A Place to Call Home

by Terri Osborne

Susan Ivanova and Lyta Alexander take on the Psi Corps. My take on the Telepath Crisis. (Story is incomplete. Publishers are beginning to be interested in my non-B5 work, so I am not sure when I'm going to get back to this.))

22.

A Place to Call Home
By Terri Osborne
terri@terriosborne.com
Part 22

All Babylon 5 characters and settings belong to JMS, Warner Brothers, TNT and anyone else with legitimate legal claim. No infringement of copyright is intended by this work. Only a few select characters are mine, and should the Great Maker need them, or anyone similar to them, I can probably be bought off with a story credit. ;-)

Even though this covers the same time period and the same major event, no infringement upon J. Gregory Keyes' novels is intended. Though, I will draw upon them for some background information.

Content Warning: [AC] [AL]

Anything encased in * these * is telepathic speech.

Spoilers through Season 5 and the Psi Corps novels.

And thanks to Sarah, Sharon and Keith, my eagle-eyed beta readers! Virtual boxes of Godivas to all of you!

----------

May 12, 2264 - 3:35 a.m.

"Captain, you can't-"
"Can't?" Susan charged the PPG. "Mister Medfield, I should think that you'd be very tired of me holding a gun on you by now."
Medfield swallowed. "Maternis, paternis," he stated, leaning toward the speaker embedded in the wall. "Permission, gamma."
Two seconds that seemed like an eternity later, the computer replied, "Voice recognition confirmed." The door slid aside to reveal a forebodingly dark tunnel.
Medfield attempted to step aside, gesturing for Susan, Sara and Matheson to enter first.
"Thanks," Susan replied, "but no thanks. You first, Mister Medfield."
Medfield's eyes widened. "Status, green," he added to the microphone.
"Security countermeasures disabled," the computer replied.
Susan's finger fidgeted on the trigger.
Sara, however, simply rolled her eyes and followed Medfield through the door.
Matheson turned to follow, until Susan put a hand on his arm. "Sure you want to go through with this? You can still go back to the office and wait for us."
She caught a glimpse of his eyes, and was not surprised at the sense of betrayal in them. "No," he replied. "I'm not sure of anything anymore. I think I need to see whatever's down here."
"It could be something you're better off not seeing."
"What could be worse than what I've seen so far?" he asked, stepping through the doorway.
Sometimes, kid, that's not the right attitude.
"What's that noise?" Sara asked from the inner corridor.
Susan stepped through. "What noise?"
A wail the likes of which Susan had never heard echoed in the darkened tunnel. Despair, pain and anguish were all encompassed in the sheer volume of the sound. It was the sound of loss, mind-numbing, soul-searing loss. "Matheson, take Mister Medfield here and get the vial. Sara, come with me."
Matheson attempted to protest, but Susan cut him off with a wave. "I'm ordering you to go get that vial, John."
The use of his first name was enough to get his attention, precisely as she had expected. I don't know why I'm keeping him from this. Whatever it is, he should see everything. Something about the kid, though. There are times he reminds me of myself at that age.
He gave a curt nod, taking Medfield's arm as they walked off down an intersecting corridor. Susan hoped that he took her orders as seriously as he seemed. If he comes back with Medfield and that vial, then he does. Damn, why do I have the feeling I'm trusting him further than I should?
Another wail answered her question.
"Captain?" Sara asked.
"Come on," Susan said, following the echoes through the tunnels. This time, she took point. If there were any dangers, she suspected that they would be higher around the research area. They don't call it secure research' for nothing. Whatever this was, it didn't feel like anything to do with research. Dread began to well in the pit of her stomach as she ventured toward what she thought was the source of the sound. The echo made it difficult to localize.
After a few seconds of walking in near-darkness, they came to a door. "End of the line," Susan breathed.
"Looks like it."
Susan scanned the walls, wishing for better lighting. "I don't see an access panel."
Sara stepped closer to the wall. "Me, either."
"Think there are any weapons scanners down here?" Susan asked, adjusting her grip on the PPG.
"If there were," Sara softly answered, "they'd have gone off when we got through the front door."
