"Commander, does the last name 'Holt' have any meaning to you?"
Sinclair paused. He leaned back in his chair and put a hand on his chin.
"Why do you ask?" He eventually spoke.
Garibaldi sighed. "It's the only lead I've got. That's the last name of the perp who kidnapped me. Earlier this morning I tried digging into the guy, and the only thing I could get out of him was that he considered me a 'roadblock'."
"A roadblock?"
"Yeah. And with the scale of things he's planning, he's after either you or Ivanova. It doesn't make sense for it to be anyone else in the command staff."
"You'll have to ask Ivanova then. I don't know much of her service before she came here. Perhaps. . ." Sinclair's eyes went cloudy as he trailed off, and his breathing hitched.
"Commander?"
Sinclair sat forward and leaned over his desk. It felt as if the entire office went cold. Garibaldi put his hand on Sinclair's shoulder.
"Sorry, I. . ." Sinclair pushed his touch away. "I just remembered. I did know a Holt. She was. . . a member of my squadron. A new recruit. She got transferred under my command just before the Battle of the Line."
The Line. The one thing that broke Sinclair's calm, smooth exterior. Garibaldi nodded gently and stayed quiet. The Commander would tell as much as he was willing. It would be wrong to push for anything more.
"She was shy, but eager. I was still going over my squadron's specific formation list with her when the Minbari warships jumped out of hyperspace." He said slowly.
He hung his head. He was finished.
"Thanks, Jeff. I mean it. This helps a lot." Garibaldi whispered.
"Good. Now, if you don't mind, I have a station to run." He swiveled his chair around to face his computer.
Garibaldi didn't need any further prodding to take his leave. He left the Commander's office without another word.
Commander Sinclair had been the only survivor of the Battle of the Line. Nobody knew how or why, least of all himself. Jeff had confessed that there was a 'hole in his mind' where the memory should be when he tried to remember. It was something that made him very, very afraid.
It had made the rest of EarthForce afraid, too. Sinclair had accepted the job out here not only because he was assigned, but because it was a chance to get away from the questions and accusations about what the Minbari might have done to him.
And now those accusations had followed him out here in the form of one disgruntled son of a former squadmate. It seemed like the Commander could never get a break.
However, this connection, while depressing the hell out of Sinclair, was excellent news for Garibaldi. Now he had a motive for Holt and his friends, and with a motive, he could determine what the punks were planning. Finally! A leg up.
Holt and his buddies were planning on blowing up something on the station, sure, but the question was what. All of the patrols along the outer perimeter of the station so far had turned up a bust, and Garibaldi didn't think any further ones to the more occupied parts of the station would do any good.
If he were a psychopath with a vendetta against a former fighter squadron commander, where would he blow up to make the commander seem most at fault?
The docking bays seemed like a good answer. Blow up the docking bays, and that could cause a lot of damage, along with a serious diplomatic incident depending on what race was currently docked. That would reflect badly on Sinclair. . . but it would primarily look bad on Ivanova, actually. The docking bays were under her control and jurisdiction, while the Commander focused more on diplomatic duties.
Okay, so, docking bay was a no go because it wasn't personal enough. Where else? Well, considering diplomatic duties, maybe Holt intended to go after the council chambers. A well-placed bomb during a meeting of the League of Non-Aligned worlds would have a serious impact. Over twenty races of aliens would be pissed off at once. However, Garibaldi doubted Holt and his friends, whoever they were could pull off such a stunt. Sure, Holt had been inside the security team, but the council chambers were the most high-security places on board the station. The rooms were permanently installed with all sorts of detectors and recording devices, and they were guarded by at least two members of security at all times. If Holt tried to do anything fishy, he would've been caught.
If not the council chambers, then what? Where did Sinclair have complete authority over and no one else?
Garibaldi was so deep in thought that he bumped into someone as he was walking. He saw a blue jumpsuit and looked up.
"Come on! You got something against an airman?" The guy in the blue jumpsuit asked. The rest of his companions, similarly dressed, gave strange looks.
Garibaldi gave him a once over. "You're a part of Delta fighter squadron, right?"
"Yeah, what's your problem? I haven't done anything wrong, and I've only gambled within staff limits. No reason for you to be asking me questions."
"Where are you going?"
"The Commander sent out orders last week to pick up our flight exercises. We're on our way to Delta bay now. So unless you wanna tell Commander yourself, we're going."
