By Elizabeth Ann Lewis

Part 1

"I thank you for being here on such short notice, Miss Winters," Ximenn said. It was mid-morning by the station chronometer, and he had found and settled into the conference room set aside for the negotiations early. It was always better to survey the battle site before engaging.

Talia unobtrusively stifled a yawn with the back of one gloved hand. "It's not a problem. What would you like me to do?"

Ximenn shrugged slightly, spreading his hands in an expressive, expansive gesture. "Nothing unusual. Ensure that we both are telling the most honest truth that we can."

"'Most honest truth,'" Talia repeated thoughtfully. "Interesting way to put it."

The door to the small conference room swished open, and Mingala entered, pausing on the threshold when she saw an extra person within the room.

"Good morning, Ms. Chang," Ximenn greeted her politely, bowing. Talia saw Mingala's eyes narrow and decided that the other woman was quite aware of the level of mockery that the Minbari was exhibiting. At least, she *thought* it was mockery. She really hadn't had a chance to scan too many Minbari, but they couldn't be *that* different from other species...

"Ms. Chang, I am Talia Winters, commercial telepath." Mingala's chin went up slightly at the words, and Talia stiffened. "Mr... ah, Ximenn asked me to sit in on your negotiations, to make sure that both of you," she paused to stress the last few words, "were telling the truth."

"Really? And he decided this before we'd even met across a bargaining table? Before we had a chance to discuss whether or not a telepath was necessary in the proceedings? Without even consulting me? I don't say things I don't mean, Ximenn, and I resent the implication that I might."

Deciding to do her best to defuse Mingala's anger, Talia said blandly to Ximenn, "She's telling the truth."

"I beg your pardon?" Mingala snapped.

"I said, you're telling the truth. You honestly intend to be open and up front about every offer you give, and you are insulted by the thought that anyone could doubt you. More than that I don't know. I'm only allowed to scan your surface thoughts."

Mingala looked taken aback for a moment, but her defensive posture relaxed and her mental agitation went down. Curious, she nodded in Ximenn's direction and looked at Talia. "What is he thinking?"

"That I'm impatient," Ximenn answered, forestalling Talia's comment. "The telepath is here for both of our benefits, Ms. Chang. Misunderstanding led to a horrible conflict between our peoples. I do not want misunderstanding to confuse our duty here on Babylon 5."

Mingala kept her eyes on Ximenn's for several long beats. He held her gaze without flinching. When she turned to Talia, her shell of impenetrable calm had settled over her features. "Well?" she asked.

Talia nodded. "Truth."

"Then I apologize for my hasty words. They were rude and thoughtless." Her words were smooth and formal and essentially meaningless. "Apparently, I am a poor traveler. And I thought good old-fashioned jet lag was bad." Seating herself at the table, she folded her hands and looked Ximenn squarely in the eye. "Let's begin."

Lennier had become used to wandering around the public parts of the station to think. After years of solitude in his temple, he would have thought that he needed peace and tranquility. But in his year on Babylon 5, he had discovered that activity stimulated his thought process, that the energy of chaos seemed to feed him. It was an invigorating feeling.

Today, however, he wasn't getting much thinking done. The random mutters of discontent that were the daily accompaniment to his walks were louder today, and even worse those at the gathering the night before. He would have to listen carefully to the whispers and report them to Delenn.

Intent on his duty, he quickened his pace, intending to head back to Green sector and Delenn's quarters. He turned a corner into a particularly shadowy but very effective shortcut. With a sense of disorientation, he found himself falling, his feet knocked out from under him. Recovering quickly, he caught himself with his hands and rolled to his feet.

Three Humans stood behind him, shoulder to shoulder with grins full of teeth and malice, shining in the dark corner. One was slowly drawing in the foot that had tripped him up, deliberately making it obvious just who had caused him to fall. "I wonder," he said in considering tones to his companions, "what a bonehead's skull would look like if it split open. They look so frail."

Lennier weighed his chances calmly. Run, and they would attack. Stand his ground, and there was no way he could fight off all three of them. He knew could fight three of them at once -- probably -- but a brawl between a Minbari and Humans would undermine what Delenn was working toward. And reason was unlikely to work.

One of the three took a threatening step forward. "Damn you boneheads," she hissed. "Go back to where you came from. Leave us alone."

"I have no wish to harm you," Lennier started, holding out his hands in the cross-species demonstration of peace. "I don't want to --"

He staggered slightly from the blow to the head that one of the men gave him, and pulled himself upright. They were in a fairly secluded corner, but by no means was the area deserted. All around him, everyone went about their daily business. A few peeked at the brewing confrontation, but no one got involved. They were far enough in the shadows that everyone could pretend not to see.

"What's wrong with you bonies? Don't you *ever* fight?" The woman jeered. "Nah, you just surrender. Fight, damn you!"

Her hoarse shriek seemed to be a signal, and the three of them closed in on Lennier. Before they could do much damage, one of the men cried out in startled pain.

