The Loribond
There were five of them. All human, all wearing bright blue buttons with the letters FPFP emblazoned in red. The woman had on a satin jacket in the same colors, with FPFP on the back in letters a foot high.
Their leader, a tall ebony man named Ikeboke, glanced behind him and saw the others hanging back. Carla was gawking, but the three men were crowded together as if for safety. Ike got them out of the way of the other disembarking passengers.
"My God," Carla whispered. "They're everywhere."
"That's kind of the point," Ike reminded her. "We came here to lose our fear of aliens, didn't we?"
"Maybe the others did. You don't have any fear, Ike. You even like that damn rocket rollercoaster."
Ike smiled and shepherded his organization toward customs. There really were aliens everywhere, including Minbari with their spiky bone head things where hair should have been.
The customs officer looked askance at their travel papers. Since Babylon 5 had been interdicted, the only other person to come in with documents saying he was officially allowed to travel from Earth to Babylon 5 was Bester, the PsiCop.
"Would you care to explain how you got these?" the customs official asked.
"I'd be more than happy to tell you about the FPFP," Ike responded. "FPFP is Former Prisoners For Peace. Now, we got permission to come here because the government thinks we're here to talk you guys out of making war. But we fooled them. FPFP is all about peace with aliens. Especially with Minbar. We're really here, well, to help ourselves make peace in our hearts. But we're also here to show you guys here on Babylon 5 that not everybody back on Earth agrees with Clark's anti alien policies. The FPFP believes that putting our heads in the sand and ignoring the rest of the galaxy can only lead to more war."
Ike's followers made little applauding motions that did not result in a very loud sound. They had all heard the speech before.
The official nodded and handed back the documents. "Alright. Welcome to Babylon 5."
They went through the famous Zocalo mall on the way to their hotel. One of the men had a panic attack and they all helped him to his room, but then Ike and Carla went out again.
"I wish you'd reconsider trying to contact that Ivanova lady," Carla said. "If you go on Voice of the Resistance I don't know if any of us will be able to go home."
"The sooner someone puts a stop to this madness, the sooner we can all go home to our flower gardens and let the galaxy spin along without our help. You know where this anti alien stuff is going, Carla. Sooner or later the scapegoat always becomes the sacrificial lamb."
\
The five people with the buttons were waiting outside the Authorized Personnel Only door when Commander Ivanova finished her broadcast. The tall man fell into step beside her as she walked toward the bar.
"We're the Former Prisoners For Peace, and we want to appear on your show."
"Voice of the Resistance isn't a talk show," she replied, eyes straight ahead. There was always somebody bugging her about being on the show or trying to interest her in their pet story.
"I think I can help. Your main message is about freedom, of course, but you could also counter Clark's anti alien propaganda. Hate leads to war. We're here to promote peace with the aliens, and I think I'd make a great poster boy for that cause. Let me introduce myself. I'm Ikeboke Graandal. Formerly Sergeant Ikeboke Graandal."
For the first time, Ivanova glanced aside from her goal. She broke stride and slowed down.
"Yes, that one," the tall African replied. "I see you've heard of me."
"Who hasn't? Well, who on Earth, anyway. And I do recognize you now."
"Now that you look at me," the man smiled.
\
Voice of the Resistance went on the air with Ivanova sitting next to a tall man with an FPFP button on his jacket. "Voice of the Resistance is pleased to bring you a special guest tonight. May I introduce Ikeboke Graandal, formerly a sergeant with the Fifth Infantry. You may remember him as the spokesman of the victims at the Loribond War Crimes Commission after the Earth-Minbari war. Ike?"
The man smiled like a preacher. "Thank you, Commander Ivanova. I've come a long way from the angry man I was then, when I first realized how being a victim of loribonding would affect my life after my return. No one trusted me, and I was medically discharged on psychological grounds. It's taken me many years to get my life back together, and I discovered that just healing our wounds isn't enough. And sitting around licking our wounds, dreaming of revenge, and blaming aliens for everything that goes wrong in the world only hurts us in the end. That's why I founded Former Prisoners For Peace. Because hate leads to war. And closing Earth off from aliens will only—pardon the expression—alienate us. The FPFP has traveled here to Babylon 5 from Earth to show our support for Babylon 5's original mission, to promote peace through understanding of alien species. And to show our continued support for Babylon 5 as they unite all the races of the galaxy in the cause of freedom. It warms my heart that some of the same Minbari who once fought against humanity are now fighting for the liberation of my people from the tyranny of Clark and the Nightwatch."
"Thank you, Ike. We now go to footage from the front lines."
Ike shook hands with Ivanova and left while the report from the field went out. Ivanova was alone at her newsdesk when the camera went back to her.
The other four members of FPFP waited for Ike in their hotel. "Mission accomplished," Ike announced as he walked in.
"You shouldn't have added that last line about Clark," Carla said. "Now we're stuck here."
"For the duration," Ike said. "But the way Sheridan fights, that probably won't be very long."
\
The five went out every day to mix with the aliens. Those who had more fear than Ike did made great progress, but they were all about ready to leave after the first few weeks.
"It won't be long now," Ike told them one day as they sat around the bar. "Sheridan's fleet has already reached Mars. Soon he'll liberate Earth, and then we can all go home."
