Kansas 2 - The Yellow Brick Road, Part 07
Title: Kansas 2 - The Yellow Brick Road
Author: Soledad
Author’s notes: For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the secondary index page.
Just a reminder: Technician Guerra, who only appeared in the pilot, was played by Ed Wasser - the same actor who later played Mr. Morden.
PART 07
Entering MedLab One, Lillian checked Marcus’ condition, which she found satisfying, all things considered, and then she sat down with Dr. Hernandez to get a picture about what had happened during the night. She was shocked to hear about what had been done to poor Vir… and about his step visit to Voyager.
“He is still here,” Maya Hernandez said. “We’re treating his bruises; and besides, he has a better chance to rest here than he would in the diplomatic section.”
“I’ll take a look at him,” Lillian promised. “Even though he had help from Voyager’s telepath, the long-time consequences of a forced deep scan must be taken seriously. Anything else?”
Maya Hernandez shook her head. “Nothing. It was an unusually quiet night. I wonder why I can’t get rid of the feeling that this is just the calm before the storm… and a big one at that.”
“Perhaps because you know this place all too well,” Lillian replied wryly. “All right, then. Go and rest. We all should make the best of what little time of repose we are given.”
The older doctor gave her a mischievous look. “If the sparkling of your eyes is any indication, you’ve done just that last night,” she teased.
Lillian smiled. “I would be a poor doctor if I didn’t listen to my own advice,” she said. “I’ll work through till sixteen hundred, or a little longer. Can you take over a little before nineteen hundred, just tonight? I’ll make up to you, honestly!”
Maya patted her on the shoulder fondly. “Muchacha, I’m an aging woman with no social life. I’ll be happy to save you from the same fate. What are your plans for tonight?”
“Dinner at seven, and then a tour on Voyager,” Lillian answered. “Chakotay has night shift, so this isn’t a real date, but,” she shrugged, “I’ll take what I get.”
“Dinner? Where?” Maya asked.
“I don’t know,” Lillian admitted. “He said he’d surprise me. It’s… quite romantic, actually.”
“It is,” Maya agreed, “and you are in love.”
“Perhaps,” Lillian said with a shrug and a secretive smile. “Well, I have to make my round now. Have a nice day.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ivanova stormed into C&C with a facial expression that made all duty personnel duck immediately. Apparently, this was going to be one of those days again, and all Dome technicians had learned the hard way that on those days one was better off becoming invisible. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. Like many commanding officers, Ivanova had the ability to notice just about everything - and a temper that enabled her to make her displeasure very audible.
Nobody envied poor Guerra, who had drawn the shortest straw this morning and so had to present the commander the reports from the previous night. Guerra was the ranking Dome tech here, had come aboard on the very day the station had become functional, and had a spotless duty record. For some reason, neither Captain Sheridan nor Ivanova seemed to tolerate the poor man, though, and no one knew why.
In one of his particularly suicidal moments, Lieutenant Corwin had actually had the balls to ask about the reason, but Ivanova had just told him - in a less than friendly manner - that Guerra had a creepy likeness to someone both she and the captain had… problems with, and that Corwin should mind his own business. Which Corwin had done, ever since then. He might be a little suicidal, but he was not completely mad.
After that incident, Ivanova had tried to be nicer to Guerra, perhaps to show that they were determined to be fair to him, which freaked out the poor man even more. Fortunately, there was always so much work and stress that Ivanova soon forgot to pretend she didn’t hate him, and things returned to normal - or what counted as normal on Babylon 5 anyway.
She accepted the reports without as much as a glance at Guerra (who was all too happy to scurry back to his work unacknowledged) and checked last night’s events. Night shift was usually quiet, so she did not accept anything overly interesting. She furled her brow at once, however, seeing the two departures recorded. She knew that the new Kosh was still aboard - her latent telepathic abilities, weak as they were, seemed to home on on the Vorlon, so she always could tell whether he was on the station or not.
She also knew that Vorlon ships could travel on their own if necessary. The old Kosh had sent out his own ship on missions alone sometimes, so this was nothing unusual per se. The question was rather the goal of its mission. She cross-checked the ship’s official destination with the star map of the sector and the recorded Shadow activities, and her frown deepened.
Yes, her memory hadn’t betrayed her. The Corianna system was in Shadow territory. What the hell was a lonely Vorlon ship, and one without its master, at that, doing there?
Unless it wasn’t lonely, after all. Nobody knew where the Vorlon fleet had gone after the battle in which they had beaten the Shadows, a few weeks earlier.
Whatever the reason might be, Ivanova had the uncomfortable feeling that they would not like the outcome.
Setting the Vorlon problem aside for the time being, she checked last night’s other departure - and her expression turned very grim. Lord Refa, heading for Narn, mere hours after G’Kar’s secret departure? It was too much of a coincidence to believe it.
Which meant that G’Kar’s chances to survive the trip home had dropped dramatically; and that thought made Ivanova decidedly unhappy. Sure, the Narn could be - and often was - irritating as hell, but he was a reliable ally… and sometimes a surprisingly wise man. Should anything happen to him, Babylon 5 would feel his loss keenly.
She made a mental note to inform Delenn as soon as possible. Perhaps the Rangers could be warned. Perhaps they could do something to help G’Kar escape Centauri pursuit. But even if they could not, Delenn needed to know about every event with possible political ramifications. The potential capturing and execution of the last free member of the Ka’ri definitely counted as such an event.
“Commander,” the technician at the communications console looked up to her, “Captain Janeway from Voyager is hailing us.”
“Put her through,” she said in surprise.
“I can’t,” the technician replied. “The call comes through a secured channel.”
“I’ll take it in the captain’s office, then.”
She hurried over to Sheridan’s now abandoned office and instructed the computer to establish the comm link, giving her authorization code for voice identification.
“Connection established,” the artificial voice told her a moment later, and the image of Captain Janeway appeared on the screen.
“Commander,” she said, nodding her greetings. “I hoped to speak with Captain Sheridan. Is he available?”
“He’s just turned in less than an hour ago, after working through the night,” Ivanova replied. “Can I help you? I’m authorized to handle things at my own discretion in his absence.”
“I’m not questioning your competence,” Janeway said. “I just thought he’d want to be present at the interrogation of our… houseguests. Ms Alexander says it must be done now, before her… employer orders her back.”
Ivanova nodded in understanding. She had only met the new Kosh once, but that was enough to decide not to cross him unless it could not be avoided. She could only imagine how much worse it was for Lyta, who had to work with the Vorlon all the time.
“Understood,” she said. “I still wouldn’t like to wake the Captain, though. This is the first good sleep he’s gotten in two days… or longer.”
“Will you come over then?” Janeway asked.
Ivanova shook her head. “I’m afraid I can’t either. My aide has just gone off-duty, after a ten-hour-shift, and I’ve got nobody else whom I’d trust with the safety of C&C. But I can send you Garibaldi. He knows as much about the situation as we do - if not more.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Janeway left Lieutenant Rollins in charge of the bridge - not that there would be much to do while the ship was docked - and went down to the brig to witness the interrogation of the pirates. Lieutenant Ayala was on duty, standing behind the console operating the holding cells: big, dark and unshakable like a solid rock in the breakers. Somehow, the man managed to exclude the air of safety by his very presence.
Two other ex-Maquis, the Bajoran Trumari and Nozawa, a human of Japanese origins who knew fourteen ways to kill someone with his bare hands, or so it was rumoured, were standing in front of the holding cells, armed and ready. Security took this matter very seriously, and dispatching ex-Maquis to watch the prisoners, Tuvok had made sure that the guards would not hesitate to use force when necessary.
It was a relief to see that Chakotay had returned, too, in Garibaldi’s company. He was still wearing his civilian clothes, his elegant grey jacket a strange contrast to Garibaldi’s black uniform, his face watchful and wary. He knew better than anyone else that dealing with terrorists, no matter in what manner, was a dangerous thing. He had been one himself - at least how Starfleet saw things.
A few minutes later Lyta Alexander came in, escorted by Tom Paris who was about to begin his usual duty shift in Sickbay. Despite Lyta’s protests, the Doctor had insisted on sending him with the recovering patient, just in case. Paris did not really mind. He was curious how Lyta would handle the situation. He was sure it would be very different from Tuvok’s methods.
Tuvok himself was demonstratively absent, but that did not surprise anyone who knew how Vulcans thought about forced mind-scans. Not that Lyta planned deep-scanning these guys; it usually wasn’t necessary. Members of organizations that demanded blind obedience could usually be manipulated to accept orders from anyone who seemed to have any authority. Lyta counted on that.
