Chapter 6 – Ask No Questions and Hear No Lies.
April 22nd, 2260 16:10
Babylon 5 Red Sector – Level 5
Connor Olson weaved through the busy throng that filled Babylon 5's Zocalo. Many in the market were human, but there was a fair share of aliens as well. Most of the non-humans he passed were races he recognized from his studies. There were, however, more than a few he was having a tough time identifying. An incomprehensible babble flowed throughout the entire plaza. Combined with the bustle of the crowd, and a little bit of vertigo from the ever-spinning station, he was beginning to feel very disorientated.
On the voyage here, Connor had taken the time to memorize the station's layout. Every section, all the details of the diplomatic base's operation. He had boarded it with Professor Stone confident he would be able to handle the intricacies of dealing with its various races and the sheer size of the place. The Professor was going to need his help, and Connor would do nearly anything for his mentor. But his self-confidence had taken a severe blow when he had met with the Minbari's ambassador aide and then Delenn herself. He had acted like a complete fool.
Connor was quickly discovering all the published information on extraterrestrial civilizations in his research papers and study guides paled in comparison when you were face to face with a dozen different alien races. The whole experience was a bit overwhelming. All he wanted to do was find the antique shop Stone had sent him after and leave.
He picked up his stride as he made his way through the crowds, hoping to spot the shop somewhere in this mess. Connor had already seen a dozen vendors claiming to be selling alien artifacts. But even with his limited experience, he knew the level of deceit and trickery in the trade of ancient relics from other races. Most of the places he had seen were selling nothing but junk and trinkets.
Brushing past several Drazi dressed in dour green uniforms, Connor then zig-zagged around a black-suited Gaim Drone, only to end up running headlong into an imposing figure dressed in a dark cloak with an impressive thud. There was the sound of something clattering to the ground and then an unhappy squawk.
Connor backed up a step and glanced up at who he had accidentally run into. Towering a good half-meter taller than himself, a bulbous head with splotchy pale yellow and brown skin and two dark red eyes stared waxily down at him. A mess of tentacles around a beak-like mouth moved and flexed.
A Pak'Ma'ra.
The alien glowered at Connor and then it's glassy gaze bent down to the floor of the Zocalo. Looking down as well, Connor saw a bowl lying upended at the feet of the Pak'Ma'ra, the bowl's greenish contents spilled all over the place. After a few moments, a strong, putrid smell made its way to Connor's nose, and he had to work hard at not gagging.
It was apparent this Pak'Ma'ra was unhappy about their accidental run-in. Connor's mind spun at breakneck speed as he tried to recall everything he knew about the Pak'Ma'ra: Physically strong. Reproduce asexually. Their vision was in the infrared spectrum. But one fact popped out of his mouth without thought, 'Carrion eaters.' The bowl had obviously been the alien's food.
"Uh, sorry," squeaked Connor as he realized the implication of the sickly green stuff at his feet, and he took a nervous step back.
"Mmmak er dan kuc," hooted the alien as Connor continued to cautiously back away. Again, looking to the ground where the bowl and its smelly contents lay, the Pak'Ma'ra made something like a low growl and then swept towards Connor, closing the distance in less than a second. It again shrieked the same incomprehensible words.
Meekly raising his hands, Connor tried to look completely harmless. He believed he was doing a rather excellent job of appearing pathetically weak. Taking another step back, he hoped somehow he could backtrack his way out of this disastrous encounter. Unfortunately, all this accomplished was he retreated into someone else.
Letting out a pitiful whimper, Connor jerked forward and spun around, half expecting he had stumbled into a Minbari Warrior given his luck. But he was wrong. Instead of an alien with a bald, bone ridge head and armed with a fighting pike, a Centauri stood before him with an easygoing smile. He was well dressed regally, in elegant fancy clothes. His hair featured out in a wide crescent, denoting someone of important rank. There was just a touch of gray in his dark plumage.
"Umm," started Connor but then felt the unhappy Pak'Ma'ra lay a big, many-finger paw on his shoulder. Connor flinched in barely controlled terror. He was trapped.
"Now, now," jovially asserted the Centauri as the alien strode forward, ignoring Connor completely and speaking directly to the Pak'Ma'ra, "I'm sure whatever this young Earther did, he's sorry he did it. No need to get angry."
The Pak'Ma'ra's large head bobbed up and down and then shuffled back a step. It let out several quick jabbering noises from its maw and then pointed at Connor with one of its sizable digits on its giant hand.
"Hmm," grunted the Centauri man, "I suppose I can accommodate that request." From his jacket's pocket, he produced a small white bag. He carefully pulled the contents out, revealing a blueish gray substance tightly sealed in a tiny glass bulb.
"Ohhgerrr!" cried the Pak'Ma'ra with a loud hoot. Connor was not sure if the bellowing sound was one of absolute rage or unrestricted joy. The big alien plucked the crystal sphere from the Centauri with incredible care. Cradling it within its massive paws, the Pak'Ma'ra brought the small bulb up to face and again let out a loud hoot. Connor guessed the hooting must mean it was happy.
Turning back to Connor and his apparent defender, the Pak'Ma'ra let out a long, indecipherable, squeaks and squawks.
"Don't mention it," replied the Centauri. "Just don't eat it all at once," he added, "Might give you some indigestion."
Still holding its prize, the Pak'Ma'ra began waddling away. As it passed Connor, its wide red eyes fixed him with a stony stare. Evidently, he was not wholly forgiven for ruining the alien's meal. That was more than enough to start Connor babbling again.
"I'm really sorry," pleaded Connor. "I didn't mean to cause you any trouble..."
"Oh, don't mind him, my wayward friend," intoned the Centauri man. "The Pak'Ma'ra can be frightfully troubling when they haven't had anything to eat. But get a little bit of food into one of their stomachs, and they're - what is the saying of yours? Gentle as a sheep."
"Oh," faltered Connor awkwardly, "I...um...I think you mean...lamb."
"Ah, yes, lamb."
