CHAPTER FOUR

"I'm open to suggestions!" David said, semi-rhetorical, but deadly serious he was open to insight.

They had been trying, and failing, for the last half hour or so to communicate with what they had dubbed 'The Light Show'. Attempted ideas had been suggested by each member of our triad, but all to no avail. Dulann's oscillating micro-magnetic frequency bursts had been the closest to success; the Light Show had reacted with small movements, but this might have been a coincidence.

"Perhaps we should try the micro-magnetic frequency bursts again?" Ryell threw out there after a few moments of silence has reigned.

"That seemed to get a reaction," she reinforced.

"True," Dulann conceded, "But we are unable to perceive how they understand those bursts. We could be insulting them."

Ryell nodded in reluctant agreement.

"Perhaps – " Dulann began but was cut off by David. "I'm going out there," he announced.

His shipmates were unsure on how to react to this unexpected statement. They hadn't considered that as an option because it sounded laughable. We're talking about a species that is potentially millions of years old, how would decreasing the physical distance between each other make any difference?

David had leapt up from his seat and stood with his back to the viewscreen facing Dulann and Ryell, his eyes and wide, boyish, smile darting between them.

"You can't be serious," Ryell finally said when she'd decided he was actually making a serious suggestion rather than an ill-timed attempt at what the Humans called sarcasm.

"I know if I just reach out and touch them I'll be able to communicate our mission." David said it with such conviction, such confidence that for a fleeting second both Ryell and Dulann bought into it.

"Wha… how do you know this?" Ryell demanded, despite expressing her frustration at his actions earlier she still cared for him. "How do you know touching them will facilitate communication? What makes you even think you'd be able to touch them? Why wouldn't they just float away?"

These were all good questions, but David couldn't answer any of them. "I just know," was the only answer he could give. Unsatisfied with this answer and concerned about David's safety, and potentially mental state, after the incident with the Chief Counsel earlier, Dulann launched his own salvo of legitimacy questions.

Dulann's stern glare throughout the evasive non-answers David was giving did not waiver. David's earlier confidence, however, did not crack: Although Dulann could tell he'd at least made a chink in the Human's armor as David was now reaching for and itching that scar again.

Outwardly confident, but a scared lost child within, David had gone onto auto pilot. The smile, the quick answers lacking substance, that was the auto pilot. His internal monologue was running differently.

What if I simply burn up when I talk to them? What if my atmospheric suit depressurizes? What if my being present scares them away? What if they misconstrue my intentions and simply attack?

All of these inner concerns were quietened by that itching, then aching, then burning, scar. He couldn't think of much else eventually. He could see Dulann talking, could see him pacing and gesturing, obviously passionately making a point but David could no longer hear him; couldn't hear his words. Heck David couldn't even hear his own words now, his inner voice drowned out by a sea of painful static.

Damn he needed just a little umuthi right now, just to quieten that static to let him think.

"Dulann," David found himself saying, "I just know. This is what I have to do. To get answers, to save my father."

David offered his best, 'I'm in a cult now and happy' smile to both Minbari and headed for the bridge's exit. He was about to leave when Ryell grabbed him by the shoulder. "David, you can't save your father is you're dead."

"Then help me," he shot back making eye contact with her only long enough to say it before turning and headed off the bridge.

Ryell and Dulann exchanged a look. Neither knew what to say, but both knew what to do. All that any Ranger could've done at this point. They turned to their stations and prepared to support David in whatever capacity they could.

"We never retreat, whatever the reason," David whispered under his breath as he arrived at the Bluestar's appropriately diminutive airlock. The Bluestar, like the Whitestars, were of organic construction. Their outer hull healed itself, it was therefore never necessary to perform external repairs that would require the vessels keep a full compliment of Space suits on hand for techs to carry out such duties like an Earth vessel would. Nevertheless one of the Human influences on the design of these vessels was that a total of five space suits be stowed aboard for emergency scenarios. Because of that the space suits were of, flimsy, construction; designed really to prevent the death of occupants within the vessel in a loss of pressure and atmosphere scenario. They were NOT designed for external space walks.

