By Elizabeth Ann Lewis

Part 2

It took about ten minutes to get away from Mingala's rooms once Margo showed up. The first delay came from Mingala's clothes. "Don't you own anything that isn't... shimmery?" Margo asked, frowning at the simple satin tunic and pants Mingala was wearing.

Frowning down at herself, Mingala considered it. "I think. Hold on..." The soft green slacks and brown shirt she put on weren't much better -- they were obviously more expensive than anything anyone in Brown Sector could afford, but they weren't as blatant as the blue satin outfit.

The second glitch was much quicker. Mingala stopped short just outside her door and stared at the man Margo had brought along. A big man. A really, really big man. Mingala was a couple of inches taller than Margo, and still felt dwarfed.

"Don't worry," Margo said, grinning at Mingala's stunned reaction. "That's Walter. He's as big as a mountain, but he's a pushover."

"I can see that." Mingala blinked, then shrugged. If she was going on an adventure, she wasn't against taking protection along. The memory of the attack the night before would be with her for a very long time. Her stomach dropped and her hands shook whenever she let herself dwell on it too long.

It took a solid half hour to weave through the labyrinth of corridors and lifts that connected various parts of the station. "For obvious reasons, they wanted to make it as hard as possible to get from Brown Sector to Red Sector -- and vice versa." Margo was walking briskly along, narrating the trip as though they were wandering through a static museum. Mingala followed almost meekly, nodding and absorbing what she saw. The transition from the small, almost cloistered village of her childhood to her present highly visible position in the outside world had only been possible because she had watched and listened and blended chameleon-like with her surroundings until she was ready to be seen. She'd thought she'd never need to use that talent again, that she'd found her place.

They could tell the moment that they had left Grey Sector behind and entered into what was familiarly known as "DownBelow." The smell hit Mingala first. Unlike the rest of the stations, the air filters weren't changed here as often. Many of them were simply ripped out and never replaced. The stench of many bodies in one small place was overwhelming. As was the smell of garbage and waste never cleared out.

It was also immediately dimmer, for much the same reason. Lights weren't replaced as often, and were often damaged by those who preferred working in perpetual night. Margo's voice dropped and then halted and Mingala simply looked.

She saw poverty, of a kind she had never imagined. She literally had never conceived of what it would be like to simply not have enough credits for the basics of life -- food, shelter, clothing. She'd always been sheltered and cared for, first in a village that lacked the concept of money, and then in her schooling and career. She never knew people could live like this.

"Most of the people down here came to Bab5 for a new life," Margo said quietly as they watched a little girl who couldn't be any more than five skitter out of their path and disappear behind a doorway shielded by tattered fabric. "They came -- but the jobs weren't here. So they drifted down through the station, ending up here. Most can't afford to leave; the ones that can have nowhere to go. They catch a quick job every now and then, if they're lucky. If they're not, they become either preyed upon or predator. If you want something illegal, you come down here and you're likely to get it. Weapons, hallucinogenics, you name it, you can buy it."

Mingala whispered something under her breath that Margo couldn't translate, but sounded reverently profane. "Yeah, I agree. They don't have much of a life down here, but at least they're alive. Come on, let me show you something else."

They wove through the tent cities, carefully avoiding the worst spots. Those who even thought about approaching the small, obviously out-of-place group took a second look at Walter behind the two women, and changed their mind and direction.

After another ten minutes, they spilled out into a larger, better-lit open area. Here and there were beds and cabinets. A few better-dressed figures read charts and monitors, bandaged wounds and treated illnesses.

"Hey, Allis," Margo greeted a woman casually. The medic was dressed in comfortable clothes, and her short, severe hair matched her bearing. "Anything for me tonight?"

"Please," Allis laughed. "I doubt I'll have anything as good as four terrified Drazi in a long while. Evening, Walter," she greeted cheerfully. She never stopped moving from the moment Margo entered, turning, grabbing a datareader, scanning a twelve-year-old boy. Her hands were a blur and she seemed to be in three places at one time, but her sharp dark eyes didn't miss a thing. "Who's your friend?"

"Ming..." Margo managed to trip her tongue so it settled heavily on the first syllable and didn't step forward. She immediately elbowed Walter in the stomach -- gently, of course -- and Walter swallowed his smile at her slip.

Allis didn't seem to notice. "Pleased to meet you, Ming." And away she went.