Nonetheless, the Vulcan opposed any forced telepathic contact on principle and refused to be part of this particular interrogation… which was just fine with Chakotay, as long as they got the information they needed.
“Which one should we take first?” he asked Garibaldi, whose men the prisoners had originally been, after all. He ought to know them best.
“Let’s start with Pirello,” Babylon 5’s security chief suggested. “She’s only recently joined Night Watch, so she might be less fanatic than the rest and won’t give Lyta such a hard time.”
“If she was willing to stay behind and blow up the station, she must have embraced Night Watch ideology quite enthusiastically,” Chakotay commented; then he looked at Ayala. “Greg, go in with Ms Alexander, and don’t take your eyes off the prisoner. If she tries anything stupid, shoot her. We can’t take any risks here.”
Ayala nodded, setting his phaser at heavy stun. Janeway did not interfere. This special interrogation was better left in Maquis hands. They had more experience in the area.
Chakotay took over Ayala’s place behind the console and signalled Trumari and Nozawa to take up position in which they could give sufficient cover. Then he lowered the forcefield before Frances Pirello’s cell, so that Lyta and Ayala could enter.
The big, burly ex-Maquis went in first, taking up position behind the prisoner, phaser at the ready. His unmoving face left no doubts that he would shoot her on the spot if necessary. He had been a guerrilla fighter, used to react quickly and mercilessly if he had to.
Lyta followed Ayala in, facing the prisoner who glared at her with unveiled hatred. Frances Pirello was a stocky woman, at least a head shorter than the telepath, with a mulish expression on her round face, and Janeway wondered briefly if Garibaldi’s choice had been such a good one after all. The woman did not look like someone who would spill her secrets easily.
Yet Garibaldi seemed fairly unconcerned. Either he knew the prisoner very well - or Lyta’s abilities. Whatever the reason might be, he appeared quite sure about the outcome.
Unlike Tuvok in the extremely rare cases when he had to interrogate someone telepathically, Lyta apparently needed no time to focus. She captured and held the prisoner’s look easily, and told her in a cold voice that sounded barely human.
“Listen to me. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. You can give me what I want and you’ll be left alone in this cosy little cell again. Or you can try playing a hero and resist. In which case I’ll take your mind apart, piece by piece, until I find what I need. You wouldn’t like that. I used to work for the Psi Cops once, and now I’m a rogue. I don’t care what will remain of your mind once I’m done with you. I need information, and I need it now; one way or another. Have I made myself clear?”
There was so much menace in her voice that Janeway felt cold shivers running down her spine. It did not surprise her at all to see the prisoner’s eyes widening and filling with sheer terror.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
From the small command deck of his cloaked ship, Galen was watching Seven of Nine’s progress - or rather the lack of it - with detached amusement. She was thorough, he had to give her that, but she had no hope to find the right answers. She simply did not have the clues to point her in the right direction.
Galen was now considering giving her those missing clues. She needed to find some information at least, to get used to the idea of him and his brethren. To realize that he had been serious. Otherwise, she would never cooperate.
Hacking into Voyager’s computer had taken him half the night, as Federation technology proved to be incompatible with his own, but he did not mind. It had been the first purely intellectual challenge for years, and he enjoyed every moment of it. Even now that he was in, he had to move around very carefully. The system was very sophisticated, and could even adapt to new problems to a certain extent, due to the bioneural circuitry. It did not make the ship exactly alive, or even self-aware as an artificial intelligence would be, but it made circumventing the system’s safeguards a true adventure.
Moving around those safeguards carefully, Galen used a BabCom unit to slip in a clue that would eventually direct Seven’s search to Captain Sheridan’s official log entry from January 31, 2259. From the day when Elric and his first followers had arrived to Babylon 5.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
After having checked on Vir in MedLab, Rastenn left a message for Lennier, who had been Vir’s friend a lot longer, after all, hoping that Delenn’s aide might want to visit the Centauri and offer him some emotional support. Priests were better at that sort of things than warriors, and besides, Rastenn had other things to do at the moment.
He took the core shuttle to Brown Sector to meet Nidell again. This was one of their less-frequented meeting places, one neither of them really liked, due to the questionable neighbourhood. There were several bars involved in various kinds of shady business, many of them ending up in fights, which could attract station security. But they had used the other drop points too often lately.
Nidell was already waiting for him, also disguised as a member of the Worker Caste. Considering the suspicions towards Minbari warriors, this was the safest camouflage for them to wear. She seemed deeply concerned, and that worried Rastenn, as Nidell was not one who would be frightened easily.
“Alyt Neroon will be here in two days,” she said, handing Rastenn a data crystal. “A messenger has come from the homeworld and intercepted the Ingata. Since he was there already, the Alyt asked him to bring you this personal message. He has a fast courier flyer, so he could be here a lot earlier than the Ingata.”
“From the homeworld?” Rastenn repeated in surprise. “Has he told you anything about what is happening back home?”
“Not much, but it does not sound good,” Nidell answered. “Tensions between the Castes - especially the Warrior and the Religious Caste - seem to be growing. There are no open hostilities yet, but it could happen any time. Since Delenn has broken the Grey Council, we do not have a ruling body that could unite our people. It is only a matter of time till Valen’s Peace will also be broken… unless something happens that can give those tensions a safer outlet.”
“Like the fight again a superior enemy that could unite our people again,” Rastenn said, thinking out loudly.
“Let us hope so,” Nidell replied, her dark eyes troubled. “According to the messenger, Shai Alyt Shakiri has ordered a great number of the Wind Swords’ warships back to Minbar, just days ago.”
“What for?” Rastenn did not want to give in to his suspicions, but it was hard not to do so.
Nidell shrugged. “To protect our world against an invasion, he says. But who knows what his true agenda is?”
“Impossible!” Rastenn protested. “The Shai Alyt would never turn against his own people. If he has called those warships back, he must know something we do not know yet.”
“I hope you are right,” Nidell said quietly, “for otherwise, we might be facing the first kinslaying in a thousand years... or longer.”
“Has my uncle been informed about this?” Rastenn asked.
Nidell nodded. “Of course. The messenger had originally been sent to him. I assume the Alyt’s message will contain detailed instructions for us, should he have to leave for home unexpectedly.”
She did not name the possible reason that would force Neroon to do that. She did not need to. They both knew… and both dreaded that possibility.
“Then I shall view it immediately,” Rastenn said. “Have you learned anything about the human called Morden?”
Nidell shook her head. “Nothing worth mentioning. He was here, talked to people, offering the services of his… his associates, as he called them - and then gave our spies the slip. I do not know how he does it, but he seems to be able to vanish whenever he wishes. He… he plays with us!” she added angrily.
“Let him play,” Rastenn said with a shrug. “Let him believe that he has fooled us. Make a list about the people he contacts and another one about those who keep up contact with him. We might need those names later.”
Nidell bowed in perfect Working Caste fashion, just in case they were being watched. “Consider it done. Anything else?”
“Not at the moment; I need to watch my uncle’s message first,” Rastenn looked down from the gallery where they were standing to the bar below. “We need a better drop point in this sector. Standing here is like target practice; only that here we are the targets,”
“I shall look into it,” Nidell promised, and then merged with the shadows. She was getting really good at the vanishing act.
Rastenn returned to his official quarters - as the heir of a Clan leader, he had been assigned small, yet comfortable ones in Green Sector, now that he was officially assigned to Babylon 5 - and put the data crystal into a reader.
“Coded message,” the computer told him. “Please provide voice print identification sample.”
Rastenn said his name and rattled down his identification code. The computer declared valid identification, and the stern, concerned face of his uncle appeared on the screen.
“Greetings, Rastenn,” Neroon said. “I assume you have been given the worrisome news about home already. We shall discuss those when I arrive. However, there is something I wish you to consider while I am still on my way: the matter of your unbound state. The Clan matriarch has voiced her concerns about that matter, and I happen to agree with her. It is time for you to do your duty towards your Clan and your family.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Sheridan had slept about four, probably four and a half hours only when his door buzzer woke him. Which was a good thing, actually, as this sleeping period had been too short for his body to shut down completely, and so he was reasonably awake by the time he opened the door for Garibaldi… a seriously worried Garibaldi.
“Michael, what is it?” he asked. Garibaldi being worried was not such a rare thing, on any average day, but this time, the security chief looked as if he’d been wrapped in a dark cloud of concern.
“We have a problem, Captain,” Garibaldi told him. “Lyta wanted to scan this Night Watch scum before the Vorlon would call her back; so we went to Voyager and did it.”
“And why was I not informed about this?” Sheridan asked, his brows knitting together in a displeased frown.