"Good point. Typical Corps arrogance." Susan pointed at a small red light that was at precisely the level she would have expected to see an access panel. "There. A couple of shots should do it."
Both women aimed, and Susan was proven right. The door slid aside with a hiss and they were greeted with a stench the likes of which Susan hadn't experienced since her last trip into the bowels of Down Below back on Babylon Five. She fought to keep control of her stomach as she stepped into the room. The wailing had softened when they reached the door. Susan now realized why. It had turned to sobbing. "Oh. My. God."
The source of the noise was a young woman - at least, Susan thought it was a woman. She was hunched over in the center the room.
Judging by the size of the place, it could have been a conference room in a prior life. The door behind her was the only break in the blackness of the walls. Dark rags piled in corners served as makeshift beds. The light was stark, as if they'd installed lighting fixtures as an afterthought. Susan counted three air vents in the ceiling, but it wasn't enough to eliminate the stale smell of urine as it mixed with sweat, blood and something vaguely resembling long-spoiled meat.
People - she presumed that once they had been people - milled around the small room. She counted fifteen individuals. If their builds were anything to go by, most were male. Every one of them was dressed in a similar black uniform in varying degrees of tatters. All of their heads were clean-shaven, and it looked as though that was the only thing about them that was maintained. Not a soul in the room showed the slightest bit of hair growth. Every bald head showed some form of scarring. Surgical scars. They've had their heads cut open.
The sobbing grew in volume, and Susan stepped over to the young woman in the center of the room. She was thin, dangerously thin, with cheeks that were beginning to sink into her skull. Tears streamed from her eyes, over her unnaturally pronounced cheekbones, dropping onto a small bundle in her arms.
"Let me help," Susan whispered. She reached toward the small, black-wrapped object. Instinct told her that it was an infant. For her to be crying like that....
The woman quickly pulled the bundle closer, away from any prying eyes - or hands. The action alone confirmed Susan's suspicions. It hadn't been just any infant. Judging by the level of emaciation, it was probably the only infant the woman would ever bear.
Susan turned to find Sara looking around, white as a sheet and obviously fighting tears. "Where are we?" Sara asked.
"My guess? The re-education center," Susan replied.
Sara fiercely shook her head, almost as if she were trying to forcibly remove the experience from her brain. "No. The Corps would not do this to its own people. It's bad, but not this bad."
Susan raised an eyebrow. "This from the woman whose boss tried to attack her?"
Sara remained silent, eyes wide and fearful.
I wish there was something to tell her. God knows this is going to be with me for a while.
That was when she noticed the person in the corner.
From what she could see, Susan thought it was a woman. Whoever she was, she hadn't been there for very long. Her scalp was still a pale pinkish-gray, what had been her hairline pale against the rest of her otherwise peach-like complexion. A recent, and sizeable, incision was healing just over her left ear. Her uniform was still new, or at least close to it. Susan recognized something familiar in the curled up figure. "You, in the corner. What's your name?" A knot of guilt formed in Susan's stomach as she finally recognized the woman. Ten days. It's only been ten days.
"You know full well what my name is, my dear Susan," Talia's deep voice replied. "Are you happy now?"
The PPG, forgotten since she'd seen the bundled infant, was suddenly a palpable weight in Susan's hand. "If this is what you get for abusing your abilities," she replied in a voice that was far more calm than she actually felt, "then yes. Yes, I am."
Talia stared for a long moment, long enough for Susan to see the surprise in the telepath's eyes. She didn't expect me to report her. She honestly didn't think I'd do it.
A rustling from the hallway pulled Susan's attention away from the situation at hand. Following the sound, she found Matheson standing in the doorway, Medfield's arm in one hand and something she hadn't expected to actually see in the other. Matheson was standing there holding not one, but three Grin masks. His eyes were slowly taking in the room. She suspected that the look of shock on his features very closely mirrored the one she must have had mere minutes before. "That was fast. Where's the vial?" she asked.
