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.

17. Chapter 16 - End Game

Chapter 16 - End Game

Torlig, Neutral Space - Exodus Fleet, EAS Nova - May, 2249

The Nova slid out of the Torlig jumpgate, at the head of the fleet. The Lexington, Midway and Eratosthenes were hard on her heels, and they each began a rapid launch of all fighter squadrons. Waiting on them was a single Tethys class cutter.

"Comm signal from the Tethys," the ensign on comms reported. "It's Commander Locarno."

"Main screen," Sheridan commanded.

The screen flickered, and then they were looking at Locarno's pale face and bright orange hair. "Commodore. Welcome to Torlig."

"Commander. Where's the rest of my fleet?"

"They dispersed across the system as soon as we got here. There are some scattered throughout the asteroid belt, others in the Kuiper belt, and some hiding in the rings of a couple of the gas giants. I'm not sure they're trying to hide exactly, but they are trying to remain rather inaccessible. I spread out my cutters to keep an eye on as many as possible, but there were only six of us. We'll send you the locations of the vessels we still have a bead on.

"That doesn't make much sense. Why go through the effort of running from the rest of the fleet if they were just going to turtle up once they got to Torlig?"

"Hey, it's your crazy Earther politics, not mine. The Deneb boys and girls did exactly what they were supposed to." Sheridan gave him a dry look, but elected not to respond. Nick didn't seem to notice, instead continuing, "But, I think they want to talk. They've been sending out a prerecorded message from Levitt every thirty minutes. It's broadcast from a different ship every time, so it doesn't actually tell us where she's hiding. The next broadcast is only a few minutes away."

"Alright, we'll watch it. Stay on the gate for now. Sheridan out."

The message, once received, was short and to the point, Levitt's face showing little hint of any emotion. "Commodore Sheridan. You no doubt consider me a traitor, and perhaps I am. What I do, I do in the interests of the survival of the species. By now you have discovered that neither fleet has all of the resources it needs to survive. We are willing to negotiate the reunification of the fleet, but we have one demand which is non negotiable. You must permanently turn over command of the fleet to Jeffrey Sinclair, Michael Garibaldi, Alfred Bester, or Matthew Gideon. Any of these choices will be acceptable to us. Should you agree to this requirement, we will negotiate towards reunification. Upon the successful completion of that negotiation, Elizabeth Lochley and I will surrender ourselves to military authority. If you are prepared to negotiate, transmit a system wide general acknowledgment. We will then contact you with further details."

After the message had ended, Sheridan sat, silently staring at the now empty screen for several long moments. The bridge was silent around him. Finally, he turned to Laurel. "Assemble the command staff aboard the Eratosthenes in one hour." Their usual meeting place aboard the Olympic was unavailable, that ship being under the control of the mutineers. Having said what needed to be said, John stood and silently walked off the bridge.
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Jeff Sinclair strode into the conference room without knocking, with Michael Garibaldi hard on his heels. Sheridan's command staff meeting hadn't accomplished much of anything, and had devolved into a think tank and running brainstorming session for dealing with the insurgency. That wasn't going any better, and it had been running on and off for over twenty-four hours, without notable progress. It was currently in one of its quieter phases, with nearly a third of the members away on other duties, including Commander Bester. Of the original Captain's Council, this left only Commander Gideon there, working with Sheridan and the lower ranking officers. Whispered conversations around the room ceased as they entered.

Sheridan turned to look at him. As far as Jeff could tell, he had just been sitting there, doing his best to look like he was in control of the situation. "News, Captain?"

Jeff didn't relish what he was about to say. "The last of the scouts I sent ahead has reported in. There are substantial Minbari forces currently searching the Torata Regency. Once again, our scouts were ignored as the Minbari performed an extremely thorough search of the various systems. Given the volume of resources we witnessed, the Minbari are likely to finish and quite possibly pass through to this system within days."

John sighed, and in a terrible breach of deportment, propped his elbows on the table and rested his face in his hands for a few moments. Straightening, his red eyes and tense shoulders revealed just how much stress he was under, how little rest he had gotten. "Just like the Tokati Imperium and the Thrakallan Parliamentalism."

Jeff could only nod. "Yes, Commodore. Our scouts have now covered every direction save two, and there are Minbari down every route, headed slowly this way. Just two option, and we'll need to take one of they soon."

John clenched his fists, but otherwise brought his demeanor back under control. "So, our choices are to go back the way we came, try to sneak past what is likely now an open warzone, back to Deneb and Ragnarok. Hopefully buy ourselves time to find another escape route. Either that or we take our chances on this…"

"Z'Ha'Dum. The place on the Abbai maps marked as 'avoid at all costs'."

"Which might contain some superpower who would scare even the Minbari, but which might just as likely wipe us out for even daring to approach. And that's assuming that the warning doesn't just refer to some sort of natural calamity or hyperspace danger which might destroy us just attempting to approach."

"But either way, that danger might mean the Minbari wouldn't even consider searching in that direction," Garibaldi offered, breaking in to the conversation.

Sheridan sighed and switched his attention to the Colonel. "And what about you, Michael. Any news?"

Garibaldi cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Yeah. We've identified the structures the mutineers have been emplacing on the hulls of their ships." Locarno's cutters hadn't had the resources to keep tabs on such things, but shortly after the full fleet had arrived, they started keeping a much closer eye on the mutineers, and had begun to notice strange emplacements strapped to the outside of all of the rebel ships. They'd even witnessed a few spacewalkers in the act of emplacing them. Identifying what was going on had been one of the few productive activities available to them.

"Weapon systems?" John guessed. It had been the most common assumption during early speculation.

Garibaldi shook his head, his expression dour. "Explosives. Remotely detonated explosives."

A concerned murmur swept the room, but John's eyes stayed focused on Garibaldi with laser like intensity. "Why? Do they mean to self destruct their ships if we try to take them by force? But why even bother with exterior explosives? They could just detonated them on the inside, or blow their reactors for that matter."

Michael's expression became even more grim. "We've identified the location of emplacement for most of them. In each case they are directly above the barracks or armories of the military forces we had stationed on those ships. Best guess, if we make a move on the mutineers, or if those troops decide to try to do something on their own, then Lochley and Levitt will detonate the explosives, and our troops will get sucked out into vacuum. Hell of a way to go."

Jeff turned on him, expression horrified. "So by ordering those troops to shelter in place, I've signed their death warrants?"

"You aren't to blame, Jeff," Michael snapped. "This all falls on Lochley and Levitt. Your conscience is clean. Any blood is on their hands."

"Anything else, Colonel?" Sheridan interrupted.

"Just one thing. Might not be very helpful, but it's good news. "We've been getting low powered transmissions from inside many of the rebel ships. From civilians, of all things. They've managed to steal or slap together ad hoc radios, or even laser comms. A lot of it is just requests for rescue, but quite a few are offers for help. It seems that Lochley and Levitt got the buy in of the Captains, but didn't bother to discuss with the people on board those ships. By and large, they aren't thrilled, so far as I can tell."

"And you think that's good news?" Sheridan asked acidly.

"Of course," Garibaldi replied, taken aback. "It means we have more resources than just the troops on those ships. It means that Lochley, Levitt, and the mutineer Captains aren't as secure as they thought they were. Hell, I bet a lot of those ships are powder kegs, just waiting to go off."

"What it means, Colonel, is that those civilians are still my responsibility. It means that I can't just leave them to die with a fleet that doesn't have the resources to survive. When I was under the assumption that those ships were a uniform block of traitors, I at least had the option of just taking the loyal fleet and heading off. Of working around the resources we are missing, which we were in a much better position to do than the mutineers. It would have meant the loss of the loyal troops on those ships, but at least they knew what they were getting into when they enlisted. That option just flew away!" Sheridan stood up angrily. Shockingly, he hurled his coffee cup against the far bulkhead, where it shattered, leaving a large mess of coffee to run down the wall. "Tell me, Colonel," he practically hissed, "what exactly do you expect civilians to do, when the military forces stationed on those ships were stopped cold?"

Garibaldi didn't shrink under his glare. "The unexpected, Commodore. The rebs expected to have to face the troops. They planned for it. They don't have the resources to watch the troops and their own civilians. Give me leave to plan an op. To make use of the civilians. Give me twenty-four hours, and I'll give you a plan for seizing the bulk of those ships."

"And lose all of our garrisons on those ships at the same time?"

"Maybe. Like you said, they knew what they were getting into when they enlisted."

Sheridan straightened, visibly beating his emotions under control. He took a deep breath. "Denied." Turning to Jeff, he ordered, "make contact with Lochley and Levitt. Let them know we're willing to talk.

"Commodore," Jeff responded in surprise, "please tell me you're not considering giving in to their demand."

"That I step down? I'd rather not, but we're out of time. If that's what it takes to save this fleet, then that's what I'll do. Set up the talks, Jeff. We'll see just how 'nonnegotiable' that point is."

"We could just lie to them," Garibaldi offered. "Once the two of them are in custody, you could resume command."

"No. It's not just Lochley and Levitt. We'll need the buy in of those civilian captains as well. Besides, my word is my bond. If I agree to step down...then you'd better be prepared to take command, Jeff.

"I'd really rather not," Sinclair responded in surprise.

"Sometimes we don't get what we want. Now set up the meet."
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When the comm panel in his office chirped, Jeff Sinclair answered immediately. It had been less than ten minutes since he had sent out the broadcast indicating that Commodore Sheridan was willing to talk. Elizabeth Lochley's face appeared on his screen. She seemed surprised to see him. When he had first met her, he had thought she must be one of the most beautiful women he had ever laid eyes on. Now he had to fight back an instinctive wave of revulsion. "Expecting someone else, Captain?"

