STILL NOT IN KANSAS

by Soledad

Author's notes: For disclaimer, rating, etc., see Part One.

I apologize by my regular readers for the little confusion I caused by rearranging the former chapters. As you can see, I've deleted the long intro parts and united the formerly two-parters to one chapter (5 and 6). So, this is definitely Part 09, and you might want to go back and check out Part 08, as it probably didn't show up on the Author Alert.

Some of the dialogue is directly lifted from the episode "Grey 17 is Missing", with small alterations.

PART NINE

"Commander," Sheridan said as they strolled along the corridor, aiming for the Zocalo, "may I ask you a personal question?"

Chakotay, now considerably more relaxed than just a minute ago in the captain's office, nodded. "Sure, go on."

"While we questioned your people," Sheridan tried to find the right words that wouldn't offend the other man, "did you really doubt that they were telling the truth? They seemed sincere enough to me, even without Vir's testimony."

"They were," Chakotay said. "Actually, I don't think that even Paris would lie to me. He can be infuriating as hell, but all in all, he is not a liar. And while the Delaney sisters might have covered him in small issues, they won't do so in something really serious. As for the other two; B'Elanna and I had fought together long before we joined Voyager; I trust her with my life. And Harry couldn't lie to a senior officer if his life depended on it."

"Then why…?" Sheridan didn't really know how to ask, but Chakotay understood nevertheless.

"This is a question of credibility, Captain," he explained with a grim smile. "We are strangers here and have to make a convincing first impression. Regardless of the fact that I believed my people, it was their word against that of the locals. We needed an independent witness to prove that we are willing to respect the local law."

"I'm not sure that I agree with you, Commander," Sheridan frowned. "And I had the distinct feeling that your people aren't happy with you at the moment."

"I know," Chakotay shrugged. "I fully expect B'Elanna threatening me to rip out my heart and eat it raw when I do something like this again. Harry will be hurt for a while, the poor kid, and Paris will pull out his 'son of the Admiral' persona and behave like an arrogant bastard for days. But those are the burdens of command. They will get over it."

Sheridan shook his head, not entirely convinced. "I still think that you are too hard on Mr. Paris."

"I probably am," Chakotay admitted thoughtfully. "I'm trying not to, but it's not easy."

"The two of you seem to have quite a story together," Sheridan said.

"And a rather colourful one at that," Chakotay agreed, grinning. "For starters, he once saved my life, at the risk of his own, while I was treating him like shit."

"And that irritates the hell out of you, doesn't it?" Sheridan asked.

"Of course it does. Try to owe your life to someone who grates on your nerves all the time," Chakotay shrugged again. "The man is full of contradictions. Every time when I think I've finally figured out what makes him tick, he pulls a stunt that turns everything upside down again. It is irritating. I don't like contradictions."

"Is he really the son of an admiral?"

"He is. And that is part of the problem. But that's a long story."

"I'd like to hear it one day," Sheridan stopped in the middle of the corridor and looked at his wrist chrono, "but not right now, I'm afraid. I have to go. Ivanova's shift is almost over, and I promised to relieve her in time. She has an invitation from your captain and doesn't want to be late."

Chakotay nodded in understanding and lengthened his stride to catch up with his people, while Sheridan hurried to the War Room to have a private word with Ivanova before taking over command duties.

"So, how is the recruiting going?" he asked. Ivanova shrugged.

"Slowly. We are still going through the files conducting interview," she waved with the papers held in her hands. "I hate how we are forced to do these things."

"Oh, I agree," Sheridan sighed, "but I don't see any other way to do it. We'll need as many telepaths as we can get if we're going to take out the Shadows."

Ivanova made a sour face. "Unfortunately, at the time we start talking about that part of the job, most of them start quitting instantly."

Sheridan thought about that for a moment. "There is another possibility. Franklin was running an underground railroad for telepaths escaping Psi Corps a while back. HE might be able to help us track down some of those people."