He shook his head quickly, almost as if he were willing the vision out of his memory. "Pocket," he said, gesturing with one hip. Holding the masks up, he added, "Thought these might be handy getting out of here."
Susan made a mental note to double-check her telepathic shields when they got out of this. Gesturing toward the room around her, she looked directly at Medfield. "What the hell is this?"
A pained look spread across his features.
Good, I hope it hurts him to see this as much as it does me.
"Mister Medfield?" she prompted.
"The secret relocation center," he answered. "This is where the mistakes go."
Susan and Matheson exchanged surprised looks. "Mistakes?" she asked.
Medfield gulped. "Bureau Thirteen's experiments."
Susan fought the urge to groan. Allied with the Shadows before the war, Bureau Thirteen, also known as the super-secret dirty tricks and intelligence branch of what had once been President William Clark's regime, had been blamed for more than a few atrocities and high-level political embarrassments in the nearly three years since the civil war. Her own ship had been the victim of one of those embarrassments.
When it had been discovered that the first Warlock-class cruisers contained implanted shadowtech, public opinion had swerved so strongly that Earthforce had had no choice but to attempt damage control. While publicly the Warlocks had been completely retrofit to eliminate any shadowtech presence, Susan knew the truth. There was still too much rebuilding to be done because of the civil war. Earthforce simply didn't have the credits to retrofit that many brand new ships all the way to their cores.
So, Bureau Thirteen's experiments had been tacitly allowed to continue, courtesy of a few cosmetic changes to the destroyers and the simple task of rechristening. Her ship had been born The Titans, but it lived as the Valkyrie, complete with its Vorlon resident in flight bay seven. She'd been told that the research had come to a halt when the secret of the Warlocks had been uncovered.
"The experiments stop now," Susan stated, disgusted. "All of them. I've had everything I'm going to take of Thirteen and its so-called research."
Sara found her voice, walking over to where Medfield stood captive. "This is exactly the kind of thing Senator Casinelli wants to know about. You know how sympathetic she is to the resistance. She's begging to use something like this against the Corps. Free these people, and I won't call her in the morning."
"You're presuming too much if you think I have the power to-"
"You know more about this than you're telling," Sara continued. "You may not have the power, but you know who does."
Susan quickly stepped up behind Sara and aimed the charged PPG at Medfield's temple. "These people haven't eaten for a while, Mister Medfield. There are no weapons sensors in here. Do you really want to be the lunch special?"
Medfield's eyes shot open. "N-n-n-no."
"Good. Now, you'll see that these people are freed?"
Medfield quickly nodded.
"And you'll see to it that they get good food, see a doctor?"
Another quick nod.
Slipping the safety back into place, Susan pulled the gun from the man's head. "I'll be checking on you, Medfield. If they're not out in twenty-four hours, I'll find you. Don't go to sleep tonight, because you might not wake up."
Medfield visibly swallowed. "I can't do anything until morning. Paperwork-"
Susan turned to Matheson, making it as clear as she could that she did not want to hear Medfield's lame excuses. "As soon as we get back to the surface, get them food." she instructed.
Matheson nodded.
Turning back to the unfortunate souls that surrounded her, she stated, "I'll get you out of here. If it isn't me, it will be one of my allies. I promise you this. You won't be here any longer than necessary."
She could feel the hope rising in the people that surrounded her, uncertain hope, but hope, nonetheless. It was enough to give her a clue as to how the other telepaths felt about Lyta and Alina. Now, all I have to do is make sure Medfield comes through. Have to let Matheson and Sara tend to that. In twenty-four hours, I fully intend to be on my way out of this hellhole. Major Ryan's definitely going to hear about this the next chance I get.
"Come on," she said, turning toward the door. "I need to get in touch with Garibaldi."