“You have just gotten the first snatch of sleep in two days,” Garibaldi replied. “Ivanova promised to break my arm, should I wake you; and she’s a woman who keeps her promises.”
“I see,” Sheridan suppressed a grin. He might be the military governor of Babylon 5, but the person everyone feared like the coming of Judgement Day was Ivanova. Rumour said it had already been true when Jeffrey Sinclair had been in command of the station. “So, what have you found?”
“Two more Night Watch bases,” Garibaldi told him sourly. “One in Brown Sector and one in Red. It seems some of the bastards have been hiding in plain sight.”
“Well,” Sheridan sighed, “it would have been too easy, were Grey 17 their only hideout, wouldn’t it? But at least it was their largest base… or was it not?”
“It seems so, yeah,” Garibaldi agreed. “The place where they were hiding their weapons and most of their technical gizmos, like the black light camouflage suits… although we’re still investigating how they were able to build a bomb there. Their rat hole in Brown Sector seems to be a similar place, just a lot smaller. We can take it out with minimal risk. The one in Red Sector, however…”
“That makes things complicated,” Sheridan agreed. “Taking them out in such a crowded section could lead to lots of collateral damage.”
“Yep,” Garibaldi nodded. “Especially considering the fact that they are operating from the middle of the business area. If they spot a security unit approaching them, there would be plenty of potential hostages to choose from. It could be ugly; and we need to take out both bases simultaneously, or they will slip through our fingers again.”
“Can we do that?” Sheridan asked in concern. “Do we have enough men we can trust? Do we have the time to have every single one of them scanned, to see whether they are trustworthy or not?”
“We don’t,” Garibaldi admitted. “But we must make our move, Captain, and we must make it now. They were able to build that bomb unnoticed; a bomb that could have killed us all. Who knows what else do they have up their sleeves?”
“Was Lyta unable to find out anything about their further plans?”
“The ones she scanned were small fish; cannon fodder that wasn’t told much. Well, with the exception of Jack, that is, but he’s so insane it’s hard to figure out what’s reality and what’s a figment of his mind.”
“Jack? That would be Officer Bruton, the guy who used to be your second in command, and who tried to kill you?” Sheridan clarified. “He didn’t make the impression of a crazy man to me.”
“Back then, he probably wasn’t,” Garibaldi agreed. “Lyta says someone has tampered with his mind since then, though. Put up an Asimov block - whatever that might be - around a big part of his memories, so he wouldn’t be able to tell us things, even if he wanted. She can’t remove it, she says. If she tried, it would probably kill him, and still do us no good.”
“Do you think she told the truth?”
“Yeah. Whatever I might think about telepaths, whatever the Vorlons might have done to her, Lyta is still a decent person.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Sheridan said, “but what are we gonna do now? We can’t let these people stay on the station and sabotage us left and right. We must smoke out their nests; and we must capture at least their leaders, Armstrong and that Malcolm Biggs character. Without them to coordinate the rest, they would be a lot less dangerous.”
“I know,” Garibaldi sighed. “And honestly, I can only see one way to deal with them: we need help from Voyager.”
Sheridan leaned back in his seat and shook his head slowly, regretfully.
“I don’t think that would be possible,” he said. “Captain Janeway’s made it adamantly clear that she will not get involved in the inner struggles between us and EarthGov; and I don’t think that Commander Chakotay would go against her orders in this particular matter. There’s only so far he can go without endangering his position, and he’s gone far enough already.”
“I know,” Garibaldi said. “I don’t want to go behind Captain Janeway’s back in this matter, though. I’m planning to ask her face to face.”
“And you expect a positive answer?” Sheridan asked doubtfully.
Garibaldi shrugged. “Well, we won’t know until we tried, would we?” he said. “Even if she says no, we won’t be any worse than we are now.”
“True enough,” Sheridan admitted. “But I want a backup plan, Michael. In the likely case that she does say no. This matter must be dealt with, one way or another, before we have to face the bigger evil: the Shadows.”
“I know,” Garibaldi rose. “Zack and Lou are working on it already. There still are a few people we can trust unconditionally: like Malcolm Cupertino, who resigned rather than join Night Watch. There are a few more of his sort, but not enough. With the rest, we just can’t be one hundred per cent sure… and that’s not enough. That’s why we need help.”
“Can’t you take the Narns?” Sheridan suggested.
“I could, but then the culprits would know at once that we’re after them,” Garibaldi pointed out.
Sheridan sighed. “Very well; let’s give it a try. I wouldn’t put up my hopes too high, though.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Gregor Ayala gave Kes, who entered the brig area with a medical scanner in hand, a fond smile. As a rule, Ayala did not smile often, having a naturally grim disposition and still mourning the loss of his wife and his two sons somewhere in another reality, but few people could se Kes and not smile. There was something eminently likeable in this small-boned, big-hearted girl… even though he knew, rationally, that in the eyes of her own people Kes no longer counted as a child. But she did look like he Flower Fairy, sans the butterfly wings, and especially the human crewmembers tended to handle her as if she had escaped a children’s fairy tale.
Everybody loved Kes, and thus both Ayala and Trumari, who also stayed in the brig area after the prisoners had been interrogated, gave her identical friendly grins. She answered their greetings with that patient smile of hers that made her look so much older at once.
“The Doctor sent me to perform a quick scan on the prisoners,” she explained. “He wants to make sure they have not suffered any lasting damage from the telepathic interrogation.”
“And wouldn’t that be a crying shame,” Trumari commented cynically; he had not forgotten having found Lyta Alexander in a puddle of her own blood and Dalby with a PPG aimed at his head by that madman. “It couldn’t happen to any nicer guys…”
Kes gave the Bajoran a reproving look. “The Doctor sees it differently,” she said, “and so do I.”
“Yeah, because you don’t know what they’ve done; and what they’d be capable of if they weren’t locked up,” Trumari said.
“You think so?” Kes asked softly. “You think I do not know what they are thinking at this very moment? What they are feeling? Their hopes, their fears, their anger and hatred?”
She stepped closer to the cell holding Garibaldi’s ex-aide, a handsome, dark-haired young man with madly glittering black eyes. The man glared at her with unveiled hatred, his face twisted into an ugly scowl.
“This one,” she continued softly, “Is not simply insane. I sense a darkness in him I have never sensed before. It is similar to the minds of those aliens from fluidic space, the ones Seven calls Species 8472… and yet different. Older, more powerful… a lot more malevolent.”
“You mean this guy isn’t even human or what?” Trumari asked, getting visibly nervous. No one aboard Voyager had pleasant memories about Species 8472.
Kes shook her head. “No,” she said, “he is human. The darkness that has touched him is not his own… but it has inhabited him for a while, and it will call out for others of the same mind. The sooner he leaves Voyager, the better for us.” She turned around abruptly. “I will perform the scans later. Tuvok must learn about this.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Mr. Garibaldi, you must be kidding!” Captain Janeway stared at Babylon 5’s security chief in shock.
They were sitting in her ‘ready room’: a small room opening directly from Voyager’s bridge that was part office, part coffee lounge. Also present were Chakotay, who had finally managed to change into his uniform and had come to have their usual working lunch with his captain, and Tuvok, called out from the middle of his daily meditation, if the black robe he was wearing could be any indication.
Garibaldi had expected Janeway’s knee-jerk rejection, based on recent experience. But he was not willing to give up just like that. Not without a fight anyway.
“On the contrary, Captain,” he said as calmly as he could manage under the given circumstances. “I’m trying to avoid major bloodshed in a frequented business area.”
“And for that, you need our security officers?” Janeway asked. “I thought you had trained men for that sort of job.”
“We do,” Garibaldi said. “Well, we did. But two third of them have left when we booted out Night Watch, and the sad truth is, we don’t know whom we could trust from the rest.”
“That’s certainly unfortunate,” Janeway replied, “but still doesn’t entitle us to get involved in your internal affairs.”
“Actually, Captain,” Tuvok intervened smoothly, “regulations allow to provide help for the local law enforcement, if there is an official request from the ruling body of the given colony.”
“Yes; if the request comes from a legally elected government, which isn’t exactly the case here, is it?” Janeway riposted. “And even in that case it’s left to the captain’s discretion. I don’t see any valid reason why we should interfere in this matter.”
Garibaldi took a deep breath before answering. Losing his temper wouldn’t help here, he knew that. What he needed were good, solid arguments.
“Look, Captain,” he said, as calmly as he could manage. “If I attacked the terrorist cell in Red Sector, they’d spot my men from a mile, and lots of innocent bystanders would be killed. I’d like to avoid that, if possible.”
