The Final Circle

by Sufficient Velocity

This is a Babylon 5 centered tale. It explores a BSG style exodus due to the loss of the Earth Minbari war. It becomes a crossover with nBSG as of Interlude 1, and crosses with Firefly as of Interlude 2. Most B5 and BSG canon should remain unchanged, including EU. However, Firefly will mostly use series and film canon. Its EU began to expand after I had already merged the plots.

7. Chapter 6 - The Toll

Chapter 6 - The Toll

Quadrant 14, Centauri Space - Exodus Fleet - October, 2248

The EAS Eratosthenes was the first ship into the system. Commander Sandra Levitt, surveyed the bridge and the officers busy at their various duties. "Report."

Her first officer, recently promoted Lieutenant Commander Janice Kathway, turned and smiled at her. "We nailed the entry, Captain." By long tradition, the master of any naval vessel worthy of being called a ship was referred to as Captain by anyone aboard the ship, regardless of their actual rank. "We're about 40 AU out from the local star, right in the heart of the Kuiper Belt. We should be pretty hard to detect for any Centauri in the system. No sign, as of yet, that anyone has noticed us. We're detecting a large KBO, a dwarf planet, a few million klicks from here. If we put ourselves in its shadow, we should be all but invisible."

Levitt smiled at that. "Plot a course then. Once we're under cover, signal the rest of the fleet to come through. We'll probably be here a while. The fleet needs to go through a serious maintenance and replenishment cycle. We also need to ensure all personnel cycle through one of the centrifugal ships. Not everyone is as lucky as we are," she said, looking around her bridge in appreciation. Her officers were able to walk about the room normally, held down by the centrifugal effects of the Eratosthenes's rotating section. The Explorer class ships were the first vessels in Earth Force to be so equipped. The Omega class destroyer had been planned to have it's own rotating sections, but now those plans would never reach fruition. "I'll bet the crews of our warships are starting to feel the effects of extended zero-G already. Exercise centrifuges can only do so much. Keep a watch out for any sign of the Centauri. We may just have pulled off a miracle."

As the fleet had made it's way through Earth Alliance space, it had become increasingly obvious that the Minbari were not planning on letting them go. They had taken terrible casualties amongst their Starfury pilots, but miraculously hadn't lost a single ship, military or civilian. And now they had finally gotten out of EA space. Better yet, they were now in Centauri space. The Minbari might be rampaging around the EA, but even they would have to think twice about violating Centauri territory.

The Centauri, the first extraterrestrial race humanity had made contact with, was also an old and powerful species, with access to highly advanced technology. Earthgov was firmly convinced that, aside from the Minbari, the Centauri were the most powerful race out there. Well, excepting the Vorlons, of course. But the Vorlons were a special case. The Minbari, the Centauri, even a fool like Michael Jankowski would think twice before aggravating the Vorlons.

The Centauri were friendly with humanity as well, which was always a benefit. Of course, they hadn't been friendly enough to aid the Earth Alliance in its war with the Minbari. She had heard more than one flag officer opine that, if only the Centauri had joined them, the EA might have defeated the Minbari. These same officers were also generally of the opinion that, if a few of the members of the League of Non-Aligned Worlds had joined them, if they could have established the kind of interspecies cooperation they had enjoyed in fighting the Dilgar, the Minbari would also not stand a chance. Given that Levitt knew that most of these officers also secretly felt that the war would be won already, if only they had been put in charge, she tended to ignore them. The fact that both the League and the Centauri were clearly terrified of offending the Minbari ought to have convinced them otherwise. It seemed that some people would simply refuse to give up their preconceived notions, no matter how much the real world tried to show them otherwise.

But, despite that terror, the Centauri would not take kindly to the Minbari violating their territory. They would push back against any intruders. They would argue with them, delay them, rail against any invasion politically. In short, they would probably do anything short of military conflict to get the Minbari to leave. Given the statements of their Ambassador, she doubted they would have the courage to resist the Minbari militarily. On the other hand, Ambassadors spoke peace, while soldiers spoke war. Perhaps the Centauri military might actually draw a military line. Who knew?

What Levitt was certain of, however, was that the Centauri would have absolutely no hesitation in objecting to the current human violation of their territory. The Centauri would also be far more likely to use force against the unsupported human fleet. Human ships were weaker and less advanced than either the Centauri or the Minbari. Further, they were no longer part of a powerful nation. The Earth Alliance was gone. No, the Centauri would most definitely see the human fleet as the less dangerous opponent, but also the greatest cause of danger to their people, as the Minbari would only be coming to chase the humans.

Which was why it was absolutely vital that the fleet not be detected. If the Centauri didn't know they were there, then they couldn't throw the fleet out. Any Minbari incursion would be seen as unjustified. But, if the Centauri detected them, they would feed the humans to the wolves. Sandra would have preferred trying to get a jump or two farther away from Earth Alliance territory and their pursuers, but the fleet really did need time to rest and refit.

Feeling a bit wistful, Levitt found the appropriate controls on her station's panel, and took control of an external camera. It had been keeping an eye on the ship's exterior, but she panned towards the local sun. At this distance, it didn't look like much more than a particularly bright star. She knew there were Centauri farther down into the system, where they could enjoy its the light and warmth. She envied them. For the time being, however, the humans were just going to have to make due with whatever shelter and comfort they could find.
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Acting Ensign Susan Ivanova strutted into the briefing room, at least as much as it was possible to strut in zero-G. She was exhausted, but had been advised that pilots should always display an air of cocksure confidence. It was part of developing an attitude of invincibility. Apparently that was something combat pilots needed.

Finding her chair, she pulled herself into it gratefully. She knew that, without a gravity source, sitting in a chair wasn't actually more relaxing than just floating around. However, a lifetime of experience informed her brain that sitting was more relaxing, and her brain told her body it was more relaxed, which was all she really needed. She had been in the cramped confines of a Starfury cockpit (where she was also seated, but somehow that didn't count) for the last twelve hours. Flying patrols! She still couldn't believe that she was even allowed in the thing, much less to fly it herself on actual missions. Just over a week ago she had absolutely zero solo flight experience!

The last week had been overwhelming. Terrifying and euphoric and exhausting all at the same time. They had launched immediately into flight training, and just hadn't stopped. The trainees were lucky to get a handful of hours of sleep each night, and grabbed their meals on the go...going into the cockpit, which meant zero-G rations. Susan really hated those, but it was more than worth it to get to fly a Starfury.

Susan, being the least experienced pilot, found herself under the direct tutelage of Commander Sinclair. In most of the missions so far, both the training and the patrols they found themselves flying, she had ended up flying wingman for the Commander. At first, Susan had experienced both resentment and scorn from the other pilots. She was clearly not on their level. Most likely, between her lack of experience and the attention of the Commander, they assumed some type of favoritism. For that matter, it was what she assumed as well, though she had no idea why she would be receiving it.

In the last couple of days, much of the scorn and hostility of the other pilots seemed to have evaporated. This mystified her as well, though she assumed it was due to the workload. When they weren't training they were flying patrols. Actual patrols! Commander Sinclair said that it was good for their development, but he also didn't hide the fact that he was trying to supplement the active duty pilots. Given all of their losses, those pilots were stretched thin, and almost constantly on duty. That was hard on both the crews and the craft. The spillover to the trainees had kept Susan's classmates so busy that she assumed they were just glad for anyone who could help to shoulder the load. As more of the trainee pilots entered the room, a few of them actually nodded to her.

"Attention on deck!" someone barked as Commander Sinclair sailed into the room. As always, he bore a look of grim determination. He also looked tired, though if he was half as tired as Susan felt, he certainly hid it well. This time, unlike that first day, the entire room shot to their feet, standing at attention. Not a single person forgot to anchor themselves in place, so no one found themselves in the embarrassing position of floating away due to the momentum of the movement. That had happened to several of her fellow trainees in the first few days, and they still took some ribbing for it.

"At ease," Sinclair ordered, hooking himself behind the podium and giving them all one of his rare smiles. "I have a treat for you all today. I'd like to introduce you to the pilot with the single highest kill rate against Minbari fighters in the entire Earth Alliance." He turned and gestured to a second man who had entered the room just behind Sinclair. "This is Commander Alfred Bester. I'm sure you have all heard the story. In a single engagement he took down three Nials. Though our fighter losses were heavy, the Minbari were destroyed before they could engage any civilian craft. He and the rest of his squadron saved a lot of lives. I have invited him here today to speak to you about that engagement. Commander," he finished, pushing backwards from the podium to allow Bester to take his place. As the man did so, loud applause broke out from across the room. The telepaths in particular seemed very enthusiastic. That's odd, Susan thought blearily. They're normally so reserved.

