And so, it begins- the story itself

***Sebastian***

I walk down the hallway, back toward the Vorlon transport that brought me here, and now waits to take me back again to the Vorlon Homeworld. I leave with the knowledge of how much Captain Sheridan must hate me. This should come as no surprise to me! When you interrogate and torture people, they do tend to dislike you afterward. Oddly, I also sensed a grudging respect from him. That part, I cannot fathom that I deserve. It's probably only because he realizes I finally know why I hate myself so much. I have probably become so deluded I mistake pity for respect. That must be it.

Well, at least I will never see him again. Or Ambassador Delenn. She was the main subject of my interrogation, of course, yet I don't think she bears the ill will toward me that Sheridan does. Minbari are good that way, understanding sometimes unpleasant things just need to be done.

No matter. Hopefully I will never again see anyone in this physical life. I do not enjoy my life- that much is certain. I have long since given up hope there is anything for me to look forward to. At one point, I thought perhaps I'd eventually be rewarded for work well-performed. Now, I do not believe this will ever happen.

Death is the only reward I want now. I don't even care if I go to Heaven, to Hell, or just cease to exist. I want to die.

On entering my transport, a voice comes across to me. It is one of the Vorlons charged with my supervision.

It is the same usual monotone, "Sebastian. You wish to die now."

I'm not at all surprised they know that. I've expressed the wish before. They would be able to tell, anyway.

Solemnly, I say, "Yes. I have accomplished my task. I have found you the true Chosen One."

More monotone in reply, "Yes you found the Chosen One. You are retired from your position as Inquisitor. Though your death will not yet come."

Trying to contain my disappointment, I ask only "Why not?"

"Your death will happen naturally."

"You mean that I have to live out the rest of my natural lifespan?"

"Yes."

I verge on indignant, "What about paying for my crimes?"

Vorlons never lose control, in the slightest. "You have paid- with your service. Your death is not necessary."

I, meanwhile, feel like a child deprived of candy, "Well, my death may not be necessary, but I WANT it! So, what if I kill MYSELF then?"

"The God you believed in would not approve such an action."

I am maddened sometimes by how consistent their tone is, no matter what words they convey. Even words that seem improbable to hear from them.

I am also most irritated- "You lot are the ones who showed me God is far different from what I had believed! I feel the God you have helped me briefly glimpse will understand!"

Then the Vorlon says, "Would any gods want you to leave a young woman from your own time alone in a vast Universe?"

Now I am interested. I worry this is a sweetly baited trap, yet I am hungry enough to bite anyway, "What young woman? And truly from MY time? Did I know her?"

"You never met on Earth. You do not know her, physically. You know of her. Your energy has sensed hers from time to time since you have both been on our world."

Do I dare believe?

I could not hope for anything good to happen now, could I? "You- you don't mean? Oh my. I thought those were but dreams! Wish-fulfilling fantasies! And you tell me, she is not only real, but you have known of my... attempts at contact with her?"

"We do not miss much."

An understatement. "I- I suppose not. So, where is she?"

"Here on Babylon 5."

"I thought I was supposed to leave."

"You must meet her on this station."

I know better than to ask why. "I think some of the folks here will not be happy to see me still here."

"That is your- problem. You will manage it. She needs you."

"If she needs ME, she must truly have some problems."

"Yes. Also solutions."

"That sounds- interesting. Solutions? For?"

"Problems."

"Right. Of course. I don't suppose I'd expect solutions to solutions, would I? Very well then. I will go back out there and meet this girl. So, where do I go? What do I do?"

"In exactly two minutes and thirty-five seconds a distraction will allow you to pass back through customs undisturbed. Move as quickly as possible to Red 3, Unit 135. Once there you will receive further instructions."

Wondering, I ask, "What did she DO, to cause you to take her?"

"It is nothing she did."

"Then why-?"

"You will learn. Two minutes and twenty seconds. Make ready and go."

Oh dear.

Do I even know how to get where I am going?

