the side to let him take a look at the control screen of the external sensors.
“It seems to be a bomb all right,” he said, and a cleverly hidden one, at that. We’re lucky that Voyager’s technicians were checking out the C&C comm system and picked out the low-level electronic emissions, or we’d have only realized what was going on when the fusion reactor went off like a supernova.”
Garibaldi tried to make out details of the explosive device, but with little success. The picture was too dark and even blurred a bit on the edges. Still…
“It seems familiar somehow,” he said.
Morishi nodded. “Yeah, looks very similar to the one that whatshisname, that crazy character used a few months ago.”
“Robert Carlson?” Garibaldi suggested.
Morishi nodded again. “Yeah, that one. We’ll have to try tracing the explosive’s molecular code to identify the manufacturer and the buyer, but with most our contacts to Earth gone, it won’t be easy.”
“Could the Home Guard or Night Watch be involved this time?” Zack Allen, who’d just arrived to the crime scene, asked.
Morishi shrugged. “It sure as hell wasn’t the same crazy guy. This time, there might be political motivations, yeah.”
“Well,” Garibaldi said. “You’re our demolition expert. Do you think you can disarm this bomb?”
“I can’t tell it from here,” Morishi replied. “I’ll scramble a zero-G team and check out the fusion reactor. It helped last time; perhaps it will work again.”
“As long as you don’t want me to get into one of those claustrophobic suits, it’s fine with me,” Garibaldi said. Then he activated his comm link, which - like all those of the senior staff - had been synchronized with Voyager’s comm system. “Garibaldi to Ayala.”
“Ayala here,” came the answer promptly.
Garibaldi chose his words very carefully. In theory, this channel was supposed to be secure, but after the recent events, they couldn’t be sure about anything anymore.
“Greg, we’re having a… situation here,” he said, “and could use some help. You told me about that guy of yours who used to work for spaceport security…”
“You mean Dalby?” Ayala clarified.
“I can’t remember the name,” Garibaldi admitted. “But whoever it was, we could use his… expertise. Preferably an hour ago.”
There was a moment of silence at the other end of the connection.
“I see,” Ayala finally said, the deepening of his voice revealing that he’d already figured out what the problem was. “Yep, Ken is the guy you need. I’ll check it with the Captain and send him directly to you… not necessarily in that order. Ayala out.”
Garibaldi released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Directly meant that Ayala would “beam” his bomb expert over, or whatever they called the use of their amazing particle transporter device. They might actually deal with this bomb in time.
Moments later the sizzling golden column of a transporter beam flickered up in the small chamber, releasing a human male with a hard-bitten face, clad in a black-and-gold uniform.
“I’m Ken Dalby,” he said. “Greg meant you needed help?”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In the surprisingly opulent quarters of Londo Mollari - opulent in Babylon 5 terms, that is; the ambassador himself was usually referring to them as “that fetid hole where I have the indignity to live - Vir Cotto was preparing dinner for his boss and himself. It was a rather… colourful affair, as if someone hade captured the rainbow and broken it to food-sized pieces. Practically every colour of the spectrum was represented in the form of foodstuffs - with the exception of red.
Red foodstuffs, while generally present in the Centauri cuisine, were considered unworthy the table of a man of importance - assumedly because it reminded people with delicate stomachs of the barbaric times when their ancestors hadn’t tamed the fire yet and were forced to eat their butchered prey raw… including their enemies. How many of those outrageous legends were actually true, no one could tell in these days. Nonetheless, Centauri servants were cautions not to serve any red foodstuffs - or raw meat - to their masters. Such mishaps could result in the loss of a hand… if they were very fortunate.
Vir wasn’t a servant, of course, but since Londo couldn’t afford servants on Babylon 5 (mostly because he didn’t have the nerve to watch all the time whether they were trying to poison him or not), such small tasks usually fell to him. He didn’t really mind, most of the time. He genuinely liked Londo (most of the time), he liked his life on Babylon 5, and was grateful to Londo for keeping him here, far from the murderous intrigues of the court. He had more freedom here than he’d ever dreamed of; and here he even had friends.
Lennier for example. Or Rastenn, however, unlikely it seemed. Or that friendly blonde lady from Voyager, with the little girl. And having friends meant that he might be do certain things on Londo’s behalf.
