Disclaimer: B5 belongs to Joe and SciFi; Star Wars belongs to George and Lucasfilm. I'm only having fun.
Author's Notes: This is set sometime in the third season of Babylon 5; let's not look to closely to see exactly where. ;) It's also set just after the X-Wing novel "Starfighters of Adumar" in the Star Wars universe, and that probably tracks better. It is, for the most part, sheer fun; this is the first fanfic I ever started writing, and thanks to my inherent procrastinator, it's taken me four years to finish. Enjoy.
Leia was—once again—settled at her desk in her "official" office, nearly hidden behind the stacks of datacards and holochips that required her immediate attention. She sighed to herself. She'd swear that they'd been multiplying; there couldn't have been nearly that many this morning!
Suddenly there came a knock on the door. The President of the New Republic Senate smiled to herself; she knew of only one person who would knock on the door rather than using the chime, but she felt obliged to give him some grief anyway. "My immediate attention is occupied for the next six weeks; go away."
The door opened and a tall, rugged-looking man stalked in. He wore a hurt expression. "Hey, your Highnessness, no time even for me?"
"I didn't know Security let people like you down this wing," she teased as she came around the desk to give him a kiss.
"Very funny, Your Worship." He knew she hated being called that. He glanced at her desk, then back at her. Leia braced herself for the coming lecture. "You're working too hard again," Han told her.
Leia sighed and pulled away from him, shaking her head. "Not this again. You know I need to work on this. The ambassadors…"
Han held up a hand to stop the tirade. He was used to this speech. "How much of this needs done now?" he demanded.
Leia smiled. "About half."
"And how much of that could be done by somebody else?"
"Most of it, but, Han…"
"No buts," he insisted, taking hold of her arms and pulling her away from the desk. "I am taking you on a vacation." Leia looked skeptical, but her husband insisted. "No, really. I've been thinking about this for a while. We'll get Luke to come along, and Lando too if he can get off." Here he smirked his smuggler's grin. "I'll even bring Goldenrod if you want me to."
Leia's skeptical look hadn't gone away, but he really seemed excited about this. "You are determined to do this, aren't you," she asked.
"Yes." When he was that stubborn, there was no arguing with him. Leia sighed.
"Well, I suppose I could take a day or two…"
"Great!" He clapped his hands together and headed for the door. " We'll leave tomorrow. I gotta go work on the Falcon."
"Tomorrow?" she said in surprise, but he had already left.
* * * *
An electrical crackling filled the room as the two lightsabers met again, responding to a violent chop from the one on the right. The blue and green glows were the only light, and the strange shadows they cast made everything look eerie. The expressions on the faces of the two Jedi were hard set and determined.
Suddenly the woman with the blue saber broke the body-to-body and lunged to the right, deactivating her saber as she went and knocking the man a heavy blow to the back of the knees with her lightsaber handle. He didn't recover from his fall as quickly as she did, and a moment later she was on her feet and had the point of her reactivated saber at the back of his neck.
"Well, Skywalker?" she asked, her voice light and calm.
"Not bad," Luke Skywalker answered, his voice muffled by the dirt floor, "but I don't think it qualifies as a victory if you have to resort to old Imperial tricks to bring me down." Mara Jade, former Emperor's Hand and now leader of the Smuggler's Alliance, scowled at him and shifted the point of her saber down a fraction. He didn't even flinch. "Do you mind?" he asked. "This is beginning to get uncomfortable."
Mara deactivated her lightsaber again and returned it to her belt, and Luke rolled over onto his back and then sat up, rubbing his knees. "That was a good trick, though," he commented as Mara collapsed into a half-lotus position on the floor. "I'll have to remember that."
"Thanks," she said dryly. " I learned that one from a Mistryl fighter. Then I learned not to mess with the Mistryl, unless I was big on visiting the med center."
Luke grinned. "Speaking of vacations… Leia's been working too hard again, and Han has invited everyone on a little getaway trip."
"Everyone? Including me?" Mara asked. She was wondering why Han would invite her anywhere.
"Sure. You've been working too hard, too. The Alliance can get along without you for a week," he replied. The Alliance he'd mentioned was the Smuggler's Alliance, put together by Mara and Talon Kaarde shortly after the Thrawn incident.
"Who's coming?" she asked, sounding slightly suspicious.