I do think it's near the Zocalo. That's in Red 5. And not so far from here, either.

I wonder if this young lady has any idea who her fate is being entrusted to.

A God forsaken Holy fool.

I should pray for her. And for myself.

"Two minutes."

"Are you trying to make me nervous?"

"Of course not. Why should counting the time do this?"

"Oh, just, never mind."

"One and one half minute."

Oh, sigh...

***Kaitlyn***

Something isn't right here.

Is this my room?

Am I really awake?

I know I woke up.

I know damn well I did.

I hope this isn't one of those dreams- where you wake up, get up, get ready and... and...

And it's probably not, because I don't find myself thinking like this in those dreams, do I?

No. I don't. I just get up and get ready- even if the dream is in a completely foreign place, as I seem to be now. In those dreams, I go about my morning routine; eat, dress, the whole bit; until the alarm rings and I get up for real. I don't doubt. I don't ask questions. I don't sit there thinking, "Hey! This isn't my room!"

And, wow. This is so not my room. Even in the ambient glow from the electronic devices on the walls, I can tell this looks more like a hotel room than like the bedroom I've slept in since I was in first grade! The electronics don't look like a VCR, or a microwave, or anything in my house. They confirm I'm not at home, but I've never seen so many little green lights in a hotel. That looks like some serious tech. The room does not look especially large, either. From what I can tell, that is.

Oh no.

Am I in a hospital? That'd make sense. Maybe my parents couldn't wake me up in the morning, and I went to the hospital. But one problem here is- this is not a hospital bed. It's way too comfortable for that! Not as comfy as my own bed at home, but not a hospital bed. No way. And no side rails. Plus I'm not hooked up to anything. If I was sick enough to not remember coming here, surely I'd have an IV drip stuck in me somewhere. Probably monitoring equipment too. I'd hear beeps or something! And, oh yeah, I also don't feel particularly sick. I am sitting up and moving easily, normally. I am probably not in a hospital.

Oh no.

So, back to the hotel thought... worse than a hospital, because it makes no sense. And real life making no sense is scary. Even if I am at least relieved that the bedsheets feel clean. Clean sheets, yeah. That's a big plus, if I've been kidnapped. I mean, really, it is. And how could I wake up in some strange place, with no idea how I got here, if I haven't been kidnapped? If I've been kidnapped, that has to be a bad situation. It's got to be a bad person who wants something bad. Unless I've been abducted by aliens. Nice aliens. Yeah, right. It's got to be some sicko... oh hell, oh shit, oh fuck... But one who leaves me alone and unrestrained? Hmm... maybe... maybe it IS aliens... no, that's crazy...

I feel nervous, I must say. This place feels, smells, and sounds so strange. If I'm in danger, panic is the last thing I should do. Annnd...how could I not be in danger if I don't know where I am? Somehow I have been abducted. From my house. With my parents there. Asleep, but there. That's scary.

I need to assess things. I need to get up and see just where the hell I am. Why is there such a strangely prominent hum? Not loud, just, I don't know, just really really noticeable. I've never heard- or maybe felt is the better word- anything like it.

Seriously, I totally want to freak out, but know I just can't. I went to sleep at home, in my own bed. And that is not where I am now. This could still be a dream, even if it's not the wake up and get ready dream, but it doesn't feel like I'm dreaming. I can't afford to assume I'm dreaming if I'm not. It could be a deadly assumption.

So, how did I get here- wherever here is- and how could it possibly not be bad? Was I drugged? Are my parents OK? I know damn well no one was in the house when I went to sleep except me, my parents, and the cats. Are the cats OK?

I call out for my mom and dad. No answer. "Is anyone else in this room?" No answer.

I see a nightstand to my right- but it doesn't have a lamp on it. Oh come on! I guess a light within easy reach would be too simple? I carefully get out of the bed and stand up. I am still wearing the nightgown I went to sleep in. This is a good sign. I don't feel unusually sore, like I fought anyone. Also good. If I was abducted by someone whose main goal was to do awful things to me, it's likely I'd be in bad shape already. But I feel fine. I have my usual morning stiffness, but that's it. If anything, I might feel better than usual. Much more rested. Maybe it's just increased alertness from adrenaline, but I'm pretty sure there's nothing really wrong with me.

