I didn't linger long on Minbar. Despite my expectations, I found no peace there. Every place, every action, made me think of Michael. I only wanted to get back to Babylon 5, back to the work he had given me.
True to Babylon 5 tradition, life had become even more complicated by the time I returned. Raids continued, and those on the station seemed to have escalated, a fact Captain Lochley reinforced for me with a self-satisfied vehemence. The Centauri government communicated with only a bit more diplomacy, informing all and sundry that any permissions granted for operations in Centauri space were immediately and totally rescinded, and recalling their representative to the Alliance.
Sheridan was on his way back to the station. My admonitions that he take his time on Mars had apparently been countermanded by a conversation with Captain Lochley in which, as I was given to understand it, she challenged his right to use her station as a sanctuary for telepaths who were in violation of EarthGov laws. I expected Delenn to return to Babylon 5 shortly as well, and I was grateful to have someone else on station who might help me calm the President, but I knew I couldn't wait for either of them. The telepath colony needed to be moved to their new homeworld now.
Zack Allan ran, in effect, a miniature immigration service to facilitate the transfer of Byron's people. I wondered if such cooperation was approved by a Lochley who wanted them gone, or if Zack simply did it without her knowledge. Either way, I was grateful. There were more telepaths than any of us had imagined. Knowing the rigid control of PsiCorps, I found it astonishing that so many had managed to escape. In a less pressured situation, I would have liked to hear their stories, but there was no time for that now.
Without transport ships available to us, the move would have to be accomplished by the available WhiteStars. It would take several trips by each ship to complete the move, but hopefully, we could do it without incident. Zack was in his outer office, barking orders mightily, when I arrived at the station house. His greeting was quick and warm, if a bit harried, and his offer of a mug of kafe was appreciated. He led the way into his office, shuffled the documents on his desk for a moment, then spread a few sheets in front of me. They outlined a basic scheme for the transfer that worked within the capacity of our ships and tried to keep family groups together. Zack was starting to point out a few potential problems when a call interrupted us.
"Mees-ter Ahl-lan!" Only Londo could wring so many syllables from such a short name. "These people are trying my patience. It is imperative that I return to Centauri Prime immediately. Now will you please call off your hounds?"
Zack started to talk about respect for diplomatic matters being balanced by the overriding concern for everyone's safety, but the Centauri was not going to be placated. There was something in Londo's tone, something in the way he said he must return that suggested more than his usual petulance. His recall was not just a diplomatic show of indignation, I sensed. Mollari was in trouble, trouble for which I felt responsible.
Although I wasn't sure why it would help, I felt we should speak to Mollari in person, and communicated the wish to Zack in pantomime. Message received, he assured Mollari that he was on his way to deal with the matter personally. I gathered up the sheets he had displayed for me and joined him for the walk. On the way, he explained that outgoing traffic was snarled as the raider attacks and the escalating tensions on board drove more and more people from the station. But it was the sight that greeted us in the arrivals area told us what our priorities would have to be. Allan and I exchanged a glance of understanding, sympathy, and panic, and then set to work.
"All right, Ramirez!" Zack bellowed. "These incoming people are going to have to wait." I saw the first of the black clad figures push forward at that, but Allan didn't flinch. "We have a diplomatic matter that takes precedence here. Ambassador Mollari," he called, turning to the figure huffing toward him, "I am sorry you've been forced to wait. We're going to get you out of here right now." Mollari froze in place, his intended rage hiccuping out of him.
"Ambassador Mollari?" It took a moment for Londo to realize my presence. "Ambassador, I'm deeply sorry if your generosity to us has caused you personal hardship. The Alliance appreciates your help, and I know that Mr. Garibaldi, personally, respected your courage and your cooperation, as do I."
"Bah!" Mollari waved a hand at me and screwed up his face. "Mr. Garibaldi knew very well that it had nothing to do with courage. Desperation breeds boldness, my young friend. Someday you will understand that. Your friend Garibaldi understood, understood it in the darkest parts of his soul." He shook his head sadly. "I am sorry for your loss," he added.
I thanked him, and before I could say more, Zack approached with continued assurances that Londo's ship would depart very soon. I didn't wait to see more, but made for Brown Sector at a run. Finding Byron and Lyta, telling them about the arrival of the Bloodhound Squad, and convincing them that we had to move immediately took an agonizingly long few minutes. I left them to gather the first groups and their belongings, and I headed back toward the docking bays. I needed to find a way to get them to the White Stars without walking them right into the hands of the PsiCops.
By the time I had retraced my steps, Zack was making a great show of escorting Mollari to his ship, accompanied by repeated apologies. Londo was dumbfounded by the uncharacteristic behavior, and the PsiCops, still corralled in the checkpoint queue, were fidgeting and fuming at poor Ramirez. I sprinted up to catch Londo before he boarded.
"Ambassador," I said breathlessly, pulling up beside him in the accessway, "if there is anything we in the Alliance can do..." I took a gulp of air. "The President is on his way back from Mars. I'm certain..."
Mollari cut me off with a gesture. He studied me silently for a moment, then looked around us. When he spoke, it was barely a whisper. "It is too late for me, my young friend, and too late for the Centauri Republic. Garibaldi was right, you know. He knew. They give us no choice, no choice at all." He took a breath and straightened and before my eyes changed from tired soul to proud Centauri. "I go to do what I must, for the good of my people, Mr. Callahan. Your Garibaldi might not approve of my actions, but I think he would understand my motives, yes?"
I watched him move down the accessway to his ship, wondering what his future held. Zack had moved back to the queue of increasingly restless arriving passengers, and one of the PsiCops turned his wrath from Ramirez to Allan. In a moment, I heard Allan bellow again.
"I don't care who you are, or why you're here, that's assault. Ramirez, read him his rights. And the rest of his friends are coming down to the station house. I'm sure all these good citizens are eager to give a full statement of exactly what just happened."
Security agents moved in from all sides to escort the PsiCops to security headquarters. The man Allan had charged with assault continued to rage at him, even as Zack walked away. I caught up with him around a corner, out of sight.
