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.

10. Chapter 9 - Refuge

Chapter 9 - Refuge

Zahbar, Drazi Homeworld - Exodus Fleet - December, 2248

A pair of tugs, one human and one Drazi, dragged the EAS Nova through the jumpgate and into the Drazi home system. It was the final ship of the fleet to arrive. They had finally managed to put out all of the plasma and electrical fires, but only by completely shutting down the main reactors. Losing your engines in hyperspace was never a good thing, but fortunately they had plenty of tugs in the fleet. Still, the Nova was far from the only ship needing to be towed, and the Drazi had once again stepped up, bringing in tugs of their own to aid in the transit.

Standing on a nearly empty bridge, John Sheridan kept an eye on the entire operation. There was little that could actually be done from the bridge. Nearly every one of the ship's systems had been damaged. His people had been working nearly around the clock on repairs. Here, near the end of this leg of their journey, he had insisted they all take some time to rest, eat, and perhaps watch their entry into the system.

Next to him, Ambassador Vizak stood in companionable silence. As the Nova was pulled towards Zahbar itself, Sheridan noted a surprising amount of activity in the orbitals. "There's a lot going on out there," he noted to his guest.

"Yes. By now, repairs should be well under way."

"Repairs?" Sheridan asked in surprise.

"Yes. We will repair your fleet. Every single ship possible. Some of your smaller shuttles and transports may take too long to repair, or even need to be scrapped. In these cases, we will swap the vessel with one of our own."

"That's...very generous of you. We have significant Quantium 40 stocks...again," he said, with some irony. We stole from the Minbari only to have to pay off the Drazi. Where will we get our next payment from? "I presume you would like them in payment?"

"No."

"Something else then?"

"Yes. Please understand, Captain, that we will aid you regardless, but we do want just one thing from you."

"And that would be?"

"Information. Specifically, information on our fleet."

"I'm sorry, Ambassador, I don't understand," Sheridan said honestly. "What could I tell you about your forces that you don't already know?"

"No, I meant a specific fleet. The ships we sent to Earth. We would like to know how they fared."

"Again, I'm sorry Ambassador, but I still don't know what you are talking about. Do you mean one of your trading caravans, from before the war?"

The Drazi seemed to grow agitated. "Captain, we sent a fleet of a thousand warships, under our most decorated Admiral, to stand with you at your Battle of the Line! Are you telling me they never arrived? What happened to them?"

Sheridan stared at the Ambassador in shock for several moments. "A thousand ships? No, I'm sorry, Ambassador, they never arrived. We thought we were all alone. We thought we had been abandoned by every other race."

"You had been. All of the races are terrified of the Minbari, Captain. Now you understand why. We could not bring ourselves to enter the war, to our everlasting shame. Despite all we owed you, we were too afraid to intervene. We remember the Dilgar, Captain. We remember our debts. Why do you think we are helping you now? No, we were terrified. The war was nearly over before General Trkarda, the greatest of our officers, shamed us into finally acting. He gathered the strongest fleet we had ever fielded, save only the very mightiest during the Dilgar war, and headed for your territory. I know the Vree also assembled a relief fleet of several hundred ships. I have heard no further news on their efforts, though clearly they never arrived either. But what could have happened to two such powerful fleets?"

"My initial inclination would be to assume they were caught by the Minbari, but that doesn't seem to fit."

"And why not?"

"Our experience with the Minbari would indicate that they don't forgive attack. If they had fought such a powerful fleet of your ships, I would assume they would already be at war with you, assaulting your space."

"We would call up the mutual defense clause of the League. Bring every member into the war."

"Would they come to your aid? They didn't come to ours," Sheridan said, trying not to be bitter.

"Perhaps not, though I would like to think the League has learned its lesson from the Dilgar. Our reluctance to support each other allowed them to nearly exterminate us all separately. They might have succeeded, if not for the intervention of your people. Still, the Minbari are terrifying indeed."

"A more relevant question might be if the Minbari would fear even the combined might of the League. As you said, you didn't do so well against the Dilgar, who were a much smaller threat."

The Drazi sighed. "You are of course correct, Captain. Though I think the Minbari would be surprised if it came to that. Some of our members are quite advanced. The Abbai, the Vree, the Hyach. If the Yolu actually managed to motivate themselves, they alone might prove a formidable opponent for the Minbari. However...I doubt the Minbari would see it that way."

"Which leads us back to the fact that, if the Minbari had fought your fleet, they would be here attacking your people. I'm sorry, Ambassador. I have no idea what happened to your fleet. All I can say is thank you, for sending it in the first place. I am also honor bound to advise you that your are probably putting your people in danger by helping us."

Vizak sighed again. "I am aware. As are my people. Which is why I have to tell you that you cannot stay. We will repair your ships. We will resupply your fuel and food stores, and then we must send you on your way. I am sorry that we cannot do more."

"It is more than enough, Ambassador Vizak. Thank you."

"Just Vizak, please. It will take some time to repair all of your vessels. Our technologies are not always compatible, so it is good that you brought many spare parts. This warship in particular has extensive damage to the hull and armor. We use a type of depth hardened steel for our own vessels. I do not know how it compares to your own armor, but it can be injection molded into the rips, tears, and holes in your vessel, much as you would patch a wall or a road. Hopefully this will be sufficient."

"More than sufficient, Vizak. And please, call me John."

The Drazi smiled. "In the meantime, your people have the same freedom of movement as any citizen of the Freehold. Visit any of our cities or civilian space stations. We can make arrangements for some of your officers to visit our military ships and space stations, if you would like. I argued for my government to provide all of your people with a small stipend while you are here, but this they refused. So if your people wish to purchase anything, they will need to bring trade goods. I'm afraid Earth Alliance currency no longer has any value. My apologies."

"Please, don't apologise. You've been more than generous. And we do have some trade goods we can provide to our citizens. They'll be happy to spend some time standing on real ground, breathing real air. Thank you."

"As for calling you John...actually, would you mind if I called you Starkiller?"
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Jux Prime, Centauri Space - The Grey Sharlin - December, 2248

A trio of Sharlin warcruisers made a stately entry through the jumpgate and into Centauri space. Delenn, watching the proceedings via the massive holographic display in the meeting chamber of the Grey Council, was unsurprised to see the three Primus class battlecruisers waiting to meet them. Their scouts had informed them of the presence of the Centauri task force. It was why they had chosen to come with precisely three vessels. It set up a nominal level of equality. The warriors had assured her, however, that even a single Sharlin should easily deal with all three of the Centauri vessels. As though she were concerned that the Centauri might start a fight.

"Satais," Shai Alyt Branmer noted, "their gunports are open, their weapons uncharged.

"Well," Coplann said in surprise, "how interesting. It would seem we may have run into someone civilized out here. What a novel experience." Delenn found herself quite annoyed at teh statement, though she wasn't entirely certain why.

A religious caste acolyte, who had been directing the sensors, approached and bowed. "Satais, we have received a message from the Centauri Ambassador. He would like to request a meeting in person, and requests you choose the location; his vessel, ours, or a neutral point in between."

"Proper deference as well," Coplann said. "Better and better. I suggest we bring this ambassador aboard. Allow him to see the true might of those with whom he would parley." Uncertain as to what this Centauri behavior would portend, Delenn merely gave a shallow bow in acknowledgement.

Less than half an hour later, the Centauri Ambassador was ushered into the Council chamber. The Council had been called into formal session for the meeting with the Ambassador. The Nine stood in their circle, each illuminated by a beam of light from above, with their hoods drawn up. The hall was otherwise completely dark, save for the pool of light that sprang up around the Centauri, as he stepped to the center of the circle. The ornate and colorful finery of his garments was in stark contrast to the simple grey robes of the Councillors. However, regardless of its gaudiness, it was clearly a military uniform, including military decorations and a short sword sheathed at the waist. Delenn noted each of the Warrior Caste council members wearing approving looks as they examined the Centauri.

The Centauri examined them in return, then pulled himself up to his full height and raised his chin high. "My name is Londo Mollari. I was recently the Centauri Ambassador to the Earth Alliance. Today I have been tasked with representing my people to you. On behalf of my people, my Emperor, and my Republic; I wish to welcome you to Centauri space. Friends, the Centauri Republic greets you with peace and hospitality."

Coplann stepped forward and lowered his hood to meet the Ambassador's eyes. "Your words do you credit, Centauri. The Minbari have long thought of your people as aggressive, avaricious, and hedonistic barbarians. It may be time that we reexamine those beliefs. However, we have not come for you peace or your hospitality. We require access to your space. We are on a mission."