"Thank you," the man said. "Please take your seats." As the pilots pulled themselves into their chairs, Susan studied the man. He was older than most of the officers in the fleet, though he was far from the point of being one of the "old salts." He was short, but so were most male fighter pilots. A low mass and center of gravity helped, even with modern systems. He was reserved, but had a pleasant smile. He was rather paternal, she thought. "As you know, the fleet was en route to Epsilon Eridani when we picked up a tail, a Minbari Sharlin. While Captain Sheridan was keeping them from closing on us in hyperspace, the fighters of the fleet went to full readiness and prepared for combat, in case the Minbari got past him."

As the man related his story, Susan found herself losing focus. She knew all of this, and she was just so tired that she had a hard time sticking with his tale. In fact, she was struggling just to stay awake. His story was interesting, and she didn't want to miss a single detail, but she just couldn't beat her mind into focus. Her body and brain had both decided they were going to take this opportunity to rest, no matter what she wanted. However, she was Russian, and used to difficulty. Her eyes never drooped, and no one glancing at her could ever have told that she was half asleep. She perked up again when he finally got to the dogfight, relating his maneuvers and those of Minbari and the other squadrons.

Perhaps she was so tired that she was missing something, but his story seemed incomplete. He was clearly a skilled pilot, well versed in combat tactics, but then again so were many Earth Force officers. He had bested them all by scoring three Nial kills; in one battle no less. How had he done it? How had he defeated not just superior armor and firepower, not just superior acceleration and maneuverability, but also a stealth field that made it all but impossible to lock onto the Minbari at anything but the shortest ranges? He didn't seem to say. Maybe she had missed it.

"...and so I snapped over into a hard starboard rotation, and fired off a pair of missiles and Pulse cannons. It was firing back, and it's first salvo took off one of my wings. It's second mangled another. It was so close that my missiles actually bracketed it, but my Pulser fire was hitting dead on...and not penetrating the armor. It was lined up for the final shot that would have killed me, when my Pulsers finally punched through, destroying the craft. Of course, it was so close when it was detonated that my Starfury was engulfed in the fireball. A lot of the shrapnel that used to be a Minbari fighter bounced off my craft, nearly caving in my canopy, and blowing every one of my environmental seals. There's a good reason we send you out in space suits, ladies and gentlemen. I was quite certain that I was dead, but as it turned out, fate was smiling on me. And so here we are." The Commander smiled and nodded to the class and then pushed backward from the podium.

He was replaced by Commander Sinclair, who said, "That's all the time we have. You will each get a chance to meet Commander Bester as you leave. Dismissed."

What? Susan looked around. No Q&A session? That's odd. Oh well, at least she could go rack out and get some sleep now. She stood up and got in line to file past Commander Bester, who was standing in the doorway and shaking hands with each of the trainees as they left the room. She stifled a yawn as she approached her turn to meet the Commander. Glancing around idly, she noted his gloved hands. That's odd, she thought again. Those aren't standard issue flight gloves.

And then it was her turn to meet him. As she held out her hand for a shake, her eyes suddenly widened and snapped down to his hand. They weren't standard issue flight gloves, she realized, but she knew exactly where they were standard issue. What could she do?

Too late. He gripped her hand, and she looked up, eyes widening in horror as an electrical tingle shot up her arm. His brow furrowed in confusion for a moment, and then he tipped his head slightly to the side and seemed to look right into her soul. She felt something small awaken and unfurl behind her eyes. Her heart sank. Frag.

"Well now," he murmured. "Isn't that interesting."
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"You can't have her!" Commander Sinclair said angrily. They were meeting privately in one of the squadron ready rooms.

"Commander," Bester chided reprovingly. "She's a telepath. There are...protocols."

"I don't give a damn about your protocols. The PsiCorp is a thing of the past. We'll find new ways of working with telepaths. And need I remind you that you are no longer a Psi-Cop? You're an officer in Earth Force. Your top priority should be what's best for the Force, and she is a critical asset. She's got the best skills I've ever seen. You can't take her out of this class!"

"I wasn't proposing to end her training, just begin additional training. She needs to learn how to be a telepath."

"She's busy enough as it is."

"She'll just have to be busier then. This training is required by law. I believe that law still applies, unless you can convince the Captains' Council to rescind it. Keep in mind, if she goes on the Sleepers she'll be completely worthless as a pilot."

"Damnit Commander, this is about the survival of the fleet."

"Yes, it is. Commander Sinclair...Jeff...don't you see that this could be a good thing, for the fleet as well as for her? I know she's terrified right now, but that will pass once she sees that we're not monsters. And before you say that we are, let me remind you that you just acknowledged that the Psi-Corp is no more, and that we are finding new ways to work with telepaths."

"What are you proposing?"

"She'll need to be moved to the Mother." Sinclair started to object, but Bester held up his hand to forestall him. "The only telepaths she has contact with here are former Psi-Cops. I assume you don't want her being indoctrinated by those?" he asked rhetorically. "Good. On the Mother, she can be surrounded by kinder, gentler telepaths. People more like her. They can teach her, support her. And they can help prevent her from broadcasting her dreams while she sleeps, something which happens to many awakening teeps. I assume you wouldn't want one of my former Psi-Cops bunking with her, which would need to be the case if she stayed here."

"You assume correctly."

"Good. She's already assigned her own Starfury. She can use it to shuttle over to the Midway and back each day for her training. Consider it a little extra cockpit time to further refine her skills."

"You said something about this being good for the fleet?"

"Do you remember what you asked me about enhancing telepath efficacy in fighter combat?"

"You mean Project TeepFighter?"

"Yes. Have I mentioned that I hate that name?"

"You can thank Garibaldi for that. He thought of it. It's a spin off of some ancient game he used to play."

"Why am I not surprised? Regardless Commander, recall that you wanted to find a way to distribute the information the telepath gathered, so that the mundane pilots around him could also target the Minbari. You proposed breaking up Black Omega and the new telepath trainees and distributing them amongst the existing squadrons, so that every flight could be centered around at least one telepath."

"I don't know about centered, but yes, that was the idea."

"Well, I told you at the time that it was impossible. Telepathy doesn't give us coordinates that we can input into a targeting computer. It interfaces with the body's natural kinesthesis to give us the feel of a direction. You can't communicate that over a radio. But, at your request, I've been thinking about it. It occurred to me that you could transmit the feeling telepathically."

Sinclair scowled at the idea, but said, "So it will work?"

"Within limits. The mundane pilots will need to be trained to receive the signal, which means we will need to bring them all into the loop. Also, we're already using all former Psi-Cops...mostly P12s, with some P10s and P11s thrown in, because just detecting the Minbari in this way is very difficult. Adding the need to transmit that information, across the significant distance between fighters and often without direct eye contact, that is going to be even more of a strain. There is no way a telepath could support an entire flight. At best, he or she will be able to transmit to a single individual...their wingman. Which, of course, means that we won't have enough teeps to go around. We're going to need to start training more as soon as the current class graduates. That's where Ensign Ivanova comes in, actually."

"You just said that only the most powerful telepaths could do the job. I thought you said the Ensign was very weak?"

"She is. A P1, P2 at best. She could never detect the Minbari on her own. But what she can do, is be much easier to transmit to than any mundane….ah...normal. I'm sure all of the P12's can handle it, but the P11s might not and the P10s will certainly struggle. If one of them is having a hard time making the connection with a...normal...pilot, then we can pair him or her with the Ensign. And if they are all able to make the connection, well, even better. There are only so many former Psi-Cops available, and they aren't all suited to space fighter combat. We might need to try bringing in other P10s or P11s. Without having gone through Psi-Cop training, they'll have a harder time of it. Susan, and perhaps others like her, could be the bridge to make them viable as transmitters."

"So we could eventually have every normal paired with a telepath?"

"Eventually….perhaps. And then all we would have to worry about when fighting the Minbari is their superior firepower...and superior armor. Oh, and superior acceleration. And did I mention their superior maneuverability? Yes, we'll be entirely carefree once we have every normal paired with a telepath," Bester finished with a small smirk.

Sinclair glowered at him. "At least we'll have a fighting chance."