Turning to fully face the alien whose intercession had saved him from a miserable future of either finding a replacement meal for the Pak'Ma'ra or becoming the replacement meal, Connor looked at the Centauri up and down. The human-like alien was indeed dressed well in a fancy royal purple overcoat layered gold trim. A large red jewel was affixed to the center of the Centauri's collar. Elegant indeed, guessed Connor. His rescuer must be someone of importance among his people.
"Uh...Ah...Thank you for your help," stuttered Connor as he racked his brain for the correct way to offer gratitude among the Centauri.
"Think nothing of it," replied the Centauri. His easygoing smile was back.
Growing curious, Connor had to ask, "What was in that little glass jar? Why did the Pak'Ma'ra get so excited?"
The smile widened on the alien's face. He leaned in and lightly patted Connor's arm. "Trust me, you don't want to know."
"Ah, well, again, thank you for your help, mister...umm..." Connor realized he did not have a clue as to the Centauri's name.
"Mollari," he answered. "But you may call me Londo."
April 22nd, 2260 16:30
Babylon 5 Minbari Diplomatic Wing
Captain John Sheridan stopped before the door to Ambassador Delenn's quarters and let out a sigh as he tried to rein in the beginnings of a headache. The last few hours with General Robert Taggart had been stressful, to say the least. The General had arrived at Babylon 5, convinced the Minbari were holding some sort of control over him and his command staff. He had been very reluctant to believe they had risked themselves to protect the station from Clark's fleet out of some altruistic conviction. Taggart's deep suspicion of the Minbari had played against Sheridan's efforts to smooth things out with the General. They had just suspended their meeting, having not reached anything close to an agreement.
Armed with his mysterious warship, Taggart could prove to be a helluva thorn in his side if he decided to make trouble. But, if he could drop his hatred and mistrust of the Minbari, Taggart, along with the Valiant, could make for a powerful ally. The General was committed to standing up to President Clark, which was clear in the man's disgust at seeing what Clark's forces had done when trying to take the station.
Pressing the buzzer beside the door to Delenn's living quarters, John waited for a response. He needed to talk with her about Taggart. During his meeting with the General, he had discreetly received several messages from both her and Lennier that she was attempting to ease tensions with Fleet Captain Lennan. He appreciated her help, even though he felt this was his responsibility to solve.
The door slid open to reveal Lennier on the other side, standing in the middle of the Minbari Ambassador's quarters foyer. Delenn's young aid gave him a quick, short bow. John nodded in return. "Good day, Captain Sheridan," greeted Lennier. "How might I be of assistance?"
"Is Delenn available? I'd like to speak with her."
Before Lennier could answer, John heard voices coming from further in Delenn's quarters. Then laughter. Delenn's laughter, light, and musical. John glanced toward Lennier, slightly confused. Who was she meeting with? Her aide made a small nod and informed him, "Captain, I believe you are expected."
"Am I?" questioned John. "Who's in there with Delenn?"
An expression came on Lennier's face that John had begun to associate with bewilderment for a Minbari. Somewhere between confusion and curiosity. And all too often, the look was tied to something related to humanity.
"A rather unusual human and his assistant arrived earlier to speak with Delenn," explained Lennier.
John stepped inside the foyer and towards the muffled voices, eager to see this mysterious visitor, when Lennier added, "A Professor Stone."
That brought John to a full stop in surprise. He turned to Delenn's aide. "Professor Stone? As in William Stone?"
"Yes," nodded Lennier. "Do you know him?"
"Not exactly," replied a still stunned John.
After a shake of his head, he resumed walking, stepping from the foyer to Delenn's private stateroom. He found her sitting on a square futon-like piece of furniture while a white-hair man reclined in a nearby chair. He was on the shorter side, and a little plumb, so the armchair snugly wrapped around him. But the man seemed quite comfortable in this sitting arrangement as he sipped from a cup filled with some steaming brown liquid. His broad smile was gentle and infectious as he laughed at something Delenn had just said.
Still chuckling, he placed his cup down on the small table between himself and Delenn. "I'd always wondered about that custom."
"Yes," agreed Delenn with a conformable smile of her own. "I had never considered it before. But you make a good point about the Zir family salutation having its roots in some of the oldest of our religious caste rituals."
"Ah, the little intricacies that echo through the ages of a greeting," replied her guest. "Someday, I'll have to tell you about the Mashco-Piro tribe of the Amazon. Their method of welcoming a guest is, hmm, shall I say...unique. But I believe you have another visitor."
Delenn looked up to see him, and a quick smile crossed her face. She began to say his name, but seemed to think better of it, and instead offered a more formal welcome of "Captain," and gestured to the man across from her. "This is Professor William Stone. He is..." and she hesitated for just a moment before adding, "the science officer of the Valiant."
John did his level best to not react to this surprising news. He covered it up well as Stone took several moments to struggle out of his chair. But an older memory began to tug at his impassive expression. One that he had not thought of in a good long while.
The professor finally extracted himself from the chair and rose to his feet to greet John with a firm handshake. "Captain Sheridan, I'm most honored to meet you," said Stone. "I've just been visiting with the quite delightful Miss Delenn and sharing some of her tea."
"Umm, yes," John replied, awkwardly.
Stone noticed his embarrassment, and the old man's confusion quickly morphed into curiosity. "Have we met before?" he asked as he raised a bushy gray eyebrow.
Fighting hard to stop becoming further flustered, John kept his tone mild. "Sort of...Some years ago, my wife was one of your students." He added quickly, "She always spoke very highly of you."
"Your wife?" questioned Stone as he returned to his over-sized chair.
John almost replied, "Anna Sheridan." But the incident had happened before they had married. Making a quick glance to Delenn, he saw her keen green-gray eyes were alight with interest over the encounter between the two men. "Anna Keller," he finally replied.
"Anna Keller," said Stone. "Anna Keller," he repeated as he looked deep in thought. Then his eyes shot open. "Of course! Anna Keller!" And then his smile grew smug. "You're that Earthforce Officer she was dating. The two of you in that closet." He waggled a disapproving finger at Sheridan and added, "Her grades suffered because of you."