"Yes," Mollari said, drawing out the word as though tasting it. "I am well aware of your mission." His words caught Delenn by surprise, but she allowed not a ripple to mar the still surface of her robes. A few of the others were not so controlled, and she heard murmuring sweep around the ring of the Nine. However, the Ambassador continued, "You are hunting humans. A fleet of humans, fleeing from the destruction you have wrought upon their Earth Alliance. Tsk tsk tsk. Such a messy matter. But I am afraid you will not get what you came for."

Coplann's eyes tightened in anger. "You would deny us, Centuari? If you know so much about why we are here, then you know what the humans did to us. You know why we must finish this. Would you protect them? Or is it your plan to insist that they were never here?"

"My name, sir, is Mollari, not Centauri. They sound somewhat alike, so I understand your confusion. And yes, I do understand the mission you are on. I will not lie, I spent a great deal of time with the humans, I liked them as a species. I liked many of them as individuals. But what they did to you was unacceptable. A powerful race, a senior race like the Minbari or the Centauri, cannot allow that type of behavior. If the humans had killed our Emperor during first contact, when we approached them in respectful greeting, our response would have been much the same as yours. Ohh," he drawled again, "we would likely have enslaved them rather than wiping them out. It is our way; more efficient, less wasteful. But that is simply a matter of preference. If you choose to wipe out the humans, or simply grind them back into their stone age, so that in a few thousand years they can try again to return to space, hopefully with more humility, that is of course your own decision. I do not fault you for it, nor should anyone.

"Would it surprise you to learn that the humans consulted me before sending their foolish expedition into your space? I tried to warn them. I told them they were being arrogant and stupid, that the Minbari were not to be trifled with. They chose not to listen. The arrogant never do. They have reaped what they have sewn, yes? I may pity them, but that is all I will give them."

Coplann seemed surprised. "Then you will let us pass in our hunt?" he asked with genuine curiosity. "You said we were wasting our time. Or did you mean they were never here."

"Oh, no, they were most definitely here. The Minbari who escorted me in, is she listening?" Coplann blinked at the apparent non sequitur. However, Mollari was now peering around, trying to see into the darkness. "You out there. You said that a video could be played in this room. The data crystal I gave you, you have found the video on it? Now would be the time, yes?"

He continued to peer around expectantly. The Nine shuffled in agitation. What bizarre behavior! However, suddenly the darkened expanse of the ceiling was replaced by an enormous holographic image. It showed, the human fleet, spilling into this very system.

"Oh my, very nice. How very nice indeed," Mollari said, looking at the giant holographic display in surprise. "Yes, I really must get one of these for my Emperor." Delenn and the rest of the Nine ignored him as, one by one, they lowered their hoods to get a better look at the images.

The human fleet was met by the Centauri warships which now sat facing the Minbari. And then a conversation was opened between Mollari and...Starkiller. It was Starkiller himself. John Sheridan. It was the man who had been captured after the death of Lenonn. The man she had then released. The man who had subsequently been responsible for the deaths of thousands upon thousands of her people. More blood on her hands. More weight upon her shoulder. She shuddered, at the display, but forced herself to watch.

Starkiller asked for the right of passage. Then he argued for it. He attempted to bargain for it. Finally, he begged for it. Starkiller begged. And he was refused...by this man, this Centauri. The human fleet turned around and withdrew, refused entry into Centauri space.

As the display ended, Mollari looked around at the now uncovered faces of each of the Nine, then said, "The data crystal I gave to whoever it was that showed me in, it contains this video as well as all of the sensor readings we took on the human fleet. It also contains video and logs from the scout ships we sent to trail the humans back to ensure they left. They returned to Narn space. I would not be surprised if the Narn were sheltering them. The Centauri, we keep our eyes and ears open. We have heard that you may have had a bit of...unpleasantness...on the Narn border, yes? Do not blame yourselves. The Narn are children, playing games. I believe my people have been telling yours this for generations. Many of the so called League of Non Aligned Worlds are much the same. Expect similar reactions to the Narn's. They will view you with suspicion and hostility. They may play similar games, or give shelter to the humans. They are certainly unlikely to welcome you as the Centauri do. They are all children, in need of discipline."

Delenn looked around the circle. Mollari's words, and the video itself, seemed to have pleased many of them greatly. His words seemed to absolve many of them of the doubts and responsibilities they had been feeling. He said the Centauri would have done the same. He said those who opposed them were fools, deserving of what they go. His silver tongue had endeared him to many of them. Delenn knew exactly what he was doing, but was he wrong?

Coplann cleared his throat, though he was clearly struggling to suppress a smile. "Yes, that is all very good Ambassador Mollari. We thank you for the information. I suppose you would like us to turn around now. But how can we…?"

"Trust me?" Mollari asked, smiling. "How can you know that I have not faked this whole thing? Surely your science is advanced enough that it would detect such a forgery. I would have to be a fool to take such a risk. But you have made one mistake, my friend."

"Oh? And that would be?"

"That I want you to turn around. I most assuredly do not. I said that the Centauri Republic extends its hospitality to you, and I meant it. Come as friends. Feel free to stop at our worlds, to look around our systems. So long as you come in friendship, you will be welcomed as such. I merely wished to forewarn you that looking through our territory for the humans would be a waste of time. I could not, in good conscience, invite you in under the false pretext of finding the humans. But now that I have shared the truth with you, if you wish to look anyway then you are more than welcome to do so. Search our systems. Perhaps stop in at some of our worlds for a meal, a bit of rest and relaxation, perhaps even a bit of shopping."

Delenn finally spoke up. "You wish to establish trade, how clever."

"Indeed. Beyond that, I wish for the Centauri and the Minbari to be friends, perhaps allies. I wish to see the Centauri Embassy on Minbar reopened. Our contact has been limited for too long."

"We will not sell you weapons." Delenn assured him. "We will not support the growth of your Empire, or wars on other species."

"My Dear Lady, did I ask you to? I may have ambitions for the future relations of our two peoples, but for now, I merely want a bit of trade. I wish to sell the Minbari Roopo Balls and Snicks and Brivari, and perhaps to purchase and taste your foodstuffs in return. I have found that friendships develop better over a good meal than in analyzing weaponry. If military transactions eventually arise...well, that is a matter for the future. Oh, and the Centauri are a republic, not an empire."

"But what is your purpose, Ambassador?" Delenn persisted.

"My purpose is order, Dear Lady. Order. A trait this galaxy is sorely lacking. The humans, the Dilgar, the Narn, the Drazi, most of these races breed only chaos. They are children, blundering about. They have caused little but chaos in the last century. And it is our fault, the Minbari's and the Centauri's, and it is for us to fix."

"Excuse me?" one of the other Councillors asked in surprise. Delenn did not see which one.

"A century ago the Centauri stood like a lion over this part of the galaxy, imposing order. Giving direction to the less advanced species. Centuries before us it was you Minbari who did the same. But we both made the same mistake. We withdrew, leaving the galaxy to its own devices. If we had been paying more attention, things like the Dilgar genocide or the human assault on your people would never have happened. You ask my purpose? Eventually I would like the Centauri and Minbari to stand together, two of the oldest and most powerful races, and provide order and leadership for this galaxy. But, for right now, I just want to invite you in and sell you some spoo."

Coplann took a step forward. "Well said, my friend." Delenn's head whipped toward him in astonishment. "We believe you, but we will indeed take you up on your hospitality. The humans are sneaky. You never know when they might try to slip past your borders. We will send a few ships to keep watch, and to sample your spoo. And perhaps you are correct. In time we may very well reopen the Centauri embassy on Minbari. First, though, we must finish this war."

"Just like that?" Delenn asked in shock. "You would accept his proposals and change our longstanding policies so quickly?"

Coplann looked at her. "Yes, well I suppose we will need to vote on it, Delenn. But, how could we not? Is this not exactly what you have been telling us? That Order must fight Chaos. That we need allies? That we will need to lead the younger races against the challenges ahead. Zhu San, Delenn? You should be joyful that the universe has seen fit to give you what you want!"