"We walk in the dark places no one else will enter," another whisper as David pulled out the suit that looked closest to his size. When picturing these suits, immediately dispel the traditional bulky, dome lidded 1960s Nasa suits; picture instead a sleek, figure hugging scuba-esque suit; this one black. It was a space-age hardy fabric, stronger than diamond that create a perfect atmospheric seal. The entire thing was a one piece that you slide into through the stretchy neck orifice.

David looked around behind him for the helmet, it was a dark grey affair that was lined with the same vulcanized rubber externals as the rest of the suit but had a rigid inner that maintained the helmet's shape. The visor was a heavily yellow tinted sheet of reinforced glass that allowed the wearer almost full natural visual range.

He adorned the helmet as listened, as he'd been taught, for the whoosh of it adhering to the rest of the suit and creating an unbreakable bond that formed the atmospheric seal. The final piece was a small backpack, think ultra-light hiker, containing his oxygen scrubber (They literally recycled the air he breathed out at a 90%+ efficiency, meaning a theoretical range of 3+ hours).

Now equipped he performed a successful and brief mic check with Ryell and Dulann before moving toward the Bluestar's only airlock.

"Ready," he announced over the comm, having checked the seal on his suit fifteen times. The inside of his helmet had a headup display with all sorts of data including remaining air, vitality, etc. but he wasn't looking at that now he was concentrated on the flashing red light above the airlock indicating it was about to open; that he was about to be exposed to the vacuum of space.

He checked the seal on his suit for the sixteenth time and checked the tether that moored him to the inside of the ship. Exiting the vessel was a two-stage affair. First you tether to the inside to protect yourself from the initial vacuum, you'd then edge outside, the suit's soles easily sticking to the organic outer of the Bluestar, then just outside the airlock was a second tether point where a second cable would be attached.

Once the first tether was retracted, you'd be good to go, safely attached to the vessels exterior that could always lead you back where you needed to be.

He was breathing in and out heavily now, calming himself. When he thought about what he was going to do outside his scar did not hurt, did not ache, did not speak. But the opposite was true as soon as his mind drifted towards Ryell, drifted towards staying safely inside the vessel, drifted towards abandoning his foolhardy mission, then the scar would itch, would ache, would hurt. To him his path was clear, the why he was walking it was maybe a little muddy; saving his father, stopping the hurt, but it the path itself was clear.

"We live for the one, we die for the one." And then the airlock opened.

There was a sudden and ferocious tug that, if not for his sticky boots, would have pulled him flat on his face. The pressure was so immense he could not satisfy his urge to turn around and check that he tether was still secure. He was left with no choice but to hope it was and ride it out.

It did, in fact, only last a few moments. Once the doors were fully open and space had gobbled the atmosphere exposed to it greedily, the pressures were now equal and the pull stopped. He glanced a look back now, half expecting the drama of a frayed tether and a near death experience, but instead found the cable completely intact, as secure as when he'd latched it and showing no visible signs of stress whatsoever.

He stood up, and took a few cautious steps. This wasn't something taught in Ranger training afterall. "David are you okay?" came Ryell's voice over the radio.

David nodded, then realizing Ryell couldn't see him he confirmed back in the affirmative verbally. He touched a few controls on the outside of his helmet which activated the camera, the footage feeding directly back to the viewscreen on the bridge.

Those first steps were followed by a few more and soon enough he was quickly learning how able his hands felt in the suit. It took him by surprise, he was anticipating a kid in his dad's winter gloves trying to turn the shed key kind of mobility and dexterity but instead it felt as if he wasn't wearing anything at all.