Letting out a sigh, John took a seat on an open futon. The cushion smoothly conformed to his weight. Warmly warping itself about him. Given his last few hours, it was very comforting. But it would not last as Delenn, now openly curious about Stone 's revelation, eagerly leaned forward. "What happened?"
Stone shook his head firmly. "I will not speak of it in front of a lady like yourself."
The professor's refusal did not slow Delenn down in the least. Turning to John, she again asked, "What happened?"
Any hope of keeping his face from going red jumped out the nearest airlock. The awkward story of how he was discovered with Anna in a janitor's closet just down from the lecture halls was one he had never indented to share with Delenn. As eager as she was to learn human customs and cultures, there were still significant gaps in her understanding of innuendo in the more mature nature of human relationships. He sputtered for a few seconds and then let out another hard sigh that mostly came out as a groan.
Puzzled at his behavior, Delenn asked innocently, "John, did you do something wrong?"
Not wanting to answer as if she was a child who had stumbled into a much more adult situation, he selected his words carefully. "It wasn't anything inappropriate. Not really. Anna and I were engaged, and we hadn't seen each other for a while, and I was on leave..."
"Uhh…Oh!" suddenly blurted out Delenn as understanding dawned. In good measure, her own face also turned a shade of red. More than a little mortified, she stared pointedly at the floor and spoke in an embarrassed whisper. "My apologies, Captain. I didn't mean to intrude into a personal matter."
Feeling the growing heat on his cheeks, John stammered out, "No... No, it's okay. Just was...umm...stupid youthful...indiscretion."
He was having a strong wave of shame build up in his body, although he was not entirely sure why. The situation had been embarrassing but it was years ago. No reason to churn over such worries. Perhaps, he had to admit to himself, his guilt was based on the fact Delenn was learning about his past intimacy with Anna and not the tawdry cliché situation of two young lovers caught in the act.
Glancing between the Commander of Babylon 5 and the Minbari Ambassador, who were both looking down at the floor and shuffling their feet like awkward teenagers, Stone loudly cleared his throat. "No," said the professor, "I'll be the one to apologize. I did not intend to bring up an old off-color story about a former student. I should have been more discreet."
Delenn closed her eyes for a moment and nodded once. Recovering her usual graceful poise, she said, "Yes, of course. Professor Stone, you said you wished to speak to both me and the Captain." She made the quickest of glances at John and added, "I believe we are both eager to hear what you have to say."
"Please, call me William," requested the Professor as he sipped his tea. Sitting the cup down, he rested his hands in his lap and steepled his fingers together. "I've many reasons for coming here. The first being I wish to smooth over any, umm...difficulties with our arrival. First to the Minbari, which I'm certain didn't appreciate their ships being threatened and then to you, Captain for adding to what I'm sure is an already difficult situation with your break away from Earth."
"General Taggart sent you here?" questioned John skeptically.
A laugh welled up in the heavyset older man. "Oh my, no. Robert will be rather put out when he learns of this little meeting."
"Well, I can agree the Valiant's arrival has been disruptive," replied John. "I've just spent the last three hours with Taggart, and I'm concluding he'll do whatever he damn well pleases. But I'm not sure what you're hoping to accomplish here when the General just ignores anything we agree on."
"Had fun with Robert today?" asked William with a glint of mirth in his eyes.
John crossed his arms sullenly. "About the last thing I would call it was fun. More like a royal pain-in-the-ass."
More laughter came from Stone. "Oh, Captain, you've only been dealing with Robert for less than a day. I've had to put up with him for two years."
Irritable over the last few hours and not feeling partially charitable towards the other man's humor, John got up from his seat and began to pace angrily about the room. "He wants the Minbari ships gone. Says we don't need them now that he's here. Tells me we need to start plans to take on Clark's forces. When I'm still trying to figure out how we're going to keep the lights on." Stopping before Stone, John grumbled petulantly, "He's running around like he owns the place."
"Yes," replied Stone dryly, "that does sound like Robert. Perhaps I could provide a different perspective on our good General?" He then took a sip from his cup and then set it down on the table. He did this with slow, careful movements. Drawing the entire process out while waiting for him to calm down. As if John was a disruptive student in one of the professor's classes.
Fighting back an urge to snap at the old man, John returned to his seat and pointedly waited for Stone to continue. The professor leaned back in his chair, and his eyes went distant, held by old memories. "Without trying to be boastful," started Stone in a low, even voice. One that John guessed was reserved when he was lecturing. "I am one of the best xenolinguists of our times. I have reached this position by understanding a fundamental paradoxical fact – To learn a culture, you must learn the language. But to truly understand a language, you must know the culture."
He clasped his hands together. "They are intrinsically linked. And everything of a people flows from these twined ideas. Words beget poetry, poetry begets song. From song to art, and then back again to words. Each part influences each other. One must take a holistic approach to learn to truly understand. And so, I have dabbled in many different sciences across the years in my efforts to further my skills. Thus, I've become quite adept in the fields from mathematics to biology." He smiled self-deprecatingly. "A Renaissance man born in the wrong century."
"As such," continued Stone. "I've been approached by any number of organizations and people wanting my help with the translation of some long-dead race. Often under the idea of getting their hands on some technological bauble they want to reverse engineer." He began to list off on his hand, "Earthdome, Earthforce, Psicorps, and nearly all the Megacorps."
Stone paused, giving both John and Delenn a slightly mischievous smile. "And I've sent them all packing. I believe in the purity of teaching. To instill my knowledge upon the succeeding generations. I do this because it is my calling. Not for reward, or favors, or patriotic duty, as reasons that have been all too often given to me."
With a shake of his head, the professor went on, "That was true until I met General Robert Taggart. A little over two years ago, he sent me a letter requesting my help. He was very secretive. Only revealing that his project was of the utmost importance. As usual, I politely turned him down. But he was not deterred. A constant stream of emails and vids followed. All insisting, I was the only one who could help him. I refused each one, growing more adamant that his requests were not going to persuade me. Then he came in person to make his case."