Delenn glanced over at the Centauri, who was studiously ignoring the byplay, apparently engrossed in studying his own fingernails. She sighed. "Perhaps you are correct." Turning to the Centauri, she said, "Ambassador Mollari, I wish to thank you for your time and gift of information. We must take our leave of your space now. We have much to discuss. You have made excellent arguments. Do not be surprised if we return to sample your hospitality. And perhaps you will have the opportunity to trade for Pil'sha and Zassa fruit. Perhaps we can indeed be friends, and prevent Chaos from swallowing the galaxy."
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Over the course of the next few hours, Mollari had left the ship, and the Minbari had left the system. The Grey Council met again, and approved interaction and a limited increase in trade with the Centauri. Delenn stood at a window in a mostly deserted corridor, staring out at hyperspace. For some reason she could not understand, the entire interaction with Mollari had filled her with dread.

"There you are, Delenn." She turned to see Shai'Alyt Branmer striding towards her, with Coplann just behind him. "We just received word, Delenn. We lost another ship. One of our pickets moving through Narn space came across the wreckage of one of our heavy scouts, the Temshwee under the command of Hiai'sa Manier. It was near the wreckage of many human Worker vessels, including some of their largest ships."

"Clearly," Coplann said, "Starkiller launched another one of his ambushes. The Temshwee was caught in it, but faught back fiercely, doing significant damage before it was overcome."

"That is speculation," Branmer cautioned. "We do not know exactly what events transpired."

"What else could it have been? You know our ships are untouchable by the humans, barring such dishonorable tactics. Regardless, Delenn, it's location was on the Narn-Drazi border. The trail of debris and radiation leaves no room for doubt. The humans entered Drazi space. However, our envoys to the Drazi have been rebuffed. They refuse us passage, and insist the humans aren't there. It is just as Mollari said. They are children, playing games. And they have clearly chosen to stand with the humans. They are likely helping to repair the human vessels."

"We will not go to war with the Drazi," Delenn cautioned sharply. "They have shown us no violence. You agreed, Coplann, that we would not attack races who support the humans. It is honorable of them, given the aid the humans gave them against the Dilgar."

"Yes, Delenn, I remember. And you agreed that we would do whatever was necessary to overtake and destroy the humans; that we would not let anything stand in our way. If you have a suggestion for resolving this dilemma, then I would be happy to hear it."

Delenn almost gave a sharp retort, but thought better of it. Instead, she took a deep breath, and then took a few moments to really think about the situation. "If the human ships are damaged as badly as you say, then they are unlikely to be leaving Drazi space anytime soon. Is that correct?"

"Most likely," Branmer answered.

"And repairing the level of damage your are describing….that work would most easily be carried out around the Drazi homeworld, correct?"

"Yes, most likely," Branmer agreed again.

Delenn sighed. "Then we gather a fleet. One large and powerful enough that the Drazi cannot ignore it, that they would be foolish to try to stop. We do not attack, but instead cross over their border and head for their homeworld, where we will put an end to the human fleet. Self preservation should prevent the Drazi from trying to stop us. If they do attack, then we will have the forces to deal with them. Hopefully, though, the show of force will help them to see reason, and save their own lives. It's not perfect, but it's the best plan I can think of."

Coplann pursed his lips in thought, but then gave a quick nod. Branmer said, "It's a good plan, Delenn. Let us hope that the Drazi see reason."
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Zahbar, Drazi Homeworld - Exodus Fleet - December, 2248

"Come on, see reason," Dr. Franklin chided the Drazi merchant. "You can't possibly expect that much when you can't even tell me what the thing does, much less demonstrate how to operate it."

"When have you ever known a Drazi to be reasonable?" Max Eilerson asked rhetorically. The question elicited a glare from the Drazi.

Stephen pulled the man a few steps away from the Drazi merchant. "We're in a negotiation here. Try not to be so abrasive. Now, what exactly is your problem?"

"My problem? My problem is that I should be back on my ship, analyzing that Minbari tech we captured, rather than down here with you on a wild goose chase."

"You'd really pass up a chance to go planet side? After all the time we've been stuck in space? I thought you'd appreciate this chance. Besides, I thought all the Minbari tech was blasted to scrap. I heard that the only useful tech we recovered was samples of their hull armor."

"Yeah, it was. You military types really don't know the meaning of overkill, do you? But I work with the burned out scraps of tech that's been sitting for thousands or even tens of thousands of years. I'll make do. And when I crack something valuable, like their stealth maybe, then hopefully I'll finally see some appreciation for my talents. Anyway, why do you want this thing so bad? It's clearly either a joke or a scam."

"I want it because we were supposed to review the Drazi wares for any useful medicines or technologies, and after visiting a dozen different markets, this is the only thing that has even come close. And that's only because I have no idea what it does! And what do you mean, it's either a joke or a scam?"

"I mean it's not real. I partially deciphered the markings on the device while you were haggling."

"What, already? Shouldn't that take years?"

"Well, if I was just some random doctor, I suppose it would take years, but this is my job, Doctor," he said caustically. "And it's only a rough, partial translation. The thing claims to be a "life-force transfer device" for use in corporal punishment. And it's obviously a hoax, because the laws of physics which I'm familiar with don't allow for any such thing. So unless you happen to be friends with Merlin or Harry Potter, I suggest you let this go. Or do your rules of medicine obey a different set of physical laws?"

"No….that kind of thing should be impossible. But then again, so should telepathy and telekinesis. And this thing is still the only interesting thing we've found. And it's clearly not Drazi in origin."

"Clearly. And that matters why, exactly?"

Rather than answering, Stephen returned to the Drazi merchant. "My friend thinks your device is a fraud. I'm inclined to agree. However, since I'm feeling generous, I'm willing to offer you a hundred kilos of Earth coffee. It may be the last chance you ever have to acquire the stuff."

"Human food stuffs do not interest me. I have seen humans trading with industrial gemstones. I would trade the device for one hundred carats of sapphires."

Franklin laughed at him. "I was willing to be nice because the thing looked interesting. I thought it might make a nice wall decoration. But I'm not going to stand here and be insulted. Come on, Max." Franklin started to walk away quickly, Eilerson in tow.

As expected, the Drazi merchant quickly called out to them. "Wait. I misspoke. I meant to say fifty carats."

Stephen turned back. I'll give you thirty, or you can have the coffee. Otherwise, I walk."

The Drazi merchant put on a show of reluctance, but quickly agreed to the deal. Shortly, Stephen and Max were leaving with the strange alien device.

"You got robbed, you know," Max said. "He would have gone down to ten carats."

"It would have been more helpful if you had told me that five minutes ago," Stephen said with exasperation. Then he saw Tessa. She was about fifty meters ahead on the crowded street. She was running, in the company of a Zack Allan and a trio of armed Drazi. Sensing trouble, Stephen thrust the device into Eilerson's arms and said, "Get this back to the ship." Then he took off at a run.

Max shouted after him, "I'm not your pack mule," but Franklin was already far enough away to ignore the man. He chased Tessa and her companions, but in the crowded streets he nearly lost them several times. He almost gave up completely, but caught a flash of blonde hair flying down a narrow alley way. Resuming the chase, he finally caught up to them in a small enclosed courtyard at the end of the alley. It was dark and grimy and filled with refuse, but Stephen's eyes were immediately drawn to the pair of bodies which had been nailed to the wall, posed as though hanging from a cross. Blood sheeted down their faces from the neat drill holes into their foreheads. On blind instinct Stephen pulled out his medical scanner.

Tessa noticed him. "Stephen, you shouldn't be here."

Zack grimaced. "Do you always bring your boyfriend on murder investigations, Holloran?"

Stephen strode forward past the man, practically bowling him over. "It's not a murder yet. They're still alive. Help me get them down!"
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Susan Ivanova woke in her bunk aboard the Nova. Rolling over, she checked the wall chrono. I must still be catching up on all that lost sleep, she thought. A full eight hours and I still feel half asleep. Well, she didn't need to be anywhere for an hour yet. Patrols had been almost entirely halted, so as to minimize the possibility of an incident with Drazi forces. She could actually catch a bit more shuteye.

Rolling back into her bunk, she felt something dig into her back. That's weird. I don't remember leaving anything here. Groping under her sheet, she felt something round and metallic, cool to the touch. Curious, she pulled it out and looked at it. It was a military grade demolition charge.

Eyes widening, heart rate accelerating, she leaped out of bed and tore away the sheet. The action sent several more demolition charges spinning across the room, tumbling gracefully in the zero-G environment. Horrified, she began to scoop them out of the air, until something else caught her eye. Something had been written on her now drifting sheet in giant red letters.