“Why don’t you evacuate the area?” Janeway asked.
“Because they’d realize what was going on,” Garibaldi replied, exasperated, “and submerge in the crowd at once. Surprise is our only advantage here.”
“What makes you believe that our people would be better suited for the job?” Chakotay asked. “They don’t know the area half as well as your men do.”
“Yeah, but they are new here,” Garibaldi said. “Armstrong and the others won’t recognize who they are, assuming they’d wear civilian clothes.”
“That wouldn’t save anyone once the shooting begins,” Chakotay pointed out, playing devil’s advocate.
“I know, I know,” Garibaldi rubbed his brow in frustration. “But you have those energy weapons that can be set to stun, right? You could knock out Armstrong’s men before they’d start shooting people randomly… if we managed to sneak up close enough to them.”
That argument finally made the Voyager officers think. After a moment, all eyes turned to Tuvok, hoping that his vast experience in security matters would help find the right answer to Garibaldi’s request.
“Mr. Garibaldi’s arguments do have their merit,” the Vulcan said after some consideration, “but so do Captain Janeway’s concerns. We know too little about the nature of this conflict to declare without doubt whether we are allowed to officially aid Babylon 5 security in this matter.”
Garibaldi’s face fell. He was hard-pressed to hold back a rather rude remark about Starfleet regulations.
“However,” Tuvok continued, as if he had not seen the anger and disappointment on the human’s face, “I believe there is a way to make a compromise. Clearly, we cannot intervene officially. This is an internal matter, and Starfleet security has no jurisdiction here. But if a few people would volunteer, unofficially, to help prevent a bloodshed and save innocent lives, I believe regulations could be… bent a little to allow it. Especially if the persons in question have only temporary Starfleet status.”
“In other worlds: you’re willing to look the other way, as long as the ex-Maquis do the dirty work,” Chakotay commented dryly. “How very… Vulcan of you.”
He was rewarded with a supremely arched Vulcan eyebrow.
“Your people have a matching saying for this situation, Commander,” Tuvok said with equal dryness. “It takes a thief to know a thief, I think. Or, in this particular case, should we perhaps say terrorist?”
For a moment, it seemed as if Voyager’s executive officer would hit their chief of security. Seeing Chakotay’s expression, Garibaldi caught a glimpse of the ruthless freedom fighter lurking under that usually calm surface.
“If I remember correctly, you used top be part of those actions you seem to condemn now so summarily,” he said coldly. “Granted, it was part of your camouflage as a spy on my ship. But that doesn’t change the fact that you helped us blow up Cardassian ships and military depots, and destroy labour camps. So don’t think you were any better than us, just because you had been planted on my ship with the sole purpose to lure us into a trap.”
He shook himself like a dog after having fallen into a pit full of snow; then he turned to Garibaldi, now visibly calm again.
“I’ll see to it that you get all the volunteers you need,” he said. “And I promise you that they will do a good job taking out our ‘fellow terrorists’. We’re used to that sort of guerrilla attacks. Just tell me when and where.”
Garibaldi handed him an electronic notepad. “To be honest, I was counting on a positive answer from you,” he said. “Here are all the details you’ll need to know.”
“Fifteen hundred?” Chakotay checked out the data. “That will barely leave us an hour to get prepared.”
“It’s been my experience that this is the quietest hour in that particular section,” Garibaldi explained. “We’re trying to keep the numbers of potential victims as low as possible.”
“Understood,” Chakotay considered the possibilities for a moment. “It would be the best if you gave this Ayala, though. He knows best who’d likely volunteer and where they would be the most useful. Tell him to assign me to any team he finds most suitable.”
“Commander, there is no need for you to participate in this action,” Tuvok said, disapproval clear in his even voice.
“Yes, there is,” Chakotay retorted. “I won’t send my men anywhere I wouldn’t be willing to go myself.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Less than an hour after having investigated the Night Watch people, Lyta Alexander checked herself out of Sickbay… much to the chagrin of the holodoc, who wanted to keep her another day, at the very least. But she knew she had tested the patience of the Vorlon to its limits already and did not want to test it any more; not for a while, at least. With Kosh, she had never had to ask herself whether her actions would be approved or condemned; with Ulkesh, she never knew what to expect.
Just before her getting injured, the new ambassador had ordered her to remove ‘all distractions from the way of her work’, as he had put it. Those ‘distractions contained all her personal belongings, save a few changes of clothes, and every piece of furniture that had been in her quarters. She had only been allowed to keep a mattress, as lenience towards the human body’s need to sleep. She could not even imagine what further sacrifices would be demanded from her… but she had the feeling that giving away everything she had ever possessed had not been the last of it.
She had been very close to Kosh; closer than to anyone else in her life. She had hoped that the new Vorlon ambassador would be similar in nature, but during their very first encounter she had realized that it was not so. During her time on the Vorlon homeworld, she had been indoctrinated to obey any Vorlon unquestioningly, and despite the dark secrets that she had been shown, as long as Kosh was alive, she had done so willingly.
Kosh, in his ancient wisdom, had been a great inspiration for her, and carrying him inside her an intimacy beyond human imagination. Carrying Ulkesh, on the other hand, had been a very unpleasant experience. This new Vorlon did not treat her like a person; she was merely a tool for him, and - as he had made her feel on more than one occasion - a rather unsuitable one.
Her current situation was not what she had expected when agreed to work for the Vorlons. Kosh, at least, had genuinely cared for the younger races… for humans… for Sheridan in particular. Working for Kosh had meant helping her own people, even though she often did not understand the ways that would lead to that goal. She could not feel any of that interest for mankind’s welfare from Ulkesh… or from any other Vorlon, for that matter.
She wondered whether there would be a way for her out of this trap; in the heart of her hearts she knew that there would most likely be none. The new shielding technique Tuvok had taught her worked well against any other telepath, but an enraged Vorlon could shatter her shields to pieces in a second. As long as there was one Vorlon around, she would always be vulnerable.
Oh, Kosh, she thought desperately, what have you done to me? How am I supposed to go on without you, if your own people have grown deaf towards our pleas?
She allowed herself to wallow in self-pity for a few precious moments. Then she took a deep breath and pulled herself together again. Feeling sorry for herself led to nothing. She needed help if she wanted this new Vorlon to be dealt with; help that went well beyond the powers of everyone on the station.
Beyond the powers of everyone limited by mere flesh and blood.
She thanked the Doctor and Lieutenant Paris for their care and left Voyager, aiming straight for the garden, before Ulkesh could have caught any stray thought from her and moved in to intercept. She rode the core shuttle to the Zen garden, as this was the place with the least possible distractions. She sat down on the bench, focused all her Vorlon-enhanced mental powers, and sent out a desperate call for help to the only person she could hope to be able to aid them… assuming he was still within reach.
She kept sending as long as her strength lasted before collapsing on the bench, empty like a burned-out oil lamp.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The part of the entity that still identified himself as Kosh, weakened and greatly limited in his strength though he might be, was awakened in his hiding place by that powerful mental distress call. It had not been addressed to him, but it shook him up from his slumber nonetheless.
Regaining semi-consciousness, while nested in a vessel that could not respond, could not even recognize his presence, was a long and arduous process. He understood that the greatest part of what had once made him to the person he had been - that had made him Kosh - was irrevocably gone, had fallen victim to the Shadow attack. His ship, another part of him, was also gone… and the thoughts of his brethren, as little as he could perceive from them, seemed to have taken a dark turn.
At the moment of his ‘death’ he had hidden part of himself in the only somewhat compatible vessel within reach. It had been a good hiding place, as the vessel had not even been aware of his presence and thus hidden him well; but now he needed to move on, should he still want to make a difference.
He could not use his previous vessel, the one he had grown so familiar with in such a short time, any longer. She was now being used - abused would have been the more proper term - by his dark brother. He needed someone else.
Stretching his consciousness all over the station - and carefully avoiding any contact with the Dark Ones still present - he searched for the right choice. It did not take him long to find some interesting possibilities. They were not from his own reality, true. But they had potential; and it would be only a temporary merging anyway. There was not enough left of him to remain longer than absolutely necessary.
For now, he was content to hide in his oblivious vessel; until he could make contact with those strangers. He would not switch for a while yet. Staying where he was, he could get the most complete picture about how the war was going, study his possible chances, and watch the moves of his brethren. For a while, he would remain with the one named Sheridan. It was a good choice, as long as he still had to hide; and the human would need his presence, soon.
But once that part of his mission was done, he would move on, to a more powerful and receptive vessel, through whom he would be able to make his move. To make things right - hopefully. All he had to do till then was to wait and to watch; both things he had millennia-long experience with.