"Yes, at least there is that. So, can I assume your objections to Ensign Ivanova's relocation have been withdrawn?"
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Susan drifted disconsolately down the corridors of the Mother. She was carrying her duffle and everything she owned in the world. No, that wasn't right. In the fleet. The world was gone, destroyed by the Minbari. She fought back tears. I'm Russian! I should expect hardship. But this just wasn't fair. She had tried so hard to avoid her mother's fate, and it had just come up and shaken her hand while she was half asleep.

She had considered going on the Sleepers, but Commander Sinclair had asked her not to. He had told her the Psi-Corp was dead, that it wouldn't be like it had with her mother, that things were changing. He had told her she was vital to the war effort, that she would still get to be a pilot, that he would be looking out for her. She just had to stick it out and relocate to the Mother, to learn how to be a telepath.

"If you take the Sleepers," he had said, "you won't be able to continue as a pilot. They just dull you too much. I think you know that."

She did. That's the only reason she was here. She had to continue being a pilot. She had to carry on Ganya's legacy. After everything else, this was the one thing she simply couldn't lose.

One of the seals on her duffle had come undone. She hadn't been particularly focused on the safety checks that would normally catch such things. An errant sock slipped loose and began to float down the corridor, pulled along by the slight breeze from the air circulators. She was forced to dart ahead and snatch it out of the air. The Mother was entirely zero-G. The Midway was also zero-G, but when she had been aboard the Olympic centrifugal spin had replicated gravity. So now she had to worry about bone deterioration and space sickness on top of everything else.

Quit feeling sorry for yourself. She looked up and realized that she had arrived. She double checked the number on the hatch with the code she had been issued. This was her room...dorm, technically. At least she wasn't in a barracks with a hundred other cadets. That was a small slice of hell.

She opened the hatch and swung through. It was clearly airtight, and meant to preserve the lives of anyone inside in the event of a general loss of atmosphere on the ship. Inside the room were two young women, both roughly her age. Both were gorgeous. A thin, leggy redhead was reading a book, reclining in middle of the 3 bunks stacked vertically along the far wall. Seated at a combination desk and console along the right hand side of the room, a more curvaceous blond was playing some sort of computer game. She wanted to hate them both immediately, especially given how neat and elegant they both looked, even lounging in zero-G. However, the most she could manage was mild annoyance. She was just too drained by the rollercoaster of emotions she had undergone, and they were both smiling at her pleasantly. She really needed to see friendly faces right now, even if those faces were telepaths. For that matter, why should she still be hostile towards telepaths? The whole point of that had been to not get caught and face her mother's fate. That cat was already out of the bag, and she had chosen not to use the Sleepers. She was one of them now.

The blonde was standing up and extending her ungloved hands. "Hi. You must be Susan. I'm Talia. Talia Winters." Susan was still wearing her flight glove so, with just a little hesitation, she shook the woman's hand. There was no telepathic connection, as there had been with Commander Bester. She sighed with relief. "I'm excited to be your roomie. I want to hear all about you. It must be very exciting to be a fighter."

The redhead looked up in annoyance, and then swung herself up and out of the bunk. "It's fighter pilot dummy. A fighter is what she flies. I would think you'd know that given who you're dating. You need to pay attention." She smiled at Susan and held out her own hand. "Lyta Alexander. And we're not just your roommates. We were selected to help you get accustomed to your abilities, and learn how to use and control them."

Susan shook her hand, and again there was a lack of telepathic contact. Thank God for flight gloves. I guess I'll have to get a set of telepath gloves as well.

"Eventually," Lyta said.

"What?"

"You'll have to get a set of telepath gloves eventually, but you are free to go without them here."

Susan dropped the woman's hand as though it had burned her, and took a big step backwards towards the door. "You can't just read my mind anytime you want!" she said angrily.

Lyta smiled sadly. "I wasn't. You were broadcasting. That's something we can help you with."

Susan looked at her suspiciously, then glanced at Talia. The blond gave her an understanding nod and said, "You've been broadcasting quite a bit since you came through the door. You've got plenty of curves yourself, you know. Between the three of us, the men don't stand a chance. And I appreciate that you can't bring yourself to hate us. Perhaps we can grow that into a friendship."

Susan went beet red, but asked, "And what exactly is in it for you?"

Lyta smiled and tossed herself back into her bunk. "Well, if you must know, training you gets the both of us out of kitchen duties. Not that we were exactly overloaded with work. There are a lot more people available than jobs to go around. Even though people don't really get paid, work is parcelled out to keep them busy. Many people are complaining that there isn't enough work to do. Workaholics, I guess. I'd just as soon not have to scrub pots in zero-G, thank you very much."

Talia chipped in, "Jason even says we might get to accompany you to the Midway, on days when you have class work, rather than flight operations."

"Jason?"

"Yeah, he's my….friend." Lyta snickered, but Talia ignored her and continued, "Jason Ironheart. You'll meet him in a bit, if you haven't already. He's a pilot with Black Omega squadron. That's the telepath squadron, in case you didn't know."

Susan hadn't know, which is why she had been completely oblivious about Commander Bester. She knew better now, but it was far too late.

"It's not so bad being a telepath," Lyta said. "You'll see. We're kind of a family. The Corp was the overbearing parents, father and mother. That's probably why this ship is named Mother. But the Corp seems to have been dismantled, leaving us all a lot more freedom. I'm not sure it will last, but we're going to enjoy it while we can. No, what we really need to worry about it Normal prejudice. I heard there have been some attacks in the fleet. Maybe even some murders. Security is keeping it pretty hushed up though."

"They can't kill us all," Talia said. "We make up a huge portion of the fleet. The teep to normal ratio is unbelievable," she added in astonishment. "The people in charge of the fleet must really like telepaths. I'd love to meet General Lefcourt. He's clearly not prejudiced against telepaths."

"Good luck," Susan said, starting to relax. These ladies and their lighthearted banter were kind of infectious. "From what I hear, the poor man is working himself to death. He hasn't had time for any public functions for weeks. I hope he's taking care of his health. We can't afford to lose him."

"I hope so to," Lyta chimed in. "Though I don't mind that Nuke 'em Sheridan has become the face of the fleet. That man is hot!"

"You need a boyfriend," Talia chided. "Since I have one, I can take the feminist perspective and extol the superior virtues of Captain Lochley and Captain Levitt."

"They're both Commanders, actually." Susan said.

"What? I thought you had to be a Captain to command a ship?"

"No. You get to be called Captain by your crew, but it doesn't change your actual rank. Captain Gideon is only a Lieutenant Commander. Now he's hot," Susan added, then immediately blushed a deep red again.

"You're cute." Talia said. "We are definitely going to be friends! Top bunk."

"Excuse me?"

"I've got the top bunk. You're on the bottom. That's your footlocker over there."

Susan began to stow her gear, when there was a banging on the hatch. Lyta called, "Come in."

A man of mixed African and European descent opened the hatch, floated in and studied them. "A Black man walks into a room with a blond, a brunette, and a redhead. Now that's the start of a beautiful story!"

Lyta snorted, but Talia shot over to the man. "In your dreams, Ironheart!" Then she kissed him...very vigorously.

"Well," Ironheart said breathlessly, once the kiss had ended. "Now I'm going to feel like a true heel. Sorry, Tali, but I have to cancel our lunch. I've got a meeting with Bester. Raincheck?"

"Sure," she responded. "I should get to know Susan anyway."

Ironheart's attention turned to Susan, and he held out his hand. Once she shook it he said, "Jason Ironheart. It's good to finally meet you, Ivanova. I hear very good things. It sounds like you might just end up as my wingman."

"Wingwoman," Lyta interjected.

"No such thing," Susan advised her. "Wingman is an official term. We're not allowed to use wingwoman or wingperson. The brass says that it's for brevity. Like the extra syllable might get someone killed or something. Being Russian, I can say with authority that it is a relic of the patriarchal past."

Lyta's smile broadened. "You I'm really going to like."
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"Enter." Bester called at the knock on the door to his office. Lieutenant Ironheart entered and stood at attention. "At ease," he commanded. "You've been doing very well Lieutenant. Have you read the file I provided you."

"Thank you, and yes, sir, I have. Project TeepFighter?"

"A name thought up by a very mundane mundane. But you understand why this project might be extremely difficult for anyone below a P12?"

"Yes, Commander. Isn't that why you mentioned I might get Ensign Ivanova as a wingman? Because it would be easier to connect with her?"

"It is, but we might have another option. One which you might be uniquely suited to."

"Sir?"