Snatching back the sheet, she spent several moments trying to spread it out so she could read what had been written. Her movements were made awkward by the trio of explosive devices she still held, but she finally managed to open is sufficiently, spreading out the corners as best she could with her hands and right foot. The letters were meant to look like they had been written in blood, but she saw with relief that it was just paint. She saw to her increasing horror that it was just one word...TRAITOR.

Behind her, she heard the hatch open and Lyta and Talia wander in, chatting amiably about something inconsequential. Susan froze, slowly turning her head. As soon as they saw her, the room went silent and deathly still. Finally, Lyta turned to Talia and said, "Close the hatch." Moving farther into the room while Talia complied, she asked, "Susan, what's happening?"

Slowly, Susan gathered up the remaining explosives, then wrapped them all in the sheet. Finally, she sat back on her bunk and turned a pallid face to her two friends. "I think...I think someone is trying to frame me. It's not the first time either." Haltingly, she began to explain to them about the events leading up to the explosion of the King Solomon's mines. How she had awoken in a hazardous environment suit, which had logged a large dose of radiation, and which had been carrying antiradiation drugs. They looked horrified when she explained about the needle marks in her arm. "I've...I've also been losing time. It's happened a few times. I'll wake up with no memory of how I got there."

"Any needle marks at those times?" Lyta asked.

"No."

"Too bad. It would explain how they are doing it," Talia stated.

"Doing what?"

"Drugging you," Talia said. "It's the only reasonable explanation. It covers the lost time and the clothing changes. How they're doing it is the tricky part. It's gotta be someone with some authority. Probably someone with access to your food and drink. Someone who's not happy about how important telepaths are becoming to the fleet."

"Hold on, Talia," Lyta broke in. "You're making an awful lot of assumptions. We don't know what's been happening to her. We certainly don't know that some telepath hater is orchestrating this. Why would they?"

"Don't be naive, Lyta. Haven't you been paying attention to what's been happening with the fleet? The serial killer just tried to murder two more telepaths down on Zahbar. He would have succeeded to, if Dr. Franklin hadn't been nearby. As it is, they'll never have telepathy again, and they can't remember a thing. And that's on top of all the hostility and bigotry we face throughout the fleet! Brotherhood of Man my foot! We're still just as divided and isolated as we were before the war."

"I know all that, but it doesn't mean…" Lyta took a deep breath. "Regardless, there's another assumption you are making. I am too for that matter, but we should probably make sure it really isn't just an assumption." She turned and looked directly at Susan.

Susan recoiled, hurt and strangely ashamed. She quietly whispered, "You think I might have actually done it?"

"No, of course not. But we should be sure. A deep scan will prove your innocence, and maybe help us to figure out who is doing this. It won't be pleasant but…"

"Absolutely not," Talia hissed. "Susan is our friend. She deserves our trust and support, not suspicion and the pain of a deep scan. You know as well as I do that she is incapable of something like this. She's as innocent as I am. And a deep scan won't prove her innocence. Not to the people who count. The normals don't trust us enough. Maybe that will change, but it hasn't yet. A deep scan will keep her out of prison, but it won't save her career. If this get's out, scan or no scan, her piloting days are over. I don't know about you, but I rather like her being out there, protecting us all."

Lyta pressed her lips into a thin line, thinking, then gave a sharp nod. "Alright. So what do we do?"

The words had no more than left her mouth than the sounds of an enormous explosion thundered through the corridors of the ship. Seconds later, the call to battle stations erupted from sirens throughout the ship.

Talia snapped out directions. "Susan, get to your squadron. They'll be waiting for you. Lyta and I will take care of disposing of this fake evidence."

"We can't do that now," Lyta told her. "We need to get to the bridge, remember?" Turning to Susan she smiled briefly and said, "We were going to tell you. Talia and I aren't just here as your tutors anymore. We've been assigned to assist with targeting and tracking. It's just us for now, but I think eventually they plan is to have a team of telepaths assigned to every gun battery. We're in the military now, to! They didn't bother to give us a rank, so I think I'll call myself Admiral Alexander." She chuckled at her own joke, causing Talia to roll her eyes.

She reached out and gripped Susan's arm. "Don't worry. Alexander the Great Big Ego and I are going to help you. We'll get you through this, Susan." They pulled each other into a quick group hug, and then turned and raced from the room.
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"Long story short, we need to slow down. We can't keep racing ahead like this," Garibaldi advised the group. It had been his job to look into the recent explosion aboard the Nova and advise the Council of Captains, which was meeting aboard the Olympic. For once, the ship didn't feel massively overcrowded. Huge numbers of civilians had decided to take advantage of the Drazi hospitality and had shuttled down to the surface, at least for a few days. It was expensive, but it was a huge boost for morale. It also got them out of the way of all of the repairs which needed to be done; repairs which had been proceeding at a breakneck pace.

"Could you give us a little more than that, Michael?" Sinclair asked with some exasperation.

"Simple really. There are only two possibilities, it was either sabotage or it was an accident. Given the accident on the Midway and the sabotage of the King Solomon's Mines, both seem equally plausible. And both are facilitated by this Godawful rush we're putting our people through."

"So which is it, Michael? Accident or sabotage? You've had twenty-four hours to figure it out. I don't know that we can afford to give any more time."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about. It takes time to run a proper investigation. If you cut me off now, if you rush ahead with repairs, we'll probably never know for sure. And frankly, accident or sabotage, this almighty rush is the reason it happened. If it was an accident, it's because we're moving too fast to work safely with all of the proper precautions. If it was sabotage, it was successful because everyone is in such a hurry that no one has the time to notice when something isn't right, when someone is somewhere they're not supposed to be, doing something they shouldn't be doing. We need to slow down."

"We can't," Sheridan cut in. "We can't slow down. We need to be moving full speed ahead, with repairs and everything else. If people get hurt, if this mystery stays unsolved, we'll just have to learn to live with it, because our speed saves a lot more lives than it harms. Michael, the Minbari are coming. I don't know when, but they are coming. Every minute we are still here brings them closer. It puts every human life in jeopardy. Frankly, it also puts every Drazi life in jeopardy. These people have done too much for us, given too much, for us to allow the Minbari to catch them red handed. Who knows what the Minbari would do to them, just for helping us? Our speed may very well mean the survival of two species. No, I'm sorry, Michael. If you are asking us to slow down, my vote will be no."

"I don't know that the choice is yours."

"Yes, yes, the all important vote. So call it already."

"Not what I'm talking about. I trust you John," he said, pointedly looking at Bester, Lochley, and Levitt, "but this may very well be out of our hands. We've got a problem. The civilian repair crews have been calling in sick. As far as we can determine, none of them are actually ill, they're just calling in sick. It sounds like the Blue Flu."

"Excuse me?" asked Lochley.

"My grandmother was a Boston cop, and I remember her telling me about the Blue Flu. They used to use it to get around sanctions on work stoppages."

"In other words," Sinclair interrupted, "we have an illegal strike on our hands."

"These people are scared," Garibaldi resumed. They're just refusing to work under unsafe conditions. They assume we don't care about their well being. And until this is resolved, not much will get done. We can supplement with military damage control personnel and Drazi workers, but it will still slow us down regardless."

"They can't do that," Sheridan said angrily. "Not while we're at war. Not under a state of martial law."

"Then you better be ready to arrest them, and that's going to mean a fight. I'd rather not, but say the word and I'll move in with security forces."

"Now hold on just a minute," Sinclair argued. "Arresting them won't do anything but alienate them more. It certainly won't speed up the repairs, and if they start actively fighting against us, it could well set us back. We should at least try talking to them, finding out what they want. Maybe this can be resolved peacefully."

"We can't afford to give in to a bunch of civilian demands," Sheridan said hesitantly.

"We need to at least try. I'll do it, if no one else wants the task. Come on people. Show a little Christmas spirit."

Sheridan paused. "We are almost there, aren't we? I'd almost stopped thinking about the date." He paused again, thoughtfully. "Alright, I'm willing to let you try, but you need to have troop backup, so that they understand that force is an option. That we cannot tolerate significant delays."

"I'm not sure this is going to work, Commander," Garibaldi interrupted. "This movement, it's one of the few things I've seen uniting the various factions of the fleet. This work stoppage includes Marsies, Earthers, even deep spacers and colonists thrown in. Only the telepaths are missing."

"That's good," Sinclair countered. "Anything that can bring the factions of this fleet together has potential benefits."

"Jeff, my point is that, even if you manage to gain the trust of one of those groups, you are liable to be mistrusted by the others. It's an impossible task."