"I've had such attempts in the past. Those believing in a personal touch, be it flattery or threats, would get better results. I explained patiently to Robert that I would always choose my classes and studies over anything he could offer me. He then told me I was wasting my time teaching a bunch of dullards who would never be able to match my skills." Stone let out a sigh. "I might add, he said this while interrupting one of my lectures. After calling all my students idiots, I was quite justifiably put out. I angrily told him the military was nothing but a collection of violent hoodlums and pathetic underachievers. That he would never learn anything of consequence other than how to kill." Giving John a sideways glance, Stone put in with an awkward grimace, "No offense, Captain."
"None taken," replied John honestly. "If Taggart had barged into a class I was teaching. I'd have told him the same thing."
Delenn, up until now, had been noticeably quiet as the professor had retold his dealings with the General. Now she leaned forward and asked, "What did Taggart do?"
"He enrolled in my class. In fact, he took all my classes," replied Stone ruefully. "He was out to prove me wrong. For the next two months, I endured Taggart as an endlessly argumentative student. Questioning everything I taught. As you said Captain, a royal pain-in-the-ass. But the truth was, he was also an excellent student. He aced every test and paper I assigned."
"Finally, I capitulated. Taggart had worn me down. I agreed to see his pet project, and after going through a mountain of paperwork swearing me to secrecy, he showed me the Valiant."
A sigh escaped the professor's lips. "And Robert was right. I took one look at that bizarre and wondrous ship, and I've been working with him ever since."
John rolled his shoulders, trying to work a kink out of his neck. He had been tensing for far too long today. "Well, that's an entertaining story..."
"My point," interrupted Stone, "Robert Taggart is many things. Yes, he's all too often a stubborn jackass of a man. With the diplomatic discreteness of a troglodyte. But his stubbornness also means he's tenacious. He may be blunt, but he's also honest. Captain, you may find the General insufferable, but that is because he's overcompensating."
"For what?" asked John.
Fixing him with a meaningful stare, Stone added softly, "Guilt. Robert feels immensely guilty that he was not there to fight alongside General Hague or here when you fought off Clark's forces."
John rested his hands on his knees and leaned back, thinking over what the professor had said. Recalling the urgency and insistence behind Taggart's demands, he viewed them anew. Through a lens of the General's apparent remorse. And like a severely distorted video feed finally stabilizing, it became suddenly clear.
"Taggart is desperately trying to make up for what he thinks is his failure," blinked John in surprise.
"Yes," agreed Stone.
With a shake of his head, John added, "He shouldn't blame himself. It's not his fault."
"Perhaps you could try telling him that the next time you talk with him," replied Stone helpfully.
As the commander of Babylon 5 considered this new revelation, Stone turned to Delenn. She had attentively listened to the professor's mosaic relationship with Taggart. She met his gaze, her expressions cautiously neutral to the elderly human educator who seemed to both admire and be exhausted by the General.
Clearing his throat, Stone spoke with a touch of regret. "I will not try to put this in a positive light, Ambassador. Simply put, Robert despises your people. And I don't think that will be changing anytime soon. I regret our surprise at your fleet's presence when we arrived nearly lead Robert to act rashly."
Delenn was silent, and it seemed to stretch on for long, heavy moments. But in reality, only a few seconds. When she spoke, her words were hushed and sympathetic. "Thank you, William. I only recently learned of Taggart's past during the war. All of it is..." She stopped, seemingly at a loss for words. Finally, she added, "...regrettable."
"He rarely talks of his time on Flinn Colony. I believe, like with General Hague, Robert blames himself for those who fell there. Given the odds were immensely stacked against him and the wounds he received, it is almost miraculous he survived. But that survival has only led to more guilt, which fuels a good deal of his hate," explained Stone.
A slight twinge of pain went through Delenn as shifted uncomfortably in her chair. John knew it was likely from the still-healing injury where the knife had cut her. An all too recent reminder of what humanity's hate could do. Looking away, she spoke in a whispered hush of a voice, "Wounds persistent long after the weapons are put away. We must all find our ways to heal."
"Yes," agreed Stone sympathetically. "I am hoping that this little back-channel diplomacy I've undertaken might alleviate problems. Even if the only thing I manage to say is, despite all his anger, I do not believe Robert seeks conflict where none exists."
John shook his head. Stone's willingness to speak on the General's behalf was encouraging, but even with the professor's revelations on Taggart's motives, there still were a good deal of problems with his proposal. "Everyone keeps their distance, and Taggart does his best to ignore the Minbari?" questioned John. "Well, I going to tell you, Professor Stone, despite Taggart's demands, the Minbari aren't going anywhere. And if Taggart is serious about helping us protect Babylon 5, just how long is that separation going to last?"
"Perhaps if I spoke with him?" interjected Delenn.
Her request surprised both John and William. Both men traded an uncertain look at the idea. The professor finally sighed and replied. "I would say that's a bad idea. Perhaps it would be best to amend this particular topic? It is not one that's going to resolve itself today. And there is something much more important that I would like to discuss."
A rueful smile forced its way onto John's face. "Was diplomacy one of those skills you studied?"
"Hardly," laughed Stone. "Just from all too many years dealing with my university's administration. Diplomats between warring alien cultures would have it easy compared to dealing with the ever-stuffy bureaucrats running higher education."
He then took a long sip from his tea, and the professor leaned back in his seat. "Now, as for my switching of topics," he explained, "it is a bit more of a personal matter. But one that may have more relevance than I might know."
"Which is?" asked Delenn.
"What happened to Doctor Mary Kirkish?" asked Stone. His tone was mild, but his eyes were suddenly sharp as he gazed intently at Delenn and John.
Not expecting this question, neither one could completely keep the surprised reactions off their faces. Doctor Kirkish warning on the Shadow ship buried on Ganymede had sent them to Jupiter on a mission to stop Clark's forces. And the events of the out-of-control Shadow vessel had been all President Clark needed to declare martial law. The professor saw their reaction and made a small nod of his head as he waited for their answer.