The lady officer - Sam, he corrected himself, as they’d reached first name basis early on - had kept her word. She’d got permission to invite Vir to a visit aboard Voyager, and she’d talked Commander Chakotay, the executive officer of the ship, into having an interview with Vir during that visit. Vir hoped fervently that he’d be able to make the First Officer understand how important it would be for Londo to be invited to Voyager; how important it was that Londo kept his position at court, however insecure that position might be.
Perhaps he would succeed. Commander Chakotay seemed a reasonable man; one with considerable influence. Perhaps he could persuade Captain Janeway to meet Londo. That would strengthen Londo’s position at court - and take the wind off at least one of Lord Refa’s sails.
He arranged the coloured crystal plates, bowls and calices on the table according to protocol. He’d cooked Londo’s favourite dishes, in the hope that good food would lift the ambassador’s mood. Although, considering their current lack of success to get an audience with Captain Janeway and the upcoming visit of Minister Virini, Vir seriously doubled that all the delicacies of the universe could do that.
There was a buzz at the door, which perplexed him a little. Had Londo forgotten his own code, or was he being deliberately bothersome? Well, there was only one way to find out…
“Open,” he ordered, and the computer obediently opened the door.
But it wasn’t Londo who stood on the doorstep. It was a young Minbari, in full warrior regalia.
“Greetings, Vir,” Rastenn of the Star Riders said calmly. “Do you have a moment? We need to talk.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Outside the station, a crew of four in EVA suits had just opened the 12x24-foot hatch in the side of a long, narrow tail section that housed the fusion reactor. Garibaldi was grateful for the security cameras they had installed after the most recent bombing, back in September, as they enabled him to watch the progress of the zero-G team from the relative safety of the control cubicle.
“Be careful,” he warned them. “This part of the hull isn’t pressurized and does not rotate. One wrong move, and you’ll find yourselves floating in space.”
Morishi’s men didn’t need the warning, of course, but Voyager’s Crewman Dalby wasn’t familiar with the station, and Garibaldi didn’t want any accidents. Especially ones that would involve guests from an alternate universe.
“Take it easy, Chief,” the grin was audible in Morishi’s voice. “We know what we’re doing.”
“I hope so,” Garibaldi replied, “because I’m so not interested in a small-scale reproduction of the Big Bang.”
The technicians floated inside the tail section, using their suit thrusters. They had so much practice in that sort of stuff that they didn’t even bump against the hull. Once inside, they fanned out with scanning devices to search for the bomb. The security cameras had been placed in a rather weird angle, to oversee as much of the section as possible, so that the transmission wasn’t much help.
Dalby’s small, handheld device - he called it a tricorder - beeped first, and he honed on to its signal.
“I’ve found the bomb,” he repeated calmly. “It’s fastened to the reactor housing, and it’s big enough to blow straight to its core.”
Morishi floated up to him to take a look. “It’s exactly the same place where Carlson’s bomb was,” he said. “Someone’s playing a macabre game with us; someone who knows exactly where that bomb used to be.”
“Perhaps,” Garibaldi said. “Or perhaps they just want to make us believe that it’s Carlson on the loose again, should we manage to find the bomb in the first place.”
“It must have been one of those who left us to join Night Watch,” Morishi speculated. “We never made it public where the bomb actually had been.”
“Possibly,” Garibaldi said. “If we’re lucky, he might even have left behind his DNA for us. But let’s deal with first things first. Can you remove it from the reactor housing?”
“Not this time, I’m afraid,” Morishi replied. “It may look like Carlson’s handiwork, but in fact, it’s a lot more sophisticated. What if it’s outfitted with a motion trigger?”
“How likely is that?” Garibaldi asked.
“Very likely, in fact,” the voice of Dalby answered. “It doesn’t have a timer - at least none that I could recognize, and I’ve seen my fair share of those things - so it must be detonated via remote control. The bomber wouldn’t risk letting it be removed.”
“So, what are we doing, then?” Garibaldi asked.
“I’ll try to interrupt the electronic emissions of the bomb,” Dalby replied. “That might take some time, so I’d suggest that the others return to you… just in case I failed.”
