Disclaimer: J M Straczynski, Babylonian Productions ™ and Warner Productions ™ own the rights to all of the characters and places contained in this story.

Authors' Note: This is a collaboration fic from vjs2259 and Laurie M, writing under the joint name of Partners In Crimes. It is a first for both of us. We've taken the noir characters from The Deep Sleep and Body and Soul and had some fun with them - and what follows only makes sense (albeit slightly) if you have read those stories. Set Season Three, post Walkabout.

Reviews, comments and constructive criticism most welcome.


Babylon 5

Double Take

By

Partners In Crimes


ooOoo

Welcome to the Machine

ooOoo

'You are unfocussed,' Draal's voice boomed sternly, echoing around the caverns. 'You must learn to discipline that mind of yours.'

'I'm trying. This isn't exactly easy.' Susan gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the drops of perspiration rolling down her back. Each time she went into the Great Machine she swore it would be the last time – but here she was again.

'Easy? No. But I find it most invigorating.'

'You would,' she murmured.

'I heard that.'

In spite of herself, Susan smiled slightly. Draal was infuriating but she had an affection for the opinionated Minbari – she could understand Delenn's devotion to him. She shifted position as much as she was able, trying to find a way of standing that didn't involve a bit of machinery poking into her. The Machine's embrace had moulded itself to Draal's form – and his seemed to be the opposite of hers in every way. As far as Susan could tell, Draal stuck out where she went in and vice-versa.

' "Why don't you try contacting the First Ones again, Susan?" "We need all the help we can get, Susan." I'd like to see him get plugged in down here,' she muttered. She took back the last statement immediately: if John Sheridan ever got himself into the Great Machine, nothing short of Delenn doing a striptease just beyond his reach would coax him back out again.

'I don't know how you can do this all the time,' she said after a while.

Draal watched the young woman with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. She was one of the more interesting of the station's Humans, he thought. And she was a bringer of chaos – perhaps that was why she had chosen the disciplined path of the military, he reflected, to curb it. He liked that duality in her. If he had been some cycles younger and a little less Minbari... He shook himself. Draal leaned against a smooth projection of rock and became aware of the tiredness in his body; his limbs felt sluggish, heavy. The Machine had rejuvenated him, made him stronger, it was true; but whenever he was separated from its heart physically he could still feel the pull of his years. And he missed the synthesis of his mind with the wonder that was the Machine.

'The Machine is an unlimited source of fascination,' he told Susan. 'A year can pass as quickly as a second – and a second can last the span of a Minbari lifetime. Which is considerably longer than yours.'

Great, reminders of mortality, she thought, that was all she needed.

Draal folded his arms across his chest; his voice lowered as he spoke again, caressing the words, as he told some of the tales of the Great Machine. 'Did you know, Commander, that the Machine can show all possibilities? All the possibilities that have ever been and all the ones that could ever be? Alternatives, if you will. Did you know that there is another existence where the greatest force in the galaxy is Zathras and his people?' He paused, shuddering at the memory. 'It is a chaotic if relatively happy place.'

Susan listened to the words, absorbing them. Like a child being told a night-time story. She became less aware of discomfort, less aware of her physical being. Draal's voice was floating on a sea of countless others.

'All the alternate pasts that we may have had,' he said softly. 'That is extraordinary, is it not? All the beings that we once have been.'

That would be nice, Susan thought vaguely. An alternate past. Almost like a past life – like that dream that Garibaldi had had when he'd been knocked out a few weeks before. His other-self as a shady shamus... It would be nice to have a simpler life like that. Something interesting but not life-threatening. One that didn't include gearing up for a war that could very well end in all of them being annihilated. The war. The First Ones. She was supposed to be looking for the First Ones. But all those voices were still whispering and it would be so nice, just for once, to see something pleasant. To see that once a life of hers could have been simple, easy, fun...

The voices resolved themselves into a steady thrum and over it all a high-pitched cry that pierced through everything yelled, 'Extra! Extra! Read all about it!'

A kid with ginger hair sticking out from under a cap two sizes too big for him waved a newspaper under her nose and marched down the street.

A street.

Susan caught her breath. It was like watching something unfold from inside a bubble. People wandered past her, all dressed in clothing that looked like something from out of an old news vid. Men in sharp suits and hats and those things around their necks – ties? Ties. And the women... Susan stared at them. Elaborate hairstyles, dresses hugging their figures, high-heels that sent their hips swinging. She felt underdressed by comparison. She looked along the street, watched in fascination as huge automobiles trundled along. And over them loomed a tall spire that she recognised as the old Chrysler Building. The one that wasn't there anymore.