I look and feel for my slippers near the bed. Can't find them. Shit. I hate the idea of getting out of bed with bare feet in a strange place. But if that's the worst that happens...

I carefully make my way to the wall, and see and feel nothing like a normal light switch. And I'm hesitant to press anything I can't recognize. No lights, no slippers. I guess I'll have to wait for light to come through the window. Window... oh, another problem. I don't see a window. Or curtains which would indicate one. No window? In a hotel? Um... never stayed in a hotel without a window. What else DO I see? I see boxes... I think... and when I get over by them, they feel like wooden trunks, not cardboard boxes. Like antiques. Weird. major electronics- and antiques? The wall on the left has a lot of little faint lights on it- around a screen? A TV? To figure it all out, I need more light than these little LEDs provide.

"Isn't there a light?" I ask out loud, frustrated. "I need some lights. Lights!" and just then, as I emphasize that second "Lights", they come on, automatically.

Oh. Holy. Shit... I look around and abso-fraggin-lutely do NOT believe it.

I think I'm on Babylon 5.

For real.

Oh, OK now. Maybe I should go back to considering the possibility that I am dreaming!

Because, you know- this really looks like I'm somewhere on the fictional space station Babylon 5- and emphasis belongs on the fictional, you know?

I was asleep, after all. But how do I know if I am dreaming or not? Other than the fact that it should be impossible for me to be on a fictional space station, of course. There probably isn't a way to know for certain. How do I know, even when I am awake, that what I experience is real? But this is not the time for a metaphysical or philosophical discussion. I appear to be on the space station Babylon 5, and this is not a normal, everyday occurrence, to say the least. I mean, not for me.

Common sense says this must be a set for the show, but I honestly don't think it is. I've seen every episode, and I don't remember ever seeing this room before. Maybe it's for an upcoming movie? Maybe, but frankly, though the style is recognizable, it's not exactly the same. No. Not quite the same, and honestly it just looks real. It looks complete, solid. Nothing feels or looks like, say, painted styrofoam. I don't see anything like, maybe a green screen they'd project CGI on... would that be in here? I don't know. I just don't think this is a set. Much as I love B5- I know the production values on the show weren't enough for such perfection. Nothing here looks faked at all!

I'd say it's more like how I'd dream it. Except I don't remark when something looks odd in a dream. Dreams are just odd. There's no need to think about this fact while you are having one. When I wake up, I remember "wow this was so different" but during a dream even the most out of the ordinary things seem normal. Strange, bizarre, and inexplicable are "dream-normal". What I am experiencing might not even be strange enough to be a dream. Except for those antique trunks. Those are out of place on a space station. As are the ornate antique brush and mirror sitting on that spare and angular table- next to- yes! A piece of paper! A note!

"Kaitlyn, please do not worry. You are safe." Oh, so they assumed I'd worry, did they? Good guess. "You went to sleep in the year 1888, but it is now 2259."

OK, so I'm in the second season. Oh wait- Hold it- did I read that other year right?

"You went to sleep in the year 1888..." OK, it does say that. Um, mistake, I guess? 1999, 1888... whatever.

"You are on the space station Babylon 5-" So I'm right about that.

"a self-contained environment floating in space, with-" blah blah blah, really? They think they need to explain this to me? I'm sure we can skip this part.

Now, it's so weird to read, "Your parents and grandparents were informed at the time by Vorlons that you would have a special purpose in the future, and needed to come with us."

Yes, I'm relieved that they know what happened to me. Still, I'm sure this next line, "They were naturally very grieved to see you go, but they were made aware that it was for the greater good," is putting it mildly. Yeah, sure guys. I bet they were just thrilled at the disappearance of their only child, just because "it was for the greater good." Uh huh. Right. And pigs fly.