"Well," Luke replied, "Han and Leia, of course, myself, you, if you'll come along, Chewie, Lando…"
"Calrissian?" Mara sounded disgusted.
"He's not that bad…" Luke said. "Han's even agreed to let Artoo and Threepio come along."
"You're kidding." Mara smirked. "The day he lets that droid back on his ship without shooting him is the day the Empire starts signing peace treaties." Then she stopped, and looked at Luke for a while. He gazed back at her, his pale blue eyes calm and steady. Finally she sighed. "I might as well come along. I've got nothing else to be doing, nothing serious anyway. And maybe you're right—a vacation might do me some good." The she unfolded from her seat on the dirt floor and headed out of the practice room, once again leaving Luke only wondering what she was thinking.
* * * *
The Imperial Star Destroyer Black Jewel hovered menacingly over K6, a desolate rock of a planet in the Kessel system, so insignificant it was denied even a proper name. The huge, dark form of the ISD cast a shadow over the rocky surface, nearly eclipsing the hot sun, and three squadrons of TIE fighters hovered close by to defend the ship. To any enemy of the Empire, it was an ominous view.
To Admiral Pellaeon, however, it was a very welcome sight. It was, to him, a sign of order—the stronghold of the only Imperial officer who had not gone mad, it seemed. The only surviving Imperial Grand Admiral—Grand Admiral Marin Feroon.
Only a standard week earlier, the Grand Admiral had sent Pellaeon a message, acknowledging the Admiral's association with Thrawn and requesting that he meet him at his Star Destroyer within a week, if Pellaeon would be interested in his plan. A plan which Feroon was absolutely certain would exterminate the Rebels. So, here he was—taking a personally issued Lambda-class shuttle from his own transport to the huge white bulk before him.
Once his shuttle docked, Pellaeon was escorted to the Grand Admiral's quarters by two silent, uniformed stormtroopers. Upon reaching the door, one of the troopers keyed in a passcode and the door hissed open. Pellaeon stood at the threshold, nervous, until a middle-ranged male voice called out, "Enter."
Pellaeon stepped through the doorway, and the door hissed shut behind him, making him jump. He reprimanded himself silently—how many years now had he been living with these doors?—and moved forward. The room was dark, the only illumination coming from a holographic star map hovering to one side of a large desk carved of Ithorian wood. Seated at that desk, the pale light playing eerily over his features, was Grand Admiral Marin Feroon.
He was a tall man, almost two meters in height, with a narrow build and dark, blue-black hair. His eyes were a startling bright green, and tilted inwards just noticeably, giving him an almost feline appearance. Pellaeon suppressed a shudder; this was the first time he'd met the Admiral face to face and he was, in his own way, almost as menacing as Thrawn.
Feroon did not rise as Pellaeon entered the room and moved closer to the desk; rather, he stayed seated and looked as if this little man approaching him amused him. It was not until Pellaeon had reached the usual debriefing position before the desk that he noticed a figure standing in the shadows. It was a bit shorter than an average human male; other than that, Pellaeon could distinguish nothing. However, his attention was drawn back to the Grand Admiral when Feroon began to speak.
"Admiral Pellaeon, how good of you to come," he announced in a silky, dark voice. "It is an honor to meet the man who served so well under my…counterpart." Something in Feroon's voice suggested that he had something else he wanted to call Thrawn—something far less complimentary.
"It is a greater honor for me to make the acquaintance of another of the Emperor's most trusted officials," Pellaeon replied smoothly.
Feroon grimaced. " 'Trusted.' The Emperor trusted no one. Not even Darth Vader, for he knew that the only thing that held us to him was fear and love of power. Say, rather, powerful—he gave us power, not trust." Then he sighed. "Be that as it may, the Emperor is dead, and the glory days of the Empire are gone from this galaxy. But I, Admiral—" and here his eyes began to gleam "—I have found somewhere where we can bring them back. That is why I have summoned you here, Giliad Pellaeon. Because I believe you can help me to bring back the Empire." Feroon, who had half risen and leaned over his desk during this inspired speech, sat back down and relaxed in his chair. His voice became quiet again as he said, "There is some one I would like you to meet."
The figure in the shadows stepped into the light, and Pellaeon studied the alien. For the most part, he looked human. He was even shorter than Pellaeon had surmised, for his hair, molded into an arc above his head, added a good dozen centimeters to his height. He held his chin high, and his expression was one probably more commonly seen on a protocol droid.
