STILL NOT IN KANSAS
by Soledad
Author's notes: For disclaimer, rating, etc., see Part One.
Some of the dialogue, as before, is directly taken from the episode "Grey 17 Is Missing". The technobabble has absolute no real technical background – I've made it up as a whole.
PART SIXTEEN
Grey Sector – unnumbered level
Still lying low in the HQ of the EarthGov guerrillas, Gregor Ayala considered the possibilities left to him. Thanks to the silent function of his tricorder, he had documented everything that he had heard – or seen – from his hiding place. Of course, to show the evidence to Captain Sheridan, he needed to connect his useful little instrument to Voyager's board computer. And for that, he needed to get out here first.
So far, he had had no luck locating the computer panel the guerrillas used to block this level from both scans and access. And even if he did, it would do him little good, since he didn't know Babylon 5's systems – nor was he much of a hacker. To hack into a foreign computer system, one that had been manipulated by a rebel group, no less, required the skills of Tom Paris.
Or those of Michael Garibaldi. During their short acquaintance, Ayala had already learnt a few things about Babylon 5's unconventional security chief. One of those things had been that Garibaldi knew very creative ways with or around computer systems. He needed to locate the rebel's main computer first, free Garibaldi second, and then they could find – or force – a way out of here together.
He briefly considered trying to get his hands on one of those black light camouflage suits. Of course, the only way to get one would be to dispose of the suit's current wearer. Ayala had no problems with killing someone for the sake of those he had sworn to protect, not even in cold blood, but the possible ramifications for the current timeline made him hesitate. Although he didn't share the usual Starfleet paranoia about getting involved with foreign affairs – besides, he didn't understand much about the scientific technobabble – even he knew that changing events in a universe not his own could be hazardous.
However, after a few moments of hesitation he decided to act nevertheless. If saving a quarter million people – among them his own shipmates – from being slaughtered by invading EarthGov troops changed history in this universe, it would be a change the innocent victims would appreciate, he decided. And if Janeway tried to throw him in the brig for it, he could always stay here. It wasn't that he had that much chance of getting home and seeing Gía and the boys again anyway.
Deciding on the most promising course of action, he checked the room again, for any hidden persons. The BLC-suits could fool the eye, but they could not fool the tricorder. The little instrument showed no human biosigns in a radius of three hundred meters – well, aside from Garibaldi and one other person, possibly the one left guarding him. The rebels had moved on to the other rooms, deeper into the unnumbered Grey level, and though Ayala would have liked to learn what else was there, he had to concentrate on his primary goals.
He sneaked around the big, haphazardly ordered room, checking for control panels that might serve as the rebels' main terminal but with no results. This was not leading anywhere, he realized. He needed to free Garibaldi first, as he was not going to find what he needed without the security chief's help.
Freeing Garibaldi was a high-risk job, of course. Along the corridors, he had no cover – the only way avoiding to be shot or captured was to shoot first, but the high-pitched whine of a PPG could give his presence and his position away. He looked around for something else he could use and saw a small piece of metal alloy – probably some piece of broken equipment – lying on the floor. He picked it up. It was surprisingly heavy, and on the broken side sharp like a razor.
Practically glued to the bulkhead, with the tricorder in his left hand and the makeshift weapon in the right one, Ayala crept in the direction the rebels had dragged the unconscious Garibaldi away. According to the tricorder readings, the next living person was some eighty meters ahead of him. Two living beings, to be more accurate. He congratulated himself for having filed Garibaldi's biosigns before; it was something he did routinely with new people, and now he could be sure he was on the right trail.
The readings indicated that the corridor would take a slight turn within five meters. That could be an advantage, especially if the guard wasn't looking in his direction. He slowed down even more, sneaking forward inch by inch, all senses on high alert. He made two meters… four… and then someone grabbed his shoulder.
Grey Sector – Level 16
Lyta Alexander had accompanied Tuvok and his security team to Grey 16. At first she had been unsure if she shouldn't follow the unknown Minbari with the murderous intentions, but she realized soon enough that there was little she could do alone. The safest and most efficient thing was to find Garibaldi, so that the security chief could organize his forces and secure the ceremony.