The voices crowded in again, pulling at her mind; one was stronger than all the others and she obeyed it helplessly. Part of her told to resist – the bigger part of her didn't want to. She floated through, images rushing past like film played at high speed until she stopped, suddenly, blinked against the brilliance of red, late-evening sunlight coming through a venetian blind and watched a young woman with a wave of tawny hair stand up from a desk.

Susan knew that face. Her own face. Her other self smoothed down the red dress she was wearing, pulled a sheet of paper from some contraption on the desk and added it to a pile of others in her hand, then moved towards a door. She opened it without knocking, walked in and Susan followed her.

'Hey, there's our girl,' a familiar voice said cheerfully. It was followed by an excited bark and the patter of feet.

'Archie, don't!'

'Give it up, plaything, I don't think he speaks Manhattanese.'

Susan felt her chest constrict as she looked at them. Two men and another woman arranged around the room. A man she knew as Michael Garibaldi was sitting with his feet up on a desk and his hands behind his head; John Sheridan was behind another and a woman who looked an awful lot like a certain Minbari ambassador of Susan's acquaintance was perched on the edge of his desk, delivering a severe lecture to a small dog the same colour grey as the furs around her shoulders.

The Susan-in-Red took a few steps into the room then stopped, turned suddenly and looked directly at the doorway. Her cheeks paled visibly and the papers fell from her hands.

'Susan?' Garibaldi unlinked his hands. 'What? What is it?'

'Can't you see her?'

'See who?'

'Her.' The girl in the red dress glanced into the office then back at the insubstantial figure hovering in the doorway. 'Her! She's right there. What the-'

The woman who wasn't Delenn slipped off the desk, put her hands on her friend's shoulders. The dog trotted forward, its teeth suddenly baring. It growled, low in its chest.

'Quiet, Archie.'

Susan couldn't breath. She saw her own face staring back at her, fearful; sensed the movement of the other people in the cramped office as they moved towards her. Everything was moving towards her, rushing inwards and her head was throbbing, pounding, and she couldn't get out.

Draal had been watching Susan's face, had seen the sudden draining of colour. And he felt the stirrings of the Machine – even when out of it, he could always feel it. The constant steady pulse of the machinery deep in the heart of the planet had quickened. The lights brightened as an energy surge flooded through the core of the Machine.

It had been barely seconds but it had already been too long. Draal started towards the figure of Susan Ivanova, her skin glowing with a light of its own.

'Zathras,' he called. 'Zathras!'

The lights flared brighter and then died.

ooOoo

It was as though someone had said, 'Let there be light,' and some giant cosmic hand had obeyed. Archie was in my arms, trying to burrow as far into my wrap as possible and I couldn't blame him. I felt like finding a large rock and hiding under it myself. I decided that attempting to work out what had happened was pointless for two reasons: first, I couldn't quite remember what had happened; and second: where I found myself was enough to distract me from any type of other thoughts at all.

One moment - of this much I was certain - I had been in the office that my husband shares with his partner, Mike; the next, I was standing in the middle of something that seemed to owe its design features to Fritz Lang. And Metropolis was never one of my favourite films. There was the constant hum of machinery, like one of the manufacturing plants that I have occasion to walk around when I do my duties by Ramir Industries (stock holders love that sort of thing, for some reason) and I reasoned that I was in a factory although I could not imagine what it was that they made.

I was also distracted somewhat by the fact that I was standing on a bridge that spanned a cavern and the way down looked uncomfortably long to say the least. There was firm land on the opposite side and a doorway cut into rock. Apart from the towering structures of light, everything seemed to be rock. And there were shadows and something moved in them. I caught my breath. Archie continued his attempt at pot-holing me and whined.

'A fine guard dog you are,' I murmured.

The something moving in the shadows emerged into the light, turned its head, looked at me and sucked its teeth thoughtfully.

'Ah! Ah. Not the one.'

I stared at it. 'Not the one what?'

It shook its head emphatically. 'Not The One!'

It said it with capital letters. I say 'it' because I have no other word. The being addressing me (and informing me of what I wasn't) looked a little like a man and a lot like a rat. And I don't mean what John or Mike would term a rat, I mean an actual member of the rodent family.

It clicked its teeth at me again. 'Come. Yes, yes, you come.' It scuttled through the doorway and as my options appeared to be limited in the extreme, I followed. The passage I was taken down was still walled with rock and if it had not been for the lighting fixtures set at regular intervals I could have believed that we were in old catacombs. That was not a cheering thought. I followed the sound of scuttling feet and clicking teeth all the way into another chamber whereupon my guide vanished as easily as he had appeared and I found a man standing with his back to me. He must have heard me enter - he turned and looked at me and then stared.