"Yes, actually. I assumed John would want to organize the meeting details himself. Try to take control."

"Sorry to disappoint you. The Commodore asked me to make the arrangements."

"No disappointment. So long as John really is willing to step aside, we're willing to reintegrate the fleet. There are some other things we're going to want, assurances for the civilians who followed us, but we can negotiate the details."

"He's willing to negotiate."

"He better be willing to step down. That part is not up for negotiation."

"As I said, he's willing to come to the table. Are you willing to live up to your end of the bargain? For you and Levitt to turn yourselves in?"

She took a deep breath and met his gaze squarely. "Yes. We are."

"It doesn't have to be like this, Liz. We can still work things out. There are things you don't know. Dangers. What's coming…"

"And I don't want to know," she said, cutting him off. "As far as I am concerned, right now John Sheridan is the single biggest threat to the survival of our species. I understand that you don't agree, but I'm not discussing anything else until this matter is resolved. I'm sending you coordinates now," she said, touching the controls near her own display."

"I've received them."

"They give a position in the local asteroid field. At that location you will find the junk freighter Albatross. You may feel free to send a security detachment to inspect the freighter. They will find that every room aboard has been set up with cameras and energy detectors. We will give you the codes for the feeds on those cameras and sensors, so that you may observe that the freighter is indeed safe for your negotiators. Your security detachment may ensure that those sensors cover every square inch of the freighter, or they may install cameras and sensors of your own, whichever you prefer. Just remember that we will be watching their actions. Any attempt to interfere with any of the equipment on that freighter will be seen as a violation of the terms of this negotiation, and our fleet will leave."

"You don't have the resources to survive on your own."

"We'll look for a habitable planet, and do our best to survive. If you don't like that idea, then don't screw with the gear," she said angrily. Taking a breath, she continued. "Once your people have withdrawn from the vessel, and assured you as to the safety of the location, send us a signal that you are prepared to begin. Sandra and I will board the freighter, which you will be able to determine from the camera feeds. The energy sensors will assure you that we carry neither weapons nor hidden communication devices. At that point, we will send a shuttle for you and John. No one else, just you and John. You forces may inspect the shuttle, but are not to interfere with it or its pilot. The shuttle will transport you to the Albatross. Again, the cameras will verify that you are alone, and the power sensors will ensure you are unarmed. Once we four, and only we four, are aboard the vessel, the camera transmissions will be cut, so that we may negotiate in privacy. The energy sensor feeds will continue, to ensure no one attempts to assemble a weapon once the cameras go down. Any attack, attempted incarceration, or trickery of any kind will be seen as a violation of the terms of this negotiation, and our fleet will leave. Are these terms acceptable to you?"

Jeff took a deep breath. "Yes."
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Commodore Sheridan, Captain Sinclair at his side, entered the Eratosthenes shuttle bay, prepared for what might be his final act as commander of the Exodus fleet. Garibaldi waited just inside the door, clearly wishing to speak with them.

"How does it look, Colonel," John asked.

"We just finished sweeping the shuttle. The thing must be a hundred years old, and not well maintained, but it's clean and should survive the flight. As slow as this civilian POS is, though, you're going to be stuck in transit for quite a while. The pilot's a civilian we're familiar with. Gary McKinney. A real sleaze. Known member of the Mars Resistance. He used to date Tessa Holloran, before she wised up."

"But it's safe?"

"The shuttle's clean, but there's not a damned thing about this that's safe. This whole thing smells like a trap."

"We're the ones with all of the military forces, all of the security and intelligence services, all of the surveillance capabilities. If anything, they should be the ones worried about a trap. Which they clearly are."

"Well, they're certainly the ones calling all the shots. Commodore, once I got the coordinates for that ship, I had our best sensors take a look at it. They put it in the asteroid belt to keep it somewhat hidden until this crazy meeting was agreed to. But I believe that also left a hole in their security. I think I've found a way to sneak our own forces on board without tripping their sensors. Give me leave to…"

"Denied, Colonel."

"Dammit John, this whole thing stinks! Every sense I've got tells me something isn't right. And you're playing right into their hands. At least let me buy us some insurance!"

"No, we've got to play this one straight."

"Even though they won't? We have no idea what their actual plans are. And that's strictly aside from the fact that it's been you that's kept this fleet...this species...alive so far. Allowing yourself to be replaced...some might call that dereliction of duty."

John drew in an angry breath, ready to explode, but he caught himself. Clenching his teeth, he slowly exhaled through his nose. "I understand your concerns, Colonel. Do you currently have any actual evidence of duplicity on the part of the mutineers?"

"You mean, aside from the fact that they're mutineers?"

"Yes, aside from that."

Garibaldi sighed. "I suppose not."

"And did your people find anything when they searched the Albatross? Or notice anything amiss when Levitt and Lochley boarded her, just as they promised they would?

"You know they didn't."

"Then we're going to do this. Hell, even if I knew for a fact that they were double dealing us, I'd still go ahead. The Minbari are coming, and this may be our only chance to save those civilians. We've got to try." He reached out and set his hand on Garibaldi's shoulder. "Colonel….Michael, you're in command of the fleet in our absence. I need you to keep things together. We don't know how long these negotiations are going to take. We've started preparations for departure back towards Deneb. Get the fleet ready for us."

Garibaldi didn't look happy, but he nodded. "Yes, Sir."
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Garibaldi was in transit back to the Midway, to take command from there, when the call was patched through to his Starfury. Commander Locarno had declared an alert, and was looking for the commander of the fleet. Sheridan and Sinclair had departed just before him and would spend the next several hours enroute to the Albatross. They would be completely incommunicado aboard the rebel shuttle, and that wouldn't change for however long the negotiations took. Which put Michael squarely in the hot seat. Frag me. I've been in charge for less than fifteen minutes, and already there's an emergency. No doubt everything will go straight to hell, and they'll all blame me.

Taking a deep breath, he accepted the transmission. "Commander Locarno. What can I do for you?"

"You can tell me what to do about this." The image of Locarno's pasty face vanished, replaced with a shot of the local jumpgate. The lights on the gate began to cycle, and with a flash a vortex opened, swirling with the blues of a hyperspace exit portal. Something relatively tiny emerged. Garibaldi knew that it was only tiny in comparison with the massive gate. As he could see it, no doubt it was at least somewhat sizeable. The image zoomed in, revealing...what looked like a missile or old fashioned rocket.

The image cut off, returning to Locarno's face. "That was ten minutes ago. In case you didn't recognize it, Colonel, that was and Earth Force long range missile. It's broadcasting IFF, to confirm it. But long range was never supposed to mean interstellar, or even interplanetary, travel. Hell, those missiles don't come with ability to cycle a jump gate. Not that I've ever heard of. On top of everything else, as soon as it entered the system, it also began broadcasting a general SOS."

"Strange behavior for a missile."

"No kidding. So what do you want to do about it."

"It could be a trick, but I suppose we better investigate. Where could it have come from?"

Nick took a deep breath, looking pensive. "The only place I can think of is Deneb."

"Which would probably be a bad thing. Though I can't imagine it's possible for a missile to travel that distance. Can you intercept it? Analyze it?"

"My cutter doesn't have the capacity to take it on board. Nothing nearby does. But we could pull up alongside and have somebody space walk to it. Interface with the computers and maybe check under the hood."

Garibaldi grunted in amusement. "Sounds dangerous."

"At least a bit, but the missile's just drifting, no longer under powered flight. I'd like permission to try."

"Granted. Get back to me as soon as you know more."
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Michael was just settling into his desk aboard the Midway when Locarno's next call came through. Answering immediately, Michael didn't waste any time. "What have you got for me, Commander?"

"It was a message in a bottle."

"Excuse me?"

"It was an attempt by Admiral Dean to get a message to us, without risking a Tachyon interception." Locarno looked extremely upset. Clearly, something significant was going on here.

"Slow down and give me the details."

The Commander took a deep breath, composing himself. "The missile was heavily modified. The warhead and as much weight as possible was removed. Enough to get one occupant aboard with minimal life support."

"Wait. It was manned?"

Locarno nodded. "I know...knew him. Master Sergeant Don Rogers. He was my drill instructor when I went through Basic." His face transformed in an angry rictus. "According to the computer logs, he ran out of air eleven hours ago! If it hadn't been for this damned mutiny pulling us to Torlig ahead of schedule, we'd have picked him up safe and sound in Zacalth!"

"Easy, Nick. The mutineers have a lot to answer for. We're working on it. I'm sure Admiral Dean didn't send Mr. Rogers out here on a sightseeing tour. Was there a message."

If anything, Locarno looked even more upset. "Yes. There was a recording from Admiral Dean in the databanks. Just in case that got corrupted, the Master Sergeant wrote it out by hand with pencil and paper. It was probably the last thing he did."

"And?"

"Deneb has fallen. The Minbari are coming."

"Holy frag…"

"You can say that again. Seems to me, this means that our only option will be to head for Z'ha'dum. Not much of an option, if I understand correctly."

"Not good. Who else knows about this?"

"Just me and my crew."

"Keep it that way. Until you receive further instructions, you are not to discuss this matter with anyone, for any reason. Understood?"

"Yes."

"I've got to deal with this. Garibaldi out." As soon as the link was disconnected, Michael ran his fingers through his hair. What the hell was he supposed to do now. Sheridan and Sinclair needed to know. But they were out of the loop, still enroute to the Albatross. How long would the negotiations last? Hours? Days?! There was no time.

