WHAT A DIFFERENCE A DAY MAKES
By Jo Taylor
"They never learn," the abrupt voice intoned at his side. Marcus looked out over the devastation that surrounded them, and had to agree. His deep green eyes hardened to an icy emerald as the last few hours replayed in his mind. Foetid air, heavy with ash, swirled lazily across the ruptured buildings and broken bodies. Wiping his hands down his trouser leg for the umpteenth time Marcus knew he could not erase the blood that stained his fingers with such a futile gesture. His head ached abominably, and he didn't think he would ever lose the smell of burnt flesh that even now swamped his olfactory senses.
Faded blue eyes turned to study him. "You did what you could, don't let it tear you apart."
"That's not so easy for me," Marcus accused softly.
"Young man, no matter how much you wish it, the races can't live in harmony. Conflict is what keeps most of them alive. This," he gestured vaguely, "is a symptom of what is yet to come. We have seen it. It will get worse."
"You could help. Your kind, with the power you hold…"
"No. The Technomages will not interfere. To take sides in this is unthinkable. This is your fight, not ours." The mage turned away from Marcus' blazing eyes. "We will not interfere," he reiterated.
24 Hours earlier.
Marcus woke abruptly, sitting bolt upright in his bed, wondering for a second just where he was. The feel of cotton under his hands felt strange, and somehow comforting. For the last week he had slept at his console, taking what rest he could as the long-range shuttle sped its way back to Babylon 5. Even though the Ranger training camp had been relieved, others were still under threat. He had been to every single one still operational, advising, co-ordinating, until all were now empty. Someone, somewhere had given the Centauri the information necessary to blockade Zagros 7; someone who might possibly know the frequencies used by the Minbari. A personal visit had been vital. Even now, Delenn and her staff were searching throughout the Ranger community for the traitor. He didn't envy that person's fate when she caught up with them.
Sliding back down under the sheets, the ranger let his body relax as he stretched over-worked muscles in a series of moves that made at least one joint pop loudly. The stiffness in his limbs only emphasised the need for activity. During the past month he had had little time to keep up his training, his speed and agility would suffer; something that he could not allow with the conflict he could see looming.
With a long sigh, he emerged from the bed. He stood in the centre of the room and began a set of slow warm up exercises that soon had the blood pumping through his veins. Stepping up the pace, his body flicked and darted in a delightful display of grace and power. Hands or feet, aiming high or low, snapped in precise and deadly manoeuvres. Half an hour later, with sweat dripping from his lean muscular form, he headed for the bathroom. Green flecked eyes, bright with exertion, looked back at him. Dark rings surrounded those same penetrating orbs, a testament to the rigours of the past weeks. Though his body remained tautly fit, his face had thinned making the bush of his beard seem larger than ever. Taking scissors from the cupboard, he set about tidying the growth of jet-black hair. He was due to meet with Ambassador Delenn that afternoon, and he was more than aware of the Minbari's fastidious nature.
Once showered and dressed, he saw to the few domestic chores that awaited him, then glanced at the chronometer. He still had a few hours to kill; maybe it was time to reassert his presence in the Zocalo and beyond. Garibaldi could probably fill him in on most of what was going on, the man seemed more than competent, but there was nothing like the personal touch.
Brisk strides brought him to the bustling thoroughfare. A comprehensive glance told him that none of his regulars was abroad at that time of the day. Hesitating on his next port of call, he caught the faint flash of tightly bound brown hair above an Earthforce uniform - Commander Susan Ivanova. She was just rising from her alcove seat where she had been hidden from his searching gaze. His eyes followed her as she threaded her way between the milling patrons. Inside, he felt the tightening of his gut, and an almost overwhelming urge to follow her slightly swaying hips. The attraction for her had been immediate, and uncomfortable. The last time they had met, she had been all business, her tone abrupt and interrogatory. She was tough, he knew that; you didn't get to be second in command of a space station like Babylon 5 without having the balls to see through pretty much anything, and yet he could swear he had seen a vulnerability around those deep blue eyes. It was that hint of a soul that had caught him; he had seen that same look on his own face. They had both seen too much, lost too much. He wondered if they would ever be able to get past the work that consumed them both.
Pulling himself up short, he murmured, "Now where the hell did that thought come from?" And yet his eyes strayed back to her disappearing form, and lingered until she was out of sight.
****
The rumours he had picked up in Down Below were worrying, but not unexpected. Hard headed pilots, runners for every illegal item in the galaxy, were beginning to shy away from certain routes. These men and women didn't scare easily, but something was out there, something so dangerous and frightening that even the dregs were loath to enter their territory. And now it seemed that same unease was spreading to the outlying colonies, especially those close to the rim. Neighbour turning against neighbour in savage and seemingly unprovoked attacks. Marcus knew that the Rangers would, sooner or later, be called in to check out the stories. Someone was behind the ever-escalating hostilities; it was their job to find out who.
Green sector was quiet at this hour of the day, and Marcus moved alone down empty corridors until he stood outside the Minbari Ambassador's suite. The door swished open, and Lennier bowed him into the room. Delenn was just finishing her meditation; he watched enviously the tranquil expression on her face as she moved from the flame. He had tried, how he had tried! But that inner peace had eluded him all the years since his brother's death. Not that the Sech hadn't done their best; a reluctant grin spread across his face, quickly wiped away as the petite woman turned to him.
Dark hair fell forward across his face as he bowed in the traditional Minbari greeting, mouthing the ritual words. Raising his eyes, he met her penetrating gaze, realising that her study of his face went deeper than cosmetic layers. He stood still under her scrutiny, trying not to let her steady gaze upset his equilibrium. When he had been assigned to the station and this mission, just a few weeks ago, Sinclair had brought him to his office for a long talk. It had been impressed upon him just how important this Grey Council member would be, and that he could trust her with his life. His trust in Sinclair was implicit, and founded on nothing more than a respect for the man's inner strength and taciturn nature and a certain quality that was ever present when he was near. Sinclair's parting words echoed in his memory now, "She will ask a lot of you, Marcus, and will expect even more. Don't fail her."
"Take a seat, Marcus."
Delenn's voice brought him out of his memories, and he took a place opposite her. Between them was a small table laden with memos, charts and data crystals. Inwardly he sighed, "Well at least he had had one night in a bed."
"There have been reports coming in over the last few days of civil wars erupting throughout the nations currently inhabiting Cetan 4. The whole planet is in turmoil, and there are rumblings of unrest on two other planets in that system. We need someone to assess what is going on out there."