And finding Garibaldi was something she could help with. She was familiar with the emotional pattern of the security chief. She had never seen him, but Garibaldi usually broadcast his feeling so strongly that she couldn't help but pick up signs from him.
On those signs did she plan to focus now.
Tuvok had understood the significance of her offer at once. Nothing short a strong telepathic shielding could block a telepath from finding their target, once they knew which emotional pattern to look for. A scattering field, no matter how sophisticated, would never stop them.
Lyta stood on Grey 16, eyes closed, and tried to focus on the anger and suspicion so characteristic for Garibaldi. To her surprise, all she could feel was a faint echo of those feelings.
"He must be unconscious," she said to Tuvok. The Vulcan nodded.
"That is a definite possibility. Can you locate the direction those echoes are coming from?"
"From above," Lyta answered. "He must be somewhere above us. Probably on Level 17."
"Very Well. Let us try Level 17."
They stepped into the transport tube. Once again, Lyta focused on the echoes of the familiar emotional pattern – and lost it after a second or two."
"I've lost the trail," she admitted glumly when they reached Level 17. "I had it for about two seconds, but it's gone now."
"Curious," the Vulcan commented, unperturbed. "I do not know if your senses are keen enough to realize it, but the ride between Levels 16 and 17 took us approximately twice the time as between any other levels. This cannot be a coincidence."
"We can try an emergency stop between Grey 16 and Grey 17," officer Lou Welch, assigned to them by Zack Allen, offered. "I have the security code required to open the doors."
Tuvok inclined his head. "That is probably worth a try. I counted roughly 6.10.3 seconds between Levels 16 and 17. We go back to Grey 17, stop the cabin after three seconds – and will see if there is anything at all."
They did as he had suggested. The computer dutifully told them that there was no valid destination. Officer Welch dutifully performed the security override, and Tuvok forced the doors open with his superior Vulcan strength.
After which they all stared at the formerly unknown Grey level in disbelief.
"Well, I'll be damned," officer Welch said softly. "We've just solved the mystery of the Babylon 5 Triangle. This is where all those people have disappeared to!"
"And someone has apparently gone great lengths to conceal this place," Ensign Ashmore, one of Tuvok's security people added. "Tricorder is working again, sir. Whatever has blocked it, we have just crossed the border. We can now go and search for Ayala and Mr. Garibaldi."
"We should block the tube doors first," officer Welch suggested. "We might need a quick way out later."
Tuvok looked at Dalby, who – despite being an engineer – insisted on coming and looking for Ayala personally. "Mr. Dalby, I believe this is your area of expertise.
The hard-bitten ex-Maquis nodded. "Will do. The rest of your lot would better put on those breathing masks. Tricorder registers traces of anesthesyne gas in the air."
"That would explain Mr. Garibaldi being unconscious," Tuvok nodded, pushing the breathing mask onto his face and offering his spare one to Lyta; she was a little shocked as the adhesive seam adapted to her facial structure immediately. "Scan for lifesigns, but keep the tricorders on silent mode. We cannot know who lives here and how many they are."
"Can you locate Ayala?" Dalby asked, working on hardwiring the tube doors furiously. Tuvok picked up his own tricorder.
"There are three human lifesigns about 82.6.2 meters ahead, bearing two by nine. One of the is definitely Lieutenant Ayala – and his heart rate is quite accelerated." The Vulcan glanced at Lyta. "Please stay here with Mr. Dalby, Ms. Alexander. We shall go and check out those lifesigns. Can you still feel Mr. Garibaldi?"
Lyta nodded. "He must be close. The signals are stronger here."
"Very well," Tuvok declared, "we are going in. Standard invading pattern. Phasers on heavy stun. Do not kill anyone, unless it is absolutely unavailable. Understood?"
"Aye, sir," came the answer in unison, and Tuvok nodded.
"Let us move then."
Grey Sector – unnumbered level
Ayala reacted on pure instinct. He stooped forward and rammed his elbow into the solar plexus of whoever was standing behind him with all his considerable strength, then he sidestepped quickly, and with the same fluent move rammed the same elbow into the throat of the stumbling man. The guy went out like a light, his windpipe crushed, but alive.