----------

May 12, 2264 - 7:58 p.m.

Alina checked and double-checked the main infiltration plan. Yes, this is definitely going to work. Put Stefanie with Lyta and Andrew and myself going to the research lab. Glad he finally told me about that. Gives us a perfect target. Yes. As long as Susan and Mister Garibaldi-
"Here, try this."
"That's got a good feel to it."
The purr with which the second had been spoken got Alina's attention. After all of the training sessions, she would have recognized Elizabeth Graves' voice from a mile off. Leaning back against the wall, she willed herself invisible to Elizabeth and the person she was speaking with, Andrew Keene.
"Andrew," Elizabeth asked, "what do you think's going to happen when we're done?"
"When this is over?" he replied.
"Yes. Are you going to stay on Mars?"
There was a hesitation. "I'm not sure. I hear the Minbari treat their telepaths well."
"The Minbari?" Graves replied, surprise in her voice.
"Yes. Why?"
"You'd be willing to hide out with a race that almost killed us? Andrew, they're no better than we are."
Alina bit her tongue just short of hard enough to make it bleed. She'd dealt with anti-Minbari sentiment before, but the fact that she hadn't even sensed it in one of her own Circle was enough to give her pause. Interesting that she's still knowingly involved in a ritual that was born of Minbari research.
"Alina said-"
"You believe everything she says?" Graves shot back.
"She's been right so far," Andrew replied.
"That doesn't mean that you have to blindly follow her, Andrew. She lived with the Minbari for so long. She's teaching Minbari techniques. Hell, the only thing keeping her from actually being Minbari is genetics. Who knows what Delenn's working on, though. I mean, Andrew, they've got the Circle, what's to stop them from-"
Andrew sighed. "Liz, look, I need you to handle this decoy raid, not preach to me. Can you do that?"
"If you want me to handle it," she stated, "then let me blow it up. You know it's the only way."
Please, Andrew, come to your senses.
Silence was the response Elizabeth Graves received.
Andrew....
"If you won't do it for me," Graves said, "then do it for them. I know you still love Renee, Andrew. You can't hide that. Let me help you avenge her death. You know that's what you want. Let's get them for her and Alex."
Alina's fists balled at her sides. It was everything she could do to keep from walking into that room, but she knew this wasn't her battle. The fight was all Andrew's. He had to overcome the need for vengeance by himself. Her help would only make it worse.
After the silence had reached the point of absurdity, she heard Andrew reply, "No. You are not going to blow it up. The only thing you use that PPG for is self defense, understood?"
"Sure I can't convince you otherwise?" she purred.
Alina swallowed the tirade that wanted to escape her lips at that. She walked off, not even certain that she wanted to hear the answer to that, but definitely convinced that she couldn't remain there any longer. She couldn't go against Lyta's orders without due cause. The division it would inevitably cause in the ranks simply wasn't worth it. But if Graves was crass enough to attempt to seduce him to get her way.

----------

May 13, 2264 - 6:28 a.m.

"That's it, Delenn. Should anything happen to me during this assault, this should be all of the pertinent information. Make sure the telepaths here are moved to a safe area. One or two might have a problem working with Minbari, but if I am unable to, Lyta or Captain Ivanova should be able to convince them to work with you. Please make sure Mister Keene is taken in by the religious caste, if it's at all possible. He has suffered too much, and should know some peace in his time. Stefanie and her daughter should also be treated to everything that befits a telepath on Minbar. I know you'll care for them, Delenn. In case these truly become my last words to you, please tell Rathenn that I miss his friendship greatly and I truly hope that he would have been proud of what we've done here. Thank you, again. Even from the other side, I will be in the Grey Council's debt. Minette out."
With a sigh, Alina hit the small button on the recorder that encoded the data. "Computer, use regular encryption techniques."
"Encryption complete."
She considered the contents of the data stream for another moment. "Computer, do you have the old White Star Command encryption coding?"
Even the computer had to think on that. "Yes," it eventually replied.
"Good. Add White Star Command encryption to this message."
We know the Shadows never got a decrypt for that one, which means only someone who was a White Star captain during the war will be able to decipher it. Them, or Delenn. That's safe enough for me.
After a few seconds, the computer came back. "Second level encryption complete."
Alina leaned back in her chair. "Good. Now add unencrypted message. Message reads," she paused, attempting to think of the properly ambiguous phrasing. "Entil'zha Delenn, as a member of White Star Command, you will find the attached of great interest. Sincerely, Liana Stewart, former captain, White Star Twenty-Two. Message ends."
"Recording complete," the computer stated.
"Eject crystal."
The blush pink crystal slowly rose from the recorder. Picking it up, she stuck it into an inner pocket of her vest. Now I just need to get this to Mister Garibaldi.
Her eyes wandered to the clock on the small computer. It was time.