Marcus nodded. "There's not much point in doing a re-con of the Cetan colonies, by now no-one will remember what started it, or who. What about neighbouring systems?"
Leaning forward, Delenn pushed a chart over to his side of the table. "If the unrest continues along projected lines, the next planet to be involved will be Trena. Only two nations inhabit this world, the Trenay and the Chamdi. They have lived in perfect amity for over a century. Though the planet originally belonged to the Chamdi, the Trenay seem to have integrated the populace successfully, and without further conflict." Her dark eyes stabbed at his. "I need you as my eyes and ears, Marcus. Both nations are humanoid; you should blend in well enough. I have clothing more suitable for the mission, your Ranger uniform might be recognised." She hesitated for a moment as though aware of the effect her next words would have. "And you must leave your pin with me. We don't know who is behind this, and that," her eyes slid to the deep green stone, "is too familiar to our enemies."
Reluctantly, Marcus removed the emblem of his passage into the Rangers. He had worked so hard to earn this, it was a physical reminder of why he had joined in the first place. His fingers slid over the glossy green stone that felt so cold under his touch. The raised figures seemed to watch him as he scanned its image into his mind; as though he were not familiar with every millimetre of its surface! As he placed it into Delenn's small palm, he felt a sudden wash of loss, even though he knew it would be safe in her keeping.
As though picking up on his thoughts, Delenn laid her free hand on his arm in a soft, reassuring gesture. "I will not lose it," she murmured quietly.
"No. No of course not. It's just…" resisting the urge to touch it one more time. He pulled himself together; shaking off the sudden presentiment of failure that had seeped through him. Strange, he hadn't realised how much of a good luck charm the brooch had become.
"When do you want me to start?"
"As soon as you have memorised the data."
Delenn gestured for Lennier to come forward. In the young Minbari's hand were a set of crystals, fake data that should ensure his acceptance through the immigration channels of Trena bureaucracy.
"I have taken the liberty of sending the clothing to your room. If there is anything else you require, please call."
Marcus knew that there would be no need to disturb the Minbari again. If nothing else, they were ultra efficient - and devious to the point of an art form. For all that they did not lie, a Minbari could warp the truth in such a way that black really could be white. He bowed to Delenn one more time, but, just as he was leaving, her voice called him back.
"Marcus, you will not get involved. No matter what occurs, I do not want our involvement to become known. Nor," she took a step closer to him, "do I wish to explain to Entil'Zha why one of his Rangers did not return."
For a moment he wondered just what Jeffrey Sinclair had told the Ambassador about him? "There and back, Ambassador. A quick look around and I'll be on my way."
****
Suspicion. Paranoia. Marcus could feel it, even over the com link. The face looking at him now, as it scanned the data he had sent, was vaguely distrustful. Marcus knew that the information supplied by Delenn would be faultless. His cover, that of a free trader named Maroc from Tre, the capital city, was comprehensive. He had spent all the night before, and his journey here, in learning every subtle nuance of the in-depth profile.
"You may land. Port two, docking bay 4. An inspector will be waiting."
Marcus sighed as the link was disconnected. In the back of his shuttle was a collection of parts for delivery to a well-known dealer on the city outskirts. The Minbari thought of everything. Landing where advised, he took the time to stretch his legs the best he could in the cramped cabin. The inspector was not waiting for him. Not that he had expected him to be; bureaucracy was the same the galaxy over.
His new clothing felt strange where it hung on his body. A black open neck shirt that seemed to be two sizes too big for him topped tight black trousers tucked into soft calf high boots. Long hair was unusual among the Trenay, so Marcus had slicked back his thick mane into a tight ponytail. Pulling the hair back from his face had accentuated the fine cheekbones, giving his face a lean, mean look. Down the right sleeve of his shirt was a bright yellow blaze that was most offensive to his eyes. He didn't think much of the prevailing fashion on Trena. The one bonus was that his pike could be safely tucked away at the small of his back, unnoticed from casual observance under the loose material. The Den'bok's unique composition meant it would not show up on any weapon scan; with the atmosphere that seemed to pervade this world, he was just as happy to have it on hand.
When the inspector finally arrived, his search was more than thorough. For a moment Marcus had expected a full body search to accompany the intrusive rummaging performed by the official. Keeping a scowl on his face, to match the background of hard headed trader he had assumed, Marcus tagged along every step of the way. By the end of the inspection the official almost fell out of the ship in his hurry to get away from the man who had growled at every question put to him. Mischief lit the Ranger's eyes as he watched the man hurry away, and a deep chuckle burst from his lips.
"Small pleasures," he thought. Some days it was good to be alive.
***
A chill wind whistled through the flyer's open door, and Marcus caught up the thick leather jacket Delenn had provided. Comfortably attired, he headed for the terminal. Activity was high, even for a major port like this one. The transfer of his cargo took little time, Delenn had seen to everything, but he was aware that his credentials were being scrutinised with abnormal attention to detail.
The clerk looked up into Marcus' scowling face, and the petty question died on his lips, instead he shoved the form over for his signature, wished him a brisk 'good morning' and nodded for the next person in line.
To reach the transports into the city, Marcus' path lay through the passenger terminals. All around him civilians, both Trenay and Chamdi, sat with serious faces - no happy travellers here. He slowed his progress, trying to catch any stray conversation that might hint as to this minor exodus. But the closed faces around him seemed locked into solitude, the building echoed with the soft sound of hushed tones of those who sat, heads close together, as they talked. Frustrated, Marcus took the escalator down to the transport tubes buried deep under the ground.
It was a good twenty-minute ride into the capital. As Marcus leaned back against the seat he could feel the press of his pike digging painfully into his back. Wriggling around to get more comfortable, his eyes caught that of an old man sitting opposite him. Faded blue eyes twinkled disconcertingly in a rotund face as they briefly locked with his. Marcus got the fleeting impression of power and intelligence and then the eyes moved from his and all he saw was an aged man, humbly dressed, suffering the same journey he was on.
The old man brushed past Marcus as the doors opened, with a murmured apology, the barest touch of his hand on a black clad sleeve, and the rotund figure hurried off into the distance.
By the time Marcus exited the transport system and headed into the wintry daylight his head was beginning to ache. The unaccustomed pull of hair against scalp made his temples twinge uncomfortably. His thoughts turned to Ivanova again; something he had found himself doing on a regular basis since they had been introduced such a short time ago. As he walked toward the central offices, his mind toyed with the idea of asking her how she coped with that heavy plait pulling constantly on her head. A wry grin flitted briefly across his face as he contemplated her possible reply. He may not have known her long, but he thought he could judge her response fairly accurately.