Thanks to this the second tether and reeling in the first were a doddle and he was soon making his way around the outside of the hull. He tried not to look out into the void to prevent space-sickness, instead he focused on the amusing patterns made in the Bluestar's skin as he walked along it. Each step made a slow motion "splash" that sent the lighter blue veins and soft greens that accented the mostly navy hull scattering nearby.

Within a few moments he had made his way to what we would consider the "top side" of the vessel. Ryell and Dulann coaching him and offering him encouragement as he went. Despite their objection to this course of action it was now their duty as Rangers, as shipmates, and as friends, to make sure it was executed well and that David returned to the ship's innards unharmed.

"Can you seem them?" Ryell asked. It was a rhetorical question; she was watching the video feed and knew he could. David forced him to look up from the ship's hull for the first time, immediately awestruck by the Light Show. Distance was a little hard to judge out there and was mainly an academic evaluation at this point. David had plenty of line and plenty of air, so he began to size up the jump.

"You're going to have to jump," Dulann pointed out after a moment had passed of what felt like David stalling. "There distance is hard to ascertain, their mass does not register on our scanners."

David found he didn't need to shield or avert his eyes from the Light Show despite their brightness. It was as if the light was made of something different, something warm, something unthreatening. Despite Dulann's urging David allowed himself to revel in their glow for just a little while longer before finally returning to the business at hand.

With a touch of a control aside his ankles his boots de-magnetized. He turned and pulled at his tether for a final check, then turning to look up into the Light Show he bent his knees slightly and pushed off. A luxury his generation of Humans were the first to have never lived without was artificial gravity. Earth never developed this technology, instead right up until only a decade or so ago were still completely without gravity, meaning their crew often spent hours, sometimes days, strapped into their work stations. Or if you were lucky enough to serve aboard an Omega Class Destroyer you would benefit from a rotational section where at least some of your way was spent under a false gravity. The Minbari, however, being years ahead of Earth in terms of technology had shared their artificial gravity technology through the Interstellar Alliance and many amongst the populations of different races enjoyed this.

So this Zero G environment David now found himself in felt quite alien. Only very brief training was given at the Ranger Academy, mainly to prepare Rangers to operate for short periods aboard vessels of Alliance members, or in fact enemies, who had not yet adopted the technology: or when under attack and this technology failed. Thanks to this advantage David's push off did not suffer the same troubles most first timers had; which was to assume to jump really far you had to push off really hard. It's zero-g, in the vacuum; there was no resistance, so the effort needed was minimal.

David slowly glided through the darkness, his safety tether uncoiling behind him. His neck was craned permanently upward, watching where he was going. As he drew closer it became obvious the larger orbs that made up the light show were not large at all, but instead a collection of some dozens, no hundreds, of smaller orbs. They had maneuvered through space in front of them with the precision of a school of fish, many smaller organisms moving as one to appear larger.

The closer he got the more separate lights he was able to pick out. The void made it difficult to judge distance but David could've been certain he could reach out and touch the lights.

Ryell and Dulann had been relying all the information they could. Whilst their instruments couldn't detect the Light Show they could detect David, his suit sending back all manner of data: health and vitals of course, but also location data that could be coordinated on 3D charts as well as an easy distance calculator using a type of sonar bouncing signals from the suit back at the ship's hull and measuring the bounce.

David, however, couldn't hear any of what his shipmates were relying. His ears instead were full of a soft, but omnipresent, ringing. It was a sweet sound, changing pitch seemingly at random, like a child playing on the 8 and 9 cords on a Harmonica. Was it there language? David couldn't tell. Whilst the ringing filled his ears the light, that same light as before; the kind that didn't burn too bright and let you look directly at it, filled his vision. The dancing of the smaller orbs within the embrace of the collective was like a dance set to the music the ringing was making. To complete this full embrace of his senses his body had broken out in goosebumps, a series indescribable hot-cold shivers were working their way through his body.

