Captain Matthew Gideon had the most unpleasant feeling of deja vu. For the second time in, well, he did not know how long, but certainly not many hours, he woke up with a hangover that actually wasn't one. This time, it wasn't just a headache. He really felt sick. He rolled over to one side, and stayed there for a good while, his eyes closed, fighting hard not to throw up.
When he felt that the room was fairly still around him, he risked opening his eyes. And saw nothing. Wherever he was, it was completely dark, or then he had just gone blind. But if the place was really, truly and totally lightless, he had no way to be sure. At least his eyes didn't hurt, didn't feel unusual in any way.
Unlike the last time he woke up, now he could clearly remember what had happened before, each detail in lively color, though it took a moment to put it all together. The fight with Galen, which he had somehow won. Getting to loot Galen, and pulling out the knife. Then the fight with the odd blue alien. Which he had apparently lost. There had been poison in the blue claws, he had went down, and now he had to be in that gloomy room with all the rest of the dead. Apparently the poison hadn't been as deadly as the guards had thought, and he had just come out of it. Unless someone had healed him. Someone like Galen, who had to be in this place as well.
Gideon had no light of any kind with him, so he had no choice but to grope around blindly. His hand hit something cold, and he quickly recognized it as a foot, covered with clothing that had a silken feel to it. It might be the Minbari. He moved ahead on all fours – he couldn't just go walking around, that way he would just stumble on everyone and everything.
He found something else. A body wearing a suit of an eerily familiar fabric, the same sort that he wore every day. An Earthforce uniform. He knew he would be happier without the certainty, but he had to know. He searched for the head. The hair was short, coarse and spiky against his palm. Ashley. He had been one of the youngest and least experienced in the security team, and he'd had no chance at all in a fight against Gideon.
Alone in the dark, Gideon bowed his head in mourning, resting his forehead against his fist. This shouldn't have happened. He was fully responsible, even though he hadn't understood what he was doing at the time. Another letter that he had to write to a shocked family. As for Newfield, the older of the two, she was married to an Earthforce pilot Gideon knew. Gideon would have to tell him that he had killed his wife. If he ever got out of here.
A sound pierced his thoughts, something he had heard before, not long ago. The sound of a ragged, rattling breath, repeated at unsteady intervals. Of course, it could be someone else as well. There had probably been one quick match between his fights with Galen and the alien. He could find out easily.
The source of the noise was not far away. Gideon found it quickly, and reached forward with a shaky hand. It landed on a shoulder, the shoulder of someone wearing leather. He moved his hand upward, held it on the neck for a while and found a weak, racing pulse. A bit upper still – no hair. The head was bald. He'd not been too optimistic. Galen was still alive, though for how long, he could not tell.
Another sound had been growing louder, one almost too low to hear. It reminded him distantly of the Excalibur's main gun warming up. With a start, he understood what it was. It was past midnight, the last match was over. Time to get rid of the dead.
They had to do something. They had to get out of here right now.
Gideon grabbed Galen by the shoulders and shook him. "Galen, you've got to wake up! Come on!"
He could've been holding a rag doll, for all the answer he got. He let go, and tried slapping Galen's face instead. No response, as far as he noticed. The low humming had grown louder, and he was certain it was the sound of a high energy weapon, or something just like one, about to go off.
He wrapped his hands around Galen, under his arms, and dragged him upright. Galen wasn't a light or easy burden, and Gideon had no idea where the door was, but he had to do something. Moving very awkwardly, he advanced towards some direction where he hoped the exit might be.
He stopped for a short while to yell again right in Galen's ear, "They're going to burn us alive! Galen!"
Then, at the very same moment when the humming reached a high pitch and turned into an ominous buzz, Gideon felt something brush his skin, a fleeting touch of something weightless, like gossamer. The wave of heat struck them, but it wasn't as bad as he had expected. It didn't burn him, only made him feel uncomfortably hot. This had to be what it felt like in a sauna.
The sound stopped, something light swept over him again, and it had passed. They had survived.
"Well, that really was – what I'd call – a close call," Galen's hoarse whisper echoed in the dark room, which was now, Gideon supposed, completely empty except for the two of them.
"Boy, am I glad to hear your voice! And you've saved me once again. Or twice. You healed me, right? And I bet it didn't help you heal at all, did it?"
"Without my help, you would be dead. As for myself – I'll live."
"Yeah, assuming we can figure out how to get out of here. Any bright ideas?"
"Quite a few, actually. You could let go of me, for starters."
Slightly embarrassed, Gideon realized his hands were still tightly clasped around Galen. When he let go, he felt Galen fall back, and heard his stumbling footsteps, searching for balance. It didn't sound as if he had fallen down, though, which was good. Still on his feet.
"How about some light? Could you do that?" Matthew asked.
"Oh, that..." Galen had hardly noticed that they were in pitch dark. He had switched his sensors to other wavelengths instinctively, but Matthew didn't have that option, so he probably couldn't see a thing. Casting globes of light was an easy thing that required almost no effort at all. With a thought, Galen sent two bluish orbs floating in the air.
"Better? And now, for a way out," Galen said. He began walking towards the door, slowly and gingerly, one hand wrapped around his aching chest. He was afraid to scan himself. He could feel the tech's utmost worry. Part of it was a reflection of his own feelings, but most came from the knowledge that the tech had, and he didn't, except perhaps subconsciously. He told the tech he didn't want to know, and it understood his reasons. It would make no difference.
The tech alerted him of something else. The sound of footsteps approaching the door. Their best combined guess was that someone had heard voices from this supposedly empty room, and was coming to check it.
"Matthew – come a bit closer," he whispered. Matthew did, and hearing the footsteps as well, he pressed his back against the wall.
Galen cast the camouflage spell, one of the one-term equations that he had found, the basic Shadow spells. It encompassed both him and Matthew, making them indistinguishable from the wall. He let the light globes wink out, and waited. A moment later, the lights were turned on.
The door opened, revealing not another Drazi guard, but a human-sized alien with large black eyes and grayish skin, carrying a similarity to the Vree. A Streib. One of the followers of the Shadows. It made perfect sense. The Streib had always been unethical explorers, capturing whoever they came across and testing them, often forcing them to fight one another, to find out which race was the strongest. Scouting and comparing potential enemies. Galen couldn't tell whether this place, this game, was just a new way of handling their task, or an unofficial business, a bit of horrid entertainment for a few stray, solitary Streib.
The Shadows had always been able to see through all techno-mage illusions. The Streib, apparently, could not. The alien at the door glared at the empty room with an expression that was hard to read. Puzzlement, perhaps, and frustration. It turned its back and left. Matthew darted towards the closing door, but it was too quick. And then they were in the darkness again.
"Damn! If I just could've been a bit faster!" Matthew's voice echoed in the room, silent yet clearly audible.
"Don't worry, Matthew. We only need to wait a while," Galen said. A door with a complex lock on the outside and none whatsoever in the inside was not going to hold him back for long. He just didn't want the Streib to notice instantly. If a few seconds' head start was the best they could get for their escape, then he would at least have that.
"Now, move aside. Far from the door," he told Matthew, who backed away, blind as he still was in the dark. Galen actually preferred it to be dark. Matthew need not see what he was about to do.
Galen cast the spell of destruction, encompassing half the door in the devastating sphere. He could just imagine how startled Matthew would feel by the odd stretching of time and space that the spell always caused. For himself, Galen had grown quite accustomed to it. With the equally familiar crack, the sphere vanished, and with it, a good part of the door. A thick beam of light shone to the room through the opening.
Now, they would have to run. And Galen wasn't sure whether he was quite up to it.