"We'll hold them as long as we can," he said without preface, "but once the Captain gets wind of this..."
I nodded my understanding even as I thanked him. "Did he really hit you?"
Allan smiled. "It's not hard to get somebody with that much rage to take a poke at you," he explained. "Especially if they're reading your mind and you're thinking such nasty things about their character and heritage."
Zack's ruse kept the PsiCops out of the way long enough for us to get the first of the telepaths to the WhiteStars. My ship was the last to load. As I dropped into the center chair and called for the prelaunch check, I scanned space around the station. One by one, my crew called status and one by one, our sister ships launched. I opened a channel to notify C&C of our departure and heard the claxon.
Before I could announce, before I could ask, our sensors picked up the targets. The silhouette was familiar by now. Michael's Dark Soldiers were coming in for another assault.
"WhiteStar 57 to C&C."
"What the hell do you want?"
I chose to ignore Lochley's tone. "Request permission to assist in defense of the station, Captain."
"I would think it's the least you could do, since this is the Alliance's investigation."
I didn't like Lochley's sarcasm, and I didn't like the fact that I was about to take a ship full of civilians into a battle, but I didn't see other options. The raiders came in fast, guns blazing, while the station's fighters scrambled to defend both the station and the outgoing traffic. We did what we could to protect those civilian liners until they could jump, and then we concentrated our attention and our firepower on the defense of the station itself.
In the midst of it, I tried to observe, to analyze, to find some patterns. Our previous encounters with these Dark Soldiers had been quick, hit and run attacks, but this was a prolonged battle, and the destructive power of their ships was focused on our fighters, not on Babylon 5. We saw them cease firing, even pull up, as though to prevent damage to the station. And then we saw a wing of their formation break away.
We thought at first that they were starting to run, and the call went out to Zeta Squadron to give chase. But as Zeta formed up to follow, the raiders dove toward the surface of Epsilon 3. Strafing the planet with weapons fire, they stirred the defenses controlled by the Great Machine. Many of the station's pilots knew of Epsilon 3's defenses only in theory. This was the first time that protection had kicked in since they had come aboard, and their reactions were confused. Zack Allan fired orders over the com channel, reassuring and reorganizing the Starfury squads.
The raiders' intentions were clear by the time they reversed and made their second pass over the planet. Their fire targeted each of the weapon placements that defended the planet, and with their capabilities, they were able to do significant damage even to those dug in systems. Zeta squad engaged them, distracting them from their task for a time, but taking heavy damage themselves. I ordered the WhiteStar down to Epsilon 3 to help.
Jump points crackled to life on the far side of the station just as we began that descent. The momentary silence on the com channels spoke of the shared apprehension, but the relief was equally shared when the shapes of three WhiteStars became visible.
"WhiteStar 2 to C&C," the voice of Entil'zha Delenn came through the com. "How can we be of assistance?"
Even the usually petulant Captain Lochley sounded grateful for the help. With the additional firepower, we were able to reduce the size of the raider force significantly, and the surviving ships soon fled. I took a moment to brief Entil'zha over the com channel, then informed her of my intention to complete our original mission, and with her blessing, headed for the telepath homeworld.
The round trip was, after that, uneventful, even if I was impatient. I searched my imagination for a way to get the next wave of telepaths safely loaded. I could use the WhiteStars on Delenn's detail, and Sheridan's as well, if he arrived in time. I hoped Entil'zha would forgive me for usurping that authority, but those extra ships meant the second transit could complete the move.
By the time we delivered our passengers and returned to the station, the bloodhounds had been released, but the remaining telepaths had been warned and hidden, here and there around the station, everywhere but Brown Sector.
Lochley summoned me the moment I arrived back on station, and not to thank me for our help. Her dark shadow, in the form of Alfred Bester, fell to the rear of the office as I entered. I returned his stare with a defiance that surprised me, but I was too tired of his silent act to even bother greeting him.
"I'm assuming you inherited responsibility for this mess, so I'm informing you," Lochley said without preamble. "Babylon 5 is under attack, and I believe those telepaths are responsible. I have given the PsiCorps full authority to conduct any necessary operations to retake the rogues."
For a moment, I felt like a schoolboy, served with his sentence by the principal. I almost accepted her declaration with a schoolboy's meekness. And then I realized what was at stake.
"Excuse me, Captain, but those telepaths are under the protection of the InterStellar Alliance, on President Sheridan's authority..."
"I don't care what your Alliance promised or to whom. This station is the property of Earth Force and as EarthForce commander, I will deal with the threat to the security of the station as I see fit."
"And there is an arrangement in place between EarthGov and the Interstellar Alliance. I'm not going to stand by and allow you to use President Sheridan's absence as an opportunity to fly in the face of a clear diplomatic agreement. You're overstepping your authority, Captain."
Lochley laughed. "Don't lecture me about authority, young man. I've paid the Alliance the courtesy of notification. That's where my responsibility to your precious Alliance ends."
I felt anger prickling at the back of my neck, and something, not quite memory, not quite insight, poking at my brain. Sucking back the retort that had not quite reached my lips, I drew a long slow breath. When I had found a place of calm within myself, I spoke again, softly. "Captain, I'm delighted we've had this chance to talk. I respect your concern for the safety of the station and the welfare of her inhabitants. I suspect that, were I in your place, I would do exactly the same thing."
Lochley stared at me blankly, showing not even wonder. I turned my gaze to a clearly curious Bester and continued. "But please understand my position. President Sheridan has promised the telepaths a haven and it is my responsibility to see that actualized. I prefer to work in cooperation with the station security forces. I do not seek conflict with any person or agency. But on behalf of the Alliance, I will do whatever is necessary to keep those telepaths safe, even if that puts me at odds with station security."
Bester smiled, not his usual smug, superior smirk, but grin of pleasure, of amusement. I turned back to Lochley. "I hope that's clear, Captain, and I hope you won't make it necessary for me to demonstrate my resolve." I turned and walked from the office at a measured pace, but once out of sight, I quickened my steps.
Guilt tugged at me as I headed first to Zack Allan's office. I tried to find absolution by telling myself I'd back off if I saw any sign of reluctance. There wasn't any.