"This is a free clinic," Margo explained as Mingala looked around her. "Most of the people down here can't afford to go to MedLab for help, so a lot of the medical staff spend a lot of their off-time down here."

"And a lot of the medical supplies," Mingala observed, looking at some obviously looted equipment from MedLab.

"Unless you suggest that they use roots and herbs and voodoo to drive the bad germy spirits away..."

"Stealing from MedLab makes the prices go up there, so more people are driven down here," Mingala pointed out. "It's an endless circle."

"True enough. Got a better idea?" Margo challenged.

"Afraid not," Mingala said ruefully. She wandered here and there in the clinic, pausing beside a bed, peering at a monitor with a cracked screen.

"I do. More help. This clinic clings by its fingernails, mostly because everyone turns a blind eye to it. Chief Garibaldi pretends he doesn't know. And Dr. Franklin spends half his time down here -- and is the one responsible for most of the purloined equipment. If they had five people -- *five* -- who would devote some of their own free time to hand-holding and fetch-and-carrying, let alone a couple of people willing to chip in a few credits here and there..."

Walter put a hand on Margo's shoulder. "Back off," he advised gently, below the level of Mingala's hearing. "You don't have to beat her bloody with it." Margo subsided, but watched Mingala's reactions carefully.

Mingala felt curiously detached. A veil had been ripped away between herself and the rest of the world, and another had been dropped between herself and her past. In between, she stood suspended, not wanting to go back, not ready to go forward. She watched as Allis soothed the boy, holding him steady as she fused a snapped femur.

Mingala stood still long enough that Margo began to be concerned, and moved forward. Hesitantly, afraid of being rebuffed, she touched Mingala's shoulder. "Are you OK?"

Mingala turned and smiled. "No. I'm not. And for once, that's a good thing. OK," she breathed deep. "What's next?"

She was a hell of an interviewer, Margo decided.

She also was looking like a survivor of a war-zone. With every person she spoke to, she looked more haunted. Reality was coming as a blow to her, and Margo was thinking it was time for her to stop being so stoic about accepting it.

"Come on." Somewhere along the way, she had lost her reserve against casually touching the other woman. Taking Mingala's arm, she steered her away from the next corridor she seemed to be heading down. "We're getting out of here."

Mingala went without resisting, her brain working behind her eyes. There was so much to be done down here, but it couldn't *start* down here. It had to start above, or nothing could be done. Individuals could be helped, but for true change to take place, it had to start from the top. TerraFirma had enough money to feed and clothe everyone she had seen tonight three times over. Unfortunately, the only access she had to the money was in terms of the negotiations. She had a private fortune, but that would be exhausted in just a few days, and again could only help a fraction of those who needed it.

She wasn't looking in the darkness and stumbled on a bit of uneven floor. Putting out her hands to break her fall, she went spinning to the ground. She wrinkled her nose at her abraded palms and started to push herself upright before noticed a hand held before her.

Gratefully, she took it and let herself be boosted to her feet. "Thanks," she said. The man who helped her was dressed in the tattered garments of everyone down here, and had a subtly misshapen face caused by some kind of birth defect.

"No problem," he said, releasing her. She smiled and turned to go. "You can, you know."

Mingala whipped her head back. "What?"

"You can do it. You have the strength. You can."

Mingala took a step back. "What, you can see the future?" she asked, laughing shakily.

The man smiled. Gently. "No. I saw you. You have the strength. You know you do. You left everything behind that you ever knew and made a new life for yourself. You had to do that to become what you needed to be. You just have to *believe* you can do it."

Mingala stood there dumbly for several seconds until Margo had backtracked enough to find her again. "It's dangerous to be alone down here," Margo scolded. "Don't lag behind. Walter's not all-present."

"I know. I'm sorry." Groaning, Mingala put her head in her hands. "I'm confused."

Margo smiled in sympathy. "I know. Come on, I know just the place."

"Nope. You're just not going to care anymore." Margo grinned and stepped down into the dimly lit interior of the bar fondly known as The Dark Star. Wide-eyed, Mingala followed.

Gold-beaded curtains separated off parts of the club, while dim lighting isolated other portions behind ferns and potted palms. Semi-clothed young women and men of various species were... 'performing' on small stages along one wall. Several gamblers were gathered around what were clearly gaming tables, their only common trait a steely focus that communicated itself to the onlookers despite the unfamiliarity of the games they were playing. The overall atmosphere was one of menace warring with a bizarre gaiety; hilarity and desperation existing side-by-side.