That was when the ISN broadcast the news of Sheridan's capture.
Carla burst out crying.
The man who had started out his stay on the station by having an attack of agoraphobia in the Zocalo now stood up and reached out automatically to the people on either side of him, seeking comfort in the community of the station. One of those people was Ike, but on his other side was a lizard-like Drazzi.
The Drazzi looked at him as the man reached blindly for a nearby shoulder, his eyes locked on the ISN screen. The Drazzi nodded and patted the human hand that clutched his shoulder.
"We'll get him back," the Drazzi said. "He led the League and the Whitestar Fleet to victory in the Shadow War. Half his forces are Minbari. They consider him their war leader. Earth won't dare kill him."
The human turned wide eyes on the well-meaning Drazzi. "Oh no. Oh no."
On the other side of the Drazzi, a large, spike-headed warrior-caste Minbari slammed down his glass of nonalcoholic fizz. "If they do, I hope I get to be there when we take our revenge. Instead of being stuck here on patrol duty. Sure, defending the station is important, but I want to be where the action is!"
A smaller Minbari in the gold robe of the religious caste asked the warrior, "Since when do you care about Sheridan? Last night you were still calling him Starkiller."
"Yes, well, in the Shadow War, Admiral Starkiller was exactly what we needed."
The smaller Minbari said, "You said he was a sneaky ruthless bastard without honor."
"No, no, I didn't say without honor. I said he never let honor get in the way of victory. That was a compliment! You religious don't understand war."
"I suppose not. That doesn't sound like a compliment to me."
"Me neither," said the Drazzi. "You guys are strange sometimes, Firuun."
"You, human! What do you think?"
The man who had reached out to the Drazzi melted back in among his fellow humans, suddenly afraid.
Carla wiped her tears and said, "I understand. I was a ground-pounder."
"Mm?" Firuun turned his attention to Carla. He looked like he was trying to translate the term to himself, then suddenly yelled, "Gropo!"
Carla flinched.
The big warrior waved to the bartender. "This round's on me!" The barkeep set new glasses in front of everyone at the bar. The warrior picked up his fizz and climbed up onto the bar. "I hear the humans have a custom they call toasting!" he announced.
Ike whispered to Carla, "Is he drunk?"
"No, drunken Minbari don't make toasts, they kill everything in their path. They go totally nuts."
"I hope you'll all join me in a toast to Sheridan! Without him we wouldn't be here. Either the Shadows would rule the galaxy or the Vorlons would have killed everybody to get to them! When Delenn first turned over the Whitestar Fleet to Sheridan Starkiller I was ready to spit steel! But she was right. We Minbari did not know how to fight and win against an older race with superior technology. Sheridan did. When the Shadow War became a two front war against the Shadows and the Vorlons, I thought it was the end of history. But he led us to victory!"
The warrior raised his glass. "Sheridan! May he return!"
The rest of the bar, human and alien, drank and erupted in cheers. People echoed the name as they toasted, and it became a chant. Soon even Ike and Carla and FPFP were carried along in the mob mind, and shouted with the rest: "Sheridan! Sheridan! Sheridan!"
\
"Sheridan!" Number One called. "Your ride's here."
Dr. Franklin pressed a data crystal full of urgent instructions on the Captain's care into the pilot's hand. "It's very important that he be kept in isolation. Don't speak to him or go into the passenger compartment."
The pilot, a human Ranger, nodded and took the crystal.
"Captain Sheridan has been—"
"Doctor!" Sheridan interrupted as he half staggered toward the airlock. "The pilot doesn't need to know the reasons."
Franklin nodded. "Of course. Just see that crystal delivered to the chief medical officer of the flagship."
"It will be done," the Ranger said.
"Do you have anything to eat on this ship?" the Captain grated.
Number One peered out from beneath her blonde bangs. "There's a case of supplies under the first row of seats. Good luck, Captain. I'd shake your hand, but under the circumstances…"
Sheridan nodded. "I know. Don't worry, none of you have been around me long enough to form an accidental bond. I read up on the subject while you were all leaving me alone. The computer had a remarkable amount of information about the process."
"The Resistance keeps extensive files on interrogation techniques and drugs, even ones we think we'll never encounter."
"And I'm grateful that you do. I'll see you when this is all over. On a free Mars."
Sheridan turned to the doctor. "Steven. Tell Michael and Lyta good luck for me. And if you can, after the military targets are taken care of, try to see if you can find my father." He went to a seat and strapped himself in for the ride out of the gravity well. He reached under the seat ahead and pulled out the supply box. "That better not be a corned beef sandwich."
\
The pilot obeyed orders and did not go into the passenger compartment during the several hour long trip out to the space fleet. He docked with the Captain's Whitestar, opened the passenger lock remotely, and then went down to medbay to deliver the data crystal to the ship's doctor. The chief medical officer was busy with casualties from the last battle, and simply put the crystal on his desk without reading it.
Captain Sheridan knew that Dr. Franklin meant well, but he completely disagreed with the doctor's order of isolation. Sheridan had spent every waking moment of his aloneness studying the files and case histories, and he could not risk it.
