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Future Games 2/?

by Meredith Bronwen Mallory

mallorys-girl@cinci.rr.com

http://www.demando.net/

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Somewhere, somewhen, someone was ringing the bells. She swung effortlessly on the ropes, bending her lean body to slip between the tall, crystalline orbs.

Pull, release, and the pampliest of sound ringing to the heavens.

From the Tower, she could see Minbar all the way to the horizon; the water-fall city of Tuzanor and the quartz mountains beyond. Warrior caste flyers practiced formations in the dusky evening sky. There were fewer now, and most of them in poor shape, but she fulfilled her duty with quiet determination, remembering what little she had learned of Minbari history. She was a bizarre Quazimodo-- not a hunch back, not a monster, but a human woman with skin the color of sun-touched almonds and eyes darker than the ebony of shadow vessels. She swung eastward this time, loose robe clinging to her figure, and the highest-pitch notes began to rise. The bells were prayers, for salvation, for deliverance. She prayed too, with the chill evening wind in her long black hair, not knowing that she and the Minbari desired the same thing. The same person.

She continued to sound the bells.

Though they were running out of time (strange, since they were between time, in a place were time was stagnant, if that was possible), Susan could not help but avoid disturbing Jeffery Sinclair until necessary. Instead, she watched him; his face was far away, brown eyes somehow more bright and face somehow more deeply etched. At last, she heard the familiar hum of the auxiliary auto-grav systems as the White Star pulled up against the hull of Babylon 4.

"Jeff!" she said, reaching out a hand to pull just slightly on his brown Entil'Zha's robes. "Jeff-- we've got to get ready to go aboard."

"I...," Her former CO shook his head and looked at her for a moment as though se was completely unknown to him. "I'm sorry," he tried to smile, "I suppose the reality of time-travel is a bit more difficult to handle than the concept." In his mind, she sensed a vague after-image, and, though she wasn't trying to scan him, the picture became clear anyway. She thought for a moment that the tacion field might have boosted her ability, but she still felt guilty for the invasion of privacy. Bells-- he had heard their distant ringing like the dream you wake up from and try so desperately to fall back into once more. That, and a silhouette against (what was to her) an unfamiliar sky. Throwing him a questioning glance, Susan wondered if he had at all felt the intrusion, but there was nothing in his expression save determination.

"Entil'Zha," Marcus hurried to catch up with them in the corridor, "There's been a delay. We tried burning through the hull of B4, but we picked a damn inconvenient spot. Hit some type of shielding for the maintenance tubes, or something."

"Is anyone aware of our presence?" Jeff asked as the Ranger fell into step beside Ivanova.

"No-- but Lennier says it'll take ten to twenty minutes," Marcus moved his hands to show the time they didn't have, "to fix the burners before we can make another try."

"Try going down two levels and breaching there," Susan suggested, "Babylon 4 is bigger than B5, but I think they were based off the same plans. If you go through the unfinished Red Sector, you shouldn't run into any trouble."

"Thanks, I'll get on that," Marcus grinned, before his face became a quick mask and he looked towards Sinclair. "Entil'Zha--"

"Just follow Ivanova's recommendation," Jeff's tone was harsh, "She *is* God, after all." The last bit was thrown in lightly, as if to reassure them. Susan groaned and shook her head.

"Smart-ass!" she called after him as he stalked towards the bridge.

Marcus gave her an admiring look, "You're God?"

"Shut up," she muttered with good nature, "Why is it everything I say comes back to haunt me?"

"Those whom the gods love they sorely try," he murmured in return, eyes resting on the empty hall before them. "He's hiding something."

"Damn right, he is," Susan pursed her lips and pulled her uniform jacket more closely about her, "Just wish I knew what it was. He's nervous, and it's making *me* nervous." She sensed, rather than saw, Marcus reach a hand out towards her-- her gaze was as quick and as deadly as a summer thunderstorm.

"Ah, yes," he shifted on his feet, clasping his hands behind his back, "You wouldn't happen to have some pain killers on you, would you? Damn time travel is playing hell with my brain."

"You, too, huh?" she whispered, acutely aware of their pact of silence on the matter.

"You're blocking so hard its giving me a head ache," he said, and the concern in his voice seemed to flow over her.

Quick, like the crack of a whip, "Don't you have a hull breech to over-see?"

"Yeah," he said, eyes pleading with her to smile, "Thank God for the Red Sector tip."

He had already turned his back when she got the punch-line-- she gave him a good whack on the shoulder and a flustered smile.

"Very cute, Cole!"

Later, as they moved the equipment into the station, Susan constructed her walls of steel girders, stubborn and impossible to shake. Marcus stood in the tube-way connecting the White Star to the station, handing crated up to her, and occasionally their hands would touch-- not purposefully, but in such a way that made him avert his gaze and her clench her hands into fists. She blocked with a ferocity that began to wear on her, but she could not run the risk of letting him in or, worse, delving into his mind. Part of her wondered why she was so afraid.

There came a crash, sounding down the crawlway.

"Zathras," Susan rolled her eyes.

"I should think so," Marcus returned, handing up another box. Each container seemed filled with endless new technology, strange power-cells and some objects that looked more like decoration than anything useful. "He's an odd little bugger, isn't he?"

"Well, you would know," she gently knocked her fist against the side of his head, "Never thought I'd meet anyone crazier than you."

Marcus leaned over, resting his chin in his hands, "Should I take that as a compliment?"

"Take it as I'm *twice* as annoyed dealing with two lunatics instead of the usual one," she smiled, tight-lipped.

"Why, Commander," he touched his hand briefly over his heart, "We're all mad here." He popped back down the ladder for a moment and came up with another crate. "This is the last one."

"That's good," she set it a top the others and moved so he could climb out, "Who knew time travel required this much baggage?"

He stretched as soon as he was clear of the ladder, "Don't suppose there are any carry on regulations."

"Hell, we'd better hope n--" Susan trailed off as Zathras turned the corner and came lopping down the hallway faster than she would have judged him capable of. The raccoon-like humanoid make various clicking noises, managing to sound very nervous.

"It is came!" he insisted, brushing past Ivanova in his hurry to get to the crates, "must make sure equipment is not damaged. Still need fixing Captain's stabilizer. It is forever bad for Zathras. Very temperamental, yes."

Susan exchanged looks with the Ranger, "Zathras..."

"Grab hold for something!" the creature advised, "approaching difficult part of rift."

"Bloody hell," Marcus muttered, "This is going to get bumpy." His words seemed to cue the turbulence. The world began to turn on itself, the very floor beneath their feet unreal. Marcus tumbled towards the deck as the air seemed to suffuse with an intangible force-- Susan didn't think about it, she simply reached out to grab him. She was startled and her blocks were weak from so much exertion on her part.

Mostly, it happened because he wanted her to come inside.

She was a thousand tiny stars loosened by gravity, falling farther and father away from each other. Her very body seemed to dissolve, and Susan was sure she was feeling the same pain Sheridan had when he'd been pulled through the rift. A dizzying cascade of herself, tumbling, waiting to hit bottom.

= = = = =

When she woke, the ground was firm and cold beneath her-- dirt, damp and smelling of the lightly passed autumn. She stretched her body out for a moment, sure that all her energy had been drained away by the (falling up? rising down?). The sky above seemed yellow and close, like she could reach up and touch it; she could have laid and let the soil devour her.

Then a cry came, low and carried by the chill air, and she was running without even meaning to.

'Marcus.'

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(To the tune of "Jingle Bells")

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