Well, I don't know. Maybe pigs DO fly now.

But I digress- the note ends with, "Get dressed and prepare for a visitor. Let him in and follow his instructions. Remember, this space station is five miles long. Do not leave the room unless he instructs you to do so. He will ask you questions, and you may also ask him questions. As you will likely be hungry, your visitor will bring you breakfast. The Vorlon Empire thanks you for your co-operation."

Um, OK. I am getting hungry. And I'm sure I would get lost if I wandered out of this room. So, I love the idea of someone bringing me food right now. But you know what I love even more? I love lots of vagueness. Ha ha. No, I do NOT love lots of vagueness! I like to know what's going on!

Oh well. It's Vorlons. Which almost explains everything. Except, for all the things it doesn't. But yeah, Vorlons and vague shit... they're like that.

So. A visitor? Who? It's a man I guess, since they said "He"- Do I dare hope for Marcus Cole? Now THAT would be nice! Yeah, but you know what 1888 is... damn right I know what 1888 is!

But still I'll hope for Marcus. But it's the wrong damn season, isn't it? Damn! Maybe the timeline isn't the same here; maybe I could still get Marcus.

I look at a chest of drawers, and find nothing inside it. A closet, yes. Or no. Only a hotel-style bathrobe in there. And an extra blanket. I was hoping maybe there'd be a Ranger uniform in there, y'know? So, where are my clothes? Those antique trunks, I suppose? I lift the lid off one, and yes, there are clothes in it. They are not anything I remember as mine, but they are very nice things I would like to wear. Things I'd like to wear if this were the late Victorian era, that is. Personally, I'd like to mix them with modern pieces-whatever that means now- but every single thing here is Victorian style. And these clothes don't just look historical- they are historical. These would've been old back in my time, too. But they aren't old. They look new, perfectly preserved, even though they are late Victorian...

...and the year 1888 on that note...

This does not seem one bit like a set-up for a date with Marcus Cole, does it? Not even in an alternate timeline. And a date with Marcus would be an odd thing to be my higher purpose or whatever. If I thought I could actually became a Ranger, maybe, but there's a reason I didn't join the military. I totally doubt I'm Ranger material, more for physical reasons than mental, but I have to admit for mental reasons too. No, I doubt it's Marcus- or even Lennier.

No, I am pretty sure I know exactly where this is going.

The logical conclusion, with this Victorian stuff, is that the Vorlons' inquisitor Mr. Sebastian will be the one visiting me. I think I'm less than thrilled. As good as that episode is, it's good because it's like, super intense, with interrogation and torture and all that kind of fun stuff. Things much safer to watch than to experience. I grant the note gives me no indication I should be afraid of my visitor, but how can I not be? He's Jack the Ripper! Common sense says I should be on guard. He's Jack the Ripper! And, hey- did I mention he's freaking JACK the freaking RIPPER? Yeah. I think I did.

Damn! This sucks, I think. What did I do to deserve this? Yes, I know after the last replay of the "Comes the Inquisitor" episode, I made another tape of it so I could watch it, rewind it, watch it again, rewind it, watch it again... and that might make me a freak, but I had deep, soul-searching reasons for that. I'm sure there's some sicko out there who simply watched it and said "Oh, yeah! Electrical torture!" and watches it over and over for THAT reason, not examining the question of "Who are you?" OK, I also like to listen to the actor's voice. And he has very expressive eyes. But does that mean I'd deserve to be tortured by Sebastian?

Except the note says nothing of that sort, does it? I look it over again, and it specifically says "You are safe." Safe.

The note says I'm safe, and tells me not to worry. So I'm totally chill now, obviously. If the Vorlons say so. Jack who? I can handle this. All I need to do now is STOP THINKING ABOUT IT. But, you know, that Vorlon sure had rather Victorian looking handwriting. I bet Sebastian even wrote the note! Oh crap. Just STOP THINKING ABOUT IT. And since he killed prostitutes, one, don't act like a prostitute- I think I can manage that OK; and two, dress modestly. Easy enough, with what I see here. These are not hooker clothes. Not even 19th Century hooker clothes. This stuff's all high-necks, floor sweeping hemlines. Ladylike.