"Hey, thank goodness you're back. The hounds are loose. I did my best to slow them down but the Captain...geez, I don't know what's into her."
I thought I might, but there was no time to deal with that now. "Can you fill me in quickly, Zack? How many of the telepaths have been taken?"
He shook his head. "None. We kept the PsiCops busy for a while and the telepaths used the time to split up and go into hiding. Brown Sector's deserted." He considered a moment. "It could make it tough to round them up for the next transfer, I guess." It was a complication I was willing to tolerate.
Our ships were assembled and ready to reload, so with Zack's guidance, I sought out Lyta Alexander. Byron had gone into deep hiding like the rest of the colony, but Lyta, fearless, or at least less fearful, stayed in DownBelow where we could find her. She greeted us with a plan, one we both opposed.
"You'd be putting yourself in far too grave danger," I objected. "On numbers alone, they have a staggering advantage over you."
"This is not about numbers," she countered. "It's not a physical superiority." Her frustration fidgeted around her eyes. "I'm sorry. I don't know how to make mundanes understand."
I started to take offense at the word, but a memory of something Michael had told me stopped me. "Yes, you do," I said and I could see in her eyes that she understood, but she shook her head emphatically.
"No," she repeated, "no, I could hurt you."
Zack spoke with a tenderness that stunned me. "Lyta, I'm not afraid, not of you. You would never hurt me."
For a moment, I thought Lyta would cry. Then she looked from Zack to me. I had too big a lump in my throat to do anything but nod. I saw her squint, and then I was, I would have sworn, in Brown Sector. She showed us both her whole plan, exactly as she expected it to play out, and at the instant my brain formed its concern for her safety, she showed us more, about who she was, and what she could do, and why. I felt awe, in all its nuances: wonder, astonishment, respect, fear. When she withdrew from our minds, we moved forward with her plan.
Somehow, Lyta communicated to Byron the need to gather up the little groups of telepaths hidden about the station, and I prepared the WhiteStars for their arrival. The dark stream of PsiCops that marched past me toward Brown Sector told me Lyta's plan was in motion. I wondered if Zack would manage to look surprised by the news of a disturbance.
We loaded quickly, with help from a few of Zack's trusted people, using the WhiteStars from Delenn's detail as well. The sounds of a ship arriving stirred panic in me, and I searched for an escape route for our passengers.
The arriving ship discharged her passengers. "Mr. Callahan." The voice, to my great relief, was President Sheridan's. "What's this I hear about trouble?" I briefed him, as dispassionately as I could, on the current situation. He listened, and then wordlessly stalked away. I guessed he was heading for Lochley, and I scrambled to catch up to him.
"Mr. President, there's something else." He stopped and glared at me. "Call it a hunch if you will, sir, but I think you should consider it before you talk to the Captain." He heard me out, without derision, and then walked off again. With the WhiteStars loading quickly, I needed to start getting ships away.
I was startled by the sight that greeted me when I turned back. Byron was shepherding little groups of telepaths to the waiting ships. And shepherding seemed the right word. I was too far away to hear what he was saying, if in fact he was speaking, but I could see gesture and facial expression. There was tenderness in the interactions that I would not have expected from the man.
He intercepted me as I moved closer. "Don't send them off," he said, his hand reaching out, hovering just above my chest. I shook my head in confusion. "You were going to give the ships that were loaded clearance to leave." I bit down hard to hold back my irritation at the man's intrusion into my mind. "Please don't do it. My people are stronger together," he explained.
The man was just a little bit softer, a little less arrogant, a little more real than I expected him to be, and maybe that was why I agreed. Or maybe it was just that I didn't have time for an argument. Either way, I nodded. "Get the rest of your people aboard. I'll find Lyta." I headed for DownBelow and the backdoor Michael had used.
Panic swept me when I hoisted myself into the ventilation shaft. I crawled toward Brown Sector as rapidly as the cramped quarters would allow, but I still could not see Lyta. She planned to create the disturbance from here, and I was to fetch her when it was time to leave. If she wasn't here, she might be down in Brown Sector, and if she were there, she might be found.
A gentle hand on my shoulder interrupted my frantic thoughts. Lyta blocked my passage, as surely as her glyphs had blocked my mind from seeing her. Curled in a near fetal pose, smiling, she pressed at my shoulder and tossed her head to tell me to back up. I scrambled backward and she followed me, catlike, through the shaft. I feared to speak to her, not knowing what concentration she was maintaining or where her mind was reaching. Dropping to the deckplate, I reached up to help her down, and led her back to where Byron waited. It was not until we were on the bridge of my WhiteStar that she spoke to me.
"They're coming," she said, staring out into space.
"The bloodhounds?" Byron asked, but she shook her head.
My body was poised over the command chair, and I hovered there, waiting to hear which enemy we faced. The answer came from my own crew as our scanners lit with the silhouette of the raider fighters, in numbers that staggered the imagination. The station's fighters dropped, wave after wave of them, but I knew that even the full complement wouldn't be enough. I opened com channels simultaneously to C&C and the rest of our fleet. This time, I wasn't asking.
"WhiteStar 57 to Babylon control and all Ranger ships. The WhiteStar fleet stands in defense of Babylon 5. Prepare for battle."
"Acknowledged, WhiteStar 57. We appreciate the help." The voice was David Corwin's. I wondered whether Lochley had taken a fighter or was still locking horns with Sheridan.
Byron spun to rage at me, and somewhere on the edges of my attention, I heard his concern for the telepaths on board the WhiteStars. It was a worry I shared, but one that was dwarfed by the current threat. Lyta silenced him as I barked at someone to get them both off the bridge.
Lyta appealed to me to let them stay. "I may be able to help," she insisted, breaking free of Byron's attempt to hold her. "If I can get inside their minds..."
There wasn't time to argue. The raiders were on us, dividing their efforts between the station and the planet below. Although I wanted to give Ranger ships freedom to engage the enemy whenever, wherever, and however the opportunity provided itself, I knew I needed to keep them in some semblance of formation, if only to avoid conflict with the station fighters. Over the com channels I could hear Zack Allan's voice commanding the station's forces. That meant that Lochley was not out here with us, but Corwin still coordinated the action from C&C.