All of this to say, for the first time without the umuthi he couldn't feel the scar at all. In fact, if he'd been asked right at that moment, he wouldn't have remembered he had one. Though for context most likely he wouldn't have remembered Centauri Prime, the names of his shipmates or what he was doing at this place in the universe at that precise time; so all-encompassing was the experience.

Finally, his trance faced an interruption; he was wrenched to a halt as his tether reached its limit and it tugged him to a dead stop.

"Wha…" a blissful foggy expression relayed the happily mystified frame of mind he was slow to awake from. "Oh…" was his equally poetic follow up as he looked back in the direction of his tether and saw it was tort.

Before his fog had a chance to lift he'd already turned back to the Light Show. Now the dance had intensified, as if done for his benefit to keep his attention. The smaller light has become more volatile in their movements, now many were straying outside of their host sphere. This increase in movement continued to intensify and as a crescendo the Light Show broke down into its hundreds of smaller components and hurtled outward in all directions, like ants fleeing an uncovered nest as the infuriated homeowners began pouring boiling hot water and placing powder.

Most of these disappeared in the opposite direction, but just enough came scurrying toward him. There was enough to create a united wave of light, of which the brightness grew in its harshness to where even the tint of David's visor was not enough, and he had to shield his eyes. The Light Show flew, around, under, over and, David suspected, through him. And then they were gone.

When he felt safe enough to open his eyes and move his hands away from his visor, he found the inverse of what he expected. Gone was the darkest of nights, replacing with a gleaming white infinity.

Gone was his zero-g. He now stood upright once again, his feet firmly on the ground in what felt comfortably 1-g. Gone was his tether; all that remained was a severed tail trailing behind him.

He squinted his eyes trying in vain to pick out a detail, any detail, off in the distance. The whiteness of his surroundings was blinding and the silence deafening. His newfound empathy with an inmate condemned to solitary confinement considered; David wasn't panicked, yet. He called out a couple of generic salutations before he realized no noise was escaping his helmet.

He worked the controls that adorned his sleeve, repeating the same salutations into his comm in the hopes of contacting his shipmates, wherever they may be.

After this failure, and a moment or two walking in an arbitrarily chosen direction David was stopped in his tracks when he heard a voice from over his shoulder. It was a calm voice, with just a touch of warm, and an indescribable depth of wisdom.

"Hello David," the voice said.

After his abrupt halt David turned slowly. He'd run a million possibilities in the short time he'd been in this place. Was he dead? Was this the afterlife? Was this the good place or the bad place? Was this the inside of the Light Show? Had he gone blind? Was he insane and this was the prison of his subconscious?

A Humanoid figure stood before him. Average height, pale of skin, bald and a long dirty-white beard. Whilst not one to judge when meeting an alien species for the first time David assumed it was a he. He wore what could almost be described as armor, brightly colored yet nondescript and a thin bejeweled crown that David could not tell if it was part of his physiology or an adornment of some kind finished the ensemble.

"You do not need your helmet here," the figure explained, his eye contact never wavering and with a small upward inflection of his hands to indicate what "here" encompassed.

David made no move. He did want to take his helmet off but this alien's insistence on him doing so made him feel cautious.

"Who are you?" David asked, the historical significance of this question lost on him.

"What do you want?" David asked again, a slightly more forceful tone, after the alien didn't respond to the first question.

The alien gave a wry smile, obviously the significance of these two questions not lost on him.

"I've been known by many names in all my years of life. But Lorien is a good enough one," Lorien said after a moment's careful deliberation. His tone was unchanged, he spoke slow and only after careful consideration.

"You're…" David had heard this name before. The history of the Alliance, and particularly that of the circumstances around its formation were keenly taught throughout Ranger training but in addition with David's parents being who they were meant almost every detail had been committed to memory.

"I knew your father yes," Lorien nodded, that tiny smile still pulling at the edges of his mouth. To a creature of Lorien's age the time that had passed between bringing John Sheridan back to life and having his son stand here in front of him must have been but a blink of the eye.