"What I'm about to tell you is extremely classified, Jason. Not in the military way. This is a telepath secret. No mundanes can find out, but it might mean the difference between this fleet's destruction, and it's survival."

"I'll do whatever it takes, sir."

"Good. I'm very proud of you Lieutenant. This project is so secret, it doesn't even have a name. What it does have, is vast potential. Our scientists have come up with a series of...treatments. Treatments which might just enhance your telepathy. Make you a P11. Maybe even a P12. I doubt it will be comfortable. But it will be groundbreaking, and you will be a hero."

Ironheart smiled. "Who could ask for more than that, sir?"
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Quadrant 24, Narn Space - Exodus Fleet - November, 2248

Once again, the EAS Eratosthenes was the first ship into the system. Commander Sandra Levitt called out to her first officer. "Report."

Lieutenant Commander Janice Kathway, called out her report. "Smooth entry, Captain. Minimal signature. With luck the Narn won't have seen us." "We're only twenty AU out from the local star. There's a lot of gas and dust in the area. I doubt the Narn detected us. No sign, as of yet, that anyone has noticed us."

"Keep your eye's open." Levitt ordered. "The Narn are said to be establishing a fleet base in this system. They probably have a lot of defenses in the area."

"We've got a small gas giant less than a million klicks from here. We must have hit the bullseye with our entry. We can play hide and seek behind it, just like before."

"Sounds like a plan. Head for the planet. Once we're there, start bringing the fleet in."
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A few hours later the Eratosthenes was in place, and had signaled the fleet. Levitt watched as the brilliant hues of a jump point blossomed in space, and the EAS Lexington slid back into normal space. Civilian vessels began to slide out behind it.

Sandra heard a beeping from the sensor station, signalling for attention. Ensign Sakai was pulling duty at the moment. She looked up sharply and said, "Captain, we have three Narn vessels swinging around the planet. One of their heavy cruisers and a pair of destroyers. Looks like…. A G'Quan and two Ka'Tocs."

"Captain, we're being hailed," Kathway called. "The Narn want to talk."

Sandra sighed. "Patch in the Lexington. I'll definitely want Commander Lochley's backup on this one."

"Lexington linked in, Captain," the Comms officer called out.

"Push it to my panel." A moment later her personal display came up with a split screen, the left hand side displaying Commander Elizabeth Lochley, seated in the Captain's Chair on the Lexington. On the right was the smiling red eyed face of a Narn who seemed somewhat familiar.

"Oh, two of you," he said. "How lovely. And both women. I am indeed a lucky man. Here I was, just out for a stroll, and I said to myself, G'Kar, that looks interesting. Let's see what's over there. And here you are! Imagine my surprise."

"Out for a stroll?" Lochley asked. "In a G'Quan heavy cruiser?"

"One should always be prepared when strolling. One never knows when one will run into bandits, or others who don't belong."

Levitt grimaced. God I hate diplomats, she thought to herself. The Narn's name had finally awoken her memory. This was Ambassador G'Kar, formerly assigned to Earth, so at least he was familiar with humans. The rumor mill said that he may have even provided advanced weaponry to Earth. Those schematics in their databanks for a powerful new Battle Laser had to have come from somewhere. The weapon had been slated to go on the Omega class destroyer, along with the new energy mines, and rotational gravity. It was too bad they had never managed to get a prototype up and running. They could really use a ship like that with the fleet. And if wishes were Starfuries, she told herself, beggars would fly. Focus. At least he would likely be friendly to humanity. "How fortunate then, that we are just harmless travellers, passing through, rather than bandits from whom you would need to defend yourself."

"Yes, how very fortunate indeed. I hadn't thought to meet humans, female or otherwise, again. Some unpleasantness with the Minbari, if memory serves. Captains, perhaps you should shuttle over to my ship, and we can discuss the nature of your visit."

His oily manner reminded her of a used transport salesman. And that look in his eye, was it...Good Lord...lecherous?! Sandra cleared her throat. "My apologies, ambassador, but I'm afraid my duties prevent me from leaving my vessel, just now. We have a lot of civilian craft which we need to shepherd and support, as you can see."

G'Kar's eyes shifted to Lochley, that oily smile still plastered on his face. The woman was already glaring daggers at him. "Pass," she said curtly.

"Ah, well, down to business then. I find your situation odd," he responded. "Travellers usually stick to the travel routes, and do not skulk around in the dark outskirts of a system, particularly one of a sensitive military nature. And, while your civilian ships are probably harmless, can the same be said about a heavy cruiser and a massive exploration craft? How many more warships do you plan to bring into Narn territory?"

Lochley cut in, "I assure you Ambassador, we mean no harm. We just want to pass through."

"Perhaps that is true, but can the same be said of the Minbari? If they chase you into our territory and discover you here, they may assume we are aiding you. Who knows what they would do? I would be remiss in my duty, if I did not consider this danger to my people."

Sandra sighed. "Please Ambassador. We're refugees. We don't want to burden you. We're just looking to pass through your territory to try to get to safety. The risk is small."

"And did your people think the risk was small when you went blundering uninvited into Minbari territory? My people have already risked too much for yours. We provided you with weaponry. We facilitated a meeting between yourselves and the Minbari. No, if they find you here, they are likely to assume we are your allies. How do you suppose they would react then?"

"Then we will pass through as quickly as possible."

G'Kar leaned back in his seat. "Are you certain you do not wish to join me aboard my vessel? I find these types of discussions are always so much more fruitful during a...personal interface."

Levitt closed her eyes in aggravation for a moment. Before she opened them again she heard Elizabeth say, "If I do come over G'Kar, it will only be to add to my personal collection of severed sex organs. I collect them from weasels who try to use their positions to take advantage of women. I don't have a Narn one yet. Is it spotted?"

G'Kar burst out laughing. "Delightful. I like you. Which only makes it more tragic that I must insist you turn around and head back to your own space."

"We didn't come directly from our space," Sandra said desperately. "We went through Centauri space first. The Minbari are more likely to go there than here."

"Excellent. Then I encourage you to go back there, and do your best to be spotted. If you could touch off a war, which you seem quite skilled at, then the Narn would be eternally grateful. I would ensure there was a holiday in your honor. We would drink Taree and feast on Breen in memory of your glorious sacrifice."

"We'd really prefer less sacrifice and more survival."

"Then perhaps you should have thought of that before attacking the Minbari!" G'Kar snapped. "Every race tried to warn you. Even the Centauri cautioned you. But you blundered ahead anyway. I'm not sure if that is greater parts arrogance or stupidity. How skillful of you to package them together so successfully."

Levitt gritted her teeth for a moment, then took a breath. She shot a warning glare at Elizabeth, before the woman could open her mouth again and make things worse. Then, taking a deep breath, she met the Narn's gaze directly and asked, "What do you want?"

G'Kar's expression transformed into a minute grin. "Now that truly is an excellent question.
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"So, what do they want?" Sheridan asked. The fleet was still slowly spilling into the system, now watched over by a dozen Narn warships. The Nova was still in hyperspace, guarding the rear of the column, but Sheridan had rushed forward aboard a shuttle, so that the Captains' Council could convene in person aboard the Midway.

"What they want," Commander Levitt said testily, "is a great many things. What we argued them down to is our supply of Quantium 40. Pretty much all of it."

"What!? That's ridiculous. That stockpile is worth a fortune. And we'll need it for jump drive repair and new construction once we reestablish ourselves."

"That's true, John," Elizabeth spoke up, smiling sweetly. "And Sandra and I have an idea. Would you be willing to seduce the Narn Ambassador? Perhaps have a little three-way with Mr. Garibaldi?" Michael threw her a horrified look.

"What?! Don't be crass, Liz. Of course not, don't be ridiculous."

"Well neither are we," she snapped, the smile fleeing from her face. "So shut up and take the deal."

Commander Sinclair cleared his throat uncomfortably. "And what do we get for our side of this arrangement?"

"The Narn have agreed to grant us free passage through their space, though no support. They will not tell the Minbari we were here, though they encourage us to be on our way as quickly as possible."

Sinclair nodded. "Alright then. All those in favor?" Six hands went up immediately. Reluctantly, throwing an irritated glance at Lochley, Sheridan finally raised his hand as well. "It's unanimous then. Well, as long as we are here, what other business do we need to discuss?"

Levitt spoke up. "I think we are at the point where we need to decide on our destination."

"That's easy," Sheridan said. "We head through Centauri space and into the former Orieni territory."