The clicks were soon eaten up as he strolled through the city's soaring glass and chrome buildings. Though he was alert to all that was happening around him, his thoughts now turned to the contemplation of Ivanova with her hair down. In his imagination he dressed her in something suitably 'off duty', her thick locks cascading around her shoulders. He wondered what it would feel like, to slide his fingers through that dark auburn mass. A soft sigh passed his lips as he entered the square outside the government offices, pulling his thoughts back from their pleasurable wanderings.
In stark contrast to the clean lines of the city, these three large portalled edifices seem dull and grimy. Perhaps a reflection of the inner workings, he thought, a sneer barely repressed from his face. Though the Rangers were supposed to be above politics, he knew enough to distrust anyone who actually wanted to be in that game.
Although he knew he could not gain access to the buildings, it was surprising how much you could pick up from just watching. Eyes and ears Delenn had said, eyes and ears it would be. In the centre of the square the city had set out a small park, an oasis of greenery in the heart of its urban sprawl. Perhaps as counter-balance to the grim facades that surrounded it. Lunchtime was almost due, and Marcus headed to one of the small food stations dotted around the square. He opted for a local delicacy of meat and vegetables wrapped in dark bread. Taking his purchase to a nearby seat, he prepared to wait.
The food was good, and it was with reluctance that he slowed his consumption of its delicious fare, for once he had finished he would have no legitimate reason to stay. Within a few minutes the office doors opened and a stream of people washed into the park. Secretaries, clerks, lesser minions of government, he thought. But these were the life-blood of any world, there would be nothing they would not know, hell, they probably knew what was going to happen before the final decision was even made. He closed his eyes and feigned slumber, enjoying the trickle of warmth provided by the pale sun.
Two women took the seat next to his. Their eyes rested on him contemplatively; he could feel their observation even though he could not see them. All his senses were alert for any hint of approach even as he strained to hear what passed between them.
Over the rustle of sandwiches being unwrapped; "Well I heard President Tro has ordered his private flyer to be on constant alert," one woman whispered softly, obviously continuing a conversation started before they left the building.
"But my boss assured me that nothing was wrong, and he should know!" was the hushed reply.
"What does the minister of trade know? Look, I heard this from someone who heard it from someone who heard it from the under-secretary to the President himself!" The whispered confidence reached Marcus straining ears, but he made no move, no indication that he had heard them.
"Okay, well what about that man who came to our office last week? Why would he be arranging trade with us if there were something about to go down? You know what happened on the Cetan colonies, if that was going to happen here why would Earth want to trade?"
Marcus did his best not to react to that piece of information, but somehow he had betrayed his interest, a slight movement of his body, a sudden tenseness he could not control, for suddenly the confidences were over. With a muted, "Let's get back" the women stood rapidly and moved quickly away from him.
Daylight stung his retinas as Marcus opened his eyes to watch their rapidly disappearing forms. Damn, he swore under his breath, what more might he have learned?
He had promised Delenn a quick recon, in and out, but this begged for further investigation. Slowly he got to his feet, mentally reviewing the city map he had committed to memory on the flight in. About two blocks away there should be a small cluster of cheap hotels, he would head there, think through what he wanted to do about this unexpected knowledge, get a few hours sleep then head out again tonight. What may not be available to him during daytime was sure to come his way when the denizens of the night hours took to the streets.
***
Dark shadows hid the room's deeper corners, something he felt quite glad about. There was a sour smell to the room, reminiscent of stale sweat and body fluids. The bed looked fairly clean, but the small wash facilities hadn't seen bleach in a decade. He'd slept in worse places. Pulling the band from his hair, he ran water in the dirty sink and did his best to clean the gel from his long locks. Towelling briskly, he dried off as best he could, lay down on the musty smelling sheets and dropped off to sleep.
A few hours later, he was up, dressed, and ready to see what Tre had to offer in the way of information. Glancing quickly in the mirror Marcus saw his reflection in the flyspotted surface. Normally well controlled hair hung limply around his thin face; deep eyes looked out distrustfully adding an edge to his normally equable features. He looked like a hood, a criminal; he was going to blend in beautifully with the people he sought.
It was well past the midnight hour when he ventured out into the city's darkened back streets. He had lingered over an insipid meal from the restaurant close to the hotel. Marking time until his quarry would be out and about. A few glances went his way, but he studiously ignored them, concentrating on his food and the single glass of liquor that had come with the meal. Surreptitiously, he had dripped its alcohol-laden content onto the dirty carpet; he needed a clear head for this evening's work.
With rapid strides, he made his way to that part of Tre the Minbari had marked as a 'no go' area on his map. For the Minbari, that would translate to the worst area of a city, where alcohol and licentious behaviour abounded. With the raffish air he now presented, no one would give him a second look.
For the next few hours Marcus moved from bar to bar, settling himself in unobtrusive corners, eyes and ears on full alert. Everywhere were the signs of unrest. The talk, what he could hear, centring around the raids that had been occurring on outlying areas of Trena; civil unrest that was gradually getting closer to the main cities. Delenn's report held nothing of this; Trena was keeping its mouth tightly closed it seemed. And more than once he overheard the name 'Chambert', always with a sudden drop of the voice, the suspicious glance around a crowded room.
Dawn was approaching when he finally made his way back to the city centre to observe the government building one more time. Not that he had intended to end up here, but his furious thinking had led his feet to wander on their own. A quick glance around him showed that he was alone in his contemplation. If only there were some way to get into the files, someone in that building knew whom Chambert was and what his connection would be with the insurrection that was surely threatening this world.
From a side street he heard the whoosh of a vehicle. Darting back into a convenient doorway, Marcus watched an official car sweep up to the front steps of a building just a few metres from his position. A driver leapt out from the front and moved to open the door for his passenger. The figure that exited was tall, thin, almost emaciated, its sex virtually indistinguishable. Close-cropped black hair lay plastered against a fine skull; a shapeless black suit hung from thin shoulders. As Marcus watched, the figure's hand rose to pull the jacket a little closer against the chill morning air. Marcus' eyes locked to the black gloved hand and did his best to blank his mind of all thoughts. From his position her heard the driver ask for instructions.
"Call for me in two hours. You will not be late."
"Yes, Mr Chambert."
As the slight figure glided into the building, Marcus let out a sigh of relief and then swore savagely under his breath. PsiCorp! But why here, and why now?