John was the first to regain his composure and gave a simple and yet honest answer. "She's safe."
"That is not what I asked," replied Stone evenly. "I would like to know what happened."
John and Delenn shared a silent nod of agreement. Caution was necessary, but the truth of the doctor's condition and location were not ones that needed to remain hidden. "How much do you know?" asked John.
"Mary was a former student of mine, and then she became a colleague and friend. We had corresponded back and forth for many years. After I took a position with Robert's work, I was limited in how often we spoke. But the last time I did, I could tell she was scared. She had been sent to some sort of dig in the Jovian system, but I could not find out what she was working on. Robert did attempt to make a few inquiries, but they were all rebuffed. Last I heard, be it a little more than a rumor, she was on the run and heading for this station."
In a strategic diplomatic maneuver Delenn was all too good at, she answered truthfully but very tactfully. "She was fleeing from Clark's forces. I intervened and offered her sanctuary on my home world. She is now protected."
A brief smile appeared on Stone's lips. "Thank you," he replied earnestly. Then he began tapping his fingers together. "Strange to be sending a Xenoarcheologist to one of Jupiter's moons. All of them are well mapped. What type of alien archaeology would one find on those icy worlds? Unless it was something brought there." Stone paused dramatically. "Now who would do that? Why? And more importantly, why was Mary so frightened? And why was Clark hunting for her?"
Before either John or Delenn could reply, the professor went on, his eyes distant. "Over the last few years, I have heard from many of my former students. They have encountered...oddities on the outer rim. Some could be explained away, but not all. Friends being reassigned away from positions and research they had been working on for years. Or threats to keep silent from our bothersome President Clark. And some - like your late wife, Captain - having tragic accidents. While a few others have simply disappeared without a trace." He refocused on them. "I can't help but feel these events are all connected."
"Uncertain times we live in," said John without any way of answering the professor's questions without revealing some very dangerous truths.
"It is," agreed Stone with a sad shake of his head. "A time of rumors and half-truths all done in whispers. Hard to know what to believe." He wordlessly appraised both John and Delenn before he continued, "With Mary, there was an interesting one. Supposedly she was helped by some people to escape to Babylon 5. This group, these people, whoever they are, are sometimes said to Human, and other times Minbari." He shook his head again. "A strange rumor. But then we come to Babylon 5, and we find your ships, Ambassador. Protecting the very station Mary was running to. And you, Captain, say one of those ships has humans on board."
The old man stopped and gave them both a severe steely eyed evaluation. "Makes one think that particular rumor might have some weight to it."
Once again, John and Delenn traded a distressed look. The professor was proving himself to be very skilled at getting to the bottom of things. Letting out a slight huff, John had to ask, "I get the feeling you had a lot of your questions already answered before you came here."
"Hmm, some," admitted Stone. "I've found it always pays to ask a few questions you already know the answer to and see how someone responds. I might also point out that while Robert is a stubborn jackass, he's not stupid. If I can put these little puzzle pieces together, so can he."
John shook his head in disbelief. William Stone and Robert Taggart had not been on Babylon 5 for even an entire day, and they were already digging right into the heart of many of the station's secrets. The Rangers, Clark's conspiracy to grab power, and then ultimately the cause behind everything - the Shadows. They were secrets John had held close for months. And after all this time, he felt reluctant to speak of them to an outsider like Stone. But John was beginning to accept those secrets weren't likely to remain in the dark for much longer.
"Stone, I swear you missed your calling as a diplomat."
A slight smile reclaimed the professor's face. "Well, there's always the possibility I'm just a silly old teacher with crazy ideas."
"You are not a fool," replied Delenn with a slightly bemused expression of her own. "I believe you are a seeker of truths, William. Something that is greatly revered among my people."
Her sincere smile was returned with a broadening one from Stone. "Ah..but one can still be a fool and look for the truth. And then end up not understanding what they've discovered. That is how I feel. I see many truths, but don't understand how they all fit together. A frustrating situation for someone like me. It makes me want to try even harder to solve the mystery."
"Yes," replied John with a note of caution. "And it could get you in over your head."
"A warning, Captain?" replied Stone as he noticed John's tone, and his smile dimmed. "Or an accurate assessment of current events?"
In between a short laugh, John replied, "Both."
Stone nodded slowly, seemingly weighing his response. "Then perhaps I need to regroup with my good General and see if I can bend his ear to be a little more amenable."
"Whatever you can do, it is appreciated," offered John. He was uncertain if the professor would be able to do anything with the disagreeable Taggart. But it couldn't make things much worse. Stone slowly rose to his feet. For all his gentle smiles and easy-going attitude, John could see the elderly professor carried a good deal of stress in his rotund little body.
"Well," began Stone as he made a respectful bow before Delenn, "I must take my leave, Miss Delenn. My offered apologies we could not speak longer over more pleasant topics."
"There is no need to apologize," objected Delenn after she returned a formal bow of her own to Stone. "Perhaps we can speak again when current events are less stressful."
"I'd like that," grinned Stone. Turning to John, the Professor added more seriously, "Captain, give me an hour or so with Taggart and then come find us."
"Alright," agreed John.
While Delenn showed Stone to the door, John leaned into his seat, letting it cushion his body. The futon was made of some spongy material he guessed was the Minbari equivalent of polyurethane memory foam mattress. The pillowing cushion seemed to flow and curve to the weight of his body. It was comforting, warm and soft, as he let out a contented sigh and rested his eyes.
"I am glad you find my Zil'cha divan agreeable to sit upon," came Delenn's voice. John opened his eyes to see her standing in the doorway with a pleased smile on her face.
"After the last few hours, I do," he grumbled. "I was nearly ready to bang my head against the wall."
Delenn's brow furrowed in confusion and concern. "Why would you want to do such a thing?"
John laughed at her puzzlement over his latest use of a human idiom. "It's just an expression. Means trying to deal with a stressful situation when nothing else seems to be working."