Holding his tricorder in front of him, Ayala checked the entrance of Garibaldi's makeshift brig and found neither a forcefield nor alarms installed. The rebels were apparently not used to take prisoners. Which explained the mysterious disappearances in the "Babylon 5 Triangle", of which Garibaldi had spoken earlier. Ayala wondered briefly what they had made with the bodies, then turned his attention to the locking mechanism of the door.
It wasn't very complicated, at least not for someone with Ayala's lock-picking skills. In a few minutes, he got the door open and dragged the unconscious guard in with him.
He found Garibaldi lying in a corner, still out. Not having a first aid kit on him, Ayala had no other choice than try and wake the security chief with the traditional method: shaking him and slapping his face. He wished he had learned more about the stimulating of certain pressure points from Gía while they still had been married. Bajorans could work wonders that way. They had to. Forced to go with practically no medical aid for decades during the Cardassian occupation, they hadn't had much else.
Garibaldi groaned quietly as consciousness slowly returned. He felt violently sick. The worst hangover of his life – and he'd had the one or other to compare – had not felt half this bad. Without opening his eyes, he rolled to his side and threw up.
Damn, and I wasn't even drunk, he thought tiredly, as higher brain functions began to return.
"No, but you have breathed in enough anesthesyne gas to knock out an Allurian mammoth," the voice of Ayala replied through the fog still clouding his mind.
Damn. He had apparently spoken aloud, without meaning it. Again.
"Where….?" He croaked.
"Still on the unnamed Grey level," Ayala said. "It seems that this place has been taken over by some guerrilla troops, for quite some time. We walked right into their trap."
"Did they… get you, too?"
"Nah, I had a breathing mask with you and hid behind those boxes in the first room. Then I followed them to find you."
"How… many of them…?" Garibaldi's brain was already working on overdrive, way ahead of his still somewhat incoherent speech, creating various scenarios and escape plans. Ayala shrugged.
"I've counted eleven, so far. But there's no telling how many more might still be hiding there. We must leave and find their main computer to shut down the scattering field."
"That can take time," Garibaldi tried to sit up, slowly, very slowly, fighting back a new wave of sickness. Dry heaves were no fun, and he doubted there would still be anything left in his stomach. "The whole Grey Sector is full of industrial equipment. They could have cross-rigged the whole section, with decentralized command modules. That's what I would do if I were them."
"Then we'll have to find every one of those modules and shoot them to debris," Ayala replied, a little impatiently. "Look, we must leave here, before they check on you. Can you stand up at all?"
"I can try," gritting his teeth, Garibaldi let Ayala help him to his feet and waited for the moment of nausea to go away. "This won't work. I can barely stand, and walking more than a few meters is out of question. We need a hiding place, till I recover."
"I'll check the nearest room," Ayala offered. "They won't look for you so close; besides, we don't have any other choices right now."
Garibaldi nodded… and regretted it at once. "All right."
Ayala was gone for a minute only. "Room's clear," he reported. "There are a few containers near the bulkhead; you can lie down behind them till you're feeling better."
Garibaldi bit his lower lip. It would be risky business to get to the next room while he still had difficulties with standing upright. But they couldn't stay here. "Let's go."
Steadying himself with an outstretched hand against the bulkhead, he began to walk to the door, cursing the after-effects of the anesthesyne gas. It was not his first encounter with the damn stuff, and every time, he had had a particularly bad reaction to it. Dr. Kyle had explained something about his rare blood chemistry, but Garibaldi had not really cared or paid attention. Knowing the reason for his allergic reaction, shared by one in a thousand humans, did not lessen the affect, after all.
He stopped at the beaten up guard's body for a moment, and his face darkened as he recognized the man. "Rishi? What's he doing here? We threw him out of the station weeks ago. How did he manage to sneak back?"
"Apparently, they used something they call black light camouflage suits to smuggle their people back," Ayala peered out of the door. "All clear. You can come out."
"Easy for you to say," Garibaldi grumbled, but he did his best nevertheless.
Fortunately, the next room was only about four meters down the corridor. Ayala watched his back while he practically crept over like an invalid, then hurriedly followed him and closed the door behind them.