Part 08
Author: Soledad
Author’s notes: For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the secondary index page.
Just a reminder: Technician Guerra, who only appeared in the pilot, was played by Ed Wasser - the same actor who later played Mr. Morden.
PART 07
Entering MedLab One, Lillian checked Marcus’ condition, which she found satisfying, all things considered, and then she sat down with Dr. Hernandez to get a picture about what had happened during the night. She was shocked to hear about what had been done to poor Vir… and about his step visit to Voyager.
“He is still here,” Maya Hernandez said. “We’re treating his bruises; and besides, he has a better chance to rest here than he would in the diplomatic section.”
“I’ll take a look at him,” Lillian promised. “Even though he had help from Voyager’s telepath, the long-time consequences of a forced deep scan must be taken seriously. Anything else?”
Maya Hernandez shook her head. “Nothing. It was an unusually quiet night. I wonder why I can’t get rid of the feeling that this is just the calm before the storm… and a big one at that.”
“Perhaps because you know this place all too well,” Lillian replied wryly. “All right, then. Go and rest. We all should make the best of what little time of repose we are given.”
The older doctor gave her a mischievous look. “If the sparkling of your eyes is any indication, you’ve done just that last night,” she teased.
Lillian smiled. “I would be a poor doctor if I didn’t listen to my own advice,” she said. “I’ll work through till sixteen hundred, or a little longer. Can you take over a little before nineteen hundred, just tonight? I’ll make up to you, honestly!”
Maya patted her on the shoulder fondly. “Muchacha, I’m an aging woman with no social life. I’ll be happy to save you from the same fate. What are your plans for tonight?”
“Dinner at seven, and then a tour on Voyager,” Lillian answered. “Chakotay has night shift, so this isn’t a real date, but,” she shrugged, “I’ll take what I get.”
“Dinner? Where?” Maya asked.
“I don’t know,” Lillian admitted. “He said he’d surprise me. It’s… quite romantic, actually.”
“It is,” Maya agreed, “and you are in love.”
“Perhaps,” Lillian said with a shrug and a secretive smile. “Well, I have to make my round now. Have a nice day.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ivanova stormed into C&C with a facial expression that made all duty personnel duck immediately. Apparently, this was going to be one of those days again, and all Dome technicians had learned the hard way that on those days one was better off becoming invisible. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. Like many commanding officers, Ivanova had the ability to notice just about everything - and a temper that enabled her to make her displeasure very audible.
Nobody envied poor Guerra, who had drawn the shortest straw this morning and so had to present the commander the reports from the previous night. Guerra was the ranking Dome tech here, had come aboard on the very day the station had become functional, and had a spotless duty record. For some reason, neither Captain Sheridan nor Ivanova seemed to tolerate the poor man, though, and no one knew why.
In one of his particularly suicidal moments, Lieutenant Corwin had actually had the balls to ask about the reason, but Ivanova had just told him - in a less than friendly manner - that Guerra had a creepy likeness to someone both she and the captain had… problems with, and that Corwin should mind his own business. Which Corwin had done, ever since then. He might be a little suicidal, but he was not completely mad.
After that incident, Ivanova had tried to be nicer to Guerra, perhaps to show that they were determined to be fair to him, which freaked out the poor man even more. Fortunately, there was always so much work and stress that Ivanova soon forgot to pretend she didn’t hate him, and things returned to normal - or what counted as normal on Babylon 5 anyway.
She accepted the reports without as much as a glance at Guerra (who was all too happy to scurry back to his work unacknowledged) and checked last night’s events. Night shift was usually quiet, so she did not accept anything overly interesting. She furled her brow at once, however, seeing the two departures recorded. She knew that the new Kosh was still aboard - her latent telepathic abilities, weak as they were, seemed to home on on the Vorlon, so she always could tell whether he was on the station or not.
She also knew that Vorlon ships could travel on their own if necessary. The old Kosh had sent out his own ship on missions alone sometimes, so this was nothing unusual per se. The question was rather the goal of its mission. She cross-checked the ship’s official destination with the star map of the sector and the recorded Shadow activities, and her frown deepened.
Yes, her memory hadn’t betrayed her. The Corianna system was in Shadow territory. What the hell was a lonely Vorlon ship, and one without its master, at that, doing there?
Unless it wasn’t lonely, after all. Nobody knew where the Vorlon fleet had gone after the battle in which they had beaten the Shadows, a few weeks earlier.
Whatever the reason might be, Ivanova had the uncomfortable feeling that they would not like the outcome.
Setting the Vorlon problem aside for the time being, she checked last night’s other departure - and her expression turned very grim. Lord Refa, heading for Narn, mere hours after G’Kar’s secret departure? It was too much of a coincidence to believe it.
Which meant that G’Kar’s chances to survive the trip home had dropped dramatically; and that thought made Ivanova decidedly unhappy. Sure, the Narn could be - and often was - irritating as hell, but he was a reliable ally… and sometimes a surprisingly wise man. Should anything happen to him, Babylon 5 would feel his loss keenly.
She made a mental note to inform Delenn as soon as possible. Perhaps the Rangers could be warned. Perhaps they could do something to help G’Kar escape Centauri pursuit. But even if they could not, Delenn needed to know about every event with possible political ramifications. The potential capturing and execution of the last free member of the Ka’ri definitely counted as such an event.
“Commander,” the technician at the communications console looked up to her, “Captain Janeway from Voyager is hailing us.”
“Put her through,” she said in surprise.
“I can’t,” the technician replied. “The call comes through a secured channel.”
“I’ll take it in the captain’s office, then.”
She hurried over to Sheridan’s now abandoned office and instructed the computer to establish the comm link, giving her authorization code for voice identification.
“Connection established,” the artificial voice told her a moment later, and the image of Captain Janeway appeared on the screen.
“Commander,” she said, nodding her greetings. “I hoped to speak with Captain Sheridan. Is he available?”
“He’s just turned in less than an hour ago, after working through the night,” Ivanova replied. “Can I help you? I’m authorized to handle things at my own discretion in his absence.”
“I’m not questioning your competence,” Janeway said. “I just thought he’d want to be present at the interrogation of our… houseguests. Ms Alexander says it must be done now, before her… employer orders her back.”
Ivanova nodded in understanding. She had only met the new Kosh once, but that was enough to decide not to cross him unless it could not be avoided. She could only imagine how much worse it was for Lyta, who had to work with the Vorlon all the time.
“Understood,” she said. “I still wouldn’t like to wake the Captain, though. This is the first good sleep he’s gotten in two days… or longer.”
“Will you come over then?” Janeway asked.
Ivanova shook her head. “I’m afraid I can’t either. My aide has just gone off-duty, after a ten-hour-shift, and I’ve got nobody else whom I’d trust with the safety of C&C. But I can send you Garibaldi. He knows as much about the situation as we do - if not more.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Janeway left Lieutenant Rollins in charge of the bridge - not that there would be much to do while the ship was docked - and went down to the brig to witness the interrogation of the pirates. Lieutenant Ayala was on duty, standing behind the console operating the holding cells: big, dark and unshakable like a solid rock in the breakers. Somehow, the man managed to exclude the air of safety by his very presence.
Two other ex-Maquis, the Bajoran Trumari and Nozawa, a human of Japanese origins who knew fourteen ways to kill someone with his bare hands, or so it was rumoured, were standing in front of the holding cells, armed and ready. Security took this matter very seriously, and dispatching ex-Maquis to watch the prisoners, Tuvok had made sure that the guards would not hesitate to use force when necessary.
It was a relief to see that Chakotay had returned, too, in Garibaldi’s company. He was still wearing his civilian clothes, his elegant grey jacket a strange contrast to Garibaldi’s black uniform, his face watchful and wary. He knew better than anyone else that dealing with terrorists, no matter in what manner, was a dangerous thing. He had been one himself - at least how Starfleet saw things.
A few minutes later Lyta Alexander came in, escorted by Tom Paris who was about to begin his usual duty shift in Sickbay. Despite Lyta’s protests, the Doctor had insisted on sending him with the recovering patient, just in case. Paris did not really mind. He was curious how Lyta would handle the situation. He was sure it would be very different from Tuvok’s methods.
Tuvok himself was demonstratively absent, but that did not surprise anyone who knew how Vulcans thought about forced mind-scans. Not that Lyta planned deep-scanning these guys; it usually wasn’t necessary. Members of organizations that demanded blind obedience could usually be manipulated to accept orders from anyone who seemed to have any authority. Lyta counted on that.