***
Pale blue eyes watched from the other side of the square. He had seen the Psi Cop enter the building, had been aware of the young dark clad man's observance, and now waited, interested in what he would do next. It was none of his business, true, but if this world were to fall, then there was something he needed to rescue before it was too late, and this stranger may, or may not, interfere with his own mission. Watching the slim figure stride away, Alwyn prepared to follow, as he had been following, in his own way, since he had spotted the Ranger on the transport.
***
Marcus' mind raced furiously as he strode quickly through the waking streets. The sun was rapidly rising over the tall buildings, adding a small amount of warmth to the wintry day. He shrugged himself deeper into the heavy black jacket. His hands, though feeling the cold, remained swinging loosely at his side, ready to defend or attack should it prove necessary.
The problem uppermost in his mind, that of accessing a terminal, any terminal. His training had been extensive on Minbar; not just in self-defence but in covert surveillance and information retrieval. There were few databases safe from his ministrations. As he had once told a friend, he had majored in being sneaky.
Unlike most cities he had been in, this one held little in the way of public access to information. Here and there he had seen transmission booths. Public booths to send or receive personal messages. But that was all they were set up for, there was no way he could gain entry to any mainframe computer system from one of those. What he needed… his feet began to slow as an idea flashed into his brain.
***
Alwyn, two blocks away, and intent on his own task, still had one eye on the Ranger. The tiny transceiver he had attached to Marcus' jacket was still in place and functioning perfectly. He nodded, and a small smile played across his lips as he tracked his quarry heading toward the centre of the city. His own mission seemed to lead that way too, and he flagged down a passing transport, directing the interactive computer that steered the sleek machine to take him to the main public library.
***
The building was huge, a left over from decades past. Chrome and glass surrounding the Library, gave way to soft brick and wood. Many years ago Marcus had made a brief trip to Earth; this was before his Ranger training, and the current crisis. He and his brother had been on a business trip, finalising the arrangements for a large and hopefully lucrative deal with one of the major corporations. Whilst William had gone off carousing, Marcus had indulged his love of the past, making a special journey to London to visit the British Museum. Even after centuries of attack by pollution, the uprising fifty years ago when the edifice had been bombed, still it held a fascination for him. He had walked into the main atrium and stood in wonder at its beauty. This library had the same effect. In an age where everything had been reduced to crystal chips that could store immense amounts of data, here real books still lined shelves. The temptation to rummage along those rows tugged at him, yet he had no time to indulge.
But, even steeped in its own history as it was, still he knew that somewhere they would house electronic databases; access terminals to that knowledge not available in the thousands of books stored above.
He had been right; the terminals were all buried in the depths of the library's large and airless cellars. Harsh lighting scorched his eyes as he exited the lift, and he squinted around the huge area. Early though it was, a large number of positions were already taken. All seemed relatively young, students maybe?
He slid into a seat, instinctively taking the terminal furthest away from those already occupied. His back to the far wall, he could see the whole of the room laid out before him, as well as keeping one eye on the lift doors. He didn't think he was in any danger, but his training made him cautious all the same. Though for all his observations he had not spotted the Technomage that was even now monitoring his computer accessing skills from his own terminal.
For a Mage what Marcus was attempting was no hard task, but for one without their unique skills what he was accomplishing was impressive. Alwyn's eyes rested speculatively on the screen, then lifted to the dark head bent over its terminal. Respect tinged the look that scanned the Ranger, and he decided to help. Stubby fingers typed a coded sequence into the board in front of him and he watched with some amusement as Marcus' shoulders dropped slightly and lost their tension as he apparently accessed the files he wanted.
Files scrolled quickly across the terminal, and Marcus' dark eyes darted from header to header searching for something, anything that might give him a clue to Chambert's activities on Trena. His sudden access to the Trade Minister's files had been a pleasurable experience, not that he had any idea how he had performed such a feat.
There, his eyes stabbed to the name that leapt out from the screen. Chambert was listed under an Importer of technical equipment allocated to the Government offices. The company he supposedly represented, one Hi Tech Incorporated, was unknown to Marcus. Digging further, it seemed that this company had its components not just in the main government offices, but in every sub district office, every local police department. Marcus leaned back in his chair and wondered just how quickly he could get this information back to Delenn. Why was Psi Corp intent on control of these outlying worlds? And to what end did conflict benefit them?
While he had been concentrating on his invasion of Trenay government files, he had yet been aware of the activity around him. The seats had gradually been filling up, students old and young, accessing their study material, or just searching the data bases. Next to him had sat a woman, dressed in an almost blood red suit. Her reluctance to take the only seat available had been obvious, but he had not looked at her, gave her no cause to move though he would have preferred to stay in isolation. Now, as his gaze roved over the bent heads all around him, his eyes rested on her slim form, and he blinked in amazement.
He had heard of everyone having a doppelganger somewhere in the Galaxy; personally he had thought it an unlikely event. Yet here sat someone that could have been Ivanova's twin. Strong features were softened by a mane of auburn hair that cascaded softly around her shoulders - deep blue eyes raised briefly to catch his own. He almost felt her flinch at his interest, and turned away from her, disturbed at the effect she was having on him, and, it seemed, vice versa.
Alwyn had found what he had been searching for; the location of an artefact that had to be preserved. No one except a Mage would have understood the significance of the crystal orb currently resting in state in the city's small museum. With a flick of his finger, Alwyn cleared his screen, took one final look over at the dark hair and intelligent eyes of the Ranger, and left the building in pursuit of his own concerns. He had done what he could; now it was up to the Ranger to do what he saw fit.
The blur of brown clothing caught Marcus' eyes as they rested unseeing on the room. A sudden realisation that he had seen that form and figure before. His mind worked quickly, sifting and sorting through the images that crowded his mind. With a start he linked the two together. In his mind's eye he once again saw the rotund figure on the transport, felt the man's apologetic touch on his sleeve and relived the sense of power he had received, briefly, from those tired blue eyes.
Searching fingers crawled millimetre by millimetre across the black sleeve of his jacket until they found the tiny bump of the transceiver. Marcus' face hardened as he swore softly; then he dropped the tiny object onto the floor, treading on it carefully. He lifted his boot and checked that he did not still carry it with him. His actions had caught the eye of the woman sitting next to him. He looked up quickly, grinning infectiously; "Don't you hate bugs? Nasty little buggers aren't they?"
Her eyes dropped away from his, but he had seen the tiny smile that had played across her lips in response to his unconscious charm.