"I actually have connections to each of those groups, Michael, but I take your point. I'll need some help then. Some folks at a lower level who might not be so mistrusted as anyone in real authority will be." He thought for a moment. "What about that deputy of yours? The one you said...how did you put it...that she wasn't tainted?"

"Tessa Holloran. Yeah, that might be perfect. But she has issues with Earthers. You'll need someone to compliment her. Now that I think of it, she has an Earth friend who might work. One of your pilots. Ivanova something or other."

"Susan Ivanova? She'd be perfect. She's one of the brightest young officers I've ever had the pleasure to work with."

"She also brings the telepath element into your little fleet potpourri," Bester snarked.

Sinclair nodded. "There is that as well. Are there any objections to me trying?" When no one offered any, he continued, "No need for a vote then. Any other business?"

Levitt stood up. "I think it's time we revisited the question of our destination."

"That's already been decided," Sheridan broke in. "We don't need to revisit it. We're headed for the dead space between Orieni and Centauri territories. We just need to pick a path around the Centauri. It increases the distance but doesn't otherwise change anything."

"With all due respect, Captain, I have to disagree. The Centauri have proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that they won't stand between us and the Minbari. In addition to that, look at the star charts. Orieni space is much closer to Minbari space than Dilgar territory. We'd actually be moving closer to danger."

"Vorlon territory sits between the Minbari and Orieni spaces," Sinclair countered. "No one crosses Vorlon territory. Not even the Minbari."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Lochley broke in. "I've been doing some research. The Drazi were kind enough to open up their starcharts and galactic histories to us. I didn't have time to cover much, but those histories indicate that both the Minbari and Orieni may have significant connections to the Vorlons. John, you may be snuggling us up between Minbari collaborators and Minbari allies, and giving the Minbari a short and direct route to us."

"The fact that you didn't bring those histories would indicate to me that what you've found so far is, in fact, tenuous at best. Is that right?" Lochley hesitated, then gave a nod. "Then this changes nothing. It's an additional danger, but Dilgar territory is still a horrible destination for all of the reasons already discussed."

Levitt spoke up again, "I brought this up because I think things have changed. I'm calling the vote."

Sinclair stood up. "All in favor of continuing with the original plan of going towards the Orieni?" He raised his hand, along with Sheridan and Garibaldi. All three of them looked at Gideon, who shifted, but did not raise his hand. Concerned, Sinclair continued, "All those in favor of heading for Dilgar space?" Levitt, Lochley, and Bester raised their hands. All eyes now turned to Gideon.

He hesitated, then put up his hand. "I'm sorry, Captain. Even ignoring that potential connection between the Orieni and the Minbari, the conversation you had with Ambassador Mollari changes everything. The Centauri won't shield us. They'll probably tell the Minbari exactly where we're at. It's too much of a danger."

"I think that's everything," Sinclair said quietly. "We stand adjourned."

Sheridan stood quietly as first Gideon, then Lochley, Levitt and Bester all left. With a glance, he caught the attention of Garibaldi and Sinclair. Once everyone else had been gone for several moments, he said to them, "This Council of Captains can't go on forever. It's becoming a danger to the fleet. It makes a mockery of the chain of command. Something has to be done."
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"So now I have yet another thing to do. Tessa, how did you get me into this?" Susan asked as she walked into Tessa's closet sized office aboard the Olympic.

"Me? I thought you were the reason I was drug into this," Tessa responded. "Garibaldi just said that I had been chosen to negotiate the strike, and that you would be working with me on it. He said we would be working directly for Commander Sinclair, so I assumed that's where you came in. Sit."

Susan sat opposite Tessa as the other woman finished up some paperwork. "Commander Sinclair should be here any minute to give us instructions, but it's my understanding we'll be integral to the negotiations."

"So I've heard. Garibaldi's not particularly optimistic about our chances. He's insisting we go in with a security squad for backup. That's not a particularly positive message to send to the strikers. Orders are orders though."

Susan reached into a large pocket on her dress uniform and pulled out a small box wrapped in bright red paper. "While we're waiting, I have something for you. Merry Christmas."

Tessa accepted the package hesitantly. "I didn't realize. I lost track of the date a while ago. I'm sorry, I didn't..."

"I wasn't expecting anything. Besides, I'm Jewish. I was just in one of the Drazi markets, and I saw a particular vendor who gave me a crazy idea, which made me think of you. Open it." Tessa started unwrapping the package carefully, and Susan laughed. "You save wrapping paper? Very Russian of you. I approve."

Tessa snorted, but carefully finished unwrapping the box, then opened it and removed a glass globe that fit neatly in her hand. There was a base on one side to keep it from rolling, and within the globe, on a plain of faded red, sat miniature recreations of the domes of Mars. "It's beautiful."

"Shake it."

"Excuse me?

"Shake it."

Hesitantly, Tessa shook the globe. A flurry of red powder whirled up from the base, filling the globe and partially obscuring the domes. Tessa lowered the globe and looked at Susan in confusion.

"It's a sand globe. You know, like a snow globe?"

"I've never heard of either."

"It simulates a blizzard. Or a sandstorm in this case. Back on Earth, people would give these as gifts during the holiday."

"You celebrate the holy season by giving a gift that simulates an event which inevitably leads to death and destruction? Russians really are like Marsies."

"It's just meant to be pretty," Susan said with a chuckle.

"Would you share the name of the vendor with me? There are a few people I might like to give one to."

"I'm afraid you're out of luck there. He was closing up shop when I went back for this."

"You put him out of business?" Tessa asked with a smirk.

"Not exactly. He said that when he was working on it, his Drazi customers all started asking for copies of their own. I guess word of mouth spread fast. He had to close the shop and open up a factory to keep up with demand. He said he's going to be rich. Well," she temporized, "technically he said we were going to be rich, and that he'd share my cut with me when we made it back this way."

"That's not likely to ever happen."

"Which is what I told him, but he insisted he would keep my percentage ready for me. Anyway, I hear the factory won't be ready until well after we leave. Sorry."

"No, thank you for this. And happy Hanukkah."

A moment later, someone knocked at the door. Without waiting for leave, Commander Sinclair started to enter, then stopped when he realized there really wasn't room for him in the tiny office, even when Susan and Tessa both stood up. Instead, he stood in the doorway. "Are you two ready for this?""

"Commander," Susan said. "We're not even sure exactly what it is we're supposed to be doing."

"For now you're just going to locate the leader of the strike, a Ms. Nioma Connolly. We picked her up with the Mars University evacuation. Wasn't that a lucky break," he added sarcastically. "She's not officially a labor negotiator, but it's what she was studying for, and it's in her family history. I've been trying to talk with her, but she's been ducking me. Bring her to me, so we can discuss things and find out what they want. We'll let her know how important it is that they all get back to work. We have to let them know that we are willing to hear them out, but that under the circumstances we will not allow them to carry on as they are for long."

"Starting with threats won't get them to back down, Commander," Tessa warned.

"Which is why I want the two of you involved in this; because you will listen to them. Hopefully they will listen to you as well. But, make no mistake, the time we have to resolve this peacefully is limited. Others were already pushing to just arrest them all."

"That's crazy!" Tessa said. "It wouldn't resolve anything!"

"Which is exactly why I pushed for these meetings, and why you two were brought on board. I'll be ready to support you, but I'll stay out of sight while you're collecting Ms. Connolly, to avoid getting them worked up. And before you ask, no, I can't let you leave the security detail behind."

"You're not exactly making it easy for us, Sir," Susan said.

"If it was easy, anyone could do it. You two were brought on precisely because it won't be easy. Now, you better get going."
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Less than an hour later, Tessa and Susan were walking into a crowded hangar bay, filled with grungy workers who had called in sick. They began to wend their way through the crowd to the center, where a feisty blonde of about their age could be heard speaking to the crowd. "Let's remember, let's try to keep a cool head during management negotiations," she was saying loudly to the group.

Suddenly a Hispanic man in his late thirties or early forties stepped directly into their path and crossed his arms, giving them a hostile gaze. "What do you want here?"

"Getting out of my way would be a start," Tessa said, looking him directly in the eye.

"It's all right, Eduardo!" called the blonde, who had noticed the altercation. "Let them through." A disgruntled muttering arose from the crowd, but the man stepped aside and a path was cleared for them.

"I've been expecting you, ladies," the young woman said.

"We're here to escort you to Commander Sinclair," Ivanova stated. "He's requested the honor of your presence ...twice. Maybe you didn't get the message."