Ivanova looked at him skeptically. "Knowing Stephen he probably wiped his files in order to keep anyone from misusing them. But it's worth a try. He's still on that… walkabout thing, so finding him could be tough; but doable. It's not like anyone can hide out here for very long."

Sheridan grinned in agreement. "Good. And when you're at it anyway – what about the telepaths the Voyager people have among them? Do you think we could persuade them to helps us out while they are here?"

Ivanova shrugged. "That's hard to tell. But since I'm due to visit Captain Janeway anyway, I guess I can ask."

In the meeting place of their clan in Down Below Neroon, Rastenn and Nidell watched Sheridan's stolen messages with grim determination.

"So, she is about to return," Neroon commented when the last one was over. Contrary to their expectations, all the previous ones had been rather uninteresting. "And the rumours were true; the leaders of the Anla'shok are truly planning to make her Entil'zha. I hoped they would be wrong. By Valen, I hoped. But they are true, and so our choices are limited."

"What are we supposed to do now?" Rastenn asked.

"You must return to the Ingata," Neroon said. "Starkiller has spotted you, and that is bad enough. But if Delenn returns, so will her aide; and Lennier knows who you are. You must not be caught. You are the last of our line, at least for the moment. Should anything happen to me, you will have to take over my responsibilities. That might be harder than you believe."

"What could possibly happen to you?" Rastenn didn't like the sound of that. But Neroon only shook his head.

"I am not allowed to talk about that. Not yet. Not even to you. But I have very specific instructions from Shai Alyt Shakiri, and I will carry them out, regardless of the consequences."

"That has a bad sound to it," Rastenn murmured. Neroon nodded.

"It is a bad thing… a horrible thing. But when it comes to it, you should know that whatever I am going to do, I would do it for the good of Minbar, so that the balance and order can return to our people. You must trust me, Rastenn."

"I do trust you, uncle," Rastenn allowed himself to use the more familiar title. "But I am also worried."

Neroon smiled, allowing his fondness for the young warrior to show. "There is no need to worry. In fulfilling our duty lie destiny and the foundation of our future. Go now. I need to know that you are safe, so that I can focus on that which has to be done."

Susan Ivanova tried not to look overly impressed while a blue-skinned, bald female alien (at least she thought it was a female) navigated her along Voyager's corridors towards the turbolift. But it was a hard thing to do. The ship was practical, shiny, beautiful and almost irritatingly clean – something she always wanted her quarters on Babylon 5 to be but never managed quite to the level of her satisfaction. And the bridge certainly rivaled that of the White Star.

She wished she had more time to walk around and take a closer look at all the bridge stations and viewscreens, but the blue-skinned ensign was already pushing the buzzer on the Captain's ready room.

"Enter," a voice answered from within, and the ensign stepped aside, gesturing Susan to go first.

"Commander Ivanova, Captain," she then said crisply. Janeway nodded and rose from behind her desk.

"Thank you, Ensign Golwat. You can return to your regular duties now. I'll look after the commander from here."

"Aye, Captain," the alien called Golwat turned on her heels and left. Susan looked after her curiously.

"Which race does she belong to? Assuming she is a she, of course."

"She's a Bolian," Janeway smiled, "and she is most definitely female. Sadly, we only have two of her people aboard Voyager; not a promising situation for a species that usually prefers clan marriages. The majority of our crew is human; Bajorans are the second largest group."

"Bajorans… they are the ones with the noses like accordions, right?" Susan asked, shaking hands with the captain. Janeway laughed.

"I se you've done your homework. Have a seat, Commander. Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"Coffee?" Susan knew that her eyes were bulging but she couldn't help it. "You mean actual, real, honest-to-Earth coffee? One that even tastes like coffee?"

"Well, opinions about its reality are still rather divided, but it's close enough," Janeway grinned at her fellow coffee addict. "Coffee, black," she told the replicator; then she looked at Susan. "How do you like yours?"

"Usually, I take it black," Susan answered. "I need to stay awake for ungodly long hours, after all. But in this case… surprise me."

