"You, you and you. Yeah, you. The bean pole with the pony tail." The deputy cargo foreman waved a brawny arm toward three lurkers in the front ranks of the waiting crowd. "You three, come with me. The rest of you, go home. Or wherever. We're full up for this shift."
He turned and strode toward the lift, not looking behind him to see if they were following. He knew they would be, String thought as he trailed in the others' wake. A few hours' pay for unloading cargo, even at half union rates, was a small fortune to a lurker. It meant a bed for the night someplace other than a stinking hidey-hole among waste and power conduits. Maybe a meal at one of the scruffier dives up in Brown Sector—someplace down and dirty enough not to chase them out if they had cred to spend. Maybe even a bottle to keep the demons at bay. Or all three, for those who weren't particular about the quality of their poison.
The other two knew all that, with the bitter intimacy of the long-term down and out. String had only known it for the past few days. In his real life, he did his best to keep from knowing such things. He made sure he had plenty of money, squirreled away on a dozen worlds within reach of as many different identities. Skills like that made him valuable and kept the money rolling in. And brought him jobs like this one, where the pay was high and the risk relatively low. His size and a little quick knife work the first day had kept other lurkers from bothering him, and the job itself was nothing. A quick grab—then it was up to Harrison. After that, a nice fat cred chit and a fast ship off this floating can. He'd go stay somewhere nice for awhile, somewhere tropical with good drinks. Somewhere without any stinking aliens.
He kept the smile off his face as they stepped into the lift. After today, B5 would be one of those places. Oh, not overnight. It'd take Sheridan some time to adjust, and a little more to accomplish what they wanted. But soon. No more little greenies and their alien-loving friends. Then President Clark and the Night Watch could take care of the lurkers. Once all the filth was cleaned out of the station, maybe he'd even come back. Or not.
The lift decanted them into the docking bay. The foreman stopped and turned to face them. "Okay, listen up." He jerked his head toward the beat-up skiff in the far hangar. Narn, by the look of it—one of the few not hunted down by the Centauri or turned in by their more profit-minded colleagues in the smuggling biz. String hoped it wouldn't smell too bad. "This one and the next two scheduled to dock, you help out with those wherever the regular crew says. Your good luck we've been short-handed since the Night Watch left. Don't make us regret it. Don't drop anything, don't take anything, don't buck what you're told. The shift breaks at seventeen-hundred; there's some sandwiches and sodas in the canteen." The foreman gestured toward a partitioned-off section some distance away from the ship hangars. "Once the ships are empty, you're done for the day." He tossed them three chits, small flat pieces of computer-readable plastic. "Timecard reader's by the canteen. Slide in your cards right after I get done talking, then again when you quit working. The reader'll record your time and download your credit. You got any questions your team boss can't answer, my name's Harrison. You come talk to me. Anybody need to ask anything now?"
The two genuine lurkers shuffled their feet, stared at the chits and then headed toward the card reader. String followed suit. When he slid his card into the slot, the reader's telltale lit up red instead of green. He frowned, turned the chit around and tried again.
"Problem?" Harrison had come up behind him. He sounded impatient.
"Card don't work." He held out the offending chit.
The other two lurkers had stopped to watch. Harrison waved them away. "Your cards okay? Then get going." As they moved off, he frowned at the chit. He smacked it against his hand, then polished it on his sleeve.
String spoke once the lurkers were out of earshot. "Didn't know we were using a Narn ship."
"We're not." Harrison gave the chit a final swipe. "Got a heads-up from Wade earlier. She's gonna be late. Should hit B-Five space around thirteen hundred, be docked awhile after. Customs should go pretty quick; her bona fides are good. So the plan's still on. Get the crate and place it. I'll take it from there."
String nodded. Harrison handed the chit back. "Try it now. Okay. Get to work."
ooOoo
Sheridan strode down the corridor in Green Sector, his heart pounding a Denebian rhumba in triple time. His fingers were clammy and his palms were sweating. He hadn't felt this nervous since the first time he'd asked a girl out on a date, and then he'd been fairly sure she liked him. From the woman who awaited him just a few doors down, he feared the opposite.
He'd never really had a mother-in-law; Liz had barely talked to her parents, and Anna's mother had died when Anna was a teenager. She can't hate me that much, he told himself. She asked for this tour; that's got to mean she's cutting me some slack. Doesn't it?
He halted outside Chenann's guest quarters, stopped by his own question. He didn't know the answer, any more than Delenn or Mayan had. Was this a genuine second chance, or simply Minbari courtesy—a determined effort to pretend all was normal in order to avoid offending him? Or perhaps to avoid offending Delenn by a too-explicit display of contempt for the boorish human she'd had the bad taste to fall in love with? He tugged his hair, then made himself let go. It was a little late for second guesses. He straightened his shoulders, plastered what he hoped was a sociable look on his face and reached for the door-chime.