***
To Marcus, it felt as though he had been incarcerated in the bowels of the library for days, and yet when he finally emerged into the daylight it was still early morning. Commuters passed him, intent on reaching their place of employment, the glances he received alerting him to his still unkempt appearance. Too bad, he thought, I won't be here much longer anyway. His priority now was to get back to his flyer with all speed, get outside monitoring range of the planet and get his information back to Delenn as quickly as possible. He knew that she would already have someone on standby to infiltrate the Trenay system, with his information they could head straight for the data most needed.
As he turned down one of the dingier side streets taking a short cut to his hotel, Marcus became aware of the sudden change in atmosphere. The hustle and bustle of the main thoroughfare had given way to a tension that was almost visible in the dark corners of the alley. Ahead he could hear the soft murmuring of voices, and yet the sound was not in any way soothing. There was an underlying edge to the sounds, and though he could not hear the specifics, he could hear the threat implicit in the tone. Hurrying forward, Marcus rounded the next corner to find himself facing a group of five or six hard-eyed men, their attention all focussed on the brown clad figure standing alone some metres ahead of them.
Ignoring Delenn's specific warning not to get involved, Marcus' instincts drove him forward. When he had first encountered this stranger he had been unaware of any infirmity, and yet he now saw that he leaned on a tall staff, whimsically adorned with a many-faceted crystal on its tip. He nodded to the man, and he took up a position at his side, back to the wall. His fingers slid under the heavy coat and he withdrew the fighting pike, holding it still locked in his hand. Whatever his reasons for tracking Marcus, he was still an old man, infirm, and he could not stand by and watch him torn apart by a bunch of thugs. He could find out who and why after this rabble had been dealt with.
"There is no need for your help…" the voice held the hint of exasperation.
"Hand it over right now, old man," one of the aggressors yelled, interrupting Alwyn's softly spoken words. The group, acting almost as one, began to move forward en masse. Angry eyes moved from Alwyn to Marcus, the mob not distinguishing between the two men.
Alwyn's hand left his pocket, holding aloft the crystal sphere.
"Do not look at the crystal, young man." The soft order stopped Marcus' instinctive glance to the object. There was something about that voice that held him in its grip.
"It's pretty I grant you, but is it worth dying for?" The voice now boomed around the alley's small confines.
The men ignored the warning, and surged closer. Marcus flicked open the pike and moved in front of the older man. He heard the sigh from behind him, and then Alwyn had moved forward, stepping closer to the angry mob, planting his staff in front of him and placing the sphere back into his capacious pocket. That action seemed to act as a catalyst for there was a sudden movement forward.
"Stand back!" Alwyn's voice rang out, echoing along the alley, only to be ignored.
The men moved forward once again, now only a few yards from them. Alwyn's voice punched the air, "Stand back or you will not take another step in this life!" His words seemed to goad the mob to action, and as they took another fatal step Alwyn moved back a pace, pushing Marcus back with him. Before Marcus could regain his protective stance in front of the apparently suicidal old man, the heavy staff had thumped hard against the alley floor. The concrete under Marcus' feet began to tremble, and the sudden rush halted. Fear rippled over the hard faces, and panicked eyes now looked at the man they had thought easy prey. Then, with a tearing sound that rendered the air, the floor of the narrow street ripped apart and fell into the cellars below, taking Alwyn's attackers with them.
Marcus was thrown to the floor, his pike skidding almost to the crater's edge. "Bloody hell!" he exclaimed. Then he scrambled forward, retrieving the pike from its precipitous place on the still falling concrete. Standing quickly he turned just in time to see the brown clad figure disappearing into the distance, apparently unconcerned with the outcome of his actions. Marcus peered into the gaping hole; below him the victims were gradually sorting themselves out. The cellar had been a storeroom for mattresses it seemed, and not one of the men had suffered any serious injury. Had the man known? Marcus mused. It seemed they were destined to cross paths, he and this stranger. And he wanted answers, lots of answers.
The chronometer on his wrist vibrated slightly. He had just four hours left before he was scheduled to leave this planet. Four hours to try and find out more of Chambert's, Psi Corp's, intentions. And, he added to himself, I want to know just what that old man is up to.
***
Chambert sat at his ease in the chrome and plastic chair that moulded itself to his slim form. Opposite, looking far less comfortable, sat the Minister of Trade. For the last hour the minister had tried every way he could to avoid acceding to the Psi cop's demands. Of course, should he so wish, Chambert could have insured his co-operation with one easily planted thought.
Behind the minister's chair stood his own teep. A meagre P5, who was there to supposedly ensure that no lie was told on either side.
And there had been no need to lie, Chambert mused. The company he represented had been quite open about wanting to import its goods, to have them in every computer database throughout the planet. They had made the Ministry an offer it could not refuse. One slim black gloved hand reached out to the table and retrieved the mug he had been drinking from.
"I assure you, Minister, the money will be in your coffers by this time tomorrow. In the meantime, I would like to make preparations for our components to arrive." He quickly hid the sudden pleasure that thought had brought him. For it was not technical parts that he was bringing in this time, but his own elite force. With one careful phrase he would have this world at his feet, ready to become the Psi Corps tool in the coming war.
In the back of his mind a nagging doubt still lingered, as it had tickled his senses since arriving that morning. The vague awareness that he had been observed; and yet the image of a dark mind had vanished as quickly as it had arrived, and his silent sweep of the area had produced no confirmation of the ghostlike thoughts he had picked up.
In Chambert's mind, the trigger phrase twisted and turned, seeking a way out of the box the Psi Cop had entrapped it in.
There was a sudden rap on the door, it opened in a rush, and the flushed face of the Minister's secretary poked around the edge. "Minister, there has been a breach at the museum. The exhibit you asked us to bring here for you, I'm afraid it appears to have been stolen."
Chambert's hand tightened convulsively on the arm of the chair, and the deadly phrase fled from his mind with sudden glee. Realising what he had done, Chambert leaped to his feet. There was no recalling that damning trigger. The Minister, his eyes wide, leaned forward and punched a series of codes into his personal terminal.
"Too soon, too soon," Chambert whispered, then he fled the room. He had to reach the port and his transportation. He had to get off this planet before the Armageddon started.
Soft amber eyes followed his precipitous flight and then returned to her boss's fixed expression. Fear caught at the woman's gut as the overwhelming belief of sudden disaster rippled through her now shaking body.