"Back off," said a pissed-off woman's voice. As the three Humans obeyed the instruction, Lennier could see that it was a young Human woman, a petite female with red hair. She had the arm of the larger of the two men twisted up behind his back and a knife pressed to the woman's throat.

"What the hell are you doing?" said the third of the attackers. "You're defending one of *them*?"

The woman shot a glance at Lennier through hazel eyes that were at that moment flat and cold. "He's breathing, isn't he? You cowards are three against one, aren't you? Then I'm defending him."

"Bitch," the pinned man said viciously.

She tightened her hold on his arm and smiled sweetly. "Say that again," she invited. When he breathed hard but didn't speak again, she let him go. He stumbled slightly, then recovered, turning. For a moment he looked at the small, sturdy girl and the Minbari beside her. The group mind seemed to be urging them to attack again. Then fear got the better part of courage and the three of them melted away.

"My thanks," Lennier said formally. "It would have been... awkward, if I had fought them."

"I know," the woman said softly, not meeting Lennier's gaze. "They're rats. You can't fight rats. All you can do is scare them off, and hope they find somewhere else to infest." Glancing around her, she sighed. "No one noticed anything, did they?"

"It was quite amazing," Lennier said with no trace of sarcasm. "There seemed to be a rash of temporary blindness."

"I just hope no one saw me," she murmured, half to herself. Sighing, she straightened her shoulders and turned away.

"Sinjun," Lennier called quietly. She paused, but didn't look back. "Be careful."

Sighing with exhaustion, Mingala flopped down onto a low seat in her quarters and contemplated never moving again. She'd spent nearly seven hours negotiating with the Minbari. Even though she knew such negotiations were likely to take days if not weeks, it was still frustrating to realize that absolutely nothing had been done today besides verbal fencing that then wouldn't have to take place tomorrow. And infuriating to know that Ximenn was as fresh and clear-eyed by the end of the day as he was at the beginning.

Groaning, she pulled herself to her feet and walked to her vanity desk, pulling pins out of her hair as she went. By the time she reached the surface she had spread her toiletries out on, her long braids were slipping >from their moorings. In the mirror, they framed her face with their darkness, making it a floating mask above her black clothing. She tipped her handful of pins next to her brush and began unwinding one hip-length braid. When both were undone, she picked up the brush and began running it through the braid-rippled hair.

For a moment she paused, looking at the brush in her hand. It had been hand carved by her father, a present for her twelfth birthday. It and the long, never-cut hair were symbols of her childhood, one that never would have imagined her on a space station negotiating with aliens. As far as her parents and her small village had been concerned, there had been something fundamentally wrong with the idea of Human feet leaving Earth soil. Even sub-atmosphere shuttles were frowned on. They had withdrawn to a remote place to practice the simplest life they knew how, with as little interference from the twenty-third century as possible.

After her parents' deaths and the end of the war, she had left her small village behind, and left the attitudes behind as well. She had learned of and taken advantage of technologies that she had never heard of or seen before. More than that, she had realized what could be done with those technologies, their practical applications... their exploitation. And now only a brush and a mass of long, pike-straight hair linked her to the child who had barely known that a universe existed outside of her small circle -- a child for whom the Earth might as well have been flat.

The door chimed melodically, and she put the brush down. "Come in," she called, turning to face the door. When the person outside was revealed, she smiled, a bit wearily. "Gideon," she greeted him, crossing the room to meet him half-way and take his hands.

Gideon had been first her teacher at university, and then one of her most trusted advisors. He knew her better than anyone else in the universe. With him, she did not have to don the mask that shielded her from everyone else. He scanned her face intently and pushed her down into a chair. "You look worn out."

"I *am* worn out. The Harvard/Heidelburg debate was perhaps -- *perhaps* -- a good training ground for this." She sighed and propped her feet up on a low table. "It's been brought home to me that debates and negotiations are two entirely different things. For one, in a debate no one expects the two sides to come to any agreement." As she spoke, Gideon was rummaging in her small kitchen and pulled out a jug of the iced tea she favored. "For another, debates are generally about abstracts -- abstract results if not abstract ideas. This time, we are talking about something real and definite." She smiled her thanks as he handed her a tall glass and sipped gratefully. "I just hope Julian's wasn't overestimating my abilities when he set this up."

"You aren't to bow to him on any part of the agreement." It was a flat statement of fact.

"I don't need to," Mingala said calmly. "You know as well as I do that we win, regardless of what happens here. We've won by simply pushing the Minbari into a position of negotiation. It's taken nearly two years of effort by TFC to get the Minbari to talk to us."

"They don't want to give up their shares," Gideon murmured.

"They don't want to give up this link that they have to control EarthForce with," Mingala countered. "That's the only reason that they would have to not sell. With this station, they have some control over EarthForce -- even if it is only one small aspect. And name me any self-respecting Human who would want that."

"None," Gideon said. "None at all."