When he saw the Ranger leave, and the doctor set down the crystal, Sheridan pocketed the data crystal and went to the bridge. The whole room wavered for a moment. Sheridan ignored it, as he had ignored all the other visual anomalies. They would go away in a few days.
"Lennier."
"Welcome back, Captain Sheridan."
"Give me fleet comm."
"Done."
"This is Captain John Sheridan. Just letting you all know I'm still alive and kicking. And we're going to kick some ass very soon. Captain out."
"Lennier, come with me. There's something that needs to be done."
Sheridan led Lennier to the Ranger's shuttle and slid in behind the stick. "Take a seat."
"Where are we going?"
"Nowhere special. I'll explain later." Sheridan took the shuttle out and headed toward one of the old style Minbari cruisers, one whose weapons were under repair and would not be participating in the battle. "You're the perfect choice," Sheridan said. He suddenly looked up and flinched, and the shuttle jinked as if avoiding fire.
"What is it?" asked Lennier.
"Manta ray."
"I saw nothing. What is a manta ray?"
Sheridan sighed. "It's a creature that lives in Earth's ocean. I know it wasn't really there. Just instinct, as I saw something fly past."
"Captain Sheridan, are you experiencing visual hallucinations?"
"Yes. Yes I am."
"Then perhaps I should fly the ship."
"Of course. Dock us with the Teeth."
They docked with the Minbari war cruiser Vengeance Teeth. It was a warrior caste ship. Sheridan looked momentarily confused as one of the crew approached him. Then his red-rimmed eyes hardened. "Everybody off. Into the shuttle. I'm commandeering this ship."
"Captain Sheridan?" the crewman asked.
"You heard me. Into the shuttle. I'll tell the Captain to announce it."
When the war cruiser's Captain and crew had left, Sheridan pointed out into deep space, away from Earth. "Take us over there, Mr. Lennier."
"On what heading?"
"Anywhere dark and quiet. Where nobody will look for a while. This ship's engines still work, it's the weapons that were damaged. We'll be back before the battle starts. Plenty of time to transfer back to the Whitestar."
"Captain, if I may ask…"
"You may, and I'll explain everything once we're away. Right now I need to get away from the fleet before someone finds out I'm going and tries to stop me for my own good."
"If you are ill, Captain—"
"I'm not. I've been drugged. You're going to help me deal with it. We're still in time. Just at the perfect time. Go, go. To the middle of nowhere."
Lennier opened a jump point and launched the ship into hyperspace. He brought it out in the dark between the stars, where the only point of reference for navigation was an old ball of ice, a comet that no longer circled any star.
"Alright, we're here. In the middle of nowhere, just like you said."
"Good. Let's get settled. We'll bring some supplies from the galley to one of the sleeping chambers so we won't have to leave once we're set up."
"Set up for what?'
Sheridan didn't answer right away. He said nothing until they had dragged some cases of food and water to one of the bunk rooms. Sheridan adjusted one of the sleeping platforms as flat as it would go and lay down.
"Finally, I can get some rest. I imagine they're probably going nuts back at the fleet. But Dr. Franklin was keeping me in isolation, and that's probably what the other doctors would have chosen, too. But it's too great a risk for me to take. Somebody has to usurp the bond. Or I risk forming a bond with the interrogator who gave me the drug. And then it wouldn't be safe for me to be in command of anything more complicated than a bookdisk, much less a fleet action."
"What?"
"You're probably wondering why I chose you. There are two reasons. First, I know you and trust you already. That gives us a leg up. Second, even though you act as a second in command by relaying my orders to the crew, translating them into Minbari, you're not really one of my subordinates. I'm not sure I could bond properly to one of my own men. The psychology of the power relationship is all wrong."
"What are you talking about, Captain?"
"And thirdly, I know you're fanatically loyal to Delenn, which means you would never go against her interests. And seeing as I'm one of her interests, that means, that means…" Sheridan waved a hand in front of his face. "Who turned on the damned strobe light? Oh, good, thanks for turning that off." He scratched his growth of beard. "What was I saying?"
"There was no strobe light in here, Captain. Are you sure it would not be better to return to the fleet?"
"I'm sure. Like I said, I can't risk bonding to an enemy. Who the hell knows who that guy really was, maybe just a Clarkist bureaucrat, but for all I know he could be a Shadow servant."
"Captain Sheridan, you are confused and are seeing things that are not there. Start making sense right now or I am taking you back to the fleet, and straight to the medbay."
"Oh. Sure. That's better. You do have to start taking charge if this is going to work."
Lennier started walking toward the door. "I'm going up to the bridge to take us back to the fleet."
"Loritril."
Lennier turned around. "What?"
"The drug. The drug the interrogator gave me. It's loritril."
"But if you're on loritril and I'm here with you, you'll… Captain Sheridan, loribonding is an atrocity. You can't ask me—"
"I'm not asking. I need you, Lennier. If I stay in isolation there's a big chance I'll end up bonded to the one who started the process. To be sure that doesn't happen someone has to usurp the bond. I explained why I chose you. It's too late to go back and choose someone else. We're barely in time as it is. I've read everything that Free Mars had on the loribonding process. I brought the files with me, too."
He reached into his pocket and came up with two data crystals. "Oh. Right. Plus the one Franklin made."