"I've been tied up. I've got a lot of sick workers here." The entire crowd erupted into a simultaneous coughing fit, interspersed with chuckles and outright laughter.

"You think this is funny? Huh? Well, I don't." Tessa snapped.

The blonde, certainly the Nioma Connolly they were looking for, responded immediately. "We're as serious as a rip in a space suit, and we want Sheridan and Sinclair to know it."

"By staging an illegal strike? I'd have thought you were smarter than that."

"Sinclair and Sheridan are career military," Nioma said. "I don't expect them to understand. But I know you're a Marsie under all that Earthforce gray, Officer Holloran. And I hear you're Russian, Ms. Ivanova. You both understand the needs of real people...of working class people. We're only doing what we must do."

"I know," Tessa replied, "but this isn't the way."

"And what other options do we have, Ms. Holloran?"

"That's what we want to talk about."

The man who had confronted them earlier now shouted out, "The hell with your talk! We got people dying out here, Ms. Security Lady! Sinclair wants us to talk! What does he take us for, fools?"

"All right, all right!" Nioma overrode him. "Let me handle this, all right?" Turning back to Susan and Tessa, she said, "Ok, the Commander wants to talk, we'll talk. Let's go." She walked past them, headed for the door.

Once they were past the crown, Susan said softly, "Your friend is looking for a fight."

"That was Eduardo Delvientos. His little brother Alberto was killed in the accident.

The bottom fell out of Susan's stomach, but she soldiered on. "I'm sorry. I know what it's like to lose someone close. So does the Commander."

Tessa joined in. "He wants to help, Nioma."

The only response was a brief, "We'll see."
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Less than an hour later they were meeting with Commander Sinclair in a small conference room, plushly furnished from the Olympic's days as a luxury vessel. Sinclair was trying his best to break through to Nioma. "I'm asking your people to go back to work. If they don't I'll have to bring Captain Sheridan in on this. He's willing to use force. We're under martial law, Ms. Connolly, and this work stoppage is endangering all of our lives. For all we know, we're all that remains of the human race."

"Then you shouldn't be wasting those lives enforcing unsafe working conditions. And Sheridan wouldn't have the guts to do that. It would inflame public opinion amongst the fleet, unite Earthers and Marsies and everyone else against your military rule."

"Don't be so sure about that. We've all been pushed too far, and things are changing. And not all for the best. Look, you've made your point. Sheridan has been made aware of your grievances. There's nothing else you can gain by continuing your strike."

"I can't send my people back to work without some guarantees."

"I can't guarantee anything while you're on strike. If you just trust me…"

Nioma spoke right over him. "You military folks are just another face of Earthgov, and not a better one. Now we have to deal with a bunch of Michael Jankowskis. Don't try to tell me the military is any more trustworthy. Jankowski proved that your brass was filled with sons of privilege, back room dealing, and glory hounds who got us into the current situation. That's what you're asking my workers and me to trust. Every time we trusted Earthgov, we got kicked in the teeth."

Tessa broke in, unable to stop herself. "And what happens if your people start kicking back? Huh? If you force them into a confrontation…"

"We won't be the first to use force!" Nioma cut in hotly.

"I saw what went down in the docking bay. They're angry, Nioma!"

"They have a right to be angry!"

Sinclair cut back in. "They also have a right to hear what I've just told you."

"They will, but I can't recommend they return to work."

"I don't think you understand the consequences…"

"Don't talk to me about consequences!" Nioma interrupted again. "My father was shot dead during the '37 mining strikes. I've spent my childhood defending workers' rights. I won't stop. My people are just looking after themselves and their families. Get us safe and decent working conditions. Then we return to work! Not a minute before."
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"Well that didn't go well," Susan said, after Nioma had left.

"I think I just made things worse with my presence," Sinclair noted somberly. "She clearly doesn't trust me. I want the two of you to go in without me for the next round. I'll be nearby to provide any backup you need."

"Next round?" Susan asked.

"I got a message from Captain Sheridan just before the meeting. He wants the strike ended by any means necessary within the next twenty-four hours. Otherwise Garibaldi will go in with troops to arrest Nioma and the other leaders of the strike."

"Commander," Tessa said, horrified, "that would be a huge mistake. It could lead to rioting and open rebellion against the military leadership. A lot of people could die. And I don't know that it would actually speed anything up."

"You know that, and I know that. I assure you that Captain Sheridan knows it as well. But he's desperate. He seems to have a hunch that the Minbari will be here any day. If it was anyone else I would just assume it was the stress. But I've come to trust John Sheridan's hunches with my life. The man has nine lives and the Devil's own luck. Maybe I'm just getting foolish in my old age, but I think someone's looking out for him."

Tessa hesitated, then said, "We need solutions, Commander, not messianic figures."

"Then go find me some. You have twenty four hours. Oh, and I am doubling your security detachment. Captain's orders."
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Early the next morning, Susan and Tessa returned to the hanger which the leaders of the strike were using as their gathering location. They hoped that by meeting Nioma and the other leaders here, on their turf, they might be more open to reaching an agreement.

"You people and the work you do are an essential part of this fleet," Susan tried again, standing in the center of a large group of spacers. "The Minbari are coming. The work you need to be doing could mean the difference between the survival of this fleet or its destruction. Think of all of those people. Think of your families."

"We're doing this for our families," Nioma countered. "We are moving towards an unknown future. What will our families do, how will they survive, if we are killed servicing this fleet. Accidents are going to happen when you work the hours we do at the speeds that are being forced upon us. And what do we get for this sacrifice? Nothing! We're treated exactly the same as every other civilian in this fleet. While most of the citizens and even the Marines and GroPos just sit around, working quarter or half shifts at best, doing make work like dusting and vegetable cleaning, we're pulling triple shifts running equipment that will kill us in a heartbeat in an environment that is just as unforgiving. And we're treated exactly the same. Ms. Ivanova, you're right. My people are a part of this fleet. They move the goods and perform the repairs that keep it running. Hell, many of them helped to set it up in the first place. What do they get for it? They work double and triple shifts, bypassing even standard safety measures, for no pay or benefit at all."

"You're work," Susan countered, "keeps this fleet moving, hopefully staying ahead of the Minbari. Don't let recent events fool you. We wouldn't stand a chance against them in a straight up fight. This admittedly dangerous work you are doing saves your own lives, and those of your families. That's the benefit you get. I'm sorry, we just can't slow down. You'd be signing your own death warrants, and those of every other human in this fleet. Please, return to work and we'll see what we can do to alleviate these problems."

"These problems killed people, Ms. Ivanova, a lot of damned good people. And as the duly elected representative of this guild, I won't let it happen again!"

"We just don't have the time to accept the changes you want. We want them too, but the safety of the fleet must take precedence. This was an unfortunate accident, but Captain Sheridan says that if we don't get moving again, and soon, the Minbari will have us."

The man who had been so angry yesterday spoke up again. "Has Captain Sheridan ever worked a space dock? Or tried to refuel a ship while being pushed to move faster and faster because of over scheduling? Or felt the pain in his bones from operating a zero-G cargo loader for twelve hours?"

Susan struggled to remember his name for a moment. "You have a point, Mr. Delvientos? You're the senior foreman, correct? My condolences regarding your brother."

"Yes. And, yeah, I got a point. I've worked docks for thirty years, and at the rate we are burning our people, we won't be able to keep going for two months, let alone two years, and if you won't do nothing about it, you can damn well get your Captain Sheridan to run those repairs." His statement drew shouts and cheers of agreement from the surrounding workers.

"If that's your response," Tessa said, "You will leave Captain Sheridan and Commander Sinclair no choice but to enforce martial law with troops! Is that what you want?"

"They're bluffing," Nioma countered.

"Don't count on that. Commander Sinclair tried to tell you, things are changing."

"One thing hasn't changed," Delvientos said, stepping forward. "The workers always get shafted. But this time, we'll fight back."

Nioma turned to him. "Eduardo, we have to keep cool. If we don't we're finished."

"We have a right to defend ourselves, Nioma."

"But not with violence," Tessa cut in.

"Beg your pardon, Officer, but if someone's pushed you, wouldn't you push back?"

Susan turned back to Nioma in alarm. "Damn it, Ms. Connolly, can't you stop this now? Your people are obviously spoiling for a fight."

"It's too late for that. My workers are tired. They've been pushed too far," she shot back passionately.