"That's not your decision, John," Lochley snapped. "I thought we were clear that you weren't running this show. Some of us might have alternative opinions."

"It makes the most sense," he said doggedly. "The Centauri are the only people strong enough to act a a real buffer against the Minbari. Unless you want to throw us on the questionable mercies of the Vorlons. But if that was the case we'd still have to head in the same direction. What's more, these Orieni fought the Centauri to a standstill. They might provide an additional layer of protection."

"Or a massive new threat. We should head for Dilgar space. We know there are at least three worlds there we could step right into. And the territory is surrounded by species who would be friendly. Who owe us for stopping the Dilgar."

"Species who haven't lifted a finger during this war. How much can we really trust them? Especially if the Minbari come calling. And those worlds? Barely capable of sustaining a colony. Why do you think the Dilgar launched their war? They knew their star was going Nova, and their colony worlds couldn't sustain a mass exodus. And that was before those worlds were irradiated by a nearby nova. That's not a chance for humanity to rebuild, it's a chance to wither on the vine."

"At least it is a chance," Levitt interrupted. "You want to take us into the front lines of a war that never really ended, it just became unsustainable. We'll be caught in the middle if that war ever flares up again, or swallowed up by one side or the other. And that's assuming we even find a habitable planet to take possession of."

"The Orieni and Centauri haven't run into each other for centuries. It's unlikely a war will break out just because we enter the area. And we know from Centauri history that several prime homeworlds were rendered uninhabitable by bombardment. But that was centuries ago. By now, dust and radiation will have subsided. If some life survived, it will have had the opportunity to spring back. We're talking about potential paradises, ones where humanity can have the opportunity to spring back as well. And, let's be frank, the presence of resources left behind by the previous inhabitants would be a major benefit for us."

"Unless, the Orieni or Centauri decide to object to us scavenging their former worlds," Bester broke in quietly. "And we would be scavengers. I've found that people have a tendency to frown on grave robbers."

Sheridan was clearly getting frustrated. "Then we work it out diplomatically. They might see the benefit of having a buffer between their two Empires. Hell, we might find that the Orieni make great allies. We know they were a multispecies, cosmopolitan Empire. That seems like a step up from the League of NonAligned Worlds."

"They were also fundamentalist religious extremists," Lochley interjected hotly, "who conquered worlds and forced them to join their empire, convert to their religion and fight for their cause. Is that what you want for our descendants? To be janissaries in an alien jihad?"

Garibaldi spoke up, "If we go to Orieni space, we might have a warlike power beating down our door. If we go to Dilgar space, we will have one, because the Minbari know that area, and the League is too scared to keep them out."

"Alright folks, let's not get too worked up," Sinclair said. "This fleet needs us to keep our heads. We have some strong opinions, but in the end it will come down to a vote. I think we've heard both arguments pretty well, but before we vote, does anyone want to discuss alternative destinations? Captain Sheridan was joking, but does anyone think it would be a good idea to try going to the Vorlons?" The question was met with silence. "No? Alright then, I call the vote. All those in favor of heading for Dilgar space, please raise your hands." Lochley, Levitt, and Bester raised their hands. "All those in favor of heading for Orieni space?" Sheridan, Sinclair, and Garibaldi raised their hands.

All eyes again turned towards Gideon as the deciding vote. He sat, staring contemplatively at the bulkhead, his chin cupped in his hand. Taking a deep breath, he shrugged and slowly lifted his hand. "The final vote is four to three in favor of Orieni space."

"Fine," Lochley said. "I move that future council sessions be held on one of the civilian liners. Meeting on this ship gives a home court advantage to certain participants."

Sheridan mumbled something about being a sore loser under his breath, but Sinclair said, "I think that's a good idea. It might lower tensions a bit. Besides, if we have to take the time to move around the fleet, we might as well take the opportunity to get under spin. Commander Levitt has an unfair advantage on us," he said, smiling.

Garibaldi perked up and said, "I know of a space we could commandeer aboard the Olympic. I could set it up."

"Actually," Lochley interrupted, "I think Lieutenant Commander Gideon should do the honors."

"Excuse me?" Gideon asked, looking up at her.

"This is your ship, and you've been good enough to host these sessions. I know I just raised the concern about an unfair advantage, but it's also unfair of me to just rip this duty away from you, especially after the work you have put in. You should have the honor of arranging the meetings aboard the Olympic."

"Well..." Gideon temporized, looking a bit confused, "okay?" Sheridan gave her a speculative look, but didn't say anything.

"Now that that's settled," Sinclair said, we have one last piece of business. Lieutenant Commander Garibaldi has some updates for us. Before we get to that, I'd like to take a ten minute recess for refreshment. Any objections?"
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"What are you up to, Liz?" Levitt asked darting over to stand by her new friend. "You've clearly got something up your sleeve. Spill!"

"I don't like the way, the power structure on this Council is shaping up. It's starting to look like the important votes will always be you, me, and Bester, getting outvoted by the rest."

"Gideon voted with us on the formation of the Council."

"No, he didn't. He withheld his vote on passing full command authority to John. It's not the same thing. Since then he has voted with Sinclair, Sheridan, and Garibaldi on almost every vote."

"A lot of those votes were unanimous."

"Which doesn't change the fact that an unassailable power block seems to be forming. If we want to make sure that wiser heads, ours, exert some restraint over this fleet, we're going to have to break up that boys' club."

"And you have a plan for that, I take it?"

"Possibly. Part of it is just moving the Council off of the Midway. It really is a home court advantage. And since Sinclair, Garibaldi, and Gideon all work closely together here, it puts them in the mindset of being on a team."

"And the other part?"

"Let's just say that I'm working on something."

"Don't do anything stupid, Liz."

"Where's the fun in that?"
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Once they were reconvened, Garibaldi stood up and went to the front of the room. "There's a number of things ongoing which you should all be aware of. The least of these is the conduct of the troops." A murmur went around the room, but he held up his hands. "I know each of you run tight ships, and keep a close eye on the conduct of the officers and enlisted. What you don't always see is their conduct off of your ships. You've been giving leave in the form of day passes to the civilian liners. It's a good idea. It get's them under spin and they definitely need the release. But they're maybe releasing a little too much.

"You've got to remember what these people have been through...are going through. Some of them just head for the nearest watering hole, and crawl inside a bottle. We find them passed out, drunk all over the fleet. And then there are those who drink just enough to get mean and start brawling. Or those who start suffering flashbacks. We've got people diving under tables and chairs, screaming about the Minbari breaching the perimeter. And those are better than the ones we find curled up in foetal positions, hiding in the duct work, or attempting to build kill zones in the maintenance passages. And all of these folks have to be gathered in by my security personnel, and brought to extremely overcrowded detention centers, sobered up, and then let go for their next duty shift.

"And then there's the GroPos and the Jar Heads. They have all of the same problems as the fleet personnel, with far less to do. I spoke with their officers, and there's only so much maintenance and training that can be done on a fleet like this. Even cleaning can wear out a weapon if it is done often enough. They have an inordinate amount of free time, just sitting around and waiting to be killed if the Minbari catch up to us, with nothing they can actually do about it. Both of those things tend to make us infantry types grumpy. And when you combine grumpy with free time, what you have is troops wandering all over the fleet looking to start trouble. Vandalism, theft, brawling, and aggressive pursuit of sexual companionship. We've had a few charges of rape so far, but my investigations to date have shown that the incidents probably went up to the line, but didn't cross it. Having a high percentage of female troopers is good for that at least. Most of the boys have learned to respect the ladies, or have their gonads kicked in. I'd hate to be managing one of those Old Earth armies that was strictly male. They must have been completely out of control. On the other hand, we also had a few instances of female troopers pushing that line, so I guess no gender's perfect. Sorry ladies," he said, nodding to Lochley and Levitt.

"Anyway, the brawling has been the worst in that regards. We've had squads of GroPos actually picking fights with my security forces...just for the fun of it. All of these things are not good for civilian morale, or trust in the military forces protecting them. Yes, that includes all of you.

"Which brings me to my second point. The civilian fleet is a ticking time bomb. Or rather, the civilians are. We've managed to tamp down the hostilities so far, but things aren't good out there. The Earthers hate the Marsies and the Marsies hate the Earthers. The Deep Spacers hate them both. Everybody hates the telepaths, who seem to be everywhere, and nobody seems to know just what the telepaths think, except that some of them seem to be smug asshats. Oh, sorry, Commander," he said, nodding to Bester. "Present company included."