"We Minbari meditate when presented with a difficult problem. This seems to me a much better solution than smashing your forehead against support structures."
More laughter came from John. He could feel the tension in his shoulders begin to drain away. Smiling at their shared joke, Delenn rose from her chair to take a seat next to the captain. They sat in comfortable silence. A shared moment of peace between them. But it was not to last. A chirp came from John's link. He flashed an apologetic smile to Delenn and taped the communicator on the back of his hand.
"This is Sheridan, go."
Garibaldi's voice echoed out from the device. "Captain, you got a moment? I've made some progress on that little project you gave me about our recent visitors."
Delenn made a small motion with her hand, indicating she could leave to give him some privacy, but John shook his head and said, "I think you'll want to hear what Michael has to say." She nodded silently as he spoke into the link to reply to Garibaldi, "Go ahead."
"Well," came Michael's voice laced with sarcasm, "I called in some favors. In fact, a lot of favors. From friends and then from friends of friends and then finally from some very unfriendly people. Now you know me, Captain, I'm a people person. I like making new friends..."
"Michael," warned John.
"I just wanted you to understand I'm now personally indebted to a man named Vito Cancio. A very organized family man if you catch my meaning... I'm not sure how I feel about that."
"I'm sure you'll manage," muttered John as he tried not to roll his eyes at his security chief's antics. "What did you find out?"
"That no matter how hard you try to hide a top-secret program - bureaucracy will not be denied. All the information about the Valiant might as well be buried inside a black hole, but there's always a paper trail. What I'm looking at right now is the travel logs for a one General Robert S. Taggart for the last year and a half."
"The logs say he's been going back and forth between Earth and Neptune a lot. With his stay there running for weeks to months at a time. Now officially, he's there visiting the base on Neptune's moon Triton. Which I might add is a tiny outpost with less than twenty research scientists."
"Sounds like a cover story," put in John,
"Sure does," agreed Garibaldi. "And there have always been rumors about another base out there."
"Yeah, I've heard them as well. A secret R and D site for advanced weapons and technology development on Neptune's other moon Nereid."
"Might not be proof positive," elaborated Garibaldi, "but does support Taggart's story on the retrofit of the Valiant. That would leave the final question if Taggart was actually working with General Hague."
Nodding to himself, John asked, "Did you find anything?"
"Nothing solid, except one little detail," came the reply through the link. Then Garibaldi's voice lowered, a touch of regret came in his transmitted words. "Hague and Taggart graduated the same year from Earthforce Academy. Records show they didn't take the same classes. But they were in the same dormitory wing. That's not a lot to run on, but..."
"...They could be old friends going back to their academy days." finished John.
"Exactly."
"Thanks, Michael. This helps."
"Anytime," came the reply, and then the link beeped closed.
"If you are correct about Taggart and Hague," mussed Delenn, who had listened in on Garibaldi's report, "it would explain much. Taggart grieves for his friend."
"True, but I'm still not sure how far we can trust Taggart," replied John. He gazed down at his feet, lost in thought. "I didn't tell General Hague or Major Ryan about the Shadows. Partly because I didn't think they would believe me. But also because the knowledge would just endanger them. Now we've got Taggart and Stone running around demanding answers. If they keep going, they could blunder their way into fighting a Shadow ship."
"Or worse," suggested Delenn grimly. "John, our enemy has many tools and resources at their disposal. I believe we've only seen," she paused for a moment and added hesitantly, "the tip of the iceberg... Did I use that saying correctly?"
"You did," confirmed Sheridan with a weak smile. "But the truth of that saying isn't making me feel any better or get any closer to figuring out what to do about this mess."
John looked up to meet Delenn's eyes. They traded troubled looks. Their talk with Professor Stone made it hard to believe the General was willingly working for Clark. Garibaldi's evidence tipped the scales further to Taggart and his crew's true loyalties. But Stone's knowledge of the Anla'Shok and his investigations only heightened their concern.
"So," said John with a tired sigh that was happening all too often, "just what are we going to do?"
April 22nd, 2260 17:20
Babylon 5 Green Sector Zen Garden
"I believe my meeting was very productive," beamed Professor Stone with more than a touch of pride as he sat with General Taggart.
Robert Taggart resisted rolling his eyes in contempt. He was not surprised. Hell, he wanted to be furious with the man. William had just admitted to going behind his back and trying at playing a diplomat with Sheridan and the damn Minbari. But he wasn't. It was an all too familiar pattern Robert had come to see in the elderly professor.
He had met with Stone in these Gardens and upon the man's insistence he had made an extraordinary discovery. Robert had grumbled at that news. William's idea of a breakthrough was often so esoteric and convoluted that Robert almost always wanted to dismiss them as the ravings of a lunatic. Over the last two years, he'd lost count of how many times he had to sit and listen to William explain one of his off-the-wall theories about how the Valiant worked. The problem was he was often proven to be right about the alien ship. The man had a natural gift at being intuitive. So, as much as he wanted to grind his teeth in frustration and chew his way-ward science officer out, he sat and listened.
"First, as much as I know you don't want to, you can rest assured the Minbari are not the aggressors here. Captain Sheridan is truthful when he says they are here to protect Babylon 5."
Robert bit back an obscene response and let out a tired sigh. "And you know this how?"
"Because of Fleet Captain Lennan," answered William patiently. "You were so busy insulting the man, did you happen to notice that he was of the Minbari Religious Caste?"
"Of course, I noticed," snapped Robert.
"And how many Minbari Warriors would follow a Religious Caste Captain?"
Robert retort was nearly out of his mouth, he didn't give a damn about who the Minbari wanted to follow. But he stopped himself. William was right. Something did not add up.
"You know their warriors better than I," added William. "Likely better than nearly any human. Why would the Minbari Warrior Caste send a Religious Caste Captain into battle?"
