Infinite Regress by Marianne

Chapter 2

Earth

The journey gave Garibaldi several days to think about what had happened to him and a chance to study his appearance in the mirror – he could see himself looking out of a stranger's face. Oh, there was a resemblance, but this face had obviously seen hard times, it was thinner and had scars (like his body). The "Garibaldi" he now inhabited lived Down Under, and he was a thug, a lurker, and apparently a murderer, who made his living where he could. The very kind of criminal that he was always fighting against, perhaps a little too near what he could have become, had things turned out differently in his other life. But when was he going back? He was missing Lise and his life on Mars with an almost physical pain; it was so frustrating not to be able to do anything to help himself. At least the guards were leaving him alone, unshackling him as soon as the shuttle had taken off, and then ignoring him thereafter, except to give him the usual indistinguishable mush they called food.

When they arrived, he was lead past the usual customs and straight into the back of a large windowless vehicle, where he was chained to a bench. The journey was uneventful and they were soon leading him down some corridors to a small room, where he waited with some trepidation. The door swung open, and he was commanded to stand by a very familiar voice.

"I understand you have met us all before in a "different reality" – who do you think I am?"

"You are Lyta Alexander – a telepath in my universe." He said tiredly.

"Anyone could have told you that" she snapped "Everywhere the President goes, his security chief isn't far behind – and what do you mean a telepath, there is no such thing!"

Garibaldi shrugged, and she continued,

"Right, there are some ground rules you must obey when seeing the President.

Speak when you are spoken to, do not sit unless he gives you permission, and you address him as Mr President, or Sir!"

She glared at him, obviously expecting some kind of reaction. He had learned not to argue, and waited patiently for her to finish. What was the matter with these people? Why were they so aggressive all the time? She gestured for him to precede her through the door, and two guards fell in either side of him, holding his upper arms. He realised that they were travelling along private corridors and elevators; there was no decoration, just plain walls and carpeting. At last they stopped at a door, Alexander knocked, and a voice told them to enter.

"Michael Garibaldi, Mr President." Lyta said respectfully.

The man swung around and slowly looked Garibaldi up and down, obviously unimpressed by what he saw. "So this is the man who has come from another universe and who knows everything there is to know about the aliens."

"Mr President." Garibaldi had recognised John Sheridan immediately – another familiar face on a total stranger.

"Take off his handcuffs, and leave us" He made a dismissive gesture when his Security Chief looked as though she wanted to object, and the security team left without a word.

"OK, so convince me." the President lounged back in his chair and looked at the other man speculatively.

So Garibaldi launched into his story, trying to remember every detail he could. He had only been speaking for a few minutes, when he became aware of the other man staring fixedly at him. He slowly faltered to a stop.

"How the hell do you know all this – don't give me the story that you come from an alternate universe – science fiction nonsense!" the President growled, rising rapidly from his seat and prowling around the room. "Well?" He demanded when Garibaldi remained silent.

"What can I tell you? It's the only explanation I can think of." Garibaldi was beginning to panic; he had to stay alive in case he could find a way back to Lise. "Look at my record, or the record of the man I am now. How could I know any of these things?" He knew he was beginning to gabble

Sheridan looked at him, his eyes hard, "I can't take the chance that you might be telling the truth." He said slowly, then seemed to make his mind up, walked over to his desk and pressed the intercom.

An hour later, Garibaldi was installed in a small room with a bed, table, chair and computer, with orders to record every last detail of the Centauri that he could think of.

He cleared his mind and concentrated hard, he had to convince the president that he was worth keeping alive.

He woke, and found himself sprawled over the computer, sheer exhaustion had overcome him. What had woken him up? There was a sound by the door, and a small figure was leaning over him, shaking his shoulder. Garibaldi caught sight of the man's face, and without thought surged to his feet, grabbed the front of the man's coat and slammed him into the wall. "Bester, you mind-sucking bastard!"

