CHAPTER 6: HALF-TRUTHS, LIES AND ASSUMPTIONS

"Mr Garibaldi. Take off your clothes." It was something that a fair portion of the women - and possibly men (not to mention other assorted genders) - on Babylon 5 had felt the urge to say at some point. Lilian Hobbes smiled - an evil, twisted smile by her standards - and gestured towards one of the examination tables.

Garibaldi shivered at her expression but stripped down to his undershirt obligingly, trying to ignore the fact that Captain Lochley had chosen to remain in the room rather than wait outside as he would have preferred. "I'm fine - there's nothing wrong with me," he muttered, pulling his undershirt up over his head and wincing a little as the cold air of Medlab hit him. "I just tripped, is all."

Lochley laughed sourly. "Tripped. Yeah, right. You passed out into my bowl of cereal, Mr Garibaldi, and I don't need to remind you how much fresh milk costs to be imported from Earth. You better have something very wrong with you." Her expression made it clear that if Garibaldi wasn't dying - he would be, very shortly indeed.

Lilian prodded his chest. "Lay down."

Groaning and fervently pleading for a repreive from whichever deity he'd managed to offend, Garibaldi relaxed back on the bed. The whistle-bleep of the monitors sounded normal enough to him.

"That's not right."

But then, what did he know.

"What's not right?" Lochley leaned over him, bracing herself against his ribs as she peered over the readout. "You're right, that isn't right." She glared down at him. "Mr Garibaldi. What's this?"

He, in turn, glared back up at her. "How would I know? I can't see the readout, now, can I!" Sometimes, he understood how Ivanova must have felt all too well.

Lochley leaned back and yanked him up to face the readout. All of the readings were askew - but only by a small percentage. He frowned. "So? I haven't been as perfectly fit and wonderful as I normally am. Doesn't look like I'm having a heart attack, Doc." He moved to sit up.

To his surprise, the apparently soft and yielding Dr Hobbes shoved him back onto the bed with no small measure of force. "I didn't say you could leave." Her voice was very soft. "That doesn't look like someone who's just under the weather, Mr Garibaldi. Would you like to discuss this with me?" She smiled gently.

Garibaldi looked from her concerned face to Lochley's steely expression. What were his chances if he said no? He sighed. "It's all Bester's fault."

"But - when could he have done this?" Lochley frowned at him. It was, for her, the lesser of two evils. She could either frown at Garibaldi or stare helplessly at PET scans and computer printouts. Somehow Garibaldi's annoyed features seemed a lot more appealing. Damn Garibaldi asking her to stay for this, anyway. Well, in for a penny....

Garibaldi shrugged. "He had me for a long time. He could have implanted this at whatever time, and - set it on a timer, I guess. Make it look like it wasn't him." It was what he'd have done. The thought caused a deliciously cold shiver to run down his spine. Would he have done this? How did he know that other parts of him hadn't been tampered with? How did he know that this was the real Michael Garibaldi?

Lilian was shaking her head. "We can't be certain. We can't take the chance if we're wrong."

Damn right, Garibaldi thought before he realised that she was talking about his brain chemistry results. "What else could it be?" He pointed to a random printout. "I mean that doesn't look right."

"That's your urine sample results," Dr Hobbes said without a trace of mirth. Garibaldi blushed hotly. "But you're right, it doesn't. That's why we can't rule anything out. This -" she gestured towards the blood chemistry printout, "doesn't look like any 'brain-washing' I've ever seen."

"All the more proof that it's Bester who did it, rather than just a random Psi Creep," Garibaldi insisted coldly, folding his arms across his chest. "He's not sloppy. He wouldn't leave any clues behind after he did whatever it is he needed to do."

"Needed to do?" Lochley stood to pace. The rest of the Medlab staff had long since been ordered out of the small office. If it was one of the Corps' 'diabolical schemes', as Garibaldi had put it, they really didn't need extra people listening in. "That's the bit I don't get. What exactly, has he done to you? Apart from make you all --" She searched for the right word.

"Delicate?" Lilian offered, suppressing a smile.

Garibaldi growled. "Watch it. I'm not knocked up, just irritable."

Lochley had to smile at this. "We're assuming you're not."

"Hey --!"

Lochley intervened before Garibaldi's bad mood would result in many painful deaths. "Okay. So we're assuming that Bester's behind this. What, exactly, is this?"

That was the big question, really. As far as anyone knew, Garibaldi was feeling a bit under the weather. He saw no reason to share his nightmares or stomach problems with either his doctor or the Captain - nonetheless, they guessed anyway. Added two and two and ended up with - five?

"You didn't see Bester the last time he was here, did you?" Lochley asked gently. Dr Hobbes withdrew to a discreet distance.

Garibaldi didn't look at her. "Uh."

"Wanna talk about it?" Before you drink yourself into the ground? But he wasn't drinking, was he? The results were wrong for that. Nonetheless, it smacked of something similar.

Garibaldi's mind was following a similar pattern of thought. He did something to be - physically. And mentally too, but the psi creep did something to my brain chemistry. It feels like I'm about to throw up all the time.... he probably pumped me full of drugs, and now they're taking their toll. Well, that was just tough. Bester had screwed him over, and he was just going to have to fix him, is all. Unless he wanted Garibaldi dropping dead at his feet. Which may have appealed to the psi cop in principle, but wouldn't really do much for his reputation.

An evil smile surfaced. Oh yes. He knew exactly what to do. And talking was the last thing on his mind.

End Chapter VI