A decision had to be made. Well, I guess that's why they pay me the...oh, hell, my pay is crap. He made his decision. This crisis couldn't wait, but neither did he want to completely ignore Sheridan's wishes and grab the shuttle, or send troops to board the Albatross. Fortunately, he had already worked up that plan for sneaking on board. Maybe he could talk to Sheridan, make him aware, without tipping of the mutineers. And if that failed...well, he would just make them listen to reason.

He activated his Link and contacted Deputy Holloran. "Tessa. I need you in my office. Now."

He looked across his desk. He had no intention of going into that situation unarmed. But he had planned for that as well. There, sitting where he had left it, was one of the few weapons in the fleet, possibly the only weapon, which wouldn't set of the energy sensors both sides had emplaced. Well, aside from knives, or the odd mameluke sword carried by one of the marines. But, as far as Garibaldi was concerned, it wasn't a real weapon if you actually had to reach out and touch someone to use it. He reached across the desk and grabbed it.

"Chief. Chief. Chief. Chief! Colonel Garibaldi!"

Someone was roughly shaking his shoulder. Blinking, he turned and snarled at her. "What the hell? Lay off!" It was Tessa. "When did you get here?"

"Chief, I've been here for over a minute. You were just leaning across your desk, resting your hand on the spot you used to keep that antique gun. Are you ok? I couldn't get your attention, even when I shouted at you. Maybe you need to get more sleep."

"We all do," he responded in confusion. Then something she said registered. "Wait, what do you mean where I used to keep that gun?" He looked down at his hand, where he could still feel the pearl handle. His hand was empty. His eyes shot to the corner of his desk. The gun wasn't there either.

"It's been gone for a while now. I assumed you just put it away. The gaudy thing was kind of an eye sore."

He stared back and forth between her, his desk, and his empty hand in confusion. And then realization dawned. "Frag, me!"

"I'd rather keep the relationship professional, Chief. If it's all the same to you."

"Very funny, Tess." His mind whirled. Who could he trust? Who could he be certain hadn't been compromised? "Are your friends Ms. Winters and Ms. Alexander still aboard?"

"Yes," she replied in evident confusion.

He was digging around in one of his desk drawers, looking for something he had thrown in there a while back. Finding it, he grabbed it out to inspect it. A bullet. Two of the chambers in Jankowski's revolver were empty. He had had this bullet made to see about filling them. The color hadn't quite matched, which had bothered him for some reason. So, he had thrown the shell into that drawer, with the intention to fix the problem at a later time, and maybe even make up a few dozen more for target practice. He'd never found the time.

One bullet. One bullet, without a gun. It would have to do.

Returning his attention to Tessa, he said, "Grab them both. I don't care what they're in the middle of, you bring them to the shuttle bay immediately." He took a deep breath, considering all the possibilities, all the ways things could go terribly wrong. "We have a mission. Now get moving! I have calls to make."
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"Is he actually sleeping?"

Tessa glanced at her friend Talia, then over at the softly snoring Garibaldi. "The Chief is a strong believer that a soldier should get rest when and where he can."

"With no regard for anyone else's rest, apparently."

"I'm sorry I dragged you out of bed, Talia, but he said it was an urgent mission."

"Then maybe you could fill us in on exactly what is so important," Lyta cut in.

"Sorry, he never got around to actually telling me. All I know is that he was calling Commander Gideon before I was out of earshot on my way to get you. He had the rest of whatever arrangements he was making completed by the time we met up with him.

"Well, that just great."

"So, who's flying this thing?" Talia asked.

Tessa glanced up at the closed door to the cockpit. "Some Marine Lieutenant. I didn't catch his name."

"Perfect," Talia replied, releasing the harness securing her into her seat. "I'll be right back."

"Talia," Tessa hissed, "just because we're on a mission doesn't give you the right to read his mind."

"Who needs to? So far as I can tell, male Marines only have one thing on their minds anyway. I only need to do one thing to get what we want. Flirt. Back in a bit."

She did indeed return in less than five minutes, looking rather dissatisfied. "He wouldn't talk?" Tessa guessed.

Talia gave her an insulted look. "Please. He spilled everything he knew almost immediately. Unfortunately, that wasn't much. He was given a roundabout path to some asteroid, and specific coordinates to set down on. He was told to not deviate from the provided flight path, authorized for maximum thrust, and required to use full N-Com."

"EMCON," Lyta corrected. "Emissions control. It means we're trying to be sneaky."

"So what now?" Talia asked.

"Well," Tessa replied, "maybe we ought to follow the Chief's example and try to get some rest."

Unfortunately, not one of them was able to get much rest during the next three hours. Concerns about the mission worked overtime on all of their nerves. None of them were particularly pleased when the pilot gave them a thirty minute warning, and Garibaldi awoke looking well rested and chipper.

"Do we finally get an explanation?" Talia asked.

"Nope, now you get into vacuum suits. Ms. Winters, Ms. Alexander, I realize you aren't well trained in vacuum operations. Deputy Holloran and I will ensure your seals are good. Time to get dressed."

The task took nearly the entire thirty minutes, particularly in assisting the pair of telepaths. It also meant exposing quite a bit more skin to Garibaldi than any of them were particularly comfortable with, Lyta possibly excepted. Of course, Garibaldi also had to strip down, but that didn't make Tessa feel better at all. When the act was finally done, Garibaldi reached out and snagged an emergency EVA reaction harness. He began to shrug into it.

"Should I put on one of those?" Tessa asked.

"Do you know how to use one?"

"Not really."

"Then it will do more harm than good. Leave it to me."

"Chief," she began tentatively. "Is there a reason you are bringing two people who have next to zero vacuum experience, and one who doesn't have the required experience with apparently important safety gear, on what you seem to feel is an urgent mission, apparently in vacuum?"

"Well, I made a list of the available people I was reasonably confident I could trust for this mission."

"And…." she prompted.

"And then I brought them all. By the way, Tessa, before we go out that airlock I'm going to need you to render the pilot unconscious. Here, I brought a pipe. Don't bend it, and try not to kill him."

Tessa glanced at the pipe and rolled her eyes. She unfastened and removed her right glove. Reaching into a pocket, she pulled out then donned a pair of brass knuckles. Just then, a shudder went through the ship. A moment later, the pilot popped the hatch and called out that they had landed. "One minute, LT. I've got a question for you." She turned and followed him back into the cockpit.

When Tessa arrived in the cockpit, she found the Marine busy checking the displays. He wasn't paying attention to her at all, but was cognizant enough of her presence to ask what he could help her with. In response, Tessa drove the brass knuckles into the base of his jaw. Out like a light. She put away the knuckles and reattached her glove before returning Garibaldi and the telepaths.

"He didn't give you any trouble?" Garibaldi asked.

Tessa gave him a pointed look. "So now what?"

In response, he cycled open the inner airlock doors. "Get in."

As they glided into the airlock, she felt the need to ask, "Aren't you forgetting something, Chief?" When he didn't respond she continued. "Weapons? Shouldn't we arm ourselves?"

"They're running energy sensors where we're heading. A PPG or even a Link would set off alarms. But don't worry. I've got a pipe." He brandished said pipe in the air, as if to impress her.

Tessa stared at him as Lyta and Talia shuffled awkwardly. "That doesn't even look terribly heavy," she said, sighing under her breath. Reaching into another pocket, she pulled out a large knife and strapped it to her forearm.

"I don't suppose you have one of those for me?" Lyta asked.

"Sorry. You can have the knuckles if you want."

"I'll pass."

"Suit yourself."

While they were talking, Garibaldi had grabbed a spacers line and had linked them all together, with himself at one end and Tessa at the other, allowing for a several meters separation between them. As he was linking her up, he detached something from her suit, and suit readings and internal diagnostics all went dead. As did the whir of her internal air recycling.

"Chief," she asked cautiously, "did you just pull my suit battery?"

"Energy sensors, remember?" Just before the inner airlock door finished cycling closed, he tossed four batteries through, back into the ship. "Don't worry. We'll be able to breath off of the reserve oxygen sump for a good while. There's some built in CO2 management as well. Not sure how much. It'll have to do though."

"Chief….this plan doesn't seem to be terribly well thought out."

"Too late to back out now. I've programmed the airlock not to open for at least two hours. We'll be long dead before then. That's why I had you knock the pilot out."

Tessa's heartbeat kicked up, her fists and jaw clenched, and a reddish haze seemed to settle in over her vision. Later, she would muse upon the fact that she had always assumed the phrase 'seeing red' was a metaphor. Apparently not. For now, though, she could barely contain her rage. "You asshole! Did you really need to pull a Cortés on us?"

"Cortés?" Talia asked in confusion. "The footballer?"

Garibaldi chuckled. "It's nice to see that Martian education didn't skimp on history. And unfortunate to see that PsiCorp education did. Hernán Cortés was a Spanish Conquistador in the sixteenth century, Ms. Winters."

"Yes," Tessa hissed. "A murderous jackass who almost single handedly destroyed a powerful empire through lies, trickery, and vicious brutality. When he landed in the new world, he had his ships burned, to ensure his men could not retreat. They had to either fight or die. Yes, Chief. Martian education was very well versed in the problems of colonialism."