Before he could touch it, the door swung open. Chenann stood on the other side, a slight figure in silver-gray silk with a lavender over-robe. The reddish-purple shade brought a faint flush to her cheeks. He bowed in his best Minbari fashion, resisting the temptation to peer past her at the inside of her room. Not that guest quarters could tell him much about her. It struck him suddenly that he had no idea what to do or say next. A simple greeting might be fraught with social peril. Should he ask how she'd slept, or if the quarters were to her liking? Would politeness make her say yes, whether it was true or not? In which case, his question could be interpreted as either fishing for compliments or forcing a Minbari to lie... His head was beginning to ache, and they hadn't even started yet.
Chenann stepped across the threshold and let the door close behind her. "Good day, Captain Sheridan. I thank you for coming."
It's nothing, he thought, then checked the words before they crossed his lips. If she took him literally, he'd be sunk. "I'm honored to escort you," he said instead. "Where would you like to go first?"
She ducked her head slightly, in a gesture he recognized as the equivalent of the human arm-sweep that meant after you. "Where you will, please. Delenn showed me only a little. There is much to see."
"That there is." They fell into step down the corridor, while Sheridan considered their first destination. Whatever Chenann's motives in requesting his presence, this first choice would almost certainly color her view of him. He had to give her the right impression, to make up for his blunder over dinner. But how? I barely know this woman. How do I know what she'll think about anything? Nervous tension clogged his throat as the lift came in sight. I can't do this. I'll screw it up again. Aw, hell—since I'm going to be wrong anyway, I should just take her where I really want to go...
The choice made, his fears subsided somewhat. He even managed a genuine smile as the lift doors closed behind them. "I'll take you to one of my favorite places."
The lift dropped them in a Blue Sector corridor, not far from his office. They walked past the office door and down a short section of hallway, then stepped through an arch into the station gardens. Chenann's brisk steps slowed as they moved down the path, deeper into the vegetation. The clear dome of the ceiling arched overhead, showing a velvet-dark sweep of space glittering with distant stars.
"At night they turn the lights way down," Sheridan said softly. "The stars look brighter then. Like little beacons, reminding us we're not alone out here."
Chenann's reply was equally soft. "It is not good, to be alone." She was gazing at the starscape with a wistful expression that made him wonder what had prompted the comment. A wave of loneliness broke over him, so sharp that he caught his breath. She turned at the sound, then flushed and looked down at her shoes. The lonely feeling vanished in the sudden silence, replaced by a tension he didn't understand. Chenann seemed... embarrassed. Horrendously so, as if she'd been caught naked in public. She took a step away, shifting her body to stand with her back to him. Delenn did that, he recalled, whenever she had to speak of anything she found difficult or shameful.
Remembering his talk with Mayan, he deliberately ignored Chenann's discomfort. He ambled a little further down the path, glancing once over his shoulder to make sure she was still close enough to hear him. "Here's what I really wanted to show you. The Zen garden. I come here a lot after days full of prickly dignitaries and annoying paperwork. It brings me back to myself."
Chenann followed him around the path's gentle curve and into the little alcove of greenery. As she looked around, he could almost feel the tautness flowing out of her. She walked over to the nearest tree, a gingko whose fan-shaped leaves fluttered in a light, artificial breeze. One finger brushed a leaf edge, tracing the fan's arc. Then she smiled. Suddenly her face looked so much like Delenn's that Sheridan's heart hurt. "This tree is of your world?"
"Yes. From the Asian continent. A gingko."
She tilted her head back to take in the entire plant, as if memorizing its shape and color. For a moment Sheridan had the impression of a silent conversation between tree and woman. Then Chenann bowed her head, turned away and made a slow circuit of the small garden. The little waterfall caught her attention, as did the sand-maze nearby. "For meditation?"
Sheridan nodded. "Meditation is central to Zen Buddhism—the spiritual tradition this garden comes from. I'm not sure how many people up here use it for that, but just being here is restful for most of us."
"You come here to rest?"
"Often."
"And Delenn?" Chenann asked the question with a hesitancy he hadn't yet heard from her. "She comes as well?"
Again he felt the sense of loneliness, though less sharply this time. He managed to squelch any reaction other than a small pause before answering. "She likes it here, yes. Sometimes we meet and talk, or just sit and enjoy the silence..." He trailed off, knowing he was babbling to fill the quiet. The loneliness was Chenann's; he knew that suddenly, somehow. Was she a telepath? Her title meant "gifted one"; what little material he'd unearthed last night about the Sisters of Valeria referred to them with the same phrase. Could telepathy be the gift?