"You know what could happen if the Commander is forced to send Garibaldi in."

"The same thing that happened on Europa, and at New California, and at Matewan. The same thing that happened every time labor stood up for themselves and said 'No more.' They try to break us, we fight back. Someone will get hurt, maybe killed. For what it's worth, I'm sorry this has to happen now."

"I think it's time for you two to leave," Delvientos told them angrily. "Don't make us throw you out." At the threat, several of the dozen security personnel assigned to Tessa and Susan stepped forward to intercede. Surrounding spacers began to shove them backwards, and both sides began shouting. Tessa tried to command the troops to back down, but several were already pulling out stun batons, and the workers were grabbing heavy wrenches, metal rods, or anything else they could use for the fight that would spill out any second.

Someone shouted, "GUN!" and a PPG blast was heard. The fight broke out immediately with both sides swinging desperately at each other. The outnumbers security officers grabbed desperately for their sidearms, but most were grabbed and thrown to the ground, as workers struggled desperately to disarm them.

Susan drove an elbow through the nose of a worker who made the mistake of attempting to restrain her. She swept the legs out from under another and then kicked him in the chin as he tried to regain his feet. She turned just in time to see Tessa drive her knee into a worker's groin three times in rapid succession, then hurl him bodily into another worker who was charging at her. Their skulls connected with a sharp crack, and they both dropped limply to the ground.

They made eye contact, and the understanding that passed between them was neither verbal nor telepathic, but they turned in unison and each grabbed one of Nioma's arms. Lifting her from the floor, they hauled her rapidly out into the haul, passing another two dozen security officers who were rushing into the room. The sound of scattered PPG discharges could be heard from inside the room.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Connolly," Tessa said, "but it is my duty to inform you that you are being placed under arrest."
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Almost a day later, Nioma sat handcuffed to a table in a tiny interrogation room. She had been alone for hours, with nothing to eat or drink. Without warning, the door burst open, and a pair of Marines dragged in Eduardo Delvientos. He looked much the worse for wear, his face puffy and discolored from numerous blows. He was placed none too gently into the chair beside her, and he was similarly handcuffed to the table. The Marines left without a word."

"Oh, Eduardo. You shouldn't have fought back. Are you alright?"

"I've had worse. We gave as good as we got, you know?"

"I heard PPG fire. Was anyone...was anyone killed?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure. More of us than them, that's for sure. Once they started shooting, we surrendered pretty quick," he admitted with shame in his voice.

"Eduardo, that's exactly what you should have done. Don't you dare regret it."

Their conversation was interrupted as the door opened again, much more gently this time, and Commander Sinclair, Deputy Holloran, and Ensign Ivanova entered the room. They sat on chairs on the opposite side of the table. Eduardo faced them with sullen trepidation, but Nioma felt the anger growing within her.

"I want to begin by assuring you that the medical needs of your people are being seen to. This was an unfortunate and unnecessary confrontation, and I am sorry that it happened."

Sinclair actually sounded sorry, but Nioma was having none of it. "Don't be ridiculous, Commander. You're not sorry at all. You got exactly what you wanted. Labor shoved down into it's place. When you couldn't convince us to do what you wanted, you used force. Let me guess, this is where you blame the violence and the dead on us, and demand we return to work or spend the rest of our live in a cell. Maybe you're even planning to threaten spacing us? Or maybe...maybe you just intend to do that anyway. Make an example of the two of us, and then offer the choice to someone else. Someone you think will be more pliable."

"Don't be melodramatic, Nioma," Tessa snapped. "You've gotten us into a deep enough hole as it is. It's time we started working on getting out of it."

"Why would we help you at all? After you attacked us, you want our help?"

"That's not how I remember it," Susan cut in. "Eduardo here threatened to throw us out. When our guards moved up to protect us, it was your people who started the physical altercation, trying to shove them back."

"And it was your people who brought the guns. How many of my people are dead because of it? Innocent men and women doing their best for themselves and their families?

"Fourteen," Tessa said coldly. "And four dead security officers. And there would be more dead, and Susan and I might even be hostages right now, if we hadn't had a couple of squads nearby as backup. Your people went for our guns the second violence erupted, even when Susan and I were trying to calm things down."

"Of course they did. They had no other way to defend themselves. But it was your people who started shooting." Nioma said, trying to stand up. She was stopped short by the handcuffs still connecting her to the table.

Tessa seemed about to say more, but Sinclair cut in. "We're wasting time." He activated a display panel. The grungy face of a familiar man filled the screen. "Ms. Connolly, Mr. Delvientos, do you recognize this man?"

Nioma was irritated at the attempt to change the discussion. "You know who it is. That's Web. No doubt you rounded him up with the rest of us. Unless he's dead?"

"No," Sinclair responded. "He's not dead. And yes, he is in custody. But he doesn't show up in any of your crew records. Who is he?"

Eduardo replied. "Web Mudgett. He's one of our junior foremen. He came on with the final refugees from Earth, but he's got some good skills. He's a good man."

"Web Mudgett? As in Webster Mudgett?" Tessa asked with a surprising amount of interest. Nioma nodded.

Sinclair scowled. "So why isn't he in any of your records or logs?"

"Oh, I don't know," Nioma said bitterly, "maybe because of all the chaos of evacuating everyone we could from Earth and Mars, cramming them into this fleet, and running away as fast as we could? Or how about because my people have all been too damned busy to keep up with paperwork, and why would they anyway, when most of the safety regulations that paperwork is in support of have been skipped and ignored? Or how about the fact that my people work as hard as they do for the same food chits that everyone else gets, so there's not really any need to do any kind of payroll accounting?"

"And was Mr. Mudgett in favor of the strike? Did he push for it? Did he push for violence?"

Nioma hesitated for a moment, thinking furiously. "Is that what this is about? Are you planning on using a clerical error to crucify a good man and hopefully scare us all back into line? It won't work. Yes, Web pushed for the strike. Yes, he wanted us to defend ourselves, but he was far from the only one."

"Did he push harder than most?" Sinclair persisted.

"He was angry!" Delvientos snapped. "So were a bunch of others. So am I!"

Sinclair looked directly at Eduardo, meeting his eyes for several long seconds, forcing the man to calm down. "You didn't start shooting, Mr. Delvientos."

"Bullshit," Nioma burst out. "We didn't bring guns, you did. My people don't have access to weaponry. That's part of the martial law this fleet is under."

Sinclair reached up into a pocket and pulled something out, tossing it onto the table. It was a trio of medium sized drill bits. "Would it surprise you to learn that those were found in Mr. Mudgett's footlocker?

"So?" Eduardo asked curtly. "A man forgets to take some tools out of his pockets at the end of a long day, and that's supposed to be some sort of crime now?"

Tessa cut in, "Don't you have a policy against people removing tools from the worksite?"

"Yes," Nioma responded angrily. "It's one of those safety regulations we've all been forced to forego for the sake of speed!"

There was a very long pause, then Sinclair asked, "Mr. Delvientos, Ms. Connolly. Would it surprise you to learn that a forensic analysis found the blood of twelve different telepaths on these three drillbits? All of whom were found dead, crucified, and with holes drilled into their heads? Would it surprise you to learn that the drill we found in that same footlocker has the blood of fifteen more telepaths on it? Or that we've been positively able to track Mr. Mudgett's movements and place him in the location of at least half of the telepath murders we have on file? More blood was found under his nails, by the way."

Nioma stared at him in horror. Memories of the last few days flashed through her mind. Web had been one of the most outspoken. He had said again and again that they were being pushed around, that it was going to lead to a fight and they needed to be prepared. She felt sick. It was a good thing her stomach was empty. "The serial killer…" she whispered to no one. Beside her, Eduardo looked just as stunned.

Tessa spoke up. "We also found traces of a military grade explosive in that footlocker. It's always been a possibility that the hangar accident was intentional sabotage. The type of explosive found would be perfect for replicating the effects we saw. Unfortunately, we didn't have time to perform a thorough enough investigation," she said sadly. "Your people aren't the only ones being forced to move too fast to do a good or safe job. Eduardo, I'm sorry to say that I believe Mr. Mudgett is responsible for the death of your brother."

Eduardo looked as though he had been punched….again. Nioma softly asked, "how can you know?"