“If you fail, it won’t really matter where we are,” Morishi pointed out logically. “Just try to get done with it before the bomber pushes the button, and we’ll all be fine. How are you gonna do it anyway? We don’t even know the right frequency.”
“I’ll send a record of the emissions to Voyager,” Dalby explained. “Engineering can analyze them and suggest the best method to interrupt them. That would be the fastest and most secure way - unless you want Seven of Nine assimilate the bomb, that is.”
The joke was completely lost on Garibaldi and the rest of the Babylon 5 crew, of course. Dalby shook his head, murmured something like “never mind” under his breath and started with the recording.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“To talk about what?” Vir demanded nervously. “Can’t it wait? Ambassador Mollari can return for his dinner any time now, and he will be most displeased - and very vocal about it - if he doesn’t find everything in readiness. Can we talk later, perhaps?”
“It depends,” Rastenn answered calmly.
“Depends on what?” Vir had reached the phase of nervous hand-wringing by then.
“Whether you can give me any information about a certain Mr. Morden,” Rastenn said. “I have just had the most… interesting conversation with him; and it is my understanding that Ambassador Mollari has been associated with him - perhaps still is.”
Vir deflated within a second and practically collapsed onto one of Londo’s overstuffed chairs. Morden on Babylon 5 again! That never meant any good. And so shortly before the arrival of Minister Virini and Lord Refa…. No, that wasn’t good, not good at all!
“What did he want from you?” he asked tonelessly.
Rastenn raised a hairless eyebrow. “Now that is an interesting question, my friend. In fact, the very same question that he asked me: What do you want?”
“Oh, Great Maker!” Vir was nauseous with anxiety already. “And what did you answer?”
Rastenn shrugged. “I told him it was none of his business. That a Minbari warrior is well capable of getting what he or she wants on their own. That the only thing he can do for me is to get out of my way and leave me alone.”
“Oh, good, good!” Vir nearly passed out from relief. “Listen to me, Rastenn, that is a question you should never, never answer when it’s being asked by Mr. Morden… or any of his associates.”
That hairless eyebrow was lifted again. “Why not?”
“Because you’ll get what you want,” Vir replied, deadly serious now, “and the price would be a horrible one. Look what happened to the Narn… and that genocide, too, had begun with that simple question.”
“I fear I don’t understand you,” Rastenn admitted.
“And I can’t tell you more, not now, perhaps not even later,” Vir replied. “Ask Lennier about the creatures your people call the Sher'shok Dum - the Shadows. Ask him about the fate of Babylon 4, and where Valen truly came from. And for Minbar’s sake, try to persuade that brick-headed uncle of yours not to cross Delenn right now, because that could have terrible consequences. Not for Minbar alone - for us all.”
“I don’t understand…” Rastenn began.
“And I can’t tell you more,” Vir interrupted. “Perhaps even this is too much. But you warned me before Delenn’s inauguration, so it’s only fair that I’d warn you, too. Please, leave now. The Ambassador must not find you here. Talk to Lennier. Talk to your priests - and then make your own conclusions. You will understand.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The sleek little ship - black against the eternal blackness of space - followed the luxurious Centauri shuttle transporting Minister Virini, Lord Refa and the rest of the Centauri delegation from their ship to Babylon 5 into the docking bay. The station’s sensors couldn’t discover it, with its cloaking device activated. Even if they had been able to pick up any readings from it, they couldn’t have identified it. The C&C crew would write the readings off as anomalous echoes.
Once within, the little ship touched down in the darkened corner of the docking bay, released a lone passenger, and then lifted off again. Staying in floating mode right below the bay’s ceiling. No one would be able to discover it by running into it by accident.
The passenger - a bald-headed human male, wearing a long black cloak and holding a strange-looking staff in his hand - remained in the shadows until the Centauri cleared the docking bay. Then he upheld his free hand, and a translucent globe, seemingly made of pure red light, appeared in it - or, to be more accurate, floating just half an inch above his palm.
“Hello Lennier,” he said to the tiny image of Delenn’s aide appearing within the globe. “I just wanted you to know that I’m here… and watching, in case you should need help.”
“I must respectfully admit that I do not know who you are, sir,” Lennier replied in confusion.
“Have you forgotten me so soon?” the man asked in a tone of genuine sorrow. “Sad… but that’s the way of the world, I suppose, so it doesn’t matter. You’ll need me, so I’ve come.”