I stared back. Not the most polite behaviour but I couldn't help it. He was a thick-set man, bald and wearing a strange head-dress that curved around his head and stood up in points. Well, it made a change from a toupé, I suppose. He had a wide, rather humorous face and he looked like my butler. At least, the way I remember Drahl looking when I was a child.

He looked me over and I would have thought it a liberty except that there was nothing lecherous in his gaze. It was slow and thoughtful. He looked slightly shocked; when he had first faced me I felt as though he had recognised me - and then not recognised me. Rather the way that I had felt about him. Archie's head emerged and that penetrating gaze was transferred to that furry bundle of mischief and then finally returned to me.

'You are not Delenn.'

Well I could have told him that. I kept my head held high and hoped that I looked more in control than I felt. My father had always told me never to give anyone an excuse to talk about you and it is something that I always try to keep in mind. (He told my sister the same thing, but I don't think that Maya was listening.)

'No, I am not Delenn,' I said. 'I'm also not, apparently, The One. And for the record, I'm not a Girl Guide or Miss Montana, nineteen-forty-six, either.'

He tilted his head back, looked at me down his eyes. 'Who are you?'

I was starting to feel mildly annoyed.

'Who am I? Where am I? is more the question. How did I get here? And while we're at it, who are you?'

He took a breath so deep that his chest swelled up enough that it looked as though it would burst. He extended his arms. 'I am Draal of the Minbari Religious Caste, keeper of the Great Machine of Epsilon Three. Welcome.'

My throat had gone dry. I moistened my lips. He looked vaguely disappointed.

'Did you understand?'

I nodded. 'Your name is Draal, this place is Epsilon.'

'Three,' he intoned.

'Three.' I repeated in my head his greeting. I had never heard of a Minbari before. 'Religious Caste, you said? Are you a priest?'

'Not as such.'

Not as such - but he was Jesuitical in his declarations, nonetheless. 'Is- is this a factory? What are you making?'

He took another breath and I worried for his lung capacity. 'This is the home of the Great Machine! Factory...'

Oh. That cleared that one up. I finally managed to move my eyes from Drah- Forgive me, Draal, and looked behind him. Machinery took up most of the wall and there was a woman in the middle of it, her arms outstretched, her head lolling forwards. She seemed to be unconscious and it seemed as though she was being left there; the sight of her drove any other concern from my head. 'What are you doing? Trying to crucify her? Get her down from there!'

I released Archie and all but ran to the girl. I heard Draal behind me. 'We were about to remove her when you ... appeared.' He sounded concerned, I have to give him that.

There were straps holding her arms in place; between us we loosened them and her dead weight fell forward. I staggered as we lowered her, ended up on the floor and pulled her head onto my lap.

'Here - bring my purse, would you?'

'Purse.' Draal repeated the word.

I pointed to where I had dropped it onto the ground. 'Yes, my purse. There. Hurry!'

I turned the girl until I could see her face and felt my stomach contract. Susan Ivanova. She had been the last person I had seen before ... it ... happened. My purse was handed to me.

'Is she all right?'

'I don't know.'

'I am afraid that I can give you no further physical assistance.' He stepped away from us, placed himself in the machinery from which we had just rescued Susan and leaned back with a contented smile. He closed his eyes. There was a rich gleam of gold in the air in front of me and Draal appeared again. I looked between the two versions of the same man and reminded myself that there are no such things as ghosts. Moreover, there are certainly no such things as ghosts when the apparent spirit belongs to someone who is demonstrably still alive.

'I am sorry I cannot help you with her. The heart of the Machine must be occupied and as I am its keeper that duty is mine. This is a holographic representation of my body, and I cannot touch her.'

'Happens to me all the time,' I said and felt like an idiot. I concentrated on Susan instead. In my purse was a small bottle of heavy glass. I removed the stopper and waved it under her nose. (I have never needed to use the smelling salts for myself, but I have found them very useful on occasions such as these. Well, not quite such as these.) For a moment there was nothing and then, to my immense relief, she began to stir. I put the bottle away and wiped her face with my handkerchief; she was soaked - even her hair was wet. Archie had wandered over and helped proceedings by giving Susan an encouraging lick on the cheek.

Her eyelashes fluttered and I said her name softly. She looked at me and I smiled. Archie wagged his tail, evidently pleased that his efforts towards her recovery had proved successful. Draal watched us and peered at Susan, frowning.

'Commander, are you all right?'

As my husband would put it, I decided to skip that one and save it for later.

'I'm okay.' Her voice was a little slurred. Susan looked at me and I smiled at her. She watched me for a moment, blinked, closed her eyes and then stared at me again, almost as though she were hoping that when she looked back I wouldn't be there.

