CHAPTER 7
Captain John J. Sheridan leaned back in his chair, staring at the prisoner across the expanse of his desk. He could usually tell what was going on behind someone's eyes – a gut instinct about people. But that wasn't the case here. The prisoner's face was unreadable, except for an air of quiet confidence.
Garibaldi hovered over Galen like a hawk, hand resting on the butt of his PPG. He clearly didn't trust his charge. But then, Sheridan reminded himself, his security chief made a point of trusting no one.
Sheridan picked up one of the strange devices sitting on his desk, and casually considered it. Then he looked up at Galen, and set the object back down. "Mr. Galen," he said, giving the prisoner a hard-eyed glare, "you have a lot of explaining to do."
"You have no idea, Captain," Gelen replied quietly, and with a touch of amusement that surprised Sheridan.
Sheridan scowled. "Try me."
Galen's eyebrows rose, and he looked skeptical. He looked down at the ground in concentration, then back up at Sheridan. "If you insist," he said, finally.
"We insist," Garibaldi nearly growled.
Sheridan nodded curtly when Galen's eyes shifted questioningly to Garibaldi.
"Very well then, Captain," the prisoner began, then paused, gathering his thoughts. "As you already seem to be aware, my name is not Galen."
Garibaldi made a pleased noise.
"I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard..."
Sheridan's eyes got wider and wider as Galen – no, Picard – spoke. He told himself that it was all nonsense, this tale of a parallel universe, godlike beings, and barely imaginable alien races. But in his heart – dammit, he believed! The entire story was too fantastic, yet something in Picard's demeanor, and his assured bearing, broadcast his own sincerity.
Picard obviously believed every word he was saying. And that left two possibilities – either Picard was certifiably insane, or, more terrifyingly, it was all true. Sheridan noticed that Garibaldi's features were torn between suspicion and honest uncertainty.
"After consulting with my senior officers, I decided that the best course of action was to proceed somewhere that in our own universe was friendly territory, yet not as potentially dangerous as an alternate Earth," Picard was saying, "In our reality, Epsilon Eridani I is the Vulcan homeworld. I hoped that we'd be able to gather how drastic the differences were between realities by discovering what had changed there." He shook his head, his frustration clearly directed at himself. "I didn't consider just how drastic the changes could be, that the Vulcans might not exist at all."
Sheridan found himself nodding politely, still trying to wrap his mind around what he was hearing.
Picard continued, "When we discovered Babylon 5 at this location, I conferred with my executive officer, Commander Riker, and the commander of the Defiant, Commander Worf, and I chose to infiltrate this station in disguise, and find out what we could." His tale told, Picard sat back.
Garibaldi looked like he had a bad taste in his mouth. "With all due respect... Captain," he said, words dripping with scorn, "That sounds like one big steaming pile of -"
"What Chief Garibaldi means," Sheridan cut in, "is that this story of yours is pretty hard to believe. Do you have proof of what you claim?"
"Yes," Picard said simply. He pointed to the objects scattered on Sheridan's desk. "Can you identify those?"
Garibaldi shook his head forcefully, but not in response to the question. "Uh-uh, doesn't work that way. So, those are strange looking tools. So what? You could have nabbed those from a Centauri doctor or something."
Picard's mouth twisted wryly. "I assure you, I did no such thing." To forestall another comment from Garibaldi, he continued, pointing at the chevron badges on Sheridan's desk. "If you want confirmation, allow me to contact my ship."
A warning look crossed Garibaldi's face, and Sheridan stared down at the equipment on his desk. A feeling told him he could trust this man, but he couldn't be certain of anything. This Picard person could still be some raving lunatic, with some equally insane friends. Finally, he reached out and tossed one of the badges to Picard. "Contact your ship," he said, "but I warn you, if this is a trick..." He left the rest unsaid.
"Captain," Garibaldi cautioned, but Sheridan cut him off with a gesture.
"Thank you Captain," Picard said judiciously. He affixed the badge to his tunic just over his heart, and tapped it. "Picard to Defiant."
A deep, harsh voice returned. "Captain!"
"Mr. Worf, it's good to hear your voice again," Picard replied warmly.
Garibaldi glanced over at his own captain, and mouthed the word. Worf? Sheridan shrugged slightly, and watched his guest closely.