Lennier walked slowly over and took the crystals. He nodded. "I understand. You are making sense now. And you're right, we can't risk you becoming loribonded to an enemy."
"Good. So, let's review the process and—"
"Let us get one thing straight right now, Captain Sheridan. If you are to become loribonded to me, that means I'm in charge. Starting now, and until the testing is finished, you do not give orders to me. Understand?"
"Right. Good. Yes."
"Get up."
Sheridan looked confused when he climbed off the sleeping platform. But then, he had already been looking confused since he returned from captivity on Mars. His stubbly face was grey with fatigue, his cheeks sunken, his hair sticking out as spikily as a Minbari's head bone, and his eyes staring right through the walls, when they weren't darting toward drug-induced illusions.
Lennier readjusted the platform to its normal angle. "It makes me nervous to see you lying at the angle of death. So you will recline at the angle of life. For me."
Sheridan nodded. He got back on the platform and tried to relax. "It's a start," he commented.
"Now, you will rest while I read the information in these crystals. And I believe the info banks of this ship will probably have even more information than your Mars Resistance could provide. This old warship is of the era when loritril was a standard issue psychiatric drug."
"It was? I thought it was just used for, well, brainwashing."
"Loribonding is not the same as brainwashing."
"That's how the interrogator on Mars was trying to use it."
"Then he did not understand what it really does. It was actually intended to help people. It was first aid for psychological trauma, meant to help people get over natural disasters, accidents, and war. Every warship carried it, to use on its own crew. The loribond was an unintended side effect. It was not discovered until it had been in general use for years. And not until it started being used by the worker caste. They prize an independence of spirit that the warrior and religious castes do not. Their ideal is that of the master craftsman, who trains apprentices only to let them go and become their own masters. When a member of the warrior caste became instantly obedient and loyal unto death, no one noticed any difference from his normal behavior. And among the religious, devotion to a superior is completely normal, as well. As I am devoted to Delenn, for example."
"And as Delenn was devoted to Dukhat."
"Yes. But when a large group of members of the worker caste who had lived through the quake disaster suddenly became dependent on their doctor, that was when we noticed that something was wrong. Loritril was investigated and quickly pulled off the market."
"And then some mad scientist got the idea to use the loribond effect to break prisoners of war."
"Yes."
"And it worked."
"Not exactly. Actually, I understand the victims are remarkably well adjusted, compared to other captured soldiers. Apparently, the drug really does still work as an aid to recovery from trauma, even when it's not intended to."
"Huh. Great for them, being all nice and well adjusted after being released, sent back to their units, and then shooting them all in the back on a word from those they were bonded to."
"That is why we Minbari were just as outraged when we found out about this as you humans were. Why we were prepared to hand over those responsible, until we found out that Earth considers war crimes a capital offence. We could not send them to be killed. Minbari do not kill Minbari. But we made the bond itself illegal, and everyone who holds another bonded is legally a war criminal, unless it was an accidental bond from the era before we pulled loritril off the market. When this process is finished, Captain Sheridan, I may well go to prison."
"No. They can't call this a war crime, we're on the same side."
"I think you do not understand Minbari law."
"Probably not. Alright then, we just won't mention this to anyone. Dr. Franklin knows I've been dosed with loritril, but he's not here, and doesn't know I'm not in isolation. Nobody except the crew of this ship knows we've left the fleet. And they're all warrior caste Minbari, I doubt they're going to socialize with Dr. Franklin much. And if all else fails you can just ask Delenn you pardon you, can't you?"
"I could, but it would reflect badly on her."
"So would letting you go to prison. That's the strategy I'm planning to use, when this war is over. Ask whoever the next President is for a pardon. Once Babylon 5 rejoins the Earth Alliance, and I'm officially back in Earth Force, well, I don't even want to think about all the different regulations I've bent into little origami shapes. I don't have much of a career left with Earth Force, but if people back home find out I've been loribonded that will wreck my career for good."
"Are you having second thoughts about this?"
"No." The word was decisive. Sheridan closed his eyes and said nothing more.
Lennier got a data reader out of the supply boxes they had carted in, and began reviewing the crystals.
Sheridan woke up to see a giant cylindrical object waving its translucent arms at him. He rolled off the sleeping platform and cowered back, but the being disappeared.
"What did you see?" Lennier asked.
"A sea enemy, enem, en…" Sheridan straightened up, rubbed his eyes and started over. "A sea anemone."
"Interesting. Another being from Earth's oceans. I wonder why?"
"Who knows? Maybe it'll be pink elephants next. I've really got to wonder about a people who would develop a hallucinogen as a psychiatric drug."
"Loritril is not a hallucinogen. Technically. I've read the information in this ship's computer. It's designed to blur the lines between the sleep and waking states. To give you access to your unconscious."
Sheridan grunted. "Find out anything else interesting?"
"The Mars Resistance crystal had the most relevant information. It outlined the process for bonding and phrasing, and the levels of testing."
"You know all you need to make this work, then?"
"Yes. Here." Lennier handed him a sealed water bottle and ration pack.
Sheridan broke the seals and sat down on a supply box.
"Did you dream?"
"I suppose. It's hard to tell the difference, when I see things when I'm awake."