----------

7:30 a.m.

Susan yawned fiercely as she slipped the bottle of aspirin back into her pack. After weeks of blessed peace, her headache had returned with a vengeance. Not even the coffee was helping this morning. Hell, adrenaline alone should have me going. Now it's just a matter of killing this thing without putting me out of commission. She was just shoving her portable computer into the bag when the knock came at her office door.
"Ivanova?"
She had never been so relieved to hear Michael Garibaldi's voice in her life. "Yes, sir. Come in," she replied, keeping up something of the charade that she still worked for the man. If Garibaldi's ego doesn't need shrinking after this one.
The man in question sauntered through the door, an I've-got-the-upper-hand strut to his walk that Susan hadn't seen for more years than she cared to remember. She stepped close enough to try to get a sense of his emotions. To the best of her abilities, only part of the peacock strutting was an act. He was feeling too sure of himself for Susan's liking. We're not out of here yet, Michael. You trip us telepathically, so help me God I'll kill you myself.
She attempted to bring him back to reality with a glare. As usual, it had no effect. He still smiled like the proverbial cat that ate the equally proverbial canary.
"Michael," she whispered from between clenched teeth. "Just get us out of here."
The mischievous glint in Garibaldi's eyes told her precisely one thing. He'd found a way to get them to the hangar.
"Ready when you are," he replied.
"Captain?" Sara's soft voice asked. When Garibaldi turned, Susan could see the small woman standing in the half-open doorframe. "You're leaving?"
Susan's heart fell to somewhere around her stomach. As much as she liked the young telepath, as much as the poor woman would be forced to endure from Medfield and who knew how many others, she couldn't very well have a tagalong in the starfuries. It was going to be hard enough flying the two-person fighter herself. Novices co-piloting Thunderbolts had a bad habit of causing catastrophes.
"Yes," she replied. "My time here is over." She smiled as a thought struck. "But, I need you here. I know I thought I could get you out of here, but those people down there need you."
Sara smiled softly. "One of your allies."
"One of my allies," Susan reassuringly confirmed. "I need you to take care of them. You'll know when to take it to Casinelli. Medfield won't try to dominate you any more."
"You're sure?"
Susan nodded. "Take care of them, Sara."
The small brunette solemnly bowed. It reminded Susan a little too much of Lennier; Lennier, with a little bit of Marcus's fire thrown in for good measure. Well, Marcus or Alina. Alina's more like him than she knows.
Alina.
The rest of the group.
They were due any second.
"Sara, I've got to go. I know you'll take care of our friends. Right now, I could use Mister Matheson."
Sara nodded. "He's outside."
"Send him in on your way out?"
"Yes, Captain."
Turning slowly, Sara made her way toward the door. With a final smile to Susan, the young woman was gone. Susan couldn't help but hope that she had made the right decision. Sara needed to leave the Corps, but Susan needed one person within its ranks that she could trust to get the job done. Sara had seen more than she should have, seen enough to prove to her that the Corps was not the sweet, parental organization that it was spun out to be. Matheson was still a little too accepting of the Corps and its nightmares for Susan's liking. He was on the path to realizing the truth, but in his case, Susan suspected that it would take more than he had seen.
By the end of the war, Susan suspected that they all would see far more than they ever needed. But, by then, if things went according to the plan she'd been slowly formulating, there would be no more Psi Corps to worry about.
Provided they all survived.
"You wanted to see me, Captain?" Matheson asked as he entered the office.
"Yes," Susan replied, gesturing toward Garibaldi. "John Matheson, this is Michael Garibaldi."
Garibaldi politely nodded.
Matheson's eyes took on the very same awestruck glaze that Susan had seen on her first meeting with the young man. "Mister Garibaldi, it is an honor."
Susan could only presume from the ease Garibaldi had with the man that Michael had grown accustomed to people recognizing him over the last two years. Of course, taking over one of the largest corporations on Mars hasn't exactly kept him an unknown, either.
"Mister Matheson," Garibaldi began, "I was wondering if you could indulge me in a little favor before we leave."
"Of course," Matheson nodded.
Michael's Cheshire-cat grin reappeared with a vengeance. "I've always wanted to take a look at the Black Omegas up close."
Susan's lips twisted into a long-suffering grimace as she played along. "You've seen enough of them up close, Michael."
Garibaldi raised an eyebrow. "But I'd like to see one when it's not firing on me, okay?"
Susan sighed. "Ex-fighter jocks."
Matheson chuckled, for all intents and purposes oblivious to the maneuvering that was going on around him. "Well, I can take you to the hangar, but actually getting in could be a problem. The hangar's heavily protected."
The look on Michael Garibaldi's face was absolutely priceless. It took everything Susan had to not laugh at the gee whiz' expression. "I could live with that."
Susan slowly shook her head, slinging her bag over one shoulder as Matheson led them out of the office. I can't believe that actually worked. Think it's high time I re-evaluated the kid's usefulness.
They followed Matheson down progressively less crowded corridors, until they reached what Susan recognized as a locker area for the pilots. Matheson lagged behind, allowing Michael and Susan a brief moment to confer over the plan at hand. At least, they thought they had time to confer on the situation.
When Susan heard the rumble, she wasn't quite as certain.
The idea of discussion abandoned her completely as the ground beneath them gave a violent jolt.