"Captain," Worf said gruffly, "What is your status? Lieutenant Barclay returned here a short time ago, and insisted that I not send over a security team to rescue you."
Picard eyed his counterpart carefully. "I'm here with the commander of this station, Mr. Worf. He wants proof of our existance, so oblige him, and decloak."
"But Captain!" Worf protested.
"You have your orders, Commander."
Worf made a noise halfway between a sigh and a growl. "Yes sir."
Sheridan noticed that Garibaldi's hand had drifted back to the butt of his PPG. But his own handlink suddenly beeped at him. "Sheridan, go," he said, keeping his eyes firmly on the man across from him.
"CnC, Captain," Commander Susan Ivanova said quickly, "we've just picked up a ship at five thousand klicks, unknown configuration." Her voice sounded shaky when she said, "Captain, I've never seen a design like this before, but the lettering on the hull is in English."
"Copy that, CnC," Sheridan responded, shooting an appraising look at Picard. "Don't activate the defense grid just yet, but keep it on standby. I think it's a friendly."
"Aye sir," Ivanova replied unhappily.
Sheridan cut the link, and looked up at his glowering security chief. "I don't know, Mr. Garibaldi, but that's pretty conclusive evidence right there."
Garibaldi just glared at Picard broodingly.
Picard tapped his badge again. "Picard to Defiant."
Worf's voice came back over the badge, still sounding gruff. "Captain, we have disengaged our cloaking device. The other vessels have taken up a defensive stance between us and the station."
"I'm aware of that, and thank you, Mr. Worf." Picard seemed to mull something over for a moment, then added, "Hail the Enterprise, and have Commander Riker bring the Enterprise alongside the Defiant."
"Aye sir," Worf intoned before the connection was severed.
Sheridan drummed his fingers on the desk. "Alright Captain Picard, now how about you tell me more about where you come from, and why you're here?"
*****
All was revealed at last. Understanding had come, not with a fanfare of angels, bright lights, and a booming voice from the heavens... but in a simple white envelope, brittle with age, marked in English in the handwriting of one she had called friend. The force behind the seemingly inconsequential letter within, however, bore the weight of a millenium of history, and the revalations contained on that plain sheet of paper, could humble kings and generals and prophets.
Delenn, formerly Acolyt, Satai, and chosen of Dukhat, placed the envelope carefully upon the table before her with trembling hands. Her mind spun relentlessly, and though all laws of nature no longer seemed inviolate, everything made too much sense, required too much harmony, to be dismissed. Soon, she would be needed, but for now, her overwhelmed conciousness pleaded for the relief of quiet meditation.
She drew in several shaky breaths, and concentrated on the hypnotic dance of the candle flame. Gradually, she felt her restless mind cease its frenzy, and began to organize her thoughts.
Time passed without notice. There was only the flame, the silence, and her own thoughts. Those thoughts kept going stubbornly back to one inescapable conclusion. In Valen's Name. In... In Jeffrey's Name? No. That way lay madness.
The Grey Council had known some of the story, as she had, when she had been one of the nine. But only Dukhat ever known... Minbari not born of Minbari. The ancient description of Valen slipped through her mind, weaving around the other thoughts muddled there like a unifying thread in a great tapestry.
"Delenn?"
A voice she recognized, soft and insistant. Lennier.
Lennier stepped slowly into the circle of light thrown off by the candle. "Delenn," he said again with a note of genuine concern, "are you well?"
"Yes, Lennier," she said quietly, "please, go, I wish to meditate further."
Her aide simply bowed in acceptance, and departed through the door, leaving her with her thoughts. Until a new voice intruded.
"Delenn, I see you recieved the letter. Good, good!"
Eyes lighting up, Delenn looked up into the face of her old mentor, and smiled warmly. "Draal, I did not expect you." She looked at the hologram anxiously. "Should you not be preparing for what is to come?"
Draal's brow furrowed. "Soon, very soon. But something has changed, Delenn."
"Changed?"
"Yes, changed. I have been observing events closely, as they unfold," he said, voice dropping a full octave, "and recently, I have begun to suspect that a power, even higher than the Shadows, have been influencing them."
"However," he said, before she could react, "I have been contacted by another power... so to speak. There is not time to explain fully, and for that I am sorry, Delenn, but even now, you have allies you have never met."