Nonetheless, the Vulcan opposed any forced telepathic contact on principle and refused to be part of this particular interrogation… which was just fine with Chakotay, as long as they got the information they needed.
“Which one should we take first?” he asked Garibaldi, whose men the prisoners had originally been, after all. He ought to know them best.
“Let’s start with Pirello,” Babylon 5’s security chief suggested. “She’s only recently joined Night Watch, so she might be less fanatic than the rest and won’t give Lyta such a hard time.”
“If she was willing to stay behind and blow up the station, she must have embraced Night Watch ideology quite enthusiastically,” Chakotay commented; then he looked at Ayala. “Greg, go in with Ms Alexander, and don’t take your eyes off the prisoner. If she tries anything stupid, shoot her. We can’t take any risks here.”
Ayala nodded, setting his phaser at heavy stun. Janeway did not interfere. This special interrogation was better left in Maquis hands. They had more experience in the area.
Chakotay took over Ayala’s place behind the console and signalled Trumari and Nozawa to take up position in which they could give sufficient cover. Then he lowered the forcefield before Frances Pirello’s cell, so that Lyta and Ayala could enter.
The big, burly ex-Maquis went in first, taking up position behind the prisoner, phaser at the ready. His unmoving face left no doubts that he would shoot her on the spot if necessary. He had been a guerrilla fighter, used to react quickly and mercilessly if he had to.
Lyta followed Ayala in, facing the prisoner who glared at her with unveiled hatred. Frances Pirello was a stocky woman, at least a head shorter than the telepath, with a mulish expression on her round face, and Janeway wondered briefly if Garibaldi’s choice had been such a good one after all. The woman did not look like someone who would spill her secrets easily.
Yet Garibaldi seemed fairly unconcerned. Either he knew the prisoner very well - or Lyta’s abilities. Whatever the reason might be, he appeared quite sure about the outcome.
Unlike Tuvok in the extremely rare cases when he had to interrogate someone telepathically, Lyta apparently needed no time to focus. She captured and held the prisoner’s look easily, and told her in a cold voice that sounded barely human.
“Listen to me. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. You can give me what I want and you’ll be left alone in this cosy little cell again. Or you can try playing a hero and resist. In which case I’ll take your mind apart, piece by piece, until I find what I need. You wouldn’t like that. I used to work for the Psi Cops once, and now I’m a rogue. I don’t care what will remain of your mind once I’m done with you. I need information, and I need it now; one way or another. Have I made myself clear?”
There was so much menace in her voice that Janeway felt cold shivers running down her spine. It did not surprise her at all to see the prisoner’s eyes widening and filling with sheer terror.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
From the small command deck of his cloaked ship, Galen was watching Seven of Nine’s progress - or rather the lack of it - with detached amusement. She was thorough, he had to give her that, but she had no hope to find the right answers. She simply did not have the clues to point her in the right direction.
Galen was now considering giving her those missing clues. She needed to find some information at least, to get used to the idea of him and his brethren. To realize that he had been serious. Otherwise, she would never cooperate.
Hacking into Voyager’s computer had taken him half the night, as Federation technology proved to be incompatible with his own, but he did not mind. It had been the first purely intellectual challenge for years, and he enjoyed every moment of it. Even now that he was in, he had to move around very carefully. The system was very sophisticated, and could even adapt to new problems to a certain extent, due to the bioneural circuitry. It did not make the ship exactly alive, or even self-aware as an artificial intelligence would be, but it made circumventing the system’s safeguards a true adventure.
Moving around those safeguards carefully, Galen used a BabCom unit to slip in a clue that would eventually direct Seven’s search to Captain Sheridan’s official log entry from January 31, 2259. From the day when Elric and his first followers had arrived to Babylon 5.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
After having checked on Vir in MedLab, Rastenn left a message for Lennier, who had been Vir’s friend a lot longer, after all, hoping that Delenn’s aide might want to visit the Centauri and offer him some emotional support. Priests were better at that sort of things than warriors, and besides, Rastenn had other things to do at the moment.
He took the core shuttle to Brown Sector to meet Nidell again. This was one of their less-frequented meeting places, one neither of them really liked, due to the questionable neighbourhood. There were several bars involved in various kinds of shady business, many of them ending up in fights, which could attract station security. But they had used the other drop points too often lately.
Nidell was already waiting for him, also disguised as a member of the Worker Caste. Considering the suspicions towards Minbari warriors, this was the safest camouflage for them to wear. She seemed deeply concerned, and that worried Rastenn, as Nidell was not one who would be frightened easily.
“Alyt Neroon will be here in two days,” she said, handing Rastenn a data crystal. “A messenger has come from the homeworld and intercepted the Ingata. Since he was there already, the Alyt asked him to bring you this personal message. He has a fast courier flyer, so he could be here a lot earlier than the Ingata.”
“From the homeworld?” Rastenn repeated in surprise. “Has he told you anything about what is happening back home?”
“Not much, but it does not sound good,” Nidell answered. “Tensions between the Castes - especially the Warrior and the Religious Caste - seem to be growing. There are no open hostilities yet, but it could happen any time. Since Delenn has broken the Grey Council, we do not have a ruling body that could unite our people. It is only a matter of time till Valen’s Peace will also be broken… unless something happens that can give those tensions a safer outlet.”
“Like the fight again a superior enemy that could unite our people again,” Rastenn said, thinking out loudly.
“Let us hope so,” Nidell replied, her dark eyes troubled. “According to the messenger, Shai Alyt Shakiri has ordered a great number of the Wind Swords’ warships back to Minbar, just days ago.”
“What for?” Rastenn did not want to give in to his suspicions, but it was hard not to do so.
Nidell shrugged. “To protect our world against an invasion, he says. But who knows what his true agenda is?”
“Impossible!” Rastenn protested. “The Shai Alyt would never turn against his own people. If he has called those warships back, he must know something we do not know yet.”
“I hope you are right,” Nidell said quietly, “for otherwise, we might be facing the first kinslaying in a thousand years... or longer.”
“Has my uncle been informed about this?” Rastenn asked.
Nidell nodded. “Of course. The messenger had originally been sent to him. I assume the Alyt’s message will contain detailed instructions for us, should he have to leave for home unexpectedly.”
She did not name the possible reason that would force Neroon to do that. She did not need to. They both knew… and both dreaded that possibility.
“Then I shall view it immediately,” Rastenn said. “Have you learned anything about the human called Morden?”
Nidell shook her head. “Nothing worth mentioning. He was here, talked to people, offering the services of his… his associates, as he called them - and then gave our spies the slip. I do not know how he does it, but he seems to be able to vanish whenever he wishes. He… he plays with us!” she added angrily.
“Let him play,” Rastenn said with a shrug. “Let him believe that he has fooled us. Make a list about the people he contacts and another one about those who keep up contact with him. We might need those names later.”
Nidell bowed in perfect Working Caste fashion, just in case they were being watched. “Consider it done. Anything else?”
“Not at the moment; I need to watch my uncle’s message first,” Rastenn looked down from the gallery where they were standing to the bar below. “We need a better drop point in this sector. Standing here is like target practice; only that here we are the targets,”
“I shall look into it,” Nidell promised, and then merged with the shadows. She was getting really good at the vanishing act.
Rastenn returned to his official quarters - as the heir of a Clan leader, he had been assigned small, yet comfortable ones in Green Sector, now that he was officially assigned to Babylon 5 - and put the data crystal into a reader.
“Coded message,” the computer told him. “Please provide voice print identification sample.”
Rastenn said his name and rattled down his identification code. The computer declared valid identification, and the stern, concerned face of his uncle appeared on the screen.
“Greetings, Rastenn,” Neroon said. “I assume you have been given the worrisome news about home already. We shall discuss those when I arrive. However, there is something I wish you to consider while I am still on my way: the matter of your unbound state. The Clan matriarch has voiced her concerns about that matter, and I happen to agree with her. It is time for you to do your duty towards your Clan and your family.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Sheridan had slept about four, probably four and a half hours only when his door buzzer woke him. Which was a good thing, actually, as this sleeping period had been too short for his body to shut down completely, and so he was reasonably awake by the time he opened the door for Garibaldi… a seriously worried Garibaldi.
“Michael, what is it?” he asked. Garibaldi being worried was not such a rare thing, on any average day, but this time, the security chief looked as if he’d been wrapped in a dark cloud of concern.
“We have a problem, Captain,” Garibaldi told him. “Lyta wanted to scan this Night Watch scum before the Vorlon would call her back; so we went to Voyager and did it.”
“And why was I not informed about this?” Sheridan asked, his brows knitting together in a displeased frown.