We heard a rumble from the station, the sound of fighters launching. Mentally, I inventoried the ships that buzzed around us, recalled the orders I had heard Zack bark. What squad was left to launch? And then we spotted the fighters. Black as the space around them, emblazoned with the white omega, they seemed like glyphs cut into the sky. I heard Lyta's voice. "He's with them."
"Who?"
"Bester," Byron supplied.
I blurted out a warning to the other WhiteStars just before the Omega fighters fired on us. One on one, the WhiteStar held clear superiority over the modified Starfury the Corps employed, but out here, with another enemy to contend with and far too much traffic, the distraction could be deadly. The PsiCops did provide some defense of the station, engaging with the raiders when they had to and eliminating several, but it was clear we were their primary target.
We heard a jump point form, but there was no time to investigate the arrival. We could only hope that they were alert and well defended. "Unidentified vessel." The call came from a Ranger on at a console behind me, but the fighters in front of me held my attention. We pulled up hard, letting the Omega fighter chasing us get all too well acquainted with the raiders attacking, and spun to see the bulky battle cruiser that had jumped in. She was heavily armed, heavily shielded, and judging just by her size, carrying plenty more fighters.
"WhiteStar fleet, concentrate your fire on that cruiser." Hearing my own thought in Zack Allan's voice startled me but I concurred with his assessment. Starfuries would be of little use against the cruiser. The station's defense grid quickly trained on the ship, but we had the advantage of maneuverability, and right now, we needed any advantage.
"Form up on my wing, rangers, and let's neutralize this threat." We went hard against the cruiser, targeting her weapons and dodging her fire. I felt an irritated amusement to note that the Omega fighters were not so eager to chase us down now. They continued to fire on us, but seemed content to keep their distance from the big guns of the cruiser.
"It's not the guns." Lyta's voice was choked, and when she turned to me, I saw her eyes glow black. "They carry another weapon," she said, "one that will destroy us all."
I weighed my options, and chose to trust. "Tell me what you can, and do it fast."
She squinted and in an instant, I saw the threat. Disabling it would be another matter, since destroying it might be as destructive as detonating it. "WhiteStars, we need to turn the lights out on that cruiser. Make your best guess on the architecture and let's kill the power generators on that beast."
Fighters ripped through space on all sides of us, speed and direction so overpowering to the senses that it was a challenge to tell friend from foe, and impossible to assess the balance of battle. A new noise from the cruiser caught my attention, and for a moment, I prayed. Seeing another rank of fighters drop from the cruiser was not good news, but it was an answered prayer.
A couple of our WhiteStars picked up those fighters the moment they dropped and left few of them to engage with the station's fighters. Weaving through fire from the cruiser and from the Omegas, we continued to hit what we suspected were her generators. Another rank of fighters dropped into position, just as our fire triggered a spray of sparks and smoke from the rear of the cruiser. Two WhiteStars peeled off and spun, taking position to fire on the launching fighters.
But the fighters did not launch. Frozen in position, they hung there, half in and half out of the bay, as the section of the ship around them went dark. "All right, rangers, that's a hit. Let's hope their power systems are not distributed. Get the rest of those generators."
I tried to take some assessment of the situation as we came around for another pass. I scanned space for signs, numbers, emblems, debris. I listened to the com channel for familiar voices and the orders they gave. I noted the diminished fire from the planetside weapons systems. The raiders must have done some damage to Draal's defenses.
It seemed absurd to see the jump gate opening, bizarre that C&C would allow anyone to jump in now, in the midst of battle, and frightening to realize it was a Centauri ship. If the Centauri were in fact complicit with these Dark Soldiers, if their forces were to be added to our current opposition, we had little hope.
"Centauri vessel, identify." Corwin's voice echoed my emotion.
The voice from the Centauri ship did not identify, but it did state intention. "Babylon control, perhaps we can be of some help here." Her weapons charged and for a heartstopping moment, everyone tried to determine her target. The Centauri fired, one long powerful blast, aimed at a spot on the cruiser's hull. With a brilliant crackle and a plume of smoke, the cruiser shuddered and went dark. As abruptly as she had jumped in, the Centauri ship reversed her engines and disappeared.
The cruiser was dead in space, but her fighters did not stand down. With the big ship neutralized, the WhiteStar fleet engaged with the raider fighters, defended the station, and tried to avoid fire from the Omegas. The battle was far from over, but it was clearly turned in Babylon 5's favor. On a frequency I hoped would reach only the WhiteStars, I gave orders for the fleet to return to their original mission. One by one, WhiteStars jumped, taking their telepath passengers to the colony homeworld. The Omega fighters, without jump engines, could not give chase.
One Omega moved away from the station, toward the raiders strafing the planetside defense grid. They did not engage with it, but formed up and made another pass, and the Omega appeared to follow. "Bester." Three voices in unison made the identification: Lyta's, Byron's and mine.
Although I didn't expect the raiders to greet me with the same cooperation, I ordered my ship down to the planet, following Bester's Starfury. I trusted the WhiteStar to handle whatever the Dark Soldiers threw at us. Their efforts had degraded the planet's defense severely, allowing Bester to land without incident, but also allowing us to follow him in.
The WhiteStar nosed far enough into the cavern for me to disembark, and I turned the bridge over to my second with orders to deliver our passengers to their destination. Hard words flew when I realized Lyta and Byron meant to follow me, but they were insistent.
"The man is a P12. A mundane..." Perhaps he saw my reaction in my eyes, or perhaps he heard it in my mind, but Byron stopped, drew a breath, and started again, in a gentler tone. "Bester has the ability to make others see what isn't there, believe what isn't true. He's done it to other telepaths, even to other PsiCops. If you go in there against him alone, you'll be worse than blind."
I opened the hatch. "So if he can play these mind games on other PsiCops, why should you be immune? He's a P12. What're your ratings?"