Janeway thought for a moment, sipping her own coffee, then her face brightened. "I have it. Computer, a short espresso, Segafredo style, with cream and sugar." She took the small, damping mug from the open slot and handed it to Susan. "You are in for a heavenly experience."

For a few minutes they chatted amiably, enjoying the blend of their choice. After the second round, however, Janeway put her cup aside and leaned forward a little, her narrowing eyes revealing that they had finally come to the actual reason of this meeting.

"So, Commander," she said. "Now that we have done the obligatory small talk, would you mind to tell me what's going on here? We have monitored the official broadcasting of EarthGov, but it reeks of propaganda; of the worst sort of it. I'd like to hear your side of the story. And I'd like to learn what's the matter with telepaths. Something seems odd about them in your universe. And I'd like to know who or what those Shadows are."

Susan stared at her incredulously. "Who told you about the Shadows?"

"No-one," replied Janeway calmly. "That's why I'm asking. Ensign Jurot has picked up some stray thoughts – or, to be more accurate, stray emotions – from Ms. Alexander concerning these… creatures, but it's not our way to mess around with other peoples' heads. I prefer getting my answers in the old-fashioned way."

"This Ensign Jurot… is she a telepath?" Susan asked uncomfortably. Janeway nodded.

"Of course. All Betazoids are. So are all Vulcans, for that matter. Or the Ocampa. And quite a few other species, but we don't have anyone of those aboard."

"What about human telepaths?" Susan dug further. Janeway shrugged.

"They are very rare – virtually nonexistent. I understand that it's different on your Earth?"

"It has been different for the last two centuries or so," Susan replied thoughtfully. "Before that, it used to be the same."

"What happened?"

"We don't really know. Telepaths simply began to emerge from the normal human population some two hundred years ago, and their numbers have been slightly increasing ever since, thanks to the breeding program of the Psi Corps."

"Psi Corps; I've noticed that name several times. Why don't you begin with them and tell me the whole story in chronological order?"

"It's a long story," Susan warned. "How much time and coffee do you have at your disposal?"

Janeway smiled blandly. "As much as it takes."

After the seventh game of kal-toh, Tuvok unexpectedly turned the game off.

"Please come with me, Ms Alexander," he said. "It is time that we relocate to Holodeck One. Ensign Vorik should have finished preparations by now."

"What preparations?" Lyta asked, but she rose to follow him nevertheless.

"I asked him to create a holographic simulation of a Vulcan monastery," Tuvok replied. "Not one of the kolinahr-adepts, of course; that won't help you the understand our ways. But there are other, more common places, where young Vulcans are trained for years to learn how to use their abilities properly and to work on their discipline. I asked Ensign Vorik to recreate the monastery of T'Lan for us. He knows that place better than I do, as he spent there several years under the guidance of Master Selev."

Lyta had already heard of the holodeck, of course – everyone had, thank to Marcus' enthusiastic reports from the day before – but the reality of it still shocked her a little. It seemed to her that she walked into another world when the big, greyish doors swooshed open and allowed them into a large, dimly lit room, apparently some sort of dining place, as there stood long, low tables in a U-form along three of the four walls that were seemingly made of rough, reddish-brown stone. Vulcans clad in long, flowing robes were kneeling at the tables – or, to be more accurate, sitting on their heels – without any sign of discomfort. In front of them simple earthenware bowls stood with some vegetable dish and mugs with what seemed to be herbal tea.

The fourth wall – the one facing the holodeck doors – was dominated by a large window, which offered a fantastic view of the Vulcan landscape: a hot and arid world, stripped bare from its natural resources by some planetwide natural disaster millennia ago. But Lyta understood that the true riches of this world were its inhabitants – their skills, their mental abilities, their dedication and discipline. She didn't know how, but she seemed to realize this, on an almost subconscious level.