----------

7:35 a.m.

The mask wasn't the best fit, but with a little telekinetic assistance it would work. As Alina stepped through the doors and into the Syria Planum facility, she immediately wondered if Graves would do as she had been told. Even Andrew had told her of his doubts. It's simple, really, she thought as they headed out. A few small charges on the main line, and escape through the backup line. Remote detonators. Not even Graves could screw that up.
But, she noted gloomily, stranger things have happened.
Alina felt the first tinge of worry from her compatriots as they approached the guard station. Beside her, Stefanie was frightened to her core. It's all right, Alina soothed. We are harmless, they are harmless.
Stefanie wasn't strong enough to sense it, but Alina knew that Lyta was projecting far into the guards' minds, unsettling them before the foursome could even approach. She'd seen Vorlon-altered Minbari telepaths able to project that far before, and also witnessed their rate of degeneration increase with each use of their abilities. Her stomach knotted nervously. Any more runs like this and Lyta may not live to see the end of the war.
Alina projected ahead as well, gathering a feel of the territory. There were two guards, unnerved over some odd power fluctuations. It was a silly thing for them to worry needlessly over, but it would fill the foursome's needs.
A snap-hiss from overhead drew Alina's attention. Looking up, she discovered a small camera dangling from a wire in the ceiling. Smoke was trickling out the hole it had once occupied in the roof. Another snap-hiss quickly followed, as securecam after securecam exploded as they passed. Lyta was expending too much energy on the both the guards and securecam for Alina's tastes.
Alina followed Lyta's projection, subtly searching for childhood memories that could be used in their plan. She found one guard had memories of the Grins repressed so deeply that he wasn't even aware of their presence. Yes, that would do nicely. Her presence allowed Lyta to retreat into the other guard's mind. Alina wasn't quite certain that she wanted to know what kind of nightmares the redhead was stirring in the other man's consciousness.
When they rounded the corner on the guards' station, not a securecam unit in the vicinity remained functional. A thin haze of smoke drifted around the tiny cameras that had been reduced to nothing more than electrodes and wires hanging from the ceiling. The guards simply stared at them in petrified silence. Alina stepped into the stationhouse without challenge. Laying a hand on each man's shoulder, she simply thought, *Sleep.*
Each dropped to the floor, unconscious.
Lyta walked over to three tall rack units, each filled with technical equipment Alina couldn't quite place. She presumed, considering its location, that the racks controlled securecams or some other security equipment in the area. Lyta's eyes slowly opened, their hazel depths replaced by an obsidian black that Alina had grown far too accustomed to seeing of late. Within seconds, a trail of smoke flowed from each of the rack units.
*They're down,* Andrew confirmed from the corridor.
Lyta slowly nodded, closing her eyes. *Separate,* she thought. *Stefanie and I will tend to Bester.*
Alina made one last telekinetic adjustment on her mask as she was leaving the guard station. She wasn't quite certain that the masks were still necessary, but if she had learned anything over the last few years, it was far better to be safe than sorry.
*Come on,* she thought as she passed Andrew.
Still wearing the rather unsettling bland smile of a Grin mask, Andrew gestured toward a nearby corridor. *This way. It's on the third level down.*