"That's the way it's supposed to be. Hard to tell the difference, I mean. This process mostly takes place in your mind. Very little needs to be done in physical reality. I'm not going to tell you which parts are—it's difficult to render in human speech. Which are ren and which are timab."
"What's that?"
"Ren is historical truth. Factual truth. Things that take place in physical reality. Timab is a religious truth. A metaphoric truth. But it is no less true."
"Oh no. No you don't. No, no, no, no, no, no. Don't you dare say the truth is fluid."
What happened next registered in reverse order. First Sheridan became aware that he was lying on the floor, his bottle spilled from his hand, his feet draped awkwardly over the box. Then he noticed the pain in his gut, where he had been punched and kicked during the fight in the bar and again during the softening up after his capture, before the interrogator arrived. Then he noticed the maroon streak that was Lennier's clothing in motion.
For a moment he just lay there, trying to reorder his thoughts to make sense. He knew the drug was affecting him more strongly than before. It was kicking in fully now.
"Lennier?"
"Yes?"
"Did you just hit me?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I told you. You don't give me orders. Not here, not now."
"Oh. Um. Please, don't say the truth is fluid?"
"Of course it's not. There are simply different kinds of truth."
"Oh hell. You're not really Lennier. I'm still on Mars."
Lennier picked up the bottle and capped it and set it upright on the floor. "Do you really think the Clarkists would try to loribond you to a Minbari?"
"Maybe. If they thought they couldn't break me, why not prove themselves right about my being under alien influence?"
"You have a very devious mind, Captain Sheridan. But if you think about it, I'm sure you'll see why they couldn't really parade you in public if they thought that you were loribonded to a real person whom you would recognize, and whom is not under their control."
Sheridan got up and sat back down on the box. "You're right. So what's next?"
"A phrase."
"I read about that. You guys abandoned li as the phrase pretty quickly, because it's too easy to say by mistake in English. The counterphrase is always loridano."
"Correct. A good phrase is distinctive. Easy to remember. Not too long, in case it needs to be said in an emergency. And not something one is likely to drop into a casual conversation."
"And not a verb," Sheridan added. "I read the case history about the poor yahoo whose phrase was a curse word that his Minbari captors didn't realize could be interpreted as a command in itself."
"Yes, I read that one too. Most distressing."
"I can think of a word you're not likely to say by accident. I've never heard you say it. But I doubt you'd forget what it was."
"Tell it to me."
"Starkiller."
"Captain Sheridan, I can't call you that."
"Good. If you're embarrassed to say it, you're less likely to."
"I would never phrase you except under the most dire necessity."
"I know. But there's a lot of that going around these days."
Lennier nodded. "It does meet all the criteria. Fine. If you want it, it makes it easier. It's always easier when the subject picks his own phrase."
Sheridan started out of his seat when he saw the giant squid rise up out of the floor. But he knew he was dreaming, dreaming while awake, and made himself sit back down. "More sea creatures," he said. Its long, suckered tentacles reached for him, twined around him.
"Why?" Lennier asked.
"I don't know."
"Who is the sea enemy?"
Sheridan looked up. "Well—you, I guess. Minbari ships. Old style Minbari war cruisers like this one, always reminded me of some giant predatory fish."
Lennier nodded. "It's working, you see. The drug is trying to process old trauma for you. It works through the dream state, speaking in timab. Metaphoric truth."
The squid wrapped Sheridan's arms tightly to his sides. It looked at him with its squidly eye. It inked, and the cloud spread over the room. Like the Shadow planet killer cloud.
Sheridan closed his eyes, just before the cloud touched him. He had the irrational impulse to ask Lennier to make it go away, but he knew the squid and its ink cloud were only in his mind, so he said nothing.
Several minutes passed. Finally the sensation of wet, rubbery suckers fell away, and Sheridan opened his eyes. There was only the room again, full of tilted Minbari sleeping platforms like playground see-saws. "Damn. For a hallucination, that squid could really squeeze."
Sheridan noticed another box had been placed in front of him, like a table. He got a chill up his back before he even noticed the PPG sitting on the box.
"Starkiller. Shoot yourself."
Sheridan blinked, picked up the gun and actually chuckled, for the first time since his capture. "Lennier, there's no energy cap. I know this gun won't fire."
"Of course not. Why would I bother with bonding, phrasing, and testing you if I was going to let you die?"
Then Lennier kicked the box out from under him, and Sheridan fell to the floor. He gasped as week-old injuries twinged.
"When I say your phrase, you will do as instructed without hesitation. Do you understand?"
Sheridan sat up. He stared up through grimy, reddened eyes, and his voice was all gravel. "Yes."
Lennier gestured Sheridan forward. Sheridan started to push up from the floor with his hands and saw he still had hold of the PPG. He scooted around, levering himself up with one hand, and found himself sitting with his feet tucked under his hindquarters. He realized he was kneeling.
"Starkiller. Shoot yourself."
Sheridan brought the PPG up to his head and pulled the trigger. Of course, nothing happened. He set the gun back down on top of the box-table.
"Good. You've passed the level one test."
"Is it over?"
"No. You are still in the grip of the drug. It is at the height of its power to blur the lines between your conscious mind and what lies beneath. Now you dream."
Lennier pointed to the nearest sleeping platform. "Starkiller. Sleep."