"These doors remind me of old history vids," the Voyager officer grimaced, tossing the guard's PPG to Garibaldi. "They look like the guillotines of the French revolution."
Garibaldi grinned weakly. "So? Does that mean you have no pressure doors on that ship of yours?"
"Of course we have them," Ayala rolled his eyes, "but at least they are not vertical." He paused, than changed the topic back. "So, how well do you know that guy, back in the other room? What's his name…?"
"Rishi? Well enough. Guy served under me for almost three years. Then he chose to join Nightwatch. Damn organization recruited half of my people. That's why we need the help of the Narns to secure the station."
"Was there among them a man called Armstrong?" Ayala asked. That earned him a sharp look.
"How can you know that? Yep, Armstrong was the resident Nightwatch leader."
"Apparently, he still is," Ayala said. "I've just seen him in that front room. But my guess is, the true boss is someone else."
"Really? Who?"
"A young civilian called Biggs. They seemed to respect him very much."
Garibaldi's eyes widened, hearing that name. "Biggs? As in Malcolm Biggs, representative of the Homeguard?"
Ayala shrugged. "Dunno, they just called him Mr. Biggs. Why? Do you know him?"
Garibaldi nodded grimly. "If he is who I think he is, then we are having a bigger problem than I thought," he replied. "If Biggs took the risk of returning to Babylon 5, then he is after Ivanova. We have to get out of here and warn her."
Grey Sector – unnumbered level
Kenneth Dalby was having difficulties. He was a good engineer – working for B'Elanna Torres for four years had rubbed off inevitably – so hard-wiring a turbolift… nah, these are called transport tubes, he reminded himself… should have been no problem for him. And yet the strange system kept bouncing back stubbornly, every time when he hoped to have finally blocked it.
That could not be a coincidence. There was some very clever programming at work, with highly adaptive backups. Someone had somehow cross-rigged the control system into an endless-loop. Whenever he installed a block, the connection simply re-initialized itself on a different pathway. Dalby began to sweat profoundly under his mask. It was very bothersome, but he didn't dare to remove it; who knew when he would trigger the release of the anesthesyne gas accidentally?
The red-haired woman was no help. She stood alert, listening telepathically for clues that might tell her what was going on deeper in the previously unknown section. She paid the sweating, swearing engineer no attention.
Lyta was analyzing the random thoughts and emotions of various people closed in with them in this section. She briefly touched Tuvok's remarkably organized, well-shielded mind, thankful for the fact that Vulcans didn't need to be in direct line of sight to reach another telepath mentally. It was strangely… comforting to know that she wasn't alone here.
She could feel Garibaldi again. He must have regained consciousness and was still relatively close. Without being in the line of sight, she couldn't read anyone's thoughts, but she could catch vague impressions of the feelings of the people who lived here, vague like footprints in dry sand.
She didn't like opening her mind this wide. It was dangerous, as it made difficult to shut out strong emotions – like Mr. Dalby's anger and frustration. And it numbed her other senses. But she wanted to learn the secrets of this hidden section of Babylon 5. It could come handy later.
She wanted to close her eyes. It would have made easier to focus on the various emotional patterns somewhere deeper in the unknown section. But she knew she could not afford it. The Voyager engineer was busy fighting the control system, could not look out for himself. She had to watch out for him.
The wave of cold triumph hit her at the same moment as the searing pain. Something that felt like white-hot iron stabbed her in the left shoulder, barely missing her heart. She faltered, sank to her knees and fell to the floor.
Ken Dalby looked up at the high-pitched whine of the energy offload – right into the muzzle of a PPG.
"Commander," Ensign Ashmore stopped on his track, "tricorder registers the firing of an energy weapon."
"Where?"
"Behind us," Ashmore frowned. "Only one shot, it seems… so far."
His team-mate, Crewman Foster, paled visibly. "If they got Dalby, we might never get out of here again."
"Calm down," Tuvok ordered, unmoved as always. "Split up. Ashmore, Foster, Molina, you with me. Trumari, Nozawa, you go back and check out what the shooting was about. Go."
Trumari, a short, wiry Bajoran and Nozawa, formerly the aikido champion of Starfleet Academy, nodded wordlessly and turned back.
TBC