Mingala turned the glass in her hand, making the beads of water on it shimmer in the lights. "So if they sell, we have a private Earth company with an interest in the station instead of a enemy race. And if they do not sell, then we know that they are far too involved with controlling a major Earth outpost. Either way, public opinion is moved away from this station and back towards Earth. And we have won."

"Understood, Chief. Try to keep it down out there." Ivanova broke the link and sighed. Quietly. She routinely lost her temper at C & C, but she generally didn't display anything that could remotely be regarded as weakness.

This was hardly the worst crisis she had weathered in her tenure as second in command. It wasn't even fifth in line to maybe the worst. But it was one that she couldn't fight her way out of.

"What's going on out there?" the captain demanded. Ivanova turned to face him. She hadn't even heard the door open into C & C -- she must be slipping.

"I think they are called scuffles, sir."

"Scuffles?"

"Yes, sir. Bigger than tiffs, smaller than fights. Scuffles."

Sheridan crossed to her command center. "And just what is causing these so-called 'scuffles'?"

Ivanova raised her eyebrows and endeavored to look sincere. "Sporting rivalries?" Sheridan didn't even bother to answer that one. "It's average, every-day friction between the races."

"Exacerbated by the negotiations going on," Sheridan completed.

"Yes. A lot of people are acting out against other races. There was a report of a Minbari being attacked, but he got off with his skin intact. Other than that, it's just tensions running high."

"We can't afford to let these 'scuffles' spill over into riots, Commander."

"I know!" Ivanova snapped. Taking a deep breath, she muttered, "Sorry, sir."

Sheridan shook his head, looking out of the view window at the stars. "Not needed. There's not much we can do, is there?"

Ivanova turned her attention to a datareader, but didn't seem to be paying much attention to the words on it. "To stop the fights, or to control what happens to the station?"

"Either. Both. Do you realize how *unique* Babylon 5 is? There probably isn't another place in the known universe where there are so many races are gathered peacefully--"

"At least somewhat peacefully."

"--in one space. And they want to destroy that. I can't say I have any love for the Minbari, but we can't go back to when we didn't know they existed. We can't pretend that the war didn't happen. All we can do is keep moving forward and try to understand each other."

"With all due respect, sir, don't tell me that." Jerking her head to indicate the rest of the station, she scowled. "Tell them."

"Ah, Ms. Chang. So good of you to come see me."

Londo watched as the slim Human woman folded her hands and met his eyes calmly. "How could I possibly refuse your gracious invitation?"

The summons had rankled, he saw. Good. He wanted her unsettled. "My apologies for my assistant. Vir... is new to diplomacy. Would you like some... what is it called? Tea? I'm told that you like it."

"Yes," Mingala murmured and watched as the Centauri ambassador motioned for his "incompetent" assistant to pour. "You're well informed. My ancestors were tea merchants. It's in my blood."

"And how do the negotiations go?" He took a sip of the brew that had been prepared, and managed not to gag on the bitter fluid.

"Slowly," Mingala answered, stirring a sweetener into her tea. Following her lead, Londo discovered that the drink was by far more palatable with it. He sipped, then added more sugar. Twice.

"And do you think you shall succeed?" It was a tactic that he used often. Calm, genial conversation, causal discussion, then a blunt question answered equally bluntly by a receptive mind.

Mingala was not thrown by the sudden question. She didn't even bother to blink. "Yes, I do."

Londo set his tea cup down on the table between them gently. "I'm told that once you complete your negotiations with the Minbari, you are empowered to negotiation for your employers for any other shares in this station."

"Again, you are well informed. Vir must not be completely useless."

Londo smiled. "You will not have the Centauri shares."

"Oh, I don't know." Mingala lowered her eyes into her tea cup briefly, sipping. Then she met the Centauri's eyes clearly. "There were a few other alien races who invested -- minorly, of course, and several of them on a private level. The Eedikik's, the Drazi, even the Narn. But all those races are looking for a return on an investment. TerraFirma can give them that. And then, when we have added the Eedikik's shares, the Drazi, the Narn, to the Minbari's shares...." She shrugged lightly. "It's either buy up the Centauri's shares -- private and government-sponsored -- or open negotiations with EarthCentral. Either way, the largest portion of this station will belong to a private Earth company. Which will, at that point, commence with shutting it down. So tell me, Ambassador, at what point would the Centauri's shares be worth the credits needed to discuss them? When they are the lone bastions of a dying station, or when the Centauri own the third-largest percentage of Babylon 5 and the second-largest percentage holders need their help?" Gracefully, Mingala rose, the satin of her simple tunic and trousers rustling lightly. "It's your decision, Ambassador."

Londo rose with her. "You're a ruthless woman, Ms. Chang. Thank you for the tea and the chat." She inclined her head politely, and turned towards the door. Just before she stepped through it, Londo spoke again. "You will not have the Centauri shares."

Her back stiffened, and the door shut behind her.