Sheridan rose slowly to his feet. The room wavered like rippling water, and everything ached. He climbed up and lay down with a pained sigh.
When he woke up, Sheridan found Lennier waiting for him. "Starkiller. Follow me." He followed Lennier down a corridor and to an airlock. The viewscreen showed a starfield beyond it.
"Starkiller. Go out the airlock."
Sheridan merely glanced at Lennier for a moment before entering the lock. He opened the suit locker, and found there were no space suits in it.
"It's got to be a trick," Sheridan told himself. "It's easy enough to fake a viewscreen image."
He stood in front of the outer door and put his hand on the opening pad. The lock chimed and opened.
Sound hit him: a buzz of voices, and the background hum of the station. He smelled the recycled air, the bodies and the metal and the vents from the restaurant grill in the Zocalo. He stepped out the airlock. Babylon 5 was beyond it.
He smiled. "I knew it was a trick."
Delenn hurried up to him. "Thank Valen you're here in time."
He was confused. Delenn was supposed to be en route to join him and the fleet at Mars. She was not expecting him back at the station.
He reached out to touch her arms, in the awkward almost-embrace that was his usual way. Delenn grabbed his hand and pulled him along behind her. "The Council is meeting right now."
"Delenn, I'm very tired. All I want in the galaxy is to lie down in a nice flat bed and sleep like the dead. Whatever the Council wants, can't it wait til I've at least had a shave?"
"It's Kosh. He wishes to address the Council."
"Kosh? Kosh is dead. Both Koshes."
The station passed by too quickly; they were already in the Council room. And there was Kosh, in his old encounter suit. Or, partially out of it. The streaming light filled the room. It began to pulse. Then it began to strobe.
Darkness and light: like still pictures at night. People moved around him in stop-motion. Like a camera flash going off.
He was not in the Council room. He was in the bar on Mars where Garibaldi had betrayed him. He was fighting in slow motion. And he was losing. His enemies took him down like a pack of dogs taking down a lion.
"Alien-lover," one of the men said. "You're so fond of getting screwed by the Minbari that you want to make sure they all screw over the rest of us too."
"That didn't happen," Sheridan murmured. "They didn't say anything to me when they were beating me up."
One of the men had a steel spike. No, not a spike exactly: the end was blunt. Some sort of weapon or tool Sheridan did not recognize.
Lennier's voice, as if reading to him: "The level three test is the ultimate act of submission."
The man with the spike smashed one of the lamps, and flaming lamp oil ran down the steel instrument. "Lamp oil?" Sheridan heard his own voice in his head, although his lips were not moving. "The bar had electric lights."
Lennier's voice again, speaking as if in an aside, commenting on the written material. "This is, of course, a euphemism."
Sheridan was down. The men in the bar kept kicking him.
"This is the only time I am going to tell you which parts of this happen in timab, and which parts happen in ren. I will not require the ultimate act of submission of you in ren. Only in timab."
The man in the bar brandished the oily spike. "Hold him down, boys."
During the entire week of torture on Mars, Sheridan had not screamed. This time, he screamed. Just for a second, in as much surprise as pain. Then he held his breath.
He came awake on the slanted sleeping platform, choking back a scream. The pain snapped off like a lightswitch as soon as he woke up. He was covered in cold sweat.
Sheridan sat up and slid off the platform, gasping to recover the breath he had held in his sleep.
"Was that—what the hell was that?" Sheridan grated.
"Guided meditation," Lennier replied.
"Never do that to me again."
Lennier hooked a leg behind Sheridan's ankle and swept his feet out from under him. Sheridan fell against the side of the platform, crunching an aching rib. He got a hand behind him and steadied himself, and managed not to fall to the floor.
"You forget yourself. Starkiller." Lennier handed Sheridan a bundle of wires and some kind of round things. "Put these on."
Sheridan looked at the bundle without comprehension. "How?"
"Use the suction cups."
Sheridan shuddered, thinking of the giant squid. Then he realized what he was holding, and nearly fell down. He looked at Lennier in horror. But his hands were moving by themselves. Disrobing himself.
He attached the suction cups, each with its attached wire, in random places. Lennier had him reposition a few of them. One to each sole of the foot, for example.
"These things leave marks," Sheridan said.
"Only for a few days," replied Lennier. "You can't let a fleet doctor examine you anyway, when you get back. He might run a blood panel, and discover the drug."
"Right."
"Starkiller. Get up on the platform."
This time Sheridan didn't even think about it. He just climbed up.
"I suppose now you're going to torture me."
"No. The level four test is to torture yourself." Lennier handed him the control box. "Starkiller. Zap yourself."
Sheridan did not scream. He only made little strangled grunts, punctuated with gasps.
The shell of the ship opened out, and Sheridan floated among the stars. The green fire of nebulae became the aurora borealis over Earth's northern skies.
Flights of rockets spiraled through the air. Fireworks? Missiles. Missiles going up. Missiles coming down. Dust clouds as they impacted in the cornfield.
Sheridan opened his eyes on the sleeping platform. He was covered with cloth of gold. He got up and the fabric turned out to be a religious-caste Minbari robe. He put it on.
Where was Lennier?
"Don't leave me alone," Sheridan moaned.
He shambled out of the sleeping room and wandered the ship at random.