"Garibaldi," Sinclair snapped.

"Sorry," He replied to Sinclair. Looking back to Bester, he apologized, "I'm sorry Commander, Bester. Sometimes my mouth has a mind of it's own."

"That's alright, Garibaldi. I've seen your mind. The one your mouth uses is the superior choice."

"If we could continue," Sheridan growled, spreading a glare between Bester and Garibaldi, "we are covering important matters, and we all have a lot of work to get back to."

"Yes, well," Garibaldi continued, "as I was saying, there's a lot of hostility out there. We've had a surprising number of murders, and I'm pretty sure we have a serial killer or killers preying on telepaths. The designers of the fleet didn't anticipate this kind of thing. We've got plenty of beat cops, but a very limited number of detectives and real investigators, and most of those we picked up from the Mars evac, which means the bulk of the population doesn't trust them at all. I've raised up some junior officers, folks who aren't "tainted" by all of these hatreds. But this fleet is one good spark away from open rioting and civilian warfare."

"What do we do about it," Lochley asked. "I hope you've come with suggestions, and not just problems."

"Yes. But I don't have the authority to implement these ideas, which is why I wanted to speak with all of you. The military issues are the easiest to solve, as far as we can solve them.

"One thing the fleet organizers got right was how stressful this would all be on the civilians. So they packed us to the brim with counselors, therapists, psychologists, psychiatrists, and general headshrinkers. And they're all bored out of their minds, because the civilians don't trust them, and are too busy hating each other to do something as practical as talk to a professional about what's bothering them.

"My first suggestion is that you make it mandatory that all fleet and infantry personnel see a professional counselor at least twice a month. This'll give the eggheads something to do, might actually help our people to deal with their issues, and will get military personnel travelling around the fleet to do something other than trouble making, which should help improve the civilian view of the military. Not to mention, it will get your people under spin more, which should help maintain their effectiveness. It will also show the civilians that the doctor is in, and maybe get them to seek counselling as well. Doc Franklin's been bugging me about this for weeks now. He should probably be on this Council, by the way."

"Let's hold off on suggestions regarding expanding the Captains' Council for the time being," Sheridan said. "Your other idea, or Franklin's idea, I take it, has a lot of merit."

"It'll put a lot of strain on our crew rotations," Lochley interjected. "That's a lot of time to be taking people off of the job. It's also a lot of fuel, shuttling people from ship to ship."

"Fuel we've got in plentiful supply," Garibaldi said. "As for crew rotations, I want to make it even worse. My second suggestion, to complement the first, is to give your people more leave time, for much the same reason as the first. They need time to process and blow off steam, and they need to be seen by, and interact with, the civilian populace in a positive way."

"We don't have the personnel to allow for that," Lochley cut in again.
"What about…" Gideon said thoughtfully, "what about the Junior Year Service Project?"

"Cadets?" Lochley asked skeptically. "You want to cycle cadets onto my ship?"

None of the Captains seemed particularly thrilled by that idea, but Gideon continued, "Well, why not? You need the extra personnel. The cadets need the experience. They were supposed to be training on a ship anyway, but we didn't have a ship to train them on, you know, evacuation and all, so they've just been sitting around doing classroom work. Well, let's put them to work. We can assign a chunk of them to each ship. And before someone makes a snarky comment about cadets, try and remember that technically I still am one, and that cadets are all but running the Midway."

"I'll take as many as you want to assign me," Levitt spoke up. "And let me remind everyone that my folks have been under spin this whole trip. If my people need leave, yours certainly do. Call the vote."

Sinclair looked ambivalent, but asked, "All those in favor of both of Garibaldi's ideas put forward?" Other than Levitt and Garibaldi, no one seemed particularly enthusiastic, but in the end the motion was unanimous. "What else, Michael?"

"We solve two problems with one stone. The fleet's under martial law. So let's get martial. I want to take the most experienced and disciplined of our Marines and GroPos and turn them into acting Law Enforcement and Security personnel. I've got plenty of real cops to act as instructors and advisors, to prevent them from going too gung-ho and stepping over any lines. We start stationing them in public areas and high traffic location. A visible reminder that the people are both watched and protected, and that the military folks do more than just frag and fight."

"And I suppose you would be in command of these additional forces, Mr. Garibaldi?" Bester asked.

"Who else?"

"It just seems like a lot of power to put into one man's hands. Besides infantry aren't really the best choice for dealing with serial killers. If you need more investigators, may I remind you that I have a number of former Psi-Cops who could be called upon, and would likely have the problem resolved quite quickly."

"How? By performing unauthorized scans on the general populace?" Garibaldi spat. "No thank you."

"Isn't a reduction of civilian rights the whole point of martial law?"

Sinclair called both matters to a vote. "In that matter of tasking high discipline infantry units with Law Enforcement responsibilities under the command of the current fleet Head of security, all in favor?" Only Bester, Lochley, and Levitt failed to raise their hands. "Motion passes. On the matter of calling up former Psi-Cops to aid in ongoing criminal investigations, all in favor?" This time the vote was just the opposite, with only Bester, Lochley, and Levitt raising their hands. "Motion fails. We're running out of time, Michael. Anything else?"

"Last thing, I promise," Garibaldi said. "But, it's a big one. The fleet is rife with rumors. No one has seen Lefcourt in weeks, and the excuses are wearing thin. If the news of his death breaks on it's own, we'll have lost all credibility with the civilians. I think it's time to go public."

That lead to a flurry of argument, with various members trying to shout each other down. Sinclair finally grew frustrated and pounded on the table. "Focus, people. This is a real problem. Does anyone have any alternative suggestions?"

"I've got a pretty good programmer on the Eratosthenes," Levitt said hesitantly. "I could have her link Lefcourt's image with an AI. We have the hardware available. If the general starts communicating directly with the civilian Captains again, all the rumors should dry up."

"Or get even worse," Garibaldi responded. "I don't know how much experience you have with AIs, Commander. They can pass a Turing test pretty consistently. Actually mimicking a specific person is another matter altogether. I've heard rumors that Earthforce Special Intelligence was working on high level AIs that could do just that, but there is no way the hardware we have on hand could pull it off. It wouldn't take long for people to get suspicious. And those things can get pretty squirrelly to. What would we do if it started publicly broadcasting orders and policy changes? Follow them? I think it would be a mistake."

"I could meet with a few of the civilian Captains," Bester offered. "Plant the memory that the General was with me during the conversation. The man's not missing if a number of prominent civilians can attest to just having had lunch with him."

"Great. So now we're back to fragging with minds," Garibaldi snapped. Bester ignored him.

"That's seems like it could blow up in our faces, Commander," Lochley said cautiously. "There are a lot of telepaths in this fleet. Someone might notice something." Bester pursed his lips, then gave a single sharp nod. "I think Garibaldi may be correct," she continued. "Best to rip the bandage off quickly. We should tell the fleet. We should take a few days first, though. Make preparations for any chaos the announcement might cause."

"And what do we tell the civilians about who's running the fleet?" Sheridan asked dryly. "Do you want to make this Council public as well?"

"I'm not that crazy," she responded. "This is one time where honesty is not the best policy. If we made the Council public, every single civilian captain would demand the right to participate. No, I think we just say that you carry the highest rank, and let them assume it means you are in charge."

"Which is exactly what it should mean," Sheridan said testily. "Fine. I agree. Call the vote." Sinclair asked if there was any further discussion, and when none arose, called the vote. It was unanimous in favor of disclosure in three days time.

As they all made preparations to leave, Garibaldi said, "I'd just like to remind everyone that the vote to have fleet personnel visit the civilian ships more and see mental health care professionals applies to everyone in this room as well. The vote made no exceptions for flag officers. I expect to see you all under spin soon."

"Apparently you'll see me on the Olympic," Gideon said tiredly, glancing at Lochley in irritation. "I need to make arrangements for a new meeting location. I'll head over tomorrow."
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"Twenty-six," Gideon grunted through the pushup. "Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. Twenty…" His arms locked half way through the next upward stroke, refusing to move a single inch farther. His arms, his whole body trembled, sweat dripping off of his bare chest and onto the carpeted floor of the room he had requisitioned aboard the Olympic.

As he held the position, struggling to complete just one more pushup, the door suddenly burst open. Commander Lochley walked through, then seemed to notice him down on the floor, and glared at him with displeasure. "Lieutenant Commander," she asked in exasperation, "exactly what are you doing in my room?"