***
Alwyn was aware of Marcus' racing feet pounding some distance behind him. "Persistent," he thought to himself, "and not a little foolhardy. Especially after my little demonstration." Alwyn had always had a soft spot for the Rangers ever since he had met Sinclair on Cranton 4 many years ago. The Anla'shok Na was, as usual, not where he was supposed to be. Hugging a desk had never suited the ex Commander of Babylon 5. Their meeting had been brief, and for once it had been Alwyn who had needed, and received, help. He owed the human a debt. By helping this young man, maybe he was in some way repaying that act. Either way, he knew that he would have to deal with the impulsive young man so hard at his heels.
A small square, bright with pale sunshine and the odd tree, opened before him. Taking a seat, he prepared to wait. His fingers slid into his pocket and touched the orb. It was safe now, or at least it would be once he returned to his flyer. Chambert had been so close this time. But this, the last of the five, was now safe, as were the other four. Psi Corp had lost this phase.
Marcus finally slowed his pace as caution won out over his urgent need to discover what the old man had been up to. His mind had been racing ever since he had been forced to watch those men being swallowed by the ground beneath them. Such power was not readily available, and he had seen no signs of weaponry in use, just that gentle tap of the staff against the ground. "In Valen's name," he murmured, as enlightenment dawned. "A Mage? Here…"
"Well done. Though I am surprised it took you this long."
Marcus' swivelled around to meet the owner of that distinctive voice. He could have sworn that when he entered the square he had been alone. The bench from whence the brown clad individual had risen, had surely been empty just moments ago. His confusion must have been writ upon his face as the wrinkles around the deceptive eyes deepened into a smile of understanding.
"Magic," he whispered theatrically, leaning a little closer to the Ranger, answering the unspoken question.
Marcus' eyebrow raised, and he gave the Mage an old-fashioned look, then carried on as though the old man had not spoken. "Who are you, why did you tag me and how the hell did you do what… no, never mind the how, who and why will do right now."
"I thought Sinclair had trained you chaps to be polite fellows. I am really not sure he would admire one of his Rangers possessing your attitude."
Stillness seeped through Marcus taut body. This strange man knew what he was; what else might he know? With infinite care, he let his hand stray to his belt, ready to make use of his pike should the need arise.
"Don't even think it, young man." A frown appeared on the Mage's face. "Come and sit down and we'll talk. But briefly, I have places to be, and things to do. And you can call me Alwyn - everyone else does."
Marcus didn't move for a moment, his hand remained poised for action, but Alwyn had turned his back on him, and was resuming his seat on the wooden bench.
"Well? I don't have all day you know."
Trust was not something that came easily to a Ranger, and not to this one in particular. Life had been a bitch to him. Highs one moment, lows the next; and then there had been William's death and everything that had come with it. The Sech' had taught that every action, every thought, affected others like ripples on a pond, and consequently they must think before they acted. That act of William's demise had rippled through the cosmos. Because of it, Marcus had taken up the challenge of putting the galaxy to rights, however mammoth a task that might seem.
Marcus thought hard about his next decision. Technomages were notoriously self absorbed, true to their own purpose and no one else's. Why would Alwyn wish to part with any knowledge?
As though reading his mind, Alwyn tutted, "Young man… actually, what is your name? You can trust me in what I will tell you. Anything I think you do not need to know will not be imparted. I won't lie to you. Now, either sit down and talk to me, or we part company now."
Giving in to the older man's persuasion, Marcus shoved his hands into his pockets, thereby acknowledging his trust in the Mage. Besides, it was damn chilly, even with the sun shining down on them.
"It took me a while to figure out who you were," Alwyn began. "But the pike was a dead give away. Yes, I know you had it hidden," he smiled, as Marcus' hand moved instinctively to the pike still resting under his shirt.
"Metal detectors can't pick it up, how can you?" Although he was disconcerted by the Technomage's apparent omniscience, to know how he had detected the pike might one day come in extremely handy.
Alwyn shook his head. "That doesn't fall into the 'need to know' section of our conversation.
"Then at least tell me if anyone else might have spotted it!"
"Highly unlikely," was the off hand reply.
"And the sphere, the crystal globe you had back there; how does that fit in with your trailing me?" Marcus has the strangest feeling that not all of Alwyn's attention belonged to him, even though the pale blue eyes seemed to rest on his own. He had the sensation of being looked right through, and he stifled the shiver that had begun to climb up his spine.
"It doesn't. But I knew that something was about to happen on this planet, the same thing that I assume you have been sent to investigate. My…" he hesitated for a second, "my journey here was for purely personal reasons. Our order prides itself on acquiring knowledge, all kinds of knowledge. You interested me. And I wanted to see just how good Sinclair's troops really were."
"And?"
"Better than I had supposed. You may yet win."
"Win what?" Marcus leaped on the slip Alwyn had apparently made.
The old eyes gleamed with sudden revealed power and attention. "You know," he said softly. "Or maybe you don't at that." His voice changing as he saw the confusion on the Ranger's face.
"Then tell me…" Marcus got no further. Alwyn 's eyes suddenly lost their focus as all his attention turned inward. The old man's sleeve seemed inordinately rough against Marcus' tentative touch. "Alwyn?"
"It has started," the Mage said softly.
"What? What has started?"
In answer, he heard the high pitched whine of incoming fire. It struck with catastrophic results into a building two blocks away. The atmosphere was suddenly filled with debris born on the concussive wave of air the explosion had caused. A moment later the earth began to tremble, then windows burst from their fittings showering the square in a rain of deadly needle like shards. Instinct had Marcus heading for the ground, one arm trying to drag the Mage down with him.
"Don't do that!" Alwyn shook off the Ranger's hand. "On your feet, we have to get away from here, now."
All around them Trenay and Chamdi spilled into the square, milling around in terrified confusion. The crowd suddenly surrounded the two men; their way blocked as the citizens tried to escape through the one entrance to the square.
"This way." Alwyn set off at a trot, forcing his way through the crowd. Marcus, still a little dizzy from the explosion's percussive effect on his eardrums, followed as best he could, amazed at the Mage's agility.
"Where are we going?" Marcus yelled over the frightened cries of the people surrounding them.
"My flyer. I presume your transport is at the space port?"
Dust flew up into Marcus' face, blotting out his reply in a fit of coughing. And suddenly Alwyn's hand was on his sleeve, dragging him close, and the noise suddenly died as he was enclosed in a shield of power.
"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, as the two of them suddenly lifted vertically into the air.
"Hold on."