Byron studied me a moment, then looked at Lyta, who was already stepping outside. "The scale only goes to P12," he said and turned to follow her.
True to Babylon 5 tradition, life had become even more complicated by the time I returned. Raids continued, and those on the station seemed to have escalated, a fact Captain Lochley reinforced for me with a self-satisfied vehemence. The Centauri government communicated with only a bit more diplomacy, informing all and sundry that any permissions granted for operations in Centauri space were immediately and totally rescinded, and recalling their representative to the Alliance.
Sheridan was on his way back to the station. My admonitions that he take his time on Mars had apparently been countermanded by a conversation with Captain Lochley in which, as I was given to understand it, she challenged his right to use her station as a sanctuary for telepaths who were in violation of EarthGov laws. I expected Delenn to return to Babylon 5 shortly as well, and I was grateful to have someone else on station who might help me calm the President, but I knew I couldn't wait for either of them. The telepath colony needed to be moved to their new homeworld now.
Zack Allan ran, in effect, a miniature immigration service to facilitate the transfer of Byron's people. I wondered if such cooperation was approved by a Lochley who wanted them gone, or if Zack simply did it without her knowledge. Either way, I was grateful. There were more telepaths than any of us had imagined. Knowing the rigid control of PsiCorps, I found it astonishing that so many had managed to escape. In a less pressured situation, I would have liked to hear their stories, but there was no time for that now.
Without transport ships available to us, the move would have to be accomplished by the available WhiteStars. It would take several trips by each ship to complete the move, but hopefully, we could do it without incident. Zack was in his outer office, barking orders mightily, when I arrived at the station house. His greeting was quick and warm, if a bit harried, and his offer of a mug of kafe was appreciated. He led the way into his office, shuffled the documents on his desk for a moment, then spread a few sheets in front of me. They outlined a basic scheme for the transfer that worked within the capacity of our ships and tried to keep family groups together. Zack was starting to point out a few potential problems when a call interrupted us.
"Mees-ter Ahl-lan!" Only Londo could wring so many syllables from such a short name. "These people are trying my patience. It is imperative that I return to Centauri Prime immediately. Now will you please call off your hounds?"
Zack started to talk about respect for diplomatic matters being balanced by the overriding concern for everyone's safety, but the Centauri was not going to be placated. There was something in Londo's tone, something in the way he said he must return that suggested more than his usual petulance. His recall was not just a diplomatic show of indignation, I sensed. Mollari was in trouble, trouble for which I felt responsible.
Although I wasn't sure why it would help, I felt we should speak to Mollari in person, and communicated the wish to Zack in pantomime. Message received, he assured Mollari that he was on his way to deal with the matter personally. I gathered up the sheets he had displayed for me and joined him for the walk. On the way, he explained that outgoing traffic was snarled as the raider attacks and the escalating tensions on board drove more and more people from the station. But it was the sight that greeted us in the arrivals area told us what our priorities would have to be. Allan and I exchanged a glance of understanding, sympathy, and panic, and then set to work.
"All right, Ramirez!" Zack bellowed. "These incoming people are going to have to wait." I saw the first of the black clad figures push forward at that, but Allan didn't flinch. "We have a diplomatic matter that takes precedence here. Ambassador Mollari," he called, turning to the figure huffing toward him, "I am sorry you've been forced to wait. We're going to get you out of here right now." Mollari froze in place, his intended rage hiccuping out of him.
"Ambassador Mollari?" It took a moment for Londo to realize my presence. "Ambassador, I'm deeply sorry if your generosity to us has caused you personal hardship. The Alliance appreciates your help, and I know that Mr. Garibaldi, personally, respected your courage and your cooperation, as do I."
"Bah!" Mollari waved a hand at me and screwed up his face. "Mr. Garibaldi knew very well that it had nothing to do with courage. Desperation breeds boldness, my young friend. Someday you will understand that. Your friend Garibaldi understood, understood it in the darkest parts of his soul." He shook his head sadly. "I am sorry for your loss," he added.
I thanked him, and before I could say more, Zack approached with continued assurances that Londo's ship would depart very soon. I didn't wait to see more, but made for Brown Sector at a run. Finding Byron and Lyta, telling them about the arrival of the Bloodhound Squad, and convincing them that we had to move immediately took an agonizingly long few minutes. I left them to gather the first groups and their belongings, and I headed back toward the docking bays. I needed to find a way to get them to the White Stars without walking them right into the hands of the PsiCops.
By the time I had retraced my steps, Zack was making a great show of escorting Mollari to his ship, accompanied by repeated apologies. Londo was dumbfounded by the uncharacteristic behavior, and the PsiCops, still corralled in the checkpoint queue, were fidgeting and fuming at poor Ramirez. I sprinted up to catch Londo before he boarded.
"Ambassador," I said breathlessly, pulling up beside him in the accessway, "if there is anything we in the Alliance can do..." I took a gulp of air. "The President is on his way back from Mars. I'm certain..."
Mollari cut me off with a gesture. He studied me silently for a moment, then looked around us. When he spoke, it was barely a whisper. "It is too late for me, my young friend, and too late for the Centauri Republic. Garibaldi was right, you know. He knew. They give us no choice, no choice at all." He took a breath and straightened and before my eyes changed from tired soul to proud Centauri. "I go to do what I must, for the good of my people, Mr. Callahan. Your Garibaldi might not approve of my actions, but I think he would understand my motives, yes?"
I watched him move down the accessway to his ship, wondering what his future held. Zack had moved back to the queue of increasingly restless arriving passengers, and one of the PsiCops turned his wrath from Ramirez to Allan. In a moment, I heard Allan bellow again.
"I don't care who you are, or why you're here, that's assault. Ramirez, read him his rights. And the rest of his friends are coming down to the station house. I'm sure all these good citizens are eager to give a full statement of exactly what just happened."
Security agents moved in from all sides to escort the PsiCops to security headquarters. The man Allan had charged with assault continued to rage at him, even as Zack walked away. I caught up with him around a corner, out of sight.
"We'll hold them as long as we can," he said without preface, "but once the Captain gets wind of this..."