Maybe Tuvok was sharing with her his knowledge about his home. The communication happened on an impersonal level, without touching her own thoughts, without actual words or mental pictures. It made her feel excitement and fear at the same time, just beginning to understand what it meant to deal with a telepathic culture millennia old than her own.

Among the holographic characters now a young Vulcan rose and walked over to them, carrying robes similar to those the others were wearing on his arm.

"Lyta, Tuvok," he addressed them, using given names only as it was the Vulcan custom in similar situations, "Master Selev welcomes you at his table and asks you to share water with us."

"Tell Master Selev that we are most honoured, Vorik," Tuvok answered, and Lyta understood the significance of the offer that had just been made. Sharing water on a desert world was the sincerest sign of acceptance that one could think of.

Vorik – obviously not a hologram but Voyager's other resident Vulcan, even though Lyta would have been hard-pressed to spot any difference – bowed slightly. "Then put on the robes and follow me," he said.

"I think it's a great idea," Sheridan enthused, escorting a freshly arrived Delenn from the docking port towards the blue sector. He had transferred command briefly to Lt. Corwin, wanting to greet Delenn personally. "You are the natural choice to take over as head of the Rangers.

Delenn gave her a strange look, half fondness, half pity. Sheridan was a good man, but clearly, he had absolutely no understanding about the internal structure of Minbari society. In this area it had always been much easier to work with Sinclair. Unfortunately, that was no longer an option.

"A logical choice, perhaps," she replied patiently. I do not know how – or if – it would be fully accepted."

"Why not?" Sheridan asked, a little bewildered. "Who would object?"

"If I am lucky, perhaps no-one," Delenn answered thoughtfully. "But we can never know. I've chosen to hold the initiation ceremony here, if you do not mind, though."

Sheridan nodded. "Not a problem. But," he added, frowning, "this is a little… public, isn't it? Until now, the Rangers have operated only behind the scene."

"That role will change, soon enough," Delenn replied. "And before that happens, I think you should know more of them personally."

"All right," Sheridan said. "I'll have Mr. Garibaldi arrange a security team, just…" as usual, his comm link interrupted him. He tapped it. "Sheridan. Go."

"Captain," came Lt. Corwin's voice through the link, "Commander Ivanova left a message for you. She said she's got the information you needed on the telepaths; it's been downloaded into your computer. Password-protected, for your eyes only."

"All right," Sheridan sighed, "I'll be right there." He turned back to Delenn, taking both her hands. "I'll have to catch up with you later. And again… congratulations."

"Thank you," Delenn replied with a smile that hadn't quite reached her eyes. She didn't want to break his good mood, but she didn't share his optimism, either. She knew all too well that things wouldn't run all that smoothly. Not with the problems back home.

Lennier looked around in the bar and soon found his Centauri friend on the usual place. He walked through the crowd and climbed onto the stool next to Vir.

"Leave me alone," Vir grumbled, without looking at him. "You've spoken your mind, you've told me what an idiot I am, so what else do you want to tell me to make my day even more enjoyable?"

"I do not know what you are talking about, Vir, but I most certainly haven't told you anything since we left for Minbar," Lennier replied, understandably confused.

Vir finally turned to him – and blushed furiously. "Oh, it's you!" he exclaimed. "I'm very sorry, Lennier, I… I didn't mean to insult you, truly… I thought it was Rastenn…"

Alarm bells started ringing in Lennier's mind. He only knew one Minbari with that name, as Minbari seldom re-used names anyway, and if Vir was talking about the same person, that would mean trouble.

"Who is this Rastenn?" he asked quietly. Vir waved dismissively with a fleshy hand.

"Oh, no-one too important. Just a young Minbari I've met a few days ago. I found that I'm missing Minbari company, you know, and he was friendly enough…"

"Your reaction to my presence didn't gave me the impression," Lennier remarked. Vir shrugged.

"We had a… difference of opinions. He… he is a very… opinionated person for someone so young and from the Worker Caste. But at least I had someone to talk to. He… he even seemed interested in what I told him, and that's not something that happens to me very often," he added with a heroic effort of self-irony.