"This is Lord Refa," Feroon announced," of a race known as the Centauri, inhabiting sections of the Unknown Regions. He is a high-ranking…individual…in the Centauri Royal Court." Refa's chin rose even more at the description of his exalted position.
"The…Unknown Regions?" questioned Pellaeon. The Unknown Regions were just that—unknown and unexplored. There were no charts, no maps; anyone venturing into such an area risked becoming permanently abandoned in the case of a hyperdrive failure. Grand Admiral Thrawn had been phenomenally lucky in his return from his exile there.
As if he'd been reading the Admiral's thoughts, Feroon replied, "Of course. Did you know, Admiral, that your great and glorious Thrawn was not exiled to the Unknown Regions?" Feroon smiled lazily at Pellaeon's shocked expression. "No, he was not exiled. Thrawn was sent—sent by the Emperor himself—to map the regions so that the Empire might expand to include this as well. The first inhabited world he encountered was Centauri Prime, and he met with their emperor. He then traveled deeper into the sector, and encountered the Narn Homeworld, populated by a backwater race enslaved by the Centauri; Minbar, the home of a race of religious fanatics; and worlds such as Epsilon, Mars, Vega, colonized by Earth." Here Feroon paused for emphasis. "By Humans."
Pellaeon had to stifle a gasp. "Humans…but…that's not possible…not that far into…"
"But I assure you, Admiral, it is," Lord Refa interrupted. It was the first time he had spoken, and his voice matched his face; he had a protocol droid's nasal tones. When he opened his mouth, Pellaeon could also see that his teeth had pointed tips. "The Humans have expanded far from their once pitiful little planet to having taken over the entire Sol System. They couldn't even design their own hyperspace technology; it was the Centauri who gave it to them." Then Feroon glared at him, and Refa almost physically shrank back.
"But where did the Humans come from?" Pellaeon wanted to know.
"It is not important where they came from," Feroon replied quickly. "What is important is the fact that, thanks to the Centauri's unique hyperspace technology, we now have nearly a quarter of the galaxy ripe for the picking. The Empire can—no, is destined to—expand into the no-longer Unknown Regions and escape the sway of this Rebellion disguised as a New Republic. What I need to know now, Admiral, is…are you with us?"
Pellaeon gulped, stared at the Grand Admiral for a moment, then said, "Yes, sir. I'm with you."
* * * *
"Han, I can't believe you let Lando talk you into this," Leia complained as the Falcon swerved suddenly, dodging another asteroid.
"Talk me into what?" the ex-smuggler retorted. "I wanted to do this. And besides, he was right, I needed the practice."
"Practice. Flying the Kessel Run is practice?" Luke murmured under his breath. Han shot him a glare, then turned back to the viewscreen just in time to dodge another asteroid. A thump and a curse issued from the cabin behind.
"Solo, if you make me lose my balance one more time, I swear I'll toss you out the airlock and fly this Sith-posessed ship myself!" Luke smiled as he recognized Mara's angry tones; he just hoped she wasn't mad enough to be serious.
Half of a brain-jarring, bone-rattling hour later, the Milennium Falcon finally emerged from the last of the asteroids. Han leaned back in the pilot's chair, put his hands behind his head, and yelled back his victory to his friend, who was playing holochess with R2 and losing.
"Not bad," Lando commented as he moved into the cockpit and checked the chronometer, "but I still think you could've run it a little faster than that."
"Yeah," Han retorted, "like when I'm not weighed down by six extra people! Face it, Lando, I ran it—and faster than you ever have in my Falcon."
"Your Falcon? Hey, buddy, she was mine to begin with."
"Would you overgrown ten-year-olds shut up in there," Mara yelled, stalking into the cockpit. She was holding a deactivated lightsaber. Han had to suppress a grin; apparently she was doing about as well with the training remote as the kid had the first time around. Suddenly she froze, half through the doorway, staring out the front viewscreen. "What in the worlds is that?"
Han and Lando both turned to look, and what they saw surprised them as much as it had Mara. What would have been a few kilometers away, except that there is no linear distance in space, was a huge, orange, swirling…thing. An anomaly, to give it a proper name. Somehow, through it's very presence, it seemed to be waiting.