I nodded my understanding even as I thanked him. "Did he really hit you?"
Allan smiled. "It's not hard to get somebody with that much rage to take a poke at you," he explained. "Especially if they're reading your mind and you're thinking such nasty things about their character and heritage."
Zack's ruse kept the PsiCops out of the way long enough for us to get the first of the telepaths to the WhiteStars. My ship was the last to load. As I dropped into the center chair and called for the prelaunch check, I scanned space around the station. One by one, my crew called status and one by one, our sister ships launched. I opened a channel to notify C&C of our departure and heard the claxon.
Before I could announce, before I could ask, our sensors picked up the targets. The silhouette was familiar by now. Michael's Dark Soldiers were coming in for another assault.
"WhiteStar 57 to C&C."
"What the hell do you want?"
I chose to ignore Lochley's tone. "Request permission to assist in defense of the station, Captain."
"I would think it's the least you could do, since this is the Alliance's investigation."
I didn't like Lochley's sarcasm, and I didn't like the fact that I was about to take a ship full of civilians into a battle, but I didn't see other options. The raiders came in fast, guns blazing, while the station's fighters scrambled to defend both the station and the outgoing traffic. We did what we could to protect those civilian liners until they could jump, and then we concentrated our attention and our firepower on the defense of the station itself.
In the midst of it, I tried to observe, to analyze, to find some patterns. Our previous encounters with these Dark Soldiers had been quick, hit and run attacks, but this was a prolonged battle, and the destructive power of their ships was focused on our fighters, not on Babylon 5. We saw them cease firing, even pull up, as though to prevent damage to the station. And then we saw a wing of their formation break away.
We thought at first that they were starting to run, and the call went out to Zeta Squadron to give chase. But as Zeta formed up to follow, the raiders dove toward the surface of Epsilon 3. Strafing the planet with weapons fire, they stirred the defenses controlled by the Great Machine. Many of the station's pilots knew of Epsilon 3's defenses only in theory. This was the first time that protection had kicked in since they had come aboard, and their reactions were confused. Zack Allan fired orders over the com channel, reassuring and reorganizing the Starfury squads.
The raiders' intentions were clear by the time they reversed and made their second pass over the planet. Their fire targeted each of the weapon placements that defended the planet, and with their capabilities, they were able to do significant damage even to those dug in systems. Zeta squad engaged them, distracting them from their task for a time, but taking heavy damage themselves. I ordered the WhiteStar down to Epsilon 3 to help.
Jump points crackled to life on the far side of the station just as we began that descent. The momentary silence on the com channels spoke of the shared apprehension, but the relief was equally shared when the shapes of three WhiteStars became visible.
"WhiteStar 2 to C&C," the voice of Entil'zha Delenn came through the com. "How can we be of assistance?"
Even the usually petulant Captain Lochley sounded grateful for the help. With the additional firepower, we were able to reduce the size of the raider force significantly, and the surviving ships soon fled. I took a moment to brief Entil'zha over the com channel, then informed her of my intention to complete our original mission, and with her blessing, headed for the telepath homeworld.
The round trip was, after that, uneventful, even if I was impatient. I searched my imagination for a way to get the next wave of telepaths safely loaded. I could use the WhiteStars on Delenn's detail, and Sheridan's as well, if he arrived in time. I hoped Entil'zha would forgive me for usurping that authority, but those extra ships meant the second transit could complete the move.
By the time we delivered our passengers and returned to the station, the bloodhounds had been released, but the remaining telepaths had been warned and hidden, here and there around the station, everywhere but Brown Sector.
Lochley summoned me the moment I arrived back on station, and not to thank me for our help. Her dark shadow, in the form of Alfred Bester, fell to the rear of the office as I entered. I returned his stare with a defiance that surprised me, but I was too tired of his silent act to even bother greeting him.
"I'm assuming you inherited responsibility for this mess, so I'm informing you," Lochley said without preamble. "Babylon 5 is under attack, and I believe those telepaths are responsible. I have given the PsiCorps full authority to conduct any necessary operations to retake the rogues."
For a moment, I felt like a schoolboy, served with his sentence by the principal. I almost accepted her declaration with a schoolboy's meekness. And then I realized what was at stake.
"Excuse me, Captain, but those telepaths are under the protection of the InterStellar Alliance, on President Sheridan's authority..."
"I don't care what your Alliance promised or to whom. This station is the property of Earth Force and as EarthForce commander, I will deal with the threat to the security of the station as I see fit."
"And there is an arrangement in place between EarthGov and the Interstellar Alliance. I'm not going to stand by and allow you to use President Sheridan's absence as an opportunity to fly in the face of a clear diplomatic agreement. You're overstepping your authority, Captain."
Lochley laughed. "Don't lecture me about authority, young man. I've paid the Alliance the courtesy of notification. That's where my responsibility to your precious Alliance ends."
I felt anger prickling at the back of my neck, and something, not quite memory, not quite insight, poking at my brain. Sucking back the retort that had not quite reached my lips, I drew a long slow breath. When I had found a place of calm within myself, I spoke again, softly. "Captain, I'm delighted we've had this chance to talk. I respect your concern for the safety of the station and the welfare of her inhabitants. I suspect that, were I in your place, I would do exactly the same thing."
Lochley stared at me blankly, showing not even wonder. I turned my gaze to a clearly curious Bester and continued. "But please understand my position. President Sheridan has promised the telepaths a haven and it is my responsibility to see that actualized. I prefer to work in cooperation with the station security forces. I do not seek conflict with any person or agency. But on behalf of the Alliance, I will do whatever is necessary to keep those telepaths safe, even if that puts me at odds with station security."
Bester smiled, not his usual smug, superior smirk, but grin of pleasure, of amusement. I turned back to Lochley. "I hope that's clear, Captain, and I hope you won't make it necessary for me to demonstrate my resolve." I turned and walked from the office at a measured pace, but once out of sight, I quickened my steps.
Guilt tugged at me as I headed first to Zack Allan's office. I tried to find absolution by telling myself I'd back off if I saw any sign of reluctance. There wasn't any.