Gideon gaped at her in astonishment, the dropped his head back into the proper position, and somehow ripped out three more pushups. "Ninety-eight. Ninety-nine. One hundred." He grunted and collapsed to the floor. He breathed deeply for a few seconds, not certain his arms would continue to function, then scrambled to his feet and gave Lochley his best smile. "I think you're mistaken, Commander. I reserved this room. You asked me to set up a new meeting location, remember? And why are you here, anyway?" he asked suspiciously.

"Did you forget that we all have a new requirement to spend more time out amongst the civilians? I wanted to get mine out of the way before the announcement about Lefcourt causes all kinds of chaos. Besides, I haven't been under spin for a while, and was looking forward to the exercise. As to why this ship in particular, the serial killer started on this ship. I thought I would take a look around myself, on the off-chance I might notice anything. And no," she said testily, "I am not mistaken. This is my room. Captain Stevens gave me this key himself."

Gideon could only shrug. "Sorry, Commander. He gave me mine as well. Do you want me to comm him? I could try to straighten this mess out."

"No," she said decisively. "He's clearly playing politics with us. Wants to show that he has neither the resources, the time, nor the inclination to jump just because a couple of Fleet Captains show up on his doorstep." She sighed. "I was looking forward to a couple of days under spin. Well, maybe after he's had his fun for a few hours he'll be more amenable. I'll contact him then." She noticed something on his bed. "Wait, are those textbooks?" she asked with a laugh.

"Despite being a serving Line Officer, I'm still technically a cadet, remember? It's expected that I keep up with my final year of classes. I thought I'd take a little time while I'm here to catch up." He was sounding more than a little defensive.

"Well, maybe later I'll tutor you," she said with a smirk. "In the meantime," she continued, gripping her bag and heading for the back of the room, "I'm sure you won't mind if I use our head to change into my PT gear? I want to at least get a run in. If you're lucky I'll let you join me."

"Uhh...I just finished my workout…"

"What, can't keep up?" she asked, turning and flashing him a smile before closing the door.

Now that sounds like a challenge, he thought, fishing around in his gear for a clean exercise shirt. Finding one, he quickly pulled it over his head, then grabbed a water bulb and quickly drained it, attempting to slow his breathing.

He heard the door open behind him, and turned. He was very proud of his poker face in that moment, reasonably certain that neither his tongue nor any drool was hanging out of his mouth. It wasn't that Lochley was wearing anything inappropriate. They were just standard issue PT sweats, after all. It's just that they happened to be, well, at least three or four sizes too small for the woman wearing them. He had thought she was gorgeous in dress uniform. She could have been a vid-star in those sweats. A most impressive bust drew up the bottom of the shirt, just revealing a set of marvelously tight abs.

"You ready for this?" she asked with another smirk.

He stammered, shocked. "Ahh...um...what?"

"Are you ready for the run?" she asked. "Is something wrong?"

"Oh...no, not at all. Let's go." He held the door open for her, pretending to be gentlemanly. Checking out a seriously fine rear end was closer to the truth. She lead him out the door, and they began to run.

Ninety minutes later, after having chased Lochley around and around the central atrium, up and down hallways and service corridors, and through numerous sections of the ship, Gideon had come to just two conclusions. Lochley was in really great shape, and Lochley had a really great shape. He supposed those two things went together. "Where are we?" he asked, trying to catch his breath. He was gratified to see that she was short winded as well.

"All that time in zero-G really did a number on me," she said. "I'm in horrible shape."

"Not from where I'm standing."

She turned and grinned at him, then said, "I figured after pulling a double workout you'd be hungry. I know I'm famished. I'm told this place has the best food on the ship. Oh, unless you have other plans?"

"Well, let's see, uh, Radium's already been discovered, so that's out. I was going to do my laundry, but let's be honest, I never actually do my laundry. I'm expecting that someone will want to pin a medal to my chest any day now, but I'm sure they'll find someone just as deserving. So no, no plans to speak of." They exchanged smiles, and he followed her into the restaurant.

They sat and ordered, spin allowing for real cooked food, not paste or dehydrated squares out of vacuum sealed bags. Most of the time in zero-G you didn't know what you were eating unless you bothered to read the label. Of course they were in for a long flight and had a lot of mouths to feed, so there was no room for extravagant foodstuffs to be packed along. The meal was simple, but well prepared and delicious. Gideon had ordered a hearty stew, while Lochley had a light pasta. After dinner the conversation turned to their jobs and the challenges that came with them.

"Nobody considers me a "real" Captain," he confided. "My crew trusts me, I have their complete confidence, but they're all cadets like me. I've got Sinclair and Garibaldi constantly looking over my shoulder, and none of the "real" fleet officers trusting my decisions. Well, you know what I mean. I've seen that same look in your eyes. That, 'here goes Captain Cadet again' look."

Lochley grimaced slightly. "Sorry about that."

"Some days it's like trying to nail smoke to the wall. The job is hard enough. Why does everyone keep trying to make it harder than it has to be?"

"The bigger the job, the more of a target you become. Running the flagship of the fleet trying to save the human race, is a pretty big job. How you handling it?"

"Better, thanks to seeing you." She actually blushed a little, and he smiled. "Would you excuse me for a moment? I'd like to go wash up."
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Lochley sat at the table waiting for Gideon to return. Damn it, she thought, he shouldn't be that charming. Unexpectedly, there was someone looming over the table. She looked up to see Captain Stevens, commander of the Olympic.

He smiled down at her kindly. "Commander Lochley, I thought I recognized you. You've been on board for several hours now. Were you planning on staying the night? Would you like me to arrange quarters for you?"

"No, that's quite alright, Captain. I've already made other arrangements. I'm sorry, but if you don't mind, I'm meeting with Lieutenant Commander Gideon regarding sensitive military matters."

"Of course. And here he comes now. I'll just leave you to it. But don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything."

"Thank you, Captain."
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Gideon returned to his seat. "Was that Captain Stevens? What did he have to say?"

Lochley frowned, standing up to leave. "I had called him about the room mix up. He apologized, but reiterated that they don't have any room to spare. It's the influx of Fleet crew on leave. So it was just simple overcrowding, not politics."

"Well, that's too bad. You know what? Why don't you take the room?"

"Absolutely not. No, you've actually got a job to do here. I just wanted to get some leave time out of the way. No, I'll head back to my ship, and you keep the room. But, if you don't mind, I'd love a quick shower before I leave. Vibing is just not the same."

"Of course." They walked out of the restaurant, and began a leisurely stroll towards the room. The whole ship had gone into a night time cycle, with the lights lowered. They were walking through the atrium with only small pathway lights to guide their way. As the floor of the massive cylinder curved into the walls and finally the ceiling, the pathway lights opposite them took on the aspect of stars in the sky.

They had only gotten about halfway back, when a quartet of civilian men stepped into the path in front of them. "What have we here?" One of them asked. "A pair of fleet Captains all alone. It's not wise to be out by yourselves officers. Very unsafe. The Marsies aren't very fond of you."

"Thanks for the advice," Lochley said, stepping forward. "And you are?"

"We're the Marsies," another of the men stated.

Gideon stepped up next to Lochley. "Don't do anything stupid. You'll get into a lot of trouble, interfering with Fleet officers. It's not like we won't recognize you later."

"Then I guess, instead of leaving you bruised, we'll have to leave you corpses," a third man said, and then lunged forward, swinging at Gideon. The lunge wasn't terribly graceful. A simple shift to the side by Gideon caused him to miss entirely, but left him off balance. Gideon seized a handful of his hair, and used the leverage to shove the man's face downwards, right into Gideon's swiftly rising knee. Blood blossomed as the man's nose was crushed. He screamed, but the scream was cut short as Gideon smoothly pivoted around his heel and brought his elbow sharply around and into the base of the assailant's skull. He crumpled bonelessly to the floor. Unfortunately, that move placed Gideon's back to the final member of the quartet, who tackled Gideon, taking him down.

At the same time, the first of the men darted forward, reaching for Lochley. She grabbed his hand in a practiced hold and twisted. The man stumbled as his entire arm rotated, and his direction of travel shifted by ninety degrees. With a kick she swept his legs out from under him, and his face hit the ground with a crunch. The second of the quartet had gotten around behind her, wrapping his arms around her in an attempted hold, while the first man got back to his feet. She relaxed her legs, sagging in his arms, about to slip out of his hold. He jerked up and backwards, levering her upwards in a natural attempt to reassert his grip. This move lent considerable momentum to the upward sweep of her leg, as she brought her foot up into the groin of the first assailant, who had just staggered to his feet. The man huffed, and bent low over his injured groin, falling to one knee. Lochley hurled her torso to the left, once again causing the man holding her to correct, jerking her back to the right. This caused her body to roll perfectly, allowing her to bring up her left knee and then fire out her heel, catching her first attacker right in the temple. His groans cut off sharply, and he toppled over.