The fighter bays. The Commander had primary control of the station's defense systems.
"Wait! Don't- don't go there yet!" Garibaldi called out. "Security needs to check out that bay. We need to check out all the bays-"
"Why? So you can root through our sock drawers? We're innocent." Said another member of Delta squadron.
"No! Please, you gotta listen."
But the group continued walking. Garibaldi cursed under his breath, before bringing up his comm.
"Garibaldi to security. Scramble the search teams. Get them to all the fighter bays, Alpha, Beta, Delta, as fast as possible, and don't let anybody in!"
Garibaldi broke off in a jog. Delta bay was the farthest away and closest to where the security teams were. Beta bay was in between, and it was the oldest and least impressive, less likely to be the target. That left Alpha, which would be the Commander's own squadron. Made sense thematically. Garibaldi made a run for it.
On the way, he made another call. "Garibaldi to Command and Control, it's urgent."
"Ivanova to Garibaldi. What's so urgent?"
"Where's Alpha Squadron?" He shouted.
"Woah woah woah, they're just on routine flight 're about to come back inside. What's the matter?"
"Don't let them in! Keep them out there as long as you can."
"Unfortunately, that's not under my control. The doors are automated- as soon as they detect the fighters coming back with low fuel, they're programmed to open."
"Then tell them to-"
A horrible buzzing noise came from his comm, causing him to jerk his wrist away from his face. He pressed the call button once, twice, multiple times, but nothing changed. Static.
He beared the noise and shouted into it, "Garibaldi to security!"
Nothing.
"Garibaldi to C and C!"
Nothing.
He spied a computer embedded in the wall and ran to it. There was no flashing 'Babcom' symbol anymore. The edges of the screen were turning pixelated.
The entire communication network was down.
Garibaldi sprinted to the entrance of Alpha bay and drew his laser pistol. The cold gray steel door betrayed nothing, no hints as to what lay beyond. There were no other personnel around. Not another green uniform in sight, and Garibaldi didn't know when any of the security teams would make their way all the way over here. There was no time to wait.
The 'Babcom' computer switched off with an audible click, stirring Kitt from power down.
"Computer?" He asked.
No response.
"Computer, reboot."
No response.
"Turn back on? Power on?"
No matter what he tried, the computer didn't even register an input. Not even a 'query not recognized'.
The 'Babcom' computer had always been a constant, no matter the time of day. Garibaldi hadn't instituted any shutdown protocols, and a quick search of his own memory banks showed that the man hadn't mentioned anything about periodic maintenance.
Something was wrong.
A quick swipe of his security card opened the door leading into the docking bays. Garibaldi entered, hanging close to the edges of the wall. His hands were sweaty against the grip of his pistol.
He took a single step out and pointed his aim into the bay, ready for any kind of movement. Seconds passed. Nothing happened. Empty.
He sighed in relief and stepped fully out. The large space felt even larger with the fighters gone. The bottom level had the pilot's lockers, only interrupted by the ladder that went to the top catwalk where all of the machinery controlling the door was situated. There had to be a manual override to shut the doors up there. He holstered his pistol and made his way up the ladder.
He crawled out onto the platform and stood up. Right ahead was a control panel. He could see levers and labels for each door. He jogged towards it.
He froze in his tracks when he heard the hum of a laser pistol by his left ear.
"Contact Commander Sinclair!" Kitt shouted at the blank computer.
No response.
"Contact Lieutenant Commander Ivanova!"
No response.
Not only was the internet down, but the entire internal communications network had apparently been disabled, too. This had to be a part of the plot against the station- how far had it gotten? The only information Kitt had was what he had learned from Garibaldi, and he had mentioned nothing of this sort!
If only he had asked more. If only he had listened more. He had Garibaldi's commlink, he could have called and gotten more information at any time!
Wait. The commlink.
Kitt poured his attention to the commlink. It still pinged with activity, albeit weakly. He reached out to the connection and tried to locate it. If only he could bring up a map of the station while he worked this through, it would make this process a lot easier. . .
"Move and you're dead."
Garibaldi held his breath.
From behind a support strut came a man dressed in an atmosphere suit, his face obscured by a dark visor. Garibaldi didn't think a man that size could fit in the space where he came from, but maybe he misjudged.
"What do you want?" He asked.
"To get you out of the way." The man replied.
"And what do you think I'm doing?"
"Ruining our plans."