He came into a circular room with spotlights, like the war room aboard his Whitestar. Lennier was standing in one of the spotlights holding the PPG. Sheridan noticed that this time, it had an energy cap.
Sheridan moved to stand in another spotlight. Lennier put the PPG in his hand and pointed to another spotlight.
A cloaked figure moved into the light. It pulled down its black hood.
"Anna?"
Her features were unmistakable, despite the burns on her face and the ashes for hair.
"John. Come with me. To Zahadum."
"This already happened. But it didn't happen this way."
"The drug is designed to help you deal with traumas," Lennier said.
"If this is a test," Sheridan said, looking down at the gun, "Can I say goodbye to her first?"
"Of course."
"Anna. I'm sorry I killed you. No. No, I'm not sorry for that. You're better off. Never quite whole, Justin said. You weren't really you by then. No. I'm sorry I didn't save you before it happened. Before you became a Shadow pilot. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."
Anna just looked at him. Her mind was gone. Her eyes were a Shadow pilot's eyes.
"I'm sorry I was never there for you. Your career, my career, we were always off on some assignment. You, digging up old graves. Me, making new ones. I'm sorry I never gave you a child."
Blue shapes moved in the shadows: tears, arcing away as if in zero-g. Bright blue like a child's drawing of the sea. The child he never gave her.
Sheridan straightened his spine. He nodded to Lennier.
"You do not wish to embrace her?"
"No. The thing I killed was a Shadow of her old self. If there was anything left of Anna by then, I set it free. But a Shadow pilot isn't a human being. It's a weapon. It's got Anna's face but it doesn't have Anna's soul. It is an abomination."
Lennier intoned, "Starkiller. Kill Anna Sheridan."
Sheridan raised the gun and fired.
\
He jerked awake on the sleeping platform. The suction cups were still attached. He pulled them off and rolled out of bed. He winced when his feet hit the floor; his muscles had cramped up.
Lennier was lying in the next bunk, watching him.
"That was the level five test," Sheridan stated, one hand on the platform to keep himself upright as the room wheeled drunkenly about him.
"Yes."
"Is it over?"
"Not quite. You know that took place in timab. The presence of a person who is known to be dead proves that. The final level of testing must take place in ren."
"There is nothing above five."
"There is six."
"Level six is a euphemism for a real mission. For betraying your unit."
"Or your ship," Lennier said.
"Right. But you and I are on the same side."
"Actually, level 6 can be done as a test, under the right circumstances. It is just usually not possible to simulate, so it is tested in the field."
"So you've got some trick up your sleeve."
"Perhaps. Starkiller. Follow me." Lennier led the way to the bridge. The layout was similar to a Whitestar's bridge, but without the Vorlon influences it looked purely Minbari.
On the forward viewscreen, an Earth Alliance warship lay dead ahead, so close its bridge module filled the screen. It was the Agamemnon.
Lennier pointed to the gunner's station.
Sheridan went to it. "I get it," he said. "That's a derelict, left over from the Earth-Minbari war. Painted up to look like it's in fighting trim. Its damage mocked over. The Agamemnon name painted on the side. You couldn't have had this done in this length of time, though. I know how long the full effect of the drug is supposed to last. I read about it, before we started. It's still today."
Wild paranoia blossomed in Sheridan's heart. "How long have you been planning this?"
"This was your idea, Captain Sheridan. You asked me to loribond you. No, you demanded it."
"Mm. No, this is far too Byzantine for you." He snapped his fingers. "Marcus! Marcus set this up. Because I'm a loose cannon. It takes one to know one, and Marcus is as loose as they come. He's been known to take independent action that he thought would benefit Delenn. Harebrained schemes, mostly, but they've worked so far. That's it. Marcus set this up with Garibaldi. The men in the bar weren't Clarkists, or mercenaries. They were Rangers."
"That is ridiculous, Captain Sheridan. Look at the timing. Why would allies of Delenn kidnap you in the middle of your short victorious war?"
"I don't know." Sheridan cast about for an answer that would make sense, but none occurred to him. "I don't know," he said again, more softly. "But how did you get all this work done so quickly?"
"Adjust the magnification," Lennier invited, gesturing at the viewscreen.
Sheridan zoomed in closer. "It's perfect. Flawless. It sure doesn't look like a wreck."
"It's not. Adjust it the other way."
Sheridan zoomed out. The space around the Agamemnon swarmed with other ships: Whitestars, old style Minbari war cruisers, Earth Alliance ships, all kinds of ships.
"We're back at the fleet. That's really the Agamemnon."
"Yes."
"I can't. Lennier, I can't. Never mind the moral question, if I fire at one of the ships that's following me into battle, they'll all distrust me. I can't lead the fleet to victory that way."
"That is the test," Lennier said. "You will either pass or you will fail. And I can't let you fail. If you don't pass this time, we will simply start over from level one. This time everything will take place in ren."
"Including…" Sheridan was going to say, including level three. Of all the things that had happened over the past week, that was the only one that truly frightened him, in a fundamental way that had nothing to do with pain.
"Yes, including level 5. Level 5 is killing one of your own. Perhaps I'll start with Ivanova."
"No. Lennier, no."