“You have just gotten the first snatch of sleep in two days,” Garibaldi replied. “Ivanova promised to break my arm, should I wake you; and she’s a woman who keeps her promises.”
“I see,” Sheridan suppressed a grin. He might be the military governor of Babylon 5, but the person everyone feared like the coming of Judgement Day was Ivanova. Rumour said it had already been true when Jeffrey Sinclair had been in command of the station. “So, what have you found?”
“Two more Night Watch bases,” Garibaldi told him sourly. “One in Brown Sector and one in Red. It seems some of the bastards have been hiding in plain sight.”
“Well,” Sheridan sighed, “it would have been too easy, were Grey 17 their only hideout, wouldn’t it? But at least it was their largest base… or was it not?”
“It seems so, yeah,” Garibaldi agreed. “The place where they were hiding their weapons and most of their technical gizmos, like the black light camouflage suits… although we’re still investigating how they were able to build a bomb there. Their rat hole in Brown Sector seems to be a similar place, just a lot smaller. We can take it out with minimal risk. The one in Red Sector, however…”
“That makes things complicated,” Sheridan agreed. “Taking them out in such a crowded section could lead to lots of collateral damage.”
“Yep,” Garibaldi nodded. “Especially considering the fact that they are operating from the middle of the business area. If they spot a security unit approaching them, there would be plenty of potential hostages to choose from. It could be ugly; and we need to take out both bases simultaneously, or they will slip through our fingers again.”
“Can we do that?” Sheridan asked in concern. “Do we have enough men we can trust? Do we have the time to have every single one of them scanned, to see whether they are trustworthy or not?”
“We don’t,” Garibaldi admitted. “But we must make our move, Captain, and we must make it now. They were able to build that bomb unnoticed; a bomb that could have killed us all. Who knows what else do they have up their sleeves?”
“Was Lyta unable to find out anything about their further plans?”
“The ones she scanned were small fish; cannon fodder that wasn’t told much. Well, with the exception of Jack, that is, but he’s so insane it’s hard to figure out what’s reality and what’s a figment of his mind.”
“Jack? That would be Officer Bruton, the guy who used to be your second in command, and who tried to kill you?” Sheridan clarified. “He didn’t make the impression of a crazy man to me.”
“Back then, he probably wasn’t,” Garibaldi agreed. “Lyta says someone has tampered with his mind since then, though. Put up an Asimov block - whatever that might be - around a big part of his memories, so he wouldn’t be able to tell us things, even if he wanted. She can’t remove it, she says. If she tried, it would probably kill him, and still do us no good.”
“Do you think she told the truth?”
“Yeah. Whatever I might think about telepaths, whatever the Vorlons might have done to her, Lyta is still a decent person.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Sheridan said, “but what are we gonna do now? We can’t let these people stay on the station and sabotage us left and right. We must smoke out their nests; and we must capture at least their leaders, Armstrong and that Malcolm Biggs character. Without them to coordinate the rest, they would be a lot less dangerous.”
“I know,” Garibaldi sighed. “And honestly, I can only see one way to deal with them: we need help from Voyager.”
Sheridan leaned back in his seat and shook his head slowly, regretfully.
“I don’t think that would be possible,” he said. “Captain Janeway’s made it adamantly clear that she will not get involved in the inner struggles between us and EarthGov; and I don’t think that Commander Chakotay would go against her orders in this particular matter. There’s only so far he can go without endangering his position, and he’s gone far enough already.”
“I know,” Garibaldi said. “I don’t want to go behind Captain Janeway’s back in this matter, though. I’m planning to ask her face to face.”
“And you expect a positive answer?” Sheridan asked doubtfully.
Garibaldi shrugged. “Well, we won’t know until we tried, would we?” he said. “Even if she says no, we won’t be any worse than we are now.”
“True enough,” Sheridan admitted. “But I want a backup plan, Michael. In the likely case that she does say no. This matter must be dealt with, one way or another, before we have to face the bigger evil: the Shadows.”
“I know,” Garibaldi rose. “Zack and Lou are working on it already. There still are a few people we can trust unconditionally: like Malcolm Cupertino, who resigned rather than join Night Watch. There are a few more of his sort, but not enough. With the rest, we just can’t be one hundred per cent sure… and that’s not enough. That’s why we need help.”
“Can’t you take the Narns?” Sheridan suggested.
“I could, but then the culprits would know at once that we’re after them,” Garibaldi pointed out.
Sheridan sighed. “Very well; let’s give it a try. I wouldn’t put up my hopes too high, though.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Gregor Ayala gave Kes, who entered the brig area with a medical scanner in hand, a fond smile. As a rule, Ayala did not smile often, having a naturally grim disposition and still mourning the loss of his wife and his two sons somewhere in another reality, but few people could se Kes and not smile. There was something eminently likeable in this small-boned, big-hearted girl… even though he knew, rationally, that in the eyes of her own people Kes no longer counted as a child. But she did look like he Flower Fairy, sans the butterfly wings, and especially the human crewmembers tended to handle her as if she had escaped a children’s fairy tale.
Everybody loved Kes, and thus both Ayala and Trumari, who also stayed in the brig area after the prisoners had been interrogated, gave her identical friendly grins. She answered their greetings with that patient smile of hers that made her look so much older at once.
“The Doctor sent me to perform a quick scan on the prisoners,” she explained. “He wants to make sure they have not suffered any lasting damage from the telepathic interrogation.”
“And wouldn’t that be a crying shame,” Trumari commented cynically; he had not forgotten having found Lyta Alexander in a puddle of her own blood and Dalby with a PPG aimed at his head by that madman. “It couldn’t happen to any nicer guys…”
Kes gave the Bajoran a reproving look. “The Doctor sees it differently,” she said, “and so do I.”
“Yeah, because you don’t know what they’ve done; and what they’d be capable of if they weren’t locked up,” Trumari said.
“You think so?” Kes asked softly. “You think I do not know what they are thinking at this very moment? What they are feeling? Their hopes, their fears, their anger and hatred?”
She stepped closer to the cell holding Garibaldi’s ex-aide, a handsome, dark-haired young man with madly glittering black eyes. The man glared at her with unveiled hatred, his face twisted into an ugly scowl.
“This one,” she continued softly, “Is not simply insane. I sense a darkness in him I have never sensed before. It is similar to the minds of those aliens from fluidic space, the ones Seven calls Species 8472… and yet different. Older, more powerful… a lot more malevolent.”
“You mean this guy isn’t even human or what?” Trumari asked, getting visibly nervous. No one aboard Voyager had pleasant memories about Species 8472.
Kes shook her head. “No,” she said, “he is human. The darkness that has touched him is not his own… but it has inhabited him for a while, and it will call out for others of the same mind. The sooner he leaves Voyager, the better for us.” She turned around abruptly. “I will perform the scans later. Tuvok must learn about this.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Mr. Garibaldi, you must be kidding!” Captain Janeway stared at Babylon 5’s security chief in shock.
They were sitting in her ‘ready room’: a small room opening directly from Voyager’s bridge that was part office, part coffee lounge. Also present were Chakotay, who had finally managed to change into his uniform and had come to have their usual working lunch with his captain, and Tuvok, called out from the middle of his daily meditation, if the black robe he was wearing could be any indication.
Garibaldi had expected Janeway’s knee-jerk rejection, based on recent experience. But he was not willing to give up just like that. Not without a fight anyway.
“On the contrary, Captain,” he said as calmly as he could manage under the given circumstances. “I’m trying to avoid major bloodshed in a frequented business area.”
“And for that, you need our security officers?” Janeway asked. “I thought you had trained men for that sort of job.”
“We do,” Garibaldi said. “Well, we did. But two third of them have left when we booted out Night Watch, and the sad truth is, we don’t know whom we could trust from the rest.”
“That’s certainly unfortunate,” Janeway replied, “but still doesn’t entitle us to get involved in your internal affairs.”
“Actually, Captain,” Tuvok intervened smoothly, “regulations allow to provide help for the local law enforcement, if there is an official request from the ruling body of the given colony.”
“Yes; if the request comes from a legally elected government, which isn’t exactly the case here, is it?” Janeway riposted. “And even in that case it’s left to the captain’s discretion. I don’t see any valid reason why we should interfere in this matter.”
Garibaldi took a deep breath before answering. Losing his temper wouldn’t help here, he knew that. What he needed were good, solid arguments.
“Look, Captain,” he said, as calmly as he could manage. “If I attacked the terrorist cell in Red Sector, they’d spot my men from a mile, and lots of innocent bystanders would be killed. I’d like to avoid that, if possible.”
“Why don’t you evacuate the area?” Janeway asked.