“But I have not called you,” Lennier said, even more confused.
“Not yet,” the man said cryptically, “but you will. Expect me when you see me.”
He closed his hand around the globe of light and it vanished.
“Well,” he said to himself. “So far, I have followed my teacher. I thought I had an obligation. But now my mentor is gone, and I see no reason to remain uninvolved any longer.”
With that, he whirled around and merged with the shadows.
In his modest quarters in the Green Sector, Lennier of the Third Fane of Chu’domo knelt on the floor, wondering what it could mean for a Minbari to hear disembodied voices… and if he was about to lose his mind.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Most of the time, Lieutenant Joe Carey was a fairly competent engineer; confident enough to deal with things on his own. After all, he’d been considered for the position of the chief engineer at the beginning of their odyssey.
But when Dalby called in, telling him that he needed a thorough analysis on the electronic emissions of a bomb that could turn the whole station into a miniature sun at any given moment, Joe didn’t feel up to the challenge. So he called Torres to Engineering. Disarming bombs - or placing them to be completely honest - was something the ex-Maquis were more familiar with than simple, run-of-the-mill Starfleet officers.
“Okay, don’t panic, folks,” Torres said. “We can do this; it won’t be the first time. Hogan, start the analysis and look for parallels in the technical database. Where’s Harry? We’ll need him at the transporter.”
“He went to the MedLabs, to visit his Ranger friend,” Sue Nicoletti told her.
Torres said something in Klingonese that sounded positively menacing. Then she hit her comm badge.
“Torres to transporter room. Locate Ensign Kim and beam him directly to Engineering. Preferably yesterday.”
“But the captain told us not to use the transporters, unless it’s an emergency,” Lieutenant Rollins, currently on transporter duty, protested.
“I don’t know what you consider an emergency, Rollins, but in my book, the possible explosion of a fusion reactor would count as one,” Torres retorted snidely. “Now, could you just stop whining and beam me Harry over? Time’s something of an issue here, you know.”
Rollins wisely shut up, and moments later a shimmering transporter beam released a slightly confused Harry Kim in Engineering. Torres debriefed him in short, clipped sentences, mindful of the fact that some ruthless terrorist could push the deadman’s switch at any moment.
“Can we risk to simply beaming the bomb out of there?” she asked then.
Harry shook his head. “I wouldn’t do it; not while we know nothing either of its components or of its construction. The transporter beam running interference with its emissions could trigger the explosion prematurely. There are simply too many unknown factors.”
“Just what I’ve feared,” Torres sighed. “All right, let’s do it the old-fashioned way. Hogan, how far have you gotten with your analysis?”
“Almost there,” Hogan, a young, gentle-faced human engineer with haunted eyes, was working frantically on his console… then he stopped and stared at the screen I surprise. “That’s odd…” he said.
“What’s odd?” Torres asked impatiently.
“Remember that Cardassian outpost Sveta’s cell wanted to blow up, just before we got hurled into the Delta Quadrant?” Hogan asked back.
“The one where the bomb didn’t go off because of some interference of a nearby ore processing facility?” Torres clarified.
Hogan nodded. “This bomb seems to have very similar emissions. So, if we can recreate those of a Cardassian ore processing plant…”
“… we might prevent an explosion and remove the bomb safely,” Torres finished for him. “All right; look into it. This could actually work. Harry, do we have any detailed information about non-military Cardassian technology in our databases?”
“Is there such thing as non-military Cardassian technology?” Harry asked, voice dripping with sarcasm, but was working on the problem already. “Ask Dalby to send me more info about the bomb. It might be similar to the one you were talking about, but it’s most likely not exactly the same. We can’t afford any mistakes in this.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Captain Kathryn Janeway had spent the entire morning in her ready room, leaving the bridge of Voyager in the capable hands of his Vulcan security officer, Lieutenant Tuvok. Studying the history of this alternate Earth fascinated her to no end… and frightened her at the same time.
“Whatever happens to us, we must not get involved in the internal struggle of the Earth Alliance,” he said to Chakotay, who had just returned from the MedLabs of the station.