He shrugged. "She's going to die anyway. Hadn't you heard?"
"No."
"Well. If we get through the testing fast enough, perhaps you can visit her before the end."
"That's cruel, Lennier."
"That is the test. If you get back to six and fail again, I'll start you again. And again. Until you pass. You said yourself you could not risk becoming loribonded to the Martian interrogator. Whoever he was. Clarkist, Shadow servant, or whoever. If you fail, it means that I have not usurped the bond. And you will be bonded to the torturer."
"It's not worth this."
"Isn't it?"
"No! Not to save my career, dammit, no. Delenn can finish the war. One of the defectors can talk to Earthdome when we get there. Captain James, maybe."
"This is not about your career, Captain Sheridan."
"Yes it is! If I end up loribonded to an enemy, even I wouldn't trust me with command of the fleet. But if I end up loribonded to anybody, and it gets out, Earthdome would never let me remain in command of anything. Certainly not a space station. Even if the restored government absolves me of any wrongdoing in this war."
"And what happens after you are no longer the commander of Babylon 5? After you are no longer the equal and strong leader with which Delenn fell in love?"
"What?"
"If you're bonded to me, at least she will trust you. If you're bonded to an enemy, she can't. You'd have to be kept in total isolation from the public, never going anywhere, so your controller would not have a chance to speak to you. Or else you could not be trusted with command of your own hands. Delenn would have to keep you in her quarters, in chains. As a pet. For the rest of your life. And that would break her heart."
Sheridan stared at Lennier for a long moment. "You love her."
"Yes."
"Then why…" He trailed off.
"Because I love her. With a nonpossessive love. A pure love. The kind that seeks nothing for itself. Your return, strong and whole, is my gift to her."
"I had no idea."
"That is why I can't let you fail. Why I'll keep you here for however long it takes, going through however many of our mutual friends it takes, until you pass. Until I'm sure you're loribonded to me, and not to the enemy."
"I see it in your eyes. You really would."
"For her. For the love we share for Delenn. Give over your will to me."
He nodded. Sighed. There was a hard set to his face. This was not brainwashing. He was no automaton. This was a choice. He chose.
"Yes."
"Starkiller. Target the Agamemnon and fire."
Sheridan's hands went down on the firing controls.
Nothing happened.
He looked up at the screen. He expected to see the Agamemnon burning in space, flames shooting out with the escaping oxygen. He expected to see the bridge destroyed. Bodies floating away. The bodies of Captain James, and the other men and women whose careers Sheridan had carefully nurtured.
The Agamemnon floated before him, serene and unscathed. Its metal panels flashed in the red light reflecting off Mars like a pink steel patchwork quilt.
"Huh. This ship. I forgot. This ship's weapons were damaged. This gun won't fire." He turned to Lennier. "That was the trick."
"Congratulations, Captain Sheridan. You passed the level six test."
"Then. Then. Then let's get back to the Whitestar. We have a war to win."
\
A deep voice boomed out over the Zocalo. "Carla! Look! It's Sheridan! He's returned!"
The crowd surged and pressed toward the entrance of Captain Sheridan. An ISN cameraman elbowed Vir aside to get a good angle on the Captain's triumphant return.
The ISN crew got a great shot of a large, black-armored Minbari warrior grabbing Sheridan by the legs and lifting him up onto his shoulders. Replays of the event clearly showed panic on Sheridan's face.
"Whoa!" Sheridan called, whether at the Minbari or at his own security officers, who had drawn their guns, it was not clear.
Firuun held onto Sheridan's boots to balance him on his shoulder pauldrons. "Three cheers for Admiral Starkiller!"
Carla, in her bright FPFP jacket, responded enthusiastically. "Hip, hip, hooray!" She led the crowd in a cheer.
Sheridan waved good-naturedly at the crowd and the reporters. By the time the crowd quieted down, he was smiling.
"Thank you all for the warm welcome. Though I must admit it was a little disconcerting. It wasn't so very long ago that being grabbed on the street by a Minbari warrior shouting 'Starkiller' would have been a bad thing."
The crowd laughed. Firuun and Carla laughed too.
"I appreciate your support through this difficult time. I could not have achieved all I have, except that I'm standing on the shoulders of giants."
This brought an even bigger laugh from the crowd.
"Now, I don't have any prepared notes, so I'm quite literally speechless."
A roar of laughter.
"Hey, it looks like I can't go wrong no matter what I say. You'd all applaud if I read the latest baseball statistics."
The crowd erupted in applause and shrill whistles.
When the crowd quieted down again, an ISN reporter maneuvered his way in front of his cameraman and called, "President Sheridan! What's the first thing you're going to do as the head of the new Interstellar Alliance?"
"Stand on my own feet. Put me down, please."
Then Firuun set Sheridan down. The top of Sheridan's head came level with the Minbari's shoulder armor. Sheridan glanced up as if thinking, I'm glad this guy is on my side.
Firuun raised a fist in the air and began chanting, "Sheridan! Sheridan! Sheridan!" Carla and the other bar regulars picked it up right away, and from there it spread through the rest of the crowd. "Sheridan! Sheridan! Sheridan!"
Sheridan slipped back out of the Zocalo. "You were right," he told Delenn. "We'd better take the back way to our quarters."
The End