It was more the sudden silence than the shouts of exclamation that followed that brought Luke and Leia to the cockpit. They were as shocked as everyone else when they saw the phenomenon. It was a good five or ten minutes before anyone realized that the Falcon, which should have been stationary, was slowly drifting towards the anomaly. And naturally, by the time they noticed it was too late.
"Come on Han, do something!" Leia exclaimed. She was getting more than a little nervous, which threw everyone off, because she was supposed to be the stable one.
"I'm tryin'!" Han snapped back. "Chewie?" The Wookiee roared something unintelligible back and Han shook his head. "We're stuck."
"A tractor beam?" Lando asked hopefully.
Han shook his head again. "Acting more like gravity." He paused, then said quietly, "It doesn't look like a black hole."
Everyone was silent for a moment, and in the unnatural quiet, they could hear the prissy tones of Threepio's voice in the background—"Whatever it is, I'm sure it must be your fault."
* * * *
C&C was nervous. Everybody, from Lieutenant Corwin on down, had been on edge all day—the commander had not slept well, and she had had no coffee this morning. Any errors or arguments were not likely to be accepted well.
Suddenly, Ivanova's voice called out over the center, "Captain on the bridge." Everyone snapped to attention. When the commander was in a formal mood, no one argued.
"As you were," Sheridan said, and after a moment, everyone returned to their duties. "A little tense today, Commander?" he asked Ivanova.
"You would be too if you've had the kind of day I've had," she shot back. "Garibaldi pulled up my coffee plant! I can't believe he did that!"
Sheridan tried to hide a smirk. "Well, it was growing there illegally, you know. It's his job to deal with things like that."
"Yeah, well, I'm still having the cost of importing my coffee billed to his account."
Sheridan grinned and shook his head. "Has anything else interesting been going on while I was playing diplomat with Londo?" he asked, trying to change the subject before he burst out laughing; whatever the doctors said, laughter wouldn't be healthy right now.
"Not really," Ivanova answered, "but there's a strange feeling around, like something's going to happen. You know what I mean?"
Sheridan nodded; he knew about Ivanova's latent telepathy, and he trusted her hunches. Besides, Ivanova was the kind of person whose hunches you trusted.
Suddenly one of the ensigns exclaimed in a surprised voice, "There's something coming through the jumpgate!"
"But there's nothing scheduled until afternoon," Ivanova protested, but none of their objections changed the fact that a ship of unknown design and specification was decelerating out of the jumpgate.
* * * *
After being sucked into the phenomenon, the Falcon had kept along at a good pace, surrounded by a swirl of bright red-and-black marbled space. Nothing else had happened; they'd been travelling for two hours, and everyone was bored.
Somehow this new situation seemed to promote boredom more than ordinary hyperspace. At the moment, Han and Leia were sitting silently in the cockpit, Luke was meditating, Mara and Lando were having a half-hearted verbal sparring match, and Chewie was playing holochess with Threepio—without dismembering the droid. It seemed that all anyone could do was sit around and wait for something to happen.
Then the hyperspace alarm went off.
Han just sat and stared at it for a while; what did it think it was doing? They weren't in hyperspace, so how could they be coming out of it?
"What's going on?" asked Leia, suddenly alert.
Han just shook his head. "The Falcon thinks we're coming out of hyperspace."
"But we're not in hyperspace," Leia protested.
"Tell that to the ship," Han retorted. "It's acting like we're coming out of hyperspace, but I honestly don't know what I'm going to do about it."
"Agree with it," ventured a voice from behind him. Han turned around quickly; it was Luke, shaken from his meditations by the commotion in the cockpit.
"Whaddaya mean, agree with it?" Han objected, still trying to figure out what was malfunctioning and where, and how he was going to fix it this time.
"Go along with it," Luke explained. "Decelerate, fix the inertial dampeners, whatever you do when you come out of hyperspace."
Han looked at the kid like he was crazy.
"Well, it can't hurt anything," Luke said.
Unfortunately, the crazy kid had a point.
Thirty seconds later, the Falcon did come out of hyperspace, only a kilometer or two from a huge space station. Everybody was in the cockpit now, and things were getting very cramped, but nobody seemed to notice as they stood and watched and wondered what had happened.
Just then a flotilla of snubfighters, similar in design to X-wings, launched out of the station and towards them. "Oh, someone to greet us," announced Threepio cheerily. It was the first thing he'd said in hours, probably because he'd been trying to avoid being switched off for most of the trip.