Though even if she was a telepath, that didn't explain his sharing her feelings. He'd never tested as having so much as a scrap of psi; her emotions ought to be safely locked away from him inside her own skull. Unless Minbari telepaths worked differently than human ones, or she was so strong that his lack of sensitivity didn't matter. That thought sent a chunk of ice plunging to the pit of his stomach. If she was that strong, she must be reading him like a hyperspace beacon. Every worry, every insecurity, every potential misstep he'd thought he'd managed to check—she would know about them all. He'd probably been mentally shouting them at her ever since the dinner disaster. He felt himself flush from head to foot in an agony of embarrassment that felt horrifyingly close to panic.
With an effort, he turned his gaze toward the waterfall. The rushing and frothing of the miniature cataract worked its usual calming magic, and after a few moments he could think more clearly about his predicament. Telepaths have barriers. Lyta does. She doesn't go around picking up psychic spill from everybody and his dog. I bet Chenann doesn't, either. Especially if she's some kind of Minbari P-12. They're so stringent about courtesy, they probably bend over backwards to keep from reading other people's minds unless they're invited.
Beside him, Chenann also kept her eyes on the water. He sensed something smoothing out, a layer of peace curling gently around the loneliness like an oyster around a pearl. The sympathy he felt, thank goodness, was his own. What was she thinking of, to hurt like that?
"Have you seen the Zocalo yet?" he asked after a lengthy pause.
She tipped her head rightward, a Minbari nod. "Earlier this morning, yes. It was most colorful."
The dry humor in her voice reminded him of Delenn. Responding on instinct, he grinned at her. "Now there's a word that certainly applies to Babylon Five."
An answering glimmer of a smile rewarded him. "Thus far, I must agree." She paused. "You have reminded me of a duty, Captain Sheridan. I must buy some small gifts for my sisters, and the Zocalo seemed... how can I say this..."
"Touristy?" At her puzzled look, he elaborated. "Catering to people who don't get around the galaxy much—and who have a lot of money to spend."
"You have said it." Definitely a note of Delenn-style dry amusement. "I mean no offense, you understand."
"None taken. So where did you have in mind?"
She stepped away from the waterfall. "Your information files mentioned a bazaar in Brown Sector. It is permitted for 'tourists'"—another flash of humor—"to go there?"
"Ummm..." His first instinct was to refuse. Brown Sector was more than a little scruffy in spots. Not exactly guaranteed to impress a future mother-in-law, and he didn't want Chenann anywhere near any kind of trouble. Only how would he explain saying no? He needed a graceful out. Fast, before she noticed him dithering.
He couldn't think of one. To save his life, he couldn't think of anything that wouldn't sound like a lame dodge. For all I know, she chose Brown Sector on purpose, to see if I'd be willing to display a few of the station's warts. Oh, hell—why not? The Marrakech Market is an okay place, and she'll be with me the whole time. So it's not spiffed and shining, but we shouldn't run into trouble as long as we keep to the bazaar. It's not like she wants to go to Downbelow!
"Sure, we can go there." He made himself smile as he fell into step beside her. "There's a stall that sells some of the best spices from all around the Earth Alliance, at a little over half what the shops in the Zocalo charge. And there's Bao Lin, a woodcarver. He does beautiful work. Would that be the kind of thing you're looking for?"
She glanced at him. "I will know when I see it."
I'm sure you will, he thought as they left the garden. I only wish I knew if that's good or bad.
ooOoo
Bao Lin's stall was an oasis of calm in the chaos of the Marrakech Market. Through the open space all around it swirled humans and aliens of a dozen kinds, talking and shouting in a cacophony of languages: buyers haggling over prices, children begging for treats, shoppers chatting with friends chance-met in Brown Eight's bustling main corridor. Over it all wafted the scents of frying onions, falafel, and cinnamon-roasted nuts. Chenann seemed astounded by it, Sheridan thought; she turned her head so often and so quickly, trying to take in the all sights, he half-expected her to give herself whiplash. What had Delenn said… the Sisters of Valeria rarely left their chapter houses? He could guess what they must be like—quiet, gracious, ordered. Everything Babylon Five wasn't. Especially down here.
She turned to look at him, wonder on her face. He couldn't help smiling back. She looked so like Delenn, despite the full bone crest and dark eyes… but it was more than that. As much of a shock to her system as B5 must be, she seemed to be enjoying it. She had guts, he decided. He liked her for that. If only he could be sure she liked him…
"Quite a place, isn't it?" he said.