"They wouldn't," replied Robert as the gears in his mind began to work. "Unless Lennan had renounced his caste and joined a warrior clan family. And I don't think that happened." More realizations quickly came. He shook his head in disbelief. "Those ships aren't being run by the Warrior Caste. They're run by the Religious Caste." A small laugh escaped him. "Damn, if Clarks' forces had fought on, they might have actually had a chance against those cruisers."
"I don't know about that," objected William. "Those Minbari ships are still far more advanced than ours."
"I'd take a battalion of experienced soldiers over a bunch of priests any day."
"Remind me to tell you about the Warrior Monks of Ishiyama Hongan-Ji. They might change your mind on the combat skills of priests," offered the professor dryly. "But I digress on who would win in such a fight. Instead, I'm concentrating on why they came instead of Minbari warriors."
"And just what are your conclusions?"
"While I'm not privy to the internal politics of the Minbari Federation. Ambassador Delenn is of the Religious Caste. In my meeting with her, I gained the impression she has more than enough clout to convince others of her caste to run the fleet guarding the station. They're answering to her."
"Then what is Sheridan doing with Delenn? The Minbari call him Sheridan Starkiller. They hate him. I can't believe she would want to work with him at all."
William gave a minor shrug of his shoulders. "Hmm...It seems to me it's a bit more personal between them."
Robert blinked, and his face screwed up in something that seesawed between amusement and disgust. "You're serious?"
"I think so," replied William. "They're rather ridiculously bad at hiding it. But that only supports Sheridan's argument that the Minbari are here to protect Babylon 5."
Robert mulled William's theory over. Something still didn't make sense. "Delenn did this without the rest of their castes' approval? Going against her own people?" Scowling, he added, "She's hiding something."
"Of course, she's hiding something," scoffed William. "Sheridan's hiding something. We're hiding something too. Everybody is lying to everyone else. Perhaps it's time we all put all our cards on the table. None of us are enemies."
Shaking his head, Robert let out a hiss of frustration. Once again, William Stone was reaching, taking his theories too far, nothing more than empty guesses and pure speculations. His voice turned cold, "Stone, you're like so many others about the Minbari. Always the same. It's all been one big misunderstanding between them and us. Just unfortunate accidents. The Minbari are not bad people if we'd just take time to get to know them."
"Robert," began William with his usual patronizing academic tone, "that's not what…"
Cutting the other man off, Robert brought his hand to his right leg, letting it glide down the pants of his uniform. Feeling the misshapen deformity of his calf muscles and the bone underneath covered only by the thin fabric. "This was not a misunderstanding or accident," he seethed to William over his war wound. "It was deliberate. It was done with malice. And the people responsible are sitting in those ships just outside the station!"
William looked away, and the uneasy silence that followed hung in the air between them. "You going to blame all of them?" said William quietly. "Every Minbari alive? All their dead? Their children? Ones that have no idea what happened at Flinn Colony? Label their whole race as monsters?"
Robert opened his mouth to reply, and an irritable tirade building in his throat. But this time, William cut him off in a rare moment of genuine anger. "Because if you are, then fine. I can't stop you from hating them! Enjoy your righteous rage all you want, Robert!"
"But if I might remind you for a moment, we have bigger problems than the Minbari. We are fugitives from our own government. In a stolen ship we barely understand. In a galaxy seemingly coming apart in war. And we have very few friends. We are not in a position to dictate to anyone how the hell they should be doing things. Regardless of who's their allies. So, drop your disagreement with Sheridan."
"If staying here isn't going to work," continued William heatedly, "then tell me. And we'll figure out where to go next. But don't sit here, stewing in your anger over the past, and expect me to politely nod in agreement with everyone you resent."
The stout professor finally went silent, and Robert waited a moment before replying. "Are you done?" There was less sharp disdain delivered in his question to William than he would have usually given. Robert had to admit he was impressed with the other man's outburst. He must be rubbing off on Stone.
"Oh," quipped William with a small sigh as he calmed down, "I suppose so. Other than to say that despite everything, I'm still with you. I've been with you since you came to me three months ago with your crazy plan to steal the Valiant. All I'm trying to do is help."
This time it was Robert's turn to go quiet and stew on William's rant. On the face of it, William wasn't saying anything he didn't already know. But sometimes it helped to have someone else tell you, even bluntly to your face. He was right, and Robert knew it. They had their own set of problems, and Robert – and those who chose to follow him – would have to find their only solutions. Still, he didn't trust the Minbari. Something more was going on here. The question became whether he was going to do anything about it.
Finally, he said simply to William, "Let me think. Alone."
Giving him a quick bob of his head, William stood up from the stone bench. "Alright, I'll give you some time to yourself."
Before the professor turned away, Robert, with a bit of difficulty, managed to get out, "Thank you, William. For…well…everything."
Surprise bloomed on the other man's face. "Well, I'll be…"
"I don't say it very often," intoned Robert quietly.
"You don't say it all," laughed William. "I feel privileged, honored even…"
"Oh, shut up," groused Robert, regretting saying anything at all.
Professor William Stone gave him a friendly wave and began to stroll further into the gardens. He whistled as he walked away, a merry tune of an unknown song. Robert watched him until William was out of view. Now alone, Robert tried to put his troubled mind at rest. A Zen Garden was meant to create an environment where one could relax. Meditate for inner peace. The problem was, he didn't feel particularly peaceful. He was not sure how long he had sat there, struggling with his past when an unexpected voice reached his ears.
"It is not for you."
Robert jerked, startled out of his private reverie by the sudden sound. A quick glance around the garden confirmed he was the only one in the gardens. He was almost to the point of believing he'd imagined the voice. His mind playing a trick on him. But then he saw a shape in the far corner of the gardens. Where the wall surrounding the Zen Garden cast a long shadow from the overhead lights of the station against the shrubbery making up the rest of the Babylon 5's gardens. Someone was hiding there.
"Who are you? What are you doing?" challenged Robert, not liking the idea someone was spying on him.
The figure made no response to Robert's demand. Instead, they moved out of the shadows. It was immediately clear they were not human. Nor any of the other multitude of humanoid races living on the station. As the molted green and brown hues of the alien encounter suit moved into the light, they left little doubt as to their identity. A Vorlon.