"Hey, thank goodness you're back. The hounds are loose. I did my best to slow them down but the Captain...geez, I don't know what's into her."
I thought I might, but there was no time to deal with that now. "Can you fill me in quickly, Zack? How many of the telepaths have been taken?"
He shook his head. "None. We kept the PsiCops busy for a while and the telepaths used the time to split up and go into hiding. Brown Sector's deserted." He considered a moment. "It could make it tough to round them up for the next transfer, I guess." It was a complication I was willing to tolerate.
Our ships were assembled and ready to reload, so with Zack's guidance, I sought out Lyta Alexander. Byron had gone into deep hiding like the rest of the colony, but Lyta, fearless, or at least less fearful, stayed in DownBelow where we could find her. She greeted us with a plan, one we both opposed.
"You'd be putting yourself in far too grave danger," I objected. "On numbers alone, they have a staggering advantage over you."
"This is not about numbers," she countered. "It's not a physical superiority." Her frustration fidgeted around her eyes. "I'm sorry. I don't know how to make mundanes understand."
I started to take offense at the word, but a memory of something Michael had told me stopped me. "Yes, you do," I said and I could see in her eyes that she understood, but she shook her head emphatically.
"No," she repeated, "no, I could hurt you."
Zack spoke with a tenderness that stunned me. "Lyta, I'm not afraid, not of you. You would never hurt me."
For a moment, I thought Lyta would cry. Then she looked from Zack to me. I had too big a lump in my throat to do anything but nod. I saw her squint, and then I was, I would have sworn, in Brown Sector. She showed us both her whole plan, exactly as she expected it to play out, and at the instant my brain formed its concern for her safety, she showed us more, about who she was, and what she could do, and why. I felt awe, in all its nuances: wonder, astonishment, respect, fear. When she withdrew from our minds, we moved forward with her plan.
Somehow, Lyta communicated to Byron the need to gather up the little groups of telepaths hidden about the station, and I prepared the WhiteStars for their arrival. The dark stream of PsiCops that marched past me toward Brown Sector told me Lyta's plan was in motion. I wondered if Zack would manage to look surprised by the news of a disturbance.
We loaded quickly, with help from a few of Zack's trusted people, using the WhiteStars from Delenn's detail as well. The sounds of a ship arriving stirred panic in me, and I searched for an escape route for our passengers.
The arriving ship discharged her passengers. "Mr. Callahan." The voice, to my great relief, was President Sheridan's. "What's this I hear about trouble?" I briefed him, as dispassionately as I could, on the current situation. He listened, and then wordlessly stalked away. I guessed he was heading for Lochley, and I scrambled to catch up to him.
"Mr. President, there's something else." He stopped and glared at me. "Call it a hunch if you will, sir, but I think you should consider it before you talk to the Captain." He heard me out, without derision, and then walked off again. With the WhiteStars loading quickly, I needed to start getting ships away.
I was startled by the sight that greeted me when I turned back. Byron was shepherding little groups of telepaths to the waiting ships. And shepherding seemed the right word. I was too far away to hear what he was saying, if in fact he was speaking, but I could see gesture and facial expression. There was tenderness in the interactions that I would not have expected from the man.
He intercepted me as I moved closer. "Don't send them off," he said, his hand reaching out, hovering just above my chest. I shook my head in confusion. "You were going to give the ships that were loaded clearance to leave." I bit down hard to hold back my irritation at the man's intrusion into my mind. "Please don't do it. My people are stronger together," he explained.
The man was just a little bit softer, a little less arrogant, a little more real than I expected him to be, and maybe that was why I agreed. Or maybe it was just that I didn't have time for an argument. Either way, I nodded. "Get the rest of your people aboard. I'll find Lyta." I headed for DownBelow and the backdoor Michael had used.
Panic swept me when I hoisted myself into the ventilation shaft. I crawled toward Brown Sector as rapidly as the cramped quarters would allow, but I still could not see Lyta. She planned to create the disturbance from here, and I was to fetch her when it was time to leave. If she wasn't here, she might be down in Brown Sector, and if she were there, she might be found.
A gentle hand on my shoulder interrupted my frantic thoughts. Lyta blocked my passage, as surely as her glyphs had blocked my mind from seeing her. Curled in a near fetal pose, smiling, she pressed at my shoulder and tossed her head to tell me to back up. I scrambled backward and she followed me, catlike, through the shaft. I feared to speak to her, not knowing what concentration she was maintaining or where her mind was reaching. Dropping to the deckplate, I reached up to help her down, and led her back to where Byron waited. It was not until we were on the bridge of my WhiteStar that she spoke to me.
"They're coming," she said, staring out into space.
"The bloodhounds?" Byron asked, but she shook her head.
My body was poised over the command chair, and I hovered there, waiting to hear which enemy we faced. The answer came from my own crew as our scanners lit with the silhouette of the raider fighters, in numbers that staggered the imagination. The station's fighters dropped, wave after wave of them, but I knew that even the full complement wouldn't be enough. I opened com channels simultaneously to C&C and the rest of our fleet. This time, I wasn't asking.
"WhiteStar 57 to Babylon control and all Ranger ships. The WhiteStar fleet stands in defense of Babylon 5. Prepare for battle."
"Acknowledged, WhiteStar 57. We appreciate the help." The voice was David Corwin's. I wondered whether Lochley had taken a fighter or was still locking horns with Sheridan.
Byron spun to rage at me, and somewhere on the edges of my attention, I heard his concern for the telepaths on board the WhiteStars. It was a worry I shared, but one that was dwarfed by the current threat. Lyta silenced him as I barked at someone to get them both off the bridge.
Lyta appealed to me to let them stay. "I may be able to help," she insisted, breaking free of Byron's attempt to hold her. "If I can get inside their minds..."
There wasn't time to argue. The raiders were on us, dividing their efforts between the station and the planet below. Although I wanted to give Ranger ships freedom to engage the enemy whenever, wherever, and however the opportunity provided itself, I knew I needed to keep them in some semblance of formation, if only to avoid conflict with the station fighters. Over the com channels I could hear Zack Allan's voice commanding the station's forces. That meant that Lochley was not out here with us, but Corwin still coordinated the action from C&C.