Chakotay nodded. “I agree. The current situation is volatile enough as it is. Have you managed to get a clearer picture about the balance of power between human-inhabited worlds?”
“Interestingly enough, there seem to have been tensions between Earth and the Mars Colony in this universe, too,” Janeway said. “A perhaps meaningful parallel between our realities.”
“Perhaps not so surprising,” Chakotay interjected. “Perhaps it was the natural consequence of the early colonization period in both universes. Like England and North-America all over again… just in space. It’s understandable that new colonies, as soon as they become self-supporting, begin to resent the colonial powers. It’s only human - and we both are humans, them and us.”
“Perhaps,” Janeway allowed. “In any case, the First Mars Colony of this universe was founded shortly before 2100, but was soon destroyed by a sneak attack.”
“Destroyed by whom?” Chakotay asked.
“That’s been an unanswered question ever since, although the best guess would be some isolationalist group of Earth-bound terrorists,” Janeway replied. “The Second Mars Colony was founded fifty years later, and that’s the one still in existence.”
“Have they terraformed the planet as well?” Chakotay asked.
Janeway shook her head. “Apparently not. They don’t seem to have the proper technology for terraforming. They live under large biodomes on Mars. They tried to become independent early on; for example, Mars was untouched in the Earth-Minbari war. However, getting self-supporting must have proved more problematic than they had thought, as just after the war, they experienced some tumultuous food riots.”
“I heard Mr. Garibaldi mentioning something about that,” Chakotay nodded. “He also spoke of various resistance groups with the strong intention to separate Mars from the Earth Alliance.”
“As far as I can tell, there have been two major groups fighting for independence in the recent decades,” Janeway said. “One is the terrorist group called Free Mars, the other the Mars Resistance: An organization with a broader base and more… temperate methods.”
“It sounds as if civil war would be a very real danger within the Earth Alliance,” Chakotay commented grimly.
“Actually, it has already started,” Janeway said. “A major revolt occurred just two years ago, in October 2258 as they count time. After that, a provisional government was appointed by Earth. This government was still in charge when President Morgan Clark declared martial law for the entire Earth Alliance.”
“When did that happen?” Chakotay asked.
“Less than six months ago, on the eight of April this year.” Janeway replied.
“I assume the colonies didn’t take it well,” Chakotay said.
Janeway shook her head. “No, they didn’t. Provisional Governor Xavier Montoya refused to enforce Clark’s decree. As a retaliation, five days later Clark ordered EarthForce to bombard the Mars Colony.”
“What?” Chakotay cried out, not wanting to believe it.
Janeway nodded grimly. “I’ve seen the news feed with my very eyes. Three moths later, Earth Alliance troops landed on Mars, and the main cities, New Vegas and Slimtown, were besieged.”
“Unbelievable!” Chakotay shook his head. “And I thought we had it bad, being abandoned by our homeworlds and all that. How did the other Earth colonies react to that?”
“Proxima III and Orion VII declared their independence from the Earth Alliance upon the bombarding of the Mars Colony,” Janeway replied. “Captain Sheridan followed suit and declared Babylon 5 independent as well.”
“That was courageous of him,” Chakotay said. “A dedicated step in the right direction.”
“Was it?” Janeway asked dryly. “He’s promoted himself from a military commander to a military dictator, including creating his own uniforms and his own laws. Tell me, Chakotay - what is the difference between him and Morgan Clark? Aside from the fact that President Clark was actually elected, that is?”
“You can’t be serious!” Chakotay exclaimed.
“Oh, but I am,” Janeway replied. “I understand that you sympathize with their case - and I won’t deny that President Clark’s politics can’t be condoned - but it seems to me that on his own way Captain Sheridan is no less of a tyrant than President Clark.”
“Wasn’t it you who once said that one can’t run a starship like a democracy?” Chakotay asked mildly. “That there has to be a clear command structure and proper discipline, if we want a chance to survive?”
“I did say that,” Janeway agreed. “But I run a single starship with a small crew and a simple purpose: to get us all home, eventually. “I’m not responsible for a city in space, with a quarter million inhabitants, a great many of whom aren’t even humans. And I at least consult my officers before making any decisions that would have a profound effect on the lives of us all - which doesn’t seem to be a practice of Captain Sheridan, if what we’ve heard so far is any indication.”