One of the advantages of having an insider fighting with their cause became glaringly obvious as Andrew walked over to an innocuously marked door and fiddled with the handle for a few seconds. The door opened onto a stairwell. Alina smiled behind her own mask. *This is too easy.*
That realization sparked a more deeply buried paranoid streak. Lyta had taken out a good deal of the equipment in the vicinity, but who knew how far into the complex she had reached? Stopping, Alina put a hand to the wall. She sent out feelers, sensing for the circuitry that would betray them. Another familiar snap-hiss greeted her from one corner of the stairwell. *I spoke too soon. Andrew, the cameras are on separate circuits. I'm not sure we can blow them all.*
Andrew shrugged nonchalantly as he headed down the staircase. *We don't need to blow them all, just the ones on our path.*
She watched him descend for a few seconds, irritated by the obviousness of the statement
*You coming?*
With a low growl, she followed him down the stairs. *One of these days, Keene . . . .*
Three levels down, they came to a stone wall. Where there should have been a door, where there was a door on every other level, there was nothing but the crimson soil of the excavated walls. Andrew stared. *Where is it?*
Alina placed her fingers against the wall, extending feelers along the surface. Closing her eyes, she allowed the feelers to guide her to the door trigger. *Here.* She felt Andrew's hand coming towards the trigger. *No. Security's on it.*
She extended a little more - then triggered the lock.
The door slid back without so much as a whisper of alarm.
Retrieving her denn bok from its usual vest pocket, Alina expanded it as she walked into the darkened corridor. As soon as they were safely inside its depths, Alina ripped the mask from her head.
*Alina?*
*I can't see in this light,* she replied.
Andrew removed his mask, taking his PPG from its concealment. *Glad I'm not the only one.*
A strange sensation began crawling up Alina's spine. Alien, yet somehow familiar. She felt the tiny hairs on the back of her neck start to stand on end. *Andrew, are you sensing that?*
*Yes,* he replied after a few seconds' concentration. *It's faint, but I'm picking up - that way.*
She followed him down a side corridor, until they reached a dark doorway. There was no handle, no touchpad to control the door. There weren't even lights to give her some indication of where a trigger mechanism might have been. Still, she sensed the odd presence. It was beginning to give her a serious case of the screaming willies. Only one thing had ever given her the willies like that before. *Shadows.*
*What?*
*Andrew, whatever's on the other side of this door came from the Shadows. That's the only thing that explains the feelings I'm getting.*
His eyes widened. *I wonder . . . . *
His fingers worked around the edge of the doorframe. *There. There's a spot that's been burned out. Looks like a PPG shot, actually. Haven't seen something like this for years.*
When she looked more closely, she could actually see the spot in question. It was at approximately hip level, right where a doorknob or control pad should have been. The door slid aside before she could formulate another thought, leaving her staring into the face of a small brunette woman in a business suit that came complete with Psi Corps shield. The woman simply stared at Alina and Andrew, eyes wide and mouth agape.
Andrew lifted the PPG, but it fell from his hands as soon as he heard the rumble. That was when the floor, walls and ceiling all around gave a hideous lurch.

[End Part 22]