"You might not like what I've done, Deputy Holloran. But I believed it to be necessary. That's how important I think this mission is. And since this is not a democracy, my opinion is the only one that matters. Now, an important point. You may have noticed the distinct lack of gravity. This asteroid is tiny. Local gravity is less than a percent of a G. None of your are trained for this or will know how to travel in these conditions. Let me do all of the work. That's what the line is for. I will pull you along. Use your hands and feet to keep from bouncing off of the surface, but otherwise try to move as little as possible. You'll mostly be floating along behind me like balloons. And whatever you do, don't kick off hard. We need to try to stay low. Understand?"

"Not in the least," Lyta said meekly.

"Great. Now seal your helmets and let's get going."

Once they were sealed up, Garibaldi hit a control and the outer airlock doors began to open. The next half an hour was a small slice of hell. The asteroid curved quite visibly, but it was still a good distance to their target. Tessa could barely tell that there was any gravity at all, and had no idea how Garibaldi managed to stick to the surface. She felt not only useless, but helpless as well. It was not a feeling she was used to, and determined that she would be prepared if she ever again found herself in similar circumstances.

She really wanted to ask how much longer it would be. She wasn't sure how claustrophobia felt, but she was starting to get a pretty good idea. She also had a horrible itch on the side of her nose. Unfortunately, without power, there was simply no way she could communicate with the Chief in that airless void.

Finally, they passed a small outcrop. And before her, about forty five degrees off of the local vertical, Tessa saw what must surely be their target. A spacecraft, just floating in space several kilometers away.

Garibaldi gathered them into a circle, then leaned forward, pressing his face plate to hers. He gestured for Talia and Lyta to bring themselves into contact as well. "There she is," Garibaldi stated unnecessarily. Tessa realized that the vibrations from his voice were being carried through to her suit by their direct contact. He was clearly shouting, and his voice came through as a quiet and rather distorted buzz, but he was at least understandable. "And it looks like we're right on time."

He pulled back so they could each get a good view. In the distance, a shuttle could be seen approaching the ship. As they watched, the shuttle docked with the waiting freighter. A moment later, it disconnected and flew away. Garibaldi pulled them back into their huddle to speak again. "Commodore Sheridan and Captain Sinclair were on board that shuttle. That's why our own shuttle was of the military assault variety, and authorized for maximum thrust...so we could beat them here. They came to negotiate with Captains Lochley and Levitt. We're going to crash the party. And, if Lochley was true to her word, right about now they should be shutting down the cameras. Time to go."

"Time to go?" Tessa asked. "Go where?" Then something the Chief had just said finally registered. "Crash the party? You plan on trying to board that ship, unpowered? Are you insane?"

"Chief," Lyta shouted. "My air's getting stale. How much oxygen do we have left?"

"Probably about ten or fifteen minutes."

"How long will it take us to get there?"

"Probably about ten or fifteen minutes."

"You're insane," Tessa repeated. "We don't even have any way of getting there."

"Don't throw up," he said. He sounded amused, damn him.

"What do you mean, 'don't throw up'?" Suddenly, she felt the Chief grab onto her shoulder. She felt a tug where the spacer's line connected to her waist. The maniac heaved, and literally threw her into the sky. Tessa found herself tumbling through vacuum. As she spun head over heels, she caught brief glimpses of Garibaldi, still on the ground, similarly hurling Lyta and Talia into space. He then jumped after them. No wonder he had left so much line between them.

To the end of her days, Tessa would swear that she had not screamed like a little girl when Garibaldi had shotputted her at the freighter. After all, with no power to the recording or communications equipment in her suit, there was no way anyone could prove she was lying.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You'd think they'd at least have come out to meet us," Sheridan grumped. The two of them had just been standing around for the last several minutes.

"Well," Sinclair offered, "perhaps we had better have a look around. We know the meeting room they had set up. If nothing else, we can just make our way there."

John nodded, and they set off to find their hosts. The empty ship echoed each time they kicked off from a surface, or used their hands to arrest their movements. The lights were on, but it seemed that nobody was home. The ship had clearly been in use for a good long time, with grime discoloring most surfaces, despite obvious and energetic efforts to beat it back. The whole place would have made a great set for a horror vid. The cameras, now off, present in every room only added to the effect.

Rather than making them nervous or anxious, the atmosphere instead increased the irritation of both men. "I guess they must be waiting in the conference room," John offered. "Not very considerate of them."

"It took another minute or so for them to finally make their way to the ad hoc meeting chamber. And there they finally saw their hosts.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The atmospheric indicator light clicked from red to green within the secondary cargo airlock, and the four figures lying on the floor began to grab feebly at their helmets, trying to unseal them. Tessa was the first to get hers open, and gasped as a wave of stale but breathable air rushed into her helmet. She took a few moments just to glory in her ability to breathe, just to inhale a proper lungful of air. Then she noticed that none of the other three had yet managed to unseal their helmets, and their movements were becoming more and more sporadic.

Rushing to Lyta's side, she assisted the woman in breaking her helmet seal. She heard a loud gasp from within, and then turned to assist Talia. She saved the Chief for last. He was actually probably the most in need of oxygen, being the largest and having done far and away the most work, but she wasn't quite ready yet to forgive him for his transgression. Maybe a little light brain damage would prevent him from ever again coming up with such an asinine plan.

Breaking his helmet seal, she untwisted it and ripped it off of his head, tossing it across the compartment. Gasping, his limbs began twitching again. Grabbing ahold of the helmet attachment collar on his suit, she pulled him up angrily in a half seated, half dangling position. Pushing her face into his, she snarled furiously, "You can keep this fragging job! I quit, asshole!"

He was wheezing hard, but the rhythm changed slightly. It almost sounded like...like the son of a bitch was laughing. "Quit later," he managed to croak. "Right now we've got a mission." In frustration, she dropped him, and had the satisfaction of watching his head bounce off of the floor. He moaned, and then managed to pull a hand up to rub at his bruised skull.

"You can stuff your mission. You almost threw away my life and the lives of my friends."

He was still wheezing, but had started to get his voice back. "It was important. If we fail...I put in place some contingency plans, but if we fail, I think the three of you are dead anyway. And me. And every other human in the fleet. I did what was necessary."

Tessa stared at him for a long moment. Then she stood up and began stripping off the extraneous parts of her suit; helmet, gloves, oxygen tank...anything and everything she could do to shed weight and make her movements quieter. After a moment, Talia and Lyta began to do the same. "Let's say I...we...believe you. That we trust you. It's time for you to do the same. Tell us exactly what's going on."

"We don't have time…"

"Then be succinct."

And so he did.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sandra and Elizabeth had laid out a pretty decent spread for their negotiations. Several types of food and refreshments were set out across the tabletop...all strapped down and in spacers' containers, of course. The two mutineers sat on the opposite side of the table staring at them as they approached.

John stepped into the room in irritation. "We've been wandering around this ship for quite some time now. The least you could have done was met us at the airlock." When the ladies elected not to respond, he continued. "Or, you could have at least told us where you would be. That's just...common courtesy." Still they chose not to move or respond. Angrily, he spat out, "Well, what do you have to say? You asked us to this meeting. You're the ones with the 'nonnegotiable' demands. You wanted to get your way, to have your say. We're here. So speak your piece!"

Silence.

"John," Sinclair said uneasily. "Something's not right here."

John looked closely as the two women. The mutineers continued to sit silently, breathing and blinking occasionally, but otherwise not moving a muscle. They sat as though completely oblivious to their company. "It's like they're asleep," he said slowly. "Like they don't know we're even here."

"Oh, I assure you," came a familiar voice from the side of the room, "they are fully awake and aware of your presence. We've just taken away their ability to do anything about it...temporarily, of course."

Shocked at the new presence, Sheridan and Sinclair spun to face the unexpected voice. There, backed against the side of the room was a rather menacing quartet. As far as John knew, Bester was supposed to still be on the Mother. He supposed, after all of Garibaldi's concerns, that he shouldn't have been surprised to find the man standing alongside Susan Ivanova...or whoever she was now. He was also surprised to see the man wearing a rather familiar looking pearl handled revolver on his hip.

"The one with the shotgun is Ensign Gordon," Jeff advised him. Unnecessarily, but John didn't stop him. "He went through my final fighter pilot class. Former Psi Cop. Hell of a pilot." Raising his voice, he called out, "I'm surprised you would throw in your lot with a bunch of mutineers, Byron. You always struck me as the loyal type."

"And my loyalty remains firm...where it has always been, with my fellow telepaths," the young man respond, firmly but without animus.

Sinclair continued his commentary. "I don't recognize the older gentleman."

"You should have taken a more active interest in politics, Captain," John responded to him. "That man is none other than Assistant Director Drake of the Psi Corp. Director," he said more loudly, nodding to the man, "you most certainly are not supposed to be here. You didn't feel the need to honor the deal which allowed for so many telepaths to come along with this fleet?"

"The one which tried to kill the Psi-Corp? Which would enslave my fellow telepaths? No, I did not. The Corp is Mother, the Corp is Father. My telepaths need their family structure to remain intact. Your plans for my telepaths have failed. It is time for our plans to take primacy."

"How the hell are you even on this ship," Sinclair asked curiously. "Especially you, Bester. You were in the Command Staff meetings. And the cameras…"

Bester's response came with his trademark smirk. "You mean the meeting which stretched for a solid day, with people coming and going at will? I merely excused myself for pressing business and then didn't return. Did you even notice I was gone? Since I knew in advance exactly where this meeting would occur, it was child's play for me to gather my compatriots and quietly make our way here. The four of us arrived before either side even began installing the cameras. It was child's play to convince the various mundane technicians and security personnel that they had never seen us, and to ensure they left blind spots not covered by the cameras. The energy sensors couldn't be defeated so easily, of course. But, we had plans in place to cover that little challenge. After the security forces left, all we had to do was sit and wait for everyone to arrive. And now that the cameras have all been shut down so that our "negotiations" can be private, we have all the time in the world to...resolve our differences."