"How…"

Pre-empting his question and making David ponder whether there was telepathy in play here Lorien responded, "I know you too David Sheridan." Lorien tilted his head downward, his eyes locked on David. Had he been a school teacher wearing spectacles he'd been looking down over the top of them at that moment.

"You have your father's eyes, his stance, and his presence," he explained.

The pair reached a comfortable juncture of silence. Sensing no impetus to break this from Lorien, David reached up and undid the attachments on his helmet. Lifting over the top of his head and setting it on the ground beneath him. He took a deep breath in, finding the air and temperature very tolerable.

Still weary, as any sensible young man should be when confronted with a stranger, David took a few steps forward. "You can," it was finally dawning on him what this encounter could mean. Isn't this what he wanted? What he was anticipating with the absolute best-case scenario for tear-arsing out to the rim on a whim (!) in search of First Ones. He had found THE First One. The one who made the Vorlons look like kindergarteners.

"You can help my father." There was insistence in David's voice.

Lorien's tiny smile was gone, his expression now serious. "I can do a great many things," he began. "But I cannot create life, only breath on its embers."

It was the same line he'd used on David's mother and father all those years ago. But that kind of wishy-washy answer was fine when you had another 15 years ahead of you. It wasn't so good when you were staring at the imminent death of your father.

"So, then breath on his embers again!"

Lorien shook his head gently. There was sympathy in his eyes, like a parent explaining how it all works to a child who'd just suffered their first pet bereavement.

"That can't be, why won't you help him?" It was times of great stressers like this that an observer of this young man were reminded that the emphasis was on YOUNG not MAN. David's voice was crackling, what he wanted most was within reach, but seemingly no matter how hard he stretched he couldn't quite reach it.

"I will be there for him," Lorien said, the soothing tone continuing. "But I cannot extend his mortal life."

David was looking at the floor, partly shielding his tears, partly considering his next words carefully. What did he mean he'd be there for him? How could he be there for him if he was going to let him die?

"It is the way of things," Lorien explained. "Things grow old and die. You might live as long as a tree, or as short as a butterfly. That is the way of things."

"Except you," David retorted, "You go on forever. All these first ones with their technology. They all get to live forever, but none of you will help my father!" his tone grew more confrontational as he continued.

"My kind were nature's first attempt, our longevity was a mistake that has not been repeated."

David remained quiet, the fists clenched, his spirit broken, his mission failed.

Suddenly, as if snapping out a trance, David took stock of his surroundings. "Am I dead?" he asked.

Lorien's soft smile and glazed look returned: "You are not."

"Was I dead? Did you breathe on my… my embers?"

Lorien shook his head, "I did not, and I could not."

"Why could you not?" for some reason David suddenly felt vulnerable.

"You have been touched," Lorien's faint smile did not fade, to him this was merely a statement of facts, there was no emotion in it's statement. "By others. They have left their mark upon you. Only they could grant you such clemency now."

David was only confused for a second. His scar began to itch. He opened his mouth to speak, to ask for clarity, for more information, to ask whether the Vorlons, or even the Shadows, would be willing to help his father. But he shut it again as that itch began to turn to an ache, then to a throb, then finally to a burn.

He reached over, compressing the area tightly in a feeble attempt to hold back the tide of pain he was now anticipating.

"I WILL be there for your father," Lorien repeated. David could barely hear him. His eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed into a heap on the floor.

When he awoke it was to the red pulsing of hyperspace through a window. Initially unable to move, his limbs numb, David tried to form words and this failed too.

Perhaps at the call of an alarm to detect his consciousness, Ryell appeared. A wave of relief was washing over his features as the two made eye contact. Clearly it had been touch and go.

He felt his faculties slowly coming back to him now, he managed to raise his arm and Ryell took his hand in hers. He felt her warmth, her tight squeeze. He swallowed, his throat dry and sore he attempted to form words. Ryell looked on patiently.