First things first-get dressed! I slip out of my nightgown. For the first test of whether or not this is reality, I look in the mirror. My body looks absolutely the same as in reality, not perfect like I often do in my dreams. My thighs could be a little smaller, my stomach a little flatter, Yup. A bit of cellulite...OK, this isn't helpful, Kaitlyn...Since this appears to be my real life body, I should quit critiquing it and get dressed. I do look good. Just not perfect. Oh well, right?

Of course, it's not like I can just slip into these clothes. I have corsetry to contend with. Which I will be glad for, with the weight of a floor-length wool skirt, plus petticoats. I can use some back support. I've got a few corsets to choose from, so I pick a front-lacing model. That is good to have.

Oh, my hair... I can't just leave all three and a half feet of it hanging like this! I never do that, anyway, or else I get things caught in it! But- the items I have here to style it with- I don't even know how to use! I only have one option I can see. Ribbons. I can braid my hair and tie the ends with ribbons. Like I'm a little girl. Or a fairy tale princess. Either way, it will convey innocence. I think that'll help. I hastily section it off, on each side- I can't do a single braid down the back well at all. Not a real one. I need my scrunchies for that. I don't have scrunchies.

Damn. I don't have the patience! Not after so many years of scrunchies! Over, under, one two three... here we go... keep going... Yes, look at me. Only two more feet to go on this side, ha. Shit. OK, now, more, just a little, and, other side... Ugh. Other side, same deal... just keep on... oh hell... oh, well. OK, finally!

Hmmm... I'm pretty damn cute. Oh yeah.

Now I really need to use the restroom. It's easy to identify a toilet in that little room there. The shape of such important things hasn't changed much. I find an antique train case on the sink counter. Oh, look. Cream deodorant in a tin! How quaint. And a "powdered dentifrice" rather than toothpaste. No real makeup, of course, except a bit of powder. But I do have other business... yeah...

Luckily toilets haven't changed much in form, though I've no clue how it works without water. I just flushed this thing, and I'm puzzled. The sink is an ultrasonic vibe sink, which doesn't use water either. Or, I assume that's what it is. No water came out! I hope my hands are clean. Also, I have no idea how to brush my teeth without water to rinse. All the more so, with tooth powder, not paste! I hope my breath won't matter much. Yeah, girl. Worry about your breath. Do you really think you'll be kissing him? As if I even want to!

I get myself looking respectable as quickly as possible- high-necked blouse and all. Goodness- is this a smart-looking suit, or what? Nice! It's grey, so I should coordinate well with Sebastian when he gets here, too. I'm sure he'll be in black.

Now I am free to go about the much less urgent business of waiting, which is just as exciting in the 23rd century as it was in the 20th. Or the 19th, I suppose. I wonder if there is a TV or radio. I see no unit recognizable as either. It must all be integrated with the computer system. The wall panels look too complicated to mess with for a 20th century person- even for a semi-geek like me. I figure I may as well try speaking words, since "lights" accidentally worked earlier.

"Television."

Nothing.

"Radio."

Nothing. And I didn't expect that one would work anyway.

Oh, I know- "Computer!"

Still nothing! Oh, come on! That ALWAYS works in the future! It works on the SHOW!

"Computer! Computer! Computer!"

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

"Computer ON. TURN computer on. HEY, computer! Computer run. Computer go. DAMMIT COMPUTER!"

Oh well. I have a couple more of "my" trunks to look in, so- I do- and- Oh, hey! Books! That'll work. A book and the light to read it by is all I need to keep me busy, at least for a while.

I sit down on a small sofa by what appears to be the main videoscreen, with Henry James' "Daisy Miller", in a brand-spanking new looking First Edition!