"By which you mean you plan to brainwash us," Sinclair snapped. "So were Levitt and Lochley in on your plans from the beginning, or did you betray them as well?"

Bester drifted forward, glancing between Sinclair and the still seated female Captains. "Brainwash? What an...ugly...word. And such a pale reflection of the elegance of what we achieved." Now standing next to Levitt, he looked directly at her, seemingly leveling his attention fully upon her. "I can feel them, you know? The real them. Beating at the insides of their skulls. Screaming to get out. A long time I've been debating...what to do when this day came. Let them know what happened to them, or do I leave them like this. Trapped in a prison of meat and flesh and bone...forever." Giving them a small nod, he glanced again at Sinclair and Sheridan, before returning his attention to the seated Captains and continuing. "I've decided to be magnanimous, ladies. Not because you'll appreciate it, but because you helped to bring us here, with the Psi Corp poised to take control of this fleet, and the whole human race. Not that the mundanes matter besides our telepaths. And I doubt very much that you'll appreciate that either."

Turning, he strolled behind them, running the fingertips of his right hand across the backs of their chairs. Speaking softly, he said, "Go back, ladies. Go back, and remember. Lefcourt had killed himself, and Sheridan was poised to assume command of the fleet. Once that happened, a firebrand with more experience fighting Minbari than protecting civilians would be given the responsibility of ensuring the survival of this fleet...of humanity itself. The potential for disaster was terrifying. That gave me my opening. You needed allies. Sinclair was too much of a boy scout, Garibaldi too damaged by the war. Who knew if anyone could trust a wet behind the ears cadet? That left only me. And so, we began to talk. And I began to manipulate you.

"I had neither the facilities, nor the time, nor the access to do a complete neural work up. To find the soft points where I could go in without disturbing the neural landscape. I couldn't leave any fingerprints, in case you had to pass a telepathic scan. I certainly couldn't do a full reprogram. So I worked with what I had. With what you gave me. Your fear of what Sheridan would do. It was enough. Anything more was unnecessary. You both had an innate distrust of Sheridan. And you were both very stubborn and very good at taking control; at running things and establishing structures...be they alliances or command teams. I needed those parts of you. So I couldn't risk tampering with them. I didn't have to reprogram you, just accentuate your natural instincts. More commanding, more stubborn...more suspicious of John Sheridan.

"It started subtly at first. Our early meetings were quite short. We were all very busy. But each time we met was one more opportunity to enhance your fears, your need to form a counter weight to Sheridan. And those fears and needs drove you to meet with me more often, and for longer, giving me even more access to make slight...adjustments. Then all I had to do was nudge you in the right direction from time to time, and let nature run its course. So we waited, and hoped for the best. It worked even better than I could have imagined. From time to time, I updated your conditioning...continued to point you where we needed you to go. Until, in the end, the old Elizabeth Lochley and Sandra Levitt were gone. And the new ones...worked only for us. You would do anything to accomplish what we wanted you to accomplish. Including bring down Sheridan. Especially bring down Sheridan." He chuckled and began moving back towards his compatriots. "And now...now we have everything."

"So you have been mind controlling them from the beginning," Sinclair called out, regaining Bester's attention.

"Mind control? No. Weren't you paying attention? Their thoughts, their emotions, their instincts...were all their own. I just drew certain thoughts and impressions to the fore. Lowered certain inhibitions. Focused them on certain concerns. It was really quite elegant." He paused, turning and focusing on them fully. "But, I suppose now we should focus on your part of the story, Jeff. On what happens to you and the Commodore next. In fact…" He paused, a surprised look coming over his face.

"What is it?" Susan, or the thing wearing Susan, asked.

Bester ignored her. Raising his voice, he called aloud, "Come out, Mr. Garibaldi. I'm impressed...astonished really...that you managed to make it aboard. But, I am aware of your presence now. You didn't really think you could hide from me, did you?"

The Colonel drifted out from one of the side passages, a length of pipe in his right hand leaned jauntily over that same shoulder. "Bester," he nodded. "Always a thrill." Looking over at his commanding officer, staring at him incredulously, he offered, "Commodore. Captain. Told ya it was a trap." Glancing over at the trio of telepaths still standing against the sidewall, his gaze focused on Byron. "A shotgun? How the hell did you get a shotgun past all the power sensors rigged up on this tub? Any powered weapon or device should have set off alarms left and right. I did have the perfect weapon for this place, but it mysteriously vanished from my desk," he said sourly, glancing at the offending revolver hung from Bester's hip. "Instead, I had to make do with this damned pipe." He waved the indicated pipe cheerfully at them.

"Yes, how perfectly barbaric of you, Mr. Garibaldi." Bester commented dryly.

Byron, however, chose to answer his question. "I activated and primed it, ready to fire. Then I pulled out the power cell and capacitors. Then I rigged a small chemical detonator to the trigger. Just enough to set off the propellant and fire the explosive chemicals wherever I choose to aim them. It's just one shot, Colonel. But one shot that would blow you to shreds. Or take out both the Commodore and Captain over there at once. So don't try anything stupid."

"Stupid? Me?"

"Very witty, Mr. Garibaldi," Bester cut in, "But it's time we…" His head whipped around, his eyes, betraying his shock, locking on Captain Lochley. Something was happening in her mind. "Who's out there?" He snapped. "Who did you bring with you?" Concerned; Byron, Susan, and Drake began to spread out, looking for threats.

"Just one shot?" Garibaldi asked Byron casually. Then, swinging his arm downward, he drove the base of the pipe into the wall behind him. The jury rigged firing pin he had affixed there was driven into the primer of the .45 caliber bullet fit snugly into the end of the pipe. It wasn't a perfect fit, and the barrel certainly wasn't rifled. It definitely wasn't the way anyone should try to aim a projectile weapon. But his luck was running high, and the fit was close enough to deliver sufficient power and accuracy to propel the bullet out of the pipe, across the room, and right into Byron's left hip. The impact sent him spinning backwards into the wall, dropping the shotgun with a cry of pain. His wound sent globules of blood spinning wildly through the air.

Without missing a beat, Garibaldi had leapt, sending himself flying at Byron, who began fumbling around, trying to reclaim the shotgun. Ivanova moved to interpose herself, prepared to grapple with Garibaldi, so that Byron could bring the shotgun to bear once more. Slamming open an air vent recessed into the wall, Tessa leaped out, slamming into Susan's back and carrying her out of Garibaldi's path. Michael, now unobstructed, gave the pipe his best baseball bat swing, connecting squarely with the underside of Byron's jaw. He had applied enough force to put a fifteen degree bend into the pipe. It did far worse to the jaw, which shattered with a sickening crunch. Fortunately for the Psi Cop turned fighter pilot, it also drove him instantly into unconsciousness. Several broken and bloody bits of tooth and a small, bitten off portion of tongue escaped from his slack mouth to join the gobbets of blood still spinning through the air.

Sinclair and Sheridan had wasted not a second, both darting in to lend a hand in the ensuing scuffle. Dropping the pipe, Garibaldi grabbed for the shotgun. Susan, still struggling with Tessa, who had climbed onto her back and was attempting to choke her out, managed to tag it with a kick, sending it spinning towards Drake. He didn't seem to notice at all, instead concentrating on Tessa, who screamed and grabbed for her head, lurching off of Susan and entangling with the just arriving Sinclair. Sheridan sailed past them both, coming at Susan from behind. Grabbing her by collar and hip, he swung her violently around and into the nearest bulkhead. The top of her skull connected with a hollow thud, and the body went immediately limp.

At the same time, the mental blocks holding Lochley in place were torn away. Snapping back to awareness, once again in control of her faculties, she lunged out of her seat and towards the nearest target...Alfred Bester. She never made it. The roar of a .45 round being fired from a weapon actually designed to fit it reverberated around the room. It obscured the sound of said bullet punching through Elizabeth's shoulder, and the grunt of pain that elicited. The ensuing silence was then filled only with the ratcheting clicks of the revolver being recocked, and the muffled impact of Lochley's tumbling body hitting the floor.

As all eyes turned towards him, Bester levelled the gun directly at Sheridan. "Ms. Winters. Ms. Alexander. Step out where I can see you please. If you do not, my next shot will be placed right between the Commodore's eyes. I assure you, my marksmanship is more than adequate for the task."

Slowly, Lyta and Talia stepped out of the same air vent from which Tessa had emerged, their hands raised. "That was quite an impressive trick you managed," Bester congratulated them. "Breaking my controls over Captain Lochley. I wouldn't have thought you capable. With a bit of training, you might each make acceptable Psi Cops. A valiant effort, all of you," he now said to the entire room. "But you've played your final hand, and you've failed. There are three bullets left in this gun. Just enough to kill all of my key opponents in this room. No matter what you do, you've failed."

As he was speaking, Director Drake scooped up the shotgun and drifted back to stand next to Bester. "That's enough for the pleasantries, Al. We've got a lot of work to do if we are going to get Sinclair reprogrammed."

"Sinclair?" Sheridan asked sharply.

Drake favored him with a smile. "Yes, Sinclair. If you came back from this negotiation with your power still intact, allowing Lochley and Levitt to resume their command, and began issuing uncharacteristic demands, people might become suspicious. We can't have that. But, if you "retire" as part of the terms of reuniting the fleet, turning command over to Sinclair...well, then, no one will really know what to expect. A new commander is the perfect way to mask the changes we will be making. And when you turn up later with a self inflicted gunshot wound….will anyone really be surprised that the shame drove you to pull a Lefcourt? Don't worry Commodore. We'll make it painless."