Gideon was struggling to regain his feet, while the man above him rained down blows on the back of his head. The tackle had carried them into a flower bed, and Gideon's mouth and nose were clogged with the wet soil. He attempted to scramble away from the falling blows, his hands clawing at the loose soil. His right hand came down on something...a very decorative, yet very real rock. Gripping it tightly, he shoved with his left hand, rolling quickly over his hip and bringing his right hand, as well as the rock, swinging around and into his attacker's forehead. The skin split and a splatter of blood added to the mud already covering Gideon's face. The man stumbled backwards, but there hadn't been much power to the blow. He tried to regain his composure and return to the fight, but those few seconds were all that Gideon needed to leap to his feet and bring the rock around again. This time, the man went down and didn't get up again.

Walking casually up behind the large man holding the flailing Lochley, Gideon brought the rock down almost casually on top of the man's head. He dropped like a...well, like a bag of rocks, releasing Lochley in the process. They both stood, gasping for breath. "You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah. I think so." She tapped her comms unit. "Commander Lochley to Olympic security…"
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A couple of hours later, after handing the men over to the local security officers, and then giving their statements, Lochley and Gideon finally made it back to the room.

"I hated that," she said walking into the room. "I've got to take that shower now."

"Me too. Thank God for spin. It would take hours to vibe this stuff off," he said indicating the mud and blood still coating his face, torso, and arms. "An honest to God shower. I can't wait for some real, hot, running water."

"You'll have to wait while it recycles," she said, stripping out of her shoes.

"That's okay," he said. "I can wait. I've got to get my adrenaline down anyway."

"Yeah, me to," she said breathlessly. "I'm still buzzing, from head to toe."

He walked over to her. "Makes you feel alive, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," she said nodding, looking up at him as he loomed over her, her heart doing a strange flop. "It does."

He reached for her, and they found themselves sharing a passionate kiss, gripping each other tightly. When the kiss finally ended he took a couple of deep breaths. "We don't have to wait to recycle the water, we could, uh, we could share..."

"Environmentally safe," she responded.

"Waste not, want not."

They rushed into the shower and began shedding their clothes, interspersing said activity with more passionate kissing.

Well, Lochley thought, it's not exactly how I planned it, but mission accomplished.
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Ivanova watched in awe as more of the fleet disappeared through the swirling hyperspace vortex, leaving Quadrant 14 behind. The civilians, after weeks of fearing the Minbari would show up at any moment and kill them all, seemed to feel that Narn space was perfectly safe. Keeping them moving in a consistent and orderly fashion was proving difficult. It's like herding cats, she thought. While they had been pulling maintenance and refit in the system, the fleet had gotten spread out all over the place, at least on the edges of the system. The Narn, once the agreement had been struck, had returned to the inner system, leaving only a single frigate to keep an eye on them. When the fleet had gotten moving again, it became apparent that the brass hadn't realized exactly how dispersed the civies had become.

To resolve that problem, they'd broken the CAP up into pairs of Starfuries, flying hither and yon, making sure that all the dispersed civies were aware that it was time for all humans to leave.

"Beautiful sight, isn't it?" came Ironhearts voice? She was flying as his wingman on today's mission. She was his wingman most of the time, when she wasn't flying as part of Sinclair's class. The class was only about half completed, but they were all far enough along now that full class training sessions were becoming less common. Instead, the class had been broken up and spread out across the squadrons of the fleet, each rookie assigned a veteran partner to help continue their development. For some reason no one had yet explained, Black Omega squadron had been broken up and dispersed as well, fully half the squadron sent to other ships and wings in the fleet. Lyta claimed it showed that the Brass still didn't trust telepaths, and was still actively trying to remove any power they might have. Susan didn't think that meshed with the fact that Bester was still clearly one of the ranking members of said Brass.

Black Omega, in accordance with donating so many pilots to the rest of the fleet, had also received the most trainee pilots, so Susan was no longer the only rookie on the Mother. She was still the only one who was a telepath, though. The other trainees seemed to be having a tough time coping with being on a vessel populated almost entirely by telepaths. She had tried to ease their concerns, but they seemed to view her with nearly as much trepidation as they did everyone else aboard the Mother. Well, she thought, they'll either get over it, or they won't. It's up to them. Responding to Ironheart, she said, "Absolutely. But my butt is getting tired, and the fleet is almost entirely gone. Are we done yet?"

In response he radioed the Nova, the last warship still in the system. "Black Omega...11 to Nova, we're getting antsy up here. How many more civies do we need to round up?" Susan almost laughed at the slight hesitation when he gave his slot designation. He had recently been Black Omega 6, the junior partner in a wingmen duo. But the major realignment of the squadron had made him the most junior pair leader, changing his slot position, with Susan his junior partner in Black Omega 12.

The response was delayed in coming, but was reasonably welcome news, "Just one more vessel to round up, Black Omega 11. The El Dorado. It's an ore hauler with over a hundred folks crammed on board, as well as a good bit of cargo. The manifest says it's rigged for asteroid ore extraction. Maybe they got greedy, because they've wandered way over by that cluster of asteroids at bearing 136 by 57. We're shunting you their transponder codes. Not sure if it's technical problems, or the asteroids, or just the distance, but we can't get a clear comm channel through to them, so they might not know the wagon train is moving out. It'd take you over an hour to get their at normal cruise, so you are authorized to go to full military thrust. Captain Sheridan says we've overstayed our welcome. Round 'em up and move 'em out Black Omega."

"Roger." He switched back to the squadron channel. "You got all that, kiddo?"

"Yes," she groaned. "Even at full military thrust it will take us nearly half an hour to get there, and there's no way they can match that kind of acceleration on the way back."

"That's the job, hotshot. Follow my lead. Full military thrust in three...two...one...go."

Almost a half hour later, they were decelerating for a close rendezvous with the civie vessel, when the interference suddenly cleared up. Almost instantly a clear voice over the civilian comm channel shouted, "Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is Captain Tuttle of the El Dorado. We're cut off and being surrounded by raiders. Requesting immediate military assistance! They aren't responding to hails! Help!"

Susan was about to key a response, when the transmission squelched and then began again, clearly on a loop. "Do not respond," Ironheart ordered. "Cease deceleration on my mark...Mark! If the raiders are still there, I want to do a fast flyby. Weapons hot." Susan complied, her heart rate ratcheting up several notches, and sweat breaking out on her brow. Without the deceleration, it would only take a little over two minutes for them to enter the group of asteroids and get a visual on the El Dorado. Susan breathed deeply and tried to prepare herself.

"Frag!" she heard Ironheart hiss as it finally came into view. The El Dorado was in a slow tumble, but it was clearly dead. There were holes from weapons fire all over the hull, and both the reactor and the cargo hold had been torn open. The cargo had clearly been taken, and the reactor was spewing intense radiation all over the area. Apparently most of the passengers had been in the cargo hold, because dozens of bodies floated silently, frozen in the void.

"Should we get closer?" she asked. "Look for survivors?"

"Don't bother," he answered. "This model only carries one escape pod, and it's still there, with a hole blown in it. Sensors indicate the entire vessel is seriously radioactive. There's no one alive down there."

"Minbari?" she asked. "Narn?"

"I don't think it was either," he responded. "At least not their militaries. There's a lot of evidence of weapons fire, but it's all pretty weak stuff, not even close to what a Starfury can do. Probably civilian vessels with weaponry strapped on. This appears to be old fashioned piracy."

"Piracy? In a Narn military system? Good grief, there's a fleet base down there!"

"This kind of thing happens, even in heavily patrolled space. They shouldn't have wandered so far from the fleet. We probably just missed the raiders. They must have jammers, which is why the transmission cleared up so suddenly. They shut if off when they left. Come on. We've got to get back and report this."

Susan took one last look at the gruesome sight, and noticed some of the bodies floating in the void were quite small. Children? She averted her eyes, feeling numb, and quickly spun her Starfury about. Without another word, they cut in maximum thrust and headed back to the fleet.