"Where," he finally managed to force out, like someone learning to speak with an electrolarynx. "Are we?"

Then before waiting for an answer, "How," he stopped for a breath; "Did I get here?"

Ryell was smiling, obviously so pleased for him to be conscious and cohesive enough to be asking questions.

"Heading back to Alliance space," she answered his first question. Then before answering the second she responded intuitively to David's struggling to sit up by giving him a gentle pull.

"I don't really know," she was answering the second question. "First you were outside, on the ship. Those… those light beings, they moved away very quickly. Then we couldn't reach you on the comm, and then all of a sudden you were back aboard." She checked herself, adding; "Right here in Medlab actually. Literally laying right where you are now, as if someone placed you there."

David tried to speak again but was struggling. Ryell was having to hold him up now that he'd forced himself to sit upright. He was feeling dizzy.

"You've plenty of time to heal up," she carried on explaining as if his recovery was a forgone conclusion. "I don't know how that storm pushed us so far so fast. It'll be a long time for us to get back to known space. We should hit the outer most worlds just after Christmas."

"That," David said, his words still labored, "Means we should be able to find somewhere nice to bring in 2281." He smiled, wanting to reassure Ryell, and himself, that he was going to be alright. Somehow having plans meant you would be obligated to fulfil them, regardless of your health. Death would have to wait!

Ryell nodded, but it was a bit lost on a Minbari. All Rangers learnt Minbari, Human and a scattering of other cultural traditions and holidays, but it still didn't help most aliens appreciate the Human obsession with the importance of their Earth Calendar regardless of how far they travelled into space.

The journey was uneventful. David spent the time recuperating whilst Ryell and Dulann busied themselves with the day-to-day.

David spent a lot of his time considering checking in with his parents. He'd not spoken with either of them for some time and was aware they'd be worried. Well maybe worried was too strong a term, they had trust in their son and his abilities, and they too were busy people. Perhaps concerned was more apt. In any case a check in after a long radio silence usually involved probing questions about where's and how's and with whom's. All of which David couldn't decide on the best way to explain.

Ryell and Dulann, like most Minbari, were by-the-book kind-of Rangers. Their escapades beyond the Rim and David's temporary disappearance would certainly be common knowledge as soon as they arrived home and uploaded their logs. But until then David had some time to consider the best way to explain his actions to his parents ahead of them reading the mission logs.

Finally he sat down and requested the computer patch him through to his Mother. Mom was usually the more difficult call and he'd always been taught to tackle trouble first.

A wave of relief, mixed with the potential for future anxiety, washed over him like a death row inmate getting a temporary reprieve from the Governor on the day of his execution, when his mother did not answer the comm. Affairs of state and all that he figured.

His father, however, did answer.

"David!" President Sheridan beamed. David paused a moment, taking his father in. The usual unquivering enthusiasm and gusto John normally exuded was somehow missing. True his father was pleased to see him, that much was obvious, but the gung-ho seemed a little forced.

He looked tired. More tired than normal. The gray that had been slowly occupying more and more territory on John's scalp seemed to have captured several important battlefields since they'd last spoke. Even his breaths seem a little labored.

David tried to shrug it off, his Dad was getting older… it was just more noticeable because they hadn't spoken in a while.

"Dad!" David returned, forcing up the mask of happiness to leave his worries in the shroud.

"Where the heck? What the heck?" David was finding the question that fit just right. The goldilocks question finally came out: "How are you doing?"

"I've been better," David said, going on to tell his father about his injuries and his recuperation strategy, which involved a week over New Year's on an outer colony with a good bar.

"And…" John began to ask, "How exactly do this all come to pass?"

A little frown and light disapproval was the unchangeable expression of 95% of father's with young adult children and now John was no different.

"Well…"

David told his father the whole story. Maybe painting himself a little rosier than reality, and definitely, definitely, making no mention of his scar.