“But when everything is said, it’s still your decision to make,” Chakotay pointed out,” regardless if we, others agree or not. Like when you chose to keep Seven on board.”
“It proved to be the right decision, didn’t it?” Janeway asked.
“So did Sheridan’s so far,” Chakotay retorted promptly.
Janeway shook her head. “I’m not that sure about that, Chakotay. And that’s why we must not get involved in the internal affairs of the Earth Alliance… or those of an entire alternate universe. This is not our fight.”
“But we’re already involved,” Chakotay said. “We’ve gotten involved in the moment when Ayala got trapped with Mr. Garibaldi in Grey 17. We’ve gotten even more involved when Tuvok chose to go in with a security team to help them. Or when we agreed to keep those captured Night Watch people in our brig. We’re already in knee-deep, and we can’t undo it again.”
“True,” Janeway said. “But we must make a clear distinction between the events concerning station security - and nothing else - and an open confrontation with EarthGov. Any direct action from our side could seriously endanger the balance of power and lead to a bloody civil war.”
“But what if the two are the same?” Chakotay asked. “And what about those Shadow creatures? Whatever you might think of Captain Sheridan personally, there seems to be general consensus about them being evil, malevolent and genocidal. How are we supposed to deal with them?”
“Not at all,” Janeway replied. “We’re supposed to avoid them if we can, because we don’t belong to this universe and therefore can’t take sides in this conflict.”
“And if we can’t avoid them?” Chakotay asked. “What if we can’t return to our universe? What if we’re trapped in this nightmare and can never get out? Wouldn’t that make us part of this universe? Wouldn’t it be our duty to help defend mankind against these Shadows?”
For a long while, Janeway didn’t answer, just sat there, rubbing her temples against a building headache.
“Perhaps that is what will happen eventually,” she finally said, her voice tired and raw with sorrow. “But I’m not giving up hope just yet. I still count on that alien machine on the planet below us. Perhaps if its keeper recovers his strength, we might be able to contact him. Perhaps he’ll be able to open us a way back to where we truly belong.”
“I wish with all my heart that to come true,” Chakotay said with quiet compassion. “But until that does happen - if it ever will - we’ll have to take our chances with these people here. I agree that we can’t - mustn’t, in fact - take any active role in the human civil war; but it’s our duty to take our share in defending the station against those Shadows. A quarter million lives are at stake just here - and who knows how many more elsewhere?”
Janeway couldn’t find the right answer to that. She knew that Chakotay was right in much of what he’d said; but as likeable as she’d found Captain Sheridan when they’d been invited to dinner to Delenn’s quarters, she could not condone the way he’d made himself the judge and the law on Babylon 5 - perchance even the executioner?
Before she could have thought of something to say, her comm badge beeped.
“Tuvok to Janeway.”
She touched the badge. “Go on, Mr. Tuvok.”
“Captain,” the Vulcan said with his usual impeccable calm, “Lieutenant Torres has just informed me about some unforeseen events happening on Babylon 5. I believe you and Commander Chakotay should go down to Engineering and take a look.”
The captain and her executive officer exchanged identical blank looks. Then Chakotay shrugged.
“We won’t figure out anything by standing here,” he said. “Let’s go to Engineering.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Leaving Ambassador Mollari’s quarters, Rastenn went to one of the several contact points in the Brown Sector to meet his uncle’s informant. This time, his contact was Nidell, a young female of the Star Riders clan; a warrior herself, just a few cycles older than him. She was also a delicate beauty with an exquisitely formed bonecrest, with eyes as dark as the depths of space - and with absolutely deadly hands. Trained in the ancient self-defence art of Tha’Domo, she could break the neck of a man twice her size with only moderate effort - a skill that had already saved her life a few times since having taken up residence on Babylon 5.
“I’ve learned disturbing things today,” Rastenn told her. “I need you to have someone carefully watched around the clock: a human male by the name of Morden. He approached me in an empty corridor and asked me a strange question.”
“What question?” Nidell asked.
“He asked me what I want,” Rastenn answered.
“That’s a harmless enough question,” Nidell said with a shrug.
Rastenn shook his head. “Not according to Vir Cotto, and right now, he seems to be the authority in the matter. He told me, that was the very question this Morden had trapped Ambassador Mollari with. The thing what started the recent Narn-Centauri war.”