***Sebastian***

I have another assignment.

My instructions say it is not technically an interrogation. I will use no torture or violence. Avoid intimidation. More like an interview, perhaps. This is very odd. It seems almost pointless to have me just talk to someone. At least now, after all I've been through and done.

Me. Of all people. Yes I'd once been a spiritual counselor, as all clergymen are, but it's been quite some time!

Maybe she does need help. Maybe she does need advice. But from me?

From me?

The thought of simple conversation brings me some relief, even so. I am tired of being terrible - there was a time when I wasn't a failure. I want to once more be the good man I'd always tried to be, before I had my little nervous breakdown.

Here is what I know:

The subject of my "assignment" is a young female, reportedly of generally good moral character. She's made the mistakes everyone does. She also could, and reportedly sometimes did, get into what I would have considered morally ambiguous situations by trying to please the wrong person- often a man. But all in all, she's what would be termed a "good girl". She is a talented artist, but gives up on herself too easily. The rest is up to me to learn, through non-coercive means. Why the Vorlons want this, I don't know. It isn't likely the reason I myself want to find out- I am terribly lonely, and for that reason alone would want to meet this girl, get to know her, and see where it goes.

I know what I have been told to do right now- go buy her some breakfast at the Zocalo, as she will get hungry fairly soon after awakening. No doubt she will. She's apparently been with the Vorlons as long as I have- except she's been asleep the entire time, until now. That is one very long night.

I must take the food next door to where I am staying, to room 137, where the young lady awaits my arrival. She likes dough-nuts and pastries. That's another thing they told me. A good thing. They are easier to take "on the go" than a plate of eggs and sausage or what-have-you.

I wrote a note for her, based on instructions I was given. Kosh, I was told, is taking that and a few other items over for her right now, making the final preparations while I run my Zocalo errand.

I don't know much beyond that. I think. It's always so confusing right after a session with the Vorlons, even after I've been with them so long. They so easily overwhelm the senses in direct contact. Sometimes I wonder if I have gone even more mad than I had been while on my murder spree- just in a different way, perhaps.

Of course I wonder- why AM I here? It obviously has something to do with her, but it does no good to speculate what that is, before we even meet. Well, before we meet in the physical sense.

Now, do I want to be here? In this case, specifically here in this place, not here in this life... Well, why not?

Talking to a pretty young woman, in a purely conversational manner- not an interrogation- most definitely appeals to me. I am a man. I appreciate the fairer sex in the way any normal man does. Don't even the most hardened criminals, anti-social perverts, and ne'er-do-wells have intimate relationships with women? Or, with men, if that is their inclination? And how do such relationships start, but with a conversation? And how lonely and sentimental am I, that I am heading into this already thinking about how relationships start? Pitiful. I know I've become pathetic. And Delenn let me know exactly how pathetic I truly am, during my interrogation of her. She's an amazingly tough little thing. I am just a sad fool.

Now, if this girl- Kaitlyn- is truly that presence I have felt from time to time while with the Vorlons- I certainly do want to get to know her. Beyond that, I still can't say. Friendship is good, too. It needn't be romance. Right. Of course I want it to be romance. And, the things that go with that. But what if that person isn't even real? What if the Vorlons know what I'd naturally dream of and play on it? But why would they? I'm sure she's truly the same presence. She has to be.

The fact is- I am going to meet a young lady right now. She has been taken and preserved by the very same Vorlon Empire I've worked for. Even if it is clearly a set-up and manipulated destiny, it is still my destiny to enter her life now.

I don't know exactly what a normal life in this century is, but I know I don't deserve one. Will I have one anyway?
Enough with the guilt and sorrow, though.
Now I must simply press the communicator button and tell "Kaitlyn" how to open the door. I don't have a card or code for her door, of course. That would be rude. Even if I did, just barging in would give her an awful fright, I'm sure.

I have no idea what mental state she'll be in. A girl from my time waking up on a space station? I'd think she'd be terribly frightened, or at least very, very confused.