Delenn frowned. "Allies I have never met? How will I know them?"
Draal's look was one of pure exasperation, and he rolled his eyes. "You will know them when you see them, Delenn, and that I can promise." He steepled his hands, and bowed deeply to her. "Now, I must prepare. It is time for you to explain to the others. Farewell, Delenn."
Delenn's eyes glistened slightly, but she returned the bow. "Farewell, Draal." But the hologram was gone before she uttered the words.
She stood with a renewed sense of purpose, and an iron determination. If the time was now, that could only mean the one she sought, had arrived.
Zack Allen had only been awake for a few hours now, even though it was afternoon by station time. Already though, he was stuck in the main boarding terminal, scanning identicards. Swipe. The job was about as mind-numbing as they came, but someone had to do it. He wished that he wasn't that someone though. Swipe. Something had been keeping the chief busy all morning, and Zack grunted unhappily. He'd heard through the grapevine that there had been some excitement early in the day, and it figured that when he was finally back on duty, everything would be back to routine. Swipe. That seemed to be all over with now – however, although the troublemakers were in custody, Zack had heard some strange rumors about some sort of invisible ship, and strange people who were meeting with the captain.
He sighed glumly, and swiped another card. But the face on the card caught his attention. It looked very familiar. Then the name beneath it registered, and Zack looked up at the grey-haired man in front of him. "Commander Sinclair!" he said with surprised glee.
Sinclair smiled back. "That's Ambassador Sinclair... Zack is it?"
Zack beamed. "Yeah, I didn't think you'd remember. I only joined the staff a little while before you left." He paused, grinning, then asked, "So how long are you staying?"
"Now that," Sinclair said wryly, "is a complicated question."
Zack chuckled. "Well, it's good to see you again, sir."
"You too, Zack," Sinclair said with a smile, as he took his identicard back, and passed on into the station. For a moment, he stopped, and gazed around nostalgically, at the familiar contours, and the bright blue sign that read "Welome to Babylon 5." Then he took a deep breath, and continued. Destiny await.
Zack turned back to the next person on line. Swipe. Suddenly the steady routine didn't seem quite so dull.
*****
In the conference room usually reserved for senior staff meetings, John Sheridan favored the people before him with a flustered look. Picard's story had been easier to swallow, or at least dismiss, when it had been just him. But now, Picard was seated at the opposite end of the table, with four of his officers standing, ranged out behind him. And Sheridan didn't know exactly what to make of them.
They had all introduced themselves as officers from the U.S.S Enterprise, with the exception of the thin dark-haired man standing in the back, who claimed he was from another station, called Deep Space Nine, and that he was assigned to the U.S.S. Defiant. Sheridan reflected that it would have been far easier to pass them off as collectively insane, except for the minor detail that both of these ships were now sitting outside his station.
Commander Susan Ivanova, sitting to his right, appeared less than happy. She'd been on duty when Defiant had decloaked, and being surprised like that did not sit well with her. She liked to be in control, and the idea that this ship had been sitting out there for hours without her ever knowing it, rankled deeply. Her gaze, leveled directly at Picard, was grimly hostile.
Picard had just finished relating his story again, for Ivanova's benefit, and she looked even less thrilled than Garibaldi had been. In fact, Sheridan thought that she looked like she had bitten into something very sour. Not that he would risk saying that to her face. He was relieved that Garibaldi had decided not to stick around, and had already departed on his rounds. Though he'd made sure that there were guards lurking nearby.
"Now, Captain, you've explained just about everything," Sheridan said, scratching his chin, "except for who or what you were talking to in your cell."
Picard looked bemused. "That's more difficult to explain. His father, which is a concept I still am not comfortable with, is a being called Q, apparently one of an entire race of such beings."
"Q?" Ivanova asked sharply. "A godlike being is named a letter of the alphabet?" Her voice rang with incredulity.
"I can't explain it, Commander," Picard replied, "but it is not just Q himself. His civilization is called the 'Q Continuum,' and every being in it, is also named Q."
Susan Ivanova worked her jaw slowly, stopped, looked like she was going to speak, and then closed her mouth with a snap, settling on a deep-set glare. Yes, it was definately for the best that Garibaldi was not present.
"I am well aware of how rediculous this must sound, Commander," Picard added hurridly, in a placating tone. "But it is the truth. Q's son, whom we call Junior, came along with us, in a manner of speaking."