"Your plans?" Garibaldi taunted. "You mean, the plans of a crazy kid I've got locked away in the brig?"
"I couldn't care less about Holt." The figure snarled.
"Then what do you gain by doing this? Why are you working with him?"
The figure came around front, his grip on the pistol never wavering. "He hates Sinclair as much as we do."
"Why? What did Sinclair ever do to you?"
"He sold us out to the Minbari. Now he's serving them from the inside. We're doing EarthForce a favor."
"By endangering this station, you're doing EarthForce a favor?" Garibaldi spat.
"We're not endangering the station. Sinclair is. In about a minute, he's going to order Alpha squadron to come back in, despite the fact that there's a breach in the inner bay." There was a smile in the figure's voice.
Garibaldi felt a chill go down him. "What breach?"
The figure lowered his laser pistol for a moment and tapped the side of his helmet. "Lisa, turn communications back on for the Commander."
Garibaldi dove to the side and brought up his own comm. "Commander! Commander, don't do it-!"
He heard the pistol fire, then pain blossomed in his side and he fell to the ground. It burned. It burned it burned it burned. He clutched his side and when he pulled his hand away it was covered in blood.
"Had to take care of the security chief." Said the figure. "Creating our breach now."
There was an enormous bang that left Garibaldi's ears ringing and head spinning. He thought he saw the figure walk past him towards the ladder down from the catwalk, and he thought he saw a jagged hole in the wall where some of the lockers had been, but he wasn't sure. Everything hurt.
There was a blinking red light somewhere. Where? It glinted off of the metal surface of the catwalk. He twitched his wrist and the shine moved.
He brought up his comm and pressed the answer button by pushing the whole device against his face.
"Garibaldi! Garibaldi, what's happening? I just detected a sharp vibration and you're awfully close to where I deduce it came from!" Kitt's voice danced across his ears, providing the only relief he'd felt for a long time.
"Hi, pal." He smiled and tried to suppress a cough.
"You sound terrible. Please, tell me what's going on! Tell me how I can help!" Kitt pleaded.
"I'm about to be space junk. The bay doors are going to open. I'm sorry, damnit. . ."
He felt tears welling in his eyes but there wasn't much he could do about them. At least, now, though, he wouldn't be going alone in the night.
The doors. The doors. The doors.
Kitt tore through everything he could reach in Garibaldi's commlink. His commlink was connected to some part of the system, right? There had to be a way, there had to be way. . .
He diverted all power from everything- scanners, analysis, cooling fans, everything -to beat down the commlink firewalls. He found the tiniest gap and forced himself through.
He was flooded with foreign information and his central processor was starved of the power to comprehend it all. Error warnings popped up but were quickly dismissed. He scanned for connection, and connection he found branching in every direction. He picked a path and in a burst was transported to something else entirely.
It was huge.
Massive.
He struggled to keep himself together in the sheer vastness of it all. For just a moment, he could feel everything- every door, every computer, every scanner, everything. For a moment, he was Babylon 5, and he could register the planet below and the stars beyond like he was in the observation dome all over again, with Garibaldi sitting by his side, and all was well. . .
The error warnings he experienced were only distant flashes as he registered more data. Soon he knew the names of every star in the near quadrant, and what kinds of spices the Minbari used in their dishes, and the 27 different dialects of the Drall language. His own thoughts were lost to the stream of data. It was too much effort to try to connect them to anything. Maybe he should just relax. . .
Protect and serve.
Protect and serve Michael!
Kitt strained to pull the thin strands of himself out of the stream and back together again. For every part of himself that he regained, there was a memory. Bonnie and Devon, laughing in the trailer of the semi. Micheal's hands against the steering wheel. Tires against the warm road. And in the end there was Garibaldi's face, bright and smiling the night he had come home from the Casino after their escapade.
It was a face he'd do anything to see again.
Kitt focused and found the connection for the doors. Alpha bay. Unauthorized access.
There was an external system trying to pull the doors open with a signal. Kitt blindsided the signal and pulled it apart before it could reach the access.
An onslaught of more signals came. Some rammed into him full force, while others tried to snake their way around his defenses. He destroyed them all.
Another series of error warnings came, and this time he could properly register them. They were overheat warnings. The core temperature of his central processor was above the limits, but the single moment it took to reroute any power to his cooling fans could allow a signal to get through. Kitt pushed on.
One by one, his systems shut down. His advanced learning matrix was last to go.