"They don't look quite that friendly," Han commented sarcastically as they took up an attack formation that surrounded the Falcon completely. He barked a couple of orders at Chewie, who was by now back in the copilot's seat, and began powering up the forward weapons systems.
"Han, don't you think…" Leia objected, but Han interrupted her.
"Listen, sweetheart," Han retorted, but he was cut off by an exasperated Mara.
"Why don't you just save us all some time and turn on the comm system?" She glared at him like he was a complete and utter idiot. Han looked slightly abashed.
Lando backed her up, obviously trying to get back on her good side, if he was ever there at all. "She's got a point, Han. If those ships are as much like X-wings as they look, the Falcon won't hold together for very long."
Han glared at Lando, but switched on the comm and fiddled with the frequency until something came through, however faint.
It was a woman's voice. "…forced to take drastic measures. Repeat, this is Commander Susan Ivanova of Babylon 5 to unidentified ship, please identify yourself. Babylon Control to unidentified vessel, request you identify yourself immediately or we may be forced to attack." Her voice sounded strained, but not frightened. In fact, she sounded perfectly ready to blow them straight to hell.
Nobody in the Falcon's cockpit moved. Mara waited a few seconds, then snorted in exasperation, and leaned over and flipped on the "send" switch. "Babylon Control, this is the New Republic Vessel Milennium Falcon; we apologize for the intrusion; we've been having some slight…problems." The glare she shot behind her left most wondering whether she meant the anomaly or the men; Leia had her bet on the men.
"Understood," came back the commander's voice through the comm, "and no offense taken. Would you care to come aboard?"
Mara eyed the docking entrance warily, and replied, "Sure, we'll do our best."
"Docking bay 14. We'll send an escort down to greet you; the captain would like a word."
"Understood. Falcon out."
Han glared at Mara for a while, and Mara simply glared back, her arms crossed under her breasts, waiting for him to accuse her of something. Finally he just snapped, "Don't mess with my ship again," and turned to the controls. Mara stalked out, and Luke started to follow her, but Leia stopped him and went after her herself. Luke decided to stay in the cockpit and see how Han handled the docking situation. From the looks of things, Lando had the same idea; he was standing in the entrance, his trademark long cape filling the doorway, grinning at his old friend.
Han wasn't paying any attention to them; he had problems of his own. How in the name of the Emperor's black heart am I supposed to dock in that? It's spinning! Of course, the Falcon had spun before, but never for that length of time. Still, that didn't mean it was impossible. He just hoped the inertial dampeners would hold up. Chewie rumbled a question about the approach and he replied, "Yeah, I think she can pull it off. You fixed the inertial dampeners, right?" The Wookiee's response was not as positive as he would have liked. "Well, they'll just have to work," Han told his copilot.
Thankfully, they did, but as the Falcon maneuvered itself carefully into Bay 14, the only thought running through his mind was "Why does the sith-possessed station have to spin in the first place?"
* * * *
The first to disembark from the ship was a huge, furry…something. It looked like nothing any of the welcoming party of Zack Allen, Michael Garibaldi, and Lyta Alexander had ever seen before. It was followed closely by a tall, scruffy-looking man who seemed likely to be the pilot; a tall redhead with a gun on one hip and what looked almost like a Minbari fighting pike on the other; and a black man of middle height and gaudy fashion sense. Behind them was the woman who looked to be the leader of the party; despite the combat fatigues she was wearing, she had the bearing of a noblewoman. The last member of the party was a blond man, wearing a long cloak and a weapon similar to that of the redhead. He was accompanied by what must have been prototype androids; one looked like a golden version of the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz, and the other looked like a trashcan. The entire arrangement must have been arranged that way for one purpose—it was impressive.
As far as Zack was concerned, it was working. He really hadn't been prepared for an alien, and was immensely relieved when he saw the humans walking behind it. As he glanced around, he noticed Garibaldi having much the same reaction. Lyta was calm and unconcerned, as usual.
Before the new arrivals got within hearing distance, Zack leaned over to Garibaldi and muttered, "Chief?"
"Yeah, I know," Babylon 5's head of security answered. "I can deal with the guys and the guns, but that…walking bear rug…"
"Tell me about it," Zack answered, and then they were forced to abandon their conversation, for the woman that had come fifth in line out of the ship had managed to come to stand directly in front of them.