Sheridan cut off a snappy retort from Ivanova with a forced cough. He shot her a warning glance, then looked back up at Picard. "Captain, just where is Junior right now?"
Picard grimaced. "Now that, Captain, is a very good question."
"And one easily answered," said an unmistakable yet disembodied voice. There was a glare of bright light, and Sheridan found himself gawking at the teenager in the strange dark uniform who had suddenly appeared, already leaning back in a chair, with his feet kicked up on the tabletop.
"Junior," Picard said in a warning tone.
The boy looked around for the first time, and saw the dirty looks he was getting. Slowly, and sheepishly, he pulled his feet off the table, and sat up. He didn't seem comfortable in that position, but stayed there anyway. "Uh... sorry," he said in a forced tone. Then his face brightened. "I was just working out the final arrangements with Draal, and it's all settled now."
"What is all settled now?" Sheridan interjected. "What's Draal got to do with all this?"
Junior turned to him and grinned hugely. "You'll see. In fact, just about..."
Picard's comm-badge beeped.
"Now," Junior finished, triumphantly. He vanished as quickly as he had arrived, and Picard glared at the space the godling had just vacated.
Picard scowled, and tapped his chevron pin. "Picard here."
"Sorry to interrupt Captain," Will Riker said contritely, "but we've just picked up something you should know about."
The Starfleet captain frowned, and glanced up at the ceiling. "What is it, Number One?"
Riker hesitated, then explained, "Sir, a little while ago, Lieutenant Dax discovered an artificial construct of some kind in a chasm on the planet. Everything was quiet then, but... Captain, the planet is broadcasting a beam of tachyons to a point in space about twelve million kilometers distant."
Sheridan and Ivanova shared an inscrutable look.
Picard noticed, but pretended not to. "What is it doing, Number One?"
"It's..." Riker's voice turned grim. "It's generating a temporal anomaly."
"Fascinating," Data said.
"Oh, shit," Ivanova muttered.
Sheridan's eyes widened. "So that's what Draal has to do with this."
Picard ignored the interruptions, and said, "I understand, Will. Picard out."
Even as he tapped his comm-badge, Sheridan's handlink bleeped at him. He grimaced at Picard's sympathetic look, and said, "Sheridan, go."
"Captain, this is CnC," Lieutenant David Corwin's voice sounded disturbed – no, downright scared. "We've just intercepted a message you really should see."
"Copy that, CnC, where is it from?"
Corwin hesitated. "I think our instruments are malfunctioning, sir, but according to this, it's coming from Sector 14."
The designation meant nothing to Picard and his crew, but Ivanova's head whipped around, and she and Sheriden spoke simultaneously.
"Babylon 4."
Into the brief lull of tense silence that followed that pronouncement, the door chimed. Sheridan scowled. Whoever it was who had the gall to try an enter the staff conference room uninvited, would be sorry for interrupting. "Who is it?" he snapped.
His anger vanished in an instant at the sound of the soft voice from the other side. "John," Delenn said over the link, "May we enter? It is most urgent."
"Of course," he said hastily. "Come in."
The door obediantly swung open, and Delenn rushed into the room, flanked by Marcus and man he didn't recognize at first. Her eyes flashed at the sight of the others. Without preamble, she said, "We have much to discuss, and little time."
Sheridan stood, perplexed. "Everything's going straight to hell Delenn, can't this wait?"
"No, it cannot."
"Jeff!" Susan Ivanova jumped to her feet, gaping, then smiled brilliantly.
"Hello, Susan," said the dignified man standing beside Marcus.
Sheridan blatedly recognized his predecessor, and nodded in welcome. "Ah... Welcome back to Babylon 5, Ambassador Sinclair."
Sinclair nodded gravely, but smiled slightly. "Thank you Captain, it's good to be back. But Delenn is right. We don't have much time and there's a lot you need to know."
Picard and his crew had been quietly watching the brief reunion, but Delenn turned to him. "You lead your people?"
Somewhat surprised, Picard nodded. "That is true, Madam."
Delenn dipped her head. "I was told you would be here. You may bring two of your officers. That will make nine of us, which is appropriate. You must understand, if you wish to help." She turned back to the others without waiting for a reply, and began giving instructions.