She nodded. "Like our cities during Summer Festival, multiplied a thousand times." A flash of regret dimmed the brightness in her eyes, and she looked away across the corridor.
What was that about? Best not to ask. He'd learned enough about Minbari reserve by now to know it would be graceless to pry. Instead, he gestured toward Bao Lin's. "This is one of the places I told you about. Might be restful for a few minutes." Lin's stall attracted plenty of patrons, but the sheer loveliness of his wares prompted silent contemplation from most, and hushed negotiations over price once a piece had been decided on. Lin himself, an elderly monk from Tibet, added to the calm. It radiated from him like warmth from the sun.
As they walked toward the booth, Lin handed a package to his latest customer, turned and spotted them. A smile crossed his wrinkled face. "Captain! You have brought a new friend to see me?"
"Maybe." Sheridan grinned. The monk's cheer was invigorating. Sheridan turned to Chenann, with a gesture toward the woodcarver. "Tzetai Chenann, may I introduce Bao Lin. Lin, this is Tzetai Chennan, of the Sisters of Valeria." He'd managed to get it all out, thank God. Without mispronouncing Chenann's title, either.
Lin bowed, Minbari-style, and addressed Chenann in flawless Adronado. Something about the honor of her presence, if Sheridan understood right. Chenann bowed back and then sent Sheridan a brief, sidelong glance. Appreciative, he thought. Relief washed over him. He'd made the right decision, bringing her here.
Lin gestured toward the carvings: animals, trees, boxes in several sizes and shapes elegantly decorated in geometric designs. "Look all you wish, dear lady. If you see one you like, I will tell you its story. Every carving has one."
Chenann smiled and thanked him, with a slight bow and the hand gesture Sheridan recognized as formal but friendly acceptance. She glanced around the stall, then moved toward a statuette of a leaping dolphin. "This is a sea creature?"
Lin nodded. "With an ancient and honorable lineage. Permit me to tell you about the dolphins of Earth…"
Sheridan drifted over to his own choice, a palm-sized box of honey-gold wood with a stylized tree etched into its lid. Part bonsai, part Tree of Life, it had appealed to him ever since he first saw it last week. Delenn would like it—especially the many shades of golden-brown inherent in the wood grain. She loved subtle beauties like that. He stole a glance at Chenann, who seemed captivated by the dolphin carving. Must be a Minbari thing—
His link chirped, breaking his train of thought. "Sheridan. Go."
"Captain?" It was hard to place the voice at first, what with the mild distortion of the link and the ambient background noise. Then, as the speaker continued, surprise took hold. "It's Garibaldi. I, umm… Look, can you come meet me? I'm at Hanrahan's. Brown Eight. I, uh… I gotta talk to you."
A glance toward Chenann gave him a moment to collect his thoughts. She was listening to Bao Lin, apparently entranced. "Listen, this isn't a good time—"
"It's important." A pause; he could hear Garibaldi breathing. "Delenn came by yesterday, and… look, we just need to talk." Another brief pause; then an edgy note, not quite anger but getting there. "Or don't you have even five minutes for me?"
"Hang on." Hanrahan's Tavern wasn't far away. He looked over at Chenann again and was startled to meet her eyes. He saw puzzlement in them, and concern.
She took a few steps toward him. "There is something… amiss?"
"You could say that." He bit his lip. It would be inexcusably rude to leave her, quite apart from security concerns. If he rushed off to meet Garibaldi now, whatever progress he'd made toward amending last night's error with Chenann would vanish like a ship through a jump gate. And he owed it to Delenn to make things right.
But Garibaldi had said Delenn came to see him. A wistful feeling welled up in him as he realized why. She was trying to patch things up between them. She'd reached out to Garibaldi, and now Garibaldi was reaching out to him. This might be his only chance to even start fixing what had gone wrong with their friendship… which also meant a lot to Delenn. And to him, if he were honest with himself.
He blew out a breath. An impossible choice, and he had to make it within the next few seconds.
Chenann, eying his link, spoke before he could. "Something important has come up?"
"Very." He didn't know how to explain, didn't want to try.
She inclined her head. "Then you must tend to it. I will stay here until you return. There is still much to see."
He thought it over. She'd be safe with Lin—and bringing her along, a total stranger as far as Garibaldi was concerned, wouldn't do much for the difficult conversation they needed to have. "Thank you." His gaze flicked toward Hanrahan's, across the way and maybe fifty yards down the corridor. "I won't be long."
He left her with what he hoped was the proper bow for a temporary farewell, and strode down the hallway toward the tavern.