"Is this a safe place to be?" Mingala asked with some trepidation. Half of these people looked like they had taken part in the riot the day before.

Margo shrugged, moving with casual confidence. "If we're not on the stage or betting a hundred credits, no one's going to notice us."

"Oh."

Margo snagged three seats at the bar and ordered something improbably called an Atom-Smasher. After a glance at Mingala, she told the bartender, "Make that two."

"What's in this?" Mingala asked with some trepidation. She couldn't really tell the color in the dim light, but it was glowing faintly of its own accord.

"Trust me, you don't want to know. Drink it."

Blinking at Margo, Mingala tried a sip and made a face. Then she steeled herself and gulped it down.

"Not bad." Margo sipped at hers with a little more restraint. She preferred having a clear head -- you never knew what you could overhear in a place like this. Walter has asked for and been served his usual water-hold-the-lime. No one even thought about hassling him for not drinking. "You've never been in a place like this, have you?"

Mingala picked up her second Atom-Smasher and found that, on top of the first one, she could stand to just sip. "Do you mean a bar in a bad part of town, or a bar in general?"

"Bar in general."

"I'm afraid not," Mingala confessed. "There were some pubs on campus, and, of course, nightclubs and cocktail parties...."

"Whoa, hold it there. Different animal entirely. This is a bar. Seedy, noisy, packed and full of the baddest element you can get. Best places to get info in the galaxy. People are drinking, celebrating, trying to make deals--you'd be *amazed* what you hear in here."

Blinking as she heard an apparently highly-possible Centauri... maneuver being discussed behind her, Mingala buried her nose in her drink with, "I already am."

Margo laughed, leaning back on her barstool and relaxing. "The first bar I ever visited was a hole-in-the-wall in New York City," she reminisced happily. "The owner let me play pool there before I was legal to drink. If you hang out somewhere, and just become a familiar face, you can see a lot more than if you ask questions. We come here every time we're onstation. You never know what you're going to hear if you're not drunk and everyone else is."

"Do you remember where you were when the Battle of the Line was being fought?" Mingala asked abruptly.

Margo had an evening's time to get used to her companion's penchant for rapid topic changes; apparently, two Atom-Smashers exacerbated the problem. "I was a senior at the University of Columbia," she answered willingly enough. "English major; I always wanted to write, so I just sort of fell into it...." Margo twisted her glass in circles on the bar, round and round, remembering. "When we heard what was coming, some of us felt like we should fight, but we didn't know how; so we waited, tried to let people with families get away first. It was the only thing we could do.

"I was on a transport off-planet during the actual Battle. My parents were on Io, and I was praying the whole time that I'd get to see them again, terrified the shuttle was going to be shot down before we got away. Halfway there, the battle ended--and there was this enormous, wonderful sense of relief, that I was going to live. I felt like I had to do everything I had ever planned on, so as not to miss the chance in case something happened again. See everything. Go everywhere. To make it worth it, that those guys on the line died. To make a difference.

"I switched majors into journalism as soon as things were back to normal, so I could go places and tell stories. I don't feel guilt that I'm alive; but I know how damn lucky I am."

"Lucky," Mingala repeated hollowly. "I just don't... understand." Mingala shook her head. "I've always fought to understand, to think clearly, to be impartial. And now..." She made a helpless gesture with one hand, and let it fall limply back into her lap. After a very long moment she spoke again.

"I was nineteen when the Battle of the Line was fought." Mingala's voice was hushed and quiet. "My village... for most of the war had been untouched by the results of it. We refused to get involved. Many saw it as proof that we were better off keeping out of the stars. We'd been born on Earth soil, and it was best to stay there.

"I was born and raised and lived for my entire life without ever leaving the ground. I never saw anything outside of the boundaries of our little settlement. Rarely heard anything about the outside world. I didn't want to. It was tranquil, peaceful... unreal. My parents died when I was in my teens. I grieved for them but it did not disrupt the flow of my life. I had the entire village to look after me. I was never alone."

Mingala tilted her almost empty glass and the bartender replaced it with a fresh one. She was absolutely dead drunk, Margo realized suddenly. Her serenity was unchanged, her voice, though slow, was deliberate and unslurred, but the controls she put on her thoughts had vanished. Picking up as though there had been no pause, Mingala continued.