Don't worry, I'm not letting go." Marcus shut his eyes briefly, as the city raced away from them. Then his sense of duty kicked in with a vengeance. "You have to put me back down - now."
Alwyn, his mind focussed on holding the two of them high above the carnage, and keeping his field in operation to deflect debris, did not answer right away.
"Alwyn!" Marcus yelled, pulling hard on the Mage's sleeve. "Put me down!"
For a moment the shield buckled, letting in a sudden gust of hot air full of powdered concrete. Within seconds it was back in full operation.
"Don't ever do that again, or I'll drop you right here!" Anger laced the old man's voice, and Marcus had no doubt of the verisimilitude of the statement.
"That suits me fine. We have to help those people down there. They need someone to get them to safety. There must be shelters, deep basements, somewhere they can take refuge?" As Marcus looked down again, he saw the sudden blossom of fire as yet another missile found its target. With his gut tightening in response, he grabbed Alwyn's arm tighter and shook him. "I have to help them. You do what you need to do, but get me down there."
Slowing their forward movement, Alwyn brought them to a stop, and they hovered several feet above the highest building.
"You know where there are shelters," Marcus stated. "You dropped those men into a basement you knew was padded out with mattresses. You can tell me where those refugees can be safely housed. I have to try, Alwyn."
The Technomage nodded slowly. "Very well. Here, here and here," he pointed to locations not far from their position. Each target suddenly lit with a deep red mark. "Each of these buildings has a subterranean secured facility. Good luck."
And then Marcus was falling, slowly, contained in a cocoon of power that evaporated as soon as his feet touched the ground. He looked up quickly, but Alwyn had already continued on his way. Now that he was back on terra firma Marcus' legs began to tremble in reaction to that wild, unbelievable flight. He hated heights at the best of times, to have nothing but fresh air under his feet had almost brought him to panic. Only his deep-seated sense of responsibility had kept his mind intact all those hundreds of feet up in the air.
Running through the streets, Marcus grabbed the arms of fleeing citizens, trying to direct them to the nearest safe haven. Most were too terrified to listen, but some stopped for a moment, fear and desperation etched into their faces and those he corralled and herded to safety. All the while he could not help but blame himself for what had occurred. If only he had sent word out as soon as he had been suspicious, if he had ignored the old man and headed straight back to his transport and warned Delenn. No matter that even if he had there was nothing she could have done to prevent this Armageddon.
Marcus emerged from the basement of the last building Alwyn had pointed out to him. The air was thick with dust and the screams of those who were injured or dying. There was nothing he could do for them. Below, men, women and children huddled together flinching at every tremor that reverberated through the structure. Even though they were many levels below ground, the force of the attack still reached them.
In the distance he saw a flash of red among the latest stragglers heading his way. Her long dark hair was full of dust and debris, the blood red of her suit now torn and stained with the real thing. His heart skipped a beat for a moment as he recalled the woman who had sat next to him in the Library. Her face so like, and yet subtly unlike, that of Susan Ivanova. She had one arm around a young girl of about ten or twelve; the other supported a woman anywhere from thirty to forty, at this distance he could not tell. The blood on Susan's double had come from her. Marcus could see the rip in her clothing, see where her hand pressed hard against a wound that seeped blood through her straining fingers. Deep blue eyes raised themselves from her charge to meet Marcus' across the street, and he thought her saw a flash recognition in her eyes.
It took only a moment to reach her side, where he quickly picked up the woman and headed back across the way.
"Follow me, there's a shelter in the basement of this building," his tone terse and compelling. Then his head lifted as he heard the faint sound of another bomb heading their way. She heard it too, and they all dove for the fragile cover the open doorway provided. "Stairs, in the corner!" Marcus led the way down flight after flight of treacherously steep steps. Behind him he could hear the sobs of the child and the suited woman's soothing voice as she tried to calm her charge. The building rocked for a moment as something exploded nearby, though by now they were far enough underground to be out of its influence.
Marcus settled his charges, laying down the injured woman with care. His dark jacket was now stained with the blood still seeping from her wound. Green eyes caught the worried blue of his companion, and he shook his head.
"I've got to go back up, you stay here and do what you can." He was on his feet and moving out the door when he felt someone trying to restrain him. Looking down he saw it was the woman from the Library.
"Thank you. For what you just did. You can't go back up there alone, let me help you." Although her voice was soft and pleading she had the tough determined look that he had seen on Ivanova, time after time. Feminine to the core, this woman still had courage.
Marcus made his decision quickly and thrust out a hand. "Marcus Cole, let's do this."
Her smile lit up the room for him, "Susanna Ivana, pleased to meet you!" she replied, taking his outstretched hand in hers and shaking it warmly.
For a moment Marcus thought he hadn't heard correctly. So alike and yet different, these two women who were now in his life.
Six flights up and both of them were panting from the exertion. The Ranger, having made this journey at least six times in the last hour, was finding the power in his legs beginning to fade, and his lungs burned with the need for oxygen. Standing in the entrance they looked out over the city. Fires raged here and there, buildings speared the sky with jagged edges where once clean lines reigned. Watching Susanna's face, Marcus saw the hint of tears in her eyes, and reached out a tentative hand to touch her sleeve. She turned from him, and walked a few steps away, denying his sympathy. "Sorry," she murmured. "I'll be alright in a moment. It's just…"
"It's your home, everything you are familiar with," Marcus commented softly before continuing. "People you love, those you work with, the person you had coffee with an hour ago. Maybe they are all gone? It's the not knowing that is the worst. Not knowing whether they are alive or dead, needing your help or beyond it."
The Ranger's eyes had lost their focus for a moment as his own history swamped him, and Susanna let her gaze rest speculatively on his scruffy features.
"This is not your world is it," she stated. "But you have seen this before. I thought I could not place you, not Chamdi or Trenay, you didn't seem to fit."
"No, no I am not from your world." Marcus shook his head. "My own home was destroyed, senselessly, totally… nothing survived except me." Even now the pain of that moment of realisation still haunted him, laced his words with his inner torment.
Silence lay between them, they both hurt too much to speak any more. Around them, the world was still; sounds that had been tearing at them for an hour now seemed blanketed in silence. No one was in sight, no voices raised in search of succour, no bird sang. And then, faint and yet seeming close by, they heard the soft murmur of a child's voice, alternating crying and calling for its mother. Though there was no sound to interfere, still they could not pinpoint the position of the person needing their help. Splitting up, Marcus took the south side of the street, Susanna the north, stepping warily through rubble, listening intently for the hushed voice to make itself heard again. All the while they had been searching, Marcus had been getting further and further away from Susanna, and it was his keen hearing that caught the sound of incoming fire. Dread filled his heart, premonition, presentiment, gut feeling, call it what you will, but he suddenly turned and began to run towards her, screaming a warning. Susanna heard his yells, and raised her voice, indicating she had found the child, then her eyes lifted as she too heard the fatal whine.