Lennier felt genuinely sorry for his friend. Poor Vir, such a good person, with a heart bigger than the whole of Babylon 5, and nobody seemed to recognize his true value. No wonder he grew to like Rastenn, who, in a manner, was friendly to him. Unfortunately, Lennier had a very good idea why Rastenn – if it truly was the Rastenn he knew – might have sought out Vir's company. And that had nothing to do with friendship.

"Vir," the young Minbari said cautiously, "I would like to warn you. If this Rastenn is who I think he is, he might not mean well with you. I'm afraid he might be using you for getting information."

"About what?" Vir shrugged. "I won't tell you anything about Londo's business, and he knows that. And I'm not important enough for people to spy on me anyway."

"But you do have access to information about what is going on in the Council. Or between Captain Sheridan and these new people. You might know things that you do not consider important for yourself, but they could be very important for Rastenn… or those who have sent him."

Vir looked at him so crestfallen that Lennier's heart went out to him. The young Centauri had practically no friends, and apparently had hoped that he might have found one in Rastenn. Lennier hated to disappoint him, but he also felt responsible for him. This was a Minbari affair, and it wasn't right that Vir would be hurt in the process.

"Tell me," Vir asked quietly, "who is he really? For what you have just told me makes me doubt that he is a simple cook, working for a living in a Minbari restaurant."

"He most likely is not," Lennier agreed, sadly that he had to crush his friend's illusions. "I shall tell you everything I know about him. But first tell me about your conversations. They might give me some impression about what he really wanted."

Six hours later Dr. Lillian Hobbs finally finished her second shift on that day and slumped down into the armchair in her office – well, Franklin's office, actually. On paper, she was still nothing but the absent doctor's aide.

"I know it sounds horribly selfish, but I'm thankful to fate or whatever deity made you stuck on the station due to the quarantine," she said to her relief. "I don't know how I'd manage without you."

Dr. Maya Hernandez, a small, middle-aged woman with short, reddish-brown hair, smiled patiently. "I told you I don't mind, Lillian. I liked working on Babylon 5, and if not for Dr. Franklin's attitude, I'd probably still be working here."

"He does have a somewhat brusque manner at times," Dr. Hobbs admitted. But Dr. Hernandez shook her head.

"His manners weren't my problem. I've worked with Dr. Kyle for sixteen years, and he was a lot worse. That still wouldn't have kept me from joining his staff on Io… had he not had that 'unfortunate accident', right after President Santiago's death."

Dr. Hobbs nodded. "We heard of it. Captain Sheridan suspected that his 'accident' was part of President Clark's cleansing policy. Too bad. Dr. Kyle was great in his job, even though people said it was not easy to work for him."

"He demanded a lot from his staff," Dr. Hernandez agreed, "but he had a very strong sense for right and wrong. And he never mistook himself for God. Not even out of the best intentions."

"You are talking about the Children of Time, aren't you?" Dr. Hobbs asked quietly. Dr. Hernandez nodded, her eyes haunted.

"Among other things, yes. That was the hardest thing I've gone through with Franklin; and the reason why I eventually quit my job here and went back to Earth. The irony of it is that I actually agreed with him. For all medical and human reasons and purposes, he was right."

"And still…?"

"And still, he had not right to handle the way he did. None of us has. As Commander Sinclair said, just because we don't share other people's beliefs, we are not allowed to act against their wishes. Even if we know – or at least we think we know – that they are wrong. What we did was just as wrong… and I had part in it. I assisted Franklin, instead of alarming the Commander. I couldn't stay here any longer."

"Would you think the same way had the parents not sacrificed the boy at the end?" asked Dr. Hobbs. Dr. Hernandez shrugged.

"I don't know, Lillian. I hope so. But we're all just human beings, and thus we are utterly fallible." She sighed. "Go and have some rest. Who knows, maybe that handsome officer from the strange ship will call you to ask you out."

TBC