She wasn't particularly tall, but her presence—and her dark-eyed gaze—were almost intimidating. Although she wore old combat fatigues and her brown hair was wound in braids around her head, when she announced, "I am Leia Organa-Solo, President of the Senate of the New Republic. I insist we be taken to someone in charge of this station," no one had any reason to disbelieve or disagree with her.
Garibaldi wasn't as easily impressed as his second—at least not as visibly so. He watched the other members of the party expectantly. They watched him back. When it became obvious that none of them were going to speak, he turned his gaze back to the woman who had introduced herself as Leia Organa-Solo.
"And I'm Michael Garibaldi, chief of Babylon 5 security, and this is Zack Allen, my second; and Lyta Alexander, our resident telepath," he introduced. The blond man seemed startled at the "telepath" and turned his head slightly to study Lyta, who ignored him.
Organa-Solo inclined her head gracefully and waited for someone to take the lead. Garibaldi didn't move. Finally Zack, followed closely by Lyta, headed off in the direction of Sheridan's office. Garibaldi stayed at the end of the pack, near the living Sasquatch and two androids.
The garbage can beeped at him, and the golden one offered a hand and said, "Hello sir. I am C-3PO, human-cyborg relations, and this is my counterpart R2-D2. I…"
"Stuff it, Goldenrod," interrupted the tall, scruffy-looking, brown-haired man whom Garibaldi had taken for a pilot-for-hire. Then the man turned to Garibaldi. "Sorry about that—Leia, I mean. She gets like that sometimes." He offered a hand. "Han Solo."
Garibaldi took it. "Her husband?" he asked. Han nodded. "Sorry."
"Don't worry, I'm used to it," Han replied with a grin.
"You the pilot of that thing?" Garibaldi asked, nodding his head back toward the docking bay.
"Yeah, the Milennium Falcon. She's an old one, but she holds together." He sounded proud of his old junker of a ship.
"A smuggler, right?" At Han's nod, he continued. "I thought so. She looked too modified to be anything else. We don't have much trouble with smugglers here, but during the war, we used 'em to transport troops and supplies in Minbar space."
"Minbari?" Han asked.
"You'll see," Garibaldi assured him with a grin.
* * * *
"Mr. Bester, I hope this isn't going to take very long; I have things I need to attend to." Captain John Sheridan of Babylon 5 was not having a productive day. That ship coming through the jumpgate unannounced had evidently been carrying very important people—he didn't know from where—and they were supposed to be showing up any minute. He had to get Bester out before that happened.
"Of course, Captain. I just thought I might inform you of an interesting…situation." The psi-cop turned around to face the captain, his black-gloved hands still clasped behind his back. "Did you know that you have telepaths on this station? Unregistered telepaths?" Sheridan must have looked surprised, because he continued describing them. "Two, possibly three, only one a man." Bester turned back to the window. "They arrived not a standard hour ago."
Sheridan was surprised, but he was determined not to show it. Not to a psi-cop. "And what do you expect me to do about it?"
Bester turned around again, staring into the captain's eyes with that all-knowing look that telepaths have. He looked almost as if he were trying to will the dampers out of operation. Sheridan kept his face blank. "I want you to turn them over to me, of course. Unrestricted telepaths are a danger to normals…" Bester started on his usual speech, but Sheridan cut him off. He was sick of listening to Psi Corp lies.
"That's not why you want them, and you know it. You want another chance to subvert innocent people into your conspiracy, and I won't have it. Not on my station." Some part of Sheridan's brain realized that he was yelling, but he was too annoyed to care. "At any rate, they're out of your jurisdiction; they're not even in my jurisdiction; and I want you and your slimy Psi Corp principles off my station in the next half hour, or I'll put you somewhere where you'll end up in the middle of a firefight between the Centauri and the Narn!"
Bester, as usual, was calm and ineffable. "Very well, Captain. I'll be going now. I wouldn't want to…inconvenience you any further. I wish you luck in your negotiations, Captain Sheridan. Be seeing you." With a nod and an almost-salute, the psi-cop left with such dignity that it could be wondered whether he was leading the security officer or that the security officer was leading him.
Sheridan settled back in his chair and closed his eyes. It had been a long day—and it was going to be even longer before it was done.