'Delenn?' She shook her head. 'You're not Delenn. Who are you? What the hell is going on?'

'Language, Susan! There's no reason to curse.' Well, that wasn't entirely true but there are still things that a lady doesn't do in company. 'Besides I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing in that outfit? Did you slip out and join the WAVES when I wasn't paying attention?'

I helped her to sit up and she put one hand at the back of her head, wincing slightly; the poor girl looked as though she had a dreadful headache. She looked over at Draal. 'I'm in trouble, aren't I?'

Draal had moved away from us: he was squatting on the floor, attempting to engage Archie in conversation. He broke off and glanced at Susan. 'I expect so. It always seems to happen when you link into the Machine.' He added censuriously, and with more than a little envy, 'It never happens when I do.' His next question was addressed to me: 'What language does your companion speak? I have tried the Human language, the three Minbari languages, Centauri, Narn, Drazi, and Interlac. What kind of alien is it?'

I couldn't help it. Mild hysteria had been building for sometime and this was all it took to tip me over. I started to laugh. 'He's a schnauzer, not an alien! A schnauzer,' I repeated. 'A mutt. I mean a hound. A dog.' Honestly, I was going to kill Mike Garibaldi for his terminology. I got myself under control, dabbed my eyes with the handkerchief that I had used on Susan. It was already soaked from being applied to her face, so was hardly up to a new task but it was all I had.

'A dog,' Draal repeated and examined Archie thoughtfully. The little beast reared up on his hind legs and growled deep in his chest, bobbing his front paws up and down. It was one of his party tricks and he was looking for a treat. I thought that he should be so lucky. 'I have heard of such creatures. They are, I believe, the closest companions for Humans?'

'Yes. You say that as though you aren't Human.'

'I am not.'

'You're not.'

'I am Minbari.'

Wonderful. I felt another wave of hysteria and bit it back. It was a dream. Soon I would wake up and this would be over and I would be home; there would be no more of this insanity, no more people who looked as though they belonged to me, more or less, but did not. It was a dream. But I had a horrible, pernicious feeling that it was not. I finished with my handkerchief, folded it away into my purse and looked at Susan critically. I had seen her look strained before, but not like this. The girl who was looking back at me seemed ... harder. There was a rigidity about her I had never seen before; her face was thinner; she was looked older. 'You're not our Susan Ivanova, are you? Is- Is Susan Ivanova even your name?'

She nodded. 'Yes. Yes, it is.' Her eyes wandered over my face again. 'What's your name?'

'Della.' I felt it best to keep it simple and I was not sure why. Sometimes, however, it is best to go with your instincts.

Susan stood up, quickly and with that sort of smooth movement that people have when they are very active by nature. She looked down at me, extended a hand and pulled me to my feet with a little more force than was absolutely necessary.

'I suppose that Epsilon Three isn't in New York City? No, I didn't think so. I'm somewhere else, somewhere foreign….' And I was alone, I realised - far later than I should have - and I hadn't been before. I thought of John and the absence of him, the lack of him at my side, brought a feeling like a cold finger lain upon my heart. 'Where are the others? Where is my husband?'

'Husband?' Susan asked weakly, as though she were anticipating a response and dreading it.

'Yes; his name is John Sheridan.'

She flinched.

'He was standing right next to me. Is he here too?' It was a stupid question. If John had been anywhere nearby I would have known about it by then. I paused for a moment and tried to push down the knot that had formed in my chest. I looked at Susan uncertainly and asked softly, 'How do I get home?'

If they had suggested a pair of ruby slippers and clicking my heels three times, I would have jumped at it.

Susan rolled her eyes heavenward and addressed a patch of ceiling. 'Why me, God? Why?'

Draal looked up from the dog and said, amused, 'The universe seems to use you in this manner frequently, does it not?'

Archie seemed disconcerted by Draal; he could see him all right, and hear him, but as Draal was no longer quite as substantial as he had been at their initial meeting, I suppose that there was no longer an associated scent. Even so, Archie sniffed at him hopefully and when he had no luck he attempted to snap at Draal. His teeth passed clear through the vision. He whimpered, backed away and then flung himself at me, scrabbling at my legs until I picked him up before he took the fronts out of my stockings. I held onto him and his rough tongue licked my neck; his furry little body was warm and solid and I felt as though he were the only thing that I had left in the world apart from my purse. I gripped both of them.

'You can send me home, can't you?'

Susan looked at Draal. He made a rumbling sound and folded his arms across his chest. It didn't look good.

To borrow one of Mike's favourite locutions, nuts.

TBC