"We can't," Tessa responded. "However, would it interest you to know that his real name was Gunter Mansfeld, and that he was a suspect in several unsolved murders on Earth? He made a stupid choice for a fake name, though. Herman Webster Mudgett was one of the first known serial killers to operate in North America. He was better known as H. H. Holmes. Jesus, the man practically wrote 'serial killer' on his forehead. You'd think that in a fleet under martial law, and with so many people in uniform, that something like this couldn't fall through the cracks. I've been chasing this bastard for months, and had no idea he was here. He's being charged with the murders of fifty-seven telepaths, the attempted murder of two more, the murder of everyone who died in the hangar explosion, several officers who died in the recent fight, and all of those unsolved murders on Earth for good measure."

"How…" Nioma began, "how do we know you aren't just making this up to get us back to work?"

Sinclair hit another button, and a scene began to play for them, at an odd angle. It was the fight in the hangar, as seen from some obscure camera."

"We caught a lucky break," Susan said. "One of your heavy lifters was left on. This is the image from its backwards movement camera. I'm surprised that it actually records, rather than just displaying for the operator."

"It's a safety feature," Eduardo muttered. On the screen before him, he saw and heard himself threatening the female officers before him. He saw their security attempt to move forward, only to be shoved backwards by his co-workers. And then he saw, clear as day, Web reaching into a pocket of his coveralls and pulling out a PPG. One of the security officers noticed it and yelled 'Gun!' only to take a PPG round directly to the face. At that point, everyone went crazy. The scene continued to play as the security officers attempted to grab their own PPGs, while the workers tried to take them away. More shots rang out, and several people he dearly loved died before him. "Shut it off," he croaked. Mercifully, Sinclair turned off the display.

"So what happens now?" Nioma asked.

"This," Sinclair said, "is the part where I shake you down. In addition to being on the side that actually started the killing in that hangar, both of you and every other worker in that hangar are technically accessories to numerous murders, legally complicit. Under martial law, I could space you all, and no one would bat an eye. But that doesn't get me what I actually want."

"A return to work," Nioma said, defeated.

"Yes. I was told that I was to end this strike by any means necessary. Well, here are the means I find necessary. One, I am tripling the food chit allowance for every one of your workers. At least you and your families will be able to eat better. You could use the food to supplement others of your choice. It's up to you. Two, I'm declaring amnesty for any striking worker or representative who has committed no other crimes during this period."

"That's you, kid," Tessa said to Nioma with a small smile.

"Three, we will select a large group of people, who are currently on light duty, but have the appropriate skills or aptitudes, and assign them to work half shifts supplementing your people. We did something similar with our military craft, bringing on cadets. This will actually make your workload heavier, at least temporarily. You will be responsible for training them, for guiding them, and for ensuring their safety. But, after a while, it really will help. And you can choose which ones you want to bring up to a 'full-time' status. Finally, I give you my personal assurance that the families of anyone who dies performing this vital job will receive the support of the fleet, both en route and once we finally reach wherever it is we're going.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Connolly, Mr. Delvientos. I can't slow down the work, as unsafe as I know it is. Captain Sheridan is convinced that the Minbari could be here any day, and I have to agree with him. If this fleet isn't ready to move by the time they get here, we're all dead."

"Why?" Nioma asked, stunned.

"Consider it a late Christmas present. Or maybe a sign that those in charge are actually more friendly to your needs than you chose to believe. Ms. Connolly, if you can find safety procedures that don't slow us down, I will gladly back them. And if we can get safely ahead of the Minbari, we can talk about re-instituting some of the old ones. I'm sorry, that's the best I can do. That's my offer. It's dependent upon your returning to work immediately. This fleet has repairs to conduct."

"It's enough," she said. "You have a deal, Commander."

Sinclair gestured to the door, and they all started to walk out, but then Eduardo paused. "Commander?"

"Mr. Delvientos?"

"Will the Minbari really be here any day?"

"Yes, we believe so."

The worker looked at his feet, then said. "We weren't trying to put no one in danger. We have to live here to. We just wanted to take care of our families. Thank you, Commander. And...I'm sorry." Eduardo cleared his throat. "What's going to happen to Web...I mean Gunter...ahh...Mr. Mansfeld?"

Susan grimaced. "Somehow, a lot of this information leaked. I swear it wasn't me, but the telepath community is up in arms. Can you blame us? Many are threatening their own work stoppage, though that won't go anywhere. There are still a lot of visible former Psi-Cops around, and dissolved or not, the Corp casts a long shadow. But they...we... are demanding justice.

Sinclair cut in, "And Captain Sheridan agrees. Given the existing state of martial law, and how absolutely clear the evidence is, we're going to forego a lengthy civilian trial. A military jury, utilizing the Captains of the military vessels, was convened and found Mr. Mansfeld guilty. Technically, we could space him immediately, but it was decided to be more merciful. To show that we are still human. Captain Sheridan took Commander Bester's advice. In a few hours he will perform the Death of Personality. Mr. Mansfeld will spend the remainder of his life working a sewage reclamation plant on a tramp freighter."
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The Council of Captains gathered to oversee the administration of justice. Sinclair noted that Captain Sheridan did not look at all happy. Jeff respected the man's rank more than just about anyone else on this council. He had sided with him on every single vote. But in this case, he didn't much care. John, despite this mess of a Council, felt the burden of command. It was clearly wearing on him, and he could tell that the man had little patience for civilian obstructionism. But these are just regular, ordinary people, dammit. It was his job to stand up for them, no matter what John Sheridan felt. For now, he was just going to have to weather the storm.

Sheridan didn't seem content to just glower. He walked over and confronted Sinclair, standing next to him so they could talk while they both continued to watch the proceedings. "Commander, we didn't send you in there to accede to the demands of malcontents."

"No, you sent me in to get them working again, which is exactly what we have done."

"By giving them special treatment. What happens when the next group decides to hold up the fleet until they get some special treatment? Our resources aren't unlimited."

"What we gave them was mostly reassurances and some extra food. We've got plenty of food, particularly since the Drazi topped us off. We also gave them hope. Hope that things would get better. Hope that their families would be taken care of. You gave me leave to resolve things by any means necessary. These are the means I determine to be necessary."

"That's not really what I had in mind, Commander," Sheridan said without rancor.

Jeff turned and made eye contact with the Captain. "Don't give someone a loaded gun, John, if you don't know where they're going to point it."

Sheridan chuckled, his earlier mood dissipating. "Fair enough."

At that moment, Gunter Mansfeld, a.k.a. Webster Mudgett, was brought into the room by a half dozen Marines. The man was wearing purple coveralls and restraints. A Chaplain was in accompaniment. A heavy gag covered his face, and his eyes darted around in confusion, and no small amount of terror.

"What's with the gag?" Jeff asked quietly.

"Bester insisted," John responded. "He said he would have to touch the man's filthy mind, he didn't want to have to hear anything he had to say as well. Did you really feel the need to hear this monster's last words?"

"No, I suppose not."

The killer was taken to a medical examination table placed in the middle of the room, and strapped down to it. He tried to say something, but it was completely unintelligible through the gag.

Bester walked into the room. Mansfeld seemed to recognize him, his eyes going wide. He jerked, then thrashed wildly against his restraints, heaving and jerking. He shook his head manically, screaming into his gag.

The actions seemed to disturb most of those present. "Have you even seen anything like this?" John asked uneasily.

"No. But then I've only been to a couple of these before."

Bester laid his hands on Mansfeld's temples. With a tearing scream, the serial killer heaved with all his might one final time, straining in vain against the restraints. And then the scream cut off, and he went limp in his bonds.

It was over more quickly than most would expect. The skilled former Psi-Cop wiped away an entire life in less time than it would take most people to eat dinner. When he was finished he simply turned and walked out of the room. The rest of the Captains waited a few moments, then left the now blank Mansfeld to the care of the Chaplain. They returned to their duties in relief.
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Commander Alfred Bester entered his personal quarters, exhausted, only to find that he had a visitor. "Hello, Al. I assume it's done?"

"Hello, Director. You know, you probably shouldn't just pop by like this. Someone is bound to notice."

"Is it done?" Drake asked again, determined.

"Yes, it's done," Bester sighed. "I don't care how deeply someone attempts to scan him. No one will ever be able to pull out of him that he was working for you."

"For us," Drake corrected.

"If you wish," Bester said.

"It was necessary, Al. Our telepaths are starting to think they really can fit in with mundanes. They needed to be reminded that in the long run, the mundanes will always hate and despise us. They needed to be reminded to fear."

"I suppose so. Now, if you wouldn't mind Director, it really has been a very long day."

"Of course, Al. Sleep well."

"Like a baby, Director."