A look of sheer terror swept over the little man's face "Help! He's gone mad!" He wriggled out of Garibaldi's grasp and fled from the room.

The security guard outside grinned as he watched the figure disappear down the corridor. "Can't stand that little creep myself."

Garibaldi threw himself on to the bed, cursing himself for being so stupid. It obviously wasn't the Bester he knew and loathed – there were no telepaths here. The man had just been bringing him food, not delving into his mind. He hoped that no trouble would come from this. A wave of despair swept over him, when was he going to see Lise, or anyone he actually knew?

After a short rest and some food, he settled down to record some more, and when he had finished all he knew about the Centauri, he continued with the other alien races. An idea occurred to him – "If, when you encounter a race called the Minbari, they approach in a warship with weapon ports open, don't open fire. They mean it as a sign of respect." Perhaps, if he could stop the Minbari war here, at least he would do something of value. Feeling a little better, he fell on the bed and went straight to sleep. It seemed only a few minutes later, and he was being shaken awake by the guard "Come on, get up, the President wants to see you." At least this time they did not put any shackles on, just marched him down the corridor, and knocked on the presidential door.

Sheridan was in a resplendent uniform, with rows of medals and lots of gold braid. Garibaldi noticed that it was night outside – not having a window, he had no idea of the time.

"I am just going to an ambassadorial banquet being given on the Centauri ship. I want you to watch the proceedings and give me your thoughts and advice via this earpiece." He gestured towards his head and Garibaldi could just see the tiny device behind his left ear.

"So, you believe me." He said relieved.

"There is no logical explanation for what you know, so yes, I have to." The president grimaced, obviously uncomfortable with the idea. "There is a terminal on my desk so you can watch the banquet – I know that they are trying to pull a fast one, but I just can't see how!"

"Oh, they'll try that, depend on it. It's like a game to them." Garibaldi grinned.

The camera hidden on Sheridan's uniform gave a rather restricted view, but Garibaldi was able to steer the president away from some delicate areas and advise him how to reply to some penetrating questions during the indeterminable meal. He was glad when it finally ground to a halt and he could stop concentrating quite so hard. His stomach was grumbling, and he realised that he had not eaten for what felt like a very long time – not since he had attacked the unfortunate Bester. As if it was a signal, he heard a light tap on the door and the little man opened the door timidly. "I, I have some food for you."

"I am really, really sorry for what happened earlier – I don't know what got into me." It felt weird, apologising to his nemesis, but of course this man was entirely innocent. Bester came into the room and set down a tray.

"It's OK, I understand that you are under great stress at the moment. I'm sorry that you have the same old mush, but what with the rationing and the riots and everything, I'm sure you understand."

"Rationing? Riots?" Garibaldi was at a loss.

"Come on, where have you been?" Bester laughed. "Surely even on Babylon 5 you've heard about the food riots?"

So, Garibaldi realised, even the presidential staff didn't know about him. "I have been a bit busy lately." He said lamely, "Yeah, now you mention it, I did hear about it. I didn't think it would affect me though."

"We are lucky working here; at least we get something to eat. There are a lot of people out there who would swap places." Bester chattered some more about the state of the world and then said "Well, I must get back, I'll clear up later if that's OK." He smiled, and backed out of the room, as if he still expected to be attacked.

As Garibaldi finished his meal, the President came back and they discussed the evening. "Well, I think you have earned your keep today." Sheridan smiled. "I think that we can forget about a trial for the time being."

Garibaldi understood they were still going to keep the trial hanging over his head, presumably to keep him in line. Sheridan dismissed him brusquely; he smiled wryly and sauntered back to his room. So no guards any more – that at least was an improvement. He settled down on the bed and considered all that he had learned. No wonder these people were so tense, this Earth was running out of food, and had exhausted all its fossil fuels – the Babylon Project had been launched to investigate mining opportunities on other worlds, and had all but bankrupted itself.

A/N to be continued.......

Many thanks to ThatOneCatC for feedback – this chapter is for you.