The explosion threw Marcus back some ten feet, landing hard on the detrius strewn floor. He felt something crack as ribs met broken rubble, and a sharp pain lanced through his chest. As he fell time seemed to slow, and he watched with horror the tumbling piece of sheet glass that was falling toward Susanna. He couldn't speak, could utter no warning. He watched as Susanna looked up, saw the danger and began to run, but she didn't stand a chance. He wasn't sure if he actually heard the impact, or whether his over active imagination added the sound effects, but as soon as she was struck time resumed its normal speed with a strange pop. Struggling to his feet, one hand pressed against the cracked rib for support, Marcus made his way to her side. She stilled breathed, but shallowly, barely raising her chest at all. Her eyes were open, though glazed, and he hoped she was not aware of what had happened, it would be over all too soon. The deadly shard stuck in her chest pierced right through to the ground beneath her. His hand came away wet with her blood as he tried to raise her slightly to assess the severity of her wounds. His fears were confirmed with one all encompassing glance. She shuddered slightly, and he lowered her back down, his gaze lingering over the pale lines of her face. And it seemed to him, that for one brief moment her eyes cleared as they met his, then they clouded for the last time as life fled her body.
The area where Susanna had thought the child to be buried was now a huge pile of rubble that was beyond his abilities to move. He knew that whoever had been in that building was now beyond his help, as was Susanna. Standing slowly, he wiped his hands against his clothing trying to remove the stain of her blood, of this world's blood, from his hands.
He moved slowly through the city, everywhere carnage, destruction. Bodies littered the street, some torn apart by the blasts, some burned in the resultant fires. Each step through the devastation hardened his heart against whoever was behind this. He would see justice done, somehow.
Standing in the small square outside the Library, he surveyed the building, the only one that had seemed to have survived intact. It was then that he became aware of the Mage's presence at his side.
"They never learn," the abrupt voice intoned at his side.
***
The two men had been walking in silence for some minutes. Marcus, his thoughts focussed inward, not really caring where he was going at that moment. He hated to fail, it preyed on him; ate away at him, until he could not deny its power. The Sech had almost despaired of him at one stage, but his need to continue the fight had always dragged him out of that dark place. And somewhere, deep in his subconscious, he knew he was perfectly safe with the unassuming man at his side.
Alwyn stopped, forcing Marcus to do the same. Pulled out of his darkness, the Ranger realised that they were at the plaza where he had first heard of Chambert and the plans that were in the offing.
"Do you want a lift?"
Marcus realised that this was not the first time the question had been asked. "I'm sorry, yes, if you can get me back out to the space port I'd be grateful."
"You think your machine will still be there?" Alwyn's voice held a trace for disbelief.
"Barring a direct hit." Green eyes twinkled in response. "The Minbari, bless them, know how to look after their own."
"As do I. Do not allow what you are about to see pass your lips. I have to ask for your word on this, young man. "
Marcus bowed his head slightly in acceptance, then turned his gaze upward as a compact black flyer appeared over his head. Obviously it had been cloaked, but the sheer enormity of keeping the ship suspended, almost over the heads of the ruling government, boggled the imagination. Alwyn went up another notch in his estimation.
As they flew out over the city perimeter, neither man noticed the burned out wreck of the once sleek black limousine, nor did they spot the two charred corpses that sprawled in the dust. One, unrecognisable save for the slightly melted badge that was still clasped within black gloved fingers.
***
The flyer sped across the blackness between stars, launched itself into the gaping maw of an open jumpgate, then settled into a steady race for the welcoming exit and home. Alwyn's parting words rang still in Marcus' mind. 'Next time you see Sinclair, tell him Alwyn says hello, and tell him what happened here.' That the Mage knew Ranger One had been a revelation. That Sinclair had had dealings with the Technomages somehow didn't surprise him half as much.
Marcus woke with a start, warning lights flashed as the jumpgate that would take him to Babylon 5 approached. So much for cleaning up, he thought ruefully. Dirt still clung to his slim person, the darker stains of blood hardly showed on his black jacket, but he could still smell the metallic odour that had settled in his nostrils hours before. Unconsciously he wiped his fingers down the rough material as though to erase the stain from his fingers, a stain that had rubbed off long ago yet lingered still in his thoughts.
It was the beginning of a new day on the station, though few people were around when he swept through control. The guard took in his ragged appearance, checked his identity with an attention to detail that should have got him promoted, then finally passed him through the check point. Walking fast, Marcus headed for the Green sector. Before he could wash, change, even breath easily, he had to report to the Ambassador. He had lost too much time as it was.
Rounding the corner at a fast walk he found himself catching up with the station's second in command, and his rapid pace faltered. Ivanova, hearing him behind her had stopped and turned. Her gaze raked over him and one expressive brow raised in inquiry.
"Commander Ivanova."
"You're up early, Marcus, or was it a late night?"
He wasn't sure that the inquiry was not serious. Those hard blue eyes gave nothing away.
"Haven't been to bed yet. Well, not for a day or two actually. Just got back, have to see the Ambassador, must rush." He had the absurd desire to reach out and touch her, to make sure that the blood still flowed through her veins, that she was real.
"… so I'll walk with you."
He caught the end of her sentence and moved into step beside her, wracking his brain for something to say.
"So, what have I missed then? Anything exciting?"
"The usual," Ivanova began, ticking each item off on her slender fingers. "First an alien race threatened to blow up the station if we couldn't answer their twenty questions, second an asshole from Down Below decided he wanted to blow up the station, then…"
Marcus tuned out her words, and just let the sound of her voice enter him, reassuring him that this was real, that he was home. He looked at her, the tightly bound hair, the chiselled face, and wondered what the hell his heart had let him in for.
They reached Delenn's quarters too soon for him to gather his composure. Ivanova had apparently not noticed anything unusual in his demeanour, "which", he thought, "says a lot about me doesn't it!"
He stepped through the open door, and entered the room that was a tiny bit of Minbar on the station. Ambassador Delenn rose from her seat and stood surveying her Ranger for a long moment. Then her eyes rose from their contemplation and met his.
"I thought you were not going to get involved!"
The end