"Just one problem," Michael commented.

"And what exactly would that be, Mr. Garibaldi?

"You said it would take a lot of work? You just don't have the time. Our scouts are in...all of them. Down every single hyperspace route we looked...we found Minbari. They are closing in on us from every direction. We can't even go back the way we came. Deneb has fallen, and the Minbari are almost certainly bullying their way through the Koulani and Ch'Lonans as we speak. There's only one path open to us….and that's supposed to be certain death. You've got a few hours at best...maybe only minutes."

"That's ridiculous," Bester spat. "You're lying.

"You're supposed to be some sort of grand telepath, aren't you? Pull it out of my mind."

Bester concentrated for a moment. "My God, he's telling the truth. This changes everything."

"It changes nothing," Drake hissed. "We still can't allow the mundanes to dictate our fate. There's no turning back now."

"We can't fight the Minbari without these people at their best."

"Then we don't fight, Al. We run. We take the telepath heavy ships, and any others whose loyalty we have secured, and we run. But we've got to do it now. Kill them, and let's go."

Bester tightened his grip on the revolver, taking careful aim at Sheridan. But he hesitated, licking his lips. "We can't out run the Minbari. They're too fast. Too good at searching."

"There's an old saying. We don't have to outrun the Minbari. We just have to outrun the mundanes. Now kill them."

"But after they deal with the mundanes, they'll come after us."

"Dammit, Al, quit stalling! Why would the Minbari come after us? They can't possibly know the exact size of our fleet, and they would never believe we had split up. They'll slaughter the mundanes, and that will be the end of it. We'll finally be free from pursuit. Free to begin planning our future. You know what you need to do." Seeing Bester still hesitating, he swung up the shotgun and aimed it at Sheridan.

"I'm sorry, Director. My moment of weakness has passed. You are entirely correct. I do know what I need to do." Bester took a firmer grip on the revolver, again carefully aiming it at Sheridan. Taking a deep breath, he turned and fired directly into the side of Drake's head. A spray of blood, brains, and hair fountained into the air. Assistant Director Drake, nominal head of the Psi Corp, died instantly.

"Well, now that that's over," Bester said somberly, "what are we going to do about those Minbari?" He spun the revolver in his hand, offering it grip first to his former opponents.

Garibaldi surged across the room and tore the weapon from his hand, cocking it himself and levelling it at Bester. "Why shouldn't I just kill you where you stand, Al?"

"You mean aside from the fact that I just saved all of your lives? Well, how about the fact that we have bigger problems to worry about? The Minbari are coming, and you'll need my help to survive them."

"I'll take my chances," Garibaldi snarled, pressing the barrel into Bester's forehead.

"Stop!" Sheridan commanded. "He's right, we do need him." As Garibaldi stepped back from Bester, Sheridan continued. "What we need you to do, Mr. Bester, is to fix Ensign Ivanova over there. Return her to normal. That's what we need you to do."

Bester pursed his lips. "I'm...not sure that's possible."

Garibaldi stepped forward, once again jamming the gun into Bester's head. "Well you better make it possible, because that's what we need from you. And if you can't, then we have no more reason to keep you around, do we?" He cocked the revolver once again.

"Wait! There...might be a way. We knew that when the Control program took control of her body, it would completely eradicate her existing personality. I thought that personality might be valuable at some point in the future. Waste not, want not. So periodically we...backed it up."

"That's impossible," Lyta cut in. "There's no computer that could hold someone's entire mind and personality!"

"Of course not. Only a human mind can hold a human mind. Which is what we used."

"Excuse me?" she asked in confusion.

"We copied her personality on top of someone else's. Of course, people would notice if someone just 'became' Susan Ivanova, so we had to do it with someone who wouldn't expose us. Someone who couldn't expose us. Someone who wasn't using their own personality."

"The victims of the serial killer," Garibaldi guessed. "Their brains were drilled to destroy their telepathy. Of the handful that survived, several were left comatose. And you just thought, 'well, they're not using their minds, so why shouldn't we?'" he snarled in disgust.

"Do you want the Ensign back or not?"

"So you can do it?" Sheridan asked before Garibaldi had a chance to respond.

"Yes...possibly. Keep in mind, this would be a copy of a copy, stored on a damaged brain, overwriting a mind that has already been overwritten once. It might suffer some...degradation. I can make no guarantees." Garibaldi started to snarl again, but Bester snapped, "It's the best you're going to get."

Sinclair stepped forward. "Fine. We'll do it. Now, it's time to get this fleet moving, before the Minbari get here."

"Not just yet," Sheridan said softly, laying his hand on Sinclair's shoulder. "We have one more detail which must be addressed." Jeff looked at him in confusion.

"He means me...us," Lochley said as she wobbled up from the floor, hand pressed over her still bleeding wound. "You've got to decide what to do about us. And Sandra should at least be present for this. Bester. Let her go."

Bester glanced at Sheridan, who grimaced and gave a slight nod. Nothing happened for a moment. Then, with a shattering scream, Levitt curled up over her knees and began to sob violently.

Sheridan looked at her expressionlessly, then turned his gaze back to his ex-wife. "Captains Elizabeth Lochley and Sandra Levitt. You stand accused of treason, mutiny and conspiracy to commit both. I have no interest in how you plead. You are hereby sentenced to death, sentence to be carried out immediately."

"What?" Sinclair asked in shock, spinning on him. "Like hell! John you can't execute them!"

"Under martial law, it is well within my power."

"And it's just plain wrong! You heard Bester, they were under telepathic mind control!"

"Something they were trained to resist. And I did hear Bester. Did you? All the thoughts, ideas, emotions...that was all them. He just made it easier for them."

"By bringing what might otherwise have been passing thoughts to the fore! By lowering their inhibitions!" Jeff stated angrily.

"Alcohol can lower your inhibitions as well. Officers...certainly command officers...are supposed to be able to deal with that."

"Alcohol doesn't try to force you to take a certain set of actions! You can't do this! Court Martial them if you need to, but execution is beyond improper."

Sheridan clenched his jaw, losing his patience. "Even if wanted to let them off easily, I can't. I can't just pardon them and relieve them of command. Their very presence would be a focal point for those in the fleet who sided with them the first time around. A goad to further insurrection. And I can't reinstate them and pretend the whole thing was a trick or ploy. Because I simply can't trust them. Like it or not, they need to die."

"Wait," Lyta said meekly. Neither man was listening to her.

"Like hell!" Sinclair said angrily. "Wrong is wrong, Commodore. I can't support this."

"I don't need your support. Mr. Garibaldi, prepare to carry out the sentence." If Garibaldi hesitated at all, it was not discernible. He took aim at Lochley's head. Without flinching, she met his gaze. Levitt continued to weep, now having curled into a fetal ball.

"There's another way," Lyta tried again, just a little louder.

Sinclair stepped between Garibaldi and Lochley, causing Michael to raise the gun towards the ceiling. "I'm not going to allow you to do this. I'll stop you if I have to."

Sheridan grew more cold and aloof. "I just stopped one mutiny, Captain Sinclair. Don't think I will hesitate to put down another."

"Then you better be prepared to kill me too, Commodore, because…"

"I SAID STOP!" Lyta screamed at the top of her lungs. Once all eyes were on her, she resumed in a much softer voice. "There's...there's another way."

"And that would be?" Sheridan asked in annoyance.

"You could do to them what Drake and Bester were planning to do to you. I saw it in their heads. It's….it's evil. But it's better than execution."

"What exactly is it?" Sinclair asked more kindly.

Lyta hesitated, so Talia spoke up. "It's a type of intentional brain damage. Irreversible. It burns out a small part of the brain. A very specific part related to free will and decision making. It would take away their ability to say no or to disobey….not to just anyone, but to those who have recognized command authority over the...subject. And it's not just job related. It would reach into every aspect of their lives. In a very real way, you would be stripping them of free will...of a part of their humanity. Without caution, you could easily turn someone into a slave. It's prone to abuse. Any person with command can give it to any other person. You can imagine the kinds of things an unscrupulous person could make them do….what could become of them. But, aside from that, they would be alive and whole. Able to do their jobs. Able to command those beneath them, and interact normally with their peers.

"And you can just do this?" Sinclair asked in horror.

Lyta replied. "If you're asking if we can manage to have this on our conscience….better than to see them executed for something telepaths did. If instead you are asking about the telepathic capacity to do this….no, it's not something which is easily done. Talia and I didn't even know it was possible until we telepathically 'overheard' their plans just now. They had three Psi Cops to work with, and they were still expecting it to take a good part of the day just to do you, Captain Sinclair. But Bester has been priming Lochley and Levitt for months now. They could both be triggered in a few moments. Isn't that right, Commander Bester?"

"Yes, that's correct," Bester offered quietly.

Sinclair appeared disgusted, but then turned to look uncertainly at Elizabeth.

She met his gaze, then sighed, and gave a small nod. She looked over at Sheridan. "Do what you need to do. It's what I would do, were our roles reversed."

Sheridan's stony countenance softened a bit, as he gazed at his ex-wife. But then he turned to face Bester. "Do it."

Sinclair's gave never left Lochley's face. One minute everything was fine. The next, she gasped, and something dimmed in the light behind her eyes. Some ineffable part of herself had fled. She sagged back onto her haunches, head bowed, and Sinclair stepped forward to bind her wounds.

"Now Captain Levitt," Sheridan commanded Bester.