“Because they’d realize what was going on,” Garibaldi replied, exasperated, “and submerge in the crowd at once. Surprise is our only advantage here.”
“What makes you believe that our people would be better suited for the job?” Chakotay asked. “They don’t know the area half as well as your men do.”
“Yeah, but they are new here,” Garibaldi said. “Armstrong and the others won’t recognize who they are, assuming they’d wear civilian clothes.”
“That wouldn’t save anyone once the shooting begins,” Chakotay pointed out, playing devil’s advocate.
“I know, I know,” Garibaldi rubbed his brow in frustration. “But you have those energy weapons that can be set to stun, right? You could knock out Armstrong’s men before they’d start shooting people randomly… if we managed to sneak up close enough to them.”
That argument finally made the Voyager officers think. After a moment, all eyes turned to Tuvok, hoping that his vast experience in security matters would help find the right answer to Garibaldi’s request.
“Mr. Garibaldi’s arguments do have their merit,” the Vulcan said after some consideration, “but so do Captain Janeway’s concerns. We know too little about the nature of this conflict to declare without doubt whether we are allowed to officially aid Babylon 5 security in this matter.”
Garibaldi’s face fell. He was hard-pressed to hold back a rather rude remark about Starfleet regulations.
“However,” Tuvok continued, as if he had not seen the anger and disappointment on the human’s face, “I believe there is a way to make a compromise. Clearly, we cannot intervene officially. This is an internal matter, and Starfleet security has no jurisdiction here. But if a few people would volunteer, unofficially, to help prevent a bloodshed and save innocent lives, I believe regulations could be… bent a little to allow it. Especially if the persons in question have only temporary Starfleet status.”
“In other worlds: you’re willing to look the other way, as long as the ex-Maquis do the dirty work,” Chakotay commented dryly. “How very… Vulcan of you.”
He was rewarded with a supremely arched Vulcan eyebrow.
“Your people have a matching saying for this situation, Commander,” Tuvok said with equal dryness. “It takes a thief to know a thief, I think. Or, in this particular case, should we perhaps say terrorist?”
For a moment, it seemed as if Voyager’s executive officer would hit their chief of security. Seeing Chakotay’s expression, Garibaldi caught a glimpse of the ruthless freedom fighter lurking under that usually calm surface.
“If I remember correctly, you used top be part of those actions you seem to condemn now so summarily,” he said coldly. “Granted, it was part of your camouflage as a spy on my ship. But that doesn’t change the fact that you helped us blow up Cardassian ships and military depots, and destroy labour camps. So don’t think you were any better than us, just because you had been planted on my ship with the sole purpose to lure us into a trap.”
He shook himself like a dog after having fallen into a pit full of snow; then he turned to Garibaldi, now visibly calm again.
“I’ll see to it that you get all the volunteers you need,” he said. “And I promise you that they will do a good job taking out our ‘fellow terrorists’. We’re used to that sort of guerrilla attacks. Just tell me when and where.”
Garibaldi handed him an electronic notepad. “To be honest, I was counting on a positive answer from you,” he said. “Here are all the details you’ll need to know.”
“Fifteen hundred?” Chakotay checked out the data. “That will barely leave us an hour to get prepared.”
“It’s been my experience that this is the quietest hour in that particular section,” Garibaldi explained. “We’re trying to keep the numbers of potential victims as low as possible.”
“Understood,” Chakotay considered the possibilities for a moment. “It would be the best if you gave this Ayala, though. He knows best who’d likely volunteer and where they would be the most useful. Tell him to assign me to any team he finds most suitable.”
“Commander, there is no need for you to participate in this action,” Tuvok said, disapproval clear in his even voice.
“Yes, there is,” Chakotay retorted. “I won’t send my men anywhere I wouldn’t be willing to go myself.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Less than an hour after having investigated the Night Watch people, Lyta Alexander checked herself out of Sickbay… much to the chagrin of the holodoc, who wanted to keep her another day, at the very least. But she knew she had tested the patience of the Vorlon to its limits already and did not want to test it any more; not for a while, at least. With Kosh, she had never had to ask herself whether her actions would be approved or condemned; with Ulkesh, she never knew what to expect.
Just before her getting injured, the new ambassador had ordered her to remove ‘all distractions from the way of her work’, as he had put it. Those ‘distractions contained all her personal belongings, save a few changes of clothes, and every piece of furniture that had been in her quarters. She had only been allowed to keep a mattress, as lenience towards the human body’s need to sleep. She could not even imagine what further sacrifices would be demanded from her… but she had the feeling that giving away everything she had ever possessed had not been the last of it.
She had been very close to Kosh; closer than to anyone else in her life. She had hoped that the new Vorlon ambassador would be similar in nature, but during their very first encounter she had realized that it was not so. During her time on the Vorlon homeworld, she had been indoctrinated to obey any Vorlon unquestioningly, and despite the dark secrets that she had been shown, as long as Kosh was alive, she had done so willingly.
Kosh, in his ancient wisdom, had been a great inspiration for her, and carrying him inside her an intimacy beyond human imagination. Carrying Ulkesh, on the other hand, had been a very unpleasant experience. This new Vorlon did not treat her like a person; she was merely a tool for him, and - as he had made her feel on more than one occasion - a rather unsuitable one.
Her current situation was not what she had expected when agreed to work for the Vorlons. Kosh, at least, had genuinely cared for the younger races… for humans… for Sheridan in particular. Working for Kosh had meant helping her own people, even though she often did not understand the ways that would lead to that goal. She could not feel any of that interest for mankind’s welfare from Ulkesh… or from any other Vorlon, for that matter.
She wondered whether there would be a way for her out of this trap; in the heart of her hearts she knew that there would most likely be none. The new shielding technique Tuvok had taught her worked well against any other telepath, but an enraged Vorlon could shatter her shields to pieces in a second. As long as there was one Vorlon around, she would always be vulnerable.
Oh, Kosh, she thought desperately, what have you done to me? How am I supposed to go on without you, if your own people have grown deaf towards our pleas?
She allowed herself to wallow in self-pity for a few precious moments. Then she took a deep breath and pulled herself together again. Feeling sorry for herself led to nothing. She needed help if she wanted this new Vorlon to be dealt with; help that went well beyond the powers of everyone on the station.
Beyond the powers of everyone limited by mere flesh and blood.
She thanked the Doctor and Lieutenant Paris for their care and left Voyager, aiming straight for the garden, before Ulkesh could have caught any stray thought from her and moved in to intercept. She rode the core shuttle to the Zen garden, as this was the place with the least possible distractions. She sat down on the bench, focused all her Vorlon-enhanced mental powers, and sent out a desperate call for help to the only person she could hope to be able to aid them… assuming he was still within reach.
She kept sending as long as her strength lasted before collapsing on the bench, empty like a burned-out oil lamp.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The part of the entity that still identified himself as Kosh, weakened and greatly limited in his strength though he might be, was awakened in his hiding place by that powerful mental distress call. It had not been addressed to him, but it shook him up from his slumber nonetheless.
Regaining semi-consciousness, while nested in a vessel that could not respond, could not even recognize his presence, was a long and arduous process. He understood that the greatest part of what had once made him to the person he had been - that had made him Kosh - was irrevocably gone, had fallen victim to the Shadow attack. His ship, another part of him, was also gone… and the thoughts of his brethren, as little as he could perceive from them, seemed to have taken a dark turn.
At the moment of his ‘death’ he had hidden part of himself in the only somewhat compatible vessel within reach. It had been a good hiding place, as the vessel had not even been aware of his presence and thus hidden him well; but now he needed to move on, should he still want to make a difference.
He could not use his previous vessel, the one he had grown so familiar with in such a short time, any longer. She was now being used - abused would have been the more proper term - by his dark brother. He needed someone else.
Stretching his consciousness all over the station - and carefully avoiding any contact with the Dark Ones still present - he searched for the right choice. It did not take him long to find some interesting possibilities. They were not from his own reality, true. But they had potential; and it would be only a temporary merging anyway. There was not enough left of him to remain longer than absolutely necessary.
For now, he was content to hide in his oblivious vessel; until he could make contact with those strangers. He would not switch for a while yet. Staying where he was, he could get the most complete picture about how the war was going, study his possible chances, and watch the moves of his brethren. For a while, he would remain with the one named Sheridan. It was a good choice, as long as he still had to hide; and the human would need his presence, soon.
But once that part of his mission was done, he would move on, to a more powerful and receptive vessel, through whom he would be able to make his move. To make things right - hopefully. All he had to do till then was to wait and to watch; both things he had millennia-long experience with.
Part 08