As far as Robert knew, there was only one Vorlon on the station. Ambassador Kosh. How long the alien ambassador had been standing in the shadows like a stone statue, eerily gazing at him with the single iris on his encounter suit, was impossible to say. Staring at the encounter suit, Robert wondered if his mind was indeed playing tricks. Had the Vorlon spoken? Wearily pushing himself to his feet, Robert took a step towards the alien.
"I'm sorry, did you say something to me?" he inquired.
Strange melodies came from the Vorlon's encounter suit. They echoed in Robert's ears with the oddest of rhythms. Almost like singing. He could almost swear he had heard it before. And then translated words followed - "It is not for you."
The same words, again. Robert took a step closer to the Vorlon. "What do you mean? What is not for me?"
More harmonics blended together from the suit. And then the translation. Robert felt them more than he heard the Vorlon's voice. Whispers of something old. Something sad. "It's time has passed. The path is buried."
Be it intuition, some form of telepathy, or just luck, Robert knew with certainty of what the Vorlon was speaking about. "The Valiant."
"Yes."
Robert took another step forward, closing the distance to the alien. "You know who built it. You know why."
"Yes."
The question was on his lips faster than the beat of his heart. "Who? What happened to them?"
"You do not understand."
His brows furrowed together, and his hand tightened on his cane out of an old reflex of irritation. He felt very much like he was being talked down to, and he did not much care for it. He took one more step towards Kosh. Putting himself right in front of the ambassador. Robert leaned forward. Staring into the single iris on what could roughly be called the head of the Vorlon. Eye to eye.
"Well," he challenged, "that's why I ask questions. To learn. Because I hate being in the dark. And if you know something about the Valiant, you need to tell me."
The harmonies echoed unhappily out of the encounter suit, and then the words, "Impudent," rumbled from Kosh.
"I suppose I am," acknowledged Robert dryly. "But that doesn't change anything. You must tell me what you know."
The iris narrowed, and Kosh leaned into him. Seemingly towering over him. Kosh spoke, and Robert didn't need the translation to know the Vorlon was angry. "If you follow the path, it will destroy you."
The sudden urge to laugh welled up in Robert. How many times had he faced death on Flinn Colony? Even wish for it, as he lay suffering from his wounds after his 'rescue.' He was not afraid. And Kosh's attempt at being intimidating fell flat to him.
"Then I'm destroyed," he countered, and Robert refused to shrink from the Vorlon's imposing closeness.
"And those who follow you?" pressed Kosh.
That question did give Robert pause. He had convinced his people on Nereid Station to steal the Valiant and follow him to Babylon 5. Their fate, like so many on the war-torn colony, was in his hands. And he had failed many at Flinn Colony. Far too many. Robert was introspective enough to know, at least in part, why he'd worked so hard on the Valiant. Why he'd kept it from Clark. It wasn't just because he wanted to give humanity the tools and technology to hold their own in a very hostile galaxy. He wanted – no – needed to make sure all those who had fallen mattered. That their sacrifices were not in vain.
"I…Won't make anyone follow me who doesn't want to. But I won't turn anyone willing away either," declared Robert.
There was a long pause. As the silence stretched out, Kosh's iris transfixed Robert. The small circular opening seemed to bore into him. He felt very much like a bug under glass. Studied. Examined and evaluated by something very alien on the inside of the encounter suit.
Finally, the symphony from Kosh's suit sung out the words, "So be it." And the iris opened wide…
Radiance engulfed Robert. In a panic reflex, he squeezed his eyes closed, but it did no good. The light was everywhere and everything. Kosh spoke, but Robert did not hear the words. Instead, he felt the words in his mind. They cleaved into his skull. Forcing their way in until they burned into his brain. 'Return to the beginning. From where it all began. The path will be revealed. Follow, but be warned, the cycle must be broken.'
Then the light was gone, and Robert staggered back. He landed awkwardly on his bad leg and nearly fell over. Stumbling awkwardly on his cane, he managed to reach the garden bench and flop himself clumsily on the stone slab. Shakily looking up, Robert saw Kosh still looming and unmoving before him.
"You…" he managed to gasp out weakly. "What…did you do?"
The Vorlon did not respond to his question. Abruptly the extended overhead lights began to dim. Babylon 5's artificial day was ending.
"Remember," intoned Kosh gravely as he began to back away. "The cycle must be broken."
If Robert didn't know better, we would have sworn that Kosh's words were a plea. Almost begging him to stop whatever the 'cycle' might be. As the Vorlon glided away, the molted greens and browns of its encounter suit slowly disappearing as the starting night cycle of Babylon 5 swallowed up by the gardens in more pale shadows. He tried to make sense of what Kosh had done. Was the ambassador trying to help him, or warn him off? What exactly did he mean by 'The cycle must be broken'?
Shaking his head, Robert slowly tilted his gaze upward. The ever-curving hull of Babylon 5 arched skyward until it met on the opposite side of the cylinder. The central spire's lights further dimmed as the station's artificial 'day' became its artificial 'night.'
A deep sigh welled up in him. He was beginning to conclude their entire journey here was a complete mistake. There was nothing to gain by staying. He had always thought of Babylon 5 as a waste of time and effort. Now, he was positive.
"You take a metal tube five miles long, fill it with the egotistical, the desperate, and those willing to profit off both," he said to himself. "Add in a dozen races, half of whom don't trust or outright hate the other half. Put it in neutral territory and somehow think galactic peace can be archived." He spoke softly but firmly as if his words were the final condemnation to the entire station. "This whole place is one gigantic monument to insanity."
A gentle voice close to him spoke up, "I have heard it called worse."
Again startled, Robert pulled his view down from the entirety of the station and refocused on the Zen Garden and the bench he was sitting upon. Across from him, standing next to an identical stone bench was a single figure. She casually adjusted and straightened her robes as she sat down across from him, her eyes meeting and holding his own.
"Might I speak with you, General Taggart?" asked Ambassador Delenn.