Levitt sat up, her weeping pausing momentarily. "No. NO! You cannot do this. It's inhumane. It's monstrous! I do not agree! You can't do this, PLEASE! I do not give my consent. Do you hear me!? I do not give my consent!"

As she protested, Sinclair looked over at Sheridan. "John," he started tentatively, "maybe we should…"

Levitt screamed, drawing Jeff's gaze sharply back to her. Once again, something indescribable seemed to go out of her. Some critical part of her soul seemed to vanish. She became less than she was, the light in her eyes somehow weaker than before. Perhaps Jeff was just imagining things. She slumped back over her legs, resuming her weeping.

Garibaldi stepped forward and swung the revolver into the back of Bester's head. He collapsed, unconscious. Turning to Lyta, he asked, "Did you see what he did? Do you understand how he did it?" Lyta looked confused, but nodded.

"Colonel Garibaldi," Sheridan snapped. "Explain yourself."

"If there's anyone who can't be trusted, it's Bester. You didn't believe me before. Believe me now. If you've got some magic "can no longer betray me" surgery, you need to use it on him. I figure now that the ladies here have seen what he did, they can attempt it on him. If he was awake, he could probably fight them or fool them. Unconscious, they should be able to get the job done."

"We've never done anything like this before," Talia protested. "Both Captains Lochley and Levitt were prepared well beforehand. If we try to stumble through this on our own, who knows what kind of damage we could cause?"

"But could you do it?" Garibaldi pressed.

The both hesitated, then finally Lyta said, "Yes, probably. It's going to take quite a while."

Garibaldi looked over at Sheridan, who nodded and said, "Then proceed. Take all the time you need."

"What if this prevents Bester from restoring Ivanova?" Sinclair asked.

"Then we find another way. The decision is made." He raised his voice, looking over at Levitt and Lochley. "Ladies. The time for crying and bleeding is over. We've got work to do, this fleet needs to get moving. Stand up." Both captains jerked to their feet, with no ability to ignore or refuse him. "You are ordered to return to your former command positions. You are to advise anyone who asks that you were operating under cover as a means to draw out the Psi Corp conspirators and other disloyal elements. We're going to offer a general amnesty to anyone who surrenders and willingly returns to the fold. We come down hard on everyone else. Understood?"

"Yes, Commodore," they echoed in unison.

"This is going to be a damned mess, but we just don't have time to work it all out right now. The first thing we have to do is get off of this ship and back to the fleet. Garibaldi, can you clean things up here?"

"Deputy Holloran, can," he said, passing Tessa the revolver to add to the shotgun she had already acquired. "I've got my own folks to prep for departure."

"Then let's get moving people. The Minbari are coming."

So saying he turned and left the room. The group that followed him out was a far cry from the Council of Captains which had formed months before. Broken, strained, changed. But they still carried to hopes of mankind on their shoulders.
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Torlig, Neutral Space - Minbari Fleet, Valen'Tha - May, 2249

The Grey Council was in session. This was not a normal session. Shai'Alyt Branmer felt the difference the moment he stepped into the room. The profound solemnity and deep silence were neither profound nor deep on this occasion. Disturbed and angry whispers pierced the darkness. As he strode towards the center of the ring, a spotlight from directly above encompassed him, cutting the whispers short.

He stopped in the dead center of the ring, and offered his report. "Preliminary investigation of the system has been completed. We have conclusive evidence that the humans were here. However, as yet we cannot find them. It is possible that they are no longer here."

Another light appeared highlighting a member of the Grey. Branmer knew from his position and physical stature who it was before he bothered to lower his hood. Neither did the look on his face, once revealed, surprise Branmer at all. Coplann wore an angry sneer, and wore hostility like a cloak. "And so we see the result of your overly cautious 'plan,' Shai'Alyt. We had the human fleet within reach, and you let them go. All so you could implement this exhaustive, in depth search, looking under every rock, behind every speck of dust, in every single system on this side of the beacon network. You told us the plan would leave no room for the humans to escape. We initiated the largest fleet deployment since the Shadow War, all to catch one fleet of humans. And now, here we are, in the final system, with fleets spread out across all of the surrounding systems. You promised us the humans would be here, Shai'Alyt. Where are they?!"

Branmer regarded the agitated Warrior calmly. He was disturbed and agitated himself, but not by Coplann's words or tone. Rather, it was the most likely answer to the question which disturbed him. "We have not finished searching this system, Satai Coplann. It is entirely possible that the humans are still here, hiding somewhere in the outer system. It is my intention to search this system just as thoroughly as we have all of the other. Unless this Council chooses to overrule me, that is. However, operating under the assumption that the humans are not here, I must note that we have not, in fact, searched every system. There is one more, directly accessible from here, which we have yet to approach."

Coplann's brow furrowed in confusion for a moment, and then realization dawned. He inhaled sharply with a hiss. "Z'ha'dum?" The dismay was evident on his face. "Would even the humans be that mad?" A laden pause, a he sorted through the possibilities. "Or perhaps it is not madness. Perhaps this was their destination all along. This war started with the humans attacking us as Dukhat had us enroute to that very system. He was concerned about a return of the Shadows. Concerns Delenn has repeated. Perhaps those concerns are valid. Perhaps the humans acted specifically to prevent our expedition. Perhaps….perhaps they are Shadow Servants."

Another light appeared, surprising no one. Particularly after hearing her own name, Delenn would not allow herself to be left out of this conversation. Lowering her hood, she stated, "That is pure speculation. We have seen nothing from the humans which would indicate they are Shadow Servants."

"You mean, aside from the fact that they attacked us without provocation, Delenn? That they killed the very leader who was pushing us to investigate the system to which they now appear to flee?" Coplann smirked at her, drawing out her anger.

"If they wanted to prevent us from investigating Z'ha'dum, then why would they lead us to it now?"

"Perhaps they think they have eluded our chase. Perhaps they are just that desperate. Or perhaps they are just stupid. They are humans, after all."

"Or, perhaps, this is all the will of the universe. There were many on this council who were resistant to Dukhat's initiative. We are the Universe, made manifest, trying to figure itself out. Perhaps if we had been more resolute beforehand, or if we had not focused on the destruction of the humans, but had instead carried through with the plan to investigate Z'ha'dum, then none of this would have been necessary. Perhaps the Universe itself intends for us to visit Z'ha'dum."

"Now who is engaging in pure speculation, Delenn?"

Branmer cleared his throat and interrupted their sparring. "The pertinent question is, should the humans indeed not be here, do we choose to follow them to Z'ha'dum, and risk encountering whatever might be there?"

"Yes," Delenn and Coplann said in unison, then looked at each other in surprise. Coplann was the first to return his gaze to the Shai'Alyt and speak. "We have come to far, put forth to much effort in chasing the humans, to let them get away now. We must ensure their destruction to end this war. If that means going to Z'ha'dum, then so be it."

Delenn spoke next. "It is time we finally fulfilled Dukhat's intentions. If the Shadows are indeed moving again, if the humans are aligned with them or not, these are things we must know. Perhaps we should have gone to Z'ha'dum long ago, but the past cannot be changed. We go now."

The motion went to a vote of the full Council. There was no dissent. Their path was decided.
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Deep Hyperspace - Vorlon Dreadnought - May, 2249

The humans go to Z'ha'dum. Delivered by their most senior member, the message struck like a thunderbolt, bringing chaos into the council of the lords of order. Passed on a higher level than even the telepathy they had seeded in so many of the younger races, it was soaked in undertones of fear and consternation. The Council had been called to discuss the momentous events on going in the ancient conflict with the Shadows.

Disaster, another offered. If the humans entered that storied system, they were placing themselves directly into the jaws of the Shadows. They would almost certainly slip fully under their sway. The humans were critical to the Circle the Vorlons had instigated. If the Shadows gained control of the humans, they were liable to seize control. To change the past, present and future. To destroy the Vorlons, or make them little more than a client race. The concept was so horrifying it bore repeating. Disaster.

Intervention? asked a third. Perhaps they could simply abduct the human fleet. Prevent them from going to Z'ha'dum in the first place.

Impossible. The humans were already too close to the system, the nearest Vorlon forces too far away. The humans would get there first. Attempting to seize them from within the system would be even worse. It would kick off a conflict with the Shadows for which the Vorlons were not prepared. It would also ensure that the Shadows understood that these humans were special. Ensure that they would investigate. Ensure the very destruction of the Circle which the Vorlons feared.

The Minbari? yet another councilor asked. The Minbari were giving chase. It wasn't ideal, but perhaps they could stop the humans. That might give the Vorlons the chance to catch up and take the humans from them before they did something to ruin everything...like killing off the humans. It would mean either being more honest with the Minbari than they preferred...or destroying them violently. Either could lead to disaster, but better that than allowing their fate to fall into the hands of the Shadows.

Worse. The Minbari were also too far behind to stop the humans. Instead, they would go barrelling into the Shadow system with a massive force of ships. Which would be nearly as bad as the Vorlons themselves showing up. The Minbari had been allies and clients of the Vorlons since well before the last Shadow war, a fact the Shadows couldn't possibly fail to remember. Them showing that level of interest in the humans was tantamount to the Vorlons themselves doing so. At least, that was likely how the Shadows would interpret it.

Stop them? For once, the interrogative was plain, with no buried levels of meaning.