“That sounds rather unlikely,” Nidell judged.
“Not if this Morden person is an agent of the Sher’shok Dum,” Rastenn said grimly.
Nidell gasped in shock. “Did Vir Cotto say that?”
“Not directly, no,” Rastenn answered. “But he did tell me that I should never answer that particular question; and that this Morden is very dangerous. Then he told me to talk to Lennier.”
“Delenn’s aide, the priest?” Nidell asked in surprise.
Rastenn nodded. “I think Delenn knows more than she’s told our leaders when she warned them about the return of the Ancient enemy. I think she even knows more than she’s willing to tell Starkiller. And what she knows, Lennier probably knows as well.”
“Perhaps,” Nidell allowed. “But will he tell you anything? If he’s as loyal to Delenn as I think he is, and if Delenn isn’t even willing to tell Starkiller everything, why would Lennier be willing to tell you?”
“Because I am the heir of Alyt Neroon,” Rastenn answered simply. “If he can persuade me about the return of the Sher’shok Dum, I would have the right to ask for the ships and warriors of my Clan and my Caste to fight them.”
“Would you?” Nidell asked. “Would you step forth and demand that our Caste forget its grievances and fight in a war on the side of Starkiller? And even if you do - would Alyt Neroon listen? Would the heads of the other Warrior Clans listen?”
“I hope so,” Rastenn said grimly. “Because if Vir is right, if Delenn and Lennier are right, then our only chance to survive would be to unite our strength and follow the one who has the vision to lead us through fire… as our ancestors have followed Valen a thousand years ago.”
“That is true,” Nidell admitted. “But what if they are wrong?”
“I don’t know,” Rastenn sighed. “I would call it madness myself, had I not met this human… this Morden myself. There was an air about him that made me shiver with fear. And I’ve seen the same fear mirrored in Vir’s eyes. But I need to learn more before I make my move.”
“Learning more is always good,” Nidell agreed. “We shall observe the human as you have ordered. What else do you want us to do?”
Rastenn thought for a moment.
“Send my uncle a detailed report,” he said. “Ask him for a digital copy of Valen’s Book, so that we may look up what there is to know about the Sher’shok Dum… just in case Delenn and her allies are right. And tell him he might want to return to Babylon 5, soon. I am too young and too inexperienced to deal with a case of this magnitude.”
Nidell bowed in what was almost Religious fashion.
“It shall be done as ordered,” she said. Whether she agreed with his conclusions or not was irrelevant. He was the heir to the leader of the Star Riders; his word was law, and she would obey, unless Alyt Neroon himself would tell her otherwise. As the priests said, understanding was not required - just obedience.
She left as unobtrusively as she’d come. After a moment, Rastenn followed suit to hunt down Lennier. There were still many questions he wanted to ask.
In the empty room, a bald-headed man with a long, black cloak and a staff in his hand emerged from the shadows and stared after them for quite a while.
“And so it begins,” he intoned softly.
Terms and expressions in Minbari:
(…for the slightly more geeky among us. Most of them are from jumpnow’s Minbari dictionary, one or two from BainAduial’s story, “A Minbari Courtship”.)
Alyt = roughly “Captain”, but specific to a member of the Warrior Caste who commands a Sharlin-class battle cruiser.
Anla’shok = “The one who watches the enemy”, a quasi-military organization that primarily operates behind the scenes as spies, messengers, and rescue personnel. Charged by Valen with watching for the return of the Shadows. Although a common misconception exists that the Anla’shok are associated with the Religious Caste, they are in fact completely separate from all three Castes, both by tradition and by law.
Id’Minbari - Minbari Soul. Used to indicate humans who are believed to carry reborn Minbari souls.
Sher’shok Dum - “Ancient Enemy”, the Minbari term for the Shadows.
Tha’Domo - a fighting order of the Religious Caste, known to accompany the Warrior Caste into battle in the ancient past. Now primarily a monastic order. The fact that Nidell is trained in this particular fighting style indicates Religious background. As Minbari are generally allowed to follow the calling of their heart when they choose the Caste they want to belong to, it is, at least theoretically, possible for the child of a Religious couple to become a warrior… or vice versa.
Part 03