"I had no siblings, but I did have a soul-sister. We were close, closer than most families. Li-an was the dearest person in the world to me. We shared everything. So long as she stood by me, I was not alone in the world.

"As the end of the war drew closer... it changed. Most refused to believe that the Minbari would win, or that even if they did, they would find our little settlement. Some of the people disappeared into the hills, to lose themselves and be safe if the Minbari did manage to find us. Some bowed to reality and left the village to find the transports that were evacuating as many Humans as they could."

"What about you?" Margo asked quietly, trying not to break the flow of the story.

Mingala stared into the past, her eyes unseeing. "I stayed. Surely we would be safe there. Surely we were far enough away that the enemy race come to destroy us would leave us alone. We were protected by our conviction that we were right, that our simple life was the best way to live.

"And then delusion didn't work anymore and we knew we were going to die, or worse. No one knew what the Minbari planned to do if they won, kill us all or enslave us. Above us, in the stars, Humans fought a losing battle for their race. Below, we could only wait for the end of the world.

"I walked through the town that day, deserted as it was. I walked down a street that had always before been filled with people I knew. And I was alone. Everyone had fled or was hiding. But I knew there was no way to hide, nowhere to go. We'd been doomed by our own blindness, and were about to pay the price. So I chose to not be alone at the last. I chose to go to Li-an's house, to be with the person I loved best when the world ended. It seemed fitting.

"We had no locks on our doors, no barriers to each other. I knocked and called out, entering. And stepped in her blood."

Margo flinched slightly. Mingala's face did not change, luminous-pale against the darkness of her hair and the rest of the bar. "She couldn't stand the wait, you see," she explained almost dreamily. "She'd never been very good at patience. So she took her life before the Minbari could do it for her. And I stood and stared at her body, and felt nothing. Isn't that horrible? I felt absolutely nothing except for the very distant thought that perhaps she had had the best idea. Why wait? But the effort of making the decision to join her was too much for my numbed mind. I was still standing there when someone returned to the town to tell us that the Minbari had surrendered, that the war was over and we were safe. And Li-an had died for nothing.

"If we had never gone into space, if we had never encountered the Minbari, I would be a simple girl in a simple village with simple views. And Li-an would be alive right now."

Margo swallowed. It was pointless to attempt to reason with a drunk woman, but Margo was incapable of not trying. "You know that's too easy."

Mingala nodded, slowly, as though she was underwater and every movement was fluid and deliberate. "I know. But it seemed like something should be easy. There should be the enemy, and you should hate it. Why isn't it that easy?" she asked plaintively. "Why did he save me? When did everything I know change, so that I don't know anything? Why?"

Walter put a big paw on Mingala's shoulder. "I think it's time to go back."

"No. No, can't go back. There's no doorway back. I'm lost. I don't know where I am. Where am I?"

Margo hushed her as they made their way back to Green Sector. Mingala's communicator was bleeping when they made it into her rooms, but Margo and Walter ignored it. Spilling her onto her bed, Margo tugged off her shoes. "She's going to feel like hell tomorrow morning," she observed.

Walter agreed with a slight chuckle. Then he grew more serious. "Was it worth it?"

Margo sighed. "Yeah, it was. That sounds mean of me, doesn't it? But if she can help, if she can make people listen to her... then yeah, it's worth it. I just hope she feels the same way," she added.

She stood in an empty field. She'd weeded it as a child, eaten the food it had provided. Now, it was overgrown and uncultivated. In the distance were buildings without people, the village she'd left behind as everyone else had left behind.

~Who are you?~

The sun was bright, brilliant, shining into her eyes. She lifted one hand to shield them, seeing as she did so that she was wearing the stiffly ceremonial robes of her long-ago memories. She couldn't tell where the demand was coming from, unless it was coming directly from the sun that seemed intent on blinding her...

~Who are you?~

"I'm... me," she managed in return. Her thoughts were a jumble, imagining herself, her physical appearance, her status as author and commentator, her face reflected back to her from a hundred monitors.

~Who are you?~

"I'm Mingala Chang!" Her accomplishments, the respect others held her in, what she had done, what she planned to do. Her ambitions, her aspirations, her beliefs and plans...

Nothing.

~WHO ARE YOU?~

"I don't know!" she cried out, strangling on the words. "I don't know anymore! I don't know! I don't know!" Her voice caught in her throat, and she sank to her knees in the feral fields. "I don't know..."