We heard a rumble from the station, the sound of fighters launching. Mentally, I inventoried the ships that buzzed around us, recalled the orders I had heard Zack bark. What squad was left to launch? And then we spotted the fighters. Black as the space around them, emblazoned with the white omega, they seemed like glyphs cut into the sky. I heard Lyta's voice. "He's with them."
"Who?"
"Bester," Byron supplied.
I blurted out a warning to the other WhiteStars just before the Omega fighters fired on us. One on one, the WhiteStar held clear superiority over the modified Starfury the Corps employed, but out here, with another enemy to contend with and far too much traffic, the distraction could be deadly. The PsiCops did provide some defense of the station, engaging with the raiders when they had to and eliminating several, but it was clear we were their primary target.
We heard a jump point form, but there was no time to investigate the arrival. We could only hope that they were alert and well defended. "Unidentified vessel." The call came from a Ranger on at a console behind me, but the fighters in front of me held my attention. We pulled up hard, letting the Omega fighter chasing us get all too well acquainted with the raiders attacking, and spun to see the bulky battle cruiser that had jumped in. She was heavily armed, heavily shielded, and judging just by her size, carrying plenty more fighters.
"WhiteStar fleet, concentrate your fire on that cruiser." Hearing my own thought in Zack Allan's voice startled me but I concurred with his assessment. Starfuries would be of little use against the cruiser. The station's defense grid quickly trained on the ship, but we had the advantage of maneuverability, and right now, we needed any advantage.
"Form up on my wing, rangers, and let's neutralize this threat." We went hard against the cruiser, targeting her weapons and dodging her fire. I felt an irritated amusement to note that the Omega fighters were not so eager to chase us down now. They continued to fire on us, but seemed content to keep their distance from the big guns of the cruiser.
"It's not the guns." Lyta's voice was choked, and when she turned to me, I saw her eyes glow black. "They carry another weapon," she said, "one that will destroy us all."
I weighed my options, and chose to trust. "Tell me what you can, and do it fast."
She squinted and in an instant, I saw the threat. Disabling it would be another matter, since destroying it might be as destructive as detonating it. "WhiteStars, we need to turn the lights out on that cruiser. Make your best guess on the architecture and let's kill the power generators on that beast."
Fighters ripped through space on all sides of us, speed and direction so overpowering to the senses that it was a challenge to tell friend from foe, and impossible to assess the balance of battle. A new noise from the cruiser caught my attention, and for a moment, I prayed. Seeing another rank of fighters drop from the cruiser was not good news, but it was an answered prayer.
A couple of our WhiteStars picked up those fighters the moment they dropped and left few of them to engage with the station's fighters. Weaving through fire from the cruiser and from the Omegas, we continued to hit what we suspected were her generators. Another rank of fighters dropped into position, just as our fire triggered a spray of sparks and smoke from the rear of the cruiser. Two WhiteStars peeled off and spun, taking position to fire on the launching fighters.
But the fighters did not launch. Frozen in position, they hung there, half in and half out of the bay, as the section of the ship around them went dark. "All right, rangers, that's a hit. Let's hope their power systems are not distributed. Get the rest of those generators."
I tried to take some assessment of the situation as we came around for another pass. I scanned space for signs, numbers, emblems, debris. I listened to the com channel for familiar voices and the orders they gave. I noted the diminished fire from the planetside weapons systems. The raiders must have done some damage to Draal's defenses.
It seemed absurd to see the jump gate opening, bizarre that C&C would allow anyone to jump in now, in the midst of battle, and frightening to realize it was a Centauri ship. If the Centauri were in fact complicit with these Dark Soldiers, if their forces were to be added to our current opposition, we had little hope.
"Centauri vessel, identify." Corwin's voice echoed my emotion.
The voice from the Centauri ship did not identify, but it did state intention. "Babylon control, perhaps we can be of some help here." Her weapons charged and for a heartstopping moment, everyone tried to determine her target. The Centauri fired, one long powerful blast, aimed at a spot on the cruiser's hull. With a brilliant crackle and a plume of smoke, the cruiser shuddered and went dark. As abruptly as she had jumped in, the Centauri ship reversed her engines and disappeared.
The cruiser was dead in space, but her fighters did not stand down. With the big ship neutralized, the WhiteStar fleet engaged with the raider fighters, defended the station, and tried to avoid fire from the Omegas. The battle was far from over, but it was clearly turned in Babylon 5's favor. On a frequency I hoped would reach only the WhiteStars, I gave orders for the fleet to return to their original mission. One by one, WhiteStars jumped, taking their telepath passengers to the colony homeworld. The Omega fighters, without jump engines, could not give chase.
One Omega moved away from the station, toward the raiders strafing the planetside defense grid. They did not engage with it, but formed up and made another pass, and the Omega appeared to follow. "Bester." Three voices in unison made the identification: Lyta's, Byron's and mine.
Although I didn't expect the raiders to greet me with the same cooperation, I ordered my ship down to the planet, following Bester's Starfury. I trusted the WhiteStar to handle whatever the Dark Soldiers threw at us. Their efforts had degraded the planet's defense severely, allowing Bester to land without incident, but also allowing us to follow him in.
The WhiteStar nosed far enough into the cavern for me to disembark, and I turned the bridge over to my second with orders to deliver our passengers to their destination. Hard words flew when I realized Lyta and Byron meant to follow me, but they were insistent.
"The man is a P12. A mundane..." Perhaps he saw my reaction in my eyes, or perhaps he heard it in my mind, but Byron stopped, drew a breath, and started again, in a gentler tone. "Bester has the ability to make others see what isn't there, believe what isn't true. He's done it to other telepaths, even to other PsiCops. If you go in there against him alone, you'll be worse than blind."
I opened the hatch. "So if he can play these mind games on other PsiCops, why should you be immune? He's a P12. What're your ratings?"
Byron studied me a moment, then looked at Lyta, who was already stepping outside. "The scale only goes to P12," he said and turned to follow her.