Futility. It was again their senior member communicating. Images of multiple large Minbari fleets were carried along with it. They approached Z'ha'dum from every directions. They were too powerful to stop easily. The Vorlon forces close enough to intercept them before their arrival were sufficient to stop one or two of them, but not all five. Nothing would be accomplished. Worse, that level of hurry might cause them to miss some witnesses. They were willing to kill Minbari if necessary, but driving them into the arms of the Shadows by allowing them to realize they had been betrayed would be nearly as bad as losing the humans.

Disaster, came the thought again.

Naranek, one of their most junior offered angrily. This was all Kosh's fault. If he hadn't swayed them with with the possibility of extending the Vorlon future, they would have done something about the humans much earlier. They would have acted to maintain stability, to maintain order, to maintain the Circle. Now it was too late. And it was all Kosh's fault. What good would additional future be, if those years were spent as slaves of the Shadows. Panic began to set it amongst the Council.

Subterfuge? one finally offered. Disinterest? They could stop neither the humans nor the Minbari from going to Z'ha'dum. All they could do was wait. But, just perhaps, if they showed no interest, the Shadows might not realize how important the humans were. They just might leave the Vorlons a path to victory. It seemed a slim chance, but the only chance they had.

We must watch. It was again their senior member, attempting to lead them. They would need to send a stealthy ship in close to Z'ha'dum, to observe what passed their.

Dangerous. another responded. The Shadows might detect those ships, regardless of their precautions and stealthy nature. The enemy certainly had the capability. If they were detected, then it would eliminate whatever slim chance pretending disinterest might give them. It was incredibly risky.

We must know. They had to watch. Subterfuge was to thin of a chance to depend upon it. If it failed, they would need to know what was transpiring. They would need to try to make alternative plans, and knowing exactly what was happening would be critical to that effort.

Chaos and fear still dominated the Council, but the simple plan and the will of their senior returned a modicum of order. They grasped onto it like drowning men would a life preserver. Their plan was finalized, their course of action was set. Things did not look favorable right now, but they would bend the universe to their will. The strode towards the future with open eyes. They were First Ones. They were Vorlon.
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Z'ha'dum - Exodus Fleet, EAS Eratosthenes - May, 2249

Commodore John Sheridan stood, staring out a window into the darkened depths of the system. The bulk of his Command Staff crowded the room behind him, reviewing the available data. He had assembled them aboard their Explorer class vessel, to enjoy the relative comfort of it's centrifugal system. Bester, Lochley, and Levitt were all present; now the best of good little soldiers. He still felt somewhat sick about what he had done, but it was necessary. An invisible but tangible space surrounded the three of them. The other either knew or suspected that they were traitors, though most of them were unaware of the details. So far their cover story was holding. That left people uncomfortable, but when the Commodore told you that everything was fine, you didn't argue. That problem, despite its complexity, felt incredibly simple compared to the disaster which now loomed before them.

The door opened, and Sinclair strode into the room, a grim look on his face. He had news, and Sheridan suspected he knew what it was. They were running out of time. He fought down panic. He would find a way out of this. He had to find a way out of this. He turned back to the room, imposing a look of calm and control over his features. "Many of you have been working different problems. Let's review, so that everyone is fully up to speed. Captain Lochley?

Without standing or flinching, she responded, "We have Starfurys spread out on deep patrol throughout the system. So far, they've seen nothing to report in about."

He nodded, noting the dead tone in her voice, and suppressing another stab of guilt. It was probably just her dealing with the emotional trauma. Upon awakening, Bester had assured him that none of the three of them had suffered any mental damage other than that intended. He had even complimented Talia and Lyta on a job well done. The whole thing had been bizarre. He refocused on the task at hand. "Commander Gideon."

Matt stood up. "We have been broadcasting our first contact package, as well as a general hail requesting aid and asylum. No response so far. We have also been scanning with the best sensors of the Eratosthenes, as well as the scientific vessels from Interplanetary Expeditions. So far as we can tell, this system has been abandoned for thousands of year. I've brought a couple of civilian experts to provide some additional knowledge regarding what we've found so far. This is Maximilian Eilerson, and archeologist with IPX, and Samuel Drake, a hyperspace and ship design expert from Mars."

Sheridan nodded to each, then keyed in on the mention of hyperspace. "Mr. Drake, can you explain the anomaly to us?"

"No, Sir, I'm afraid that I can't."

"Something is preventing ships from entering or leaving hyperspace within this system, other than through the local jump gate. That's gotta mean something."

"Yes, Sir. And the effect extends almost as far out as the Kuiper Belt. But if it means something, I have no idea what it is. Commander Gideon brought me in because I'm just about as knowledgeable regarding hyperspace as any human, living or dead. And I can tell you, from the breadth of that knowledge, that I haven't got a damned clue. I can't even tell if the effect is natural or artificial, where it comes from, or what the possible mechanics behind it might be. I'm sorry, Commodore. Our species just hasn't accumulated enough knowledge about the hyperspace realm yet. I can at least tell you to stop looking, because if I don't know, then no one in this fleet does."

John nodded in disappointment. That strange effect had bolstered their hopes of finding a hyper advanced race which might protect them from the Minbari. He turned to the second man. "Mr. Eilerson. I presume you've been studying the planet?"

"Indeed. Violent dust storms seem to cover at least a quarter of the planet at any one time, but we can tell that it was habitable and inhabited at one time. We're not seeing any signs of current habitation though. The planet contains very little moisture, fatal levels of carbon monoxide, and persistent background radiation. Taken altogether, I'd say this is indicative of intense, planetary wide nuclear bombardment some time in the distant past."

"How distant?"

"Hard to tell from orbit. Maybe a thousand years?"

"What else have you found?"

"We've observed strange stone pillars, averaging just over a hundred meters in height, regularly placed across most of the surface. They are separated by about three point nine kilometers from their neighbors, and seem to be covered in some form of writing...which is extremely hard to read from space. I'd like to take a team down and investigate them, as well as some other locations which might be ruins."

"And how long would that take?"

"To get a preliminary answer? At least weeks. Probably months."

"We don't have that kind of time," Jeff broke in. All eyes shifted to him.

John nodded. "Captain Sinclair. You have something to report?"

"I just came from Ops. All of the deep scouts we sent out have reported in. There are five hyperspace routes leading away from this system. There are Minbari forces in the systems at the end of each of those routes. That includes Torlig. They seem to be preparing to head this way."

"Which ones?"

"All of them."

Sheridan wasn't surprised. "How large?"

"According to our scouts, the smallest of the fleets exceeds six hundred vessels." Gasps and murmurs swept across the room, but Sheridan spoke over them. "How long do we have?"

"It's hard to say, Sir. Probably twenty-four hours. Maybe forty-eight."

John couldn't stop himself from closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He took a moment to collect himself, and come to a decision. Opening his eyes, he resumed his command façade. "Captain Gideon. You are to take the Eratosthenes, the Cutters, and the entire civilian fleet and go through the jumpgate. You will head outwards in a direction that is not along one of the beacon paths. Travel until you can just barely still detect the beacon, but reliably enough not to lose it. A bit like we did in Cascan. That ought to keep the Minbari from noticing you when they come into the system...at least for a while. From there you are to initiate hyperspace exploration, utilizing whatever tools and resources you deem necessary. You are looking for a new system, not currently on the beacon network. The Nova, Lexington, Midway, and Mother will remain in system to distract the Minbari and slow them down. We will attempt to draw them deeper into the system, so that they cannot rapidly leave due to the hyperspace anomaly. We will delay them until you have found that new system and initiated the escape of the fleet, or until we are destroyed. Should the opportunity present itself, any remaining military vessels within the system will exfiltrate via travel into the Kuiper Belt and out of the area covered by the hyperspace anomaly."

The room was silent. Everyone in the room knew that any ship remaining to engage the Minbari would never be leaving. Escape was a pipedream. Finally, Gideon cleared his throat and spoke. "How long do you think you can give me, Sir?"

"The Minbari will be here in twenty-four to forty-eight hours. We can maybe keep them occupied for another twenty-four...forty-eight if we are far luckier than we can reasonably expect."

"How the frak do you expect to hold that many ships for an hour, much less forty-eight?" Garibaldi asked incredulously.

"Any way we can, Colonel. We pull out every nuke. Drop every dirty trick. We lie, cheat, and steal and do whatever it takes to buy that time. We'll find a way." He turned back to Gideon. "That gives you two days, Commander...four if we're incredibly luck, but I would plan for two….to find a refuge for this fleet."

Gideon cleared his throat again, and uncomfortably said, "You do realize, Commodore, that it usually take months to find a new system via hyperspace exploration? Sometimes it's years. As close to the Rim as we are, systems are likely to be fewer and farther between."

"Then cut corners," Sheridan said sharply. "The men and women of the military fleet are about to sacrifice themselves so that you can pull the civilians to safety. Don't let that sacrifice be in vain."

"Yes, Commodore. I'll find a way."

"Good man. If the Minbari begin closing on you before you've found a path out….drop your lock on the local beacon and just lead the fleet into hyperspace."

That order was simply too much. Gideon balked again. "Sir, that's suicide. The odds are better of being struck by lightning ten times in a row than of heading blindly into hyperspace and finding your way to safety."

"A civilian fleet, an Explorer and some cutters facing off against thousands of Minbari ships...that's suicide. Jumping blindly into hyperspace...that's just putting yourselves into the hands of the Almighty. Perhaps He'll smile on you. Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Gideon took a deep breath. "We'll find a way," he repeated.

Sheridan looked around at his officers...those certain to die, and those only incredibly likely to. "Alright people, I'm going to need the best out of all of you to make this work. The Minbari are on their way, and we have a lot of work to do, preparations to make. Now, move! The clock is ticking.